Talk of the Town by Mary Kay McComas Page B

inspection no doubt. "He'll think you're watching for him."
    “I am.”
    "Well, don't. And I'll get the door when he gets here." He stepped into the room, eyeing her attire. "Nothing shorter, huh?"
    "Harley," she said, half shocked, looking down at the hem of her short denim skirt. She could already feel a cool breeze on the backs of her thighs. How much shorter did he want it? "Women my age begin to have sagging body parts, you know. If this were any shorter, my bottom would hang out."
    "You still have nice legs. Can’t hurt to show’em off a little."
    “You think so?" she asked, checking for herself, inordinately flattered by her son's praise. Her son's praise, it occurred to her. "You know, I don't think other sons would be encouraging their mothers to wear shorter skirts for some man they hardly know. What is it with you and this dinner? You aren't invited, you know."
    "I know," he said, looking young and shy for a second. "I've just never seen you go out with anyone before." He shrugged. "I mean, I was thinking about it . . . and, well, I asked Grampa. He said you hadn't been out with a man since ... my dad. How come?"
    She looked away to consider her answer, moving slowly toward the bed to sit down. "No interest, I guess. It was hard to trust men after your dad, and then later, when you were little and I was working at the plant, I was too busy and too tired to have much of an interest in men."
    "Was it because of me? Because I didn't have a dad? Because men don't want women with kids?"
    "No," she said without hesitation.
    "I remember men coming to the house, asking you out. But you never went with them."
    "I didn't want to. It had nothing to do with you." A brief pause. "As I recall, most of them would follow you home from somewhere or another, telling me what a great kid you were. That little league coach you had made me really nervous. I kept thinking that if you ever came up missing, he'd have kidnapped you. Your third grade teacher was the same way."
    "So, how come you didn't date 'em?"
    "I told you. I didn't want to."
    "Why?"
    "I don't know," she said, frowning, feeling annoyed for no good reason in particular. "It was easier that way." She laughed. "Men think women are weird, but it's really the other way around. You're just a young man, but you're getting weirder every day."
    "Don't you get lonely?" he asked. His green eyes that were so like her own were solemn and grave. Even as a small child he'd had these profoundly thoughtful moments when he seemed like a very wise, very troubled old man trapped in a kid's innocence.
    "I have you. And Grampa," she said, a standard mother's answer that clearly didn't satisfy him. She knew what he was asking, and he knew it. "I do get lonely. Sometimes. It passes. And then I'm glad it's just you and me and Earl."
    "It won't be forever, you know," he said, reminding her that both he and Earl were getting older. They both listened to a car coming to a slow stop out front.
    "I'll deal with that then," she said, rising to her feet. "In the meantime I'm happy with things the way they are, so you can stop trying to pawn me off on some unsuspecting man. Okay?"
    He grinned, looking too savvy by far. "I don't think this guy is unsuspecting, Mom."
    The squirrels were awake and clawing at her insides again.
    "He is a little obvious, isn't he?"
    "Lu said he could have lit up a neon sign this afternoon in the diner."
    "He could have lit up Las Vegas," she muttered when he left the room to answer the knock at the door downstairs. She felt a fresh wash of mortification recollecting the moment she'd realized he wasn't going to kiss her right there behind the lunch counter. The unexpected disappointment had been staggering, and he'd grinned when it showed on her face. "The jerk."
    He didn't deserve all the trouble she'd gone to, shaving her legs and putting on makeup. She pulled the carefully tucked cotton blouse from the waistband and knotted the tails in front so he wouldn't think she