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“Okay.”
Once again Will heard her set the phone down, trot across the room and shout. He didn’t hear anything for another minute or so.
Then … “This is Shirley.”
If he’d recognized the lack of welcome in Tanni’s voice, it came through even more clearly in her mother’s.
“I hope I’m not interrupting you.” Will forced himself to sound his most charming.
“It’s fine.” Some of the irritation left her voice. “I was in the middle of something but I needed a break, anyway.”
He relaxed a bit. “I called to see if you were available this Saturday night. I have tickets for the Playhouse.” He didn’t give her a chance to reject yet another invitation. Instead, he continued in a conversational tone. “Peggy Beldon stopped by earlier in the week. She’s redecorating the master bedroom and bought an original piece—a collage. She mentioned that Bob’s starring in the production of Fiddler on the Roof. That’s a favorite of mine and I like to support our local theater.”
“This Saturday?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, Will, I’m sorry but I promised Miranda I’d attend the fundraiser at the library this Saturday.”
Okay, he’d half expected this kind of response. “I might be able to trade in the tickets for another night.” He wasn’t giving up that easily.
“Unlikely,” Shirley said, and he heard a hint of regret in her voice—or thought he did. “I read in the Chronicle this morning that the tickets have completely sold out. The theater might add extra shows.”
“Well, maybe we can go to one of those.”
“Maybe,” Shirley said.
“What about Sunday?” he blurted out, not sure what to suggest. A stroll along the waterfront? A movie? Coffee? He’d tried all those before and gotten nowhere.
“That won’t work, either. Miranda and I—”
“Just who is Miranda?” Will asked, gritting his teeth. He’d never heard the other woman’s name before and all of a sudden it was Miranda this and Miranda that. He hadn’t even met the woman and already he had the distinct feeling she was a troublemaker.
“Miranda’s a good friend. We’ve known each other for years. We drifted apart but after my husband died we reconnected. Miranda lost Hugh, her husband, about five years ago. You might’ve heard of him—Hugh Sullivan, a landscape painter. Anyway, she’s been helping me navigate widowhood.”
Will wanted to be the one to guide Shirley to new love and a new life. He’d hoped they could find this path to happiness together.
“I think it might be best if we tried to get together another time,” she said with finality.
Before he could propose another potential outing, Shirley ended the conversation. “Thanks for calling, Will. Bye now.”
He couldn’t come up with anything fast enough to stop her from disconnecting. When he started to sputter something, the telephone droned in his ear. Shaking his head, he hung up.
Perhaps he was losing his touch. It wasn’t his looks. Even now that he’d grown older, his brown hair with its silver accents gave him the distinguished appearance of a man who was confident and comfortable with himself.
He routinely worked out; he wasn’t fanatical about exercise but he kept in shape. Although he’d recently purchased the gallery, he’d managed his finances effectively. He wasn’t rich, but he was well off.
Georgia, being Georgia, had been more than fair in their divorce settlement. Apparently she felt guilty for filing. Another irony, since he was the one who’d cheated on her. He knew his mother and sister kept in touch with his ex. He didn’t. Contact between them would be just too … awkward.
Will didn’t know what it was about him that scared Shirley Bliss away. So many women fawned over him, and attracting the opposite sex had never been a problem until he met Shirley.
Despite her skittishness, Will sensed that she was attracted to him, that she wanted to know him better. For whatever reason, Shirley couldn’t or wouldn’t let him get close.
Then he understood.
The answer should’ve been obvious. Shirley did want to date him. She felt, just as he did, that they’d be terrific together. She felt the same sparks Will did.
But Shirley was afraid.
That was understandable. He should’ve recognized it long ago. After years of being married to the same man, Shirley was terrified of what would happen if she allowed herself to have strong feelings for someone else.
Now that he’d figured it out, Will decided he could afford to take some time to work on a strategy to convince her….
Saturday night, after closing, he looked through the gallery windows and caught a glimpse of the flickering lights of the shipyard across the cove. Down at the marina, sailboats bobbed on the gentle swell of the wake created by the Bremerton ferry. From there, his gaze moved toward the library. He’d read about the fundraiser but hadn’t thought much about it until Shirley said she had plans to go with her friend.
Doubt flickered in his mind. He couldn’t help wondering if what she’d said was true—if she really was at the fundraiser. The only way of confirming it was to show up there himself. He didn’t have any other plans, since he wasn’t willing to attend the theater on his own. So Will made the sudden decision to become a library supporter. He still found it uncomfortable to see Grace, but she needed to know he’d moved on, too, and there was no better way to prove it.
