1105 Yakima Street

Well, so much for that. Although she pretended otherwise, she was sorry to lose this job. She’d enjoyed it; she knew she was good at it. Although Will Jefferson was as delusional and arrogant as she’d said, she considered him a friend, too. A begrudging friend, but still a friend. That friendship, such as it was, had probably ended now.

The weekend dragged by. Looking back on the incident, Miranda wished she’d handled everything differently. Will had already been upset about learning that Shirley was engaged to Larry Knight. Then she’d heaped hot coals on his bruised ego by boasting about the sale of the painting.

Still, it was for the best that she leave. They bickered constantly and neither one of them was willing to give in. Will was just as stubborn as she was. And then there was this…this useless attraction she felt for him. Yes, it was preferable all around that she seek other employment. Only…she’d really liked working at the gallery. She knew many of the local artists and they were familiar with her, too. Her being at the gallery was an asset to Will, but apparently he no longer saw it that way.

Normally Miranda would have confided in Shirley, spilled out her tale of woe. Not this time. But she couldn’t explain why she hesitated to tell her closest friend that she’d been fired.

Instead, she hibernated all weekend, not venturing out of her apartment, even for groceries. She used the time to clean her oven, scrub the bathroom walls and sort out the clutter in her kitchen drawers. The tasks suited her mood perfectly. She needed a distraction, something to keep her mind off Will and the blowup they’d had. And this kind of work made her feel more organized, more in control.

When her paycheck wasn’t in the mail on Monday, she thought perhaps he’d forgotten. She punched out the phone number for the gallery and waited for him to answer. She couldn’t help wondering if he’d already hired her replacement.

“Harbor Street Gallery,” Will answered on the third ring, sounding harried.

“It’s Miranda. I was looking for my check. It hasn’t arrived yet.”

“Oh, right. Sorry. I haven’t had a chance to write it. I’ll do it this afternoon.”

“Would you like me to stop by and pick it up?” she asked.

“Sure.” He paused. “Would you mind?”

“Not at all.”

“When can I expect you?”

Miranda glanced at her watch. “An hour?”

“Perfect.”

She replaced the phone and felt better than she had all weekend. Collecting her purse and sweater, she headed out the door. The early part of the week was generally slow at the gallery. She’d filled in for Will a couple of Mondays that month so he could help his mother and stepfather with the insurance people and the builder remodeling the kitchen.

Will was sitting behind the counter, leafing through a catalog, and stood when she entered the gallery. He didn’t smile at first and neither did she. The old wooden floor creaked as she walked across the room, which made her feel even more self-conscious.

“Thanks for stopping by,” Will said.

“I have time on my hands, so it’s not a problem.”

He grinned at her weak joke.

“You have my check?”

“Oh, yes,” he said, locating the envelope under the counter. He handed it to her but held on to one end. “The thing is…”

“Yes?” she asked eagerly.

“I believe I might’ve been a bit hasty in letting you go when I did.”

“Really…”

He hedged for a few seconds. “There aren’t as many tourists as we usually get this time of year, but…”

“But,” she went on, “the gallery has the potential to bring in a large clientele.” Miranda had plenty of ideas she wanted to share—like a holiday show, sponsoring an art walk, hosting an event for the chamber of commerce. They could invite local artists, serve wine and cheese, consider ways to work with other businesses.

“I believe there’s great potential here, too,” Will concurred. “Problem is, I can’t do it alone.”

“You need an assistant.”

“Yes,” he agreed, “but I was foolish enough to fire the best one I’m likely to find.”

Miranda felt sure she hadn’t heard him correctly. “Are you saying you want me to come back?”

“You’re cantankerous, insubordinate and a lot of other things I could mention, but two days without you and I was ready to pull my hair out. Pride is a fine thing, but it only carries you so far—and I’ve reached my limit. I want you back. Would you be willing to let bygones be bygones and start over?”

“I think I could do that,” she said, struggling to hide her delight. The knot in her stomach unraveled and the tension eased from her shoulders. “We can talk.”

“That sounds like a good idea.” Will smiled.

And Miranda smiled back.

Ten

Sitting at her parents’ kitchen counter, Gloria Ashton watched her mother move briskly around, assembling a variety of bowls and wooden spoons. Gloria wasn’t sure what Corrie was making but it seemed to demand a lot of attention. The cookbook was propped open and a dozen ingredients were lined up on the counter.

Roy was in the living room reading the local paper and that, too, appeared to be completely captivating.

“Would you like more milk?” Corrie asked, nodding at Gloria’s half-empty glass.

“No, thanks.”

Gloria had first noticed the tension between Roy and Corrie a couple of weeks ago and tried to ignore it. She figured they’d resolve the problem, whatever it was, without interference from her or anyone else. But that didn’t seem to be the case.

