Page 8 of Gone Before Goodbye

“I thought you two just dated for a few weeks.”

“We were in our second year. But she broke my heart.”

Maggie frowns. “Haven’t you been married three times?”

“Four,” he says.

“And isn’t your current wife like thirty years old?”

“Thirty-two,” he says, spreading his hands. “See what a broken heart does to a person?”

Maggie can’t help but smile. Barlow does the same.

“Your father was such a good man, a much better choice for her. So I settled for friendship. But…” He shakes his head. “You get old, you get sentimental and philosophical. I’m trying to be glib, but I’m also revealing a truth.” When he smiles at her, she flashes back to surgical rounds at NewYork-Presbyterian, what a generous teacher he’d been to her, how exhausting and exhilarating it was just to be in hispresence. Evan Barlow had been a pure hit of crackling energy. You wanted to be around that.

As though reading her mind, Barlow says, “You’re the best student I ever had. You know that. You’re a surgeon, so you have the ego to know that what I’m saying is true.”

“Correction: Iwasa surgeon.”

She squeezes her eyes shut. She feels his hand on her shoulder.

His voice is so gentle. “Maggie?”

The tears push into her eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“I let you down.” She opens her eyes. “I lether”—no need to say whoherreferred to—“down.”

“You didn’t,” he says. “Wait, okay, sorry, that’s condescending. You did. I won’t lie. May I speak frankly? You did mess up. Big-time. That’s why I’m here.”

“I’m not following.”

“I don’t need a scholarship ceremony to honor your mother’s memory. I can do it in a much more concrete way.” Barlow holds up his hand. “Wait, I’m not saying this right. Let me start again. I came tonight to see you.”

“Me? Why?”

“I have a favor to ask.”

When he doesn’t immediately continue, Maggie says, “Go ahead.”

“I’d like you to come by my office on Monday.”

“This Monday?”

“Yes. Ten a.m.”

“You have a Barlow Center in Baltimore now?”

“No, but maybe soon. Right now, they’re in Palm Beach, Los Angeles, and New York City. I’d like you to come up to New York City. I’ll arrange a private car to drive you, and I have a suite reserved at the Aman.”

“I don’t understand. Why do you want me to come to New York?”

“I can’t tell you that.”

“Why not?”

“I just… it’s not my place.”