The next few weeks before Christmas were exhausting for Lauren. Between dealing with her insurance company, replenishing the wardrobes lost in the fire, and helping out with Cathy, she found scant time for rest.

Cathy moved around the house on crutches. Her face, though still swollen, was healing with only faint scars. Nothing makeup would not hide. She itched to continue making her craft items. Without being asked, Frank loaned her the money for new materials, provided his truck for transportation, and even joined in the cottage industry with Cathy and Jennifer. His entire garage became a workshop.

Cathy managed to fill the Christmas orders she took from Donald Arrington and several other customers with only days to spare.

Curiously, the four family members coexisted in relative harmony in the cramped confines of Frank’s home. Even Flo and Bobo put aside their instinctive rivalry, preferring instead an attitude of studied indifference.

Christmas dinner included Ben and Alice as guests. Gifts were exchanged at the table. Jennifer contributed fresh hothouse tomatoes for the salad, having no resources to purchase gifts. She leaned toward Ben, who sat to her right, and whispered. “Did you bring it?”

He whispered back. “Yes. It’s in my car. I hope you don’t mind, but I had a piece of glass cut for it. It’s beautiful, kiddo.” Scooting back from the table, Ben made a quick trip to his car.

When Ben returned, Jennifer tapped on her plate with a spoon. All eyes turned to her. She cleared her throat and spoke to her grandfather. “Grampa, I did something wrong. I took your favorite picture of Grandma.”

Frank’s forehead furrowed in question. So that’s where it went, he thought.

“I intended to bring it back, but it was lost in the fire,” Jennifer went on.

“Why did you take it, Jennifer?” Cathy asked, upset by her daughter’s confession.

Ben handed Frank a gaily wrapped package. “You’ll see.”

“Open it, Grampa,” Jennifer said.

Frank tore away the paper, saw the contents, and held it to his chest. “You did this?” he asked Jennifer.

She nodded, unsure of his reaction. “Is it okay?”

Frank turned the two-foot square portrait Jennifer had drawn, using the snapshot of Olivia as a model, so everyone could see. Lauren and Cathy gasped at the likeness. Perfectly enlarged and colorized in pencil and ink, Jennifer had captured Olivia’s smile perfectly.

The frame, made with her own hands, contained intricate carvings and filigree. Using stain and gold paint, she had antiqued the simple wood, transforming it into a treasure.

Frank’s fingers covered his lips. Mist appeared in his eyes. When he trusted himself to speak, he said, “There is nothing you could have given me, honey, more precious than this.”

Alice patted Frank’s arm, bearing no jealousy. She understood his feelings—felt the same about her deceased husband. She knew, regardless of where her relationship with Frank might lead, their former spouses would always be a part of them. “It’s truly beautiful,” she said.

“Oh,” Ben said, sounding surprised. “Here’s a gift I forgot to give Lauren.” He dug in his pocket, produced a small, unwrapped, blue velveteen box, and handed it to Lauren.

“You’ve already given me perfume. What’s this?”

“You won’t know if you don’t open it,” Jennifer said, looking on curiously.

Lauren lifted the hinged lid. Light sparkled from the diamond. She looked at Ben. “Will you marry me, Lauren?” he asked.

She turned off her mind and allowed her heart to answer. “Yes, Ben,” she said without the least hesitation. She pulled him toward her and kissed him long and lovingly, as everyone present applauded and offered their congratulations.

When the kiss ended, Cathy said, “Go wash your face, Sis. Your mascara is running. You look like a sad-eyed clown.”

Lauren excused herself and went to the bathroom to make herself presentable. The ring felt good on her finger. Natural. Proper. She had always imagined an engagement ring would weigh a ton. Anything so fraught with commitment and responsibility would be a burden. But this one, like her heart, seemed light as a feather.

Before leaving the bathroom she noticed the hand towel, haphazardly tossed over the rack. She reached to straighten it but stopped short. She thought of the many changes in her world over the past months: Coming to terms with Cathy. Falling in love with Ben. Losing her home. Nothing of her planning. She recalled Cathy’s words. “Life happens. You can’t always control it.”

Life then, Lauren thought, is like that towel. Slightly off-center—skewed. Imperfect in the way it drapes around us—but adequate in its chaos.

She saw her own smile in the mirror as she walked out, leaving the towel untouched.

The End

Cathy tried to walk, fell, then dragged herself across the lawn. “Jennifer!”

The young officer ran to her side. “What’s wrong?”

“My daughter . . . she went back inside!”

“I’ll get her,” he said. “Stay here.” Holding his hand over his nose and mouth, he rushed into the inferno.

Long moments passed before he carried Jennifer’s limp body out in his arms. The fire trucks and an ambulance rumbled up as he reached the street. A paramedic took the girl from his arms, laid her down, slipped an oxygen mask over her face, and began CPR.

Cathy sat on the frigid pavement, holding Jennifer’s blanched-white hand. She shivered from the cold and the shock of her injuries. “Come on, baby. Come back to me,” she moaned.

Jennifer’s body jackknifed abruptly. She coughed harshly, gagging, until her lungs refilled with oxygen. Her eyes fluttered open. After a moment she realized where she was. Her eyes searched the area around her frantically.

The policeman who had saved her life knelt beside her. “Looking for this?” He placed the object that had nearly cost her her life gently on her chest. “You didn’t let go of it, even when I picked you up. I figured it might be important to you.”

Jennifer decided then and there to marry a policeman some day.

The firemen knew their efforts were fruitless. The fire roared through the house. Neighbors gathered on their lawns to watch the action as the firemen directed their hoses onto the roofs of the adjoining homes. One neighbor coaxed Flo near enough to lift her into her arms.

Another ambulance pulled up. Its flashing light cast eerie splotches of red and white in a dizzying circle on the surrounding landscape. Paramedics helped Cathy to the ambulance and were closing the door when Jennifer tore away the oxygen mask and staggered toward the vehicle. “Wait! I’m going with her. I’m okay.”

They allowed her to ride beside her mother, who, now that the shock and adrenaline were slowly wearing off, drifted on a pulsing cloud of pain.

•

Even with dark smudges of soot on her face, and her hair a tangled mop, Ben recognized Jennifer immediately. Wrapped in a blanket, she trotted beside a gurney being wheeled into the Emergency Room by paramedics.

Ben rushed to meet them. He took one look at Cathy’s swollen, discolored face and eye, and directed the paramedics to an examination room. “What happened, Jennifer?” Ben asked, beginning his cursory examination of Cathy.

Between crying and coughing, Jennifer explained the terrifying events of the morning. “Are you . . . okay?” Ben asked.

Jennifer caught his meaning. “Yes. I . . . I poked him in the eye before he . . . he could—”

Ben squeezed the girl’s shoulder. “You did great.” To the nurse attending him, Ben said, “Let’s get Mrs. Radski to X-ray. I want shots of the left jaw, cheek, and eye orbit.”

“She hurt her foot, too,” Jennifer said. “Her right one.”

Ben pulled back the sheet covering Cathy’s feet. He manipulated the bones of her foot. “Yep. Get X-rays of the right foot, too. She has a broken great toe, for sure, but let’s make sure there isn’t anything in the foot or ankle,” Ben instructed the nurse.

Cathy’s eyes opened, slowly focused. “Hey, Ben . . . what’s up?” she asked, her mouth twisted, using only the right side to speak.

“How do you feel?” Ben asked.

“Like I went ten rounds with Mike Tyson,” she said weakly.

“Nah. You still have your ears,” Ben joked. “I’m sending you for X-rays right now. Do you need something for pain?”

Ever game, Cathy smiled lopsidedly. “No, thanks . . . “I’ve got plenty already.”

Jennifer took Cathy’s hand in both of hers. “I’ll be right here when you get back, Mom,” she said, as the nurse wheeled Cathy away to the X-ray laboratory.

Ben dropped his arm over Jennifer’s shoulders again. “What’s that leaning against the wall? You had it when you came in.”

“It’s supposed to be a surprise, but I don’t have any place to keep it, now,” Jennifer said, lifting the object into her arms.

“I have an office the size of a broom closet. I’ll put it in there for you, if you want. In the meantime, you probably ought to call Lauren. Ask the nurse at the desk over there to dial the third floor station for you.”

Jennifer entrusted her “secret” to Ben. Then she went to call her aunt. She wondered if there was a good way to tell someone you’ve burned down her house.

Ben put Jennifer’s bundle in his office. When he walked into the hall, another gurney came through the ER doors. This patient cursed and fought against the restraints holding his arms and legs securely on the gurney. A heavy gauze pad covered his right eye. He also had a police escort. “Where do you want this one, Doc?” the young officer who had saved Jennifer asked. His tone indicated euthanasia would be a good alternative to treatment.

Jennifer came up beside Ben. Scowled. “It’s Lloyd. Do the world a favor and put him out of our misery.”

Ben hid his amusement. Jennifer would be all right. She took after her mother when it came to rolling with the punches life metes out on a regular basis. He saw Lauren step from the elevator, waved, and led Lloyd and his contingent into the examination room.

Jennifer met her aunt halfway to the elevator.

They sat together in a small, littered waiting room.  Lauren held Jennifer’s hand as the girl retold her story. “Your house, everything you had, and everything you got for us is gone, Lauren. If we hadn’t been there this would have never happened. We brought Lloyd down on you,” Jennifer said, her lip quavering.

“Hush. Don’t blame yourself for your crazy father’s actions. I just thank God you weren’t harmed. And Cathy will have the best care available, here at St. Matthews.”

“But—”

Lauren drew the girl’s face to her breast. “I’m insured, Jen. Over-insured for that matter. My house and the contents can be replaced . . . you and your mother couldn’t be.”

“But where are we going to stay? I . . . I really liked having a home. Even if it wasn’t really mine.”

That, Lauren thought, was a good question.

Lauren called her father at work and broke the news to him. He insisted on coming to the hospital immediately and arrived in under an hour. Jennifer ran to meet him when he walked in. He took her delicate face in his rough hands. “Are you all right, honey?”

“I’m fine, Grampa. But Mom—”

“Where is she?”

Lauren stepped up beside Jennifer. “She’s in the OR having facial reconstruction. She got lucky. The blow shattered her cheekbone but not the orbit of her eye. And she has a busted big toe. She’ll be okay.”

“When . . . when can I see her?” Frank asked.

Lauren’s heart missed a beat. “You want to see her?”

“Of course I do. She’s my daughter.” Frank ran his palm over his balding head and stared down at the linoleum. “It’s been a long time since I thought of her that way. But when you called me . . . all I could think about was that my little girl was hurt.”

Lauren hugged her father. “They should have her in a room in a couple of hours. I’ve requested she be sent to my floor. We’ll go see her together.”

