by Jade Kerrion
“Life doesn’t come with assurances, but I promise, it’s delicious.”
“Life or Chinese food?”
“Both!” She laughed. “Here’s the first place. It’s famous for dim sum.”
“Tapas?”
“Better.” Sheridan winked. “Have you ever had dim sum?”
“Not with someone who knew what to order.”
She tugged him toward the restaurant. “You’re in luck, then. You’re with someone who’s adventurous, which runs a close second to someone who knows what to order.”
Waiters and waitresses came by their table, rolling carts stacked high with small metal containers, each holding a selection of dumplings and other delicacies. Some, like the black pepper beef ribs, were recognizable. Others, like the stewed chicken feet, while recognizable, looked dubious.
“It’s amazing,” Tom conceded after a cautious nibble of the chicken feet that had been abundantly seasoned with sauces and stewed until the skin was wrinkled and silky soft. “But it’s a whole lot of effort taking off the skin from around the bones.”
“You could do what the Chinese do. Pop a large piece, bones and all, into your month, and separate the bones from the skin with your teeth and tongue.”
“They do that?” Tom looked around the restaurant. “Hmm…”
Sheridan laughed. “It’s safer than it looks. Sometimes, the hard work makes it taste even better.”
“Perhaps.” He took another bite of the chicken feet. Several moments later, he spit out the bones.
“See, not that hard.”
“No, as long as you don’t talk while trying that stunt.”
“Hah. If you were Chinese, you’d be gabbing up a storm while trying that stunt.”
Tom grinned at her. “You sound like one of them.”
“I love it here.”
“Why?”
“Furthest thing from Montana.” The truth slipped out of her mouth. She flushed and looked away. “We didn’t have anything like this in my little town in Montana. The bustle, the craziness of the constant crowd. There’s safety in it…in numbers.”
“In anonymity?” He studied her through narrowed eyes. “Do you have family?”
“Did we change the topic?”
“Yes, we did,” he said. “You tensed at any mention of your past, especially back in Montana. What happened?”
“Oh, the usual things that might make a sixteen-year-old girl run away from home.” She shrugged, the usually graceful motion hampered by the tension in her shoulders.
“What? Overbearing, nagging parents? You don’t seem like the type.”
“How do you know what type I am?”
“The type who loves children. I saw the way you handled Eva and Aria. I see the way your gaze rests for a moment longer on families at the dining table—as if they have something you want. You don’t seem like the type who would run away from a family.”
“People change.”
“Do they?” He reached across the table and laid his hand over hers. “Then why does it still hurt?”
“It doesn’t.” She tugged her hand away, managed a smile, and hoped it did not wobble. “I paid a therapist a lot of money to make sure it didn’t.”
Tom laughed, the sound suddenly dispelling the awkward moment. “Glad to hear he or she earned her keep. But seriously…do you have family?”
She shook her head. “Not any that matters. My mother died when I was twelve.”
“Your father? Any siblings?”
“He was my stepfather. And no, I don’t have any siblings that I know of. Why so nosy?”
“You know about me. My parents. My sister. My daughter. Family’s a normal part of the conversation between people trying to get to know each other.”
“That’s what I wanted to ask you about. I wasn’t expecting to hear from you again. Not after our accidental meeting at the zoo.”
Tom’s smile turned reflective. “Was it accidental? You knew I would be there.”
“I did, and I wanted to see you again without all the baggage.”
“What kind of baggage?”
“Legal contracts. Client boundaries.”
His eyes narrowed. “I called because you fascinate me and I wanted to see you again, but truth be told, I’m not sure how to handle this. Will you be offended if I try to pay you for your time, or will you feel cheated if I don’t?”
She looked down at her empty plate. “It’s complicated, isn’t it?”
“Has there been any precedence for this?”
