and told me he was going to see the world. Didn’t know a thing about sailing, either. Said he’d learn what he needed as he went along, and I guess he has.”
Sarah frowned. “That’s a little strange.”
“Not for him. To be honest, I wasn’t surprised at all, but you’d have to meet him to know what I’m talking about.” He shook his head slightly, as if disgusted.
“How did your mother die?” Sarah asked gently.
A strange, shuttered expression crossed his face, and Sarah immediately regretted bringing it up. She leaned forward. “I’m sorry—that was rude. I shouldn’t have asked.”
“It’s okay,” Miles said quietly. “I don’t mind. It happened a long time ago, so it’s not hard to talk about. It’s just that I haven’t talked about it in years. I can’t remember the last time someone asked about my mother.”
Miles drummed his fingers absently on the table before sitting up a little straighter. He spoke matter-of-factly, almost as if he were talking about someone he didn’t know. Sarah recognized the tone: It was the way she spoke of Michael now.
“My mom started having these pains in her stomach. Sometimes, she couldn’t even sleep at night. Deep down, I think she knew how serious it was, and by the time she finally went in to see the doctor, the cancer had spread to her pancreas and liver. There was nothing that anyone could do. She passed away less than three weeks later.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, not knowing what else to say.
“So am I,” he said. “I think you would have liked her.”
“I’m sure I would have.”
They were interrupted by the waiter as he approached the table and took their drink orders. As if on cue, both Sarah and Miles reached for the menus and read them quickly.
“So what’s good?” she asked.
“Everything, really.”
“No special recommendations?”
“I’ll probably get a steak of some sort.”
“Why does that not surprise me?”
He glanced up. “You have something against steak?”
“Not at all. You just didn’t strike me as the tofu and salad type.” She closed her menu. “I, on the other hand, have to watch my girlish figure.”
“So what are you getting?”
She smiled. “A steak.”
Miles closed his menu and pushed it off to the side of the table. “So, now that we’ve covered my life, why don’t you tell me about yours? What was it like growing up in your family?”
Sarah set her menu on top of his.
“Unlike what you had, my parents were Ward and June Cleaver. We lived in a suburb just outside Baltimore in the most typical of houses—four bedrooms, two bathrooms, complete with a porch, flower garden, and a white picket fence. I rode the bus to school with my neighbors, played in the front yard all weekend long, and had the biggest collection of Barbies on the whole block. Dad worked from nine to five and wore a suit every day: Mom stayed home, and I don’t think I ever saw her without an apron. And our house always smelled like a bakery. Mom made cookies for me and my brother every day, and we’d eat them in the kitchen and recite what we learned that day.”
“Sounds nice.”
“It was. My mom was great when we were little kids. She was the kind of mom that the other kids ran to if they hurt themselves or got in a jam of some sort. It wasn’t until my brother and I got older that she started to get neurotic on me.”
Miles raised both eyebrows. “Now, was it that she changed, or was she always neurotic and you were too young to notice?”
“That sounds like something Sylvia would say.”
“Sylvia?”
“A friend of mine,” she said evasively, “a good friend.” If Miles sensed her hesitation, he gave no notice.
Their drinks arrived and the waiter took their order. As soon as he was gone, Miles leaned forward, bringing his face closer to hers.
“What’s your brother like?”
“Brian? He’s a nice kid. I swear, he’s more grown-up than most people I work with. But he’s shy and not real good at meeting people. He tends to be a little introspective, but when we’re together, we just click and always have. That’s one of the main reasons I came back here. I wanted to spend some time with him before he headed off to college. He just started at UNC.”
Miles nodded. “So, he’s a lot younger than you,” he said, and Sarah looked up at him.
“Not a lot younger.”
“Well... enough. You’re what, forty? Forty-five?” he said, repeating what she’d said to him the