"Hal is not my fiancé," she said.

  "Hal who?" Ruth asked.

  "I mean David." Laila took another deep breath. This was going to be hard. "His name is really Hal."

  "So then why do you call him David?" Ruth asked.

  "Laila Alster," her mother said. "I think you've got some real explaining to do."

  "I hired him from an escort service," Laila explained.

  "Why on earth would you do that?" Sarah asked.

  Laila rubbed her eyes. "I had been telling you all along that I'd finally found a new man. When you started insisting I bring him along this week, I had to find somebody. Hiring someone was my only option."

  "Not your only option, young lady," Bubbe sniffed. "You could've just told us the truth."

  Laila met each of their eyes in turn. "I didn't want to disappoint you. You all were so excited that I'd finally started dating again."

  "Of course we were excited," Ruth said. "We just wanted to see you happy--"

  "I know," Laila interrupted. "The problem was, none of you would see that I was happy. Am happy. With the way my life is."

  "Laila, you can't keep mourning Ian forever," Irene said quietly. "He was a good man, and we know you loved him, but--"

  A short, harsh bark of laughter shot out of Laila's mouth. "Oh, Mom. This is where it all began. With Ian."

  "What about Ian?" Ruth asked.

  Laila again picked at her zipper, preferring to look at her hands rather than her family. "It's my fault Ian died."

  "Bubbeleh, I thought we were through with that," her grandmother said. "Wet roads and careless driving caused the accident. You couldn't have stopped it."

  Now was the time to unburden herself of the secret she'd kept for so long. Laila felt a sense of sick relief, frightened to at last tell her family the truth about Ian and overjoyed to release herself from the past.

  "Ian wouldn't have been on the road that night, driving so fast, if he and I hadn't fought." She swallowed hard, trying to find the right words. "I--we--I broke up with Ian that night. I told him I didn't want to marry him. He was angry and upset. He threatened me."

  "Threatened you?" Ruth gasped. "No!"

  Now Laila forced herself to meet her sister's gaze squarely. "Ian often threatened me, Ruth. He was very controlling. He wanted to determine my every move, from the perfume I wore to the way I ordered my steak."

  She could see they were having trouble reconciling their memories of the perfect fiancé with this new picture Laila was painting. Ruth still looked angry, but now she also looked confused. Gentle Sarah only looked sorry. Bubbe and Laila's mom shook their heads as though unable to comprehend the story Laila was telling.

  "He told me that, after we were married, I was going to have to quit my job because no wife of his was going work."

  "Laila, you love your job!" Sarah exclaimed.

  "I usually gave in to his demands, but this time I said no." Laila shivered, remembering the way Ian's handsome face had turned dark with fury. "I told him I was tired of him trying to change me, and that I would decide whether or not I'd quit. Not him." She paused, not wanting to admit what came next but knowing she would have to. "Then he hit me."

  "No!" Cried her mother in horror.

  "Oy, oy, oy," moaned Bubbe, throwing her hands up to cover her mouth.

  "He didn't," Ruth said flatly. "Oh, Laila, why didn't you tell us?"

  "The bruises were easy to explain away," Laila said. "And he was dead. You all thought he was so wonderful. I didn't think telling you the truth would help."

  "It would've helped you," Sarah told her. "Laila, you could have told us."

  "So all this time you haven't been mourning him at all?" Ruth questioned. "Then why have you been keeping to yourself?"

  "I didn't ever want to give so much of myself away again," Laila said firmly. "For a while you all left me alone because you thought I needed time to get over Ian. It was a good excuse. But then you kept bugging me."

  "We drove you into a corner," Ruth said ruefully, sitting back in her chair. "Laila, if I'd known, I never would've kept asking you."

  "I would have," Bubbe said snappily. "Makes no sense, a pretty girl like you, hiding herself away like that."

  Laila smiled at her grandmother. "You wanted so much for me to find someone new, to settle down. I thought if I told you I'd found somebody, we could break up and then I'd buy myself some more time."

  "She's too smart," Bubbe said grudgingly to Irene.

  Laila's mom sighed. "So you hired David? Hal? Whatever his name is?"

  Laila nodded. "I told him to be a real jerk, so you'd all be happy when we broke up."

