not gonna fire him for what happened last night, are ya? It wasn’t his fault. That weren’t nobody’s fault and—”
“What? God, no.” Edward shook his head. “Joey’s a good boy. I was just wondering what you thought of him, you know.”
Shelby shrugged. “He’s a good man. But if you’re asking me whether I’m fixin’ to get with him, the answer would be no.”
When she fell silent, Edward thought … of course, you’re not interested in him. He’s not a hot mess of self-destruction.
“Shelby, I need to ’fess up to something.”
“What’s that?”
He took a deep breath. “You’re right. I am in love with someone.”
FORTY-ONE
The Charlemont Presbyterian Theological Seminary took up about forty manicured acres right next to one of Olmstead’s gorgeous city parks. With distinguished brick buildings and lamp posts that glowed orange in the gathering darkness, Gin imagined the picturesque campus as a place where no one drank, safe sex was not an issue because everyone was still a virgin, and the closest thing there was to a fraternity party was the raucous chess club, which was known to serve the occasional Red Bull.
It was therefore rather ironic to her that she was pulling into its entrance … considering who she had come to meet.
The students had all been flushed out for the summer, no doubt finding worthwhile internships for the warm months doing Good Work. Likewise, there were no administrators and no academicians strolling around, either. The lovely, winding lanes, which reminded her of the kind one saw in a cemetery, were, like the dorms and the classrooms, empty.
Pulling the Drophead into a parking space, she got out and smelled freshly cut grass. With a shove, she closed the heavy door and checked what she looked like in the window’s reflection. Then she locked the car and watched the Spirit of Ecstasy sink into its little safe haven inside the front grille.
The seminary’s reflecting garden was a well-photographed and quite famous Charlemont institution, and although it wasn’t exactly open to the public, it was not exactly private, either. With one gate on each of its four sides, it was the centerpiece of the school, the place where commencements and convocations were staged and alumni were sometimes married and people went to … well, reflect.
Her palms were sweating as she proceeded over to one of its round-topped, Hobbit-ish entries, and when she toggled the old-fashioned latch and pushed her way inside, she felt light-headed.
For a moment, the beauty and the tranquillity were so resplendent, she actually took a deep breath. Even though it was only May, there were blooming flowers everywhere, and verdant leaves, and brick walkways that all led to the square of lawn in the middle. Fountains along the ivy-covered brick walls offered a symphony of calming sounds, and as the last of the light drained from the sky, peach-colored sodium lanterns on tall wrought-iron stands made everything seem like Victorian London.
Without Jack the Ripper.
“Over here.”
At the sound of the male voice, she looked to the right.
Samuel T. was sitting on one of the stone benches, and he was staring off at the lawn, his elbows on his knees, his face as serious as she had ever seen it.
In her stilettos, she had to be careful over the brick walkway or risk shucking the silk covering of her heels—or, worse, tripping, falling, and making an ass of herself.
As she approached him, he got to his feet because he was first and foremost a gentleman, and it would be unthinkable for a man not to greet a lady properly.
After a quick, stiff embrace, he indicated the vacant space beside where he had been. “Please.”
“So formal.”
But her voice lacked the normal venom. And as she lowered herself onto the cool stone, she felt compelled to pull her skirt down to her knees and sit properly with her legs tucked under and her ankles crossed.
He was quiet for a while. So was she.
Together, they stared off at the ghostly shadows thrown by the flowers. The breeze was as soft as a caress and fragrant as bathwater.
“Did you do it?” he asked without looking at her. “Did you marry him?”
“Yes.”
“Congratulations.”
In any other circumstance, she would have offered a snappy comeback, but his tone was so grave, it provided no target to trigger any aggression on her part.
In the silence that followed, Gin fingered both her engagement ring and the thin band of platinum that had been added beneath it.
“God, why did you do it, Gin?” Samuel T. rubbed his face. “You don’t