Sheridan laughed. “Oh, Tom, you really are a lawyer. No, there has never been a precedence, as you put it. I’ve never been personally interested in one of my clients before. The boundaries have always been clear. The men engage me for a very specific purpose or a very specific event. In many cases, they have wives and girlfriends, and they’re looking for variety. They’re not like you.”
“Like me?”
“Genuinely unattached. Genuinely interested in me.” She tapped her fingertips against the table. “If you’re okay with it, perhaps we could take this a day at a time, and see where it goes.”
“I’ve never been too good with taking things a day at a time. I’ve found that schedules fill up quickly. Christmas is only two weeks away. What are you doing on Christmas Eve?”
“Nothing, yet.”
His smile was sweet, the light in his eyes hopeful. “My sister’s having a Christmas Eve party. Would you like to go?”
Her heart thudded. Family.
He was the first man who had ever invited her to meet someone else who mattered to him.
Like a real date.
Like the start of a real relationship.
This time, she made the first move. She held her hand out across the table, and Tom reached out to take it. She smiled, on the edge of the future she had always wanted, the future that had seemed out of reach for so long. “Yes, I’d love to.”
The weekend rolled around, and Aria was not at all enthralled when Tom told her they would be going to the zoo.
“Again?” Aria rolled her eyes. “But we just went to the zoo.”
“And we’re going again this week,” Tom said as he ushered her off the subway and pointed her toward Central Park.
Aria dragged her feet, scuffing her new sneakers against asphalt. “Is Sherry going to be there?”
Tom hesitated for a split second too long. “Maybe.”
“Is Eva going to be there too?”
“Probably not.”
Or at least he didn’t think so from his conversation earlier in the week with Sheridan. Over coffee, he had asked if she were free on the weekend, but she had suddenly stiffened. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Last weekend with Eva was the exception, but weekends usually aren’t good for me. How about dinner on Friday?”
So they had had dinner together, a simple meal at a quiet French bistro. One hour had turned into two, and two hours flew by. It was three hours later when their date finally ended with Tom seeing Sheridan safely into a cab. “Call me when you get back, all right?” he said.
“Yes, of course. Thank you; I had a wonderful night.”
She had called him a half hour later to let him know that she arrived home. That particular phone conversation had lasted an entire hour, and it was past midnight before Tom finally said good night and reluctantly ended the call.
Conversation had never been easier; the connection between them natural and unforced.
He tossed in bed that night, unable to take his mind off her. When he closed his eyes, he saw her flashing smile and the curiosity and interest dancing in her eyes as she listened to him. Tom grimaced; there was something there, no doubt about it.
But did she feel it too, or was it all in his head?
“Look, over there!” Aria’s sharp cry yanked him back to reality. He glanced up and saw Sheridan pushing a small wheelchair. She paused and leaned forward, pointing out something to the person in the wheelchair.
“Sheridan.”
She straightened and spun to face him, her eyes flaring with surprise. “Oh!” She cast a quick, furtive glance around, and when she looked back at him, there was something perilously close to fear and panic in her eyes. “I…didn’t expect to see you here.”
Aria spoke up. “Daddy wanted to come to the zoo again. I think he wanted to see you.” She stepped around Sheridan to stare at the person in the wheelchair, the person who was still hidden from Tom. “Who are you?”
“Oh.” Sheridan flushed and turned the wheelchair slowly. “This is Frances.”
The girl in the wheelchair might have been about six years old, but it was hard to tell. Her features were pretty but her face was slack. Her mouth drooped, and her gaze shifted in a slow and unfocused way.
“What’s wrong with her?” Aria asked.
Tom winced at his daughter’s bluntness, but Sheridan did not seem upset by it. “There was a problem when she was born, and the doctors had trouble getting her out quickly enough. Her brain was starved of oxygen for some time.”
“Can she talk?”
“She makes some sounds, but she can’t really talk.”
“Does she walk?”
“She can sit and stand on her own. She can also take a few steps, but only if she’s holding on to something.”
