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Sunday morning, I drove to the diner, my neck in swivel mode as I kept vigilant watch that no one ambushed me on the way to my—rendezvous? breakfast meet? interview?—with Lowell Harding. Traffic was light at 8:05, and my careful attention told me I hadn’t passed anyone I knew. Fifteen minutes later, I pulled into the diner’s parking lot and entered via the back door.
Though I’d made it my business to arrive ten minutes early, Lowell had beaten me to it. He waved from a corner booth. I smiled and hurried over.
“Lexie! I’m glad you made it.”
I felt a jolt of adrenaline and something akin to sexual arousal, as he stood to kiss my cheek. He looked awesome in his worn Yale sweatshirt and runner’s shorts. I glanced down at long, muscular legs, up at broad swimmer’s shoulders—attributes I’d failed to appreciate during our brief encounter on the beach.
Cut it out! This is Rosie’s cousin’s husband who’s sixteen years your junior and might be a killer.
“Have any trouble finding the place?”
“None at all.” I grinned back at him, feeling complicit in a shared adventure, away from everyone we knew in Old Cadfield.
I slid into the booth opposite Lowell. He hadn’t bothered to shave, which only added to his sex appeal, but for me, the spell was fading. With a pang, I imagined what a beautiful couple he and Anne would have made.
“You’ve been here a while,” I said, observing his half-empty mug of coffee, the folded-down section of the Sports Section.
“A while. Paulette didn’t settle down till after three. She’ll sleep till noon.” He grimaced. “I’ll see to it she’s up and dressed by one. Then we’ll drive over to Adele and Bob’s for lunch.”
I felt a twinge of sympathy for Lowell, but I was here to learn what I could. I decided to be blunt. “If you hate this life so much, why do you stay with Paulette?”
He gave me a bittersweet smile. “You mean, why didn’t I leave her to marry Anne?”
I nodded.
“Anne’s the love of my life. Dead or alive, that’s who she’ll always be. Paulette’s my wife. She needs me!”
His fervor wasn’t what I’d expected. It reminded me of what Rosie told me about Lowell’s earlier dream to represent clients who couldn’t afford an attorney.
The waitress, a woman in her forties with brassy blonde hair, brought over a steaming mug of coffee. Her nametag said “Sally.” She plopped the mug down before me. “Morning. Know what you want?”
I shook my head. “Not yet.”
“Try the whole wheat pancakes with blueberries,” Lowell suggested.
“Sounds good to me.”
Sally fixed her gaze on Lowell. “You, too, hon?”
“I’ll have a bran muffin, lightly toasted, lightly buttered.”
“Right-o.” She left to fill our orders. I poured a tiny container of milk into my coffee and sipped. “Mmm, good.” I brought myself back to the subject at hand. “Is there something wrong with Paulette?”
He let out a humorless laugh. “You mean, aside from having a mother who treats her like a helpless child?”
I nodded.
“Paulette has Crohn’s Disease. Getting pregnant was a colossal mistake.” He lowered his voice. “Please don’t breathe a word of this to anyone, including Rosie. Adele will have my head if it gets out. She doesn’t want anyone, including relatives, to know. She insists they’ll count it as one more black mark against Paulette.”
“Of course I won’t say anything.” I recalled my conversation with Paulette at Ginger’s graduation party. “Paulette told me she needed to have children as soon as possible because of her illness.”
“Actually, it was the worst time. Her Crohn’s was acting up. She got pregnant because she’d found out about Anne and me.”
“And you feel guilty about the miscarriage?” I asked.
A steely look came into his eyes. “I have to protect her from her mother. Adele smothers Paulette at every turn.”
I thought a bit. “Crohn’s Disease runs in families. Does Adele have it?”
Lowell nodded. “Pretty bad, actually. She’s going to need more surgery.”
“Is that why she’s so overprotective of Paulette—because of the Crohn’s Disease?”
He pursed his lips. “Partly. Mostly it’s Adele’s need to control.”
I bit my tongue, wondering if I was going too far, but decided to ask my question. “Did Adele and Bob pay you to stay with Paulette?”
Lowell slammed his fist down, rattling the mugs of coffee. “That’s a lie!”
I shrugged. “I’m merely repeating what I’ve heard.”
“Typical Old Cadfield distortion and misinformation! My decision to stay with Paulette had nothing to do with her parents! They offered a generous gift to help us furnish our house. I knew Paulette wanted it, so I said, ‘Why not?’”
A pretty speech, I thought, which somehow didn’t ring true.
Our food arrived, and I was suddenly too hungry to ask more questions. I smeared butter and poured syrup over my pancakes. I tasted a forkful of pancake and blueberries. I was in heaven!
We ate in silence. When my brain resumed functioning, I asked, “Does Adele and Bob’s gift come with strings?”
Lowell debated this. “They haven’t bought me if that’s what you’re implying. I’ll do what I think is right for Paulette and me.”
Paulette’s emotional development had been stunted. She wasn’t about to mature any time soon. Surely, Lowell knew he was engaged in a losing battle. Or maybe Paulette’s neediness appealed to him on a subliminal level. Regardless, it was time to move on.
“What about Ginger?” I asked.
Lowell swallowed the last of his muffin. “You mean, what was I doing with her on the beach?”
I grinned at his straightforwardness.
“She was unhappy and upset—about her relationship with Todd Taylor, and an unresolved issue that recently reared its ugly head.”
“Ginger needs to talk to someone, but from the looks of things, the two of you were starting a relationship. That wouldn’t be in her best interest.”
“Nor in mine. Maybe we were a bit lax, but I never would have allowed matters to get out of hand. The thing is, I know what Ginger’s gone through. I told her about my cousin who had a similar experience.”
“She never worked the problem through. Rosie’s worried about her.”
Lowell shot me an accusing glance. “If I’d had the time, I’d have told Ginger to get some therapy. And not to give up on Todd. He’s a good kid, but he has no idea of how her camp experience traumatized her.”
“She’s never told Todd what happened.”
“I suggested that she tell him.”
“Good suggestion,” I said.
“Am I off the stand?” he joked.
“Absolutely.”
We talked about the people we knew in common: Anne. Paulette. Rosie. Now that both my temporary sexual attraction and my view of him as a predatory Lothario had worn off, I discovered I liked Lowell Hartman. He was a sensitive, intelligent, earnest young man with a wicked sense of humor. After Sally filled our mugs a third time, he glanced at his watch.
“Time to go.” He asked for the check and reached into his back pocket for his wallet.
I looked around the large room, surprised that all of the booths and tables were now filled with families and couples.
“Oh, no!” Lowell muttered a curse.
“What’s wrong?”
“There’s Malice Mouth.” He gestured at Marcie and Scott Beaumont across the room, studying their menus.
“Maybe they haven’t seen us,” I said, trying to be positive.
He wore an anguished expression. “Lexie, would you think it too awful of me if I were to ask you to leave now?”
“Of course not.” I got to my feet.
I started for the back exit as Sally approached our table, blocking Lowell from Marcie’s view. Good! I pushed open the door and, like Lot’s wife, couldn’t resist turning to see if Marcie had noticed me. She had, all right. If the proverbial looks could kill, I’d be writhing on the floor in my death throes.