# The Homecoming Hero Returns

Joan Elliott Pickart

Years have gone by, but I've never forgotten David Westport. His skill on the playing field–his star quality–was legendary.However, his heart belonged to a girl named Sandra. It was too bad they dropped out before graduation to become parents, yet they appeared to have built a good life. But I wonder, does David regret the choices he made? Judging from the shadows in Sandra's eyes, it would seem so. Too bad David is blind to all that he has. I had such hopes for them.Perhaps a blast from the past could open David's eyes to the wonderful things in his life…and all that a man can do with the right woman by his side!

## THE SAUNDERS SOUND-OFF

WHERE ARE THEY NOW?

Saunders University Keeps Track

of Its Notable Alumni

David Westport

Our star player had big dreams of playing for his

home team, the Boston Red Sox. Now he’s a small

-business owner and happily married father of two.

Too bad he never went pro—he could have been a

legend! Bet he wonders what could have been….

Sandra Taylor Westport

The girl who captured the jock’s heart had big

dreams of winning a Pulitzer Prize one day. Her

writing was everything to her, but now her kids—

and the family business—have taken over. Maybe

one day she’ll get to pick up where she left off,

and find the story of a lifetime!

Tune in next month, graduates,

when The Saunders Sound-Off brings you

up to date on more of your old friends!

Dear Reader,

It’s hot and sunny in my neck of the woods—in other words, perfect beach reading weather! And we at Silhouette Special Edition are thrilled to start off your month with the long-awaited new book in New York Times bestselling author Debbie Macomber’s Navy series, Navy Husband. It features a single widowed mother; her naval-phobic sister, assigned to care for her niece while her sister is in the service; and a handsome lieutenant commander who won’t take no for an answer! In this case, I definitely think you’ll find this book worth the wait….

Next, we begin our new inline series, MOST LIKELY TO…, the story of a college reunion and the about-to-be-revealed secret that is going to change everyone’s lives. In The Homecoming Hero Returns by Joan Elliott Pickart, a young man once poised for athletic stardom who chose marriage and fatherhood instead finds himself face-to-face with the road not taken. In Stella Bagwell’s next book in her MEN OF THE WEST series, Redwing’s Lady, a Native American deputy sheriff and a single mother learn they have more in common than they thought. The Father Factor by Lilian Darcy tells the story of the reunion between a hotshot big-city corporate lawyer who’s about to discover the truth about his father—and a woman with a secret of her own. If you’ve ever bought a lottery ticket, wondering, if just once, it could be possible…be sure to grab Ticket to Love by Jen Safrey, in which a pizza waitress from Long Island is sure that if she isn’t the lucky winner, it must be the handsome stranger in town. Last, new-to-Silhouette author Jessica Bird begins THE MOOREHOUSE LEGACY, a miniseries based on three siblings who own an upstate New York inn, with Beauty and the Black Sheep. In it, responsible sister Frankie Moorehouse wonders if just this once she could think of herself first as soon as she lays eyes on her temporary new chef.

So keep reading! And think of us as the dog days of August begin to set in….

Toodles,

Gail Chasan

Senior Editor

## The Homecoming Hero Returns. Joan Elliott Pickart

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For our editor, Susan Litman,

who survived this challenging project

in spite of us.

Thank you.

## JOAN ELLIOTT PICKART

is the author of over eighty-five novels. When she isn’t writing, Joan enjoys reading, gardening and attending craft shows on the town square with her young daughter, Autumn. Joan has three all-grown-up daughters and three fantastic grandchildren. Joan and Autumn live in a charming small town in the high pine country of Arizona.

Dear David,

You are the coolest guy in school and the best boyfriend a girl could ask for! This has been the best year—especially the homecoming weekend. You played better than ever, and I just know you’ll be playing for the Red Sox someday—and I’ll be the reporter covering the games!? I’ll never forget our private celebration after the festivities, either. I’m so glad I didn’t have to share you with your adoring fans all night.

I love you, baby, and can’t wait to see you on the field again next year!

XOXOXOX

Sandra

## Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

## Chapter One

S andra Westport slid her hands into puffy mitts, then removed a tray of golden brown cupcakes from the oven. After setting the tray on a wire cooling rack on the counter, she slid another batch into the oven and removed the mitts. Settling onto a chair at the table, she continued the interrupted task of spreading frosting on several dozen of the treats.

She blew a puff of air upward, trying and failing to move the annoying curl of hair that had flopped onto her moist forehead. After swirling the chocolate frosting into place she set the cupcake to the side and picked up another, just as her husband entered the kitchen.

“Oh-h-h, I’m a dying man,” David Westport gasped. “You could fry an egg on those sidewalks out there.”

He bent over, placed his hands on his knees and took several deep breaths before straightening again.

“Come here, lovely wife,” he said, flinging out his arms, “and give me a big hug.”

Sandra laughed. “Not on your life, buster. You are a soggy, sweaty, icky mess. Take a shower and I may reconsider your request. Anyone who goes running in Boston in July is cuckoo, sir. I think the humidity is as high as the temperature and it’s only a little after 8:00 a.m. Grim, very grim.”

David chuckled and crossed the kitchen to retrieve a bottle of water from the refrigerator, which he chugalugged. He came back to stand next to the table.

“The sanity of a woman who bakes in this weather might be in question, too, madam,” he said, reaching for a cupcake.

“Hey, don’t touch those,” Sandra said. “They’re for the bake sale at church tomorrow. Don’t even ask where my brain was when I volunteered to do this. There should be a rule that only people who have air-conditioning in their houses should be expected to turn on the oven to donate to these projects.”

She sighed and stared into space for a moment. “Air-conditioning. I hear that it’s a marvelous invention.”

“I heard that rumor, too,” David said, snagging a cupcake and removing the paper cup. “One of these days, my sweet. In the meantime, could you quit bringing it up? I’m tired of hearing about it.” He ate the cupcake in two bites. “There. I have performed a public service by taste-testing the goodies, and I must say, that was a superb little cake, Shirley Temple.”

Sandra pointed the frosting-covered knife at him.

“Don’t start with the Shirley Temple thing, David Westport. You know my hair goes nuts in humidity like this. Maybe I’ll get a buzz cut like Michael. I swear, David, our son is never going to forgive me for the fact that he inherited my naturally curly blond hair and Molly got your thick, straight black hair. He’ll probably do one of those deals where the kid divorces the parent.”

“Speaking of the Westport twins,” David said, “I assume they’re still sleeping?”

“Yep. It’s one of the perks of being ten. You don’t get roped into making a zillion cupcakes on a hot and humid day.” Sandra paused. “I wasn’t nagging about air-conditioning, David.”

The timer went off on the stove and Sandra hurried to remove the tray from the oven. She turned the dial to Off, switched the cooled cupcakes with the hot ones and brought the tray to the table.

“Almost done,” she said, sinking back onto her chair. “I’ve lost count here, but there should be enough for the sale and to still have some for us.”

“I should hope so,” David said, reaching for another one.

“Go away,” Sandra said, flicking the knife so a blob of frosting landed on the back of David’s hand. “Do the world a favor and take a shower, sweaty man.”

“Okay,” David said, then proceeded to lick the frosting from his hand.

“Gross,” Sandra said, laughing.

“Nothing like a little salty sweat mixed in with chocolate frosting,” David said, wrinkling his nose. “Yuck. I’m hittin’ the suds.”

Sandra shifted in her chair to watch her husband stride from the room.

