was on display. Beautiful in its classic simplicity—white satin, modest crew-neck collar, tiny seed-pearl highlights, full skirt—she could most likely still wear it. I stood staring at it, remembering our play weddings in the barn: one of the only times I’d been the bride was when I’d snuck this gown from its cedar chest.
“Mom? Hey, Mom.” Gabby handed me my black beaded bag. “Your purse is buzzing.”
“Thanks, sweetie.” I unzipped the purse and pulled out my phone. Not Vijay . . . but a number vaguely familiar. I answered, praying it was not some emergency from the clinic.
“This is Stuart Duberstein. I understand you left a message about my dog?”
Chapter Thirty-One
DUBEY BEAT ME TO THE FARM. HE WAS ALREADY IN THE barn, where I’d told him to find Booker (shut in Muriel’s stall, since she never used it).
Dubey squinted into the light when I said hello. “Hey.” He stood up from where he sat with Booker. “Wow. You look different from when I last saw you.”
I swear, I felt the damn mottles in my legs.
“Wow,” he said again, looking me up and down. “What’s the occasion?”
“My parents’ fiftieth anniversary party.”
“You look . . . amazing.”
“Well, thank you.” The blotchy rash went into overdrive.
“Thank you. For Booker.” He hugged me. I wasn’t prepared for his fingers on my bare back.
The poor man probably hadn’t expected to touch skin, either. He looked away, flustered, then bent to ruffle Booker’s ears.
Moonshot nickered, peering in the back door of his stall, and my heart fell to my shins. He had yet to stay in the stall; I don’t think I’d ever once changed his bedding since he’d been here.
“I need to visit my friend,” I said to Dubey. “I can’t come down here and not speak to him. It would be rude.” I took a box of sugar cubes from the shelf, shaking three out into my palm.
I hiked the skirt of my gown and slipped through the fence. “You’re a tough man to find,” I said to Dubey as I fed Moonshot his treats.
“I apologize. I kind of wanted to disappear for a while. I’ve been staying with my sister.”
Moonshot rested his muzzle on my bare shoulder, his whiskers tickling my skin. I was not prepared to lose this horse. “I was pretty unraveled, too, for a while,” I said. And this horse helped to bring me back. “I can relate.” I’d simply chosen a different way to disappear.
As I scratched Moonshot’s tail, I told Dubey the story of his ex at my clinic. When I finished, he shook his head, horrified.
I patted Moonshot’s rump. “Would you like a drink?” I asked Dubey.
“That would be great.”
I led the way to the house, hyperaware of my bare back, feeling naked but bold.
Dubey admired the kitchen. “These colors. I would never be brave enough to try this. They’re great.”
He opened a bottle of wine while I took out cheese and crackers from the fridge. I’d bought romantic food, thinking Vijay would be here. Blue-cheese-stuffed olives, Brie, smoked almonds.
He raised his glass. “To your parents,” he said. “Fifty years. That’s longer than we’ve been alive. How come some people pull that off and some people end up with nothing but a maimed piano? No, that’s not true. I have my dog.” He bent to rub Booker’s face.
“You know, when you told me she took a hatchet to the piano, I wasn’t sure if you were serious, but now that she tried to kill your dog, I believe you.”
“I’ll show you when you come over.”
I’ll show you when you come over? Of course, I would be coming over.
“She was a plate thrower. A photo ripper. She came to UD once and drove her car into mine. All that melodrama is perfect for the opera but unbearable in real life.”
“My ex threw kitchen appliances,” I said. “He once threw the waffle iron out the back door.”
Dubey laughed and popped an olive into his mouth. “It’s not really fair. You’ve met Susan, so you have a visual. I wish I’d met your ex, so I could picture him.”
“You ever eat at Tanti Baci?”
He tipped his head. “I used to play there all the time. With a jazz trio. For a while we were there every Friday night.”
I’d most likely seen Dubey before. “Then you probably know my ex. Bobby Binardi.”
“The owner? You were married to him?”
I nodded, watching his eyes roam around the kitchen as if seeing it anew. “Huh. I always thought he—” He shrugged.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Come on. What were