The Art of Adapting Read Free

said. He held Lana’s license out to her. “Matt here’s right. The sign’s on Capital, not Coventry. And even a one-second stop counts. My mistake.”
    Lana, confused, accepted her license. He was letting her go? Matt opened his eyes and took in the officer in his own safe way, casting sidelong glances at him, mostly checking him out with his peripheral vision. Matt pointed a finger at him. Leaned forward, across Lana, to point vigorously at the officer’s chest. Lana fought a surge of panic. Was that an aggressive move? Would the officer grab Matt and pull him from the car, slap handcuffs on him and take him away, for pointing?
    â€œYou’re Nick Parker,” Matt said. He withdrew his pointing finger and returned to rocking absentmindedly, but his hands were in his lap and not punching himself in the head anymore. He seemed to be calming back down. “You were in the Marines. You were atCamp Pendleton and you wore too much cologne and you had shorter hair and it wasn’t gray yet, and you said you’d teach me to hit a baseball, but you never did.”
    Lana slowly took in the police officer, who was now smiling very clearly at her. “Nick?” she asked. Sure enough, the gold pin on his uniform read PARKER. It had been nearly twenty years since Lana had seen him. Since Graham had stolen her from him.
    â€œSo you married him,” Nick said. He removed his Wayfarers, and without the glasses, Nick emerged. The same high cheekbones, deep-set dark eyes, striking physique. He had aged beautifully. “I saw on your license. Lana Foster now?”
    â€œOh. No.” Lana laughed, suddenly self-conscious. She touched her messy hair. “I mean, yes. I married him. But I . . . um. We . . .”
    â€œThey’re separated,” Matt said. “They don’t live together anymore. The kids are at Graham’s. Lana gets sad when they’re with Graham. And today is Valentine’s Day. Which is a silly holiday. A Hallmark holiday. But Lana was sad about it and then when it was time to get the kids she was happy. Until you pulled her over. Then she was scared.”
    â€œShh,” Lana said, laughing nervously. Nick laughed with her.
    â€œNice to see you again, Matt,” he said. “You’re right. I promised to teach you to hit a baseball before I shipped out.”
    â€œThen you and Lana broke up and you never did. She met Graham and she liked him better, and you stopped seeing her, and me, and forgot to teach me to hit a baseball.”
    â€œI’m sorry I let you down,” Nick said. He opened his notebook and started writing. Lana’s gut writhed. So was she getting the ticket after all? Because Matt had spoken the blunt truth, as he always did, and made Nick angry? Lana’s body was a taut wire of tension. She really couldn’t afford a ticket. Nor the humiliation of being given one by an ex-boyfriend from decades ago. Nick ripped off the sheet of paper and handed it to Lana. It was his name, email, phone number. “Maybe we can get coffee sometime? Catch up?”
    â€œOh, I’d love that!” Lana said, too loudly. She laughed, embarrassed for herself. “So how long were you in the Marines for? And are you married? Kids?”
    â€œIf I tell you everything now, we’ll have nothing to catch up on,” Nick said, giving her that sly grin of his, the one that had lured her in so long ago. “Happy Valentine’s Day.” He gave her shoulder a squeeze, gave Matt a salute, and slid his sunglasses back on. As he did so, Lana noticed that he had no ring on his left hand. Lana watched him walk back to his car in her rearview mirror. It was a very nice view.
    â€œThe kids are waiting,” Matt reminded her.
    â€œRight,” she said. She started the car, but waited for Nick to drive off first. He slowed next to her and waved, and she waved back, her fearless, long-forgotten