Snowflakes on the Sea by Linda Lael Miller

flung a petulant, sidelong look in his direction as he guided the car down the ferry ramp and into the still-crazy Seattle traffic. Her face was pale and pinched with residual shock, and her hands were clasped, motionless, in her lap.
    High drama, Nathan thought bitterly. God, she should have been an actress.
    “This is all a bad dream,” she said in a stricken, whispery voice.
    Nathan shifted gears and reminded himself that she’d had a hard night. She’d been so upset by his decision that he’d taken her from the island to Tacoma, where her parents lived, thinking that she needed to be close to someone who cared about her. But her parents had been away, and they’d missed the connecting ferry to Seattle finding that out.
    He sighed. “Listen, Diane—I’m sorry you had to hear the news from the guys in the band. I really am—”
    Diane drew in an audible breath calculated to inspire guilt and lifted her chin in theatrical acceptance of a cruel fate. “One way or the other, we’re all fired. I don’t see what it matters that I heard it from them and not you.”
    Nathan had no answer for that; he concentrated on the road ahead. The traffic lights were mere splotches of red or amber or green, dimly visible in the swirling snow, and the tires of the Porsche weren’t gripping the pavement all that well.
    “You’re doing this for Mallory, aren’t you, Nathan?” Diane demanded, after some moments of silence.
    Nathan stiffened but didn’t look away from the traffic. “Mallory is my wife,” he replied flatly.
    Diane made a disdainful sound. “Wife! Good Lord, Nathan, you’re insane to give up your career for her! ”
    Nathan tossed one scathing look in Diane’s direction. “Watch it.”
    She subsided a little. “Why? Nathan, just tell me why. If she loved you, she—”
    “I’m tired, Diane,” he broke in, and his tones proved it. “I’ve got more money than I can spend in a lifetime, and I’ve done everything I set out to do, musically, at least. Now I intend to straighten out my marriage.”
    “You have no marriage!” Diane cried in a hoarse, contemptuous whisper. “You and Mallory are a joke!”
    Nathan’s fingers tightened dangerously on the leather-covered steering wheel, but he maintained control. “Your opinion of my marriage couldn’t matter less to me, Diane.”
    There was still a tinge of hysteria in her tone when she spoke again. “So you’re doing the farewell concert here, and that’s it? No television specials, no tours, no records?”
    “I’ll record, and I suppose I’ll write songs, too. But I’m through chasing fans all over the world.”
    “How do you plan to make records without a band?” Diane demanded, her voice rising.
    Nathan sighed. “If the guys are available, we’ll work together.” He looked again at Diane and saw exactly what he’d feared he would—hope. Why couldn’t she just find another job and let the thing drop? She was a gifted press agent, and she wouldn’t be out of work long. Although Nathan had always disliked her on a personal basis, her recommendation would be a good one.
    “Then I could keep doing your press work—”
    “No.”
    Diane seethed in electric silence as Nathan guided the car up a slight hill into the residential section where her sister lived. Because Diane’s work kept her in Los Angeles most of the time, she didn’t need a permanent place in Seattle.
    When he drew the Porsche to a stop in front of her building, he faced her. “Good night, Diane. And I’m sorry.”
    Diane’s lower lip trembled, and she tossed her magnificent head of hair in a kind of broken defiance. The motion filled the chilly interior of the car with the flowery, somewhat cloying scent of her perfume. “Not half as sorry as you’re going to be, Nathan McKendrick,” she vowed.
    Nathan rested his head against the back of the car seat, sighed and glowered up at the leather upholstery in the roof. “What is that supposed to mean, pray tell?”
    There