Through the gaps in the bedroom blinds Adele watched the faint glow of orange-hued cigarette light outside for nearly twenty minutes. Her alcohol-drenched mind clumsily replayed the dinner and wine she had shared with Decklan Stone. He had been both a gracious and talented host. His wine selection perfectly matched a meal of pan-roasted duck breast with goat cheese and cherries and a side of fresh greens delivered from the Orcas Island market. By the time they opened the second bottle of wine, the author’s initial reticence was further diminished, and he began to share a stream of memories, thoughts, and loosely linked recollections with his guest. Following his fifth glass of wine, Decklan hinted again at the events surrounding his wife’s death; it simply took a gentle nudge from Adele. “Only if you’re comfortable, Decklan. Otherwise, we can wait and discuss it another time.” The author took a sip of wine and issued a very brief, almost imperceptible wince followed by a quick shake of his head.
