"You have to be in love to get married."
Marise frowned at the photo. "Am I s'posed to love him?"
Her daughter had a penchant for asking difficult questions. "Love isn't instant-it takes time. Perhaps you could start out by liking him. We could meet him in Stoneybrook, at the café there-you always enjoy their tuna melt sandwich."
Marise looked even more frightened. "When?"
"I'll call him when we go back to the house. How about Saturday for lunch?"
"I-I guess so. Can I tell Suzy about him? And show her the photo?"
Suzy was Marise's best friend. "Sure you can," Lia said and passed over the photo, watching as Marise jammed it into the pocket of her slicker.
"Can I go see Suzy now?"
"Just for a little while. Then you have homework to do."
Motherhood, so Lia had already discovered, meant accepting that her daughter might possibly tell Suzy more about her feelings than she'd tell Lia. They walked through the woods to the adjoining property, where Suzy lived, talking about anything other than Seth, Marise clutching a bouquet of daffodils for Suzy's mother. Then Lia went back home. Not giving herself time to think, she picked up the phone and dialed Seth's private line at work.
"Talbot," he barked.
"This is Lia."
Seth's heart did an Olympic high jump in his chest. "It's only the fourteenth."
"I talked to Marise today. We'll meet you for lunch at the Maplewood Café in Stoneybrook. On Saturday. Would noon give you enough time to get there?"
A lump the size of a small mountain had lodged itself in his throat. "Yes," he said, "I'll be there."
Quickly she gave him directions. He said choppily, "Does she want to meet me?"
"She's scared. Wary. But she'll be fine."
"Not half as scared as I am," Seth said.
"You'll both be fine."
"Last time I talked to you, you were hellbent on keeping me a thousand miles away from her-what happened?"
"She wants you to go to her school. So the kids know she's got a real dad just like everyone else." Lia's voice faltered. "They've been calling her names, Seth-I didn't know anything about it until today."
Seth's expletive hung in the air. "Children can be crueler than any adult ever thought of being."
"Will you do that for her?"
"Sure I will." It wasn't the best time for Seth to realize he'd do anything for Lia's daughter. He said abruptly, "How was Hamburg?"
"Once I got over the hangover, it went well."
"Whenever you look into my eyes are you going to be reminded of crème de menthe?"
"Time will tell."
His voice hardened. "I notice you're not suggesting we meet at Meadowland."
It would have made more sense, giving them all some much-needed privacy. "No … I'm not ready for you to be here yet."
"Have I got to earn the right?"
She flinched at the bite in his voice. "I don't know. I just don't know."
Quite suddenly he'd had enough. "Saturday at noon," he said brusquely. "I'll get there a bit early so I don't keep Marise waiting."
Lia said stiffly, "That's a good idea. Goodbye, Seth."
"Bye."
She plunked the receiver back in its cradle and stared at the raindrops weeping down the windowpane. Three days from now she'd see Seth again. But she wouldn't be able to touch him, or speak to him privately.
She'd be sharing him with Marise.
Marise's fingers were cold in Lia's as they walked into the café with its cheerful decor of ruffled curtains and checkered tablecloths. Seth was sitting at the table by the window that offered the most privacy. He got to his feet as he saw them come in the door.
Lia threaded her way across the room, smiling at a couple of acquaintances. He said easily, "Lia … nice to see you," leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. Then he hunkered down and smiled at Marise. "Hello, Marise," he said softly. "We should have met a long time before this … I'm sorry we didn't."
Marise gazed at him with her big green eyes; they were, Lia saw, giving nothing away. "Mum told me about the letters. Why did somebody do that?"
It didn't occur to him to lie. "My mother had very definite ideas about the woman I should marry, and your mother wasn't it. So she destroyed your mother's letters to me."
"Just like in a book," Marise said. "She was the villain."
"I guess so."
"The kids at school tease me 'cause I don't have a father."
Seth grimaced. "I'm sorry about that, too. Very sorry."
Marise glanced up at her mother. "Can I have a tuna melt sandwich and a chocolate milkshake?"
"Sure," Lia said. "But we'd better give Seth the chance to read the menu."
He'd practically memorized it while he was waiting for them. "I'm going to have a chicken burger with fries and coffee."
"Fries are bad for you," Marise said primly.
"Marise … " Lia said.
"They are. Miss Brenton said so in health class."
"Miss Brenton is right," Seth said. "But sometimes I break the rules. Do you ever break the rules, Marise?"
She wriggled in her seat and said with killing politeness, "That's a secret between me and my friend Suzy. Do you have a best friend?"
"A good friend of mine lives in Berlin. He introduced me to classical music a couple of years ago."
"So you don't see him very often," Marise said crushingly.
"Not as often as I'd like."
"Suzy lives next door."
That seemed to be the end of that particular conversation. To his huge relief Seth saw the waitress approach. They all gave their orders, then into the silence Lia said, "Seth loves to swim, Marise."
"I can do the backstroke," Marise said.
"Where do you swim?" Seth asked.
"We have a pool at home."
Lia smiled. "I won the Finlandia competition last year. Sibelius paid for our pool."
"When you do the backstroke," Seth said, "it's hard to see where you're going."
"Not if you look over your shoulder."
Lia said easily, "Here comes your milkshake, Marise. You're getting pretty good at diving, too."
"I don't have to hold my nose anymore."
The conversation labored on, relieved by the arrival of the food. It was horribly clear to Seth that Marise wasn't giving him an inch … and why should she? For years his absence had caused her grief. Intertwined with grief, he'd be willing to bet, was anger. He was turning into a child psychologist, he thought mockingly, as he tucked into his fries.
Marise was eyeing them. He said mildly, "Help yourself if you want a couple, Marise. Lia, did you tell me you're doing some recording soon?"
"The week after next. Until then, I have eight whole days off … pure luxury."
"You work too hard," he said roughly.
"You never do," she said, raising her brows.
She was casually dressed in jeans and a ribbed sweater that clung to her breasts; he did his best to keep his eyes on her face. "I've been known to. Do you have to work hard at school, Marise?"
As a kid, hadn't he always hated grown-ups who asked dumb questions about school?
"Sometimes."
Lia began describing some of her daughter's English compositions, doing her best to oil the wheels. Seth, she could see, was trying as hard as he could to reach Marise in some way; it wasn't his fault he wasn't succeeding.
She was finally beginning to understand how deeply the lack of a father had marked Marise. What a mess this all is, she thought wretchedly, and started describing the competition Marise had won for a poem she'd written about raccoons. Marise said nothing.
Dessert was ordered, arrived and was eaten. Lia said brightly, "Well, I guess we should get going. Suzy's coming for a sleepover tonight."
Seth had hoped lunch might end with him and his daughter taking a little walk down the pretty main street of Stoneybrook; but now he knew better than to suggest it. He said, "Perhaps next time you could come to Manhattan with your mum, Marise? Have you ever gone to the Children's Museum?"
Marise nodded, staring down at her plate. "It's a neat place," she said in a small voice.
"Let's work on that, then," Seth said. He leaned forward, gently lifting her chin. "I know this is difficult for you-it's difficult for all of us, but especially for you. I'll do the very best I can to be a good father to you. But it'll take time for us to get used to each other. To trust each other."