1105 Yakima Street. Debbie Macomber
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not joking,” Shirley said. “What are your plans this weekend?” she asked, blatantly changing the subject.
“I thought I’d get together with Kristen and then we might hang with Jeremy.”
At one time Kristen had been Tanni’s sworn enemy. Shirley hadn’t understood her daughter’s intense dislike of the other girl. She suspected it was because Kristen was blonde, beautiful and extremely popular. Boys were drawn to her in a way Tanni seemed to find foreign. Shirley wondered if her daughter resented that she’d only had one boyfriend in her whole life and that relationship was unraveling. Tanni had felt powerless; she hadn’t wanted to lose Shaw, although in retrospect it was the best thing for both of them. They were too young and far too emotionally dependant on each other.
“Are you and Jeremy an item now or—”
“Mom,” Tanni cut her off. “First of all, item is totally dated. Also, we’ve talked a couple of times and that’s it. Don’t go making more out of it than there is, okay?” Her voice rang with irritation, a tone that was familiar from the weeks and months following Jim’s death.
Shirley instantly backed away from the sensitive topic. “Miranda and I were talking about seeing a movie.”
At the mention of Shirley’s best friend, Tanni grinned.
“What’s so funny?” Shirley asked.
“Miranda.”
“What about her?” She and Miranda had been friends for years. Miranda was a widow, too; she’d been married to an artist, which was one reason she understood Shirley’s artistic temperament. Shirley had fun with Miranda and appreciated her encouragement, her loyalty and support. Miranda could be opinionated and headstrong, but that didn’t bother Shirley. If they didn’t agree, Shirley had no problem either arguing with Miranda or ignoring her views.
“I think Miranda likes Will Jefferson,” Tanni commented.
Miranda had recently taken a part-time job with Will at the gallery. The fact that she’d even accepted the position had surprised Shirley, since Will and Miranda seemed to disagree on almost everything—and not in a friendly way, either.
If what Tanni said was true, and Shirley strongly suspected it was, poor Miranda was setting herself up for heartache. Shirley had recognized the type of man Will Jefferson was ten seconds into their first meeting. Will was all about Will, as Tanni might have put it. Handsome and charming, he was accustomed to having women fawn over him. More than that, he’d come to expect it.
Shirley had to admit Miranda didn’t possess the classic beauty that typically appealed to men like Will Jefferson. Tall and solidly built, Miranda easily stood five-eleven, and with heels—although she rarely wore anything but sensible shoes—she was over six feet tall.
Shirley felt that Will’s usual preference was an empty-headed woman so he could be her intellectual superior. Miranda was his equal in every way. The fact that Will had made a blatant play for Shirley was—to her mind—more of an insult than a compliment.
Even Tanni had picked up on Miranda’s interest in him and Shirley worried for her friend. She doubted that Miranda was prepared for a Will Jefferson or the effect he might have on her emotions.
“What movie are you going to see?” Tanni asked, unaware of the thoughts swirling around in Shirley’s head.
“We haven’t decided yet.”
“I’ll be home before ten,” Tanni said, reaching for her car keys. She was out the door, munching on the apple as she went.
Pouring herself a cup of coffee from the pot she’d made earlier, Shirley sat down at the kitchen table, wondering what to do with this unwelcome information. If she said anything to Miranda, it would only embarrass her friend. And any warning about Will would likely be dismissed out of hand.
Shirley glanced at her watch and, noticing the time, quickly got up from her chair. Taking one last sip, she left the mug in the kitchen sink, hurried to change her clothes and freshen her makeup, then headed out the door. She was supposed to meet Miranda at the Harbor Street Art Gallery at three-thirty.
The drive took less than ten minutes. When she stepped into the gallery, the first thing she heard was Miranda’s raised voice. “I’m telling you, the Chandler painting will look better on this wall,” she was saying.
“No! It’d be better there,” Will Jefferson said, just as heatedly.
“Hello?” Shirley called out.
Miranda responded immediately. “Shirley, come over here. We need your opinion.”
Great. Now she was going to be drawn into this argument, too. She walked toward them and glanced at the painting that seemed to be the subject of their disagreement. “Are you ready for the movie, Miranda?” she asked, hoping to avoid taking sides.
“Look at this,” Miranda insisted, gesturing at the watercolor.
The piece was stunning, the color choices vibrant and inviting. It portrayed a young girl in a blue cotton summer dress, biking past a white picket fence in a seashore town. A wide variety of flowers bloomed along the fence line. The girl’s innocence was in subtle contrast to her unconscious feminine appeal. In style, it was naturalistic but its shimmering colors were influenced by classic Impressionism. “This is a lovely work.”
“I agree,” Will said, speaking for the first time. “And I want it displayed in the way that will benefit it the most.”
“I think it should be on this wall and Will says—quite irrationally, I believe—that it should be there.” Miranda indicated the opposite side of the gallery.
“Irrational,” Will repeated from between clenched teeth. “If anyone’s irrational, it’s you. If we hang the painting on the wall I suggest, it’ll be the first thing people see when they enter the gallery.”
“This wall reveals it in the best light,” Miranda countered.
“You both have valid points,” Shirley said when they turned to her. “Why don’t you compromise?”
“No.” Will shook his head. “This is my gallery, despite what Miranda seems to think, and we’ll do this my way because—” he paused “—I’m the boss.” This was said in a challenging voice, as if he expected Miranda to resign. As if he wanted her to.
“Fine. Hang it wherever you like,” Miranda said, brushing her hands in exasperation.
“That’s exactly what I intend to do.”
Miranda sighed and, ignoring Will, said, “Have you ever noticed how important it is to the fragile male ego to have the last word?”
Shirley tried to disguise a smile, but Will obviously wasn’t amused.
He bristled. “That is categorically untrue.”
Motioning with her head, Miranda seemed to imply that his statement only proved her point.
“Are you ready to go now?” Shirley asked.
“Be right with you.” Miranda disappeared around the corner and returned an instant later with her purse and raincoat.
“Which movie are you going to?” Will asked Shirley conversationally.
“Not sure yet.”
“Well, have fun.”
“We will,” Miranda muttered.
He walked them to the door. “I’ve got you on the schedule for Monday,” he said.
“Monday?” Miranda frowned. “I thought I only worked Tuesday, Friday and Saturday.”
“Would you mind filling in for me? I’m meeting with the insurance people on behalf of my mother and Ben.”
“No, of course I don’t mind, but I would’ve