“Is everything okay between you and Roy?” she finally asked. She’d decided just coming right out with it was better than pretending this uneasiness didn’t exist.

Roy rattled his paper and Corrie dropped an egg on the counter, breaking the shell. She tore off a paper towel and used it to shove the raw egg and broken shell directly into the kitchen sink. She turned on the water, ran the garbage disposal, then washed her hands, drying them on her apron.

“What was that, dear?” she asked as if she hadn’t heard the question.

“I asked if everything’s all right between you and Roy,” Gloria repeated.

Corrie stood on the other side of the counter, looking into the living room, where Roy sat with the newspaper hiding his face. “That’s something you need to ask your father,” she said in a starched voice.

Roy lowered the paper, stared into the kitchen, then resumed reading. He’d been at it a solid hour. Gloria assumed he’d read it from front to back twice over by now. The Tuesday editions were often the skimpiest of the week.

“Roy doesn’t seem to be in the mood to talk,” Gloria said. The fact that she’d only recently come into their lives had left her with an incomplete picture of Roy and Corrie’s relationship. She wasn’t sure how they handled disagreements. Her adoptive parents had been both verbal and demonstrative, arguing often and loudly. Roy seemed restrained, which might come from his training as a cop, while Corrie was the more voluble. This was the first serious argument she’d encountered; its duration surprised her.

“I saw Mack a few days ago,” Gloria said, making conversation. She hoped to put her mother at ease. If Corrie relaxed, perhaps she’d let down her guard and Gloria could get to the bottom of this.

“You did?”

“Yeah. He dropped off a baby name book and another couple of books on pregnancy. One of them I hadn’t heard of. Apparently it’s hot off the press.”

“Mack brought you books?” Corrie asked, then answered her own question. “Oh, they must be from Mary Jo.”

Gloria didn’t think so. “These looked brand-new. The spines hadn’t even been cracked.”

“Have you read them?”

“I’ve finished with the pregnancy books. Did you know the baby’s heart is already beating? Incredible, isn’t it?”

“Incredible is right.”

“Any news from Linnette?” Gloria knew her sister was overdue by a few days.

“She’s ready to have this baby anytime. My suitcase is packed. As soon as we hear from Pete, I’m heading to the airport.”

That explained why Corrie was cooking up a storm. She’d be joining her daughter and helping with her grandchild. She probably intended to freeze most of the meals she was preparing.

“Will you…” Gloria wasn’t sure she could find the courage to ask.

“Will I what?”

“Help me?”

“Gloria, of course I will!” Corrie said.

“I…I haven’t made any final decisions yet,” Gloria was quick to add. “I still might give the baby up for adoption. I was adopted into a loving home and I’d want my baby to know the same love I received from my adoptive parents.”

“Of course you would.”

Roy dropped the paper and let it rest on his lap. “The laws have changed since you were adopted, Gloria. These days the father has legal rights.”

It embarrassed Gloria to think about Chad. She’d rather keep him out of the picture, although that was neither practical nor ethical. Sooner or later she’d have to contact him….

Her father continued to look at her as if anticipating some response. “I don’t need to put the father’s name on the birth certificate,” she eventually said.

“Don’t you?” He arched both brows with the question.

“I could say the paternity’s unknown.”

“Yes, but is that fair to the father or your child? What if the baby has a medical issue at some point in his or her life and needs that information? Not only would you have cheated the father but also the baby. It’s something to think about.”

“Yes, it is,” Gloria murmured. And she had thought about it. In fact, she’d thought about little else.

Roy’s gaze locked with Corrie’s.

Corrie whirled around and yanked open the refrigerator door. “You had to bring that up, didn’t you? It wasn’t enough that you went behind my back but you—” She stopped abruptly.

Roy vaulted out of his chair with a speed that shocked Gloria.

“I’d like to remind you that I didn’t go behind your back. You, on the other hand,” he began, then floundered for words and finished with, “did.”

Gloria stared openmouthed at the two of them. “What in the world are you talking about?”

“Nothing.” Roy sat back in his recliner and snatched up the paper. It crackled as he jerked it open to the page he was supposedly reading.

“Not a thing,” Corrie told her, resuming her cooking.

Gloria noticed that her mother’s hands trembled and she had to pause, drawing in a deep breath.

“Maybe I should go,” Gloria said, fearing she was about to get caught in the undertow of whatever was wrong between them. Their disagreement was obviously something neither Roy nor Corrie wanted to discuss in front of her.

“Don’t, please,” Corrie said, and to Gloria’s astonishment, her mother’s eyes were bright with unshed tears.