you’re still interested. There’s some kind of private party tonight, but we could do it tomorrow if you’re free.”
“That will be great.”
“Then it’s a date. Let’s shoot for seven.” He smiled, and she felt the warmth tickling her in places that proved she was not invulnerable to a good-looking man.
She put the tickling aside, although she hated to. “Before you go, did you have a chance to ask your mother-in-law about Herb?”
“I completely forgot. I’m sorry.”
“No problem. I’ll go over later and see what she knows.”
“I wouldn’t.” Lee looked as if he weren’t sure how to phrase his objection. “Alice hasn’t been herself since my wife died. She had a small stroke, no obvious damage that shouldn’t improve with time, but she’s still going downhill. The doctors are worried about some kind of permanent dementia.”
“Alzheimer’s?”
He shrugged. “One of the possibilities. The problem is, trying to remember things upsets her. It would be better if I just approached this casually. I’ll tackle it tonight. Will that work?”
“Sure, and thanks.”
“I’ll let you know if I find out anything. Need a ride to your door?”
He favored her with another warm smile when she said no. She thought those smiles might become an addiction.
Once she was inside her cottage, surrounded by all the considerable evidence of her new start, she smiled, too. She didn’t want to be here. Not in this state, not in this place. But it was quite possible being here was going to be more tolerable than she had feared only yesterday.
chapter seven
Wanda wasn’t sure when Ken came in from his nightly walk, but the next morning she found the paper on the table again, and the remnants of a pot of coffee on the counter. How the man survived on next to no sleep didn’t concern her. Nobody was forcing him to prowl Palmetto Grove Key. Whatever he was doing, he was on his own, and for all she knew he had found a comfortable bed at the end of the prowl that didn’t include her.
Since the beginning of April, she had worked the lunch shift at the Dancing Shrimp. She and Lainie, her supervisor, had decided lunch would free up her evenings for more important things, and besides, lunch tips were good in the summer. The Dancing Shrimp sat right on the bay, and Wanda usually took the outside tables. Customers on the deck felt expansive, as if they ought to pay a little more for their superior view of sailboats and pontoons, and besides, Wanda always gave extra special service.
Some servers felt that waiting on people was beneath them. Not Wanda. Life wasn’t a beach, just something that sounded like it, and everybody needed TLC now and again just to get through. A person never knew what somebody else was living with. Wanda didn’t take sass, but she was good with the grumps, making them smile, even laugh, by the time she handed over their checks. She had that gift, and bringing food, making recommendations, replenishing drinks? It was just a good way to use her God-given talent.
Today, however, by the time her shift ended at two, she was dragging. The outside deck was shaded, and fans kept the air moving, but between the pervading heat, a couple of difficult customers and another server who had a hissy fit because a party of notorious big spenders requested Wanda, she felt as if somebody had turned her inside out. Plus her stomach was bubbling and churning, and she’d eaten a whole roll of Tums by the end of her shift. She figured that making a coconut cream pie in the summer wasn’t such a good idea if only one party was around to eat it. And eat it. And eat it.
The doings at work weren’t the only problem. She wasn’t happy with herself. When things didn’t go well at the workplace, but they were fine at home, she could manage. Vice versa, more or less. But when things weren’t going well anywhere? Well, life seemed way too complicated. And sad.
Back at the cottage, she changed out of her uniform: blue capris and a red polo shirt with a logo of two jitterbugging shrimp stitched in rainbow-colored thread. She couldn’t imagine a frumpier outfit, but at least when something spilled or splattered, it wasn’t as if she were emotionally attached. And the shrimp did add a little character, kind of a “dance before they eat you” flavor to the whole ensemble.
In the tiny living room she collapsed on the vintage