  "I can't say I approve of all this," her mother said. "Lies are never the right choice."

  "They always come back to haunt you in the end," Laila finished one of her mother's favorite sayings. "I know, Ma. And I'm sorry."

  "So he's not a doctor?" Bubbe asked.

  Her grandmother sounded so disappointed, Laila nearly laughed. "No, Bubbe. Hal's in school to become a massage therapist. And even though he is a little clumsy, he's not the jerk you all think he is."

  "I don't understand," Bubbe said. "So if you two aren't engaged, how'd you end up pregnant?"

  Laila hung her head, at a loss to explain. "I'm not pregnant."

  "But David, I mean Hal, told Eli you were knocked up!" Sarah said.

  Laila frowned. All at once she remembered the night at dinner with Hal's socially inept responses. "I don't think he meant it that way. Anyhow, I'm not pregnant."

  "Oy, that's a relief," Bubbe said. "So, when's he coming back?"

  "He's not coming back, Bubbe," Laila said. "He's gone."

  "I thought the break up was just fake," Bubbe insisted.

  "It was. But it was real." Laila shrugged. "It's hard to explain."

  Bubbe chuckled. "Doll, you're telling me."

  There was no way Laila was going to admit to her mother and grandmother that she'd gone to bed with Hal. "Hal's a good guy. He didn't deserve to get tangled up in all of this. It's better that he left."

  "But you're going to see him again, right?" Bubbe persisted.

  "No, Bubbe," Laila said as patiently as she could. "I told you, Hal and I weren't really dating. I hired him from an escort agency."

  "Escort, shmescort," Bubbe said. "Maybe that's how it started, bubbeleh, but you can't tell me that's how it ended up."

  Laila's cheeks burned. "Of course it is. Hal did what I hired him to do, and now he's on his way back to Pennsylvania. I'll send the check to the agency next week and that's the end of it."

  "That's not the end," Bubbe said firmly with a wag of her finger. "You're too crazy about that man, Laila Alster."

  "Hal's a nice guy," Laila said stiffly, not wanting the conversation to go any further. "But there's nothing between us--"

  "And he's bonkers about you, doll," Bubbe cut in. "It was all over his face. I never saw a man more enthralled with a gal than him over you."

  "You're wrong," Laila said, feeling the tears threaten her again.

  "No?" Bubbe asked. "How can you be so sure?"

  Because of the way I treated him, Laila thought. Because she'd used him and hurt him, and even if there had been some feelings between them, they'd certainly been destroyed now. Hal had done his job, and that was all.

  "I'm sure," Laila whispered.

  "You wait and see," Bubbe said with a pat to Laila's hand. "You give him a second chance."

  Laila wished she could believe her grandmother. Then she remembered the look on Hal's face just before he'd walked away. There would be no second chances. And why should there be? After the way she'd treated him, she didn't deserve any.

  Hal didn't feel like fighting the sweet, old lady with the knitting bag for the window seat. Despite her kindly smile, she looked as though she could be nasty with her needles. Hal slid into the aisle seat with a resigned sigh, though the window seat had been his first choice.

  "Rule number one," the old lady advised him as he sat. "Never go to the bathroom on a bus."

  Hal looked at her. "What's rule number two?"

  She shook her needles at him. "Don't eat at the taco stand when we make the rest stop. Otherwise you'll have to break rule number one. Frequently."

  She chuckled loudly at her own joke, slapping her leg with the hand not holding the lethal looking needles. "Oh, I crack myself up."

  Hal didn't feel like smiling. He just nodded and stretched his legs as much as he could, easing the seat back from its uncomfortable position to one only marginally more restful. He thought he might sleep. Night had fallen and the bus was dark.

  Until, that was, the old lady who'd stolen his seat turned on her light. "Musta dropped a stitch," she muttered, fingering the pile of pink yarn in her lap. "Dang. Why's that always happen?"

  She shoved the straggly mess toward Hal. "Here. Can you see if there's a hole in there anywhere?"

  Hal squinted half-heartedly at the mess and shook his head. "No. Sorry."

  "Huh." His seatmate grunted. "Dang."

