Gillian's Do-Over (7 page)

But he cont
inued to accuse her, his words louder, engulfing the birdsong that had characterized the area only minutes earlier. Gillian glanced to one side and realized Nick’s actions had caught the attention of others in the park. Two women walking on the nearby trail had stopped and were looking her way. One woman seemed to be talking on her phone and gesturing in Gillian’s direction.

“Are you okay? Is this man bothering you?”
another woman asked as she stepped closer. She motioned for her small child to stay behind her. “You! Mister, let her go.” She frowned at Nick before pointing at the woman standing next to her. “We’re calling the cops.”

Not wanting to create a scene,
Gillian said, “We were just having a discussion.” She rubbed her arms where Nick’s fingers had squeezed so tightly, certain she would be sporting bruises tomorrow. Too late, she realized other people were also watching. Two men and a woman emerged from among the trees she’d so recently sketched.

“What’s the problem
here?” A big man in a floppy hat and a mustache demanded. He waved the other couple away and they continued down the path.

Scuffed h
iking boots, cargo shorts, a backpack with a sipping straw clipped over one shoulder and draped down one side of his broad chest implied Mustache Man was a serious hiker. Lots of muscles in his arms. Good. Maybe he’d knock Nick down, or at least scare him enough to go away.

At the gathering crowd,
Nick stepped back and turned in the larger man’s direction. “This is a private conversation. Beat it, people.”

But n
o one moved. The small child peeking from behind her mother’s leg asked in a stage whisper, “Is he being bad, Mommy?” The woman leaned down and picked up her daughter, murmuring in her ear. Gillian recognized her. She lived three doors down from Lauren, at the end of their block, a new neighbor as of six months ago.

“The lady doesn’t seem to be interested in continuing the conversation. Why don’t
you
leave?” Mustache Man leaned down and picked up the sketch table and papers now scattered on the ground. With his other hand, he righted Gillian’s three-legged stool and gave her an encouraging grin.

Nick
’s hands fisted. He looked as though he wanted to hit someone but now seemed to think better of the idea. He grimaced at Gillian. “I’ll talk to you later.” He stalked away.

She’d
been only dimly aware of her pulse earlier. Now it seemed to pound in her ears. “Everything’s fine now.” She waved at the small crowd of onlookers as they slowly dispersed, looked up at the man in the floppy hat and sat down on her stool. “Thanks for helping.”

“What about you? Are you
okay?” the stranger asked. He glanced at the sketch of the trees that had fallen out of the folder. “You do good work.” He handed the drawing back to Gillian.

“Thanks. Who knew that sketching a few pictures would draw a crowd?” She gave a short little
laugh, willing her heart to slow to normal speed. So much for a relaxing morning in the park. “I want to thank you, uh …”

“Mo. Maurice, actually,” he grinned crookedly, “but I go by Mo.
And you are?”

“
Gillian Griffiths.” She held out her hand. “Thank you, Mo.” She peered more closely at him when they shook hands. His blue eyes were soft, like he cared about people. “Aren’t you the doctor who joined the clinic over on Revard Street? Didn’t I read—?”

“The one and only
Doctor Shellenberg,” he chuckled, stroking his mustache. “My name is hard to forget for most people. Hard to spell, too.”

She
nodded. “Unusual enough for easy recall. I should call you Doctor.”

“No need. Mo’s good enough.”

She acknowledged his comment with a little shrug. “You look like you’ve been hiking this morning.”

“
My day off. I was warming up for a longer jaunt. Who was that goon? He looked loaded for bear.”

“My old boss.” Her hands
shook slightly as she reached for the sketch Mo was holding, wondering if her knees would ever stop shaking. “It was nothing.”

“Then why are you
trembling? Maybe you should stay seated.”

“I’ll be all right. Actually,
I’m more embarrassed than scared. I hate being the center of attention.” She tried to smile, the muscles in her cheeks feeling stiff.

“
You’ll feel better after some coffee,” Mo suggested. “Doctor’s orders. Why don’t you join me?” He pointed in the direction of the espresso place on the far side of the park. “I was about ready to head home, anyway.”

