Dreamless. Darlene Graham
back to picking out fresh spinach with the salad tongs.
“Yes. It was a long time ago. Fifteen years.”
When would she ever get used to the humiliation? After all these years. “But I still don’t like to talk about it.” She pinched up a few homemade croutons.
He reached across and covered her hand with his large, warm one, right there at the salad bar. She twisted and looked up into his eyes.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I shouldn’t have mentioned it here.” To cover the intimacy of his touch he made a small business of extracting the salad tongs from her fingers. “Thanks.”
She turned and went back to the table.
When he joined her, he still seemed apologetic. He spread his napkin in his lap, avoiding her gaze. “You know, I really don’t remember all that much about the deal with your dad. I think I saw a small article once in the local paper, that’s all. I was in college at the time.”
It had been all over the local TV news, on the front page—everywhere Cassie had turned, it seemed. The headline was still emblazoned in her memory. McClean Sentenced To Twenty Years.
“Oh? Where did you go to school?” She had long been adept at deflecting people from the subject of her father’s incarceration.
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