Heart of the Night by Barbara Delinsky

Author:Barbara Delinsky
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781466853942
Publisher: St. Martin's Press

CHAPTER 13

Susan awoke late Sunday morning with a hangover. As hangovers went, it could have been worse, but the headache and its accompanying muzziness were harsh reminders of the party she’d thrown for herself the night before.

Determined to do nothing more strenuous than spend the day in the living room with the newspaper, she managed to shower, pull on a pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt, and draw her hair into a wide clip behind one ear. Then she stretched out on the sofa.

It was a good fifteen minutes before she realized she didn’t have the paper. With some effort, she got up and went to the door—only to open it and find Sam Craig standing on her doorstop.

She was not ready for Sam. Shoving the door closed, she turned back toward the living room. Only after she lowered herself to the sofa and gingerly set down her head did she realize that he had followed her in.

She threw an arm over her eyes. “Sorry, but I don’t grant audiences this early in the day.”

Sam tossed the Sunday Journal onto the coffee table. It hit the glass with a clap that made Susan jump, then moan. He understood the problem at once. “Ahhh. We’ve got a hangover. Must have been quite some party.”

“It was,” she droned. “Lots of fun and laughs.”

“And booze.”

“Uh-huh.”

“How’d you get home?”

“I drove. How else would I get home?”

“You could have had some guy drive you. Maybe he’s upstairs right now getting dressed. Was it that kind of night, Susan?”

She rolled to her side, with her back to him, but he simply sat in the space she had unwittingly provided. With a hand on the sofa back and one on its arm, he had her caught. “Was it?”

Susan felt a rush of misery. In its wake, the words spilled out. “No. There was no man. There was no party. I got back here at ten last night and drank all by myself.” She shot an angry look over her shoulder at him, then as quickly closed her eyes against the pain in her head. “Are you satisfied?”

“No,” he said quietly. “I think I’d rather you’d been with people. At least, then you could say that they were the ones who kept your glass filled.”

She put her arm over her eyes. “I didn’t use a glass. I drank straight from the bottle.”

“Why?”

“Because I didn’t feel like using a glass.”

“Why were you drinking?”

“Because I wanted to.”

“Didn’t you enjoy the day with Savannah?”

“Sure.”

“But you were unhappy when you got back here.”

“Something’s wrong with the Jag.”

“Come on, Susan.” He tugged at her arm, but she kept it firmly in place. “A person doesn’t get drunk over a car.”

“It’s as good a reason as any.”

“Only if you want to ignore the reasons that count.”

Raising her arm only enough to peer up at him, she said, “Another time, Dr. Freud, I’d love to hear your theory.” She dropped the arm back to her eyes. “Right now I’d like silence.”

Sam gave it to her

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