“Then there’s nothing I can do here?”

“Not right now, Dad.”

“Okay. I’ll go shopping. I can’t have my granddaughter running around in a blanket. Write down your sizes for me, Jennifer. Shoes on up.”

“We’ll have a lot of shopping to do tomorrow. I’ll have to get all of us new things. First, though, I’ll have to find us an apartment,” Lauren said, already tired just thinking about the days to come.

“Apartment? Bull! You can stay with me. Cathy and Jennifer can have my bedroom, you can have the other bedroom, and I’ll be fine on the sofabed,” Frank said.

“We’ll be like sardines—” Lauren began.

“Well, fish in this family swim together. No more discussion,” Frank said flatly.

Ben walked up behind Frank. “And now that the shark is going to jail, they won’t have to worry about being eaten alive. Mr. Radski will be facing numerous criminal charges once he’s released.” He offered his hand to Frank. “I’m Ben Tolson, Mr. Miles. Lauren has spoken of you often.”

Frank shook hands with the attractive man. “You’re the boyfriend?”

“I sincerely hope so. I care a great deal about Lauren . . . and her sister and this brat,” Ben said, ruffling Jennifer’s hair affectionately.

Frank saw the look that passed between Lauren and Ben. It reminded him of the silent way he and Olivia had conveyed their love, even in a room full of people. He liked Ben immediately.

Three hours later, after Lauren’s shift had ended and Jennifer was cleaned up and outfitted with a too-small blouse, too-large jeans, and sneakers no self-respecting teenager would be caught dead in, they all entered Cathy’s room.

Heavy bandages covered the entire left side of her face. Her foot hung from a pulley above the bed, elevating her splinted toe. Her unbandaged eye widened when she saw her father. “Hi, Daddy,” she said, a single tear rolling down her cheek.

“Can I hug you without hurting you?” Frank asked.

She spread her arms. “You can hug me even if it does hurt.”

Lauren and Jennifer watched self-consciously as Cathy and Frank remained in a long embrace. Frank’s shoulders shook with his sobs. Hearts, like dilapidated fences, could be mended. Instead of the cold wire fences required for rebuilding, these hearts were repaired using the warm, strong bonds of love.

Thanks to an overabundance of beer the previous night, the man arrived later than usual to Lauren’s street. His throat grated, raw from cigarettes. He lit another.

Lauren and Cathy would already be on their way to work, he knew—never suspecting what lay ahead for Jennifer. The girl would still be preparing for school. He rethought his plan, deciding against taking her from the street as she walked to school. Instead, he pulled boldly into Lauren’s driveway, cut the smoking engine, and hurried to the front door, which he already knew had no peephole. His pulse pounded with excitement as he rang the bell. He thumped his cigarette into the shrubs and waited.

Jennifer heard the doorbell as she dried herself from her shower. She got into her robe, padded to the hallway, and opened the door an inch. She gasped. “You!”

Lloyd Radski lunged, striking the already-closing door with his shoulder, shoving Jennifer backward. He slipped inside and shut the door behind him. Before Jennifer could recover her balance, he grasped her slender wrist and pulled her close. Her long hair was damp, and the short robe she wore fell open in her struggle to escape. He devoured her nakedness with bloodshot eyes.

“What do you want?” Jennifer asked shakily. She drew the robe together with her free hand.

Her father exhaled his fetid breath into her face. “I want you, baby . . . now you’re all growed up and ready to be treated like a woman. I bet you’ll be the sweetest little piece I ever had.”

Jennifer pulled and kicked out at his legs frantically. Before she could scream, he yanked her close, turning her back to him, and clamped his hand over her mouth. His other hand snaked inside her robe. He pushed himself hard against her bottom as he fondled her. “After I break you in, I’m takin’ you back to Louisiana . . . where your bitch mother will never find you. You’ll make me a fine little wife,” he breathed, his lips touching her ear. “Keep my blood-line going.”

He seemed impervious to pain. No matter how hard Jennifer banged her bare heels against his shins, or how deeply her fingernails raked his hand, he held her in a vise-like grip.

Suddenly, he dropped to his knees, dragging Jennifer to the floor. He ripped open the robe and lifted her as though she were weightless. He flipped her onto her back and parted her legs, his forearm pressed against her throat. She struggled to draw a breath. “Simmer down!” he growled angrily. “It’ll be over in a minute.”

She clamped her eyes shut tightly when she heard the alarmingly loud rrriippp as he unzipped his dirty trousers. This can’t be happening, she thought. Please, God . . . let me wake up!

Cathy rolled over restlessly, her sleep disturbed by some sound. Her work in the garage had kept her up until nearly three A.M. and, now, her head swam dizzily. She listened for a moment—and heard a voice. A man’s voice. Something thudded against the floor.

She tossed off the covers and ran from her bedroom. As she reached the end of the hallway, her brain would not comprehend the scene before her. Jennifer, her damp hair splayed out on the carpet. A man atop her, unzipping his pants, his arm crushing her throat. “No!” Cathy screamed.

The man looked up in surprise, his broken teeth exposed by his curled lips. Lloyd!

Cathy kicked him in the face with all her might. She screamed again—in rage and pain—as something cracked in her foot.

Lloyd’s head snapped back. He fell away from Jennifer, stunned. Cathy leaped on him like a lioness protecting her cub. She used her knees, her elbows, and buried her nails in his cheeks, clawing for his eyes.

But Lloyd was strong—and mean. He pushed her away and scrambled to his feet. Blood ran down his cheeks. “I’m kinda glad you’re here,” he said, wrapping his fingers in Cathy’s hair and hauling her to her feet. “You shoulda kept your fat ass where I left it. I came back the day after you run off. You I didn’t care about . . . but you took away my girl. And she was just gettin’ ripe.”

Cathy saw the blow coming but could not avoid it. Lloyd’s fist chunked against her cheekbone. She fell backward, arms flailing, and crashed heavily to the floor.

Jennifer sprang to her feet and ran past Lloyd, into the living room. Distracted, he left Cathy in a dazed heap and ran after the girl.

She sped through the kitchen, her robe billowing around her, yanked open the door to the garage, and disappeared into the darkness. Lloyd followed, fearful she would escape through the outside garage door. He stepped into the shadowy room, waiting for his eyes to adjust.

Jennifer swung the three-foot-long section of 2×4 stud in a wide arc, baseball bat style, hoping to send her father’s head flying for a home run. She dropped the wood upon impact as a lightning shock of pain vibrated through her wrists and up her arms.

Outside, Lloyd’s discarded cigarette smoldered amidst the finely shaved pine bark mulch around the shrubbery. Though cold, the winter had been extremely dry. A thin piece of bark began to blacken on the edge. A tiny puff of white smoke wafted upward as the bark ignited. In minutes the burning mulch flared higher, curling the paint on the wooden window shutters. The fire raced up the shutters, its flaming fingers licking at the plywood out-cropping of the roof over-hang. Then into the attic.

Jennifer could not believe her eyes. Lloyd remained on his feet. Hunched over, he held his left shoulder with his right hand. His arm dangled limply. “You’ll wish you hadn’t missed my head when I catch you, Jennifer. You won’t be goin’ to Louisiana after all. But I’ll get what I come for—even if you’re gettin’ cold while I do it.” He reached into his pocket.

Jennifer heard a click, then the dim light from the kitchen glinted off the blade of the knife. He stepped toward her.

Cathy pushed herself to a sitting position. Pain flashed and flared in her cheek and the foot she had used to kick Lloyd. Holding onto the wall, she managed to get her good foot beneath her and stand. The other foot blazed in agony when she touched it to the floor. “Jennifer!” she cried out. No answer. Her heart filled with dread. She knew Lloyd to be capable of anything.

Hopping on one foot, she got to the telephone and dialed 9-1-1. She coughed and her eyes burned. Then she saw the thick black smoke curling in around the front window pane.

“9-1-1 operator. What is the nature of your emergency?” Cathy heard from the telephone.

“My husband is trying to kill us! And the house is on fire! Help us!”

Before she could say another word, Lloyd smashed his knife-filled fist down onto her forearm. The telephone fell from her grasp, clattering against the coffee table, then falling with a muffled thump to the carpet. Lloyd whipped his arm back up. He held the blade against Jennifer’s pale throat.

“Lead me to a bedroom, Cathy. I’m gonna do this kid and make you watch. You move, and I’ll cut her throat. Like stickin’ pigs back home.”

“The house is on fire! Look!” Cathy said, pointing to the window. “We have to get out of here!”

Jennifer’s blue eyes were frenzied—wild. Her breath came in chest-racking gulps. Lloyd pressed the blade more firmly against her skin. A thin line of red appeared. “We got time for what I’m gonna do. Move!” Lloyd barked.

The 9-1-1 operator overheard portions of the conversation after the telephone fell to the floor. The computer in front of her flashed the address from which the call was placed. Within seconds, she had dispatched both police and fire department units.

Cathy hobbled to Jennifer’s bedroom. Lloyd swung his leg and swept her feet from beneath her. The impact with the floor sent sharp streaks of agony screaming through her cheek. Nausea waved through her, but she fought it back.

Lloyd shoved Jennifer onto her bed and ripped open her torn robe. He was ready. The pain in his broken left arm was dulled by the excitement of violence—by the promise of forbidden sex. “Open your legs,” he told Jennifer. She complied, knowing deep within her this man would not hesitate to kill her, then her mother. He probably intended to anyway, now that his plan was ruined. The charges against him already would put him behind bars for years. Perhaps, she thought, if he enjoyed himself with her, she might be able to talk him into letting them live.

Lloyd smiled down at her with a nasty curl to his lips and crawled between her knees. Having never rezipped his pants, Lloyd fumbled to free himself with his one useable hand, while maintaining a grip on the knife. Jennifer looked away as his dead-white penis came into view.

What she saw on the night table sent a rush of adrenaline coursing through her. Several of the colored pencils Lauren had given her lay side by side. The points were well sharpened.

Lloyd inched up between her thighs and took himself between his fingers. At the first touch of him against her, Jennifer snatched up the pencils and jabbed them at his eyes. He screamed as one pencil glanced off his nose and pierced the orb of his right eye. Jennifer raised her right leg high and kicked inward with her heel, catching him high on his broken arm, then shoved him away as he rolled off her. The knife lay forgotten on the bed.

“Come on, Mom, come on,” Jennifer urged, helping Cathy to her feet. She looped Cathy’s arm over her shoulders to help her walk.

A dense, rolling wall of smoke filled the hallway. The living room flamed, the front wall shrouded in flames. Behind her, Jennifer saw Lauren’s bedroom fully afire. The terrifying crackle and spit of wood burning overhead gave her new energy. She all but dragged her mother to, and out, the front door. Flo streaked out between their feet.

