that uncommon, although with men returning from Europe, many women had stopped working, either by choice or because they had been forced from their jobs. But it wasn’t that he underestimated her, she realized. Rather, it was just that they had spoken so little about themselves the night they spent together. That was the comfort of it; they had talked about the war, about Tom. But her actual self and the realities of her world had remained safely out of sight. Mark really didn’t know her at all.
And she would like to keep it that way. “I do work,” she said. “And I’m late. But thank you for your offer.”
“Coffee then?” he persisted.
“I really can’t.” She tried to leave again.
“Gracie,” he called.
She turned. “Didn’t you hear me when I said no?”
But it was just a paper he was holding out, one of the photographs she had missed on the ground. “You dropped this. Pretty girl,” he commented at the photo.
“I’m sorry. That was rude of me,” Grace said, softening. She took the photo and tucked it away.
“It was,” he agreed, and they both chuckled. “You really don’t have time for coffee?” he asked, his expression pleading.
She could use a cup of coffee, Grace realized. And Mark had been nothing but kind. But seeing the consul had made her late. She considered how mad Frankie would be, then decided she could stretch it just once more. “I’ve got fifteen minutes,” she said.
Mark smiled broadly. “I’ll take what I can get.”
She followed him to the Woolworths on the next block. They found two spots at the end of the Formica counter. “There, we don’t even have to sit in a proper booth,” he chided. Ignoring him, she climbed onto one of the stools. On the wall behind the counter, bright posters exhorted them to try Coca-Cola and Chesterfield cigarettes.
“Two coffees, please,” Mark said to the waitress. He turned to Grace. “Something to eat?” She shook her head. Though she could have used breakfast, she didn’t want to stay that long. “How long have you been in New York?” he asked, when the steaming mugs had been set on the counter in front of them.
“Almost a year.” She could feel the anniversary coming around, the sameness of the weather as it had been that day.
“Since Tom died,” he noted.
She tried to take a sip of coffee, but the too-hot liquid scalded her lips so she set it down once more. “More or less. I was here to meet him for a weekend when I got the news.”
“And you stayed.”
She nodded. “Sort of.” Technically, it wasn’t true; she had gone back to Boston for the funeral, then to her family’s house in Westport. But the overly concerned looks had been stifling and the murmurs of sympathy made her want to scream. She left for Marcia’s place in the Hamptons less than a week later.
“You said you were delayed in New York for work?” she asked, purposefully changing the subject.
“Yes, I’m a lawyer. The hearing that we started was continued so I extended my stay at The James.” She blushed, remembering his well-appointed suite.
“So those photographs,” he continued, before she could ask about the type of law and what it was that he actually did. He nodded toward her bag, where she’d tucked the envelope safely away once more. “Do they have to do with your job?”
Grace hesitated. She dearly wanted to speak with someone about the photos, to have help figuring out what to do. And there was something in Mark’s hazel eyes, the inquisitiveness and concern as he studied her face, that made her feel as though she could trust him. She took a breath. “You heard about the woman who was hit by a car near Grand Central?” she asked in a low voice.
He nodded. “I just read about it in the paper.”
“Well, I saw it.”
“You saw her get hit?”
“Not exactly. But I was there after, with the police and an ambulance.”
“That must have been awful.”
“It was. And there’s more.” Grace found herself telling Mark how she had been detoured through Grand Central and found a suitcase. He rested his elbow on the counter and his chin in his hand, listening intently. “When I was looking inside for some identification, I found these,” she added, trying to make her nosiness sound purposeful. She pulled out the photos and showed him. “I tried to put them back, but the suitcase was gone. Then I found out that it belonged to the woman who