a sparkle. That sparkle was in his voice, his smile, and every part of him. Ryan was a joyful person. Period. She felt bad about doubting his motives and their friendship. But she wasn’t used to someone being an open book. She was used to having to read between the lines.
At Ryan’s suggestion they took the drinks to the comfortable chairs that sat side by side in the living room overlooking the beach and ocean. She wondered why he had chairs placed like that since he couldn’t see beyond the reach of his hand. She decided it was for the pleasure of his guests. Ryan was like that she was finding out.
“So, tell me all about your trip … and Israel. I’m so excited.” And she was. “But I can’t believe you’ve never told me about the possibility.”
“The possibility that I could see again?”
“Yes.”
“Truth is, I didn’t want to give you false hope. I may never see.” He looked toward the window. And then he turned back toward her. “What you see when you look at me is all there is, and more than likely, all there will ever be. You need to know that.” His tone held a serious note. “But,” he was back to his joyful self. “Even so, I am vastly excited about this chance, however remote. I wanted to share it with you. I want to be able to tell you when I get news, and when I dream of possibilities, and even disappointments.” He sighed, then smiled her way. “Selfish, I know.”
“Are you kidding? I was disappointed you had never even hinted to me of something so huge, so fantastic. I mean, I hoped we were better friends than that.”
“We are. We are, Angela.” Ryan reached for her hand. “And, my beautiful friend, prepare yourself to hear every exciting detail of my life over the past two weeks.”
He began reiterating everything he had told her on the phone a few days earlier while filling in with every tiny detail. Angela hung on each word, delighted he would want her to be a part of his miracle.
After a huge chunk of the afternoon was taken in conversation about his Israel adventure, Ryan took a deep breath and asked. “Now, what do you have to tell me?”
“Hmm, like what?” She grinned, coyly.
“You said Brice invited you to Connecticut.”
“He did.” She nodded.
“What did he want?”
“He wanted me to come to Braxton’s birthday party.”
“I’d bet the farm, that he didn’t just want to offer you a piece of birthday cake.”
She rolled her eyes. “You’re right.”
“What did he offer you, other than cake?” Ryan was savvy, he knew how people ticked. He had to … he was a writer.
“You really want to know?”
“If you want to tell me.” He was genuinely interested but not pushy.
“He offered to let me be his Trophy Wife.”
Ryan’s mouth flew open. “Is that what he said?”
“No, not in so many words. But as he asked me to come back—and told me how it was going to be better—the description could only be perceived one way, ‘Trophy Wife’.”
“Wow!” Ryan combed his fingers through his hair. “Wow.” He stood up and paced back and forth. Stopping in front of her chair, he reached a hand to her. She took it and stood up in front of him. “I just want to say ... in Brice’s defense ...” Angela raised her brows as Ryan continued. “I think you would make a magnificent ‘Trophy Wife’.”
She laughed. “Thank you. I think. But that’s never going to happen.”
Ryan pulled her into his arms for a brief hug. Angela felt good there.
“Well, my friend, after listening so patiently to my ramblings, what do you say I take you out for dinner tonight?”
“That sounds wonderful.” Angela said hesitantly. “But, I’m afraid I can’t. I have a—”
“Oh, right.” Ryan was quick to intervene. “What was I thinking? It’s Friday night and a gorgeous summer evening. Of course you have a date.” He smiled to cover his disappointment.
“No, no, it’s not like that.” Angela shook her head. “I am going to a WWA meeting with Jesse’s niece.”
“Oh.” Ryan looked relieved. “I thought maybe you were going out with Marco.” He smiled sheepishly.
Angela laughed. “He’s doing some paintings for me, that’s all.”
Ryan looked happy with that. Angela liked that he cared.
“WWA.” Ryan frowned. “What is that?”
“It’s Women Warriors Anonymous, a support group for abused women. Actually, this particular chapter is specifically geared to dealing with victims of narcissistic abuse—which typically falls under psychological abuse, but not