Jennifer did not stop until they were safely in the street.     Cold and shivering, they huddled together, watching tongues of flame lick upward from Lauren’s roof as night turned to dawn.

Lloyd staggered from the house, his hand covering his ruptured eye, and collapsed on the dry, brown lawn as a police car, siren screaming, pulled to a tire-burning stop at the curb. Two officers piled out. One went to Lloyd. The other came to Cathy and Jennifer. “You all right?” he asked. Then, seeing Cathy’s darkening face and swelling eye, he said, “I’ll call an ambulance. The fire unit is on the way.”

“Arrest that man,” Cathy said, raising a shaking finger to point at Lloyd. “He broke in and tried to rape his own daughter. He . . . he was going to kill us.”

The young officer looked down at Jennifer. His lips set in a thin line. “I’ll take care of it, ma’am.” He hurried to the other officer, and together they hoisted Lloyd to his feet and dragged him to the patrol car.

Jennifer saw the young officer lift his microphone to his lips for a moment. Then he returned to them, carrying two thick blankets. He draped them over the women’s shoulders. “I called for two ambulances,” he said with an admiring grin. “It looks like you cleaned his clock pretty good.”

The fire truck sirens wailed in the near distance.

Jennifer suddenly got to her feet and ran toward the house. “Jennifer!” Cathy cried out.

But the girl darted through the smoldering doorway and disappeared into the roiling smoke.

Jennifer held her breath as long as she could, then inhaled smoke. She coughed, feeling her way along the hot wall until she found the door to her room then fell to her knees and crawled toward her bed. Tears poured from her eyes as the smoke blinded her, but she crawled forward.

Finally, she felt the bed. She stuck her hand beneath it and waved back and forth along the carpet. There! Her fingers found what she sought. With the object clasped tightly to her breast, she began her retreat. The smoke burned her throat—clogged her gasping lungs.

She almost made it to the hallway before the heat and deadly smoke overcame her.

Saturday morning, Lauren drove Cathy and Jennifer to shop for the raw materials they needed to create Cathy’s handicrafts. They returned home with the trunk bulging and Jennifer sandwiched between numerous bags in the back seat; then Lauren left the two, already at work, in the garage and drove to her father’s home. She needed to mend the rift between them.

Buoyed by her confession of love for Ben and his for her, she could think of no better time to approach her father. Nothing could spoil her high spirit. Nothing.

•

Olivia Miles’ clothing still occupied one entire bedroom closet—untouched since her death. Until today. Frank thumbed hangers to one side, sorting through the dresses, sweaters, slacks and blouses. Nearly every article carried a memory. But, he reasoned, someone could be getting some use from the clothing. The Salvation Army would be happy to receive such a large donation.

Down on his knees now, he leaned deeply into the closet, trying to snag a pair of shoes pushed into a corner. He heard the doorbell ring. He called out over his shoulder to his helper, “Would you get that? If they’re selling, I’m not buying.”

“Got’cha, sport,” she said, heading to answer the door.

When a woman greeted her, Lauren blinked, unable to think of anything to say. She saw the woman’s eyebrows shoot upward in seeming recognition. “You’re Lauren, aren’t you? Come in. Frank’s in the bedroom.”

Lauren stepped past the woman, then turned. “I’m sorry. Have we met?”

The woman stuck out her hand. “No. But I’ve seen your pictures. I’m Alice Carlson.”

Lauren shook the woman’s hand.

“Come on . . . he’s cleaning out a closet,” Alice said, taking Lauren to the bedroom. “Hey, sport, Lauren’s here,” Alice said, kicking Frank’s rear end gently.

He backed out of the closet on his hands and knees. Lauren heard his knees pop when he stood. “Hi, Dad,” she said, hugging him and kissing his cheek. She caught a whiff of aftershave. Something new. He did not smell like her father.

“Come to apologize, I suppose,” Frank said.

“Well—” Lauren started.

“Frank . . . be nice,” Alice interjected. “I’m sure you have as much apologizing to do as Lauren.”

“She keeps trying to force Cathy down my throat,” Frank grumped.

“But you hung up on her! That’s rude! Say you’re sorry,” Alice told Frank.

Lauren felt more confused by the moment. Who was this woman who seemed to know so much about her family? Why did her father suddenly look so contrite?

“Okay,” Frank said to Lauren. “Let’s call it even. I’m sorry, you’re sorry. Give me another hug.”

Father and daughter embraced again. “That’s better,” Alice said, smiling serenely.

For the first time, Lauren realized what her father was doing—going through her mother’s closet…discarding her things. A mental image of archaeologists desecrating Egyptian tombs flashed through her mind. “Why are you taking Mom’s stuff out of the closet?”

“It’s been six years, Lauren. I should have done it long ago,” Frank said softly.

“You’re just going to throw them away?”

“No. I’m giving them to charity. Unless you want them?”

Lauren calmed down. Of course her father had no reason to keep her mother’s clothing forever. “You’re right. No sense hanging on to them.”

Alice looked at her watch. “I’ve got to go, Frank. I promised my crew I’d be there by noon.”

“All right. I’ll see you later?”

“Sure. Don’t work too hard,” Alice said. To Lauren’s shock, the woman planted a brief kiss on Frank’s lips before turning to her. “It was nice meeting you, honey. Say hello to Jennifer for me.”

Lauren could only nod in stunned silence as Alice stooped to scratch Bobo’s head, then showed herself out.

•

When Lauren returned home she went directly to the garage. “Guess who has a girlfriend?” she asked Cathy and Jennifer.

Cathy looked up, her face smeared with paint, sawdust dusting her hair. “If it’s you, Ben’s gonna be pissed.”

Jennifer chuckled aloud at the expression on Lauren’s face. “Good one, Mom,” she said.

“This isn’t funny. Our father has a new woman in his life. She was there, helping him clean out Mom’s closet. And he smelled like . . . like a young man.”

“Not Old Spice? Uh-oh. This could be serious,” Cathy said. “What’s she look like?”

Lauren described Alice.

“The Sonic lady!” Jennifer exclaimed. “She’s pretty.”

“She said to tell you hello.”

“Remember? I told you they were flirting.”

“Well, it’s beyond flirting now. She kissed him before she left.”

“Good for them. Dad’s been alone too long,” Cathy said. “He’s still a young man by today’s standards. I bet he can still get it—”

“Mom! Don’t go there!” Jennifer said.

“You shouldn’t even know what I’m referring to, young lady,” Cathy scolded.

“Hey! I watch Desperate Housewives, Mom. Very educational.”

“Does nothing bother you, Cathy? How can you take things so casually?” Lauren asked in amazement.

“The same way you take everything so seriously, Sis. If it can’t be helped, don’t fight it. Go with the flow. Chill.”

Lauren took a half dozen deep breaths, removed her coat, and tossed it through the open door onto a kitchen chair. “Show me how to do something. I’ll help. Anything to pass the time until Ben comes over tonight.”

Cathy and Jennifer looked at each other—communicated telepathically, it seemed to Lauren. “Well,” Cathy said, “you’re awfully good at cleaning up.”

Lauren grabbed the broom.

•

When Ben arrived that evening, toting two large pizzas and what appeared to be a gallon of wine, Lauren shook her head. “Will you still love me when I’m a fat alcoholic?”

“Yes. But not as often,” he said with a sexy wink.

Lauren set the table. “I assume, since you brought so much, you intend to share with my boarders?”

“Uh-huh. I like them. Cathy is funny. And I’m trying to figure a way to steal Jennifer’s youth. I may have to take a seminar to hone my mad doctor skills.”

Lauren opened the garage door and called out. “There’s pizza if anyone is interested.” Luckily, she moved away from the door before being caught in the ensuing stampede.

As they ate and drank wine (she even allowed Jennifer a small glass), Cathy noted the change in Lauren—how her eyes kept drifting to Ben’s face when he laughed and the way she touched his hand, his arm and, once, even brushing his hair off his forehead with her fingertips. Lauren had never looked happier. Cathy wondered what it would be like to have a man like Ben, but doubted she would ever know. She saw Jennifer sneak a second glass of wine— but pretended she didn’t.

After eating, Cathy hauled Jennifer back to the garage so Ben and Lauren could have their privacy. Slightly woozy from the wine, Jennifer kept giggling for no reason at all.

For the first time, Ben stayed the night, sharing Lauren’s bed. Lauren awoke to find him propped on one elbow, studying her face. “Well,” she said, stifling a yawn. “now you know what I look like in the morning.”

“If you were more beautiful I couldn’t stand it,” Ben said, tipping her chin upward for a kiss.

She felt him grow against her thigh. “Do people make love in the daylight?” she asked with mock innocence.

Ben stroked her breast beneath the covers. “You don’t have to. But I hope you don’t mind if I do.a Don’t let me bother you,” he joked. “Read a book or something. I’ll let you know when I’m through.”

She curled her fingers around his maleness and snuggled closer. “Bull! I’ll let you know when you’re through.”

Sunday morning and part of the afternoon slipped dreamily away before Lauren took pity on Ben and allowed him to go home.

As Ben made rounds, checking patient charts, ordering new tests and medications, or signing release forms for those well enough to go home, he found himself preoccupied with Lauren. On the surface, her rebuff for lunch could be, as she said, because she was tired. But on a deeper level, he felt her old fears and defenses drawing a frosty curtain between them. He blamed her relapse on the visit to his parents’ home, and their reaction to her. She had backed into her shell, apparently frightened by the prospect of a closer relationship—a committed relationship—marriage.

Ben knew he was ready for such a step. Almost from their first date he knew—and thought Lauren shared his feelings. Now he would have to start over, chipping his way bit by bit through her fear.

If she would let him.

•

During the day, Lauren’s drowsiness evolved into a splitting headache and a foul disposition. Finding her driveway cluttered with Cathy’s handicrafts did nothing to improve her mood.

She parked at the curb, slammed the door hard, and walked to where Cathy and Jennifer sat, bundled against the chill, on two of her kitchen chairs. Cathy stood up, grinning broadly, obviously about to speak. Lauren cut her off. “Please get this junk out of the way so I can park in my garage.”

Cathy’s smile slipped from her face. “Sure, Sis. Jennifer . . . help me, please. Your aunt is having PMS or something.”

Lauren fought the urge to slap Cathy, though she knew such an act would be immensely satisfying. “Why are you home? Or do I even have to ask?” Lauren said.

Cathy began moving her wares to one side of the driveway. “I quit my job.”

“Wonderful! Then you turn my house into a . . . a salvage yard! You’ll be here forever at this rate.”