Good grief, she thought, he was still so gorgeous. They’d been married nearly eleven years and he could still make her heart go pitter-patter. David was tall, dark and handsome, with the added bonus of incredible green eyes. He didn’t weigh a pound more than when they’d met in college, kept himself fit and trim. He was just so beautifully proportioned with broad shoulders, narrow waist, muscular legs and…

A coil of heat tightened low in Sandra’s body and she spun back around in her chair.

“It’s hot enough in here,” she said to a cupcake, “without thinking about… Sandra, shut-up.”

She continued to frost the cupcakes by rote as her mind wandered.

Every year they went through the same silly ritual, she thought. She’d make wistful comments about having air-conditioning in the house, and David would declare that one of these days, oh, yes, one of these days, they would have the coveted cooling. And both of them knew it would never happen. There just wasn’t enough money for a luxury like installing air-conditioning, then paying the bills that running it created. Nope. Not in this lifetime.

Oh, sure, they had AC at the ever-famous Westport’s Emporium because it made good business sense. Customers stayed longer and put more groceries and sundry other items into their carts because they were comfortable, in no rush to go back outside into the heat.

“Done,” Sandra said, setting the last cupcake on the table.

She got to her feet and went to the small pantry beyond the kitchen to retrieve the plastic carriers she’d use to transport the desserts to the church the next day. As she began to pack the treats, she frowned.

Why had she just wasted mental energy thinking about the air-conditioning they didn’t have, would never have? she wondered. She was an intelligent woman, for heaven’s sake, a part-time journalistic reporter extraordinaire for the ten-page weekly neighborhood newspaper, the North End News. And, yes, sir, by golly, she was hot on the trail of a scoop. After tomorrow she’d turn in an award-winning story on the bake sale that had been held at St. Luke’s Episcopal Church after the eleven-o’clock service on Sunday.

“You’re losing it, Sandra,” she said, snapping the cover onto the first carrier. “You fried your brain when you turned on the oven to bake these messy things.”

As she continued her task she inwardly sighed.

Such big dreams she’d had a zillion years ago, she mused. She’d travel the world as a famous journalist with editors clamoring for first chance to publish her genius-level words that flowed effortlessly from her fingertips. Yeah, right.

Sandra swiped her finger around the inside edge of the frosting bowl, then licked the gooey chocolate absently as she stared into space.

Dreams, she thought. She’d long ago tucked hers away and concentrated on her family, her beautiful children, the husband she loved every bit as when they were first married, if not more. She didn’t resent for one second that she’d had to forget her career dreams.

But David?

David’s potential for success hadn’t been a dream, it was a given way back when. He had everything it took to be a professional baseball player and it was simply a matter of graduating from Saunders University where they both went and waiting to see which major league team would draft him. He could have had it all…fame, fortune and a house with air-conditioning.

He’d been close, so very close, to having his dreams come true…but then…she’d gotten pregnant. She had just turned nineteen, was so young and terrified, and she could still remember so clearly weeping buckets while David held her in his arms.

He’d been wonderful, Sandra remembered, as she began to clean up after her baking spree. He’d told her in a voice ringing with conviction that everything would be fine. They’d be married immediately and love and cherish their baby when it was born.

She’d quit college, went to work as a waitress and David found a part-time job pumping gas to help pay the rent on the shabby little apartment they’d found. But everything had not been fine. David couldn’t keep up the grueling schedule and flunked out of Saunders before he could graduate.

His dreams for being a pro baseball player were buried beneath diapers and bottles and bibs. For two babies. Twins. Their beautiful and wondrous Michael and Molly.

And to this day, Sandra thought, as she wiped off the table, she still believed—knew—that David resented what had happened, was not truly happy, and definitely did not love her anymore, hadn’t loved her for a very long time.

Oh, he put on a smiling facade, was a devoted father, worked hard at the store, gave the impression that he was a man who was contented with his life.

But she couldn’t remember, no matter how hard she tried, the last time that David had told her that he loved her.

When would it happen? Sandra wondered, blinking away unwanted tears. When would he have had enough of this charade and leave her? Did he consider ten-years-plus a long enough punishment for a foolish mistake? Oh, dear heaven, what could she do to make him love her again? What, what, what? She loved David so much, couldn’t bear the thought of losing him, but she didn’t know how to stop it from happening.

“Hi, Mom. I smell cake or cookies or something.”

“Oh,” Sandra said, grateful to be pulled from her depressing thoughts. “Good morning, Molly mine. I made cupcakes for the bake sale at church tomorrow, but there’s some left over for us. You have to have breakfast before you can have one, though.”

“Bummer,” Molly said, sliding onto a chair at the table. The enormous T-shirt she was wearing as pajamas slid off one shoulder. “I hate breakfast. It’s boring.”

“How sad,” Sandra said, smiling. “Do you think that shirt of your father’s is big enough for you?”

“It’s cool,” Molly said, glancing down at the faded lettering that said Saunders University. “Dad was going to use it to dry the car after he washed it, but I talked him into letting me have it. My friend Becky sleeps in a T-shirt of her dad’s that says Harvard, but he never even went there. That’s bogus. At least Dad went to Saunders.”

But didn’t graduate, Sandra thought, inwardly sighing.

“Yep, he did attend Saunders,” she said brightly. “So did I for about two seconds. Okay, breakfast. Cereal? Pancakes? Eggs? Your wish is my command. Ah, here’s your lazy brother. I can get this cooking number over with in one swoop and exit stage left from this hot kitchen.”

“The whole house is hot,” Michael said, flopping onto a chair across from Molly. “That shirt you’re wearing is so lame, Molly.”

“It is not,” she said, none too quietly. “You’d have grabbed it in a second if I hadn’t seen it first, Michael Westport, and you know it.”

“Whoa,” Sandra said. “Let’s postpone the wars until after you’ve had some food. What will it be, my sweets?”

“Pancakes,” David said, striding into the room, his hair still wet from his shower. “I’m going to make my specialty of blueberry pancakes.”

Sandra laughed. “Without the blueberries because we don’t have any. I’m going to the grocery store later and will get some. Are there any at the emporium?”

“Nope, they were sold out, but no problem,” David said, rubbing his hands together. “I’ll make up for the lack of blueberries by making my famous animal-shaped pancakes.”

“Cool,” Michael said. “I want one huge dinosaur.”

“Yuck,” Molly said. “I want a lot of nice little butterflies.”

“And you, madam?” David said to Sandra.

“Well, let’s see,” she said, tapping one fingertip on her chin. “A teddy bear, please, sir.”

“Got it. Okay, M and M, go get dressed, make your beds and by the time you get back we’ll be ready to roll here.”

The twins dashed from the room.

“They’re so cute,” Sandra said. “Ten is a wacky age, isn’t it? You’ve been making animal pancakes since you would put them on their high chair trays and they still think it’s super. One minute they try to act so grown up and the next second they’re just our babies again.”

David started pulling what he needed from the cupboards.

“Yeah,” he said, “but they’ll be up and grown, then out the door and gone before we know it. I hate the thought of that, I really do, but you can’t stop the clock from ticking. When it’s time for them to go, they’ll go.”

A chill swept through Sandra as she stared at David’s broad back.

Was that his decision? she thought frantically. Had he made up his mind to grit his teeth and hang in here until the twins left home because he loved them so much? But then it would be time for him to go, too? Dear God, was she destined to lose her whole family at once?

“You know,” she said, her voice not quite steady, “I think I’ll pass on the pancake, David. I licked the frosting bowl and I really don’t want sweet syrup at this point.”

“Whatever,” David said, beginning to stir the batter in the bowl. “The kids and I will eat your share.”

