Fast Track by Julie Garwood Page B

strawberries, and feta.
    The moment Adam stepped away, Sophie turned to Cordie. “Okay, what’s going on?”
    “You look beat. Aren’t you sleeping?” Regan asked, her concern evident in her expression.
    “I was up most of the night on the Internet doing research,” Cordie said. “I’ll explain why in a minute.” She was suddenly feeling tongue-tied as she stared across the table at the two dearest friends she could ever have.
    “Tell us what’s wrong,” Sophie said. “You’re worrying me.”
    “Regan, have you talked to your brother-in-law today?” Cordie asked.
    “Which brother-in-law?”
    “Nick.”
    “No, why?”
    “I called him and bought his town house. I’m going to move to Boston.”
    There were at least twenty seconds of stunned silence, then an explosion of emotion.
    “No way,” Sophie came close to shouting. “You can’t leave Chicago. We’re all staying here, remember?”
    “No, you and your husbands are staying here. I need a change,” Cordie explained. “I need to shake up my life . . . try new things . . . take risks . . . and move.”
    “You love Chicago,” Regan reminded her.
    “Yes, I do. I love Boston, too.”
    Regan became teary-eyed. “No, this is wrong,” she said. “After the death of a loved one, you shouldn’t be making any rash decisions for at least a year. I read that somewhere.”
    “I think that might apply to widows,” Cordie said. “And this isn’t a rash decision. I’ve always loved your brother-in-law’s town house, and I’m ready for a change.”
    A long minute passed. Regan was digging through her purse looking for a tissue.
    “Please don’t cry,” Cordie begged.
    “I’m trying not to,” Regan said. “Why not mull this over for a couple of months? Then decide on any changes.”
    Cordie shook her head. “I need your support on this. Boston isn’t that far away. It’s a direct flight. You can come see me all the time.”
    Sophie and Regan continued to argue with her for another fifteen minutes. When they finally realized their protests were getting nowhere, they relented. “I know you love Boston,” Regan said. “But what will you do for work?”
    “Like she has to work. She’s a multi-multimillionaire,” Sophie reminded her.
    “Yes, I do need to work,” Cordie said. “I’m going to put some feelers out. I’ll find something I like.”
    “Teaching again?”
    “Maybe . . . or maybe something different.”
    “Alec’s family will help you get settled and introduce you to people. You won’t be all alone.”
    “What about your brownstone here?” Sophie asked.
    “I’m going to sell it.”
    “But you just finished renovating it, and selling it makes it all seem so final,” Regan said.
    Searching for any argument she could think of, Sophie rushed out, “What if you move and then realize you’ve made a mistake?”
    “Then I’ll move back,” Cordie said, trying to sound cheerful even though the conversation was depressing her. What if she was making a mistake? What then? She couldn’t come back to Chicago. “I love Nick’s town house, and I love Boston. And both of you will come often, won’t you?”
    “Yes, of course we will,” Regan promised. A tear slipped down her cheek.
    “When is this going to happen?” Sophie asked.
    “In a couple of months,” Cordie explained. “Depending on the work that needs to be done. I’m going to make a few minor changes and paint all the rooms. Maybe even refinish the hardwood floors. Nick thinks I should. I’m going to fly out next weekend and sign all the papers.”
    “Are you going to stay at the Boston Hamilton?” Sophie asked.
    “No, Nick and Laurant insisted I stay with them. It will be fun to see their kids.”
    Cordie and Sophie knew all of Alec’s family and kept in touch with his five brothers and two sisters through Facebook. Alec’s parents, who lived on Nathan’s Bay, an island accessible by bridge north of Boston, were warm, hospitable people and