best restaurant in town in compensation.”
“That’s okay. My pride was injured more than anything else.”
“Old Brady’s good at that.” His voice seemed to take on a bite. Then he grinned again. “You know, when Dad sent me out here to get Brady’s affairs settled, I don’t know what I expected, but it certainly wasn’t sharing a dance with a pretty lady in a hoop skirt. Especially one I remember so fondly.”
“Expect nothing and be ready for everything. That’s what my daddy always says.”
“Smart man, your daddy.”
When the song was over, we walked back over to where Thelma and Martha sat on metal folding chairs cradling cups of cranberry-colored punch.
Clay nodded at the two women. “Guess I’d better go see if Brady’s all right before heading back to my hotel.”
“Where are you staying?” Thelma asked, giving me a scheming smile.
“Down near the mission at the San Celina Inn.”
“That’s a lovely old hotel,” she said. “I spent my fiftieth anniversary in a room there. It had a canopied four-poster bed and a beautiful Wedding Ring quilt. If I remember right, a bottle of wine came with the room.”
“How romantic,” Martha said.
“Is your wife enjoying our lovely Central Coast, Mr. O’Hara?” Thelma asked.
“Call me Clay, ma’am. And I’m not married at this particular time of my life.”
“Girlfriend?”
“Not at the moment.”
She raised her sparse white eyebrows at me and nudged Martha with her elbow. “That’s a real shame, nice-looking boy like you, all alone. ”
“Yes, ma’am, it is.” One side of his long mustache twitched.
I tried to catch her eye and tell her silently to cut it out. The ladies in my quilting class, some of them without families of their own or grandchildren too far away or too busy to be more than a once-a-year birthday card, had taken an exaggerated and opinionated interest in my life, particularly the romantic part. They said it beat the heck out of General Hospital which, they claimed, was far too predictable for women of their advanced experiences. They adored Gabe, but were obviously not above encouraging another rooster to jump into the stew pot.
“Well, it was certainly good seeing you again, Clay,” I said. “Maybe we’ll run into each other again around town.”
“Maybe,” he said, his face thoughtful. “I’ll be around for a couple of weeks or so, anyway.”
After he left, I turned to Thelma and Martha. “And what was that all about, ladies?”
They looked at each other and gave high, tittering laughs.
“You two are worse than teenagers,” I said.
We sat through three more songs and watched the few energetic dancers left improvise new dance steps. The grandfather clock next to the fireplace chimed ten o’clock—much later than most of these senior citizens were accustomed to. I’d come to the conclusion that Gabe was never going to make it, and decided since it looked better for the newspaper photographs to have an official type crown the king and queen, I would ask Edwin to do the honors. Predictably, just because I needed him, he was nowhere to be found. As a last resort, I thought of Mac, hiding out in the kitchen.
“Cute apron,” I said, walking into the chrome and white commercial-sized kitchen. He stood in front of a large glass-front refrigerator wearing a red-and-white-striped baker’s apron. It stated in bold black letters “I don’t repeat gossip, so listen carefully.”
“Like it?” He picked up a white-wrapped package from a pasteboard box at his feet and placed it on one of the refrigerator shelves. “I wore it to a church barbecue last Saturday. Made some of the less humorous members of the deacons board just a tad nervous.”
I laughed. “I guess you do have some of Oralee in you after all.”
He smiled mischievously. “Well, as she would say, I didn’t lick it off the sidewalk.”
I peered into the empty box at his feet. “What have you got there?”
“Fresh fish. Some
“That’s okay. My pride was injured more than anything else.”
“Old Brady’s good at that.” His voice seemed to take on a bite. Then he grinned again. “You know, when Dad sent me out here to get Brady’s affairs settled, I don’t know what I expected, but it certainly wasn’t sharing a dance with a pretty lady in a hoop skirt. Especially one I remember so fondly.”
“Expect nothing and be ready for everything. That’s what my daddy always says.”
“Smart man, your daddy.”
When the song was over, we walked back over to where Thelma and Martha sat on metal folding chairs cradling cups of cranberry-colored punch.
Clay nodded at the two women. “Guess I’d better go see if Brady’s all right before heading back to my hotel.”
“Where are you staying?” Thelma asked, giving me a scheming smile.
“Down near the mission at the San Celina Inn.”
“That’s a lovely old hotel,” she said. “I spent my fiftieth anniversary in a room there. It had a canopied four-poster bed and a beautiful Wedding Ring quilt. If I remember right, a bottle of wine came with the room.”
“How romantic,” Martha said.
“Is your wife enjoying our lovely Central Coast, Mr. O’Hara?” Thelma asked.
“Call me Clay, ma’am. And I’m not married at this particular time of my life.”
“Girlfriend?”
“Not at the moment.”
She raised her sparse white eyebrows at me and nudged Martha with her elbow. “That’s a real shame, nice-looking boy like you, all alone. ”
“Yes, ma’am, it is.” One side of his long mustache twitched.
I tried to catch her eye and tell her silently to cut it out. The ladies in my quilting class, some of them without families of their own or grandchildren too far away or too busy to be more than a once-a-year birthday card, had taken an exaggerated and opinionated interest in my life, particularly the romantic part. They said it beat the heck out of General Hospital which, they claimed, was far too predictable for women of their advanced experiences. They adored Gabe, but were obviously not above encouraging another rooster to jump into the stew pot.
“Well, it was certainly good seeing you again, Clay,” I said. “Maybe we’ll run into each other again around town.”
“Maybe,” he said, his face thoughtful. “I’ll be around for a couple of weeks or so, anyway.”
After he left, I turned to Thelma and Martha. “And what was that all about, ladies?”
They looked at each other and gave high, tittering laughs.
“You two are worse than teenagers,” I said.
We sat through three more songs and watched the few energetic dancers left improvise new dance steps. The grandfather clock next to the fireplace chimed ten o’clock—much later than most of these senior citizens were accustomed to. I’d come to the conclusion that Gabe was never going to make it, and decided since it looked better for the newspaper photographs to have an official type crown the king and queen, I would ask Edwin to do the honors. Predictably, just because I needed him, he was nowhere to be found. As a last resort, I thought of Mac, hiding out in the kitchen.
“Cute apron,” I said, walking into the chrome and white commercial-sized kitchen. He stood in front of a large glass-front refrigerator wearing a red-and-white-striped baker’s apron. It stated in bold black letters “I don’t repeat gossip, so listen carefully.”
“Like it?” He picked up a white-wrapped package from a pasteboard box at his feet and placed it on one of the refrigerator shelves. “I wore it to a church barbecue last Saturday. Made some of the less humorous members of the deacons board just a tad nervous.”
I laughed. “I guess you do have some of Oralee in you after all.”
He smiled mischievously. “Well, as she would say, I didn’t lick it off the sidewalk.”
I peered into the empty box at his feet. “What have you got there?”
“Fresh fish. Some
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