“Hmm…” Aria tilted her head sideways so that she could look up into Frances’s face. “Hi, I’m Aria. This is my daddy. Do you like the zoo? I think I like the penguins best. They’re short and fat, but they swim better than anyone else.”
To Tom’s utter surprise, his normally taciturn daughter turned garrulous and launched into a one-sided conversation with Frances, leaving Sheridan and Tom with nothing to do other than follow Aria’s tour of the zoo.
Sheridan cast Tom a quick, sideways glance. “She’s as great with Frances as she was with Eva. Her nurturing instinct is amazing.”
“Yours too,” Tom said. “I didn’t realize you spent your weekends babysitting.”
She flushed. “Frances is no trouble at all. She loves getting out and about. I think she enjoys people-watching, just like me.”
“Are you some kind of volunteer—?”
“No, not really. With Eva, I was helping for that weekend. Most weekends, it’s just Frances. She can be a lot of work, and taking her for a day or two helps relieve the burden on her foster family.”
“It’s great what you’re doing.”
Sheridan dropped her gaze. “It’s nothing.” She pushed Frances’s wheelchair, following Aria as they moved to the next exhibit.
Tom frowned faintly at the back of Sheridan’s head. Something didn’t seem quite right, but what?
He was careful to stay away from probing questions about Frances, and within an hour, Sheridan relaxed once more into flashing smiles and easy conversation. After a loop of the zoo, they headed out one of the bistros around Central Park for lunch. Frances’s wheelchair made it hard to maneuver, so Tom helped by lifting Frances out of her wheelchair and into a regular seat so that the wheelchair could be folded and tucked into an out-of-the way corner.
“My birthday is coming up soon,” Aria announced, and looked at Frances. “When’s your birthday?”
“Her birthday is January 9,” Sheridan replied for Frances.
Aria’s eyes widened. “That’s just…” She counted off her fingers. “Seven days before my birthday. Do you want to come to my party? It’s at KidZone. We’re getting pizza and ice cream, and sparkly balloons. The party place says we’re going to make glitter makeup, like nail polish and lipstick and stuff.”
Tom grinned at Sheridan. “I’ll send you the details.”
“Sounds like it’s going to be a great party,” Sheridan said. “We’ll do our best to be there.”
“What are you doing for your party?” Aria asked Frances.
“Oh.” Sheridan suddenly sounded flustered. “I don’t know yet. I don’t think there’s anything special planned.”
“What do you like to do?” Aria didn’t seem at all thrown off by the logistics of addressing her questions at Frances and having Sheridan answer them.
“Well, she likes exploring new places,” Sheridan said.
“I like exploring places too. Daddy says there’s a place with cool boats nearby.”
“Mystic Seaport,” Tom supplemented.
Aria nodded vigorously. “Maybe you can take her there.”
“Maybe,” Sheridan said. “It’s hard to get there without a car.”
“My daddy has a car.”
Sheridan gave Tom a quick look before turning back to Aria. “Yes, I know, but it’s going to be hard making all the schedules fit together.”
“But we’re making our schedules fit already,” Aria pointed out with flawless logic.
Tom shrugged innocently when Sheridan looked back to him for assistance. “Lawyer-in-training,” he said by way of explanation.
Sheridan laughed and gave in. “We’ll see what we can do, all right?”
“Sure,” Aria said as she dipped her grilled cheese toast into her tomato-basil soup. She turned to Frances and began pointing out the differences in Frances’s grilled cheese and her own. “That brown patch looks like a dog. And that is poo.”
Tom chuckled at the simplicity and versatility of his daughter’s mind. “So, Mystic Seaport, weekend of January 9?”
“You don’t have to,” Sheridan said. “It’s a lot of trouble.”
“It’s no trouble at all. Besides, Aria recommended it. She’s wanted to go for a while now, and now that you’ve brought Frances into her life, you can expect her to use Frances as the excuse for all the excursions she’s ever wanted to take.”
