Ten

Jack arrived so quickly after her call that she wondered if he'd been waiting nearby. She hardly had the truck door closed before he said, "So why didn't the Viking drive you home?"

She closed her eyes for a moment. The evening had been a welcome respite from the last few days. She didn't want any negativity associated with it. "I don't know."

"Is he meeting someone later?"

She didn't answer but waved and smiled when Alastair drove past them, and he smiled back.

Jack was behind him as they pulled out of the parking lot. They stopped, waiting for some cars to go by. "Did you have a good time?"

"Oh, yes," she said. "Very good. He's a funny man. And generous and kind. He's uncomplicated." The wine was making her reveal more than she normally would. "He wants to settle down, have kids. My last boyfriend couldn't think past sex."

"Was the boyfriend late teens, early twenties?"

"Yes."

"At that age, that's all a guy can think of. The only thing Evan talks about is—" He stopped and for a moment his memories seemed to fill the cab of the truck. Evan was gone forever. "Stewart is what? Forty by now?"

"Based on the yearbook, I think he's about thirty-eight."

"He's thirty-eight and you're what? Twenty-one?"

"Three. I'm twenty-three years old." Jack's snide remarks were killing her good mood.

"That's quite an age difference."

She glared at him. "Alastair doesn't laugh at me."

Jack gave a smirk. "That's smart of him. Gets him more."

His insinuation of what Alastair was after was clear. Kate took her time before speaking and she changed the subject. "Is it still on that we're going to the nursing home tomorrow?" Her teeth were clenched.

Jack glanced at her, then back at the road. "You don't have to go. Sara and I could go alone. Maybe you and Stewart could have another date."

"He's taking his mother out to lunch."

"And it's not even Mother's Day. What a nice guy."

"He is a nice guy." Her voice came out angry; she didn't like having to defend herself.

They had reached the house. She started to get out but stopped. Damn him, but he'd ruined what had been a lovely evening. And for no reason! Was it spite? Jealousy? Or did Jack think that his grief gave him the right to take his anger out on others?

When she spoke, she looked straight ahead and her voice was calm. "You know, Jack, I truly believe that a person chooses whether or not to be happy. I've met people who are fifty years old and still whining that their parents didn't love them enough and that's why they're miserable."

She paused. "If you dig deep enough, we all have bad things in our pasts. My mother has debilitating fits of depression. By the time I was six years old, I knew how to open a can of soup, pour it into a bowl and heat it in the microwave. I—not my mother—set it up with a little mom-and-pop grocery that I could get food from them. When my mother came out of one of her depressions, she'd pay the bill.

"I did this because I love my mother and because the alternative was worse. If the State took me away, they would send me to my uncles. When I was seven, they were shouting at me that I was going to hell because my skirts showed my knees. I had to learn to enjoy the time when my mother wasn't depressed. I forced myself to see the good, not the bad." She took a breath. "Everybody has problems, Jack. It's just what you do with them that makes the difference." She got out of the truck and slammed the door.