Second Glance Read online

  She fell silent, looking at him, wondering about the genesis of an answer like that. The only sound was the quiet swish of the mop, rasping its tongue along the tile floor behind them. Meredith realized, in that moment, what was so different about Ross Wakeman—in the five hours they’d spent in each other’s company, this was the first glimpse into himself that he’d offered. They had talked about Lucy, about Ruby’s health, about Meredith’s career . . . and not at all about him. Meredith could not recall a single date that hadn’t centered on the man she was with. Ross—well, Ross was doing what she usually did.

  She did not know anything about this man who caused her mind to spin, except that he had a nephew with XP, knew her grandmother, and made the seam of her pulse lose a stitch every time he smiled. “I’m sorry,” Meredith said. “I’ve completely monopolized this conversation.”

  “No. I wanted to know about you.”

  “I want to know about you too,” Meredith admitted.

  “Nothing very interesting, I’m afraid.” Ross took out a pack of cigarettes, lighting up.

  She waved away a cloud of smoke. “Those things will kill you.”

  “I wish.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I can’t die,” Ross admitted.

  In spite of herself, Meredith grinned. “Unless I take out my kryptonite necklace, you mean?”

  “No, really. I’ve been hit by bullets, thrown from a car crash, fried by lightning, and every time I come away without a scratch.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “I’ve got the doctor bills to prove it.”

  Meredith was stunned for a moment. “That’s a pretty remarkable gift.”

  “Not when you want to save someone other than yourself,” Ross said.

  “Your nephew.”

  “Among other people.”

  She leaned forward, drawn by the flicker of pain at the back of his eyes. “The person you said I look like?”

  He didn’t answer—he didn’t seem capable of answering at that point. Meredith wondered what it would feel like to have a man so enamored of her that even after her death, he might still carry a torch. He might look for her face in the faces of others. The Starbucks worker approached their table. “You can’t smoke in here.”

  Ross turned to him. “I guess self-immolation is out of the question, then.”

  The kid blinked. “Dude, whatever perverted stuff you do on your own time is your own business.”

  Meredith covered her laugh with a cough. “Maybe we ought to go.” She hesitated. “I’ve really enjoyed being with you. I think the last time I told that to a guy and meant it, I was making mud pies in the nursery school sandbox.”

  “And you didn’t even get your hands dirty tonight.”

  “Imagine.” Meredith looked up at him shyly. “Are you in town for a while? Maybe we could, you know, get together. For a whole meal this time. Or just the appetizer, if you want to work up to that.”

  “I can’t.”

  Immediately her eyes flew to his left hand. Bare. “You’re gay,” she said.

  “It’s not that.”

  The old reflex kicked in—she had been at this juncture of an evening before, where she was found unattractive or lacking in some other way. Meredith felt herself separating by degrees. “Yes. Right.” She briskly held out her hand. “Well, it was very nice to meet you.”

  He took her hand with reverence, turning it over between his own for a long moment, as if she were made of the finest crystal instead of ordinary flesh and blood. “Meredith,” Ross said quietly, “I like you. I like you a lot. But there’s someone else.”

  The woman, the one Meredith looked like. She ducked her head. “I’m sorry,” she muttered. “I didn’t realize you two were still—”

  She felt something being pressed into her hand. A newspaper clipping, yellowed and faded, but it was still possible to see the face of the woman in the center. A face that was a mirror of Meredith’s. Lia Beaumont Pike, said the caption. 1914–1932.

  “This was your biological grandmother,” Ross said. “And I’m in love with her.”

  It was a war, Ross realized, and Meredith was losing. She stood with her arms crossed tight, her back straight, her eyes the color of anger. Ross and Ruby, on the couch, took turns fielding her outrage and tossing it back, in the hopes that she would start to believe what they were trying to say.

  “When I told your mother that she was not my child, not even named Luxe, but really Lily Pike,” Ruby said, “she had a heart attack and died. Can you blame me for not wanting to bring it up again?”

  “Yes!” Meredith exploded. “You don’t hide something like that from a person!”

  “You do if it saves their life,” Ross pointed out.

  She turned to him, lashing out like a wounded bear. “Explain something to me. How could you possibly have known a woman who died before you were born?”

  “I met her at work.”

  “Work. What do you do for a living, raise the dead?”

  Ross exchanged a glance with Ruby. “I don’t raise them. I just sort of find them.”

  “Great. You hunt for ghosts, when you’re not getting hit by lightning and managing to stay alive. Ruby, I don’t know how this guy walked in and convinced you the way he did, but he’s crazy. Wacko. I think—”

  “I think you’d better listen to him, Meredith,” Ruby interrupted. “He’s telling you the truth.”

  “The truth. So now you believe in ghosts, too? Fine, then. Conjure this grandmother of mine. If she floats in here and tells me the same thing, I’ll believe you.”

  “It doesn’t work that way,” Ross explained.

  “How convenient.”

  The corners of Ruby’s mouth turned down. “Don’t shoot the messenger.”

  “Then what would you like me to do? Thank him for coming here to tell me my entire life has been a lie?”

  “It hasn’t been a lie,” Ross said. “It just . . . hasn’t been what you thought it was.” He walked toward Meredith. “You are the direct descendant of Lia Pike. And that means you own a really nice piece of real estate in Comtosook, Vermont.”

  He wished he could tell her that from this property, you could see mountains so green it made your eyes hurt, and that the air smelled cleaner than anything you could ever imagine. He wished he could show her the spot where he’d fallen in love with Lia.

  “I don’t need real estate in Vermont,” Meredith said.

  “Well, there are a boatload of Abenaki Indians who do, who’ve been fighting to keep the land from being developed.”

  “That’s not my problem.”

  “No, but if you own the land, you get to decide what’s done with it.”

  “Ah, see, now we’re getting somewhere. You’re an Indian-rights activist.”

  “I’m—”

  “And naturally, if you can convince me I’m part-Abenaki, I’m supposed to side with my relatives. Am I the only person here who can see what’s right in front of her eyes? Look at me.” Meredith yanked her hair out of its neat bun. “I’m blond. I’m pale. Do I look like I have even a drop of Native American blood in me?”

  “No, but neither did Lia. Listen, you’re a scientist,” Ross argued. “Your great-grandfather, Az Thompson, is still alive. Let us run a DNA test to prove it to you.”

  “And then what?”

  Ross looked at Ruby, and then back. “Then it’s up to you.”

  Meredith narrowed her eyes. “What do you get out of this, exactly? Some kickback from the Abenaki? A book deal?”

  “Nothing.” Ross glanced at the table, at Lia’s obituary. “I just want to help her.”

  Suddenly he was aware of small hands pushing at his knee, moving him out of the way. Lucy—Meredith’s little girl, who was supposed to be asleep—had been eavesdropping. “Lucy!” Ruby said. “What are you doing up?”

  “Go back to your room,” Meredith ordered.

  But Lucy pointed to Lia’s moon eyes, to the white bow of her ch