Birthright

at the back of her throat wasn’t humor. “I have to go see her, Jake. I have to go tell her we have to take tests. I don’t know how to handle her.”
    He touched a hand to hers, but kept the contact brief. “You’ll figure it out.”
    “She has a son. I guess I have to figure out how to handle him, too.”
    D oug was trying to figure out how to handle himself where Lana Campbell was concerned.
    She was already at the table when he got to the restaurant, and was sipping a glass of white wine. She was in a summer dress—soft, sheer, simple—instead of the slick business suits he’d seen so far.
    She smiled when he sat across from her, then angled her head the way he’d seen her do when she was considering something. Or someone.
    “I wasn’t sure you’d show up.”
    “If I hadn’t, my grandfather would have disowned me.”
    “We’re so mean, ganging up on you this way. Would you like a drink?”
    “What have you got there?”
    “This?” She lifted it to the light of the candle between them. “A very palatable California chardonnay, buttery, but not overbearing, with a delicate bouquet matched with a good backbone.”
    Her eyes laughed as she sipped. “Pompous enough for you?”
    “Just about. I’ll try it.” He let her order it, along with a bottle of sparkling water. “Okay, why are you ganging up on me?”
    “Roger because he loves you, he’s proud of you and he worries about you. He had such a good life with yourgrandmother, and he can’t see how you can have a good life unless you find the woman you’re meant to share that life with.”
    “Which would be you.”
    “Which would be me, at the moment,” she agreed. “Because he loves me, too. And he worries about me being alone, raising a child without a father. He’s an old-fashioned man, in the best possible definition of the term.”
    “That explains him. What about you?”
    She took her time. She’d always enjoyed the art of flirtation and let her gaze skim over his face. “I thought I’d enjoy having dinner out, with an attractive man. You were elected.”
    “When did I get on the ballot?” he asked, and made her laugh.
    “I’ll be frank with you, Doug. I haven’t dated very much since my husband died. But I enjoy people, company, conversation. I seriously doubt Roger needs to worry about either of us, but that doesn’t mean we can’t make him happy by having a meal together and enjoying the company and conversation.”
    She opened her menu. “And the food here is wonderful.”
    The waiter brought his drink and performed a spirited monologue of the evening’s specials before sliding away to give them time to decide.
    “How did he die?”
    She paused only a moment, but it was just long enough for Doug to see the grief come and go.
    “He was killed. Shot in a convenience-store robbery. He’d gone out late because Ty was fussy, and nobody was getting any sleep.”
    It still hurt; she knew it always would. But she no longer feared remembering would break her. “I wanted some ice cream. Steve ran down to the 7-Eleven to buy some for me. They came in just as he was walking to the counter to pay.”
    “I’m sorry.”
    “So am I. It was senseless. There was no money to speak of, and neither Steve nor the clerk did anything to resist or incite. And it was very horrible. One moment my life was one thing, and in the next instant it was another.”
    “Yeah, I know how that goes.”
    “Do you?” Before he could respond, she reached across the table, touched his hand. “I’m sorry. I forgot. Your sister. I suppose that gives us something traumatic in common. Let’s hope we have some other, more cheerful mutual connections. I like books. I’m afraid I treat them carelessly, in a way that would make bibliophiles like you and Roger weep.”
    Tougher than she looked, he realized. Tough enough to put the pieces back together after being shattered. Respecting that, he put a little more effort into holding up his end of the evening.
    “You dog-ear pages?”
    “Please, even I wouldn’t go that far. But I break spines. I spill coffee on pages. And once I dropped an Elizabeth Berg novel in the bathtub. I think it was a first edition.”
    “Obviously, this relationship is doomed. So why don’t we order?”
    “So,” she began after they had, “do you actually read, or do you just buy and sell?”
    “They’re not stocks, they’re books. It’d be pointless to be in the business of books if I didn’t value them for