Hallie's Comet
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“Granted, but I don’t understand why she would do that.”
“For what it’s worth, Mom, here’s my theory. Knickers couldn’t have babies, and yet she had the perfect love. I think she wanted me to have both. Babies and love.”
“You’re in love? Shamus, our daughter’s in love. Is that why you canceled your flight?”
“Yes. In fact, my fiancé and I are leaving for Washington tonight, assuming the runways are cleared. Washington DC is where we’ll live. My fiancé wants me to find an apartment. Or a rental house. Eventually, we’ll build our own house and I’ll decorate it. My fiancé, says the sky’s the limit.” She caught Gabe’s amused glare. “But I don’t need lots of perfect, unique things, Mom, not any more. I don’t care if we eat off chipped plates or sleep inside a bedroll. I’ll probably be traveling a lot, visiting different countries. My fiancé,” she said for the fourth time, savoring the word, “wants to meet you, attend my gallery opening. Then we’ll get married.”
“Congratulations, darling.”
“You don’t sound surprised.”
“I’m not. It’s Joshua Quinn, isn’t it?”
“No, Mom, it’s Joshua’s brother. Gabe Quinn. Gabriel Q,” she added, unable to resist the brag. After all, she was part Irish.
“Gabriel Q? The photojournalist? Shamus, our daughter is about to marry a very famous photographer. Grandchildren! Neil takes a few snapshots when I nag, but you’ll send us dozens of pictures, hundreds of pictures. After all, your husband-to-be is a photographer.”
“Whoa, Mom. Please don’t talk grandkids yet. Give me nine months.”
“Nine months,” Josie agreed. “Are you sure about your feelings for Gabe, darling?”
“Absolutely positively sure. Holy Moses, Mom. We’re running up a phone bill that could pay off part of the national debt. And I’ve got to economize, now that Gabe works for the President.”
“The president of what?”
“I’ll explain during our next phone call, or save it for Marianne. Give Daddy a kiss for me.”
“Shamus, our daughter wants me to kiss you. No, silly, after I hang up. Men! Always so impatient. Talk at you soon, Hallie.”
“Very soon. Bye, Mom.”
“Bye Mom,” Gabe said into the receiver, just before he hung it up.
“That was mean. My mother will want to ‘talk at you.’ So will my dad. He’ll probably give you the third degree. But all you really have to do is tell him about Napkin and Eartha Kitt and he’ll forget the rest of his questions.”
Gabe held her at arm’s length. “You’re absolutely positively sure about what?”
“Love and laughter and happily ever after.” Walking over to the fireplace, she saluted the happy portrait above its mantel. A hand salute, of course, not a special Gabe salute.
Speaking of salutes.
Making an about-face, she said, “Come here, Drac. I vant to kiss you till the cows come home.”
“I don’t have any cows, little love. I live in an area with covenants.”
“Bullyragged jellyfish! Don’t be so pragmatic. Maybe they’ll change the covenants. Maybe they’ll even change them before we finish kissing.”
“Hallie, you’re adorable.”
“Am I really?”
“Yup.”
“Cross my heart,” they both said together.
Then, together, they reached for each other’s hearts.
About the Author
Denise Dietz is the best-selling author of several novels, including Footprints in the Butter — an Ingrid Beaumont Mystery co-starring Hitchcock the Dog — and the highly-acclaimed historical romance, The Landlord’s Black-Eyed Daughter (as Mary Ellen Dennis). She has been a journalist, worked for Paramount as an extra, and is an avid Denver Broncos fan. Denise lives on Vancouver Island with her husband, novelist Gordon Aalborg, and her chocolate Labrador retriever, Magic. She likes to hear from readers. You can email her from her website: www.denisedietz.com.