  She turned off the light. Hal closed his eyes and tried to sleep. His mind whirled with thoughts of Laila.

  The lady turned on the light again. "Sonny, c'mon. Help an old lady out. If I don't get this stitched up right my Poochie's gonna be wearing a sweater with only three legs."

  Gritting his teeth, Hal snatched the sorry looking pile of pink yarn and squeezed it. "There. Is that what you're looking for?"

  "That's it, all right." The old lady nodded vigorously and began unraveling her creation. "Perfect."

  Hal leaned back again. The clack-clacking of the needles next to him was soothing. Despite the annoying overhead light, he began to drift.

  "What's her name anyway?" his seatmate asked abruptly.

  Hal's eyes flew open and he sat up. The old lady kept clacking contentedly. "What?"

  "The name of the lady who done made your face turn so sour." She peeked over at him with a wry grin on her wrinkled face. "There is one, ain't there? A lady?"

  "I'm trying to sleep," Hal said unkindly.

  "Sure, sure," said the old lady without offense. "Just thought you might like to talk about it, that's all."

  Hal settled further into his uncomfortable seat. Another four hours on this bus seemed unbearable. Maybe he'd get lucky and they'd hit some sort of freaky time warp or something.

  Time Warp. Laila. He thought of her singing that ridiculous song, and he groaned.

  "C'mon, sonny," prompted the old lady. "Tell me all about her. She's pretty, I'll bet."

  "Yes," Hal said reluctantly. "Very pretty."

  "But you walked away from her." The clacking paused, and she reached down to the bag between her feet and pulled out a skein of orange yarn. Her needles flashed as she started knitting again.

  "It was what she wanted," Hal said.

  "But not what you wanted?" She looked at him shrewdly. "You couldn't change her mind?"

  "It's not that simple," Hal said. He thought of trying to explain the situation and found he couldn't.

  "Ain't much in this world that is, sonny." The lady chuckled again, knitting furiously. "Ain't much that is."

  Hal finally fell to sleep with the sound of her needles clacking in his mind. He didn't dream, or if he did, they were bland and forgettable. When he woke, it was in the Harrisburg station.

  "Don't look so down, sonny," his seatmate advised him as he helped her off the bus. "Thing's always work out for the best."

  The best would be if Laila had told him what he wanted to hear. Since I don't have that, Hal thought, I'll just have to hope something else comes along.

  The morning sun was just beginning to break when he finally got home. The cab driver offered to help him wrangle the overstuffed suitcase up the stairs to his apartment building, but Hal didn't have enough money to tip the guy any more. He said he'd do it himself.

  "Take care, buddy," the driver said with a tip of his hat. "Get some sleep. You look like you need it."

  As much he might seek to avoid thinking of Laila in the solace of sleep, he wasn't tired. He set about unpacking his case by tossing the entire contents onto his bed. Of everything he'd packed, he'd used only a few things.

  "So much for being prepared," he said to the empty room.

  His voice practically echoed, and for the first time, Hal took the time to really look around. He'd lived in this apartment for a year now. The walls were still bare and dingy white, without so much as a cheap, framed print to brighten them. The furniture, what little he had, was a jumbled mix of Salvation Army bargains and expensive items he'd managed to salvage from his divorce. His bed was nothing more than a bare mattress and box spring laid on the floor, his linens mismatched and ugly.

  Hal sat on his pitiful excuse for a bed and rested his head in his hands. He didn't miss the fancy house, the car, the luxury vacations. Truthfully, he didn't even miss Cassie. But living like this was just damn depressing.

  His gaze fell on the dented metal filing cabinet he was using as a nightstand. He had paperwork to fill out for LoveMatch. He pulled out the forms and began checking off the necessary boxes. When he got to the section titled "extraordinary circumstances," he stopped. Falling in love could be considered extraordinary. His pen hovered above the stark lines, so black against the unforgiving whiteness of the paper. Then he wrote "none."

  Chapter 10

  "I'm sorry, dear." Muriel Whitehead's nasal voice sounded sympathetic. "But Hal left LoveMatch three weeks ago."

  Three weeks ago. That meant he'd quit immediately after returning from Bramblewood. Laila felt incredibly stupid for even having called. "Oh, I didn't know. Can you give me his home phone number?"

