The Unkindest Cut - By Honor Hartman Page 0,64

looking slightly embarrassed.

Resuming his seat, Will said, ‘‘I haven’t ordered yet, but the waitress ought to be back in a minute with my tea.’’ He opened his mouth to say something else, but no words came out. He fixed his gaze on the tablecloth.

I smiled. He really did seem to be a nice boy, and I felt sorry for him, being no doubt dragged here by his mother. Before I could say anything, the waitress appeared with Will’s tea. ‘‘I’ll have the same,’’ I told her. She nodded and walked away.

‘‘Is your mother playing bridge this morning?’’ I asked.

Will nodded. ‘‘She’s as nutty about bridge as my dad was.’’ A spasm of pain crossed his face. ‘‘God, I hate this.’’ His clenched hands rested on the table in front of him.

‘‘I know,’’ I reached over to pat one of his hands. ‘‘It’s way beyond awful, and I wish there were more I could do to help you, Will.’’

‘‘I’m okay,’’ he said, looking anything but okay. ‘‘I’ve just got to get used to it.’’

I didn’t want to tell him that I didn’t think you could ever completely ‘‘get used to it,’’ because that wasn’t what he needed to hear right now. Instead I said, ‘‘You should concentrate on the good memories as much as possible, and let everything else go. I know it’s hard, but if you can do that, it does help.’’

He nodded.

To try distracting him, I asked him about college. He was studying history, I discovered, and he was passionately interested in Elizabethan England. We stopped our discussion long enough to order our meals, and when the food came, we both ate without tasting much of it, I realized later. He was very knowledgeable, as well as very articulate. He was the kind of student I always dreamed of having and encountered only once in a blue moon.

Suddenly Will broke off as he glanced over my shoulder. ‘‘Oh, great,’’ he said, ‘‘speak of the devil.’’

‘‘What do you mean?’’ I asked, startled.

‘‘Here comes Her Majesty,’’ he said, sarcasm dripping from the words. ‘‘Lorraine Regina herself.’’ He pronounced ‘‘Regina’’ in the British fashion, ‘‘re-JI-NUH. ’’

My eyes widened in surprise. ‘‘Why do you call her that?’’

‘‘That’s what Dad always called her,’’ Will said, leaning forward and whispering. She must have been getting close to us. ‘‘Regina is her middle name, and that’s Latin for ‘queen.’ ’’

Chapter 23

‘‘Are you okay?’’ Will asked me.

I nodded. ‘‘I’m fine.’’

‘‘You sure look funny,’’ he said, seeming not entirely convinced.

‘‘No, really,’’ I said, ‘‘I’m okay.’’ I smiled to reassure him, though actually I felt anything but okay. My mind was racing with the implications of what I had just learned. Suddenly, my food wasn’t sitting too well in my stomach.

‘‘Will, I thought you were going to lunch with me,’’ Lorraine Trowbridge said, sliding into an empty chair between her son and me. She gave me a cool glance.

Will reddened. ‘‘You’re almost an hour later than you said you’d be.’’

‘‘I see you found someone else to share your meal,’’ Lorraine said, deigning to smile at me.

‘‘Yes, Will was kind enough to invite me to share his table,’’ I said. I kept my voice cool. ‘‘I dislike eating alone, and I’m sure Will does, too. We had quite an interesting chat, actually.’’

‘‘Really?’’ Lorraine said, one eyebrow raised. ‘‘And what did you two find to chatter about?’’

‘‘History,’’ Will said, almost spitting out the word. ‘‘Something that doesn’t interest you.’’

Lorraine laughed. ‘‘You really shouldn’t bore other people with this obsession of yours, Will.’’

I wanted to slap the woman. I couldn’t bear seeing the hurt in her son’s eyes. ‘‘On the contrary, Lorraine, I found Will anything but boring. I’m obsessed with history as much as he is. In fact, I used to teach it.’’ I paused for a moment to let that sink in. ‘‘I think your son will make a first-rate historian, and if there’s ever anything I can do to help him’’—here I turned to face Will—‘‘then I will be delighted to do so.’’

Will acknowledged my words by nodding slightly; then he ducked his head in embarrassment. Lorraine appeared not in the least fazed by my little speech. She shrugged.

‘‘I’m glad he found such a kindred spirit,’’ she said. She raised a hand to summon a waitress. ‘‘I’m sure you’ll excuse us, Emma, but I’d like to talk to my son in private.’’

By now I shouldn’t have been surprised by the woman’s rudeness, but I was still taken aback. ‘‘Certainly, ’’ I said, trying to hold on to my temper.