Chapter 24

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

A manda woke up Saturday morning in the cushy king-sized bed she'd shared with Mark so many times. She rolled over to snuggle with him. With a shock she remembered he wasn't there. She shivered in her loneliness, longed for him, and hated herself for it.

She threw off the covers and discovered the very air was against her. She hugged herself and tiptoe-ran across the wooden floor and into the bathroom, only to find its tile felt like patterned blocks of ice. This was a New Hampshire-kind of cold. Damp and shocking, it seeped in through the windows and around the doors and crept across the floors, avoiding the thermostats that would take up battle against it. This cold crept up Amanda's leg beneath her fleece pajamas and bored into her skin like a parasite.

Even the hot shower didn't eradicate it, and as she dressed for the day, she had but one cognizant thought—steaming coffee.

Making her way down the stairs from her room on the third floor, Amanda's mind veered away from the cold for a moment to focus on the conversation she'd had with her husband in the middle of the night. Though her thoughts weren't so much on what he'd said but on what he did after he hung up—go home to Annalise. Amanda pictured the supermodel in silky lingerie, drinking bubbly out of a fifties-style champagne glass, its wide rim reflecting her perfect face. She frowned at the ridiculous visual. If nothing else, Mark wouldn't spend the night with Annalise when the girls were there. That gave her exactly one more night to imagine he still loved her.

Not that she wanted him. She just didn't want Annalise to have him. Or any other woman, for that matter.

Coffee. A little coffee would restore her sanity.

One steamy mug down, more coffee shimmering in the cup, Amanda began to prepare for the breakfast she would be teaching and serving that morning. Mindlessly she removed eggs, sausage, and cheese from the enormous refrigerator. A few minutes later, pajama and slipper-clad women began shuffling in murmuring coffee and cold and food in quiet, demanding tones.

A couple of hours later Amanda finished cleaning up the kitchen from the breakfast extravaganza and told the ladies to be back in the kitchen at six o'clock that night. She changed into her favorite dark gray slacks, a turquoise sweater, and her black leather boots. The boots were practical in their warmth only, good for the walk into the bookstore and back to the car. It was important to make a good impression at a book signing, even if it meant wearing torture shoes.

She found Frank in the office behind the front counter hunched over a scattering of papers, his balding head bobbing back and forth from one sheet to another, his wrinkly hand writing furiously. She felt stupid asking him to walk her to her car way out in the boonies, but she wasn't willing to take any chances. And she had promised Mark.

She knocked on the open door. "I'm ready to go. Do you mind walking me out? "

With a broad smile, he stood, dropped his pen on the papers, and headed for the door. "Not at all," he said in a raspy voice. "How'd it go this morning?"

"Just fine. They're a loud group."

"Isn't that the truth? Be thankful we stuck them out in the motel."

In all the times Mark and Amanda had been to the Faraway Inn, they'd never had a room in the motel-style buildings that surrounded the old house. In fact, besides their first visit when they'd slept in a tiny room on the second floor, they'd always had the largest room on the third, a room with a king-sized bed and an amazing view of the valley. Perhaps that was because they usually made reservations early. She suspected it had more to do with the fact that Frank was so fond of Mark.

He followed her out of the small room and grabbed his jacket off the coat stand in the lobby. "You have snow tires on your car? We're supposed to get a storm tonight."

"What time?" Amanda didn't mind driving in the snow, but on these winding roads, in the dark and by herself, she'd prefer to avoid it.

"They said it'd start about dinnertime."

"Oh, I'll be back by then. I'm cooking dinner."

He swung open the wide front door, cheeks puffy with a grin. "Mmm. Something to look forward to. Breakfast this morning was delicious. Don't tell Claire, but I finished the whole thing. French toast. Oh, and the eggs Benedict . . ."

"I'm glad you liked it."

They began the slow walk across the parking lot to her car. He'd aged a lot in the years since she'd first met him, moving slower and slower every year. She guessed he was nearing eighty, but he and his wife ran the inn like they had since they'd retired from their government jobs almost twenty years earlier .

She resisted the urge to check her watch. Who knew it would take this long to get to her car?

"You know, if you didn't give us the food, we might not let you take over our kitchen. But how can we resist? Last night, beef tenderloin. This morning, eggs and French toast."

She giggled. "It's like culinary extortion."

"If I die of a heart attack today, it'll have been worth it."

Amanda stopped said with mock disapproval, "That's not funny."

He offered a low, throaty chuckle. "Just jokin'. I'm as healthy as a horse. Here we are."

She unlocked her car and climbed in. "Thanks, Frank. I know this is silly, but Mark insisted."

"Too bad he couldn't come with you this weekend. I was looking forward to sharing war stories with him."

She swallowed a lump in her throat. "I know he's sorry he couldn't make it."

"Call me when you're close, and I'll meet you out here. When are you due back?"

"Probably between five and five-thirty."

"Good. You should beat the snow. See you then." He closed her door and rapped on the roof of her car. She pulled away, waving as she turned onto the country road.

Within fifteen minutes Amanda was driving up the on-ramp to the interstate toward the bookstore in Concord.