Cathy dropped the baskets she held in her arms and turned on Lauren. Her eyes glinted. “Make up your mind, Lauren! One day you want me to stay, the next you want me out. What’s with you?”

The two women stood a foot apart. The muscles in their jaws and their fists clenched, like schoolboys eager to fight. Jennifer slipped between them. Her blue eyes pleaded with Lauren. “Hey, guys . . . stop it.”

“This is between your mother and me, Jennifer.”

“Then it’s between all of us. I’m not going to let the two people I love most in the world have a fist-fight. No matter who won, I’d lose,” Jennifer said, her lips trembling with emotion.

Lauren took a step back, reached, and stroked Jennifer’s hair. “I’m sorry, Jen. I’m tired . . . and confused. And your mother is an easy target.” She caught Cathy’s eyes. “She’s my sister, and I love her. But we’ll never get along.” Lauren walked toward the open garage door. “Just leave your stuff where it is. I’ll put my car up later.”

Once inside, Lauren went to her bedroom, closed the door, and fell onto her bed. She clutched a pillow to her chest and cried. Depressed, and sad beyond comprehension, she soon fell asleep.

When Lauren awoke, in complete darkness, the digitized numerals on the clock beside her bed read 8:15. She changed into slacks and a sweater, splashed water on her puffy face, and followed Cathy’s excited voice to the kitchen. Cathy quieted when Lauren walked in.

“I kept your dinner warm,” Jennifer said, standing beside the oven.

Lauren pulled a chair out and sat down. “Thanks, honey. I’ll eat later.” Unable to meet Cathy’s eyes, Lauren asked, “What’s all the exuberance about?”

“Sure you want to know?” Cathy asked, obviously wanting to tell her.

The headache persisted. Lauren massaged her temples and nodded.

Cathy tossed a handful of money on the table. It spread before Lauren in a flood of green. “I made $600 today, Lauren. Everything I had to sell was bought, and I have orders for a lot more.”

Lauren looked up in amazement, her mouth hanging open.

“I figure I can replenish my stock and sell that much about twice a week. Not bad money for a lazy, dumb person,” Cathy said.

“There’s taxes . . . and your labor to consider,” Lauren reminded her sister, thinking of the practical side of Cathy’s enterprise.

“I know. But I’ll still be making at least triple what I was working for someone else.”

“And I’ll help,” Jennifer interjected.

Cathy gathered up the thick sheaf of currency. “I can start looking for a place—”

Lauren moaned loudly. “You don’t have to. I’m . . . hell . . . nuts or something. I’m sorry I was such a bitch earlier.”

Cathy scooted her chair close to Lauren’s and hugged her sister. “Well, you were a bit testy . . . but honest. We don’t get along very well for extended periods. We’re too different, Sis. You plan things, Lauren. Want to know what’s going to happen before it happens. I’m a scatterbrain. I take things as they come. I wish I could be more like you . . . in control.”

“Control?” Lauren said, taking the cash from Cathy’s hand and squaring it into a neat stack on the table. “Me? Right now I don’t have a clue about anything.”

“This mood . . . it’s about Ben, isn’t it?”

Lauren nodded. “I treated him terribly today. I don’t want to, but I’m afraid to let him get closer to me. I don’t want to be hurt. Look at your experience with men.”

“Good God, girl! How can you compare the losers I’ve had in my life with Ben! Not all guys are wife-beating slime balls. Especially not Ben.”

“He probably won’t even talk to me again,” Lauren moped.

Jennifer joined them in a three-way hug. “Not until you call him. He phoned while you were sleeping,” she said.

“What did he say?” Lauren asked.

“He wanted to know if you were okay. Said not to wake you. He sounded real concerned about you,” Jennifer said.

Lauren straightened in her chair. “Really?”

“Yes . . . really!”

Lauren rubbed her eyes, sniffed, and smiled shyly. “I’ll call him as soon as you feed me. What’s for supper?”

“Chicken-fried steak, red beans and rice, and French fries,” Jennifer told her.

“Lord, so much fat and calories,” Lauren said. “But pile it on.”

•

“Is your shrimp okay?” Frank Miles asked.

Alice Carlson nodded. “Perfect. This is a nice place, Frank. Come here often?”

“Used to,” he said, looking down at his plate.

“Before your wife died?” Alice guessed.

“Yes. Does that make me morbid?”

“No. It makes you full. The food is excellent. But I know what you mean. After my husband passed away, I stopped going places we went together. It just wasn’t the same without him.”

“Exactly. I’ve cooked for myself until recently. Then I took a leap and started coming to your place.”

Alice laughed. “That’s a heck of a downgrade from here.” Then, her voice softening, “Thank you for bringing me, Frank . . . for sharing it with me.”

“It . . . it feels good to be with you, Alice.”

“What took you so long to ask? Am I losing my feminine wiles?”

Frank patted her hand. “No ma’am. They’re intact. I’m just slow.”

She reared back in her chair. “Slow! You? You were flirting like crazy the first time I met you.”

“You noticed?”

“Of course. Why do you think I flirted back, sport?”

Frank grinned. Jennifer had been right after all.

•

After Lauren ate, she and Cathy went for an abbreviated version of their usual run. The cold pricked their faces and hands. “So, you think you can make a living selling your crafts,” Lauren puffed.

“I do. There’s always some holiday coming up. Business should be pretty steady,” Cathy answered.

Still unconvinced, Lauren decided to bring some reality into Cathy’s plan. “You’ll need a vehicle to carry your materials from the hardware store and lumberyard. They aren’t cheap. And you don’t know how to drive on top of that.”

Cathy crossed her arms over her breast and buried her hands beneath her armpits to warm them. “I thought you might teach me.”

Lauren shuddered at the idea.

“But first things first,” Cathy continued. “My top priority is to file for divorce. I don’t want to start a business and have Lloyd show up wanting half of everything someday.”

Lauren was impressed with Cathy’s foresight. “It shouldn’t be too difficult . . . or too expensive. He deserted you and Jen. You don’t even know where he is.”

“Probably in Louisiana with his kin. He has a sister and dozens of cousins living there,” Cathy said.

They turned the corner for home, not noticing the man hunched down behind the steering wheel of a parked car—watching.

When they arrived home, Lauren moved her car into the relative warmth of the garage, then took a hot shower. She realized she was stalling—putting off her call to Ben. At last she ran out of things to do. She knew exactly what she would say to him. She closed her door, curled up in bed, and dialed Ben’s number.

•

Always on call, Ben snatched up the telephone on the first ring. “Dr. Tolson,” he said.

“It’s me, Ben.”

“How are you, Lauren? Cathy said you went directly to bed when you got home.”

“I’m fine. A little sleep and a lot of food fixed me right up.”

Ben did not speak for several seconds, wanting to make certain he said the right thing. “Listen . . . I’m sorry if my parents and I upset you with our talk of children and such. I’ve been going too fast. I’ll cool it, Lauren. Just don’t stop seeing me.”

“I’ve made my decision—”

“Lauren—” Ben said pleadingly.

“Let me finish, please. This isn’t easy for me.”

“Okay,” Ben said, steeling himself for the words he dreaded.

He heard Lauren sigh. “I love you, Ben Tolson. I’m going to take a chance you won’t hurt me. For the first time since I was a little girl I’m going to depend on someone besides myself.”

Ben felt a heavy weight lift from his chest. He knew the superhuman effort it required for Lauren to drop her defenses; to admit she wanted a closer relationship with him—one with a bright future. “God . . . I love you, too, Lauren. I was so afraid I’d lost you.”

A new Lauren spoke to him. A Lauren unafraid of sharing her feelings. A Lauren finally ready to take a chance. “Too late, Ben . . . you’re stuck with me now.”

The man parked at the curb six houses down from Lauren’s home and waited, drinking coffee straight from a battered thermos. He saw Lauren back out of her garage and drive away, then, a short time later, watched as Cathy left the house and walked to the corner. Ten minutes passed before her bus arrived.

The girl would be leaving next, he knew, to walk to school. If she stayed to her normal schedule, he had only a half hour to wait. His pulse raced. He would take her today. He would drive past her, stop, jump from his car, and quickly force her inside. Graphic pictures exploded in his brain as he thought of the things he intended for her. Things put off too long.

The first dim light of dawn chased away the shadows of night. He checked his watch. Fifteen minutes until the girl met her destiny.

•

Due to the lack of elective surgeries on holidays and the day following them, Lauren’s work load amounted to caring for patients previously hospitalized. Barring any emergency admissions it promised to be a slow day, Lauren thought, gratefully, stifling a yawn. Four hours of sleep, troubled by her confrontation with Cathy, failed to rejuvenate her. She perked up some when she saw Donald Arrington, starched and immaculate as ever, step off the elevator. He walked to the nurses’ station and hugged her. “It’s good to be back. I owe you one, Lauren.”

She squeezed his hand. “You don’t owe me anything.”

“Nonsense. If you hadn’t cared enough to make me take time off, I would have been caught eventually. My career would have gone down the tubes.”

“How’s Bob?” Lauren inquired.

Donald shook his head. “Rehab was a bummer, but he’s okay now. He went back to work Monday.”

“I’m happy for you,” Lauren said. “By the way . . . thanks for feeding my sister yesterday. I felt awful about her being alone, but our father still refuses to see her. And I made other plans.”

His eyes crinkled. “I heard! So, you finally gave in to Dr. Tolson’s considerable charms?”

“Couldn’t help myself. He’s a rare find,” Lauren admitted, wondering irritably how much Cathy had told Donald. For all her positive changes, Cathy still lacked propriety. Anything she knew popped from her mouth with no discernible thought of the consequences. Lauren questioned her decision to allow Cathy to stay longer as a houseguest.

“I’m glad you found a man you trust enough to let your guard down.”

“Who would that be?” Ben Tolson asked, walking up behind Donald, then bending to kiss Lauren’s cheek.

“Oops! Caught in the act,” Donald said. “How are you, Dr. Tolson?”

“I’m great, Donald . . . thanks to this young lady,” he said, tossing an affectionate smile at Lauren. “It’s good to have you back.”

“Thanks. Well, I’ll leave you guys alone and try to get back into the swing of things,” Donald said. He lifted a stack of patient charts from the desk and started his rounds.

“Lunch later?” Ben asked Lauren.

She hesitated, felt a wall building itself brick by brick between them. She needed more time to analyze where their relationship was headed. Felt a need to put the brakes on before her emotions careened out of control. “Not today, Ben. I think I’ll use my lunch hour to take a nap. I’m exhausted,” she said.

She saw his green eyes cloud with disappointment.

•

He cursed and lit another cigarette. Something was wrong. Over an hour had passed, and the girl had not made an appearance. He could not risk taking her in broad daylight, with car and pedestrian traffic increasing by the minute.