“
A good idea.” She stood up, relieved that her legs no longer felt like spaghetti, and reached for her drawing table, which Mo now held.

He pulled it closer to his side. “I’ll carry it. You have too much other stuff—
that three-legged stool and your pictures.”

She
ambled with him in the direction of the cafe. When they were seated, she let out a quiet breath, aware that her pulse had finally slowed to a near-normal rate. “Thanks for challenging Nick. I’m not sure how quickly he would have left if you and those women hadn’t stopped.”

“What did he want?”

“I have no clue. These last few months, I’ve had to fire a few employees, something Nick always made me do. Two weeks ago was the worst. That’s when he fired me, too. When he did that, I figured what he’d save in my salary would protect at least two, maybe three, other people from having to be let go.” She clasped the mug with both hands as the coffee steamed, warming her hands, calming her. Recalling the emptiness of the office when she’d walked by all those empty cubicles to ask Nick about Shelley’s check, she added, “Or maybe not.”

She
peered intently at the man and elements of her ‘perfect man list’ came to mind. “How would you have handled things? The firing, I mean? In the same situation, would you have stood up to him?”

Mo’s
pale blue eyes seemed to study her. The corners of his mouth quirked upward slightly and he gave a little chuckle. “I probably would have handed in my resignation before he had the chance to fire me. But it doesn’t sound like you had any warning. Too bad your boss made things so unpleasant.” He took a quick sip of his coffee. “If he bothers you again, you might want to call the cops—or an attorney. His behavior in the park was pretty close to harassment. No reason to put up with that.”

“I don’t imagine you
’ve ever been treated that way.”

M
o beamed, warming her to her toes. “I’ve had some difficulties, too. These days doctors aren’t immune to similar actions. But enough about me. Let’s enjoy our coffee.”

Gillian
watched Mo as he drank his coffee, asked the waitress for two biscotti and reached for a napkin to wipe his mouth. For some reason, she felt comfortable in his presence even though she knew next to nothing about him. But he was a professional, one of the musts she’d laughed about with Lauren. He wasn’t at all what one might call handsome, with a slightly crooked nose, and those extra pounds he carried, mostly around his waist. With his floppy hat on the seat beside him, Gillian saw that his hair was sparse on top, mostly gray and white wisps, haphazardly combed off his face, like the man was relaxed about his appearance, at least on his day off. But his mustache was neatly trimmed.

His words brought her back to the present.
“So … tell me, Gillian. Are you a professional? That picture of the trees that I picked up off the grass was quite nice. Great blending of the colors and everything.”

“You know about drawing?” she asked.

“My elder daughter is an art historian—works in New York City now.” He sighed. “I miss her. When she was going to the university, she made me sit for portraits—practice things, she said. She taught me a lot about how to take a plain piece of paper and make it come alive with lines and shadings and the use of color.”

Gillian
sipped her latte. “Your daughter’s a professional in the field. I’m just an amateur. I used to sketch when my son was small and I was home full time. After I started working, I set it aside. Too many other things to do.” She reached for a napkin to wipe the foam that slid off her lower lip and onto her chin. “But when I was cleaning the house the other day—after Nick fired me—I found some of my supplies and decided to try my hand again. Drawing relaxes me. Heaven knows I can use some of that these days.”

Mo emptied his cup and asked if
Gillian wanted a refill.

“No thanks.”

Mo stacked the napkins in a neat pile then pointed to her hands. “You’re not trembling now. See? My coffee cure worked. Want to go for a walk—to relax another way? Or would you prefer to get back to your artwork?”

“A walk sounds nice. But I
should probably take my stuff back to the house first.”

“
Let me help you,” he replied. “So you don’t have to carry everything yourself.” He gestured to the folder, now holding her sketches and the extra papers, and the folded table to which it was attached. “Have you sketched other subjects besides those trees?”

She showed him
two different pen-and-ink sketches of the playground. “I started these the other day and was going to do some charcoals, too, before Nick interrupted.”

