Lydia didn’t know how much she should share. She felt drawn to this woman, and she couldn’t explain why. Was she being foolish, not seeing something about her driver? Kline seemed to think so. But then, she couldn’t trust him.
She again went over her list of friends, pondering who she could talk to. She dismissed each person for one reason or another, and a hopeless feeling crept into her brain. She didn’t know what to do. The driver remained silent, focused on the road. The miles flew by, and then they pulled into the Remington’s parking lot. Lydia stared out the windshield. The place was big, with a brick-and-stone exterior, plenty of windows, and tables under covered patios. No, not the type of place Lydia would go. She scanned the parking lot, not recognizing any vehicles.
“Do you want me to drop you off at the door?” Jo asked.
Lydia met her gaze in the rearview mirror, and she made a sudden decision.
“No,” she said. “Park the car and come inside with me.”
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
Jo pulled into the first space she could find, and as she hopped out, she looked to see if they’d been followed. She hadn’t seen anyone, which was good. As she hurried around the front of the vehicle, Lydia was already getting out of the back seat.
“Let me help,” Jo said as she shut the back door.
Lydia barely acknowledged that, already heading toward the bar entrance. It was as if she didn’t want anyone to think she had a driver with her. Jo caught up and opened the door to the bar. Lydia stepped inside, Jo at her heels.
Remington’s was open and spacious. Several people sat at stools at a huge bar that dominated the room. People filled booths and tables to the left and right of the bar, their conversations echoing loudly throughout the space. Large TVs mounted to the walls and in upper corners of the room showed a wide selection of sporting events. Lydia stood by a hostess stand, hands clasped in front of her.
“Do you come here often?” Jo asked, trying for casual conversation.
Lydia shook her head. “I wanted someplace different, where . . .” She didn’t finish the sentence.
Where no one would know her, Jo thought to herself.
A hostess approach with a big smile. “Hello, ladies,” she said. “Would you like a table, or would you prefer to sit in the bar?”
Lydia pointed to the right. “A booth, if you have it.”
“Of course,” the woman said. She grabbed two menus from the stand. “Follow me.”
Lydia’s back was ramrod straight as she followed the hostess between tables toward the back of the room. As she paused by a booth, Jo instinctively moved past Lydia so she could sit where she had a visual of the bar entrance. Lydia slid into the booth, and Jo sat opposite her.
“Your server will be with you in a moment,” the hostess said, the smile still etched on her face.
Lydia nodded, and the woman walked away. Music played loudly, forcing people to raise their voices. Fried food smells wafted through the air. Lydia looked around at her surroundings, and then at Jo.
“My son, Bryce, told me about this place.” Her embarrassed laugh was almost drowned out by the noise. “I can see why he likes it here. He likes sports, and he enjoys having a drink or two while he watches a game.”
“It’s not what you would normally choose,” Jo said.
“No.”
Lydia seemed about to explain why, but a server—a stocky young man with curly hair—walked up. He plopped two thin, cardboard coasters on the table, along with menus. Lydia pushed hers aside and looked at him.
“A dry martini, please,” she said.
“Of course.” He glanced at Jo.
“Water for me,” she told him.
“Of course,” he repeated.
He turned and walked away, and Lydia studied her fingernails. Then she looked all around again. Jo waited on her. The woman was uncomfortable, her mouth pinched with strain, her hands fidgeting. She tipped her head when a new song came on.
“I recognize this one,” she said. “It was something the boys would have playing in the car. I have no idea who the artist is, though.”
Jo didn’t know the song. “I missed out on a lot of cultural things when I was in the military. I was too focused in other areas.”
“Why did you choose the Army?” Lydia asked.
“That’s a good question.” Jo gave it some genuine thought. “In high school, I knew I wanted a military career, and ROTC seemed like a good way to go. I liked what the Army offered.” She smiled. “Maybe the recruiter just talked a good talk with me.”
“You became an officer?”
Jo nodded. “It was a way to get a college education, and some experience and training at the same time.”
Lydia studied her. “You were good at what you did?”
“Yes,” Jo said. She wasn’t bragging; she had been good.
“You went into Civil Affairs?”
“That came later.”
It felt as if Lydia wanted her to talk more, and Jo saw the woman’s curiosity as a way to build more rapport. So she opened up more than she might have under different circumstances, sharing how her career had evolved. She was an overachiever and had excelled in the Army—she’d been an expert markswoman, and she was gifted with foreign languages. Jo had developed a reputation as a skilled asset on intelligence operations, which led to more missions. All that had been a good fit with CA.
She finished right as the server brought their drinks.