He banged his fist against the steering wheel hard enough to peel skin from his knuckles, and started the engine. “Next time, kiddo,” he promised as he cruised by Lauren’s house.

Arriving at the shop late, Charlie found Cathy in the storage room and pinned her against a wall. He angled his puckered lips toward hers. She whipped her head sideways in disgust and pushed him away. “C’mon, Charlie . . . knock it off.”

He grabbed her arm. “Dammit, I’m tired of you putting me off. Come down from your high horse and give it up!”

“Jeez! It’s nine-thirty in the morning. Are you ever not horny?”

“Nope,” he answered proudly, sliding his hand between her knees, moving up her thigh in his most overt action to date.

Charlie jack-knifed in pain and shock when Cathy jammed her knee into his groin. “Unnng!” he grunted, grabbing himself with both hands and falling against the wall for support. His eyes squeezed shut. His teeth bared in a horrible grimace. He moaned from deep in his throat.

Cathy snatched up her purse and headed for the door. “Mail me my paycheck, Charlie . . . I quit!”

When Cathy arrived home, she found Jennifer at work in the garage. “What you making, honey?”

“It’s a secret. Don’t look, Mom,” the girl pleaded. “Turn your back.”

“I hope you figured a way to build me a man. One without flaws or defects,” Cathy said, turning away.

Jennifer dashed by her into the house, returning moments later. “What are you doing home?”

“I quit my job. Charlie wouldn’t leave me alone. I couldn’t handle it any longer.”

Jennifer rolled her eyes. “Great. Now what? After the things you said to Lauren last night, we’re going to find ourselves out on the street again.”

“Wait until you grow up before you judge me, little girl. Wait until men begin to pester you,” Cathy said harshly. “We have only one thing they’re interested
in . . . and it occupies about ninety-five percent of their waking thoughts.”

“I may not be grown up, but the way Charlie looked at me made me feel like a big lollipop. Like he wanted to . . . to lick me all over,” Jennifer said softly.

Cathy hugged her daughter. “He won’t be around anymore to look at you, baby. Why didn’t you tell me you were uncomfortable around him?”

“I told Lauren. He looked at her the same way. But you seemed to be so happy with your new job . . .”

“No job is more important than you. Besides, I’m ready to start selling my own crafts. If I had a car I’d take everything to the supermarket parking lot and start today.”

They stood together looking over the completed Christmas articles. An idea slowly pushed its way into Jennifer’s consciousness. “Mom.”

“What?”

“I see garage sales every day when I’m walking home from school. Why couldn’t we put everything out on the driveway and see what happens?”

Confusion stretched Cathy’s features. “I think you need a permit of some kind.”

Jennifer giggled. “When did you start caring about stuff like that?”

Within thirty minutes, Cathy’s baskets, bouquets, vases, and the rest of her creations lay carefully placed in the driveway for maximum visual effect.

The first curious passerby stopped ten minutes later.

•

Frank Miles carefully shaved, brushed back his remaining hair, and splashed Old Spice on his cheeks and neck. He hummed as he dressed in a new shirt and slacks.
His shoes were buffed to a high shine. Playing hooky from work for the first time in years felt good.

Almost eleven A.M., he noticed. He wanted to arrive before the lunch rush. When he headed for the door, Bobo tagged along, having become accustomed to their recent rides. Frank took his windbreaker from the coatrack in the hall and eased into it. A sharp bite of bursitis stung his left shoulder, but nothing could dampen his good spirits. “Not today, Bobo. This is a business trip,” Frank said, shooing the dog away as he opened the door and let himself out.

Today he intended to ask Alice Carlson out. He would not allow her to say no.

In the three weeks following Halloween, winter roared into the state and dug in its icy claws, stubbornly refusing to budge. Not that Lauren felt the cold—a new warmth filled her as her relationship with Ben Tolson continued to bloom.

With their hectic schedules, they could spend significant time together only on weekends. Then, regardless of what they did or where they went, each date ended the same—lost in the arms of Eros at Ben’s apartment. Lauren proved to be a fast study and found she was an apt and creative lover.

Cathy, on the other hand, found no time for dating or leisure. Each evening after work she retired to the garage, creating a burgeoning assortment of craft items aimed at the Christmas market. Her only concession to free time was her nightly run with Lauren. Another ten pounds dissolved from her ever-slimming body.

Jennifer helped her mother, adding her own artistic touches to the shadow boxes Cathy laboriously cut from plywood with a jigsaw and glued together. She hand-painted merry holiday scenes on the boxes, baskets, and flowerpots, which now filled a large portion of the garage. School went well, and Jennifer and Kyle became good friends, visiting each other regularly.

Frank Miles visited the Sonic often. His conversations with the owner, Alice Carlson, were short but satisfying. He had not garnered the nerve to ask her out, but she seemed to enjoy their chats. She continued calling him “Sport.”

With Thanksgiving a week away, Lauren called her father to make plans. They traditionally spent the day together. This year she expected to include Cathy and Jennifer. “Dad, I’d like to bring Cathy and Jennifer with me for Thanksgiving dinner,” she said calmly.

“You and Jennifer are welcome,” he said icily. “but not Cathy.”

“Dad—”

“Don’t push, Lauren. It’s my house, and I decide who’s welcome here.”

For the first time in her life, Lauren argued with her father. “That isn’t fair. Cathy is sorry for any slight you may feel she’s done you. Let this feud end, Dad.”

“Don’t raise your voice, Lauren. I’ve made up my mind.”

“Fine. If we can’t be together as a family—”

Lauren gripped the receiver until her knuckles drained of blood when she heard Frank hang up.

As it happened, Ben asked Lauren to have Thanksgiving dinner with his parents at their home in Houston. “I want to show you off,” he told her, his voice filled with pride.

Lauren realized what a big step this could be. A step she was ready to make. Expecting Cathy to be disappointed, she broke the news to her one evening. “I don’t mind, Sis. Lloyd was never big on holidays . . . just another day. Besides, I can use the time to finish with my Christmas inventory. I need to start selling the day after Thanksgiving.” Without being told, Cathy intuited that her father had no desire to see her. She did not show her hurt to Lauren. “Maybe Jennifer would like to spend the day with Dad, though, since you’ll be gone and I’ll be busy.”

Lauren, still upset at her father’s behavior, made Jennifer make the call. As expected, Frank was delighted to have his granddaughter visit. “I’ll pick you up at ten and we’ll eat out,” he told her.

By the time Frank arrived at Lauren’s home Thanksgiving morning, Lauren and Ben had been on the road three hours, timing their trip so they would reach Houston by noon.     Jennifer, bundled in a heavy coat, ran to Frank’s truck when he honked. She slid across the seat and gave her grandfather a peck on the cheek. “Where would you like to dine, sweetie?” Frank asked.

“Anywhere but Sonic,” Jennifer said, jabbing him in the ribs playfully.

After driving around for some time, it appeared the only places open were cafeterias. Frank stopped at such an “all you can eat” restaurant. Turkey and dressing were on the menu, along with all the usual Thanksgiving mainstays.
They ate until they were painfully stuffed, then went to Frank’s home.

Jennifer checked on the progress of her plants. The tomato bushes grew strong and healthy, covered with small yellow flowers. She watered and fertilized them, then went inside to join Frank, wondering about his peculiar mood—not joking as he usually did—hardly talking during lunch. Hugs had not helped, but Jennifer tried again, sitting on the arm of Frank’s chair and putting her arms around his neck. “What’s wrong, Grampa?” she asked.

He looked up into her wide, concerned eyes and knuckled his nose. “Your grandfather is an idiot, that’s what.”

“Because of Mom?” Jennifer guessed.

He nodded.

“She’s doing so well, working at the mall, losing weight, and trying to start her own business. And I know she misses you.”

Frank frowned. “What kind of business?”

“Huh?”

“What kind of business is she trying to start?”

Jennifer filled him in. “She’s learned to use a jigsaw and some other tools. I . . . I’m proud of her.”

Frank harrumphed. “She can’t do much with a jigsaw. She needs a router and a circular saw. She could make all sorts of things with a router.”

“Like what?”

“Picture frames, for one. I used to make them for Olivia. She did some silk-screening and painting herself years ago. I’d stain the frames any color she wanted, and make intricate designs in the wood.”

Jennifer snuggled closer, fully aware of her effect on Frank. “Maybe you could show Mom how to do that?”

His eyes softened for a moment, then he shook his head and looked away from her. “I’m just not able to forgive her, honey. I’m sorry.”

“Okay. Teach me . . . and I’ll teach her,” Jennifer  suggested.

“Routers are dangerous. You can take a finger off real easy.”

“Not if I have an expert to show me how,” Jennifer said with butter in her tone.

“Aw, hell, you can talk me into anything.”

Jennifer smiled sweetly. “I know.”

Frank led her to his chilly garage, showing off a wide variety of power tools. He poked around until he found a slightly warped piece of white pine lumber about six feet in length. “This is a one by four. Just right for practice.”

Jennifer watched, intrigued, as Frank sawed the board into four equal lengths. He laid one section on a worktable and secured it with a large C-clamp at either end. “Now, this is the hard part,” he said, thumbing the router to “on.” The machine growled and spat sawdust as he shaped the board. “When I finish the beveling, I’ll show you how to make a dado cut on the ends to match up with the other three pieces. They’ll fit good and snug with just a little wood glue.”

Frank carved the first three pieces of wood, creating grooves and curlicues in identical patterns on each. After clamping the last section to the table, he handed the router to Jennifer. “Give it a try. I’ll help you.”

She took the tool cautiously. Frank stood behind her, reached around, and placed his age-spotted hands over hers. The wood magically took shape beneath her hands.

•

Lauren fidgeted in the seat as she and Ben neared Houston. She turned the rear view mirror toward her and checked her makeup. “Do I look okay?” she asked nervously.

“You look fine,” Ben assured her. “My parents are going to love you . . . stop worrying.”

A half hour later, Ben exited the Interstate. He entered a residential area filled with modest, well-cared-for homes. Moments later, he pulled into the driveway of a cream-colored brick home and stopped. “Here we are,” Ben said. Lauren heard the happiness in his tone.

Maureen and Tom Tolson greeted them at the door. They hugged Ben, then Lauren, when Ben introduced her. It did not take Lauren long to understand why Ben exhibited such a humble attitude—an attitude usually missing in other doctors she knew. He did not come from wealth. She sensed that great sacrifices had been made to provide him with his education. The Tolsons were working-class people.

Mr. Tolson stretched to drape his arm over Ben’s shoulders. “She’s as pretty as a speckled pup,” he said, admiring Lauren. It was an expression her own father often used. The strong feeling of “family” almost made her weep. She thought of Cathy, alone for the day, and of her father and Jennifer making do with dinner at some restaurant.

