All Due Respect by Vicki Hinze Page B

personal questions for her were inevitable; she knew it. Yet, she still had no idea how to answer them.
    Over the years, he had looked at her in many ways. With amusement, pride, disappointment, doubt, and once, she’d thought, with longing, though that had to have been a trick of the light. Name an emotion, and at some time or another Seth likely had focused it on her—with two exceptions: hatred and pity. If she had to choose one of them, she’d choose hatred. Pity appalled her.
    She had moved mountains, suffered month after month of agony alone, to make sure she never saw it. All of that suffering couldn’t have been for nothing. She had to have endured it for something. Pity. She hated even the sound of the word. Even the look of it, when written down on a page. She had refused to feel it for herself, for Karl, for the loss of her beloved work; refused by sheer will and determination. She had kept her secrets. Hid them, at times, even from herself. And she had to go on hiding them. Especially from Seth. His opinion shouldn’t matter that much, but it
    did. He respected her. He always had, and she would not lose that. She had so little left to lose.
    “You’re still not eating.” Seth’s jacket cuff brushed against the edge of the white linen tablecloth. “Don’t you like the food?”
    A passing waiter’s eyebrows shot up. If not stressed to the max, Julia would have smiled. Antonio’s-was Grayton’s finest for Italian dining, a four-star restaurant, which was saying something, considering its location. And the linguine and white clam sauce tasted as delicious as it smelled; the best she had ever eaten. “It’s outstanding.” She sipped at her iced tea.
    The restaurant was nearly empty, the staff discreet. White columns ran ceiling to floor, their bases covered in thick ivy. Positioned between the tables, they gave diners the illusion of privacy but not of seclusion. Julia liked the feel—and being seated facing the entrance.
    Seth definitely hadn’t forgotten.
    She set her glass back to the pristine tablecloth. “Go ahead, Seth.”
    He paused, his fork in midair. “What?”
    Julia resisted a smile, though only heaven knew why she felt the urge, knowing what was coming. “You’ve had that I-have-a-thousand-questions look on your face all day.” She dabbed at her chin with her napkin. “Go ahead and ask them.”
    “Okay.” He took a drink of water from his glass. When he set it down, a chip of ice slid down the outside of it, spotting the cloth. “Why did you do it?”
    She dredged up a wry grin. “Could you be a little more specific?”
    “Why did you leave without telling me you were going?”
    “It wasn’t personal, Seth. Don’t think for a second it was. I told you, I had no choice.”
    “We were coworkers, but I thought we were also friends.” He snagged a sesame roll from the bread basket and ripped it in two. “Damn it, Julia. What we had was
    more than friendship. We were … I don’t know. Connected. We were connected. You could have called, dropped me a postcard—something to let me know you were alive.”
    While she had drawn strength from his laughter, he had worried that she’d been dead. Unnerved by how close he had come to being right, she reached for her water glass. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize it would bother you so much.” True, she hadn’t, yet honesty forced her to add, “But even if I had known, I wouldn’t have been able to contact you.” Feeling an overwhelming need to touch him, she placed her hand over his, atop the table. “I am sorry, Seth.”
    His fingertips trembled. “Why couldn’t you contact me?”
    Because I was unconscious in the hospital. Because for six months and twenty-seven days I had to go to physical therapy to regain the use of my left arm. Because I learned firsthand the true meaning of man’s inhumanity to man, and I didn’t want to see or talk to anyone—least of all, a man.
    Her hand shook. Hard. She pulled it back and hid