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in the small foyer. The lion hadn’t quite finished with its end of March, making a coat necessary. Zack wore a khaki duster that he didn’t bother to remove. He still had on the gray suit he’d worn that afternoon, suggesting that he’d come here straight from work, although it was already past nine o’clock. Both his failure to relieve himself of his coat and the fact he hadn’t changed suggested he intended to keep this visit brief. She could hope, couldn’t she?
    She turned and headed for the living room that opened out from the foyer to claim one edge of the sofa, tucking her feet beneath her. “Then what can I do for you, Zach? Despite what McKay thinks, Thorpe did not call me. I checked the logs. Maybe he called and hung up or didn’t give his name. Even if he had, I couldn’t tell you what he said. You know that. If it hadn’t been plastered all over the papers that I’d been treating Thorpe I couldn’t have told you that much. I can’t help you.”
    She’d hoped to put him off with her comments, to make him see he was wasting his time. He appeared not to notice, his attention taken up by examining the room from where he stood by her father’s favorite chair.
    When he finally settled his gaze on her again it was with a look of nostalgia. “I take it you’re not much on redecorating.”
    No, in the past thirteen years, she’d left things pretty much where they’d been. Right now, she couldn’t remember having even painted the place. The house was frozen in time, much like she’d allowed herself to freeze, until recently. This place, this home, no longer suited her and she’d contemplated selling.
    â€œI’m sure you didn’t come here to discuss my décor. What do you want, Zach?”
    â€œIf I wanted to talk to you about Walter Thorpe I would have come to your office.”
    He spoke with a quiet intensity and in his eyes she saw the only hint of uncertainty she’d ever witnessed there. He brushed a hand over his hair. “Look, Alex, now that I’m here, I don’t know what to say.”
    â€œThere isn’t anything for you to say.” The past was the past, a history neither of them could go back and change. What she needed from him she’d needed thirteen years ago. Any apology, any explanation came too many years too late. She didn’t need anything from him anymore.
    His expression darkened. “I don’t blame you for hating me.”
    â€œI don’t hate you,” she said. She never had. She crediting him with leaving her to the wolves, much the way her mother had by dying when she was twelve years old. That seemed to be the way of things in her life, the ones she loved the most never stayed. But, in truth, he’d never been responsible for her. She’d only wanted it that way.
    She stood, crossing her arms, a posture she recognized as defensive. “Go home, Zach. There’s nothing for you here. If you want a trip down memory lane, I can’t travel it with you. If you want absolution, call your priest. If you need some counseling, make an appointment like everyone else. I have an early morning tomorrow and need to get some sleep.”
    He shoved his hands in his trouser pockets, rocking backward, considering her. “You didn’t used to be so hard, Alex.”
    Annoyed at his implication, she snapped, “I didn’t used to be a lot of things.” She sighed, letting her pique abate. “I’m sure you can find your way out.”
    He didn’t say anything for a long moment, but she could sense the capitulation in him. He withdrew his hands from his pockets to let them hang by his sides. “For what it’s worth, I am sorry.”
    He shrugged and turned toward the door. She waited, her breath held, listening for the sound of the door opening and shutting, leaving him on the outside. Hearing them both, she released her breath,