Matinees With Miriam. Vicki Essex
“FLOWERS AND CHOCOLATES?” Janice Heinlein rolled her eyes. “Really, Arty, that’s about as subtle as telling him to buy her a diamond ring.”
“Don’t see what’s the big deal. And anyhow, I’m sending business your way. Can’t argue with that, can you?” He picked up the bucket of bouquets the florist had put together for his shop. Janice could have sent one of her boys to deliver them to the grocery store directly, but he liked to visit when he could and see her in her natural habitat—a rare orchid among dandelions.
Now that’s what you call maudlin claptrap, he scolded himself for his bad poetry. Jack would’ve laughed him out of the store.
“You know, if he gets here before you’re gone, he’ll know you’re up to something.”
“Up to something? Me?” He grinned. “Whatever could you mean?”
“Don’t play coy.” She gave him a lopsided grin. “You want Mira to find a man.”
Arty smirked, not denying her allegation. They’d both worried over Mira since Jack’s death. She’d had a rough start to life, and as much as she’d grown and matured, she’d never really come out of her shell entirely and had only seemed to retreat further since her grandfather’s death. Finding a man who’d look after her wasn’t out of the question, but he wasn’t entirely ready to push Mira out of her comfort zone, either. The girl was sensitive.
“If you want my advice, you need to steer the man toward other avenues. Women like men who put a little thought and creativity into their gifts. Miriam needs more than fresh-cut flowers if you want her to be wooed out of that cave of hers.” Janice shook her head. The sunlight through the flower shop window made her white-blond hair glow as it tumbled around her ears. Arty longed to touch her. He kept his hands stuffed in his pockets instead. “Anyhow, what makes you think this Shane Patel is any good for her? Sounds like he’s only after her property, and I doubt he’s the kind to stick around.”
“A man knows when another man is interested,” he said firmly. “He lit up like a lightbulb when he saw her last night.”
“Maybe it was just the paint from that paint gun. You should take that thing away from her before someone loses an eye.”
“And do what? Give her a real gun? She needs some kind of protection, but hell if I give her anything worse than a BB.”
“What she needs is to move out of that place.” Janice huffed. “I know Jack would be grateful for how you’re looking out for her, but he wouldn’t have wanted her alone in that old theater for the rest of her life.”
Arty’s chest ached, hearing Janice’s wistful tone. They all missed Jack Bateman. Miriam’s grandfather had been a fixture in Everville, a grinning beanstalk of a man who was as at ease camping with his granddaughter as he was running the projector at the Crown. He and Arty had been friends since childhood. The man would have known better how to handle Mira.
“I think Mira is happy,” Arty said gruffly. “Her definition of it, anyhow.”
“She didn’t pick up her own groceries this week,” Janice pointed out.
“She had deadlines to meet. You know how she gets when she’s focused on work.”
“It’s not healthy, Arty. She needs to be around people, too.”
He lifted his shoulders. “She talks to people on the internet.”
“That’s not the same.”
“Jan, she’s twenty-eight, not twelve. She’s an adult. Her life isn’t conventional to us, sure, but times have changed. She likes her privacy. She’s not starving. She’s got a job, a roof over her head...all things considered, she’s doing all right.” He wasn’t sure whether he was trying to convince her or himself.
“‘All right’ isn’t always enough,” Janice returned staunchly. “Before you know it, she’ll be an old woman living alone in a decrepit theater.”
Arty grimaced. He usually deferred to Janice when it came to Mira’s well-being, being a woman and all, but they frequently disagreed on how to handle the young woman’s introversion. The fact was, he wanted to honor his friend by helping his granddaughter become the woman she wanted to be. If it meant arguing with the woman Jack—and Arty—had been sweet on most of their lives, so be it.
His main concern was that Mira was alone—and that would bother him less if he were younger and knew he had many more years to keep an eye on her. But the incident with the trespassers had hammered home how perilous her situation was. Next time, it could be someone far less benign than a bunch of troublemaking kids. Someone who wouldn’t be scared off by Halloween costumes and paintball guns.
Shane Patel wasn’t exactly forever material: he didn’t see a long-term relationship between him and Mira flourishing. But Arty also knew folks these days didn’t need long-term to be happy, and Mira had always been pragmatic. When it came to relationships, anyhow.
If he could get her to simply open up to the idea of dating, he’d consider his job done. The problem was that the men in town were less than appealing to Mira. Too many knew about the Batemans, and Mira in particular.
“You think we should convince her to sell the Crown?” he asked casually. He couldn’t picture Mira giving up the theater—Jack had loved that place.
The florist shook her head. “That’s something she has to decide for herself. What I’m suggesting is she get a taste of what else is out there. She can’t live her life in front of a screen.”
Arty raised an eyebrow. It was uncharacteristic of Janice to talk about casual flings. She’d always been much more serious when it came to relationships. She’d been married for twenty-four years before her husband, Bill, had passed, and after that, she’d refused to remarry. Even when Jack, a widower himself, had come a-calling, she still hadn’t budged, and Jack had been no slouch when it came to charming the ladies. Hesitantly, he said, “A taste...of this Shane Patel, maybe?”
She shrugged. “He’s convenient—I don’t deny that. Temporary, which isn’t necessarily bad. Mira needs her life shaken up a bit. He’d get her beyond the theater’s walls, too.”
“He’s not bad-looking, either,” Arty said, almost giddy that he and Janice were on the same page for once. “And he’s got money.”
At Janice’s disapproving look, he added, “What? Money never hurt anyone’s chances.”
“If we’re going to play matchmaker, there’s a lot you need to learn about the female psyche,” she said wryly. “If money were something she cared about, she’d have sold the theater a long time ago. Right now, all Mira sees in that man is an enemy. He wants to buy the Crown from her, and you and I both know she’ll cling to it tooth and nail.”
“So how do we get her to even look at him?”
Janice tapped a finger against her lips. “I may know the way to her heart.”
* * *
MIRA TOSSED THE scrub brush into the bucket and stood, stretching. Getting the neon-green paintball stains out of the old carpet had been tough, but all traces of it were gone now. She’d have to go easy on the trigger next time.
“Sorry, Grandpa,” she said out loud. “Won’t be doing that again.”
She was met with silence, though she liked to imagine the rush of air seeping through the auditorium doors was her grandfather’s put-upon sigh. To her, the Crown housed Jack Bateman’s spirit, which was why being alone there had never bothered her. Not even when her silent alarm had been tripped. Arty and various others had warned her time and again it wasn’t safe to sleep in that huge, abandoned building, but if she hadn’t been there, those boys could have done a lot more damage, defiling the Crown and her grandfather’s memory. No, as long as she was alive, she’d never let anything happen to Grandpa’s pride and joy.
Besides,