Not Even if You Begged

by Francis Ray

“Have you told them how else you’re lucky?” Traci smiled at the sudden flush in Maureen’s checks.

  Ophelia whirled on Maureen. “What?”

  “You’re blushing,” Betsy said.

  “A man,” Donna guessed. “You met a man.”

  Nettie frowned. “You went out after your house was burglarized?”

  “She didn’t have to.” Traci picked up the cinnamon roll oozing with cream cheese icing and took an unladylike bite. Delicious. Now this was something she could indulge in without consequences … well, almost. “Maureen had another surprise last night.”

  Maureen held up her hand as all the women except Traci surged toward her, demanding answers. “The police lieutenant with Ryan last night was Simon.”

  “Your Simon from the bar?” Nettie asked, her eyes wide.

  Maureen blushed again. “He’s not my Simon.”

  “Yet,” Traci put in. “Just like at the bar, he couldn’t keep his eyes off Maureen. Personally, I think he has another reason for wanting to talk about burglar-proofing our homes.”

  “He’s too young,” Maureen cried out, but the words lacked conviction.

  “Are you trying to convince us or yourself?” Ophelia asked quietly.

  “Myself, and I’m having a hard time,” Maureen admitted. “He … he—”

  “Excites you,” Donna whispered.

  Maureen nodded, then made a face. “I have a birthday coming in less than two months.”

  “I read an article that said older women and younger men were becoming more commonplace,” Ophelia offered. Ophelia was a former librarian and usually was never without a book. “You’re following the trend.”

  Maureen wrinkled her nose. “Somehow that makes me feel worse.”

  “That’s because you’re thinking too much.” Traci went to her. “Just see what happens. Have a drink, go out to dinner. You’ll always wonder if you don’t.”

  “He might not ask me again,” Maureen said, misery creeping into her voice.

  “My money says he will. You just be ready with your answer,” Traci said. “Now, I have to get to the office.”

  “You’re sure you can’t get away to go with us?” Donna asked. “We’re going to the spa and have the exfoliating body polish and the moisturizing massage.”

  “These eyes of mine could use the eye massage and moisturizing mask,” Betsy said. “I could carry luggage in these bags.”

  Maureen touched her arm. “What can we do?” Before she finished speaking, the other women were standing around Betsy offering their support as well.

  Betsy patted Maureen’s hand and produced a shaky smile. “I’m fine.” She looked around at the women. “We’re here for Maureen, not for me.”

  “We’re here for each other,” Nettie said. “That’s what friends, good friends, are for. They don’t judge because they know we’re all different with different needs and lives. But most of all, we realize that it’s His blessings that have gotten us this far, and none of us can brag that we did it on our own.”

  Traci thought of her grandfather, the man who had raised her, loved her when no one else had. He’d prayed for her when she was too stubborn and too stupid to do it for herself.

  “Nettie is right, Betsy,” Maureen said. “When you’re ready, we’re here. Now, let’s get this show on the road.” She hooked her arm through Betsy’s. “Do you think a massage will take a couple of years off so I won’t feel quite so guilty for thinking about accepting a date with Simon … if he asks?”

  “There’s one way to find out,” Betsy said, her expression grateful. “Let’s get moving.”

  “I wonder if I can get a male masseuse,” Ophelia said as the women began putting away the food.

  “Ophelia, what a thing to say!” Nettie admonished, but she was smiling as she pressed the plastic top on the quiche.

  “If you get one, I want one, too.” Donna covered the plate of ham. “I want to see if I can remember what a man’s hand felt like.”

  “I’ll never forget,” Traci said tightly. The absolute quietness in the room told her she hadn’t hidden her anger or disgust. Unable to meet any of their gazes, she turned to the back door of the kitchen. “Have fun, and don’t get into too much trouble.”

  “As I told Ryan, what would be the fun of that,” Ophelia said with a laugh. The other women joined in. “We’ll be at Bliss, trying out the day spa if you change your mind. You know how much fun we had the last time we were there.”