Delicious smells filled the house. “Eat first and talk later, or talk first and eat later?” Maureen Tolson asked, pushing a strand of silver hair off her forehead.

“When did we ever separate the two?” Ben asked, patting his mother’s cheek affectionately.

Mr. Tolson took their coats and waved them into the dining room. “Can I help in the kitchen, Mrs. Tolson?” Lauren volunteered.

“Maureen, dear . . . and Tom. And no, everything is ready,” she said, ushering everyone to the dining room, where the table was spread with all the Thanksgiving mainstays.

Tom Tolson stood at the head of the table after the others were seated, Lauren and Ben across from each other. He bowed his head. “Lord, we thank you today, as every day, for the bounty you’ve provided us, for the health you’ve given us, and for the opportunity to be in the company of those we love. We pray for your continued blessings, Father, and that you’ll make us worthy. Amen.”

Having said grace, Tom Tolson carved the perfectly browned turkey before him. During the meal, Lauren learned that Mr. Tolson had worked on the assembly line for an automobile manufacturer most of his adult life. She felt he and her father would get along famously. Once Ben left home, Mrs. Tolson became heavily involved in numerous volunteer activities. Lauren felt completely at ease with them—felt welcome. She caught the appraising glances from Mrs. Tolson, and saw acceptance there. “So . . . you met Ben at the hospital?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Lauren answered around a mouthful of the best dressing she ever tasted.

“Actually, she ignored me for months,” Ben chimed in. “I finally pestered her until she agreed to go out with me.”

“As lovely as she is, I imagine she had her pick of doctors. You’re a lucky man, Ben,” Mr. Tolson said.

“I am . . . no denying it.”

“I feel pretty lucky, too,” Lauren said sincerely. “Ben’s very down-to-earth. A gentleman. You raised him well.” Maureen Tolson smiled.

The meal finished and the dishes cleared away, the foursome continued talking over the cheering crowd as the Dallas Cowboys trounced the Washington Redskins on television. Maureen served homemade chocolate pie at half-time.

Immediately after the game, Ben said, “We need to start back, I’m afraid. It took some effort to arrange our shifts so we could be off together today, and we both have to show up early tomorrow.”

“We understand,” Tom said, getting their coats from the hall closet. “Maybe you can come for Christmas?”

“We’ll see. I don’t know what Lauren’s plans are,” Ben said, taking Lauren’s hand.

“It was great meeting you, dear,” Maureen said. She kissed Lauren’s cheek and hugged her firmly, as did Tom.

“Thanks, both of you, for having me. I enjoyed being with you today.”

As she and Ben walked to the car, his parents stood together on the porch, waving until they drove away. She scooted over close to Ben and rested her head on his shoulder. “Nice people. Do you think I passed inspection?”

Ben kissed her hair. “I know you did. Mom told me not to let you get away. She thinks we’d produce some beautiful grandchildren.”

As the miles sped by, Lauren pondered that statement. Was their relationship, after only a month, solid enough to be considering such things? If Ben asked her to marry him, what would her answer be? She caught herself wringing her hands—without an answer to either question.

•

Lauren was surprised to see light streaming from beneath the garage door when Ben pulled into her driveway shortly after midnight. “Looks like Cathy’s still working,” she said. She kissed Ben goodnight. “Don’t bother getting out . . . you need to go home and get some rest.”

He yawned. “Okay. I’ll see you in the morning.” He watched until Lauren was safely inside before driving away.

Lauren found Cathy and Jennifer in the garage, standing in a sea of sawdust, bent over a portable workbench. “You been at it all day?”

Cathy waved her over. “Remember those picture frames Dad used to make for Mom? He taught Jennifer how to make them, and sent all this stuff home with her.” Lauren saw several power tools, the workbench, a small stack of lumber, and several cans of wood stain and brushes. “We’ve been practicing.”

“Did he come in?”

“No. Poor Jen had to make four trips to carry everything from his truck.”

“At least he’s trying to help,” Lauren said. She stirred sawdust with the toe of her shoe. “I’m sorry you had to spend the day alone, with no Thanksgiving dinner.”

“Oh, I had dinner and company. Your friend Donald came by to bring you an apple pie. When he found me here alone, covered in shellac, he went home, fixed me a huge plate of turkey and all the trimmings, and brought it back to me. Are all the men at the hospital gorgeous?” Cathy asked, fanning herself. “He said to tell you he was returning to work tomorrow, and thanks for what you did. What did you do?”

“Nothing really. He just needed some time off to tend to Bob.”

“Who’s Bob?”

“Donald’s boyfriend.”

“Oh. Well . . .” Cathy faltered. “What the hell . . . he’s a terrific cook. And he loved my shadowboxes. He ordered ten to give as Christmas presents.”

“Sounds like you’re on the road to prosperity. But you need to sleep. It’s almost one in the morning.” Lauren turned to Jennifer. “And you won’t get up for school if you don’t go to bed, young lady.”

Jennifer stuck out her tongue. “I’m off tomorrow. No school until Monday, Mom Two.”

“Lucky. Well, I’m off to bed,” Lauren said.

“Hey! How did you like Ben’s folks?” Cathy asked.

“Very nice people. His mother is expecting grandchildren any time now.”

“My God! Do you think he’s about to pop the question? Are you ready for that?”

Lauren took in the expectant stares from Cathy and Jennifer. I . . . I don’t know. I’ve been independent for so long . . .”

Cathy exhaled in exasperation. “Maybe he’ll let you get on top, Sis . . . then you can have that precious control thing you’re so hung up with.”

Lauren turned on her heel and stomped into the house. Every time I think I can get along with her, she comes up with some remark that makes me hate her, Lauren thought, fuming.

Long after Cathy and Lauren had gone to bed, Jennifer worked in the garage. Her project had to be perfect. With an intensity seldom found in one so young, she shaped, sanded, and willed the wood into exactly what she wanted.

“Hey, Sis, you want some breakfast before I go to work,” Cathy asked, shaking Lauren from a sensual dream. Lauren yanked her pillow over her face. “I guess that’s a ‘no’,” Cathy said, turning to leave.

“Wait,” Lauren said hoarsely. She hugged her pillow and lay with her eyes closed. “You said something last night about a favor?”

Cathy sat next to Lauren on the bed. “You awake?”

“Mmm”

“From my first paycheck I’d planned on paying you back part of what I owe you for our bus tickets, something for rent and groceries, and start looking for an apartment,” Cathy said in a rush. “But if you’ll let me slide a little longer, I’d like to use my money for something else. And I want to use the half of your garage you don’t use.”

Fully awake now, Lauren elbowed herself to a sitting position. “You’re going to buy a car? You don’t even have a driver’s license.”

“No, no . . . that’s a long way off. I want to try something, Lauren. Something for Jennifer and me.”

Lauren ran her fingers through her tangled mop and yawned. “What?”

Cathy explained her plan. “I want to make flower arrangements, wreaths, centerpieces, shadow boxes—whatever—and sell them myself. I can get a good price on materials from the same wholesaler Charlie uses, and I’ve talked to the manager of a supermarket not far from here about setting up my wares on the front of their parking lot on weekends.”

“And if you don’t sell anything?”

Lauren expected a shrug, or Cathy’s bewildered expression. Instead, Cathy caught her off guard. “Oh, I’ll sell it. I’m keeping my job with Charlie so I can make more money, but I’ll work every night in the garage on my own things. Jennifer can help me. If I do well enough, I’ll lease a permanent place. I can do this, Sis.”

Lauren could not remember ever hearing Cathy so confident or enthusiastic. “The garage is yours. And I never expected rent from you, Cathy.”

“Well, I know you aren’t crazy about us living here. We’ve upset your life,” Cathy said, patting Lauren’s leg through the blanket.

“Wasn’t crazy about you staying here. I’m used to you guys now. And what life is it you think you’re upsetting? I don’t have a life outside the hospital.”

Flo uncurled from the foot of the bed, stretched to twice her normal length, yawned a sharp-toothed yawn, and insinuated herself between Laura’s leg and Cathy’s hand. If there was any petting to be had, she wanted her share. Cathy stroked Flo’s sleek fur, having finally made friends with the ornery cat. “It looked like you had a life last night. I heard Ben’s car drive up and tippy-toed to the living room. When I heard you on the porch, I discovered if I mashed my face hard against the wall, I could see you through the blinds. Does he kiss as good as he looks?”

Lauren grinned, enjoying the new-found camaraderie with her sister. “Better.”

“Lordy! Uh, anything else happen?” Cathy asked with false innocence.

“Everything else happened,” Lauren heard herself say. She knew she was blushing scarlet.

Cathy nodded knowingly. “I thought so. His feet weren’t touching the ground when he left. You almost caught me when you came in.”

“Snoop!”

“Hussy!”

“Aren’t you going to be late for work?”

Cathy checked her watch and leaped up. “Damn! Gotta catch my bus.” She leaned over, kissed Lauren’s cheek, and hurried to the door. “Thanks, Sis. I’ll make you proud of me.”

From the tone of Cathy’s voice, Lauren realized her approval was important to Cathy.

•

Frank Miles could not believe the mantle clock. Only ten in the morning. Already he had prepared and eaten a hearty breakfast, watered Jennifer’s plants, vacuumed, dusted, and changed Bobo’s flea collar. “Not bad for an old man, huh, Bobo?” he observed. He seemed to have found some new, unknown source of energy. In fact, he felt downright antsy.

The reason for his increased activity must be glandular, he thought. The woman from the Sonic had drifted in and out of his mind all day Saturday—and there she remained this morning. Excitement mingled with guilt.

Frank sat down and went through his photo albums. The picture he loved most of Olivia had not shown up during his housecleaning, but it had to be somewhere. It would turn up eventually. He picked his second-favorite picture of his wife and spoke to it as though Olivia could hear him. “Honey, we never talked about this because neither of us wanted to think about ever being alone. I guess if I had died, I would have wanted you to find someone to take my place . . . someone to love you. I hope you feel the same way. It’s been lonely without you, and I’ll love you until I die, but I need some companionship. Jennifer pulled me from the mire of depression I was stuck in. Now I look forward to living. Olivia, there’s this woman I met. . . .”

Bobo settled himself beside Frank’s thigh, comforted by the sound of Frank’s voice. It droned on for a long time.

•

Lauren showered, dressed in slacks and blouse, and ate a light breakfast. Jennifer joined her for toast and a cola. “How was your date?”

“Fine. He’s a nice man.”

Jennifer pouted. “He called me a kid.”

“Oh, really? Well, he told me you were beautiful.”

The pout faded. “He’s really good looking. Is he a good doctor?”

