folded. “I had a feeling you had an agenda today.”
“A mother can’t come by and see her son?”
He took another pair of boxers. Something about his mother folding his underwear didn’t feel right, so he tried to stay ahead of her. “I know when you’re up to something.”
She folded in silence, waiting for his reply.
“Though I’m going through a difficult phase, I’m not sure I’m ready to hang up the writing gig. And you know as well as I do that taking that job will consume me. The money would be nice—”
“Not to mention the security,” Sadie interrupted while straightening the collar of one of his short-sleeved button-downs. “You’d have a guaranteed job for the rest of your life. Can you say that about working for the bank?”
“If I took the job, I might as well rip out my soul and bury it in the backyard while I’m at it. Look at Dad. He works too much and is miserable half the time. With the bank, I can at least leave my work at the office.”
“Your father is not miserable. He might still be dealing with stuff from the war, but his job gives him a reason to get out into the world.” She united a pair of socks. “St. Pete wouldn’t be what it is without your father and Grant Construction. You did a great thing for this city with your book. You’ve both given to your community. Imagine if you joined him and continued to write. The Grant Powerhouse.”
Whitaker shook his head. Why was it that the Grants felt this need to take over the world?
Sadie whistled a short melody. “It doesn’t take ten years to write a book. I know you’re trying, but . . . trying to make a living with your art can sometimes cause problems.”
Whitaker gave up folding and walked to the window. A green lizard missing half its tail was doing push-ups on the sill. The reptile dashed away when it noticed the typist approaching. “If there’s one thing I know, it’s the dangers of mixing business and pleasure. But I don’t want to be defeated. I have another book in me. I know I do.”
Sadie ignored him. “Let’s face it; you need a woman, and you need to consider starting a family. It’s not all about you anymore. Selfishness is the business of men in their thirties.” Clearly she and Jack were in agreement.
Indecisive on which bait to take, he finally chose her most consistent argument. “We all know you want more grandkids.”
While taking a break from folding to sip her wine, Sadie replied, “Of course I do. I also happen to think you would be an amazing father. Look at the way your nephew looks at you.”
She was slashing open the wounds of his failed marriage. Lisa had told Whitaker the same thing about being a great father. “Just let me get one more book done, and then we’ll focus on babies,” he’d promised her.
“My body is ready now,” she’d replied, and then dramatically stuck a finger in the air to emulate a second hand on a clock. “Tick, tick, tick.”
As much as Whitaker had loved Lisa, that little movement of hers might have been the most exasperating gesture on earth—not to mention an added impediment to his writer’s block. The selfishness of his thirties, indeed. No question that he and Lisa would still be together if he’d been on the same page about parenthood. Tick, tick.
Sadie was still going. “You have a way with kids, and you owe it to the world.”
Whitaker heard his brother scolding him about the birthday present. A buck knife?
“I really appreciate your life advice,” he said, “but, seriously, I’m going through a rough patch, and I need to deal with it on my own. I know you want me to have a serious job and a family, but I’m not there. Did you ever stop to think about the poor woman who would have to put up with me?”
“Who hasn’t had a total collapse?” Sadie asked. “You post-baby-boomer generations think you’re the only ones who have struggled internally. The only way to learn to live is by crashing hard a few times.”
He collapsed onto the sofa. “Then I’m learning well, believe me.”
Sadie sat in the comfy chair next to the sofa and set her wine down on a coaster. “I only have a few more minutes before I need to get to the club to meet Joe and Nancy. Let me just say this. Don’t