Let me come get you. This willfulness is not like you."
"The sad thing is, Daddy, if you really knew me, really understood what I wanted from life and what made me happy, you'd know where I was. I'm doing exactly what I've dreamed I would ever since I was a child."
Silence answered her, and she could imagine her father's stern lips slack with surprise and confusion.
"I just wanted you to know I was safe and tell you not to worry. I'm doing what I want for the first time in years. And I can look myself in the mirror."
"Claire, your mother and I love you, and we want you to be happy. If you would just come home, we can talk about your grievances. What if I bought you those snow skis we saw in Aspen—"
"No. My mind's made up. I'm staying here. Good night, Daddy. I love you." She hung up before her father could voice another protest. Perhaps he'd never understand or approve. But she was through with trying to please her father. The time had come to please herself.
***
The next morning, after a quick breakfast with Mrs. Proctor, Claire went out to her car, ready to face her second day of learning the difference between caulk and grout. Remembering Kevin's qualms over her attire the day before, she dressed down a bit today. She hoped the white linen skirt and pink cotton blouse struck a balance between chic and what her boss expected her to wear.
She slid behind the wheel of her BMW, but when she turned the ignition key, the engine wouldn't start. Her second and third attempts got similar results. She sat for a moment with her head on the steering wheel, debating what to do first.
She should call Kevin and tell him she'd be late, but she obviously would need a tow truck to take her car into the shop. She wasn't sure that Grayson even had a place that could work on her BMW.
Grumbling epithets to the car, she headed back inside.
In the kitchen, Mrs. Proctor used her cane to poke at a can on a high shelf beyond her reach. The old woman huffed her frustration and muttered invectives similar to those Claire had just used on her car.
"You can say that again." Grinning, Claire stepped up behind Mrs. Proctor and handed down the can of peaches the woman was after.
"Oh." The older woman gave Claire a quick, begrudging smile. "Thank you. I thought you'd left."
"I tried. My car won't start. Do you have a phone book? I need to call a tow truck."
"Phooey." Her landlady waved her off. "Call Kevin. He doesn’t have a phone at home, but he should be at the store by now. He's good with mechanical stuff. He'll get your car started."
"Kevin's got responsibilities at the store. I can't ask him to come bail me out. Besides, I want to handle this myself. I'll call a garage."
Mrs. Proctor gave her a long, dissatisfied glare, before limping over to a kitchen drawer to retrieve the phone book. "You know, you could do a lot worse than Kevin Fuller. You'd be lucky to have a man like him courting you. He's good-hearted and hard-working. He'd make a fine husband."
Claire blinked and mentally adjusted to absorb what the old woman was saying. "Husband? What...I'm not looking for a husband." The memory of Blaine's deceit, and her father's hand in it, sliced through her, opening the freshly scabbed wounds again. "I don't want or need a man in my life right now, thank you. Before I even consider getting married, I want to prove to myself and everyone else that I can make it on my own."
Mrs. Proctor harrumphed and slapped the thin phone book on the kitchen table. "Think you're too good for him, do you?"
"Wh— no! I—"
"Because maybe he's too good for you!" The chilliness Claire had picked up from Mrs. Proctor at their first meeting had returned in spades and left her speechless. The woman's truculence puzzled Claire. What had she done to upset her landlady?
"Kevin is very kind. I agree, but—"
"But nothing. I'd like to shake that little miss that broke his heart a few years back. Stuck up little snob."
Claire frowned. What little miss? She
"The sad thing is, Daddy, if you really knew me, really understood what I wanted from life and what made me happy, you'd know where I was. I'm doing exactly what I've dreamed I would ever since I was a child."
Silence answered her, and she could imagine her father's stern lips slack with surprise and confusion.
"I just wanted you to know I was safe and tell you not to worry. I'm doing what I want for the first time in years. And I can look myself in the mirror."
"Claire, your mother and I love you, and we want you to be happy. If you would just come home, we can talk about your grievances. What if I bought you those snow skis we saw in Aspen—"
"No. My mind's made up. I'm staying here. Good night, Daddy. I love you." She hung up before her father could voice another protest. Perhaps he'd never understand or approve. But she was through with trying to please her father. The time had come to please herself.
***
The next morning, after a quick breakfast with Mrs. Proctor, Claire went out to her car, ready to face her second day of learning the difference between caulk and grout. Remembering Kevin's qualms over her attire the day before, she dressed down a bit today. She hoped the white linen skirt and pink cotton blouse struck a balance between chic and what her boss expected her to wear.
She slid behind the wheel of her BMW, but when she turned the ignition key, the engine wouldn't start. Her second and third attempts got similar results. She sat for a moment with her head on the steering wheel, debating what to do first.
She should call Kevin and tell him she'd be late, but she obviously would need a tow truck to take her car into the shop. She wasn't sure that Grayson even had a place that could work on her BMW.
Grumbling epithets to the car, she headed back inside.
In the kitchen, Mrs. Proctor used her cane to poke at a can on a high shelf beyond her reach. The old woman huffed her frustration and muttered invectives similar to those Claire had just used on her car.
"You can say that again." Grinning, Claire stepped up behind Mrs. Proctor and handed down the can of peaches the woman was after.
"Oh." The older woman gave Claire a quick, begrudging smile. "Thank you. I thought you'd left."
"I tried. My car won't start. Do you have a phone book? I need to call a tow truck."
"Phooey." Her landlady waved her off. "Call Kevin. He doesn’t have a phone at home, but he should be at the store by now. He's good with mechanical stuff. He'll get your car started."
"Kevin's got responsibilities at the store. I can't ask him to come bail me out. Besides, I want to handle this myself. I'll call a garage."
Mrs. Proctor gave her a long, dissatisfied glare, before limping over to a kitchen drawer to retrieve the phone book. "You know, you could do a lot worse than Kevin Fuller. You'd be lucky to have a man like him courting you. He's good-hearted and hard-working. He'd make a fine husband."
Claire blinked and mentally adjusted to absorb what the old woman was saying. "Husband? What...I'm not looking for a husband." The memory of Blaine's deceit, and her father's hand in it, sliced through her, opening the freshly scabbed wounds again. "I don't want or need a man in my life right now, thank you. Before I even consider getting married, I want to prove to myself and everyone else that I can make it on my own."
Mrs. Proctor harrumphed and slapped the thin phone book on the kitchen table. "Think you're too good for him, do you?"
"Wh— no! I—"
"Because maybe he's too good for you!" The chilliness Claire had picked up from Mrs. Proctor at their first meeting had returned in spades and left her speechless. The woman's truculence puzzled Claire. What had she done to upset her landlady?
"Kevin is very kind. I agree, but—"
"But nothing. I'd like to shake that little miss that broke his heart a few years back. Stuck up little snob."
Claire frowned. What little miss? She
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