“The best. He cares about his patients, doesn’t treat nurses like they were peons, and he doesn’t have that god-like attitude most doctors learn along the way.”

Changing subjects at the speed of light, Jennifer said, “You know the Halloween party tonight? I don’t know what to wear. I was just teasing Mom about going as Madonna.”

Lauren sipped her coffee thoughtfully. “You have white sneakers, don’t you?”

“Unh-huh. Why?”

“Follow me, kiddo.”

In Lauren’s room, Jennifer stood silently as her aunt dug through the bureau and closet. “Try these on,” Lauren said, tossing clothing to Jennifer.

The girl looked them over and smiled. “Cool!” She stripped to bra and panties and tried on the clothing.

“Wow . . . that’s awfully short. But cute,” Lauren said, as Jennifer modeled the nurse’s uniform and white pantyhose. “Sit down and let me put your hair up.”

Moments later, Jennifer’s long hair perched in a mound on her head. “The crowning touch,” Lauren said, setting her nurse’s cap on Jennifer’s head. “Looks good to me.”

Jennifer turned around in front of the mirror. “Think Mom will like it?”

“After I mislead her first, she’ll love it. Leave it to me.”

Historically in north central Texas, Halloween brings with it much cooler weather. By three in the afternoon, the temperature had dropped from sixty degrees to the mid-forties, and a light, chilling rain began to fall. Lauren looked out the living room window and sympathized with the trick-or-treaters who would be disappointed if the rain continued into the evening. Not that their numbers were large these days. The world had become a scarier place since Lauren had participated in the annual rite of blackmail. Too many sick people who got their kicks putting slivers of razor blades in candy. Too many sexual predators out hunting for innocent prey. Organized parties were become more prevalent every year, to protect the kids.

Lauren expected the holiday to fade away before many more years passed—if the candy industry would allow it to die. Still, a bowl of miniature Snickers bars was on hand to appease the skeletons, Batmen, Batgirls, and fairy princesses who ventured to her door. She wondered idly if Ben some day wanted children.

The doorbell interrupted her reverie. She opened the door to find a rain-spattered Ben Tolson standing with a bottle of wine in one hand and a bucket of fried chicken in the other.

Jennifer’s built-in fried chicken radar brought her to the kitchen in time to see Ben and Lauren sharing a closed-eyed kiss. “How can you stand there swapping spit when there’s chicken to be eaten,” she said.

Ben stepped back from Lauren looking guilty. Lauren saw him blush this time. “Pay no attention, Ben . . . it’s just that ugly kid who lives with me.”

Jennifer still wore the uniform. Ben gave her an appraising glance, then turned to Lauren. “Do you think I could talk the hospital administrators into making that the official uniform length?”

“Not unless I grow four or five inches and have legs that go on forever,” Lauren told him with a hint of envy in her tone. “That’s her Halloween costume for a party tonight. Cute, huh?”

“Very. She can work at my hospital any day.”

Jennifer glowed at his praise. She joined them for chicken, though Lauren would not let her have a glass of wine, then excused herself so the lovebirds could be alone.

Shortly after six, Cathy came home from work with Charlie in tow. The rain had stopped. Lauren introduced the two men. Though worlds apart in education and background, the men bonded by virtue of sports. The Dallas Cowboys in particular. The conversation quickly became boring.

Lauren saw Cathy heading for Jennifer’s room and hurriedly intercepted her. “Don’t go in. She wants to surprise you with her costume,” Lauren said.

Cathy’s eyes narrowed. “I’ll bet. Who did she pick?”

“Oh, I don’t know her name. But we had a time getting the fake tattoos on her buttcheeks and belly. And the ring-pierced bellybutton really looks like the genuine article. The spaghetti straps keep falling off her shoulders, but if she’s careful and doesn’t bend over too far—”

“Dear God,” Cathy moaned.

Lauren tapped on the door and Jennifer stepped out. Cathy blinked several times. “You look darling, Jennifer! It’s too bad your aunt is such a bitc—”

“Mom, be nice. Do you really like it?” Jennifer asked anxiously.

“It’s fine. A little short, but hey . . . you’ve got my legs, girl. When is Kyle picking you up?

“Any minute now. He’s hardly picking me up, though. He’s fifteen, Mom. He’s walking over to escort me to the party. It’s only four blocks.”

Jennifer and Cathy rejoined Ben and Charlie. When Kyle Letterman arrived to abscond with Jennifer, three pairs of eyes examined him. The other two eyes, Charlie’s, were fastened on Jennifer, watching her every move. He rearranged himself in his trousers.

Kyle’s Eddie Haskell-like politeness was intact. “Don’t worry, Mrs. Radski, I’ll take good care of her. I’ll have her home by eleven.”

“Fully clothed and sober, young man,” Cathy said.

Jennifer, mortified, grabbed Kyle’s hand and whisked him through the open door.

“I need to be goin’, too,” Charlie said. “I have to go back to the store and make the night bank deposit.” He leaned to kiss Cathy.

She turned her cheek to him. “See you in the morning, Charlie.”

As Charlie was leaving, Ben’s beeper “meep-meep-meeped” on his belt. He checked the digital readout. “It’s the hospital, Lauren. Excuse me while I make a phone call?” He reached for his cellphone and stepped discreetly into the hall so his call wouldn’t interrupt the women’sconversation. Thirty seconds later he came back to the living room. “Duty calls. Three-car pile-up on the freeway. I’m sorry.”

“Like you said, ‘duty calls’.” Lauren kissed him softly, lingeringly, on the lips. “Be careful.”

He waved as he left, taking long, quick strides down the walk to his car. Lauren closed the door and fell with her back against it. She sighed.

Cathy shook her head and smirked. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

Two blocks from Lauren’s house, the man parked, headlights extinguished. He slouched down in the seat, watching Jennifer and Kyle as they walked, hands together, arms swinging playfully. A sudden gust of wind lifted the hem of the uniform the girl wore. For an instant her shapely thighs were exposed. The man touched himself and moaned. I’ll have her, he thought, as his breath condensed on the windows, fogging them. Not tonight. But soon.

Ten minutes into their drive, Lauren sighed heavily, wondering what favor Cathy wanted now.

“Something bothering you, Lauren?” Ben asked.

“No. I’m fine.” Another sigh.

“Ouch. I’ve found that when women say they’re ‘fine’, it usually means they aren’t.”

“Really, I’m—”

Ben interrupted her. “There are walls of stone and steel, walls of wood and brick, there are also walls of silence, just as real, and just as thick.”

She shot him a wry smile. “How long have you been waiting to use that on me?”

“Since the first day we had lunch together. Unless you want to hear more, ’fess up. What’s wrong?”

“Okay. It’s Cathy . . . that ‘favor’ she mentioned when we were leaving the house. She’s been doing better, trying to take charge of her life. Now . . .”

“What a worry-wart,” Ben chided. “It may be nothing.”

“You don’t know my sister.” Lauren physically shook off her trepidations, like a dog shaking off water. “Change of subject. Where are you taking me, Doctor?”

“Dinner at The Mansion on Turtle Creek. Very ‘in’. Very expensive. Very small portions. Even the sauces have special sauces. Then drinks and dancing at an intimate little place I know. You do like country and western music, don’t you?”

Lauren cupped her hand and held it to her ear. “Say what?”

Ben chuckled. “Just checking to see if you’re paying attention.”

The trip took the better part of an hour. Slowly, Lauren relaxed, putting everything from her mind except having a pleasant evening with Ben.

Ben Tolson found himself glancing repeatedly at Lauren as they talked. Granted, he knew she was attractive in her hospital whites, but tonight she radiated a beauty that, he admitted to himself, knocked him out. Away from the workplace she also seemed younger, not as staid and businesslike. The black dress she wore rode inches above her knees. Her legs were trim and shapely. Even her knees were sexy.

He made a mental note to ease into the date. Knowing something of her previous limited experience with men, and the deep-rooted animosity she harbored toward them thanks to Cathy’s poor choices, he intended to do as Lauren
suggested—go slowly. But he intended to change her perception of the male gender. More specifically, of himself.

The grueling years in medical school and his internship had left him little time for dating. Not many women could stand the competition of his work. His infrequent relationships were short-lived. With more free time now, he hoped the lovely, intelligent woman sitting stiffly beside him would share that time. Slowly. But well worth the wait.

The tony restaurant could only be described as resplendent. From its sixth floor perch, the lights of Dallas offered an exquisite view. Tuxedoed waiters catered to the patrons with the same seriousness Ben maintained while performing surgery.

Their waiter recited the day’s specialties and took their order without writing it down. While waiting to be served, Ben and Lauren picked celebrities out of the crowd. A highly recognizable female recording star shared a table with a dignified, silver-haired man twice her age. Her toothy white smile gleamed in contrast to her cocoa-colored flesh.

An actor, once known for his action hero roles, now showing his age and a spreading waistline, dined alone. His recent roles had been bit parts in low-budget productions that went directly to rental and cable distribution.

Lauren played with her pearl necklace. “This place reminds me of Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous.”

“We’ll have to add beautiful to that title, for you,” Ben said sincerely. The admiring looks Lauren received from the other men present made him proud to be her escort.

“And handsome for you,” Lauren said, lifting one perfect eyebrow. “Our singing star keeps looking at you like she’s diabetic and you’re the last shot of insulin on the planet.”

During their haute cuisine dinner (smoked salmon for her, and medallions of beef for him), they slipped comfortably into shop talk. Ben cursed HMOs. Lauren lamented the shortage of nurses at the hospital. He loved the way her eyes flashed when she spoke of matters dear to her. He caught himself watching her lips as she talked, and the auburn highlights in her hair as she tucked it over her shoulder. Slowly, he thought. I don’t want her to get away.

The line of people waiting to be allowed into the Caveman’s Club glared when Ben stepped up and whispered in the doorman’s ear. Several actually snarled when the burly doorman lifted the thick gold rope and ushered Ben and Lauren inside.

After the sedate elegance of the restaurant, the club came as an ear-splitting shock. Lauren could feel the music vibrate up through her legs. The bass was so heavy her chest tightened. Fifty couples jumped and jerked on the dance floor. Strobe lights, black lights, and laser lights blinked and flashed through the darkness, imprinting surrealistic images on her retinas. She leaned close to Ben and shouted, “YOU COME HERE OFTEN?”

He winced, shaking his head, and yelled back. “NEVER! A FRIEND TOLD ME IT WAS COOL! I’LL HAVE TO REMEMBER TO KILL HIM! COME ON!” He put his hand on her waist and led her outside. Half deaf and blind, they made their way through the crowd and leaned together against Ben’s car. “Bad idea, huh?” Ben said, wiggling his index finger in his right ear.

