Crickitt smiled. “I remember. The chef tossed a shrimp into Dad’s pocket, and he jumped out of his chair like he’d been doused with fire ants.”
They shared a laugh.
“He won’t eat a shrimp to this day.” Chandra considered her. “Ronald took us there because he wanted to convince us he was good enough for you. All that forced conversation and his bragging about how well loved he was at work.”
She remembered. Ronald acted more like a smooth salesman than her date.
“Shane didn’t do that,” Chandra continued. “He didn’t try to buy our affections. He took us out not because he was trying to be generous, but because he is.”
Crickitt thought of the waitress from the diner and smiled. “You’re right, Mom. He is. With his money, with his time.” Just not with his heart or emotions, she added silently.
“All men have their problems,” her mother said, making Crickitt wonder if she’d spoken aloud. “He may be afraid of expressing his feelings, dear, but it’s obvious how much he cares about you.”
Crickitt let out a disbelieving sniff. “Yeah? Then why did he ask me to stay the night with him only to leave first thing in the morning without telling me?”
Chandra’s forehead bunched. Palming Crickitt’s arm, she gave her a squeeze. “Oh, sweetheart.”
“I have to go, Mom.” She pecked her mother’s cheek. “You and Dad drive safe.”
“It’ll work out,” Chandra said, walking Crickitt to the door. “I have a sense for these things.”
Chapter 32
On Friday Crickitt was huddled over a pile of papers, fingers nested in her hair. Distracted by her scattered thoughts, she didn’t notice the woman in her office until she cleared her throat.
“Ms. LaRouche.”
Lori helped herself to a chair.
“Won’t you come in?” she said flatly.
“You’re spunky. I like that.”
Crickitt’s patience was wonton-wrapper thin, but she forced a smile. “What can I do for you?”
Lori slid a look over Crickitt’s wrinkled wardrobe before meeting her eyes. “You need a facial, darling.”
She couldn’t be offended since it was the truth. She left the office around ten last night, and considering how poorly she’d slept, may as well have stayed at her desk.
“I came to see Shane,” Lori said, “but I see he’s out. Will he be back soon?”
“I don’t know.”
Lori’s perceptive eyes narrowed. “You don’t know? But you’re his PA.”
“I know.” Crickitt sagged in her chair.
“When’s the last time you talked to him?”
She swallowed, remembering the moment under her porch light and winding his silken hair between her fingertips. “Monday.”
Lori shook her head, then stood, motioning to Crickitt. “Come on, kitten. I’m buying you a drink.”
Crickitt had never set foot in the swanky martini bar across the street until today. Lori was right at home, ordering “the usual” for herself and a glass of red wine for Crickitt.
“Iced tea,” Crickitt corrected, explaining to the waitress, “I have to get back to work.”
“Bring the wine,” Lori said, shooing the woman away and pinning Crickitt with a look. “Trust me, doll face. You’re gonna need it.”
Drinks in hand, they sipped in uncomfortable silence. Lori extracted a cigarette from her purse before scowling at it, muttering something about the no smoking laws, and setting it aside.
“I met Shane when he was twenty-two,” Lori said. “I was newly divorced and he was a hotshot hunk with a cocky attitude and a great ass.”
Crickitt reached for her wineglass. Lori wasn’t kidding. She was going to need it.
“I couldn’t have cared less if he had any talent at all, but turns out, he did. We imported these luscious silk scarves from Thailand, and he hooked me up with local retailers. He was grassroots all the way, baby. Working out of his apartment, driving a tin can on wheels.”
Her smile turned nostalgic. “I was terminally single, but I didn’t mind a little fun. Without boring you with details”—she waggled her eyebrows—“we’d been together a few months when he disappeared.”
Lori ate an olive from the glass skewer in her martini, chewing slowly and regarding Crickitt, her eyelids tight. “Probably wondering why I’m telling you this. It’s not like a new girlfriend ever wants to hang out with an old one.” She frowned. “Former girlfriend. Not old.” She waved the tiny ice pick. “Never old.”