The Older Woman by Cheryl Reavis Read Free Book Online Page A

small table for two, but it wasn’t half bad. Not too close to the music and not too far away. And nowhere near the kitchen. With a little effort they might even be able to talk to each other.

    He decided to give it a try.

    “So how are you doing?” he asked.

    “Me?” she said in surprise. “I’m fine. Why?”

    “Well, you had what I would call a trying day yesterday. Today, too, maybe.”

    “I’m all right.”

    “Is it all over with the boyfriend, then?” He had no business asking that, but it just sort of fell out of his mouth. He wanted to know. He’d wanted to know all day.
    “It’s
    over.”

    “Maybe not. He came by this morning.”

    “He came by because he wants me to do everything I can to keep him from feeling guilty.”

    “So did you?”

    “I hope not,” she said, and he smiled.

    A waitress came with two beers in frosty mugs—ones they hadn’t ordered.

    “Best wishes from the paratrooping people at table number seven,” she said, plunking them down. Doyle looked in the direction she indicated with her elbow. He raised his mug to the men and women sitting a few tables away, some of whom looked familiar, none of whom he knew by name.

    “Don’t tell me, let me guess. You don’t know them, either.”
    “Nope.”

    “Must be the haircut,” she said—which very well could be the case. It was nothing if not indicative of his chosen profession.

    A different waitress came to take their orders. When she’d gone, a girl walked by the table, a girl who looked a lot like Rita from the back. She even tossed her long blond hair as she passed, just the way Rita always did. He watched her until she disappeared into the crowd still waiting to be seated.

    “Poor old Bugs,” Meehan said when he looked back at her.

    “It’s worse for you than it is for me,” he said.

    “Why do you say that?”

    “Because I saw it coming. You didn’t.”

    “Well, you’ve got me there.”

    “Don’t worry,” he said, lifting his mug. “We’re going to be all right.”

    She lifted her beer in return, but she didn’t drink much of it. “Maybe so,” she said, smiling. “This was a good idea, anyway. Tell me about the wedding—who was there?”

    He ran down the guest list, described how cute little Olivia had looked, and what they had to eat at the reception.

    “What’s the guy’s name?” he asked at the end of his debriefing.
    “What
    guy?”

    “The bagel guy,” he said.
    “Bugs,
    this
    is—”

    “None of my business,” he finished for her. “I know, but I can’t help it. It’s a hobby of mine. I like to know things. It keeps me off the streets.”

    “Maybe you should find yourself a new hobby.”
    “This
    is a new hobby. I used to jump out of airplanes. So what does the bagel guy do for a living?”
    “Real
    estate.”

    “Real estate. There’s money there, huh?”

    “I really don’t know. So how are you and Mrs. Bee getting along?” she asked in a bold move to change the subject.

    “Good so far. She’s a nice old lady. I never did tell you I appreciate you getting me in there. Thanks.”

    “She likes you a lot.”
    “Does
    she?”

    “Yes. She’s says you’re like Michael Mont.”

    “Who’s Michael Mont?”

    “He was a character in a book. The Forsyte Saga, I think. John Galsworthy.”

    “I don’t know anything about that,” he said, but he didn’t doubt that Mrs. Bee had said it. She used to be an English teacher; she would know about characters in books. “So what kind of guy would this Michael Mont be?”

    “I don’t know. Kind, probably. Optimistic.”

    He looked at her, wondering if that was what she thought—or what she thought Mrs. Bee thought. It didn’t matter, really. They were both wrong. He wasn’t either of those things.

    “So what’s the bagel guy’s name,” he asked again after a time.

    “Why do you want to know?” Meehan said, clearly exasperated.

    “Because I think I see him in line waiting to get