  A long silence met her request, and Laila knew the answer was going to be no. Ms. Whitehead sighed heavily into the phone. "It's against LoveMatch policy. It's to protect our escorts."

  "I understand," Laila said. "So giving me his address is out, too."

  "I'm sorry, honey. We sign confidentiality agreements for all our escorts." Ms. Whitehead really did sound sorry, but that wasn't going to help Laila find Hal. She could practically hear the woman squirming though the phone.

  "Okay. Thanks anyway." For nothing, Laila thought.

  "No problem, honey. And if you ever need another escort--"

  "Thanks, but I don't think I will." Laila disconnected the call and sat back in her chair.

  Rain pattered against her windowpane and she'd turned on the gas fireplace. Soft music played from the stereo. She'd poured a glass of wine. The mood was romantic, except for one thing. She was alone.

  Laila went to the kitchen and dumped her wine down the drain. She flicked the stereo off with one finger, leaving only the sound of the rain to serenade her as she curled up in front of the fire again. The curling, writhing flames mesmerized her.

  For three weeks she'd fought against thinking of Hal. She'd paid the bill when it came from the agency, wincing at the amount. The trip had cost her more than just the amount she wrote on the check. She didn't want to think about how much.

  Her family, for once, was keeping their distance. Even Bubbe didn't ask about Laila's love life during her weekly phone calls. For Laila, the unaccustomed restraint only made the problem worse. Instead of helping her forget Hal , the obvious way they ignored the subject meant she couldn't stop thinking about him.

  When she found herself in the convenience store clutching a package of hand warmers and biting her lip to keep from crying and laughing at the same time, Laila knew she could no longer ignore her feelings. She wanted--needed--to talk to Hal. She had no real hope that things between them might be resolved, but she had to try.

  It was easy to make the decision, but hard to work up the courage to follow through. After reaching the LoveMatch voice mail this evening, she'd almost backed out. But the message clearly stated to contact Muriel Whitehead in case of emergency, and so Laila called the woman at home.

  Not that she'd been any help, Laila thought sourly. Confidentiality agreements! For the escort's protection? She grudgingly admitted the possibility of a client taking a date too far, pursuing her escort off duty and becoming a menace. Still, the policy had really thrown a monkey wrench in her plans.

  "She could've at least told me she’d pass along a message to him," Laila said aloud, grumbling. Her legs were stiffening, and she stretched them out, wishing for a massage. That thought reminded her all too clearly of Hal's massage, and the lovemaking which had followed.

  "Damn!" she cursed, pounding her thigh. She had to find him. If for no other reason than to tell him the truth. Yes, she had hired him to serve her purpose, but everything else had come from her heart.

  Suddenly an idea sprang fully formed into her mind. It was so ludicrous, so insane, that it just might work. Grinning wildly, Laila picked up the phone.

  "Ms. Whitehead?" she said, barely suppressing a crazy chuckle. "I've changed my mind. I need an escort after all."

  "Yo, Kessler!" It was Rick.

  "Rick," Hal said without enthusiasm. "How's it going?"

  "They're hanging low, buddy." Rick guffawed, reaching over the bar to slap Hal on the arm. "We miss you around the stud barn."

  "Sure. Miss you guys too," Hal said, unconvinced. "What'll you have?"

  Rick named an import beer and tossed a handful of pretzels in his mouth. "How long you been working here?"

  Hal topped off the glass and pushed it across to Rick. "About two-and-a-half weeks."

  "Sweet." Rick surveyed the bar and tossed back half his beer. "Classy place."

  Hal managed not to roll his eyes. The place was hardly upscale.

  "You on a date?" Hal asked, praying Rick's answer would be yes. That meant he wouldn't have to suffer the other man's presence very long.

  "Oh, yeah, man." Rick waggled his eyebrows. "We're going here for drinks, then to some charity function."

  "Sounds nice," Hal said noncommittally. He looked down the bar, hoping for another customer so he could leave Rick. The place was dead, though.

  "So what's up with you anyway?" Rick asked, suddenly serious. "Why'd you leave the biz?"

  Surprised by Rick's interest, Hal thought about his reply. "I got tired of it."

 

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