The Girls Of Mischief Bay. Susan Mallery
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opened the drawer to pull out the foil cutter. “It’s a bathroom. They’re idiots. But if the check clears, what do I care?”
As they spoke, she studied the man she’d been married to for thirty-one years. He was tall, just over six feet, with thick hair that had started going gray. The dark blond color meant the gray wasn’t noticeable, but it was there. Being a man, it only made him look more appealing. A few months ago he’d asked why she wasn’t going gray, too. When she’d reminded him of her visits every six weeks to her hair person, he’d been shocked. John was such a typical guy, it had never occurred to him she colored her hair. Because he thought she was naturally beautiful.
Silly man, she thought affectionately, as she watched him.
He had a few wrinkles around his eyes, but otherwise looked as he had when they’d first met. Those broad shoulders had always appealed to her. These days he claimed he needed to lose ten or fifteen pounds, but she thought he looked just fine.
He was handsome, in a rugged kind of way. He was a good man. Kind and generous. He loved his wife and his kids and his routine. While he had his faults, they were minor and ones she could easily live with. In truth, she had no complaints about John. It was the her-getting-older thing she found faintly annoying.
He pulled out the cork and tested it with his thumbnail, then poured them each a glass of Cab. She slid the biscuits into the oven and set the timer.
“What are we having?” he asked as he handed her a glass.
“Beef burgundy and biscuits.”
His mouth turned up in an easy smile. “I’m a lucky man.”
“Even luckier. You’ll be taking leftovers for lunch tomorrow.”
“You know I love me some leftovers.”
He wasn’t kidding, she thought as she followed him through the kitchen. His idea of heaven was any kind of red meat with leftovers for lunch the following day. He was easy to please.
They went into the sunroom off the back of the house. In the cooler months, the glass room stayed warm. In the summer, they removed the glass and used the space for outdoor living.
Lulu followed them, then jumped up on the love seat where Pam always sat and settled next to her. Pam rubbed her dog’s ears as John leaned back in his chair—a recliner with a matching mate in the family room—and sighed heavily.
“Hayley’s pregnant again,” he said. “She told me this morning. She’s waiting until three months to make a public announcement.”
Pam felt her mouth twist. “I don’t know what to say,” she admitted. “That poor girl.”
“I hope this one takes,” John said. “I don’t know how much more of her suffering I can stand.”
Hayley was John’s secretary and desperate to have children, but she’d miscarried four times over the past three years. This would be try number five. Rob, Hayley’s husband, wanted to look into adoption or a surrogate, but Hayley was obsessed with having a baby the old-fashioned way.
“I should send her a card,” Pam said, then shook her head. “Maybe not.” She took a sip of her wine. “I have no idea how to handle this.”
“Don’t look at me. You’re in woman territory.”
“Where if you stray too far, you’ll grow breasts?”
“Damned straight.”
“I’ll write a note,” she decided. “I can say we’re rooting for her without a you’re-having-a-baby message. Did the doctor say she would be okay if she could get to three months?”
Her husband forehead furrowed. “I don’t know. She probably told me, but I barely want to know if she goes to the bathroom. Baby stuff is too intimate.”
“You’re not a complex man, are you?”
He raised his glass to her. “And that’s why you love me.”
He was right. She did love that he was dependable and predictable. Even if every now and then she wanted something different in their lives. A surprise trip to somewhere or a fancy bracelet. But that wasn’t John’s style. He would never plan a trip without talking to her and as for buying jewelry, he was more of a “go buy yourself something pretty” kind of man.
She didn’t object. She’d seen too many of her friends endure surprises of the not-very-pleasant kind. Ones that involved other women or divorces. John wasn’t looking for more than she had to offer. He liked his routine and knowing that gave her comfort.
“Jen got mail from the high school today,” she said. “An invitation to her ten-year reunion.”
“Okay.”
“You don’t think it’s stunning that we have a daughter old enough to have been out of high school ten years?”
“She’s twenty-eight. So the reunion is right on time.”
Pam sipped her wine. “I was shocked. I’m not ready to have a daughter that old.”
“Too late to send her back now. She’s used.”
Despite her earlier distress, Pam laughed. “Don’t let her hear you say that.”
“I won’t.” He smiled at her. “And you’re not old, sweetheart. You’re barely in your prime.”
“Thanks.” She heard the timer chime and stood. “That’s our dinner.”
He scooped up Lulu and followed Pam back to the kitchen. As Pam went about serving the meal, she reminded herself she was a very lucky woman. That a bit of sagging and a few lumps and bumps didn’t change who she was as a person. Her life was a blessing. If there weren’t any tingles anymore, well, that was to be expected. Wasn’t she forever hearing that you couldn’t have it all?
* * *
It’s just drinks, Shannon told herself as she pushed open the door that led into Olives—the martini bar/restaurant where she was meeting her date. Her online date.
She wanted to pause and maybe bang her head against the wall. Why did she do this to herself? It never went well. Dating wasn’t her strong suit. It just wasn’t. She was a successful businesswoman. She earned mid six figures and fully funded her 401K every single year. She had friends, she had a beautiful condo with an ocean view. Okay, there had been a string of boyfriends over the years and she’d been engaged twice, for no more than fifteen minutes each time. But no marriage. Not for her.
The truth was, she didn’t have good romantic relationships. Maybe it was her, maybe it was men, but she had to accept the truth that having it all simply wasn’t going to happen. Not to her. So why was she back dealing with the nightmare that was dating? Worse—online dating.
The only saving grace was that ProfessionalLA.com was a halfway decent site that actually screened subscribers. So the guy was going to look like his profile picture and wouldn’t have any felony convictions in his past. But the distance from that to happily-ever-after seemed insurmountable.
Still, she was here. She would go in and say hi. She would be pleasant and as soon as she was able to duck out without seeming wildly rude, she would run back to her office, get her car and head home. One glass of wine, she promised herself. She could survive that. Maybe what’s-his-name would be great.
She paused for a second, as panic set in. What was his name? Crap. Double crap. She kept moving even as her brain hustled toward whatever synapses stored short-term memory. Andrew? A something. Adam? Right. Adam. Adam something she would never remember. He sold cars maybe. He was about her age, divorced and possibly blond?
She made a mental note to spend a little more time with the profiles, even as she scanned the people in the bar and hoped to find someone who looked vaguely familiar.
A man rose and smiled at her. He was about six feet, with dark hair