âHave you always lived here?â
Grant shrugged. âMaine is home. I always knew it was where I belonged.â
âBut didnât you ever aspire to more?â Morgan asked.
âI have my faith, my family and work I love. What more is there?â
Morgan didnât know how to respond to that. Grant seemed like a man who had found his place in the world and was content with it. There was no restlessness, no grasping, no struggle to meet some definition of worldly success. He was a man at peace with himself. She envied him that.
Morgan suddenly shivered, and she knew it was time to go. But she didnât want to. Here, in this manâs presence, she felt a sense of calm, of caring, that was a balm to her soul. And she didnât want the moment to end.
Morgan Williams frowned as she read the e-mail message on her Blackberry. Great. Just great. Her newest client at the agency was requesting a meeting first thing tomorrow to discuss ideas for the next ad campaign. Unfortunately, Morgan didnât have any. Sheâd been too busy with Aunt Joâs funeral to give the campaign more than a passing thought. Which wasnât good. And would not be looked upon kindly by her superiors. In her world, work came first. Period. To paraphrase the postal service motto, nothingâneither rain, nor snow, nor sleetâ¦nor a funeralâshould keep her from her appointed task. Not when she had her eye on a top spot in the firm.
Her frown deepened, and she typed in a reply, asking if the meeting could be delayed a day. Even then, sheâd be scrambling for ideas. But sheâd come through. She always did. Thatâs why she was on the fast track.
Morgan finished the e-mail and hit Send. As she leaned against the plush back of the settee in the attorneyâs elegant waiting room, she glanced impatiently at her watch. âI wish heâd hurry. I have a plane to catch.â
A.J. turned from the window, which framed a row of flame-red maples against a brilliant St. Louis late-October sky. âChill out, Morgan,â she advised. âThe advertising world can live without you for a few more hours.â
Shooting her younger sister an annoyed look, Morgan rummaged in her purse for her cell phone. âTrust me, A.J. The business arena is nothing like your non-profit world. Hours do matter to us. So do minutes.â
âMoreâs the pity,â A.J. responded in a mild tone, turning back to admire the view again. âLife is too short to be so stressed about things as fleeting as ad campaigns.â
Morgan opened her mouth to respond, but Clare beat her to it. âDonât you think we should put our philosophical differences aside today, in respect for Aunt Jo?â she interjected in a gentle, non-judgmental tone.
Morgan and A.J. turned in unison toward their older sister, and A.J. grinned.
âEver the peacemaker, Clare,â she said, her voice tinged with affection.
âSomebody had to keep the two of you from doing each other bodily harm when we were growing up,â Clare said with a smile. âAnd since I was the only one who didnât inherit momâs McCauley-red hairâand the temper that went with itâI suppose the job had to fall to me.â
A.J. joined Morgan on the couch. âOkay. In honor of Aunt Jo, I declare a truce. How about it, Morgan?â
Hesitating only a second, Morgan ditched her cell phone in her purse. âTruce,â she agreed with a grin. âBesides, much as I hate to admit that my kid sister is sometimes right, I am occasionally guilty of taking my job too seriously.â
âOccasionally?â A.J. rolled her eyes.
âEnough, you two,â Clare admonished with a smile.
âOkay, okay,â A.J. said with a laugh. âI bet you whip those kids into shape whenever you substitute-teach. In a nice way, of course. Their regular teacher is probably astounded at their good behavior when she gets back.â