Her husband had been close to Tanni, and their daughter had never recovered from his death.
Shirley would never recover, either.
It was almost a year now. A very difficult year.
As long as she lived, Shirley would remember that January afternoon, when the young officer from the Washington State Patrol rang her doorbell. She’d been in her art room in the basement, working on a new quilt, and the interruption had annoyed her. Jim, a pilot for Alaska Airlines, had left for the airport two hours earlier. He usually flew the Seattle-Anchorage route. As he often did, he’d taken his Harley-Davidson motorcycle rather than his car.
At first Shirley couldn’t figure out why there was a patrolman at her door. She had trouble taking in his words—that there’d been an accident and her husband had not survived.
Even then Shirley hadn’t understood. There must be a mistake, she’d said. Two hours ago Jim had kissed her on the cheek, not wanting to disturb her work, and set out for the airport. Two hours earlier, the man she’d spent twenty years of her life with had told her he’d see her the following night.
Now he was dead? It couldn’t be. It wasn’t possible.
The officer, apparently accustomed to this sort of reaction, had asked if there was someone he could contact on her behalf, a family member, a pastor or perhaps a friend.
Closing her eyes, Shirley tried to force her thoughts away from that horrible afternoon, a time that had forever changed her life and the lives of her children.
Of the three of them, Nick seemed to have adjusted the most successfully to the loss of his father. He was protective of both Shirley and his younger sister. He’d stepped into that role in a way that astonished her. Jim would’ve been so proud of their son. Over Christmas, when Nick was home from school for a couple of weeks, Shirley planned to talk with him about Tanni.
Tanni wasn’t the same after Jim’s death. Unlike her brother, she’d withdrawn from her friends and family, especially Shirley. In fact, Tanni seemed to blame Shirley for the accident; she’d said as much. If Shirley had made more of a fuss, perhaps Jim wouldn’t have bought that stupid motorcycle. Shirley should’ve insisted he take the car that afternoon. She should’ve known, should’ve stopped him, should’ve done something. On and on. That was pretty well the extent of any conversation with Tanni. Shirley had stopped trying to defend herself. There was no point. These days, their daughter was immersed in her art, spending hours alone in her room. She talked to Shirley as little as possible and refused to show her anything she’d drawn.
In the beginning, Tanni’s relationship with Shaw had encouraged Shirley. For the first time since her father’s death, Tanni had shown some enthusiasm for life. She had a friend, someone who was important to her. They’d met around Thanksgiving and been practically inseparable ever since.
Shaw always picked her up in front of the house and dropped her off there. Whenever he pulled up she shot out the door with barely a word and didn’t return for hours. That left next to no opportunity for questions. When Tanni did get home, she hated what she called “the inquisition” and ignored her mother completely.
“Just leave me alone.” That seemed to be her daughter’s mantra.
But Shirley couldn’t do that. Her fear was that in her vulnerable emotional state, Tanni would become physically involved with Shaw. Her imagination ran wild with distressing scenarios, from teen pregnancy to disease to substance abuse. Tanni was too young for such an intense relationship. Too trusting, too naive, too hurt.
Shirley felt helpless. Every time she tried to talk to her daughter, Tanni shut her out.
The phone rang, and it caught Shirley off guard. She reacted with a physical jerk, then reached for the receiver.
“Hello?” She hoped she’d hear her daughter, calling with a reason for being late. Or, better yet, a promise to get home soon.
“Is this Shirley Bliss?” It was a male voice, one she didn’t recognize.
“Yes,” she said anxiously. Her pulse raced. Worried as she was about Tanni, she was terrified that this stranger had bad news. After all, if it had happened once, it could happen again.
“Hello, Shirley. I’m Will Jefferson.”
The name seemed familiar, but she couldn’t immediately recall where she’d heard it before. Then it came to her.
“I hope you don’t mind my contacting you like this.”
She thought the new gallery owner sounded a little too smooth and polished. “What can I do for you, Mr. Jefferson?” She spoke in a businesslike tone.
“Please, it’s Will.”
Shirley rolled her eyes. “You called because…”
“I recently purchased the Harbor Street Gallery.”
“Yes, I know.” She was grateful the gallery had found a new owner and that there’d be an outlet for her work. Many of the local artists depended on the income generated there.
“I was told you’d be a good person to talk to,” Will explained. “I’m interested in showing your work, of course, but I also have some ideas for renovating the gallery. I hoped we might have a chance to chat. I’d appreciate your feedback.”
“Yes, well…”
“I realize this is Saturday afternoon and it’s a very busy time of year, but I was hoping we could get together early in the week. Would that work for you?”
“I suppose.” Shirley raised her head as she heard a car door closing in the distance.
“How about Tuesday?”
“Ah, sure.” At this point she just wanted to get off the phone.
Will suggested they meet at the gallery and she noted the date and time on her calendar.
“I look forward to seeing you again,” Will said, as they ended the conversation.
She frowned. “Again?”
“Yes, we met briefly a couple of weeks ago when you picked up the check for the sailboat piece—the fabric collage.”
Oh, yes—they had met. Shirley remembered exactly what he looked like now. Will Jefferson was strikingly attractive—and his reputation had preceded him. Apparently he’d been born and raised in Cedar Cove and was a known ladies’ man, although he’d been back in town for only a few weeks. But she didn’t generally pay much attention to gossip; she preferred to form her own opinions.
The front door opened.
“I’ll see you later, then,” she said quickly.
“Great. Thanks, Shirley.” There was a significant pause. “I have the feeling we’re going to become great friends. See you Tuesday.”
“Goodbye.”