Ragged Rainbows. Linda Lael Miller
“Hey, it’ll be a while until dinner is ready. How about trying on some of this stuff I bought for your camping trip? Maggie and Garrett will be here Saturday, so if I have to make any exchanges, I’d like to take care of it tonight.”
The telephone rang as Shay was slicing cucumbers for a salad, and there was a peculiar jiggling in the pit of her stomach as she reached out one hand for the receiver. She hoped that the caller would be Mitch Prescott and then, at the nervous catching of her breath in her throat, hoped not.
“Shay?” The feminine voice rang like crystal chimes over the wires. “This is Jeannie Reese.”
Mingled relief and disappointment made Shay’s knees weak; she reached out with one foot for a stool and drew it near enough to sit upon. With the telephone receiver wedged between her ear and her shoulder, she went on slicing. “All ready for the big trip?” she asked, and her voice was as tremulous as her hands. If she didn’t watch it, she’d cut herself.
“Ready as I’ll ever be, I guess. We couldn’t get away if it weren’t for you. Shay, I’m so grateful.”
“It was the least I could do,” Shay replied, thinking of how frightened and alone she’d been when she had come back to Skyler Beach hoping to take refuge in her childhood home and found herself completely on her own. The Reeses had made all the difference. “What’s up?”
“I know it’s gauche, but I’m throwing my own going-away party. It’ll be at our beach house, this Saturday night. Can I count on you to be there?”
By Saturday night, Hank would be gone. The house would be entirely too quiet and the first television commercial would be looming directly ahead. A distraction, especially one of the Reeses’ elegant parties, would be welcome. “Is it formal?”
“Dress to the teeth, my dear.”
Shay tossed the last of the cucumber slices into the salad bowl and started in on the scallions. Her wardrobe consisted mostly of work or casual clothing; she was either going to have to buy a new outfit or drag the sewing machine out of the back of her closet and make one. “What time?”
“Eight,” Jeannie sang. “Ciao, darling. I’ve got fifty-six more people to call.”
Shay grinned. “Ciao,” she said, hanging up.
Almost instantly, the telephone rang again. This time the caller was Ivy. “You’ve heard about the party, I suppose?”
“Only seconds ago. How did you find out so fast?”
“Mrs. Reese appointed me to make some of the calls. Shay, what are you going to wear?”
“I don’t know.” The answer was sighed rather than spoken.
“We could hit the mall tomorrow, after work.”
“No chance. I’ve got too much to do. It’s tonight or nothing.”
Ivy loved to shop and her voice was a disappointed wail. “Oh, damn! I can’t turn a wheel tonight! I’ve got to sit right here in my apartment, calling all the Reeses’ friends. Promise me you’ll splurge, buy something really spectacular!”
Shay scraped a pile of chopped scallions into one hand with the blade of her knife and frowned suspiciously. “Ivy, what are you up to?”
“Up to?” Ivy echoed, all innocence.
“You know what I mean.”
“No, I don’t.”
“You’re awfully concerned, it seems to me, about how I plan to dress for the Reese party.”
“I just want you to look good.”
“For your brother, perhaps?”
“Shay Kendall!”
“Come on, Ivy. Come clean. He’s going to be there, isn’t he?”
“Well, I did suggest…”
Shay laughed, even though the pit of her stomach was jumping again and her heart was beating too fast. “That’s what I thought. Has it occurred to you, dear, that if Mitch wanted to see me again he would call me himself?”
“He did drop in for chicken last night,” Ivy reminded her friend.
Shay blushed to remember the way she had sobbed in Mitch’s arms like a shattered child. She’d probably scared him off for good. “That didn’t go too well. Don’t get your hopes up, Ivy.”
“Buy something fabulous,” insisted the irrepressible Ivy. And then she rang off.
By the time Hank had paraded through the kitchen in each of his new outfits—by some miracle, only one pair of jeans would have to be returned—the casserole was finished. Mother and son sat down to eat and then, after clearing the table and leaving the dishes to soak, they went off to the mall.
Exchanging the jeans took only minutes, but Shay spent a full hour in the fabric store, checking out patterns and material. Finally, after much deliberation, she selected a material that would make a nice floaty black skirt. In a boutique across the way, she bought a daring silver and black top, holding her breath the whole while. The shirt, while gorgeous, was heavy and impractical and far too expensive. Would she even have the nerve to wear it?
Twice, on the way back to her car, Shay stopped in her tracks. What was she doing, spending this kind of money for one party? She had to return the shirt.
It was Hank who stopped her from doing just that. “You’ll look real pretty in that shiny shirt, Mom,” he said.
Shay drew a deep breath and marched onward to the car. Every woman needed to wear something wickedly glamorous, at least once in her life. Rosamond had owned closetfuls of such things.
The telephone was ringing when Shay entered the house, and Hank leaped for the living room extension. He was a born positive-thinker, expecting every call to bring momentous news.
“Yeah, she’s here. Mom!”
Shay dropped her purchases on the couch and crossed the room to take the call. She was completely unprepared for the voice on the other end of the line, much as she’d hoped and dreaded to hear it earlier.
“You’ve heard about the party, I presume?” Mitch Prescott asked with that quiet gruffness that put everything feminine within Shay on instant red alert.
“Yes,” she managed to answer.
“I don’t think I can face it alone. How about lending me moral support?”
Shay couldn’t imagine Mitch shrinking from anything, or needing moral support, but she felt a certain terrified gladness at the prospect of being asked to go to the party with him. “Being a sworn humanitarian,” she teased, “I couldn’t possibly refuse such a request.”
His sigh of relief was an exaggerated one. “Thank you.”
Shay laughed. “Were you really that afraid of a simple party?”
“No. I was afraid you’d say no. That, of course, would have been devastating to my masculine ego.”
“We can’t have that,” Shay responded airily, glad that he couldn’t see her and know that she was blushing like a high-schooler looking forward to her first prom. “The Reeses’ beach house is quite a distance from town. We’d better leave at least a half an hour early.”
“Seven?”
“Seven,” Shay confirmed. The party, something of an obligation before, was suddenly the focal point of her existence; she was dizzy with excitement and a certain amount of chagrin that such an event could be so important to her. Shouldn’t she be dreading her son’s imminent departure instead of looking past it to a drive along miles and miles of moon-washed shore?
While Hank was taking his bath, under protest, Shay washed the dishes she’d left to soak and then got out her sewing machine. She was up long after