“Your intentions were good.”

“I don’t get out much. I know a quiet place where Michael Bolton, Harry Connick, Jr., and Ray Charles are high on the playlist . . . and the white wine is chilled to perfection.”

Lauren looked up at him until he hesitantly returned her gaze. “This place wouldn’t happen to be your apartment, would it?”

Damn, damn, damn! He’d blown it. She was about to tell him to take a hike, Ben fretted, amazed at his own stupidity. He dug at the knot in his tie. “Uh, yes,” he confessed.

She studied him, her eyes reading his face. “Okay. Under one condition,” she said.

Ben exhaled. “Name it.”

“We have to stop for burgers and fries on the way. You were right about the small portions.”

Ben’s spacious first floor apartment was simply furnished, clean, and functional. “Hardly a swinging bachelor pad,” Lauren said, wondering again why she was there—why she did not at least protest a little.

“I’m hardly a swinging bachelor. Have a seat,” Ben said, motioning her to the sofa. “I only have white wine . . . does that go with burgers?”

Lauren sat down. “In Texas it does.”

They covered the coffee table with napkins and spread their meal out picnic style. They ate hungrily. “Hey,” Ben said. “I thought you were a vegetarian . . . a health food freak.”

Lauren dabbed mayonnaise from her lips with a paper napkin. “My niece’s bad influence. She makes great pork chops.”

“She’s a beautiful girl. Tall.”

“She’s a sweet girl, too. And smart. I’ve grown really fond of her.”

When they finished eating, Ben cleaned up the paper and Styrofoam debris and removed his coat. “What would you like to hear?” he asked, standing at his elaborate stereo center.

Lauren went to his side and picked through a tall rack of compact disks. She selected one by k.d. lang and another by Blues Traveler. “These okay?” she asked, turning toward him, accidentally brushing his arm lightly with her breast. Heat rose to her cheeks. Her breath caught in her throat at the intimacy of the contact. Fortunately, Ben had not seemed to notice.

“Those are good. And an ‘oldie’ to round it out,” he said, putting the CDs in the player and selecting individual cuts from each.

Methodically, Lauren closed each CD case and stacked them neatly, corners even all around. “More wine?” Ben asked, as the first k.d. lang song, a romantic ballad, began.

“Please,” Lauren said, still shaking.

Ben went to the kitchen for the wine. His heart thumped in his chest like a teenager sneaking his first peek at a Playboy magazine. He touched his arm where Lauren’s breast had brushed him, still feeling the warmth of her. He took a deep breath, then puffed air between his lips. Slowly, he thought.

When he rejoined Lauren, she had slipped her shoes off and was sitting on her feet in that uncomfortable-looking position women seem to favor. She took the wine glass from him in both hands and sipped slowly, head bowed, her face partially concealed by the cascade of her soft brown hair. Had she been nude, Ben could not imagine a more erotic pose. He suddenly wished he had a camera—to capture this image of her forever. He thought of many things he wanted to say but discarded them as too forward. He resorted to another fragment of poetry. “She sits, her legs tucked under her, and dreams, of places far away she longs to see. Her mind is filled with plans and girlish schemes—a woman-child—as yet to be set free.”

She looked up, one eye hidden by her hair. “Do you have a verse for all occasions?”

He shrugged. “When inspired.”

“I suppose you’re a terrific dancer, too?”

God! If she keeps looking at me that way, I’ll melt, Ben mused. He removed his loafers with his heels. “You decide.” He held his hand out to Lauren, helped her off the sofa, and led her to the center of the carpeted floor. She moved into his arms as the first strains of the “oldie” filled the room. “Unchained Melody” by the Righteous Brothers, re-popularized by the movie Ghost.

They danced, swaying in time to the music. The soft swish of her nylons brushing together made him crazy. The sweet scent of her hair filled his nostrils. He held her at a respectable distance, eyes closed, drinking in the sounds and smells of her and the tactile sensation of her back against his palm.

Lauren cleared her throat nervously. “You don’t have a potter’s wheel in the other room do you?” she asked, recalling the seductive scene from the movie, as Ben realized.

“Unh-unh. And the only clay around here is me. Feel free to mold me.” Lauren’s fingers tickled the hairs at the back of his neck. She inched closer. Fighting the urge to press himself against her, Ben kissed the top of her head. She tilted her head to one side, offering her slim neck. He touched his lips to the flesh below her ear, trailed downward to her bare shoulder. Slowly, he reminded himself, content with having her so near.

Lauren shivered as Ben kissed her neck. Unfamiliar feelings coursed through her. Her breasts mashed against his chest, and she turned her face to meet his lips. Their mouths locked fiercely. She had daydreamed about his kisses. Now she knew her fantasies could not hold a candle to reality. She whimpered softly—felt herself losing control. She wanted to push him away—deny them both the pleasure of what would surely happen if she acquiesced. Instead, she became the aggressor, regaining the control so important in her life.

She strained against the hardness of him and snaked her tongue between his lips. Ben stepped back and put his hands on her shoulders. His eyes searched hers. “You said you wanted me to go slowly.”

Lauren hooked her fingers in his belt and tugged him along behind her. “I changed my mind. Women do that, you know,” she breathed, as they fell upon the sofa.

Later, though Ben pleaded with her to stay the night, Lauren insisted he take her home. She caressed his cheek and kissed him as they stood on her doorstep. “I would have loved to stay, Ben. But you know . . . Cathy and Jennifer . . . appearances.”

“I understand. I don’t like it, but I understand. Can I see you tomorrow? I’m on call, but we can spend some time together.”

“I’d like that. Come over whenever you want.” Another long, passionate kiss and he headed for his car. Lauren heard him whistling happily to himself. She felt like whistling, too. Shoot, she thought. I feel like turning cartwheels!

She entered the house quietly, so as not to wake Cathy or Jennifer, scooped the obviously annoyed and highly critical Flo into her arms, and went to bed. She fell into a deep, boneless sleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.

Jennifer climbed from the truck, still giggling. Since catching Frank Miles flirting, she’d been teasing him mercilessly. “Get out, you little pest,” Frank said lovingly. “You need to respect your elders.”

“Okay, sport. My Coney Island Casanova. My drive-in Romeo,” Jennifer joked, batting her long lashes.

“Brat!”

“Love you, Grampa.”

“I love you, too. Call me . . . I’ll let you talk to your plants.”

Jennifer ran to the door of Lauren’s house. Frank chuckled. What a girl! He backed out of Lauren’s driveway and headed east. A block from the house, a woman walking along the sidewalk waved at him. He automatically returned her gesture. Then he recognized her. His own daughter, Cathy. Too late to take back the wave, he drove on.

Cathy felt buoyed by the wave from her father. Until that moment she had not realized how much she missed him—how desperately she needed him in her life. Perhaps the rift between them could be mended some day.

She entered the house moments behind Jennifer. The girl stood watching Lauren hectically dust and straighten every picture on the walls. Lauren wore shorts and a ratty T-shirt. “What’s up?” Cathy asked, kissing Jennifer’s smooth cheek.

“Mary Poppins on speed or something. The house looks like a crew of cleaning women has been through here. I bet she even vacuumed the cat.”

Lauren mopped perspiration from her forehead with a paper towel. “Funny. Cathy, control your daughter.”

“Jennifer, behave. Your spinster aunt is obviously in a state of panic over her date tonight,” Cathy said, nudging her daughter.

Jennifer leaned shoulder-to-shoulder with her mother. “Judging from her hair, I’d say she isn’t in panic so much as shock. Terminal frizzies, I’m afraid.”

Lauren turned with a pout. “What time is it?”

Cathy checked her watch. “Five-thirtyish.”

“I can’t do this. I’m going to call Ben and beg off.”

Sister and niece surrounded Lauren. Each took an elbow. “Come on . . . we’ll wash your hair again, and help you get ready. You’ll be fine,” Cathy said.

“Just don’t barf in his lap . . . it makes a bad first impression,” Jennifer added helpfully.

As they tended to Lauren, Jennifer related her day with her grandfather—especially his flirtation at the drive-in. “This is my father you’re talking about, right . . . not some evil clone?” Lauren said, feeling herself relax.

Jennifer brushed and dried Lauren’s hair until it fell in lush waves, while Cathy scavenged through Lauren’s closet. She selected a simple black dress with a low-cut V neck. “Wear this with your best push-up bra and a string of pearls. You may not be home for days,” Cathy said with a leer.

It’s nice having someone else make decisions for me, Lauren thought. When dressed, she twirled around for inspection. She got twin thumbs-up from Cathy and Jennifer. Then the doorbell rang, and Lauren nearly left her skin. “He’s early!”

“Keep your drawers on, Sis . . . I’ll get the door,” Cathy said, amused by Lauren’s distress. She let Ben Tolson into the house and introduced herself. “Lauren will be ready in just a minute. Have a seat . . . I’ll let her know you’re here.”

Cathy controlled the urge to run to Lauren’s bedroom. Once there, she hissed in an excited whisper, “Good God, he’s gorgeous! He looks like that actor on ER . . . that Clooney guy . . . only taller. Those eyes!”

“Get a grip, Mom,” Jennifer said. “I’ll go keep him company until Lauren stops hyperventilating.”

Jennifer strolled into the living room. Ben stood and extended his hand. “You must be Jennifer. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Her mother’s description was accurate. Gorgeous.

Suddenly aware of her sloppy clothes and soiled fingernails, Jennifer put her hand in his. She didn’t trust herself to speak, afraid she would stutter unintelligibly. She gulped.

“Lauren tells me you’re quite an artist, and a great kid,” Ben said, smiling.

Kid? Jennifer stood up straighter, displayed her new-found figure, and returned his smile. “Yeah, she seems to like me. She’s cool.”

“Indeed.”

“Uh, I’ll go get her,” Jennifer said. She did not try to dampen her enthusiasm. She ran to the bedroom. “Lauren, if you don’t want him, can I have him?”

“I saw him first,” Cathy growled. “I get all Lauren’s rejects.”

Ben Tolson had obviously won the hearts of all three women.

“Thank you very much,” Lauren said. “but I think I’ll keep him.” She took three deep breaths, squared her shoulders, and went to meet the good doctor. Her retinue followed close behind.

When Lauren entered the living room, Ben actually leaped to his feet. His eyes widened. Lauren took this in, as well as the charcoal gray dress slacks and blue sport coat Ben wore. “Hi, Ben,” she said.

“My. My,” Ben stammered. He straightened his tie. “You look lovely. I’ve never seen you in anything except your hospital whites. What a waste.”

As Lauren and Ben were leaving, Cathy said, almost as an afterthought, “Oh, Lauren, I need to speak with you tomorrow. I have a favor to ask.”