“I’m sure you will. I’m going to go gather the wash.”

Sandra hurried from the kitchen. David frowned as he watched her go, then flicked on the radio on the counter and began to sing along off-key to a country and western tune about having friends in low places.

The Westport home was an apartment on the fourth floor of an old brick building. It had the exact same floor plan as every other apartment on their street and several adjacent ones. The eating area was in the kitchen, the door opened directly into a common hallway with no extra frills like a foyer or entryway. The three bedrooms were small, the living room fairly good-sized. There was a laundry room in the basement of the building.

David and Sandra had borrowed the money for the down payment on the apartment from Sandra’s parents when David dropped out of Saunders and had long since paid back the loan. David had gone to work at a nearby grocery store while Sandra continued to wait tables until her doctor told her she had to quit the job and get off her feet if she hoped to carry the twins to term.

When the owner of the grocery store decided to retire three years later he offered David the opportunity to buy the place with reasonable monthly payments. Westport’s Emporium had been born and flourished under David’s management. He added a great many Italian delicacies as the majority of the citizens residing in the North End of Boston were Italians.

David also broadened the range of what was available to his customers, such as greeting cards, inexpensive gifts for that last minute invitation, supplies needed for barbecuing outside on the fire escape, which was a favorite summer activity in the neighborhood, and other items that a person often needed but didn’t want to drive to the larger markets to buy.

The store was doing well, but had reached its financial potential, while the cost of raising two children continued to rise as the twins became active in sports and seemed to outgrow their clothes overnight.

Sandra’s part-time job at the newspaper helped the budget some but there never seemed to be money for any extras. Plus, the recent news that both kids were going to need braces on their teeth had caused more than one tossing and turning night for their parents.

As Sandra gathered the wash from the hampers in each bedroom she found herself once again dwelling on the money dilemma. David was still adamant about her not working full-time, wanted her home when the children returned from school each day. Michael and Molly were not going to be latch-key kids no matter how tight the budget became, and she agreed totally with David on the subject.

One possibility David had suggested in the wee hours of a night was to purchase the empty storefront next to the emporium, punch through the wall and expand.

Back in the kitchen, Sandra sorted the wash into piles on the floor, then reloaded the basket.

If they got a loan to purchase the empty building, she thought, they would be so deeply in debt, providing, of course, they could even qualify for the loan in the first place. She’d had a glimmer of hope when David had suggested the idea as it didn’t make sense that he would be thinking of expanding the store if he was planning to leave her because he just didn’t love her anymore.

But then this morning he’d made that reference to how quickly the twins would be up and gone and she couldn’t erase from her mind the image of David following them right out the door when they left.

Oh, David, she thought, wrapping her hands around her elbows. They had been so happy once, so in love, seeing nothing but sunshine and blue skies in each new day. They’d adored their newborn babies, shared the chores connected with twins and ate endless macaroni and cheese dinners while taking turns making up delectable meals they would pretend to be eating.

But at some point—oh, when had it begun?—a distance grew between them. David’s focused more and more on the children and the store, hardly seeming to have time for her at all.

It was too many years of just scraping by, she was convinced. Too many. David knew what he could have had as a professional ball player and resented the shattering of his dreams. If he ever forgot what his potential had been, his father was right there ready to remind him, having never forgiven his son for not achieving the goals set for him by the senior Mr. Westport.

“Hanging out with dirty laundry?” David said, poking his head through the doorway.

“What?” Sandra said, as she came back to the moment. “David, when are we going to discuss further the possibility of expanding the store?”

“I’m mulling it over,” he said, “and I also want to meet with the accountant and get his opinion.”

What about her opinion? Sandra thought. David had never really asked her how she felt about it, had just said it was an idea that had popped into his head and might, or might not, be the answer they were looking for.

“Oh.” Sandra nodded. “Well, I thought you and I could sit down and make a list. You know, pro and con. Brainstorm the whole thing…together.”

“Yeah, maybe. Listen, I’m taking the kids over to the city pool. Too bad you don’t like to swim because it’s at least a way to cool off for a while in this weather. Catch you later.”

“Bye.”

Sandra picked up the laundry basket and only then noted absently that David had cleaned up after the pancake breakfast. How many men would have bothered? She stopped in the middle of the room and listened as the voices and laughter of her family grew fainter and fainter in the distance, then disappeared, leaving only a chilling silence.

As David and the twins walked slowly along the sidewalk in the increasing heat, David once again sang a country and western song.

“So gross,” Molly said, rolling her eyes. “No one listens to C and W, Dad.”

“I do,” he said cheerfully.

“Well, no one young does,” Molly said.

David hooted with laughter. “There you go. At thirty-two, my sweet, I have one foot in the grave. Humor the old man and let me enjoy my choice of music before I check out.” He paused. “Hey, I want to stop at the store for a second and make sure all is well.”

“Great,” Michael said. “Can I get some gum?”

“Sure, if you pay for it,” David said, glancing down at his son.

“That is such a lame rule,” Michael said. “We own a store and I can’t even have a free pack of gum or a candy bar or a…”

“Zip it,” David said. “We’ve been over this tale of woe more times than I care to count. You want it, you buy it, end of story.”

“Lame,” Michael said.

“Dad,” Molly said, “my friend Angela got pink braces on her teeth. Those little metal things they stick on there are pink. Really. Can I have pink braces since I’m being forced to go through this torture?”

“We’ll see.”

“Mmm. I hate we’ll see because it always seems to end up being no.”

“Well, sugar lump, it all depends on whether the pink ones cost more than the regular ones,” David said. “We’ll investigate the situation. I promise. Okay?”

“I guess.” Molly sighed. “I wish we were rich.”

“Money can’t buy happiness,” David said.

“Are you happy even though we’re not rich?” Molly said.

“Yep.”

“How come?”

“Easy question,” David said, as they approached the area behind the store. “I’m married to your mother and we have two rather weird but fantastic kids.”

“We’re not weird,” Michael said, laughing.

“Can we vote on that?” David said.

The trio was smiling as they entered the store through the back entrance. David swept his gaze over the interior and nodded in approval while inhaling the tantalizing aromas of fresh bread and spices that wafted through the air. Hanging plants and a cobblestone floor created the atmosphere of an inviting outdoor market. Attractive arrangements of the multitude of offerings beckoned.

Sandra did all this, David thought, for the umpteenth time. She’d turned an ordinary convenience store into a charming and unique establishment. She was really something, his lovely Sandra.

“Hey, Henry,” David called out. “How’s it going?”

“Busy,” the young man behind the counter said. “Big run on bread, cheese and wine all morning.”

“People know your mom bakes the best bread in the North End,” David said, coming to the front of the counter.

“Yep,” Henry said. “So, Molly and Michael, what kind of trouble are you up to today?”

“We’re going swimming,” Michael said. “We don’t have air-conditioning at home and it’s hot. You’re lucky it’s your turn to work in here where it’s cool.”

Henry laughed. “I know. Now if the customers would quit coming in and disturbing me I could get my studying done. I’m never going to be a famous lawyer if I don’t pass these courses I’m taking.”

David smiled and wandered around the store as the twins chatted with Henry.

He was so lucky to have connected with the Capelli family, he mused. They were a big Italian bunch who took turns working at the store as their busy schedules allowed. Maria Capelli, the mother of the clan, provided fresh baked bread and Italian pastries, which flew off the shelves. There were some customers who only came when a Capelli was on duty because they could converse in Italian instead of faltering English.