  At the door, Traci looked over her shoulder. They all watched her. Not with censure, but with affection. Good. She didn’t want their pity. She’d had enough of that to last a lifetime.

  C h a p t e r

  4

  Forever Yours was the culmination of a twenty-year dream for Maureen.

  Her husband had traveled extensively with his import-export business; she had traveled with him once Ryan was in college. She’d fallen in love with the beauty and craftsmanship of the fine furnishings abroad and at home. She’d wanted to preserve the history and the craft. She’d opened the shop two years before James’s death. He’d been so proud of her.

  Tuesday morning, Maureen unlocked the half-leaded glass door that dated back to the eighteenth century and smiled. The area looked elegant with groupings of furniture. She’d wanted the customer to get a sense of how the pieces would look in their home, so she had rooms without walls, leaving plenty of aisle space for people to wander, touch, and imagine.

  The door opened behind her. Henrietta Rudley, her full-time assistant, entered. Henrietta was on the far side of sixty. She knew and loved antiques as much as Maureen. Forever Yours was in good hands when Maureen was away.

  “Good morning, Henrietta.”

  “Good morning.” Henrietta studied Maureen’s face closely, then nodded. “You look well. You didn’t let the break-in get you down.”

  “I realized I was lucky. Plus too many people wouldn’t let me,” Maureen said, thinking of one in particular. “I see the eighteenth-century English desk is gone. Did Mrs. Miller finally decide to take it?”

  Henrietta shook her head. “Nope. A young woman came in late yesterday morning and purchased it. She came back with two strapping men to pick it up.”

  “Mrs. Miller will be disappointed.”

  “She should have bought it instead of coming in here every week to look at it,” Henrietta said without sympathy. “It isn’t as if she didn’t have the money. Sometimes when you see something you want, you have to grab it.”

  Maureen frowned. Henrietta had buried one husband, and had been married to a retired postal worker for the past twelve years. “Have you been talking to the Sisterhood?”

  “Should I have been?”

  Maureen laughed at herself for jumping to conclusions. “No. Any other sales?”

  “Four. Business was good as usual.” Henrietta started to the back and Maureen fell into step with her. “Your other browser was here looking at the paintings again.”

  Maureen opened the door to her office. “Did you get any more out of him?”

  Henrietta harrumphed and put her large bag in the bottom of a cherry filing cabinet and her lunch in the refrigerator in the corner. “Not a peep.”

  “Maybe one day he’ll let down his guard and talk.” Maureen placed her purse in the bottom drawer of her desk. “Everything go all right with Avery?”

  “It would go better if she didn’t talk so much.” Henrietta opened the closet and took out a dustcloth and a can of beeswax. “I’m sure glad you and the Sisterhood don’t meet every month. I’m not sure I could stand it.”

  “She’s young.” Avery, nineteen and perky, was a sophomore college student majoring in interior design. She worked part-time in the store on weekends and when Maureen was away. “She’s a good salesclerk.”

  “Why do you think I put up with her?”

  Maureen eyed the clean white cloth and the wax. “I thought Avery was supposed to do that.”

  “We were busy,” Henrietta said by way
of explanation and went out the door.

  Maureen grabbed another cloth and followed. Avery had broken a vase her second day working there. It had been an expensive and irreplaceable piece. Avery had cried, afraid of being fired. She needed the job to help her pay for college.

  Maureen had understood that it had been an accident, but since then Henrietta had assigned the young woman to duties that didn’t demand anything be moved.

  People made mistakes. Her thoughts unerringly went to Simon. Was she making one in thinking of going out with him? She visualized the warmth, the sheer male appreciation in his eyes, and knew, if given the opportunity, she was going to take the chance.

  “He’s early today,” Henrietta said, then shook her head and went back to dusting.

  The front door opened and a teenager entered. He was tall and lanky, his feet long. Maureen wasn’t sure if she should try to approach him again. He’d been coming since the beginning of summer.

