Sara simply nodded, not trusting herself to speak. She’d bet her next album proceeds that Dr. Nick didn’t have long hair. Or a tattoo. She’d also bet that if the good doctor took a woman out to eat, he’d take her to Luciano’s for pasta or Kincaid’s for a steak rather than to a hole-in-the-wall diner for a pork tenderloin and a pitcher of beer.
But she’d also bet that Nick wasn’t half the man Crow was on the inside. Raven was a fool if she didn’t realize that’s what really mattered.
“Sara?” Raven touched her shoulder. “Are you okay? You look pale.”
“I’m fine.” Sara shook her head and smiled ruefully. Here she was condemning Raven for pursuing the same type of man Sara had always pictured herself marrying—a Dr. Nick kind of guy; a successful professional who looked like he’d stepped off the pages of GQ.
Not like the type of men her mother had dated. Not like Gary Burke.
A shiver traveled up Sara’s spine.
“I don’t care what you say.” Raven took Sara by the shoulder and propelled her to an empty table nearby. “You don’t look fine.”
“I’m just…hungry.” Sara seized the first excuse that came to mind. And it wasn’t a lie. She hadn’t eaten since the morning and her stomach rumbled its displeasure.
“That I can do something about.” Raven smiled. “Wait here.”
In a matter of minutes, Raven returned, balancing two plates overflowing with hors d’oeuvres.
“What did you do?” Sara asked. “Clean ’em out?”
Raven’s eyes crinkled and she laughed. “One guy had the nerve to say I was going to get fat.”
“What did you say?” Sara picked up a tiny crab rangoon from one of the plates Raven had set on the table.
Raven reached for a water chestnut wrapped in bacon and shrugged. “Nothing. I knew he was just mad because I got the last of the caviar.”
“Caviar?” Sara’s gaze scanned the mounds of food. “I don’t see any caviar.”
Raven smiled. “That’s because I ate it.”
Sara chuckled and picked up an egg roll. “Sounds like something I’d have done.”
If Crow wasn’t in the picture, Sara had a feeling she and Raven would have become friends. It had been years since she’d had a good friend. Not since junior high. She and Christine Jablonski had been inseparable. But once Sara went to foster care she hadn’t seen or heard from Christine.
That wasn’t entirely true. Last year, Chris had sent her an email. After much thought and prayer, Sara had composed a brief response that hadn’t encouraged further communication. Christine was part of the past she wanted to forget even existed. Contacting her would open a door Sara was determined to keep closed.
A door Gary was equally determined to blast open.
“Does your family live in St. Louis?” Raven asked, taking a dainty bite of a chicken wing.
Sara groaned to herself. Though the question was innocent, it highlighted her main reason for keeping people at arm’s length. She didn’t like questions about her past and she hated to lie. “I grew up in south St. Louis. My father split when I was a baby and my mother moved away years ago.”
Raven took another water chestnut from the plate and disposed of the appetizer in short order. “A woman in our office, Linda Drew, grew up in that part of town. I don’t suppose you know her?”
Sara shook her head, thankful the name didn’t ring any bells. But even if she’d known Raven’s co-worker, she wasn’t sure she’d have admitted it. “I’m afraid not.”
Stuffing a tiny cracker into her mouth to forestall any further questions, Sara glanced around the room, hoping to change the topic.
James had moved closer to the bar and now stood talking to a tall broad-shouldered man with dark hair. Though she couldn’t quite make out his face from this distance, he looked vaguely familiar. Sara gestured her head in James’s direction. “Do you know who that guy is?”
“Which one?” Raven frowned.
“The one with the black hair, talking to James.”
Raven narrowed her gaze for a moment and her expression grew thoughtful. “I think that’s Jerry…oh what’s his name? Birkle? Burkey? Burke? He’s with…”
Sara’s blood ran cold. It couldn’t be him.
Gary Burke would never be at a party like this. She didn’t realize she’d spoken aloud until Raven answered.
“Not Gary Burke,” Raven said. “It’s Jerry something. He’s one of our city government officials, though right now his exact title escapes me.”
Sara released the breath she’d been holding.
Raven stared at Sara. “This Gary Burke. Is he a friend of yours?”
“Friend?” Sara said in a voice that seemed to come from a long way away. “More like enemy.”
Raven’s gaze turned thoughtful and Sara wanted to kick herself all the way around the block. Instead, Sara forced a laugh. “I think we all have people we’d just as soon forget, don’t you?”
Raven agreed and started talking about a boss she’d once had and Sara said a prayer of thanks.
Whatever had possessed her to say Gary’s name? The stress of the last few months must be affecting her more than she realized. Thankfully Raven already seemed to have forgotten it. And at least she’d only said it to Raven. It could have been worse. She could have said it to Meg. Or to Crow.
“Are you about ready?” Sara’s voice filtered through Crow’s bedroom door. “If we don’t leave soon, we’re going to be late for church.”
Crow grabbed his suit coat and shot a quick glance in the mirror. With his hair pulled back, and dressed in the charcoal-gray suit his parents had got him last year for Christmas, he looked…different. Not like himself.
“Crow,” Impatience filled Sara’s voice. “It’s time to—”
He opened the door abruptly and stopped, a low whistle escaping his lips. “You look fabulous.”
A smile flashed before her lips pursed. “Save the sweet talk. We’re running late.”
She turned on her heel, not waiting for a reply and Crow had to run to keep up with her. Before he knew it they were in the car and she was barking orders at him as if he was her chauffeur or her husband—turn left here, turn right at the light, follow the curve—until finally they reached their destination.
The church sat to the north of the parking lot on a small hill. With its white clapboard siding and arched stained glass windows, it reminded Crow of something straight out of a Thomas Kinkade painting.
He’d expected a large congregation. Instead, the building before him, with its doors open wide and a white-frocked minister at the top of the steps herding the last of the stragglers inside, couldn’t have held more than a hundred people.
Crow pulled into a parking space and shut off the engine. He’d planned on being one of the crowd, an anonymous visitor. But in a church this small, there would be no place to hide. Either from the other parishioners. Or from God.
Crow reached for the door handle but Sara stopped him with a hand on his arm. Concern filled her gaze. “Is something wrong?”