Local Hero

quietly, “you grew up.”
    “Yes.” It surprised her that he saw that so quickly, and it relieved her that he seemed to understand. “Allan wanted to go back to the way things were, but we weren’t children anymore. As I look back, I can see that he was jealous of Radley, but at the time I just wanted him to grow up, to be a father, to take charge. At twenty he was still the sixteen-year-old boy I’d known in high school, but I wasn’t the same girl. I was a mother. I’d gone back to work because I’d thought the extra income would ease some of the strain. One day I came home after picking Radley up at the sitter’s, and Allan was gone. He’d left a note saying he just couldn’t handle being tied down any longer.”
    “Did you know he was leaving?”
    “No, I honestly didn’t. In all probability it was done on impulse, the way Allan did most things. It would never have occurred to him that it was desertion, to him it would’ve meant moving on. He thought he was being fair by taking only half the money, but he left all the bills. I had to get another part-time job in the evenings. I hated that, leaving Rad with a sitter and not seeing him. That six months was the worst time of my life.”
    Her eyes darkened a moment; then she shook her head and pushed it all back into the past. “After a while I’d straightened things out enough to quit the second job. About that time, Allan called. It was the first I’d heard from him since he’d left. He was very amiable, as if we’d been nothing more than passing acquaintances. He told me he was heading up to Alaska to work. After he hung up, I called a lawyer and got a very simple divorce.”
    “It must have been difficult for you.” Difficult? he thought—he couldn’t even imagine what kind of hell it had been. “You could have gone home to your parents.”
    “No. I was angry for a long, long time. The anger made me determined to stay right here in New York and make it work for me and Radley. By the time the anger had died down, I was making it work.”
    “He’s never come back to see Rad?”
    “No, never.”
    “His loss.” He cupped her chin, then leaned over to kiss her lightly. “His very great loss.”
    She found it easy to lift a hand to his cheek. “The same can be said about that woman in New Orleans.”
    “Thanks.” He nibbled her lips again, enjoying the faint hint of champagne. “Dessert?”
    “Hmmm?”
    He felt a wild thrill of triumph at her soft, distracted sigh. “Let’s skip it.” Moving back only slightly, he signaled the waiter for the check, then handed Hester the last of the champagne. “I think we should walk awhile.”
    The air was biting, almost as exhilarating as the wine. Yet the wine warmed her, making her feel as though she could walk for miles without feeling the wind. She didn’t object to Mitch’s arm around her shoulders or to the fact that he set the direction. She didn’t care where they walked as long as the feelings that stirred inside her didn’t fade.
    She knew what it was like to fall in love—to be in love. Time slowed down. Everything around you went quickly, but not in a blur. Colors were brighter, sounds sharper, and even in midwinter you could smell flowers. She had been there once before, had felt this intensely once before, but had thought she would never find that place again. Even as a part of her mind struggled to remind her that this couldn’t be love—or certainly shouldn’t be—she simply ignored it. Tonight she was just a woman.
    There were skaters at Rockefeller Center, swirling around and around the ice as the music flowed. Hester watched them, tucked in the warmth of Mitch’s arms. His cheek rested on her hair, and she could feel the strong, steady rhythm of his heart.
    “Sometimes I bring Rad here on Sundays to skate or just to watch like this. It seems different tonight.” She turned her head, and her lips were barely a whisper from his. “Everything seems different tonight.”
    If she looked at him like that again, Mitch knew he’d break his vow to give her enough time to clear her head and would bundle her into the nearest cab so that he could have her home and in bed before the look broke. Calling on willpower, he shifted her so he could brush his lips over her temple. “Things look different at night, especially after champagne.” He relaxed again, her head against his shoulder. “It’s a nice difference. Not necessarily steeped in reality, but nice. You can