She gazed at him and her smile faded. “It seemed too selfish to ask you to change your lifestyle for me.”
He shook his head and stared out at the darkening vista. The ocean was rougher now and the choppy whitecaps gleamed like shards of ice in the reflected light. “I would’ve done anything for you, Maggie.”
“I know,” she whispered, and blinked away tears. “But it wouldn’t have been fair.”
The waiter arrived with two huge platters, each with a full-size lobster, drawn butter and baked potatoes with everything on them. He poured more wine for each of them, wished them bon appétit and left them alone.
Connor chuckled somberly. “Are you even hungry after all this depressing talk?”
Maggie sniffled as she looked down at her lobster and then over at him. “You bet I am.”
He laughed. “That’s my girl.” And they both started eating, their appetites and humor instantly restored.
They spent the next few minutes in silence as they wolfed down the perfectly prepared food. Finally Connor took a break and sat back in his chair. He reached for his wine and took a sip, then said, “Mind if I ask you something that might put me in a happier mood?”
“But not me?” She laughed shortly. “Sure, go ahead.”
“Why’d you marry this joker?” Then, even though he knew the answer, he asked, “And what’s his name again? Albert? Arthur?”
“It’s Alan. Alan Cosgrove, and that’s the last time I’ll use his actual name out loud. I’m afraid of summoning the devil.”
He chuckled. “Like Beetlejuice?”
“Exactly!”
It had been one of their all-time favorite movies back in the day.
Maggie drank down a hearty gulp of wine and seemed to brace herself before answering. It was one more way Connor could tell that the guy had been a real piece of work.
“After you and I broke up,” she began, “I cried myself silly for weeks.”
“Good to hear.”
She laughed. “My mother finally sent me off to visit my cousin Jane in Boston. Jane had a summer day job, so I spent my mornings wallowing in grief and my afternoons walking for miles around Boston. There were so many charming neighborhoods and I think I saw them all. One day I walked into a fancy art gallery in the Back Bay and that’s where I met him.”
“Ashcroft,” he said helpfully.
“Yes.” She giggled. “Ashcroft was wealthy, nice looking, seemed stable enough. He enjoyed quiet walks, art galleries and foreign films.”
“Much like myself.”
She gave a ladylike snort. “Right.” She went on to explain that the guy she met had seemed safe and sane and unlikely to do anything that would worry her excessively.
“Unlike myself.”
“Sadly,” she murmured. “At the time, I thought it was important that he wasn’t a risk taker. I was so stupid.”
“We were both young,” he said, giving her a break.