She went to stand beside him. They were the only mourners left. “I’m Sara,” she said softly and didn’t know if he heard her.
For a long moment he didn’t move, but then he took her hand in his and held it tightly—and that was when Sara’s tears started. She’d never met Henry Lowell, but this tall, beautiful boy should have been her grandchild. Hers and Cal’s.
They stood side by side, holding hands, a tall young man and a short older woman, two strangers who should have been family. Their tears fell as they stared at the coffin with the red roses on top.
It was a while before Jack turned away. He released Sara’s hand. Without looking at her, he said, “Are you hungry?”
“Always.” She was at her heaviest then. Years and years of sitting and writing and eating from deli delivery had packed on the pounds.
He turned to look at her, seemed to study her, then nodded. “You have a car?”
“A rental parked over there.”
“Leave it and let’s go in my truck.”
“Sure,” she said. At her age, it was always a pleasure when a young person didn’t ask her if she needed help lifting her handbag.
Jack’s truck was about two feet off the ground and her short legs had a hard time getting up into it, but she didn’t ask for help. When he took off so that he left a strip of rubber, she laughed like she was again sixteen. Cal had been brilliant with cars and his engines rumbled as they rode.
Jack took her to a drive-through hamburger place and ordered for both of them.
“Onions okay?”
“Why not?” She was beginning to realize that what he was doing was courting her. The driving too fast and greasy burgers were a teenager’s idea of caviar and champagne. He wants something, she thought.
Had it been anyone else, she would have said, “Let me out here.” If success had taught her nothing else, it was that everyone in the world claimed to be the basis of all that she’d achieved—and so she should give them money.
But Sara didn’t protest. Whatever Cal’s grandson wanted, she would do her best to give it to him. She could feel the pain radiating from him, and something inside her felt called to heal him however she could.
He drove down a gravel lane and parked under a big oak tree. Sara knew it was one of the make-out sites for Lachlan kids. In fact, she and Cal had often made love on a blanket about twenty feet away from this very spot, hidden under the trees.
She leaned back against the door and took one of the huge hamburgers and a giant Coke. When he said nothing, she began. “So where are you going to college?”
“Can’t. Gotta protect Mom from Roy. And Ivy and Evan.”
He didn’t say this in a “feel sorry for me” way, but as fact.
“I’ll pay for your college,” she said. “Ivy League. Anywhere you want. You don’t have to worry about being away from your family—it’d just be for a few years. You’ll be back in no time. Unless you go to law school.”
“Nope.”
“Medicine?”
He shook his head.
She chewed awhile. “You know exactly what you want, don’t you?”
He nodded. “Granddad Cal told me that if I ever really needed help that you’d give it.”
“Did he?” Sara’s voice was hoarse. “So he talked about me? Bet Donna loved that!”
“He spoke of you only to me. He never mentioned you to anyone else. But he said that you and I are alike.”
“How so?”
“I’d like to think that we’re just plain lovable, but it’s more likely that we’re hardheaded and stubborn. Fight to the death when we see a wrong
.”