He shaved and splashed on a light dose of citrusy cologne, then put on a gray vest his mother had knit him on impossibly small needles. He couldn’t begin to imagine how many hours this had taken Charlotte. Will tended to wear it on special occasions and this evening, he felt, was special—an opportunity to make a real connection with Shirley.
With his hands in his pants pockets, Will walked casually down the hill to the library. Even before he reached the end of the block he could hear the music drifting up from the open library doors. Grace had brought in a chamber music group; this event was more formal and elegant than he’d assumed.
As he entered the library, the first person he saw was his sister, Olivia. Her husband, Jack Griffin, stood attentively by her side, and Will recognized the concern on his face. His sister was recovering from cancer. Just before Christmas they’d nearly lost her to a massive infection with temperatures high enough to make her delirious. The episode had shaken the entire family, as well as her many friends. Like Grace.
Will had viewed Olivia with fresh eyes after seeing her so ill. The surge of love and protectiveness he’d felt had taken him by surprise. He hadn’t realized how deeply he loved his little sister.
Will wasn’t aware that he was blocking the doorway until someone politely asked to step past.
“Sorry,” he mumbled as he went farther into the room.
Waiters moved among the throng hoisting trays with champagne flutes and tiny hors d’oeuvres. It occurred to Will that he might need a ticket. He saw a woman at a table collecting money and hurried toward her. While he waited in line, he glanced around, hoping to find Shirley. A moment later he did. She stood talking to Grace; the woman beside her must be Miranda.
As if Shirley’s friend felt his gaze she turned in his direction. Her eyes locked on him and then ever so slowly narrowed. Will stared back.
Miranda said something to Shirley, who instantly looked at him. Then she nodded.
So Miranda had asked about him. That was interesting, he thought, as he surreptitiously observed Shirley’s friend. She stood nearly a head taller than Shirley. Will suspected Miranda was close to six feet; he was six-one. By contrast, Shirley was petite, delicate, fine-boned. Miranda was none of those things.
He paid for his ticket and decided to approach Shirley. Perhaps they could mingle for a while and then ditch her friend and go to dinner. He didn’t see any need to waste a beautiful evening. On his way over to Shirley, he grabbed a flute and took a sip. Not real champagne, but a decent sparkling wine, probably a California label.
Shirley gave a small wave and started toward him. Miranda came with her. Both women held half-full flutes that they balanced carefully as they walked.
“Will,” Shirley said, smiling up at him warmly. “I didn’t expect to see you here. Weren’t you going to the theater?”
“Last-minute change of plans,” he said, returning her smile. He flicked a glance at her friend.
As if suddenly realizing she needed to make introductions, Shirley said, “This is the friend I mentioned. Miranda Sullivan, Will Jefferson.”
“Pleased to meet you,” Miranda said, sounding anything but.
Her attitude annoyed him. “Same here,” he responded, matching her tone. What was this woman’s problem, anyway? She seemed to disapprove of him for some reason, even though she knew next to nothing about him.
Shirley appeared to notice because she looked quickly from one to the other.
“I was just telling Miranda how grateful I am for all your help with Tanni and Shaw.”
He bowed his head. “I was happy to be of assistance. Shaw is a talented young artist who deserved a hand up.”
Miranda smiled cynically but didn’t comment.
“Speaking of Tanni, I see she came, after all,” Shirley said breathlessly. “If you’ll both excuse me for a moment, I think I should check on her.” She headed toward the door, leaving Will alone with Miranda.
He didn’t usually take an immediate dislike to anyone, especially a woman. He supposed he was reacting, at least partially, to her dislike of him. He couldn’t understand it, unless she’d heard rumors…. Perhaps his reputation had preceded him. However, he wasn’t particularly worried. Instead, he made up his mind to treat her as a challenge. She was Shirley’s friend, and if he could make her an ally, his chances with Shirley might improve.
“So you’re a good friend of Shirley’s?” he asked.
“A very good friend,” she told him, and brought the flute to her lips. “What makes you ask?”
She was direct and, as he’d guessed, didn’t seem too fond of him. Switching tactics, Will decided to be equally direct. “The look you gave me.”
Her dark eyebrows arched slightly. “I gave you a look?”
“Didn’t you?” he asked.
“No.”
He smiled softly and had to admit he was rather amused by this silly game. “Liar.”