Maria Capelli had named each of her seven children after a famous American, to the amusement of her laid-back husband, Carlo. Henry was actually Henry Ford Capelli, a fact that made the handsome young man roll his eyes in mock dismay.

David stopped at the far wall of the store where fresh produce was attractively displayed. He envisioned that wall torn down and the emporium stretching across the empty, attached building next door.

Man, he thought, talk about going into debt. But if they didn’t run the risk and go for it, they’d never make more than they were now and… But could they even get a bank to loan them what it would take to… The monthly payments on that loan would be out of sight. Scary, very scary. But Sandra kept bringing up the subject of air-conditioning, making it clear she was tired of the hot apartment and…

Hell, he thought, hooking a hand over the back of his neck. He’d been chasing these kinds of thoughts around in his mind for weeks, driving himself crazy. It was definitely time to sit down with their accountant and start crunching some numbers as accountant types liked to say. Well, not today. He was going to enjoy his kids and cool off in the city pool, which would be packed with people but what the heck.

“We’re outta here,” David called. “Invent a new car when you finish studying, Henry Ford. We’re gone.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Henry said, flapping a hand in the air. “Go away and stop bothering me with the car jokes. My brother Roy says you always get in a zinger about when he’s going to get a horse, too.”

David laughed. “Well, what do you expect when a guy is named Roy Rogers Capelli? Come on, M and M, let’s go hit the waves.”

When Sandra finished putting away the clean wash she made a big fruit salad, minus blueberries, for dinner and set a package of ground meat on the counter to defrost.

If David barbecued outside, she decided, she wouldn’t have to turn the oven back on later and heat up the already stifling house even more. Good plan. She still needed to go to the grocery store for things that Westport’s Emporium didn’t carry, then maybe there would be time to finish her article on the award-winning roses blooming in Mrs. Barelli’s garden.

As she added things to her shopping list she heard the distant, familiar sound of the chugging mail truck and headed down to the lobby to collect the day’s offering. She retrieved the mail from the box, then walked slowly back to the elevator as she shuffled through the envelopes.

“Mmm,” she said, as she entered the living room upstairs again.

A letter addressed to David from Saunders University, she mused. That was odd. He wasn’t on the alumni mailing list—as only graduates were added to that multitude of people. So why were they sending something to David?

Sandra held the envelope up to the light, then tsked in disgust as her efforts did not reveal one clue as to the contents of the envelope. Darn it. Oh, well, it was probably a request for money even though David wasn’t an official graduate.

Sandra placed the mail in its designated spot on the credenza and headed back toward the kitchen. Her mind was once again focused on what she needed from the store, the envelope from Saunders University already forgotten.

## Chapter Two

T he architect who designed the apartment building where the Westports lived had been very generous in regard to the size of the platform of the fire escape accessible through the window of the master bedroom.

Three years ago four families in the building, including the Westports, had put together a plan to spruce up the platforms. The men had provided the labor in the evenings, scraping, sanding, then painting each with glossy black enamel.

The women had supplied potluck dinners and also sewed puffy cushions to sit on to hopefully catch a breeze during the tormenting summers. Kettledrum barbecues were purchased and delicious aromas wafted through the air during the spring and summer.

At ten o’clock that night David and Sandra sat on the cushions and watched the fireflies flitting through the hot and humid air. A citronella candle burned in a small holder, casting a circle of golden light.

They’d had a pleasant evening with the kids which had included the barbecued hamburgers and fruit salad for dinner, a game of Frisbee in the playground down the street, then big dishes of ice cream with a cupcake on the side before the twins headed for bed.

David yawned.

“May I quote you on that?” Sandra said, smiling over at him.

“All that sun at the pool zapped me,” he said, turning his head to meet and match her smile. “But that’s to be expected because our charming children informed me today that I’m old because I like country and western music.”

“Well, you are in the downhill slide, sweetie pie,” Sandra said. “Me? At twenty-nine I’m still in my youthful prime.”

“Ah,” David said, nodding. He laced his fingers on his flat stomach and closed his eyes. “Maybe I’ll sleep right here tonight. It’s got to be cooler outside than it is in our bedroom.”

“The mosquitos obviously think so,” Sandra said, smacking her arm. She paused. “David?”

“Hmm?” he said, not opening his eyes.

“Are you going to tell me what was in the letter from Saunders University?”

“What—” he yawned again “—letter?”

“The one that came in the mail today. I’d forgotten about it until now.”

David opened his eyes and turned his head to frown at Sandra.

“Mail. Mail? You know, I didn’t stop long enough to check the credenza. Never thought about it. There’s a letter from Saunders? That’s a first. I’ve been spared the pitch for money all these years because I’m not an alumni, per se. That’s a perk of not graduating.”

“Let’s not broach that subject,” Sandra said. “Not tonight. Aren’t you curious about the letter?”

“Not curious enough to trek into the house and get it.” He chuckled. “But you’re obviously about to pop a seam wanting to know what it says.”

“I am not,” she said indignantly, then laughed in the next instant. “Yes, I am. I’ll go get it. Okay?”

“Hey, you can even open it and see what the deal is.”

“Nope,” she said, pushing herself to her feet. “I’ve never opened your mail and never will. I will, however, personally deliver it to you.”

“Whatever,” he said, closing his eyes again.

Sandra returned minutes later and placed the letter on David’s chest. She waited. Seconds ticked by. She tapped her foot and pursed her lips. Then she picked up the letter and smacked him in the head with it. David laughed in delight and snatched the envelope from her hand.

“I wondered how long you’d last,” he said, tearing the end off the envelope.

He shook out a folded piece of stationery, then tilted it toward the candlelight so he could see to read the typing.

“I’ll be damned,” he said finally.

Sandra sat sideways on the cushion and leaned toward him.

“What? What?” she said.

“Do you remember Professor Harrison? Gilbert Harrison?”

“Harrison,” Sandra said slowly, searching her mind. “No, I… Oh, wait. Yes. He was my advisor. I saw him twice, that was it. Once to get my class list approved, and then later to have him sign my withdrawal slip when I quit. Is that who the letter is from?”

“Yeah,” David said. “Here—read it yourself.”

Sandra accepted the paper and shifted closer to the candle.

“He says he’s planning a reunion of a select number of students and he’s inviting you to come and bring your lovely wife, Sandra? He realizes that it’s short notice and while it would be nice if everyone could arrive at once he realizes that might not be possible. But he does hope we’ll come to the campus before the fall semester starts.” She looked over at David who met her gaze. “This is strange, David. It’s certainly a weird way to have a reunion. Do you think Professor Harrison has gotten senile since we were at Saunders?”

“I doubt it,” David said. “He’d only…let’s see…oh, probably be in his mid-to late fifties now. That’s a tad young for dementia.”

“I know, but this last line here where he says it’s actually imperative that all those he is inviting arrive before the fall semester starts has a…a frantic tone to it, don’t you think?”

“What I think is that your journalist mind is working overtime,” David said. “A summer reunion just makes more sense because he’ll be so busy when fall classes start up again.”

“Mmm,” she said. “Okay, I’ll give you that one. But who are these select number of former students, and why are you one of them?”

“I don’t have a clue.”

“And we’ll never know, because we aren’t going to his planned-at-the-last-minute reunion.”

“Why not?” David said, frowning. “The week after next the kids are scheduled to attend that sport camp. We’ll have a whole week free. Well, we’d have to pay Henry and company to cover the store but…” He shrugged. “What the hell, it’s only money.”

