Chapter 12

“Come in,” said Douglas.

And while his voice was welcoming, there was no smile. Rarely had Brad seen even the hint of a smile on Douglas’s face, and despite knowing the reason, it was sad.

“Take a seat at the table,” said Douglas.

He brought over a casserole dish and put it on a cork mat before returning to the kitchen. “White wine or red?” he asked.

“I’m sorry,” said Brad. “I didn’t think to bring anything to drink.”

“White or red?”

“Um, red, thanks.”

Douglas set the wine bottle and two glasses on the table. “Don’t worry about it. I owe you from the other night.”

“You don’t owe me,” said Brad.

Douglas poured the wine, then took a seat. “I hope it tastes all right.” He served Brad a huge, steaming slab of lasagne. “I used to be famous for…” He stopped, no doubt remembering distant, happier times, times now too painful to remember. He served his own and continued. “I should have made a salad. I can rustle one up if you like.”