  He moved easily around the store, his backpack securely fitting his lean frame, presenting no danger of breaking anything. A couple of times before he came in, she’d seen him drag it off one shoulder and put it on properly. Obviously he was cautious and valued the antiques.

  She thought he must be in summer school since most teenagers, if they didn’t have a job, weren’t out of the house and prowling stores, at least not an antique store. It was unusual to see a teenager return again and again to an antique shop.

  As usual he didn’t make eye contact with her, just moved aimlessly around the shop before ending up, as always, in front of one of the oil paintings. She’d caught him a few times with his hand following the sketch or peering closely as if trying to figure out what kind of brush had made the stroke.

  Maureen waited until he stood in front of an oil painting by Henry O. Tanner before joining him. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

  He tensed.

  “The painting is one of his earlier works. Do you want to be a painter?”

  His gazed snapped to her as if he couldn’t make up his mind whether she was making fun of him or being serious. But he didn’t answer.

  “Well, I’d better get back to dusting. Feel free to stay as long as you like.” She turned away, wondering if she would ever reach him. She knew he could talk because she had gotten a one-word answer from him before.

  She had barely made it back to the chest of drawers she was dusting before the door closed behind him. She sighed.

  “I don’t think he knows what to think of you,” Henrietta said as she came to stand by Maureen.

  “That makes us even.” Maureen went to the plateglass window and watched him, as he, head down, continued along the street. “I don’t know what to think of him either.”

  “But you want to,” Henrietta said.

  Maureen nodded. “I look at Ryan and know how blessed James and I were. I also know we couldn’t have been with him every moment. He learned from other people as well. I don’t want to miss an opportunity to help someone else’s child.”

  “You won’t. Now, let’s get this dusting done before the real customers start coming.”

  Maureen wasn’t fooled by Henrietta’s gruff words. Underneath she cared. She just didn’t like people to know. Her first husband had abused her and it had taken a long time for her to trust people, to stop being angry at God and everything that breathed. “Have I told you lately how much I value your friendship?”

  Henrietta’s arthritic hand paused. Her face lifted. “If you try to kiss me, I’m going to sue for sexual harassment.”

  Maureen grinned and began polishing the chest. “I’m on to you, Henrietta Rudley. I happen to know you’ve been taking Avery to her classes and picking her up on the days she works here since her car is in the shop.”

  “Self-preservation.” Henrietta moved to a commode table. “If she has a job and pays taxes, my Social Security just might last.”

  The smile Maureen had been wearing slid from her face. A woman a few years away from Social Security certainly shouldn’t be having the thoughts she had, but she didn’t seem to be able to help herself.

  No matter how Maureen wanted to convince herself that the meeting she had called was just to help her neighborhood and the Sisterhood better protect themselves against burglaries, as she watched Simon stride up the sidewalk, her racing heart told her she’d lied to herself.

  Her breath fluttered over her slightly parted lips. My, my. What a man.

  Today he was dressed casually in a lightweight tan-colored sports jacket, white shirt with an open collar, and creased jeans that caressed his muscular thighs. His jet-black hair gleamed in the afternoon sun. His skin was the color of rich chocolate. She couldn’t see a spare ounce of fat on his muscular frame, and she was looking hard.

  Her hand fluttered to her stomach. She was in good shape herself. For a woman her age. Reality hit her just as the doorbell rang. She jumped away from the curtained window. Yesterday the spa had been invigorating, but she remained fifty-nine.

  The chime came again. Stop being silly, she admonished herself, and started for the door. He’s just a man. No big deal. She opened the door.

  Simon, who had been looking around, turned and smiled at her, causing her body to throb, her throat to dry. He might be just a man, but what a man.

  “Good afternoon, Mrs. Gilmore.”

  She felt old. “Lieutenant Dunlap, please come in and please call me Maureen.”

  He entered and waited until she closed the door. “I guess Ashley is out.”

  She flushed, then smiled because he was. “Thank you for not mentioning we’d met before Sunday night.”

  His smile faded. “How have you been? Did you sleep all right?”