Sheridan shook her head, a rueful smile on her lips. “Smart.”
“Opportunistic, conniving, and way too smart for her old man.”
Aria’s voice cut through their conversation. “Take a picture of us, Daddy!” She leaned in close to Frances and held up the grilled cheese sandwich with the pooing dog toast marks in between them.
Tom chuckled and captured the image on his smartphone. “Get in there,” he told Sheridan.
With a laugh, Sheridan got out of her chair and crouched behind the two girls. Tom clicked a photograph of the three of them, and then zoomed in on Sheridan only, and took a picture of her too. That relaxed and happy expression on her face was breathtaking. More than mere good looks and pretty features, it was the love in her smile that nailed his heart.
He drew a sharp breath. I’m sunk. Damn it.
Sheridan straightened and held out her hand for his smartphone. “Your turn.”
“Me?”
“Come on, Daddy!” Aria ordered. Even Frances made a grunting sound that might have been agreement.
Tom and Sheridan swapped places. He slung both his arms around either girl and grinned as the camera silently froze the moment into immortality.
Later that evening, when he looked at the photographs and attached them to an e-mail message to send to Sheridan, he thought about what Sheridan had told him about photographs only capturing the physical. She’s right, he thought. Aria was grinning, and it seemed to him that Frances had a glimmer of a smile, too, but nothing in that photograph—nothing in his smile—betrayed the monumental mental and emotional shift.
I think I’m in love.
So what the hell do I do now?
The office slowed down around Christmas as employees and clients took vacations. Tom had more than enough on his desk to keep him occupied if he kept working through the two weeks leading up to Christmas, but he took two days off, left Aria with Charlotte, and flew out to Billings, Montana, and then rented a car and drove the 60 miles to Ryegate.
The difference from New York City was so jarring, it was almost eerie. More than once, he pulled over to admire the mountains, and then became aware that there was no one else there, but him. He could swing his arms wildly, break into a song and dance, and no one would know or care.
Ryegate, population 260, welcomed him
with a dusty sign and a single main road. An occasional path turned off the main road, and houses scattered in the distance. Here lived people who loved their spaces. How different Sheridan was in her love for New York City and the clutter of the crowd.
He parked in front of the grocery store—which was about the size of a standard storefront—and for a moment, studied the occasional person who passed by, the collars of their jackets turned up as a defense against the stiff wind.
Farmers, homesteaders, by the looks of them. Ordinary people shuffling through their day.
Sheridan, with her bright glow, her unrelenting energy, didn’t seem to fit in.
No wonder she had left. She probably felt as if she had been born in the wrong city. Maybe even the wrong century.
He got out of his car and walked into the store, which was manned by an elderly woman at the counter. She squinted at him. “Hello. You passing through?”
“Yes,” he said. “Actually, my friend says she grew up here, so I thought I’d stop by to check it out.”
“We’ve got our own high school.”
“Yes, I saw it down that way. Did you know Sheridan when she lived here?”
The woman stared blankly at him. “Don’t remember anyone by that name. Sheridan, you say?”
He nodded.
The woman turned to the back of the store and raised her voice. “Hank, someone here is asking if we remember Sheridan. Do you?”
An old man walked toward the counter. He wiped his hands on the side of his pants before standing beside the woman. He squinted at Tom and shook his head. “No, don’t remember a Sheridan.”
“She says she left about six years ago. She would have been about sixteen or seventeen years old then. About this high.” He made a slicing motion at his shoulder. “Blond hair and blue eyes.”
The woman’s eyes widened. “Oh.”
“You remember her?” Tom asked.
“Elyse Vogel.”
The man’s expression suddenly shuttered. “You know her?”
Tom tugged out his smartphone and showed them the picture of Sheridan. The woman pressed her lips together as she gently touched the screen, as if stroking Sheridan’s face. “Yes, that’s her. Elyse. How is she?”