A Season of Angels Page 0,78

recognized that no amount of arguing would change his mind.

Chet nodded. "It has to end, Monica. I never intended matters to go this far. You're bright and beautiful and someday you'll meet a - "

She stopped him from saying anything more by pressing the tips of her fingers against his lips. She knew her eyes were wide and pleading. They stung with the effort to hold back a wall of tears.

"Don't say it," she pleaded softly.

His hand gripped her wrist and he closed his eyes as if this were causing him as much pain as he was inflicting upon her. He kissed her fingers and slowly moved her hand away.

She lowered her gaze. "There's this song," she whispered in fractured tones, having trouble speaking. "Michael plays it on the piano. It's from some musical. I don't know which one . . . it's about two people who must end their affair, and the girl who's singing asks only one thing."

"What's that?"

"All she wants is to choose the time and place where he tells her good-bye. She wants it to be on a Sunday at the zoo. I don't know why she chose there, but she did." She forced herself to smile and realized a toddler would have seen through the effort. "I always thought that was the most ridiculous song. The only reason Michael played it was that he knew it irritated me, and now . . . now I think I understand."

Chet didn't say anything for several minutes. Monica couldn't.

"The time is now," he said. "It's over."

She nodded. "At least let me choose the place. Not here in some fancy restaurant with half the world looking on. Let's go outside to the end of the pier. Tell me there you don't love me. Tell me there you never want to see me again."

She didn't wait for him to agree or disagree, but stood, taking her coat. With her head held high, she walked out of the restaurant and down the long pier, stopping when she'd reached the farthest corner.

The wind blew hard against her as she stood at the railing looking out over the green, murky waters. It amazed her that she could be so outwardly calm and still hurt this badly.

For a moment she feared Chet would choose to leave her there alone, but she was wrong. Soon he joined her. Standing beside her, he braced his elbows against the railing, and looked out over the water. Dusk was setting, and a soft shade of pink brightened the horizon. The wind whistled softly in the background.

"I can't say I don't love you, if that's what you're looking for." The words were almost accusing, tight with pain.

Monica's hands were buried deep in her coat pockets. She turned to study him. The wind slapped the loose tendrils of her hair about her face. "Why are you doing this?"

"Damn it, Monica, I don't want to argue. We both know all the reasons. We've been through all this. I'm not going to get involved in another debate with you. One of us has got to keep his head on straight. Do you think I'm enjoying this?"

"No."

"Accept it, then. It's over before either of us has more cause for regret."

So this was what it felt like to die, Monica mused. She closed her eyes as the pain worked through her heart, then slowly nodded.

"Michael's a good man."

"I don't love Michael," she said evenly. "I love you."

He ignored her. "I ran a background check on him for you and he's squeaky clean. You couldn't ask for better husband material."

"Don't, please," she whispered fervently. She knew what he was doing, but it wasn't helping.

"If you're not attracted to Michael, fine. He's not the only fish in the sea. For that matter I'm not either. You'll fall in love again. Within a couple of weeks, maybe less."

Monica's short laugh was filled with more tears than amusement. "Oh, Chet, don't you know me at all? Do you honestly believe I'm the kind of woman to walk from one relationship to another? Do you really think I'd ever marry a man I don't love?"

His lack of response was answer enough. "Just don't do anything stupid," he warned.

"Like what?"

"Hell, I don't know, join a convent or something."

"That's for Catholics."

"I realize that, but knowing you, you'd convert just to spite me. There's too much passion in you for that, understand? You've kept it buried for too damn long as it is. You'll do fine," he said starkly, turned, and started