The Way You Look Tonight Read Free

when he gets in. If he’s not on time, I’ll be able to deliver my time-worn speech on trust, responsibility, and the consideration he deserves to give other people, particularly his poor old dad.’
    â€˜You’re a cruel and heartless man,’ Deborah laughed.
    â€˜The worst. It’s my greatest joy in life.’
    Deborah signaled Steve, who was talking to Evan Kincaid. Steve – rangy and earnest-looking although capable of a rare, boyish grin – hurried to her, his light brown hair damp at the hairline, his own color heightened.
    â€˜So, how’re we doing over here?’ he asked easily.
    â€˜Pete thinks he should go home to check on Adam.’
    â€˜He’s not sick, is he?’
    â€˜No, just out partying with friends.’
    â€˜Is that all? In that case, how about having one drink with me before you go? I think I’ve got some really good stuff out in the kitchen. Chivas Regal, twelve years old.’
    â€˜That’s hard to turn down,’ Pete said. ‘But Adam…’
    â€˜Hey, cut the kid some slack, will you? Fifteen minutes isn’t such a big deal.’
    Pete looked torn, then smiled. ‘All right, a quick one and then I’m on the road.’
    â€˜Can you do without me for a few minutes?’ Steve asked Deborah.
    â€˜I’ll try to muddle through, but don’t you two start talking over the good old high-school days and stay in there for ever.’
    â€˜We’ll try not to,’ Steve laughed over his shoulder as the two started toward the kitchen.
    No, they certainly wouldn’t, Deborah thought. Pete was much too concerned about Adam to linger for long. He was overprotective with the boy, and according to Steve, had been ever since his divorce. He’d lost his wife and he was afraid of losing his son, too, which was unlikely because beneath Adam Griffin’s teenage bravado, he was deeply attached to his father. Still, she knew that Steve, meaning to be kind in asking to have a private drink with Pete, was merely making the man more nervous about his delayed arrival home.
    Deborah sighed and gazed around her large living room which had once been divided into two smaller rooms whose different functions she had never been able to determine. Steve had resisted taking out the wall between them – too much trouble, he said – but Deborah insisted. Now the two small rooms formed one spacious room made airy by a huge front window instead of the four small, paned windows that were impossible to clean. Deborah was pleased with the remodeling and thought Steve was, too, although he never said much about her efforts, obviously hoping not to encourage her to make further changes.
    The smell of roast duck, candied yams, and mulled wine wafted over her from the buffet table. Her stomach rumbled maddeningly – she’d been so consumed with fixing food for two days it had lost its aesthetic appeal. Empty stomach or not, she didn’t feel she could force down a bite. Besides, she was very tired. It seemed every year the party became more elaborate, and she liked to cook everything, not order from a caterer. She now found the parties more exhausting than fun, and the family ended up eating leftovers for days.
    She circled around the room, asking if she could freshen drinks, offering cookies and reminding people about all the apple, pumpkin, and mincemeat pie still sitting on the buffet table. One attorney, whose name Deborah could never remember, was holding forth on a case he’d handled last year while his wife interrupted constantly, correcting everything he said, oblivious to the growing coldness of his eyes and tightening of his jaw. The girlfriend of another was talking loudly to a blue-haired matron about a serial killer luridly named ‘The Dark Alley Strangler’ by a local newspaper. ‘It scares me to death to think he struck again just last Saturday night and this time right here in West