“But…” Sandra said. “I was hoping you and I might be able to have a few days in a…a romantic bed and breakfast and…I got some brochures for you to look at and…” She sighed. “Never mind. It would be more than our budget could handle, anyway.”

“Honey, listen,” David said, reaching over and taking one of her hands. “The bed-and-breakfast thing sounds nice, it really does but…look, when I was at Saunders I had a lot going on with Professor Harrison. He was my advisor, I was in his freshman and sophomore English classes, and he was the batting coach for the baseball team.”

“Oh,” she said. “I forgot about that.”

“I owe the man a lot,” David continued. “He was good to me, a friend as well as all the other roles he had in my life. When I plain old flunked out he was upset for me, not at me, you get what I mean?

“My father practically disowned me because I wasn’t going to be a pro baseball player, has never really forgiven me because he lived his life through me after my mom died. You know how strained things still are between my dad and me.

“Anyway, I just feel that if Professor Harrison wants me at this reunion thing, whatever it is, I should be there. Lord knows, he was always there for me when I needed him.”

“I understand, David. Okay,” Sandra said quietly. “I wonder how many days he wants you to be on campus? Having to go back and forth between Saunders and here is a wicked drive in the traffic. Well, whatever. Sure. It’s fine.”

“Hey, how about this?” he said, squeezing her hand. “I know you’re disappointed about the bed-and-breakfast plan. What if we stayed in Boston in a hotel, eat out, the whole bit? I’ll even go to a couple of museums with you. What do you think?”

Sandra smiled. “That sounds wonderful. Thank you, David. But I do keep wondering how long Professor Harrison expects you to be there for this reunion?”

“Even more,” David said, frowning, “I wonder why the sudden reunion in the first place?”

At the church bake sale the next morning, Sandra and one of her close friends, Cindy Morrison, shuffled goodies around on the long table to make more room for the offerings. As they worked, stopping to smile at people who picked up their selections, Sandra told Cindy about the letter from Professor Harrison.

“That’s not a reunion,” Cindy said, shaking her head. “It’s a demand—okay, I’ll be nice—a request to a chosen group to come back to the campus. A college reunion is a whole slew of people that were in the same graduating class of whenever, stuff like that. I’ve never heard of anything like this Professor Harrison guy is asking for. If this was a movie I’d have the creeps by now.”

Sandra laughed. “There’s nothing sinister about it, Cindy, it’s just unusual. Strange. Well, borderline weird.”

Cindy sighed. “Well, all you can do is show up and find out what the scoop is. Plus, you get some delicious private time with that sexy husband of yours. The last time I suggested such a thing to Paul he said it sounded great, just be sure and call ahead to make sure the hotel I booked was near an eighteen-hole golf course. He’s as romantic as a rock.”

“But you love him,” Sandra said, smiling.

“Yeah. He’s a jerk, but he’s my jerk. I may even forgive him for giving me a Crock-Pot for Christmas last year.” Cindy paused. “Back to the mystery. You don’t know the names of the other people Professor Harrison wants to see. Right?”

“Right.”

“Darn. There might have been a clue there.” Cindy tapped one fingertip against her chin. “You know, like they all played baseball and he’s getting nostalgic in his old age and wants to see the team he helped coach. You know, like A League of Their Own.”

“Yes,” Sandra said, nodding slowly. “It’s probably something that simple. If he would have said get together instead of reunion I probably wouldn’t have gotten into such a dither. It’s just that, like you said, a reunion usually means a whole bunch of people and this is a chosen bunch of people and…We’ve been over all this. I’ll give you a full report when we get back.”

“Including details about your private time with sexy David?” Cindy said, wiggling her eyebrows.

“No!”

“Mom,” Michael said, coming to the front of the table carrying a plate. “Can we buy these?”

“Michael,” Sandra said, “I made those cupcakes. There are still some left at home.”

“Not many and they’re good.”

“Well, thank you, sir,” she said, laughing, “but go pick something someone else baked so we can have a surprise.”

“What if it’s gross?”

“Then we’ll all die of food poisoning, or some dread disease,” she said. “Live wild, Michael.”

“Lame,” he said, stomping away.

“He’s so cute,” Cindy said.

“Easy for you to say,” Sandra said, “your bundle of joy is still in diapers and can’t talk. Ten is a gruesome age. To Michael, everything is lame. Molly? Her word for the year is ‘boring,’ which even includes breakfast, I’ll have you know.”

“Actually,” Cindy said, staring into space, “breakfast is a bit boring if you think about it.”

“Not my blueberry pancakes made into animal shapes,” David said, seeming to have appeared out of nowhere.

“Hi, David,” Cindy said, smiling. “Sandra and I have been trying to solve the mystery of the so-called reunion, but Agatha Christies we are not. I’m going to be very disappointed if it’s something as boring—to quote your daughter—as a gathering of the ancient baseball team.”

“Ancient?” David said, his eyes widening. “How do you feel about country and western music, Ms. Morrison? I do believe you and Paul took line-dancing lessons last year if my memory serves. According to Molly that automatically qualifies you for Medicare.”

“I used to like your kids,” Cindy said, laughing, “but erase that. Jeez.”

“Sandra,” David said, turning to his wife, “are you ready for this? I was just talking to Clem Hunter. He and Madge are leaving for Europe next week.” He jiggled some keys at eye level. “He loaned us his car for the trip to Boston. A car that has air-conditioning that actually works every time you turn it on. How about that?”

“David,” Sandra said, her eyes as big as saucers, “Clem drives a Lexus. We can’t borrow a Lexus and take it into city traffic. What if it gets bumped or bent or something gruesome?”

“Whoa,” Cindy said. “Remember what you told your son, Sandra. Live wild. Take the Lexus.”

“Amen,” David said, nodding decisively. “We’re going in the Lexus. The station wagon has air that works when it’s in the mood and my clunker pickup doesn’t have air, or heat for that matter. Oh, by the way, I put my name on some goodies for dessert from this vast array of delicacies.”

“You did?” Sandra said. “Michael is picking out something even as we speak. What did you buy?”

“Some of your cupcakes.”

Cindy dissolved in a fit of laughter.

On the Friday afternoon before they left for Saunders, Sandra hired a teenage neighbor to take the twins to the city pool.

She was going to have one new dress, she decided. She couldn’t remember when she’d been so self-indulgent, but by the same token she couldn’t remember when she’d had David all to herself.

Whatever Professor Harrison wanted of David, it wouldn’t take up his time for twenty-four hours a day. And when bedtime came it would be just the two of them in the luscious hotel where David had made the reservations.

Her first thought had been to buy a seductive nightie, but she’d shifted mental gears and decided she’d rather have a special dress to wear to one of the romantic and just-the-two-of-them dinners they would share.

As Sandra browsed through a medium-priced store, she frowned.

She was counting so much on this trip putting the spark back into her and David’s marriage. She wanted him to look at her and realize he still loved her, tell her so with that love glowing in his eyes, erase from his mind the idea of leaving her when the twins were grown. She wanted him to make sweet, sweet love to her for hours, declaring his love and devotion over and over. She wanted to come home knowing they still had a forever together.

Sandra sighed as she took a hanger from a rack and held the dress at arm’s length to scrutinize it.

Or was it too late for any of that? she thought miserably. Would being back on the Saunders University campus just emphasize to David how close he had come to achieving his dreams of being a professional ball player and all that status would bring to his world? Dreams that had been shattered by her tearful announcement that she was pregnant. Would this trip do more damage to their marriage than good? God, what a depressing thought.

Sandra returned home without a new dress, her enthusiasm for the purchase completely erased by her chilling thoughts. She had a long, loud cry in the shower.

