weekend, after you get settled.” Still the same bedroom eyes.
Damn him to hell.
“We’d love to have you,” she said. “How is Estelle, anyway?”
He flinched. “Still in rehab.”
“Oh.” She did not look away. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
He gave her an apologetic smile. It was another one of his tricks, that little quirk of the lips, half begging, half flirting, that used to work every time. “It just seems so strange, knowing you won’t be here. That I’ll never bump into you on the street again, or see you at a soccer game or band recital. That . . . you just won’t be here.”
That almost got her. Suddenly she found herself thinking about all the things that simply wouldn’t be there anymore. The familiar desk in room 312, the giant hemlock in her backyard, the eighty-year-old clerk at the Shop-and-Go who always gave her the wrong change. The Cineplex, the creaky board in her bedroom closet, the teller at the bank who called her “Miss Wright” because three of her four children had been in Lindsay’s class, cranky old Mr. Daughtery who lived on the corner and refused to clip his overgrown hedges despite the fact that they were a traffic hazard . . . she had lived here for twenty-three years. What was she thinking?
Shep reached out, lightly touched her arm. “We were good together, Linds,” he said softly. “Whatever happened to us?”
She looked at his fingers on her bare arm for a long time, and slowly the panic that had begun to gather in her chest dissipated. She looked at his face. She smiled. “You got married,” she said, “and I got smart.”
She glanced over his shoulder, and saw Cici and Bridget standing across the room. They raised their glasses to her, and she returned the salute. “It was great talking to you, Shep. Now,” she said, turning her smile back to him, “if you’ll excuse me, I have to get back to the party.”
Delores and her secretary, Sheryl, were waiting for them in the media/game room downstairs, where the baize card table had been claimed as a temporary office. “Let’s get this show on the road,” she declared as they came in, “so I can get back to what I do best—drinking.”
Years of chain-smoking had given the attorney’s voice a gravelly tenor, and she had a habit of chewing on the tip of her pen when cigarettes were not an option. Her spiked silver hair and crocodile-tanned skin spoke of a woman who wasn’t afraid of living, and her shrewd black eyes didn’t miss a trick. She had handled Cici’s divorce, Jim’s estate, and Lindsay’s contract dispute when she left her former school system early due to the aforementioned incident with Shep. She was a woman who knew how to get things done.
“So.” She peered at them across the spread of papers as they sat down. “Last chance to back out. You’re really going to do this thing?”
Almost as one, they burst into laughter. “Are you kidding me?” “Silly question!” and “Let’s get on with it, Delores! We’re missing the party!”
“All righty, then. The closing documents are pretty straightforward. I’ll go over them as you sign, and Sheryl here will witness. I’ll fax them to Virginia first thing in the morning and we’re done. Here’s your Agreement to Enter into Joint Venture.” She distributed three copies of the document between them. “It covers everything from how much each of you is required to contribute to household expenses each month to how many pets you’re allowed to have.”
“I still think this is unnecessary,” Cici said.
“How many pets are we allowed to have?” Bridget asked.
“As many as we want,” Lindsay said.
Delores answered Cici. “It’s like a prenup. Everyone thinks they’re unnecessary until they don’t have one.”
Cici murmured, “Well, I guess I can relate to that.”
Delores said, “You’ve been lucky. Everything has gone smoothly up to this point. But what if things start going bad? How much more are you willing to
Damn him to hell.
“We’d love to have you,” she said. “How is Estelle, anyway?”
He flinched. “Still in rehab.”
“Oh.” She did not look away. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
He gave her an apologetic smile. It was another one of his tricks, that little quirk of the lips, half begging, half flirting, that used to work every time. “It just seems so strange, knowing you won’t be here. That I’ll never bump into you on the street again, or see you at a soccer game or band recital. That . . . you just won’t be here.”
That almost got her. Suddenly she found herself thinking about all the things that simply wouldn’t be there anymore. The familiar desk in room 312, the giant hemlock in her backyard, the eighty-year-old clerk at the Shop-and-Go who always gave her the wrong change. The Cineplex, the creaky board in her bedroom closet, the teller at the bank who called her “Miss Wright” because three of her four children had been in Lindsay’s class, cranky old Mr. Daughtery who lived on the corner and refused to clip his overgrown hedges despite the fact that they were a traffic hazard . . . she had lived here for twenty-three years. What was she thinking?
Shep reached out, lightly touched her arm. “We were good together, Linds,” he said softly. “Whatever happened to us?”
She looked at his fingers on her bare arm for a long time, and slowly the panic that had begun to gather in her chest dissipated. She looked at his face. She smiled. “You got married,” she said, “and I got smart.”
She glanced over his shoulder, and saw Cici and Bridget standing across the room. They raised their glasses to her, and she returned the salute. “It was great talking to you, Shep. Now,” she said, turning her smile back to him, “if you’ll excuse me, I have to get back to the party.”
Delores and her secretary, Sheryl, were waiting for them in the media/game room downstairs, where the baize card table had been claimed as a temporary office. “Let’s get this show on the road,” she declared as they came in, “so I can get back to what I do best—drinking.”
Years of chain-smoking had given the attorney’s voice a gravelly tenor, and she had a habit of chewing on the tip of her pen when cigarettes were not an option. Her spiked silver hair and crocodile-tanned skin spoke of a woman who wasn’t afraid of living, and her shrewd black eyes didn’t miss a trick. She had handled Cici’s divorce, Jim’s estate, and Lindsay’s contract dispute when she left her former school system early due to the aforementioned incident with Shep. She was a woman who knew how to get things done.
“So.” She peered at them across the spread of papers as they sat down. “Last chance to back out. You’re really going to do this thing?”
Almost as one, they burst into laughter. “Are you kidding me?” “Silly question!” and “Let’s get on with it, Delores! We’re missing the party!”
“All righty, then. The closing documents are pretty straightforward. I’ll go over them as you sign, and Sheryl here will witness. I’ll fax them to Virginia first thing in the morning and we’re done. Here’s your Agreement to Enter into Joint Venture.” She distributed three copies of the document between them. “It covers everything from how much each of you is required to contribute to household expenses each month to how many pets you’re allowed to have.”
“I still think this is unnecessary,” Cici said.
“How many pets are we allowed to have?” Bridget asked.
“As many as we want,” Lindsay said.
Delores answered Cici. “It’s like a prenup. Everyone thinks they’re unnecessary until they don’t have one.”
Cici murmured, “Well, I guess I can relate to that.”
Delores said, “You’ve been lucky. Everything has gone smoothly up to this point. But what if things start going bad? How much more are you willing to
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