  “I did. Ryan and I took your suggestion,” she told him.

  “I’m glad.”

  She caught herself smiling and gazing at him, the same way he was smiling and gazing at her. Perhaps Traci was right. Perhaps he would ask her out again. “This way to the terrace.” She started through the foyer and great room.

  “You have a beautiful home,” he said.

  “Thank you. My late husband and I moved in when Ryan was nine months old,” she told him, a subtle reminder to both of them.

  “Then this house must hold a lot of fond memories for you,” he said, stepping ahead of her to open the French doors leading to the terrace.

  Pleased that he understood and hadn’t choked at the mention of her late husband, she stopped. “It does. Ryan and I made more after we changed the bedding. We looked at family films and pictures. Played cards. He let me win.”

  “Your smile is as beautiful as you are,” Simon said, still holding the latch. “To have stolen that would have been a travesty.”

  Pleasure went through her before she could stop the reaction. She simply stared at him.

  “Simon, right on time.” Ryan strode toward his frat brother, extending his hand.

  Simon turned to shake hands with Ryan when what he really wished was that he could send everyone away and be alone with Maureen. Soon, he promised himself. “I didn’t expect you here.”

  “Mother might not want to follow through on your suggestions.” Ryan looked at his mother. “I plan to make sure she does.”

  “I’m quite capable of taking care of myself and following through with Lieutenant Dunlap’s recommendations, Ryan.”

  Her son kissed her on the cheek. “Never said you weren’t.”

  “Would you like something to drink or do you want me to introduce you to everyone and get started?” she asked Simon.

  “Why don’t you introduce me?” Simon suggested, wondering if Ryan had caught his mother’s brief annoyance. Women hated being made to feel as if they were incompetent or stupid, and he couldn’t blame them. They were as smart as men. Sometimes smarter. “I can talk to them and see how I need to gear the discussion. The needs of a woman living alone will be different than a couple’s.”

  “That sounds good. This way,” Maureen said.

  He
was watching her. Again.

  Every time Traci looked at Ryan, he was looking at her … which meant she was watching him as much as he was watching her. Annoyed with herself and him, she went to the kitchen for another tray of food. With the attentive way Maureen was listening to Simon it wasn’t likely she was going to get it. Traci supposed she couldn’t blame her. If she hadn’t known of their history she might not have paid any attention to all the times Simon looked at Maureen. Since she was sitting with the Sisterhood, he could have been looking at any of them.

  Tracy knew better.

  Simon hadn’t been boring. In fact, he was a hit. The Sisterhood liked him even before he volunteered to inspect each of their homes to improve safety. Simon was proving to be a nice guy.

  In the kitchen, Traci opened the side-by-side refrigerator and bent to take out the covered meat-and-cheese tray. Picking up the tray, she bumped the door closed with her hip and turned. She almost dropped the tray on seeing Ryan. It ran through her mind that he had seen her use her wide hips, bringing more attention to them. Her temper spiked.

  “Why are you sneaking up on me?”

  “Sorry.” Ryan glanced over his shoulder. “I wanted to get you alone.”

  Her pulse sped up. Her hands clenched on the tray.

  “I need your help to plan Mother’s birthday party,” he whispered, coming closer.

  Traci blinked. “What?”

  “Let me have that.” Ryan took the tray out of her hands and set it on the island. “I’m not sure if she wants a large to-do at the country club or a girl’s night out with you and the Sisterhood. Maybe a private pampering spa thing.”

  Traci was having trouble taking it in. “You want help planning her party?”

  “It’s more involved than that.” Ryan folded his arms and leaned back against the island. “I could hire a party planner, but I want it to be special. After the break-in Sunday night, a special night is even more important.”

  Surprised and oddly annoyed, Traci didn’t know what to say. How could she have been so wrong?

  “I hate to throw this on you, but I’ve been trying to catch your attention for weeks. The Sisterhood is a great group and, no offense, but I thought since Mother is younger and you two are such great friends, you might have a better idea of what she wants.”