Even though the incredible Lexus now sat in their driveway, Sandra put her foot down about making the trip to Connecticut in the expensive car to meet her parents, who were going to take care of the twins during their week at sport camp.

“Absolutely not, David,” she said, planting her hands on her hips. “The kids think they’re starving two seconds after they fasten their seat belts. I’ll be a nervous wreck the whole time because I’ll be afraid they’ll spill something or get that butter-soft leather sticky or… No. No, no, no. We’re going in the wagon.”

“But…”

“No!”

David nodded. “I have a great idea. Let’s drive to Connecticut in the station wagon.”

“You’re a wise man, Mr. Westport.”

On Sunday they drove to the agreed-upon meeting place in Bridgeport, Connecticut, where they enjoyed lunch with Sandra’s parents.

“This whole reunion mystery is fascinating,” her mother said in the restaurant.

“Only because this Professor Harrison used the word reunion,” Sandra’s father said, “instead of saying he’d like to see a few of his favorite students again if possible. You women are making too much of this thing. Right, David?” He looked at his son-in-law. “Right?”

David shrugged. “I don’t know. There was a…oh, a strange tone to the letter from Professor Harrison. I should have brought the letter along so you could see what I mean. I’m afraid I’ll have to side with the ladies on this one. It is a tad mysterious.”

“Score one for us, darling,” Sandra’s mother said, patting her daughter’s hand.

“Professor Harrison brainwashed you when you were going there,” Michael said, in a deep voice. “You are under his control, Dad, and when he says a certain word you will be powerless. The time has come for you to carry out a secret assignment, which will result in pizza being delivered to our house three times a week free of charge for the next one hundred and fifty years. That is the mystery surrounding his demand to see you.”

Molly giggled.

“I understand,” David said, matching Michael’s deep tone. “I have only one question, Mighty Michael.”

“Speak.”

“What toppings are on the pizzas?”

“May I come live with you, Mother?” Sandra said.

“No, dear. I’m afraid whatever it is those two have might be catching. You may already be affected. Have you made out your will? I’d like to have the cute little garden gnome you have on the fire escape.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Sandra said, laughing. “This entire family is cuckoo.”

When Sandra and David drove out of the parking lot to the restaurant, Sandra sniffled.

“The kids looked so little all of a sudden, David. They’re awfully young to be away a whole week.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean. I almost canceled the deal at the last minute and told them to get into this vehicle because we were going home.” David chuckled. “Do note that you and I are the only ones who are struggling with this. The kids were all smiles.”

“I realize that.” Sandra sighed. “Well, at least they’ll be sleeping under my parents’ roof every night during the week. That makes me feel a bit better.”

“And it’s not as though we’re just going to be hanging around a suddenly very quiet house,” David said, glancing over at her. “We’re off on our own adventure.”

“Yes. Staying in a fancy hotel, dining instead of just eating dinner, able to concentrate on each other with no interruptions.” Sandra sighed wistfully. “It will, indeed, be an adventure. A very romantic one, don’t you think?”

“Oh. Oh, sure thing. You bet.”

Sandra frowned. “But you were referring to the adventure of meeting with Professor Harrison. Right?”

“Well…”

“David?”

“Guilty as charged,” he said, grinning at her. “But only because the subject practically consumed the conversation at lunch.”

“Mmm,” Sandra said, rolling her eyes heavenward. She looked over at David again. “Did you call Professor Harrison and tell him we were coming?”

“No, I thought about doing that,” David said, his attention riveted on the heavy traffic, “but when I stopped and remembered all the times we had to cancel plans because of sick kids or an emergency at the store or car trouble, and on and on, I decided to not jinx this trip. We’ll just show up and surprise him.”

“In our Lexus,” Sandra said, poking her nose in the air. “Oh, la-di-da.”

“I’m going to make a sign to put in the back window of the Lexus,” David said, smiling, “that says, ‘This car is borrowed so don’t hit it.’” He glanced quickly at his watch. “You know, if we make decent time getting home it won’t be too late for a very enjoyable activity.”

Sandra’s heart did a little two-step.

Like making love? she thought. In the living room. The kitchen. Anywhere they wanted to because the house was all theirs. Or maybe in the shower. Oh, heavens, how many years had it been since they’d done that?

“Oh?” she said, attempting to produce a seductive little purr in her voice that actually sounded like she needed to clear her throat.

“Yeah. I might be able to catch the last of the baseball game on the tube. A bottle of beer, a hot batch of popcorn, put my feet up and enjoy.”

Sandra’s shoulders slumped. “Well, fine, David, but I want you to know that if you ever give me a Crock-Pot for Christmas I won’t forgive you like Cindy would.”

“Huh?”

“Never mind,” she said, looking out the side window. “Just drive the car and get us home. I’m going to take a long, leisurely bubble bath when we get there.”

“Good for you,” he said, pressing a little harder on the gas pedal. “We both have something to look forward to this evening.”

Separate somethings, Sandra thought miserably. Didn’t David realize that were growing further and further apart, traveling in the same direction but not intertwined? Maybe he did, but didn’t care. Why would it upset him if he didn’t love her anymore?

Oh, they got along fine, didn’t argue, laughed, talked, made love when they weren’t exhausted, moved from one day to the next with the major focus of their existence being on their children.

Sandra sighed.

But David no longer said that he loved her.

## Chapter Three

D avid spent Monday morning at the store, then after lunch placed his and Sandra’s suitcases in the trunk of the Lexus. He opened the passenger-side door and, with a deep bow and a sweep of his arm invited Sandra to enter the lush automobile. She sank onto the leather seat and laughed in delight.

“Oh, my gosh, David,” she said, “this is incredible. It’s like sitting on a marshmallow.”

David chuckled. “Which, of course, you do all the time so you’re in a position to make that comparison.”

“Oh, hush. You know what I mean. I could get used to this. Forget that. I’d better not get used to this.”

David closed the door and came around to slide behind the wheel. He turned the key in the ignition and the engine purred to life.

“Oh, yeah,” he said. “That’s it. That’s all I have to say. Just…oh, yeah.”

“Well, here we go,” Sandra said, as David backed out of the driveway. “We’re off to Saunders University where we haven’t been in over ten years. I wonder if the campus has changed much?”

“I doubt it,” David said, turning on the radio. “It’s a landmark type place. People want it to stay the same. You know, something solid, old-fashioned looking, generation after generation with its rolling green lawns, tall shade trees, two-and three-story red brick buildings. It’s sort of a postcard-perfect example of an eastern college. I think the only addition in years has been the bike racks.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Sandra said. “They may have purchased more of the surrounding homes to convert into dorms for the students, though. There was an article in the paper last year about the student population of Saunders getting bigger every year.”

“Student population,” David said, smiling over at her. “Be prepared, my sweet, because I have a feeling that any of said students that we see who are attending the summer session are going to look very, very young to us. Ten years is a long time.”

“Being on that campus is going to bring back a great many memories, David,” Sandra said, looking at him intently. “I’m sure you’ll be remembering how close you came to achieving your dreams for your career as a professional baseball player.”

“I suppose,” he said, with a shrug. “But that’s old news. My father is the only one still pouting and brooding about it.”

“Don’t you think of what could have been when you watch a professional game like you did last night?”

“Only when the announcer mentions how much money those guys make and I’m worried about paying for the twins’ braces,” he said, laughing.

“I still think you’re going to have a rush of memories when you set foot on that campus.”

David frowned. “Am I missing a message here? Are you trying to make a point that is going right over the top of my head?”

