“Okay.”
The waitress left and Shirley had a little more of her wine. “You were telling me about Larry Knight.”
“Ah, yes.” He rested his back against the polished wood bench and lifted his glass. “Like I was saying, Larry has a lot of sway with art schools around the country.”
Shirley soaked in every word. “Do you think he might open doors for Shaw? I mean, I don’t know what Shaw’s financial situation is. I seem to remember Tanni telling me his father disapproves of Shaw’s dream of being an artist. He’s an attorney and wants Shaw to attend law school. He’d probably need a scholarship.”
That was understood; one look at Shaw was enough to convince Will that the kid didn’t have a dime to his name. “I figured he would.”
“Would you be willing to do that for Shaw? To ask Larry?”
But Will knew she also welcomed the prospect of Shaw’s departure, for her daughter’s sake.
“Only if you believe Shaw’s talent is sufficient,” he said.
“Oh, I do,” she said earnestly.
Will set his glass on the table, holding on to the stem, gently swirling the wine. “I’m sure Larry gets these sorts of requests all the time.”
“I’m sure he does. I didn’t mean to imply that he should recommend Shaw unless his talent warrants such an advantage.”
He nodded. “I’ve already had him look at Shaw’s work, so Larry’s familiar with what the boy can do.”
“Then you’ll ask?”
He nodded again, slowly. “I’ll call Larry on Monday morning, then let you know what he has to say.”
Shirley’s face lit up with a huge smile. “I can’t tell you how grateful I am.”
He couldn’t resist the thought that maybe, when the time came, she could show him. No, that was the old Will talking, he reminded himself. The new Will wanted something more genuine with this woman. Something lasting.
Their meal was splendid and, true to her word, Shirley sampled one of his oysters.
“Well?” he asked, confident that she’d order them the next time they dined at D.D.’s. “What did you think?”
She smiled across the table at him. “It was better than I remembered. But then, it’s hard to find fault with anything deep-fried.” With a wry grimace, she added, “That’s why I usually stay away from that kind of food.”
Will chuckled. “Me, too. But I allow myself extravagances on special occasions.” He wanted her to understand that being with her was one of those occasions.
“All in all, though…”
“Yes?” he said, eager to hear her verdict.
“I’ll stick with the crab Louie.”
Fourteen
“Cut off a little more on the sides,” thirteen-year-old Jolene instructed Rachel, examining her reflection in the bathroom mirror.
Rachel had set her up in the small hallway bathroom for a haircut. Some of their best conversations came while she was busy with Jolene’s hair.
Over the years, Rachel had developed a theory about why that was the case. When she was working on a customer’s hair, Rachel was in that person’s space—by invitation. This proximity created a sense of intimacy that made clients feel comfortable enough to share some of the most private details of their lives. She figured that was also why so much gossip got started—or at least spread—at hair salons.
“It looks really cute,” Rachel said.
Jolene turned her head from side to side. “You think so?” she asked, her voice uncertain.
“I do.” Rachel plugged in the electric razor. “Lean forward and tuck your chin down.”
“Do you think Dad will like my hair this short?”
“Absolutely,” Rachel assured her, although she wasn’t sure. Jolene bowed her head, and Rachel clipped the hair at the base of the girl’s neck.
When she’d finished, Jolene raised her head and their eyes met in the bathroom mirror. Slowly Jolene exhaled. “I’m not mad at you and my dad anymore.”
“Good.” It’d been an uncomfortable week or so after Jolene had caught the two of them in bed in the middle of the afternoon. Rachel could laugh about it now.
Not Bruce.
He’d been in such a state—of embarrassment, frustration and anger—that it’d taken him days to put the incident behind him.
Meanwhile, Jolene had given them both the silent treatment for nearly a week.
“I’m glad you’re my stepmother,” she said.
“I’m glad I am, too.” Rachel held the girl’s gaze in the mirror. “I like being your stepmother.”
Jolene pointedly broke eye contact. “If I tell you something, do you promise not to be mad?”
Rachel wasn’t about to make that kind of promise. “I’ll try not to be. Okay?”
“Okay.” With an exaggerated sigh, the girl repeated, “I’m glad you’re my stepmother,” then added, “but I really wish you and my dad weren’t married.”
The words stung and Rachel couldn’t respond for a moment. “I love you and your father very much, Jolene. It’s important for me to be part of your family.”
“I know. Dad needs you…and I do, too. I feel selfish and mean for…for complaining.”
“Then we should talk about it.” Rachel needed to put aside her own emotions and listen carefully to what Jolene was saying. “Tell me why you feel this way.”
Rachel sat on the edge of the bathtub, hands braced on either side, ankles crossed, hoping that if she looked relaxed, she’d encourage Jolene to confide in her.
“But…I don’t want you to get mad at me.”
Rachel shook her head and reached out to give the girl’s shoulder a gentle squeeze.
Jolene kept her head lowered. “Before you and Dad got married, I was afraid that if…if you moved into the house, Dad wouldn’t have time for me anymore.”
“Do you think that’s happened?”