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“I’m sorry, Helen,” Juliet said, her voice low.
Noah stared. Sorry? Sorry about what? Why was she apologizing?
“Never mind,” the other woman replied. “But as I said, it’s convenient I ran into you. I want you to know that I’m planning a party—a party to launch Wayne’s book.”
Juliet brightened. “Oh, how fabulous. When?”
“The twenty-first of next month. Invitations have already gone out and I’ve been promised press coverage as well.”
“Really fabulous.” Juliet’s smile was genuine this time and he saw her shoulders relax. “But my mail’s been spotty catching up with me at the new house. Where and what time is your party? I’ll put it on my calendar.”
Helen didn’t bat an eyelash. “Juliet, I didn’t invite you.”
“Oh.” A single syllable, that’s it. Besides the death of her smile, she showed no other reaction to the verbal slap.
“Surely you understand,” Helen continued. “I didn’t think it was a good idea, when the focus should be on Wayne and all that he accomplished.”
“Surely,” Juliet echoed, giving a jerky nod. “I’ve had similar thoughts myself.”
“But don’t worry.” Helen was tucking her handbag beneath her arm and seemed prepared to move on. “The rest of our group will be there, all Wayne’s friends, Marlys, of course, and everyone else who knew and loved him.”
Except Juliet. Except the general’s wife.
As she took a step past them, Helen’s head whipped toward Noah, and he realized he’d said the words out loud.
“As his wife,” the older woman responded, quiet, yet oh-so-cold, “don’t you think she’s done enough?”
Ten
In war, there are no unwounded soldiers.
—JOSÉ NAROSKY
Juliet’s defensive shell was back in place, the same shell that she’d thought had shattered for good the night she found Noah in her pool. She tried welcoming its return, because it was better to feel nothing than to feel the pain of Helen’s cuts, wasn’t it? Juliet, I didn’t invite you.
An event to celebrate and honor Wayne’s life and his accomplishments, and everyone who loved him would be there, except Juliet. Surely you understand.
No, no she didn’t. But she’d lost the opportunity to say it a moment ago and she didn’t have the energy to track down Helen and say it now. Why? she thought, suddenly so weary. Why bother?
“Choose your poison,” a male voice said.
She looked over. Noah. Noah was gazing down at her with a look on his face she couldn’t read. “What?”
“Choose your poison.”
“You mean arsenic or cyanide?”
“No.” He rubbed the edge of his thumb against her cheek. She didn’t feel one millimeter of the short stroke. “I’m thinking either a shot of booze in the bar over there, or maybe we get out of this place and find ourselves a cup of hot coffee. Black with sugar.”
Both beverages for a person in shock, Juliet thought. She tried drumming up some concern about her looks—obviously pale—but couldn’t bring herself to care. “I’m okay.”
On second thought, though, getting out of the restaurant was a definite priority. “I take that back…I could use the coffee.”
The Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf was just down the highway, and even on Halloween night it was busy with customers, some in their everyday Malibu casual—those tight dark jeans and expensive boots—while others were costumed for the holiday, including one Jacques Cousteau wannabe in a neoprene dive suit, complete with black booties, black hood, and an underwater camera.
She found them seats at a table hardly bigger than the lid of one of their cups while Noah stood in line. When he came back with their beverages on a tray, she immediately grabbed hers to bring the paper cup to her lips.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Noah said, snatching it from her and dropping it to the tray again. “They’re out of those wrappers that keep you from burning your hand and the coffee’s hot.”
As he sat down across from her, so close their knees bumped, he took up her right hand and inspected her fingertips. “Scorched?” He pressed a light kiss to them.
She hadn’t sensed the heat. The light caress didn’t register either. She didn’t feel a thing, when not an hour ago she’d been baring her soul and baring her breasts to this man.
Maybe he was remembering their interlude on the path to the beach, too, because he dropped her hand and sat back.
“So, what’s this about you in high school?” he asked, his voice light. “I never pegged you for a Dateless Debbie. Not with your looks.”
