probably my age?”
Calla nodded. “More or less,” she agreed. Though she thought the years certainly held up better on him than on Eunice.
“Have you noticed his accent?” Eunice asked.
Of course Calla had noticed. She noticed everything about him.
“I think he’s from the South,” Eunice said.
“No, he’s not from the South,” Calla replied, shaking her head. “I have relatives from South Carolina and Georgia. He doesn’t talk like the South at all.”
“Well, he’s not from here,” Eunice insisted.
Calla shrugged agreement. The man clearly was not a local. But he was almost as mysterious as he was good-looking. He wasn’t secretive. He answered any question he was asked. But the men on the street seemed satisfied to exchange pleasantries and opinions on sports teams. The women were all too curious but didn’t trust themselves to stick to casual questions. So the basic information of where he was from and where he worked remained unknown, as well as the most critical fact to some—whether there was a woman someplace waiting for him.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Sinclair!” Mrs. Gamble called out as he passed by the gate.
Calla turned to look at him then, as if she’d been unaware of his approach. The man was dressed attractively in a single-breasted brown suit with narrow beige pinstripes. He looked businesslike, successful. She smiled in a way she hoped would appear to be polite disinterest.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Gamble, ladies.” He doffed his fedora, revealing dark hair that was just beginning to thin on the top. “It’s a beautiful afternoon to sit out and enjoy the weather.”
“It surely is,” Mrs. Gamble agreed. “Why don’t you come and join us?”
Calla heard Eunice draw a sharp, shocked breath. She couldn’t tell if Landry Sinclair had heard it or not.
“I wish that I could,” he answered, smiling broadly. “I sure wish I could.”
He did not give a reason why he couldn’t, but for an instant Calla’s glance met his. His eyes were deep brown with a sparkle that was as much intelligence as humor. Calla found him completely irresistible.
Which was precisely the reason she had never spoken to him.
That was the last thing in the world she needed, to get all goofy and lovestruck over some man. She’d had her man. They’d had a good marriage and raised a wonderful son. Romantic for her was over and done now. She was a grown-up, sensible woman, not some silly teenager.
It was after six when Nathan got home.
“It’s about time you showed up,” Calla said. “Dinner’s almost ready.”
“Yeah, I smelled your cooking all the way across the street and came running,” her son teased.
He hurried to the bathroom to wash up as she set the table. Two plates, two forks, two knives, two spoons. It had been just the two of them now for almost five years. But two was an excellent number. She and Nathan were a team and they shared the same goal. Getting him through high school and into a good college. That goal had often seemed so far off that Calla had thought it would never happen. Now their dream was nearing realization. And it was as if all those years of reaching for it had gone by in a flash.
Nathan hurried to the table and took a seat. “Give me a pork chop before I bite into the table leg,” he threatened.
Calla chuckled lightly as she seated herself and passed him the platter of meat. Everyone said that Nathan was just like her. But when she looked at him, she saw so much of her late husband. Nathan was lean and lanky. He had a bubbly humor that charmed everyone he met. But he also had a streak of kindheartedness that was as wide as Lake Michigan. Calla was absolutely certain he hadn’t gotten that from her. And she worried where it might lead him.
“I guess you’ve been over at Mrs. Cleveland’s place,” Calla said with deliberate casualness. “Visiting her niece. That’s very nice, of course, but you mustn’t neglect your other friends.”
Nathan eyed his mother with open amusement. “My other friends understand completely why I want to spend time with Jazleen.”
Her son was grinning. Calla didn’t like that much.
“She’s pretty lonely,” he continued. “It’s bad enough to be going through a lot of stuff, but then to spend all your time alone—that just makes it worse.”
“Isn’t she making friends at school?”
Nathan hesitated slightly. “She’s sort of blown school off.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“She pretty much ignored it the last couple of years, and when she showed up this year to enroll, they transferred her to the alternative high school. That ticked her off. She said if she couldn’t take classes with me, then there was no point going.”
Calla raised an eyebrow. “That doesn’t make any sense at all.”
Nathan shrugged. “She was so far behind, she wasn’t going to be able to keep up in my classes anyway,” he said. “But it is kind of worthless to sit around all day watching TV, just waiting for me to get home.”
Calla agreed with that. She was not happy, however, that the girl was planning her life, living her life around Nathan.
“What does Mrs. Cleveland say about her dropping out of school?”
“I don’t think she knows, Mom.”
“What do you mean? She must know.”
Nathan shook his head. “Her job is way across town. She leaves to catch her train before seven in the morning and she doesn’t get home until after five. She and Jazzy hardly say two words to each other. I seriously doubt they’ve talked this out together.”
Calla’s dinner was suddenly tasteless. “You know I’ll have to tell her.”
Her son nodded. “Yeah, I know. Jazzy really needs…she really needs something, someone…I don’t know. Mom, she’s clever and smart and doesn’t have a lazy bone in her body. But she’s just…you know…drifting without any direction.”
Calla nodded. There were a lot of young people like that.
“I try to talk to her about college and the future and all the things that I’m working for,” Nathan said. “I might as well be telling fairy tales. She doesn’t see how any of it could ever apply to her.”
“Well, it probably won’t,” Calla said. “If she can’t stick it out in high school, then she’ll never get a chance at college.”
“But she could stick it out, Mom,” Nathan said. “I know she could.”
Calla wasn’t so sure.
Saturday morning dawned sunny with a bright blue sky. Seated at the breakfast table in her robe, Calla lingered over her coffee. It was just laziness, she assured herself, and had nothing to do with the view outside her window. Her kitchen looked directly into Landry Sinclair’s backyard, and the man himself was out there, clad in faded jeans and a sweatshirt that clung damply to his muscular torso. His sweat was well earned as he attacked the ground with a shovel and a hoe. He looked very different without his tailored suits. She’d always thought of him as tidy and professional. Not the kind of man to get his hands dirty.
He was certainly getting dirty this morning. And he looked really good doing it. Calla watched him as he worked, allowing herself the secret pleasure of lusting after a man who wasn’t hers. She thought she’d left all that nonsense in the past. But somehow, from the moment Landry Sinclair moved into the neighborhood, she’d felt differently.
And she didn’t like it one bit. Every woman on the block had already staked a claim. Calla hated to follow along with the