BY NOON, WE'D polished every inch of the Chintz 'n China. I excused Kip and Miranda after handing them each a five-dollar bill. "Be home by six at the latest. If you want, stop and pick up some take-out for dinner. I've got to go out for a while tonight and won't have time to fix anything."
They pocketed the money and took off, Miranda for the library and Kip for Sly's. In Seattle, I'd never have been so carefree. Too many things could happen to kids if we didn't keep tabs on them. But in Chiqetaw it seemed as though the outer world hadn't quite caught up. At least not on an everyday basis. Here, it was still safe to leave the car unlocked when I ran into a shop. Kids in Chiqetaw didn't disappear on their way to Mickey D's.
Once Cinnamon and I were alone, I snapped up the "Open" sign and smiled wearily at her. "Well, the place looks better. Thanks for coming in this morning. We needed the help. Starting Monday, I'll need you here all day, six days a week, through the Christmas rush. Can you manage that?"
She nodded, eyes wide. This was her first real job. She was twenty-two and took her responsibility so seriously that sometimes it made me want to laugh, but I didn't, because you just couldn't buy loyalty like that in an employee anymore. The girl had three kids. Her boyfriend had been thrown in jail a little over six months ago. "I can use the extra money." She fiddled with the linen napkins she was folding. "Christmas is going to be tight this year." Tight was right—Cinnamon didn't get any child support, and she lived with her mother.
She put the water on to boil. We served tea and a few baked goods that I ordered from the local bakery every day. On weekdays, we dished up homemade soup and biscuits during the lunch hour. Most of my business, however, came from people buying china and imported teas, jellies, jams, crackers, real anglophile stock and wares.
As she filled three giant thermoses I saw that she had chosen Misty Lemon, Orange Spice, and, of course, the ever-present Earl Grey. With sudden inspiration, I chalked "Citrus Surprise Afternoon" on the menuboard and broke open a couple of jars of marmalade and lemon curd to go with the sliced pound cake and muffins we were selling. The scent of lemon curd made me hungry. Remembering my uneaten breakfast, I slathered a spoonful on a piece of the cake, grinning at Cinnamon as I wiped crumbs off my shirt.
"Is good," I mumbled. She snorted, but within a moment she joined me in the impromptu lunch. We pushed aside the newspapers on one of the little tea tables that set in the alcove by the window and sat down with our tea and cake to wait for the first customers of the day.
Within moments, Nancy Reynolds pushed through the door, looking for her special order. A flurry of snow followed her in—winter had arrived strong and early this year. I popped the last of the cake in my mouth, gulped down my tea, and dove into the afternoon.
BETWEEN CLEANING THE shop and getting ready for the play, I had no time to follow up on any of the information I'd gotten from Harlow. I raced home, made sure the kids were okay, then shuffled through my closet. Someday soon I was going to have to break down and go shopping, like it or not.
Jeans and sweatshirt wouldn't do. I'd always preferred long skirts and warm turtlenecks. I finally decided on a calf-length black rayon skirt, a royal purple turtleneck, and a gold necklace. Dressy, but not so dressy that I'd stand out. I didn't want to admit that I might end up on a blind date. Hart's fix-ups never worked. I perfunctorily sprayed my wrists and neck with Opium and brushed out my hair. The braids had left it with a gentle cascade of waves. It had been a long time since I had a chance to dress up.
Kip meandered into the foyer as I clattered down the stairs. He stopped cold at the sight of me. "Mom, you look great! Where are you going again? I forgot."
"To the opening of a play. One of Harlow's friends wrote it." I fastened a pair of gold hoops on my ears and transferred everything over to my good purse.
Kip pursed his lips in a grin. "Yeah, I bet. She fixing you up again? You sure look ready for a date."
"You're eight going on eighteen, know that?" I pointed to the clock. "I'm not going to be out late, so your homework better be finished by the time I get back. Miranda's in charge, and if something goes wrong, you have my cell number, and Mrs. Trask is right down the street. I called her, she knows I'm going to be out for a couple hours, so she'll be home if you need her."
He snickered—a habit he picked up from me. "Yeah, yeah. My homework's already done." I gave him a hug, and he hugged me back. "You smell good." Softly, he added, "Mom, are you ever going to get married again?"
The question stunned me. Was he worried about me, or worried that I would replace his father? I sat down on the bench in the hall and pulled him over to sit next to me. "What makes you ask that?"
"You seem lonely." With a twinkle in his eye, he poked me in the ribs. "I wouldn't mind, as long as he's nice! It'd be cool to have another guy around again." He jumped up and, waving his bagged sandwich, disappeared into the living room.
Lonely? I grabbed my keys and slid behind the wheel. I suppose, after my reaction to Roy's defection, that it was obvious to the kids that I didn't relish being single, though I'd come a long ways since those days. Granted, I did wander around the house till 3:00 a.m. on the nights when I couldn't sleep, but I thought of myself as happy. Miranda and Kip were good kids, they weren't in trouble, and they were healthy and thriving. My business was doing pretty well, and I lived in a town that, for the most part, accepted my eccentricities. I had friends and a social life of sorts. I could take care of myself.
So was I unhappy being single? As I pulled out of the driveway, I realized that as much as I'd like to, I couldn't answer the question.
Chapter Three
DESPITE THE LACK of traffic, I was late getting to the theater and ended up tiptoeing up and down the aisles until I spotted Harlow. I slid into my seat and settled back to watch the show. The play itself was good, but the Chiqetaw Players butchered it. During the performance, I kept stealing glances at the man I assumed was Andrew. He winced every time somebody onstage tripped over a line.
After the show, Harlow introduced us as we trooped backstage to congratulate the cast. Andrew shook my hand. His grip was firm, cool. "May I ask what you thought of the show?"
I mulled over my options. What could I say? I glanced around, no actors in sight. "Uh… to be honest, the play itself was wonderful. The production stank. You're not working with the Seattle Rep here."
"You frequent the theater?" He lowered his voice. "I don't think most of the mighty Chiqetaw Players know anything about what they're trying to do."
"I majored in drama." I gave him a sidelong smile. He relaxed, and his eyes lit up in a way that made me think of the minister from Sunday school when I was a little girl, except my minister hadn't had a long, sleek, ink-black ponytail.
Harlow and James were deep in conversation with the lead actress. The flurry of tech talk really didn't interest me. Andrew glared at them. "I don't think it wise for me to go over there right now. I'm not as judicious with my praise as Harlow. Then again, it's not her play." He shrugged with an exaggerated "What can you do?" gesture.
"Must be rough, seeing your work mangled like that." I leaned against one of the dressing tables. I'd worn my high-heeled boots, and they were pinching my toes. They made me feel sexy every time I put them on. Until I had to walk in them, that is.
He took my arm and motioned to the Green Room, where the actors were mingling with other guests. There were two empty places on the sofa and, grateful, I sat down. He sat down next to me, and I moved my knee so it wasn't touching his.
"So tell me, why did you leave the theater?"
"A husband and two children." Simple but true. Yes, officer, I am guilty—I got married, got pregnant, and gave up a golden career as an usher, no doubt.