“Well, I…” Sandra sighed. “Never mind. I’ll be quiet so you can concentrate on driving. The traffic is already bumper to bumper and we don’t want any of those bumpers hitting this car.”

“Right.”

David glanced quickly at Sandra again, then redirected his attention to the sea of vehicles surrounding him.

What was going on in Sandra’s pretty head? he thought. Why was she clutching her hands so tightly in her lap as though she was on the way to the dentist for a root canal? What was the big deal about old memories when returning to where a guy went to school? Everyone would have memories under the circumstances. It wasn’t something to get uptight about.

Well, yeah, sure, once in a while when he was losing sleep, like now—because he was facing the decision about whether or not to go into deep debt to enlarge the emporium—he thought about the big bucks he could have made as a pro player.

But if things had gone that way, they might not have had twin babies and he couldn’t imagine life without Molly and Michael. And there would be no Westport’s Emporium, and he sincerely liked owning the store and the great people who came to shop there.

Life as he knew it now would not exist. He’d be away from home a great deal of the time, traveling with whatever team he played for. He’d be missing so much of the kids’ lives and he’d hate that. He’d be sleeping in hotel rooms half of the year and not next to Sandra in their bed and he’d really, really hate that.

They’d live in an enormous house with air-conditioning, he mentally rambled on, with a deck constructed by strangers. There’d be no spending hot summer nights on the fire escape.

Yes, he’d like to be able to provide more for his family, even get Molly her pink braces, and a pro baseball contract would have made that possible. Sandra could have nicer clothes and a car like this one, with air-conditioning that worked every time she turned it on. Yep, an air-conditioned house and cool air in the car.

But his connection with his family for the majority of every given year would be by phone and you couldn’t get a hug over the phone. You couldn’t make love to your wife over the phone, then lie there and watch her sleep, marveling at how beautiful she still was. And there probably wouldn’t be time to make blueberry pancakes in the shape of animals.

No, when he added it all up, he was content with his life as it was…except for being broke most of the time. Sandra was working herself into a dither over how he might feel when the memories slam-dunked him when he walked across the campus of Saunders University. The might-have-beens. But she didn’t have to worry about that. He was a very happy man.

David began to sing along with the country and western song playing on the radio, not realizing as he belted out the words that Sandra wasn’t singing with him as she usually did.

The drive from the North End to the far west side of Boston took more than an hour due to the heavy traffic and several detours caused by road repairs. The Westports were more than ready to hand over the keys to the Lexus to the parking valet at the Paul Revere Hotel where David had made reservations. The five-story structure was one of Boston’s finest hotels and was located about two miles from the Saunders University Campus.

Sandra was definitely smiling when David unlocked the door to the fifth floor room and stepped back for her to enter.

“Oh, David,” she said, spinning around in the middle of the large room, “look at this. Antiques. I think the furniture in here is real antiques. It’s like really being back in the days of Paul Revere.”

“Nope,” David said, peering into the bathroom. “I don’t think ol’ Paul had a hot tub.”

“You’re kidding,” Sandra said, rushing across the room to look over David’s shoulder. “You’re not kidding. A hot tub. I’ve never been in one. Let’s try it out right now.”

“Patience, my sweet,” David said, chuckling. He turned and pulled Sandra into his embrace. “Tonight we’ll check out the hot tub when we don’t have to get dressed again and go out.”

“We wouldn’t have to go out now if we don’t want to,” she said, circling his neck with her arms. “It’s not like you have a set appointment with Professor Harrison. No one even knows we’re here, David. We could lounge in the hot tub, make love, order dinner in from room service, make love and…”

David laughed. “You’re acting like we’re on our honeymoon.”

“Well, what’s wrong with that? We didn’t get a honeymoon, remember? It’s ten years late, but here we are.”

David dropped a quick kiss on her lips.

“Hey, humor me, okay?” he said. “This reunion thing of Professor Harrison’s is consuming my brain, probably because everyone we’ve told about it has made such a big deal out of it being strange, and weird and whatever. I don’t think I’ll be able to really relax until I know what the scoop is. I’d like to head over to the campus and see Professor Harrison now, put to rest all this silly speculation about what’s going on. Okay?”

“Sure,” Sandra said, producing a small smile as she stepped back out of David’s arms. “No problem. The hot tub can wait. I would like to unpack, though, so our clothes aren’t any more wrinkled than they probably already are.”

“Your wish is my command,” David said, heading toward the suitcases.

“Yeah, right,” Sandra said, under her breath. “I definitely see an unromantic Christmas Crock-Pot in my future.”

“What?” David said, looking back at her.

“Nothing. Nothing at all.”

Before Sandra felt emotionally prepared for it to happen, she and David were walking across the Saunders campus toward the building where Professor Harrison had had his office a decade before. A knot tightened in her stomach with each memory-filled step she took.

“Look at this place,” David said, sweeping one arm through the air. “I told you it would look exactly the same. Well, the trees are taller. Man, those are big son-of-a-guns, aren’t they? Hey, remember the time we were stretched out on this grass, supposedly studying, but actually concentrating on ice-cream cones we got from that vendor and the sprinklers came on to water?”

Sandra laughed. “Oh, I’d forgotten all about that. It was so funny. There must have been close to fifty of us who got soaked.”

“It didn’t do much for our ice-cream cones, either. Turned out the timer on the sprinklers was broken and the watering was usually done at night, but that afternoon we were taking a bath.”

“What was it the campus newspaper said when they wrote about it?” Sandra said, narrowing her eyes. “Something about a surprise wet T-shirt contest held for all to enjoy free of charge, or some such thing.”

“Yep,” David said, wiggling his eyebrows. “And I do recall that you were one of those wearing a T-shirt that day. Oh, yeah, lookin’ good.”

“Hush,” she said, punching him playfully on the arm.

“Perky,” David whispered.

“Perky went south after I nursed twins, Mr. Westport. Perky was replaced with saggy.”

“Small price to pay,” David said, suddenly serious, “for how beautiful you were when you nursed our babies, Sandra. You always had such a serene, womanly smile on your face and I often wished I knew how to draw or paint or something so I could capture those moments forever.”

“What a lovely thing to say,” Sandra said, looking up at him, tears coming to her eyes.

David shrugged and pointed to a building just ahead.

“There it is,” he said. “I hope Professor Harrison is in his office—otherwise this is going to be rather anticlimactic.”

“Mmm,” Sandra said.

She’d been beautiful when she’d nursed the twins? she thought incredulously. For heaven’s sake, why hadn’t David said something like that at the time, when she was feeling fat and frumpy and starving herself to death trying to lose the weight she gained during her pregnancy?

Before Sandra could decide if she wanted to slug David again, he pulled open the door to the building they had reached and ushered her inside. He stopped at the directory on the wall and nodded.

“Professor Harrison is on the second floor,” he said, “same office as before. You’d think he would have been eligible for a bigger place by now. Some of those offices are twice the size his was.”

“Maybe he doesn’t like change. Some people are more comfortable with the familiar. I don’t know, really, because I only spoke to the man twice in my life. You’re the one who had so many different connections to him.”

“Yes, I did, and I think you have a valid point,” David said, nodding. “Without actually being able to give you an example, I just have a feeling that you’re right, he doesn’t like change.” He paused. “Well, here we go. Hiking up a steep flight of stairs and waiting to see if we need oxygen when we get to the top because we’re a heck of a lot older than when we used to sprint up staircases in a single bound.”

“Oh, ha,” Sandra said. “You’re in terrific shape, and you know it. I’m the slug who will be gasping.”

