Sure enough, sparks flared in her eyes. "I cannot believe you talked over our personal business with those women."
Our business, she'd said. Not just his. He pressed harder. "Torie's really pissed with you."
"I don't care."
"Lady E., too, but she's more polite about it. You hurt all their feelings when you changed your phone number. You really shouldn't have done that."
"Send them my apologies," she said with a sneer.
"The boat was Birdie's idea. She's kind of become your champion because of Haley. And you were right about not bringing in the police. Haley's grown up a lot lately, and I'm not one of those men who can't admit it when he's wrong."
His hopes rose higher as she clenched her fists against her wet coat. "How many other people did you talk to about our private business?"
"A few." He stalled for time, frantically trying to figure out how to play this. "Kenny was worthless. Skeet's still mad at me. Who knew he'd take to you the way he did? And Buddy Ray Baker said I should buy you a Harley."
"I don't even know Buddy Ray Baker!"
"Sure you do. He works nights at the Food and Fuel. He sends his best."
Indignation had put some of the color back in those beautiful cheeks. "Is there anyone you didn't talk to?" she said.
He reached for the napkin next to the champagne bucket, where, in a premature burst of optimism, he had a bottle chilling. "Let me dry you off."
She grabbed the napkin from him and threw it down. He settled back in the seat and tried to sound as if he had it all under control. "San Francisco wasn't much fun without you."
"Sorry you had to waste your money like that, but I'm sure the rebuilding committee was grateful for your generous contribution."
Admitting he wasn't the one who'd made that expensive final bid hardly seemed like the best way to convince her of his love. "I sat in the hotel lobby all afternoon waiting for you," he said.
"Guilt is your thing. It doesn't work with me."
"It wasn't guilt." The limo pulled to the curb, and the driver, following Ted's earlier instructions, stopped on State Street across from the National Museum of the American Indian. It was still raining, and he should have chosen another destination, but he'd never have gotten her inside his parents' Greenwich Village co-op, and he couldn't imagine spilling his guts in a restaurant or bar. He sure as hell wasn't saying any more in this limo with his mother's driver eavesdropping on the other side of the partition. The hell with it. Rain or not, this was the place.
She peered out the window. "Why are we stopping here?"
"So we can take a walk in the park." He hit the locks, grabbed the umbrella from the floor, and pushed the door open.
"I don't want to take a walk. I'm wet, my feet are cold, and I want to go home."
"Soon." He caught her arm and somehow managed to get both her and the umbrella out onto the street.
"It's raining!" she exclaimed.
"Not too much now. Besides, you're already wet, that red hair should keep you plenty warm, and I have a big umbrella." He popped it, dragged her around the back of the limo and up onto the sidewalk. "Lots of boat docks here." He nudged her toward the entrance to Battery Park.
"I told you I wasn't going on a boat ride."
"Fine. No boat ride." Not that he'd planned one anyway. That would have taken a degree of organized thought he wasn't capable of pulling together. "I'm just saying there are docks here. And a great view of the Statue of Liberty."
She completely missed the significance of that.
"Damn it, Ted." She whirled on him, and the quirky humor that had once marched in lockstep with his own was nowhere to be seen. He hated seeing her this way, with all her laughter dimmed, and he knew he had only himself to blame.
"All right, let's get this over with." She scowled at a bike rider. "Say what you have to say, and then I'm going home. On the subway."
Like hell she was. "Deal." He steered her into Battery Park and down the closest path leading to the promenade.
Two people sharing one umbrella should have been romantic, but not when one of those people refused to get close to the other. By the time they hit the open promenade, rain had soaked his suit coat, and his shoes were nearly as wet as hers.
The vendors' carts had disappeared for the day, and only a few hearty souls hurried along the wet pavement. The wind had picked up, and the cold drizzle blowing in off the water hit him in the face. In the distance, the Statue of Liberty stood guard over the harbor. She was lit up for the night, and he could just make out the tiny lights shining through the windows in her crown. On a long-ago summer day, he'd broken one of those windows, unfurled a no nukes banner, and finally found his father. Now, with the statue standing there to give him courage, he prayed he would find his future.