The Shadow Wife

As she opened the book, a photograph fell from between the pages, and she felt a chill when she saw the picture of herself. She knew when it had been taken—the day she and Liam discovered Sam was far too young to appreciate the Dennis the Menace Playground. The photograph was no more than five or six months old, yet it looked worn, as though it had been handled a great deal, and Joelle bit her lip. She felt as though she was peering inside Liam’s soul, a place she had no permission to see.

Oh, Liam.

Closing the book, she returned it to the shelf behind his bed and stood up. That’s when she felt it. Not a fluttering, as she’d expected, but more like a bubble. She rested her hand on her stomach as the bubble moved again, and she smiled to herself.

She was not alone today, after all.

20

San Francisco, 1956

THE AIR WAS COOL AND DAMP ON FISHERMAN’S WHARF, BUT THE huge iron cauldrons offered bursts of crab-scented warmth as Carlynn and Alan walked toward the restaurant where they were to meet Lisbeth and her date. Although it was autumn and the sky was dark, the well-lit wharf was crammed with people, some of them eating shrimp and crabmeat from little paper trays as they strolled.

Carlynn spotted Lisbeth standing in front of Tarantino’s, and she took Alan’s arm and pointed.

“She’s here first,” she said with a grin. “Do you think she’s a little anxious?”

“Can’t blame her,” Alan said. “This is her first date in a while, isn’t it?”

“In her life,” Carlynn corrected, then more to herself than Alan, “My poor sweet sister.” She bit her lip as they neared Lisbeth, who looked beautiful in a blue coat that matched her eyes. Lisbeth was big, yes, but her legs were shapely, if not slender, and she was wearing adorable strappy black heels that must have been murder to walk in all the way from the cable car. Her blond hair, with its carefully constructed waves and curls, so perfectly framed her face that Carlynn thought she might have her own hair cut that way. No, she told herself. She should let that cute style be her sister’s.

Lisbeth waved as soon as she saw them.

“She’s terrified,” Carlynn whispered to Alan, waving back. “Look at her.” Lisbeth’s face wore a smile that was only skin deep; Carlynn could see the apprehension just below the surface.

“Oh, God, I’m so glad you’re here!” Lisbeth said, clutching her sister’s gloved hands in her own.

“You look beautiful,” Alan said, bussing Lisbeth’s cheek, and Carlynn loved him for his kindness.

“Thanks,” Lisbeth said. “What time is it, though? He’s not here yet.” She tried to peer through the throng of people.

“It’s just seven, honey,” Carlynn said. “Relax.”

“Boy, does that shrimp smell good.” Alan eyed one of the women walking by with a little tray of shrimp. “It’s making my mouth water.”

“Do you know him, Alan?” Lisbeth asked. “Gabriel? From the hospital?”

“I’ve seen him around, but no, I don’t know him personally,” Alan said. “I asked around a bit, though, did a bit of checking, and—”

“Alan, you didn’t!” Carlynn scolded him.

“Yes, I did,” he answered.

“What did you say to the people you asked?” Lisbeth looked worried. “Will it get back to him?”

“I was very discreet,” he said. “I just tried to find out what kind of fellow he is. Make sure he’s not a womanizer, that’s all.”

Carlynn knew Alan had worried, not so much that Gabriel might be a womanizer, but that he might want to be seen with a white woman to raise his status. “Lisbeth could be ruining her life if she goes out with him,” he’d told her. “White men might not want her if they find out.” Carlynn had to admit she’d had the same concern.

“Well, what did you learn?” Lisbeth asked.

“That he was married before.”

“He’s divorced?” Lisbeth looked brokenhearted.

“No, he’s widowed. He was married to a woman—a Negro woman, in case you’re wondering—and she died five years ago of breast cancer.”

“Oh!” Lisbeth’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, how sad. Poor Gabriel.”

“He apparently was very attentive to her and cared for her himself as much as he could. And he hasn’t dated since. At least not according to my source.”

“Who was your source?” Carlynn asked, curious.

“None of your business,” he answered, but he winked at her, and she was certain she knew. Alan was friends with Lloyd Peterson, Lisbeth’s boss and Gabriel Johnson’s friend and tennis partner.

“Poor Gabriel,” Lisbeth said again, her eyes full of sympathy.

Carlynn studied the faces of the tourists as they strolled past the restaurant eating cocktails, laughing and talking, and it was a moment before she became aware of the fact that every single face she could see in front of her—every one!—was white. Gabriel Johnson would feel out of place here, she thought. He managed at the hospital, though, and he was out of place there, as well. He was probably well accustomed to feeling that way.

Lisbeth spotted him first. “There he is,” she whispered, grabbing Carlynn’s arm again with quiet excitement.