Ragged Rainbows. Linda Miller Lael

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СКАЧАТЬ instantly, the telephone rang again. This time the caller was Ivy. “You’ve heard about the party, I suppose?”

      “Only seconds ago. How did you find out so fast?”

      “Mrs. Reese appointed me to make some of the calls. Shay, what are you going to wear?”

      “I don’t know.” The answer was sighed rather than spoken.

      “We could hit the mall tomorrow, after work.”

      “No chance. I’ve got too much to do. It’s tonight or nothing.”

      Ivy loved to shop and her voice was a disappointed wail. “Oh, damn! I can’t turn a wheel tonight! I’ve got to sit right here in my apartment, calling all the Reeses’ friends. Promise me you’ll splurge, buy something really spectacular!”

      Shay scraped a pile of chopped scallions into one hand with the blade of her knife and frowned suspiciously. “Ivy, what are you up to?”

      “Up to?” Ivy echoed, all innocence.

      “You know what I mean.”

      “No, I don’t.”

      “You’re awfully concerned, it seems to me, about how I plan to dress for the Reese party.”

      “I just want you to look good.”

      “For your brother, perhaps?”

      “Shay Kendall!”

      “Come on, Ivy. Come clean. He’s going to be there, isn’t he?”

      “Well, I did suggest…”

      Shay laughed, even though the pit of her stomach was jumping again and her heart was beating too fast. “That’s what I thought. Has it occurred to you, dear, that if Mitch wanted to see me again he would call me himself?”

      “He did drop in for chicken last night,” Ivy reminded her friend.

      Shay blushed to remember the way she had sobbed in Mitch’s arms like a shattered child. She’d probably scared him off for good. “That didn’t go too well. Don’t get your hopes up, Ivy.”

      “Buy something fabulous,” insisted the irrepressible Ivy. And then she rang off.

      By the time Hank had paraded through the kitchen in each of his new outfits—by some miracle, only one pair of jeans would have to be returned—the casserole was finished. Mother and son sat down to eat and then, after clearing the table and leaving the dishes to soak, they went off to the mall.

      Exchanging the jeans took only minutes, but Shay spent a full hour in the fabric store, checking out patterns and material. Finally, after much deliberation, she selected a material that would make a nice floaty black skirt. In a boutique across the way, she bought a daring silver and black top, holding her breath the whole while. The shirt, while gorgeous, was heavy and impractical and far too expensive. Would she even have the nerve to wear it?

      Twice, on the way back to her car, Shay stopped in her tracks. What was she doing, spending this kind of money for one party? She had to return the shirt.

      It was Hank who stopped her from doing just that. “You’ll look real pretty in that shiny shirt, Mom,” he said.

      Shay drew a deep breath and marched onward to the car. Every woman needed to wear something wickedly glamorous, at least once in her life. Rosamond had owned closetfuls of such things.

      The telephone was ringing when Shay entered the house, and Hank leaped for the living room extension. He was a born positive-thinker, expecting every call to bring momentous news.

      “Yeah, she’s here. Mom!”

      Shay dropped her purchases on the couch and crossed the room to take the call. She was completely unprepared for the voice on the other end of the line, much as she’d hoped and dreaded to hear it earlier.

      “You’ve heard about the party, I presume?” Mitch Prescott asked with that quiet gruffness that put everything feminine within Shay on instant red alert.

      “Yes,” she managed to answer.

      “I don’t think I can face it alone. How about lending me moral support?”

      Shay couldn’t imagine Mitch shrinking from anything, or needing moral support, but she felt a certain terrified gladness at the prospect of being asked to go to the party with him. “Being a sworn humanitarian,” she teased, “I couldn’t possibly refuse such a request.”

      His sigh of relief was an exaggerated one. “Thank you.”

      Shay laughed. “Were you really that afraid of a simple party?”

      “No. I was afraid you’d say no. That, of course, would have been devastating to my masculine ego.”

      “We can’t have that,” Shay responded airily, glad that he couldn’t see her and know that she was blushing like a high-schooler looking forward to her first prom. “The Reeses’ beach house is quite a distance from town. We’d better leave at least a half an hour early.”

      “Seven?”

      “Seven,” Shay confirmed. The party, something of an obligation before, was suddenly the focal point of her existence; she was dizzy with excitement and a certain amount of chagrin that such an event could be so important to her. Shouldn’t she be dreading her son’s imminent departure instead of looking past it to a drive along miles and miles of moon-washed shore?

      While Hank was taking his bath, under protest, Shay washed the dishes she’d left to soak and then got out her sewing machine. She was up long after midnight, adjusting the pattern and cutting out her silky skirt. Finally she stumbled off to bed.

      The next day was what Hank would have called “hairy.” Three salesmen quit, Ivy went home sick and the people at Seaview called to say that Rosamond seemed to be in some kind of state.

      “What kind of ‘state’?” a harried Shay barked into the receiver of the telephone in her office.

      “She’s curled up in her bed,” answered the young and obviously inexperienced nurse. “She’s crying and calling for the baby.”

      “Have you called her doctor?”

      “He’s playing golf today.”

      “Oh, at his rates, that’s just terrific!” Shay snapped. “You get him over there if you have to drag him off the course. Does Mother have her doll?”

      “What doll?”

      “The rag doll. The one she won’t be without.”

      “I didn’t see it.”

      “Find it!”

      “I’ll call you back in a few minutes, Mrs. Kendall.”

      “See that you do,” Shay replied in clipped tones just as Richard Barrett waltzed, unannounced, into her office.

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