“Once a jock,” David said, placing one hand on his heart, “always a jock.”

“How profound.”

At the top of the many stairs, Sandra informed David that she wasn’t even winded and how about that, Mr. Jock?

“You’re a fine example of womanhood,” he said. “Enjoy it while you can because our children will soon be informing you that you’re old like their father and…”

“David,” Sandra interrupted, looking down the hallway. “Isn’t that…? Oh, I’m sure it is. Yes.” She started quickly forward. “Rachel Jones? Oh, my gosh, Rachel, is that really you?”

A tall, slender woman cocked her head slightly and stared at the approaching Westports, an expression of confusion on her face. Then, as though a lightbulb suddenly turned on, a bright smile of recognition lit up her face and she hurried toward the couple.

“Sandra,” Rachel said, giving her a quick hug, then repeating the gesture as she turned to David. “David. You two look fabulous. David, I swear, you haven’t gained an ounce since you wore that tight sexy baseball uniform. Weren’t those exciting days? I spent more time without a voice than with one from screaming my head off every time you came up to bat. Our star. Our school hero.” She laughed. “And you look just as yummy today, you rotten bum.”

And Rachel looked even better than she had ten years before, Sandra mused. Goodness, she was a beautiful woman and maturity just added to her uniqueness. She’d always had such lovely, café au lait toned skin, compliments of her African-American mother, she’d said, and she was now wearing her curly black hair longer, brushing the tops of her shoulders.

She was wearing jeans and a hip-length over-blouse. Just like ten years before, Rachel’s clothes appeared a size too large for her, a trick she’d told Sandra helped conceal what Rachel considered a skinny body she had no desire to put on display. Sandra’s frequent declaration that women would kill for a figure like Rachel’s had no affect on her mind-set.

“Yeah, those were the glory days,” David was saying as Sandra tuned back in to the conversation between him and Rachel. “Saunders being the state champs in baseball two years in a row was really something. We had great teams back then.”

“You’re being too modest,” Rachel said, then looked at Sandra. “Isn’t he? He was the star of those teams. We never would have been state champs without him. Right, Sandra?”

“Absolutely,” Sandra said, shifting her gaze to David.

David was glowing, she thought, feeling a chill course through her. His green eyes were sparkling, actually sparkling, and the smile on his face couldn’t get any bigger. It had started already, the reminiscing, the dishing up of exciting memories of when David was the campus hero, the golden boy, with a fabulous future before him that included playing professional baseball when he graduated.

She wanted to go home. Right now. She wanted to grab David and run back to their little apartment and close the door, stay grounded in the reality of the world where they actually existed, not be here in the arena of what might have been possible for him.

“Are you here because you were invited to Professor Harrison’s reunion, Rachel?” Sandra said, deciding she could at least change the subject from baseball to why the three of them were standing in that hallway.

Rachel nodded. “Yes, I got in yesterday afternoon. Oh, you’ll never guess who Professor Harrison’s secretary is. Jane Jackson.”

“No kidding?” Sandra said. “It will be nice to see her again.”

“Well, she’s on vacation at the moment,” Rachel said. “Professor Harrison has asked me to help him locate Jacob Weber with the hope he’ll attend this shindig.”

“That jerk?” David said, frowning. “Professor Harrison wants him to be part of this get-together?”

“Yes, he does,” Rachel said. “Apparently Jacob is a fairly famous fertility specialist now. Hard to fathom, isn’t it? That creepy Jacob could be a sympathetic doctor who is dedicating his life to making it possible for couples to have babies? That’s not the self-centered Jacob we knew. But…” She shrugged. “Ten years is a long time. We should keep an open mind about him, I suppose.”

“If he’s so famous why is he hard to locate?” David said.

“Because he has clinics in this country and in Europe,” Rachel said, wriggling her nose. “La-di-da. I guess in order to work uninterrupted by people hoping he’ll take them on as patients or clients or whatever, none of the clinics will say if he’s there but will gladly take a message and blah, blah, blah. So far, he hasn’t called back. I’m trying to get fax numbers for the overseas clinics because Professor Harrison is paying for the calls and I’m running up his personal bill already.”

“Speaking of the man who decided to have this rather strange…reunion…if you can actually call it that,” Sandra said, “how is he? Has he changed much in ten years from the fun loving, smiling professor we knew?”

Rachel frowned and wrapped her hands around her elbows.

“He’s changed a great deal,” she said quietly. “It’s sad, it really is.”

“What do you mean?” David said, matching her frown.

“He hardly smiles at all now,” Rachel said. “Did you know his wife, Mary, died eight months ago?”

“No,” Sandra said. “Oh, that’s awful. What happened?”

“He told me yesterday that Mary was always frail, had a heart condition, which was why they never had children,” Rachel said. “She’s been almost completely bedridden for several years and… Well, she died. Professor Harrison is only fifty-eight but he seems much older, sort of…defeated.”

“He must miss his wife very much,” Sandra said.

“Yes, but I think there’s more going on that just that because…” Rachel said, then shook her head. “No, I’m not going to go there. It’s probably just my imagination working overtime. Forget I said anything.”

Sandra laughed. “Oh, like I’m just going to erase that enticing little tidbit.”

“Ha,” David said, with a hoot of laughter. “You might as well give up right now, Rachel, and spill it.”

“No, not until I have a better handle on what’s going on around here,” Rachel said. “By the way, did you know that Professor Harrison is no longer teaching? As of a few years ago, in fact. Oh, and he quit coaching baseball right after you left here, David. He’s strictly a student advisor and counselor now.”

“Lucky students,” David said, nodding.

“You’re right,” Rachel said, “because even in the short time I’ve been on campus I’ve seen that his approach to his kids hasn’t changed. The summer session students are in and out of here, always welcome, even if it’s just for a need to hang out somewhere if they’re feeling homesick or overwhelmed, or want a place they know they can kick back and rap.” She laughed. “Would you listen to me? Rap? I’m aging myself by opening my mouth. Rap now is music, not conversation.”

“I repeat,” David said, “lucky students.”

“Yes,” Rachel said, sighing, “but everything else about our professor is different, and I know I’m sounding like a broken record but it’s sad, it really is. You’ll see for yourself when you meet with him.”

“Is he in his office?” David said.

“Not right now,” Rachel said. “He had an appointment with the president of the college board of directors. Some guy named Alex Broadstreet, who wasn’t here when we were. I took the call from that Broadstreet guy. He said he wanted to see Professor Harrison immediately. It wasn’t a nicely scheduled appointment, if you know what I mean. Professor Harrison was very stressed when he left here to answer the summons.

“That’s why I think something is… No, erase that. I’m overreacting and I said I’d gather more data before I broached the subject of what is bothering the professor besides the death of his wife.”

“But…” Sandra said.

“Forget it, Sandra,” David said, smiling. “Rachel’s lips are sealed.”

“I can’t stand this,” Sandra said, rolling her eyes heavenward. “You’re a mean woman, Rachel. Gorgeous, but mean.”

“I just don’t want to talk out of turn until I’m sure of what I’m saying, Sandra,” Rachel said. “Okay?”

“No.” Sandra laughed. “Okay.”

“Why don’t we go over to the cafeteria in the student union and get a cold drink?” Rachel said. “I want to see pictures of your family, get caught up on news. We three were such close friends and it’s awful that we lost touch. You two dropped out after you got married, I left to get married and…poof…we were gone. We should never have allowed that to happen, but it’s understandable, I guess. We had new, complicated and busy lives.”