"I think about you that way." He saw, even with the distance, the way
her eyes widened, darkened, the way her pretty smile slid away so that
she only stared. "I don't want to. I tell myself not to. But I think
about you that way. Now go on inside," he told her gently.
"Ethan--"
"Go on. It's late."
She managed to turn the knob, to step inside, shut the door behind her.
But she turned quickly to the window to watch him get back in his truck
and drive away.
It was late, she thought with a shiver that she recognized as hope. But
maybe it wasn't too late.
Chapter Seven
"i appreciate you helping me out, Mama."
"Helping you out?" Carol Monroe tsk-tsked the thought away as she knelt
to tie the laces on Aubrey's pink sneaker. "Taking this cube of sugar
home with me for the afternoon is pure pleasure." She gave Aubrey a
chuck under the chin. "We're going to have us a time, aren't we, honey?"
Aubrey grinned, knowing her ground. "Toys! We got toys, Gramma.
Dollbabies."
"You bet we do. And I might just have a surprise for you when we get
there."
Aubrey's eyes grew huge and bright. She sucked in her breath to let out
a sharp squeal of delight as she jumped down from the chair to race
through the house in her own version of a victory dance.
"Oh, Mama, not another doll. You spoil her."
"Can't," Carol said firmly, giving her knee a push to help herself
straighten. "Besides, it's my privilege as a granny."
Since Aubrey was occupied running and shouting, Carol took a moment to
study her daughter. Not sleeping enough, as usual, she decided, noting
the shadows smudged under Grace's eyes. Not eating enough to feed a bird
either, though she'd brought over Grace's favorite homemade peanut
butter cookies to try to put some flesh on her girl's delicate bones.
A child not yet twenty-three ought to paint her face a little, put some
curl in her hair, and go out kicking up her heels a night or two instead
of working herself into the ground.
Since Carol had said as much a dozen times or more and had been ignored
on the subject a dozen times or more, she tried a different tack. "You
got to quit that night work, Gracie. It doesn't agree with you."
"I'm fine."
"Good hard work's necessary for living, and admirable, but a person's
got to mix in some pleasure and fun or they dry right up."
Because she was weary of hearing the same song, however the notes might
vary, Grace turned and scrubbed at her already spotless kitchen counter.
"I like working at the pub. It gives me a chance to see people, talk to
them." Even if it was just to ask them if they'd like another round.
"The pay's good."
"If you're low on cash--"
"I'm fine." Grace set her teeth. She'd have suffered the torments of