She laughed. “The fact is, Mr. Jefferson, I don’t think I like you.”
He should’ve asked why, but the truth was, he didn’t really care. He met her eyes. “Actually, the feeling is mutual, but we do have one thing in common—our high regard for Shirley.”
Miranda answered with a short nod.
“So that gives us common ground, agreed?”
She studied the bubbly liquid in her glass. “Agreed,” she finally said.
“Don’t you feel it would be easier on Shirley if we made an effort to get along?”
This required more consideration on her part. “Perhaps.”
“On a different but related matter, I’m looking for someone who’s knowledgeable about the local art community to pitch in at the gallery when I need it.” He remembered what Shirley had told him about Miranda’s husband. “I gather from Shirley that you’re eminently qualified,” he said. A stretch, perhaps, but whatever worked … “Would you be willing to consider doing that?” He really could use the help, she could probably handle the work and, with her at the gallery, he might be able to gain information about Shirley. In fact, this idea might be impetuous but it was a stroke of genius.
“My husband was an artist,” she murmured.
“Hugh Sullivan, the landscape painter.” He made a mental note to do some quick research on Hugh.
She smiled, a smile he found a trifle condescending. “I’ll think about it, Mr. Jefferson.”
“Good.” He seemed to be winning her over and that pleased him. Now he had the larger task of working his way into Shirley Bliss’s affections.
With—he hoped—the blessing of her friend Miranda.
Four
Sunday afternoon—more glorious weather. As Mack worked in the yard, Mary Jo diligently washed the outside windows. She’d gone to church earlier that morning while Mack was finishing his overnight shift at the fire station. He got home at about the time she returned from services and they’d decided to spend this beautiful afternoon outdoors.
Mack reveled in the sense of peace and companionship he felt as they both worked quietly; he seeded bare portions of the lawn and she cleaned every window and wiped down every sill. Since Noelle was asleep inside the house, Mary Jo kept her front and back doors ajar so she could hear the baby. When they were done, she and Mack made small talk, complimenting each other’s work, then put away their supplies. The windows gleamed from their washing, the lawn was greening and the garden—vegetables and flowers—now looked like a real garden. The lettuce leaves had started to sprout and Mary Jo had planted pole beans, corn and peas earlier in the week. The bulb flowers had sprung up in vivid color.
“I need to go to Wal-Mart,” Mary Jo announced at about four o’clock.
“Do you want company?” There was nothing he needed himself, but he couldn’t think of anything he’d rather do than spend time with Mary Jo.
“Sure, if you want. I have to get diapers and a few other things. I won’t be long.”
“I can take you out to eat afterward, if you’d like.” He spoke casually, but his heart pounded with anticipation. It seemed that whenever he was making headway in this relationship, something would set the whole thing back. He knew he had to tread lightly with Mary Jo.
“You don’t have to take me out, Mack, but thanks.”
“It’s the least I can do,” he argued. “To pay you back for all the dinners you’ve made me.”
“No, really, I’m happy to have your company. Besides, I’m used to cooking for my brothers. I always make far more than one person could eat, anyway. You’re actually doing me a favor.”
That was exactly what he’d told himself earlier in the week, but he didn’t like hearing it now.
He shrugged, smiling, as if her comment amused him, although what he felt was frustration. How was it that he could fall in love with the one woman in the world who was determined not to venture into romance again? He could only hope she’d eventually start to trust him, eventually return his feelings….
Noelle was awake and cheerful when Mack, having showered and changed, joined them in the driveway. He picked up the baby seat and made silly noises that delighted Noelle as he fastened the carrier in Mary Jo’s car. She’d suggested they take her vehicle; he offered to drive and she accepted.
On the way to Wal-Mart, they said very little.
“Have you found out any more about the letters?” she asked after a while.
“I thought of something that might help us,” he said.
“What?” Her interest was immediate.
“In one of the letters, the one where Jacob mentions eating fish and chips, he wrote about being raised in the Pacific Northwest.”
“Yes, I remember,” Mary Jo murmured. “So he wasn’t just at a base in this area, it was also his home.”
“Right. So, it should be easy enough to check local high school records from that time—say, the mid-thirties through early forties. Her surname might have changed, but not his.”
“Maybe we can learn his family’s address that way,” she said excitedly. “I’ll start checking them out tomorrow. Also, could you talk to your friend?”
“My friend?”
“Yes, our landlord. Maybe he can tell us about the previous owners, or at least the most recent ones.”
