Tiny white lights glittered from the trees out front and a massive spray of fresh snapdragons, lilies and white roses in a large crystal vase greeted them as they entered the restaurant.
“Welcome to Esty Street.” Owner Scott Tremble smiled warmly and escorted Eliza and Samuel to their table against one of the mirrored walls of the tasteful dining room. Eliza could feel the eyes of several diners on her as she took her seat. She spotted Larson Richards sitting at one of the tables, but, thankfully, he wasn’t looking in her direction.
“How does it feel to have people looking at you everywhere you go?” Samuel asked.
“Not as good as some might think,” Eliza said as she opened her heavy white napkin and spread it across her lap. “It goes with the territory and you get used to it, but you’re always aware that anything you do, or anything you say, or even the way you look might be commented on later. Sometimes I ache for anonymity.”
“It’s a bit like living under a microscope, I’d suppose.”
Eliza shrugged. “I shouldn’t complain. I chose this. Most people in my profession would give anything to be in my shoes.”
The waiter arrived to take their drink orders and another brought hot, crusty rolls to the table. Eliza broke off a piece, dipped it into a tasty pesto, and ate it appreciatively.
“So far, so good. This bread is wonderful.”
They pored over the autumn dinner menu and both agreed they couldn’t decide what to order, everything sounded so good. Braised duck ravioli with butternut squash and toasted pecans, and sautéed crabcakes with roasted spaghetti squash, crispy shallots and a cranberry glaze, made the cut as appetizers. For entrées, Eliza ordered the braised lamb shank with sweet potato pierogi and baby carrots, Samuel the grilled filet mignon of beef with roasted-garlic mashed potatoes and rosemary jus. Everything tasted even better than it sounded. Though sorely tempted, they passed on the fabulous dessert menu, but ordered coffee.
Eliza had avoided the subject all evening, waiting to bring it up now.
“Have you given any thought to my request, Samuel?”
His face looked pained. “I have, Eliza. Believe me, I have. But I’m just not ready to talk about losing Sarah yet And I certainly can’t do it for a national audience. I hope you’ll understand.”
He reached out across the table and put his hand over hers and looked earnestly into her eyes.
“Of course I do, Samuel. I shouldn’t have asked you. It was terribly insensitive of me. I’m so sorry.”
“There’s nothing to be sorry about. I know that you had all the right intentions. I’ve always been interested in how these things came to be. What made you want to do this story at this particular time? Was our relationship and Sarah the catalyst?”
“Actually, I’m doing a story on another parent who lost a child. The story is about stalking and a newswoman who disappeared five years ago. But when I interviewed her mother, I got to thinking how horrible it was to lose a child—no matter what the age. You and Sarah came to mind.”
Eliza reached over and brushed back a strand of hair that had fallen across Samuel’s forehead as her other hand held his. Agony was written all over the poor man’s face.
“I’m so sorry, Samuel. About everything,” she whispered.
She could see that he was trying to shake himself out of his suddenly morose mood. Eliza watched as Samuel pulled a small pale-blue box tied with a white satin ribbon from his jacket pocket and placed it on the table between them.
“For you, Eliza. I hope you like it.”
She tugged at the end of the satin bow and opened the unmistakable Tiffany box.
“Oh, Samuel! They’re beautiful!”
“I hoped you’d like them. We have to restock that jewelry collection of yours.”
“They’re exquisite,” said Eliza, holding the diamond starfish earrings in her hands. “Exquisite . . . and much too extravagant.” This was starting to get out of hand.
“No, it’s not. You don’t know how much our time together has meant to me, Eliza. When I came to New York, I thought my life was over. Being with you makes me want to believe in the future.”
Even if Eliza had been inclined to invite Samuel in, the gray sedan was standing guard in front of the house and Janie was sleeping inside. Samuel didn’t push it.
“I’ll call you,” he said after he kissed her good night.
Eliza let herself into the house and called out quietly for Mrs. Garcia. The housekeeper was in the den watching television.
“How was she?”
“La muñequita was tired tonight and went to bed right when I tell her.”
“Good. I’m glad. Any phone calls?”
“Sí. Señora Blake called after Janie was sleeping. Her grandma say she calls tomorrow. And Señor McBride called, too.”
By the way her heart pounded at that news, Eliza knew she wasn’t over Mack yet.