Always Florence. Muriel Jensen
ill. “Well, she seems a little...fragile.”
Sandy met his eyes and he was suddenly sure she knew everything about Bobbie, and maybe resented his interference. “If we don’t give her something to do, she’s going to spend every waking hour in that studio until she leaves for Italy in January. Her father called me recently to see how she was doing, and I promised him I’d help her get out and meet people.” Sandy looked around the table at the expressions on the committee members’ faces. Her colleagues obviously thought she presumed too much. “What? She was my roommate at Portland State, before she went to the Pacific Northwest College of Art. I care about her.”
“Well, if you ask her for a painting, won’t she still be spending every waking hour in her studio?” Nate asked.
Sandy considered that, then said finally, “As a member of the committee, and her neighbor, you can help her gather whatever she needs, check on her progress, support the work in whatever way you can. Why? Do you object to my asking her?”
He thought a moment. Bobbie Molloy seemed perfectly capable of taking care of herself. “No,” he said finally. “Go ahead.”
“I do like the painting idea,” Clarissa said as she closed her notebook and stood. “Okay. Back here next Monday morning same time?” She gave Nate a slightly apologetic smile. “You can be late as long as you arrive with doughnuts again. We’ll all try to get whatever donations we can for the raffle at the Christmas dinner dance, right?”
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