M
o stared at her work. “This is very good. Professional quality. Do you sell your drawings? I’m sure shops around here would be happy to carry them.”

Gillian
shook her head. “It’s just a hobby. My neighbor keeps telling me I should sell them, maybe do prints, make note cards, that sort of thing, but I can’t imagine anyone would want them.”

“I’d buy this one.” He pointed to the drawing of the trees, in muted shades of green and blue against a golden sky.

“You don’t have to pay me. I’ll give it to you, but it’s not quite finished. When it is, if you still want it, I’ll be happy to bring it by your office,” she offered. “Payment for getting Nick to leave me alone.”

He gave her a wry smile. “
My daughter has a rule she insists I follow—I’m only allowed to hang signed originals on my office walls.”

Gillian
laughed. “As if my work would stack up against the masters.” But she couldn’t help feeling pleased. “Thanks for getting me out of a jam with my old boss.”

“It was my pleasure.”

They walked out of the espresso bar and toward her house, where she placed her art supplies on the entry porch. While Mo insisted on waiting outside, claiming his shoes were muddy, she changed into hiking shoes and locked the front door behind her.

Two hours later she returned to the house, happy to have enjoyed a quiet conversation with Mo about nothing of consequence while they walked along the shoreline of Green Lake. During their walk, she learned Mo was a widower, and that he planned to work at the local clinic another ten years and then retire. Maybe on a houseboat.

I think I’ve found a friend
.
A male friend.
What would Quinn say about that? Or Lauren? Gillian chuckled as she imagined Lauren’s comments. A man friend. Not a coworker, or a neighbor, or even a neighbor’s husband. It felt nice knowing Mo, who reminded her of a well-worn shoe, easy to slip on, never making demands. And she hadn’t met him on the internet. Maybe she’d mention that to Quinn.

Chapter 5

Two weeks later Gillian was squatting on the ground next to the back fence when Quinn jiggled the gate noisily and called out. “Mom! Are you here?”

“
Next to the climbing roses. I was cleaning out the weeds.” She waved at him as he strode toward her, his hand outstretched.

“
Here. This is your ticket.”

“
For what?”

“
A rafting trip. With Bianca and me.”

Gillian
’s pulse began to climb. “Me? On water? No. Never. You know I don’t swim all that well.” She stood up and swiped her hands against the legs of her jeans.

“You don’t have to swim.
You’ll be wearing a life preserver. Besides, it will be fun. You need to do more than work in the garden all summer. Man, it’s hot out here.” He wiped his brow of imaginary perspiration.

“Since you’ve moved back
home, you’re getting really bossy.” Gillian sighed, took a seat and angled the umbrella shading the table on the deck so she wouldn’t have to look directly into the sun.

“You said you were going to
‘do over’ your life. I figured I’d encourage you.”

Gillian chose to ignore his little jibe.
“Bianca’s going, too?”

“
Yes. She said it was to celebrate finishing her big case in California. You were right. It was the stress that made her think she was pregnant.”

And you’re glad about that, too, I’ll bet.
“Celebration is good.” She’d been meaning to talk to Bianca about her pregnancy scare, but she’d had no opportunity. Quinn’s fiancée was busy looking for another job. Except for a quick meal Gillian had brought to Quinn’s rented townhouse, she’d barely seen the two of them together.

Quinn
poured a glass of water and handed it to her. “It’s good that you had me put up this umbrella last time I came over.”

She nodded.
Maybe this rafting trip would give her time to get to know Bianca, to verify that she was the right person for her son. As if she could do anything about it. She sipped the water, removed her sunglasses and looked at Quinn. “Tell me more about this rafting thing.” She held up a hand when he grinned. “Not that I’m going. Just tell me what
you and Bianca
are going to do. And why.”

“It’s on the Deschutes River—central Oregon. One of Bianca’s
associates in California did it and he couldn’t stop talking about it. So I got us the tickets—and reserved rooms at the inn there.”

“
Quinn, why are you all of a sudden trying to control my life? You didn’t even ask me first.”

“Mom, you have to stop puttering around here and grab life by the
bal—uh, by the throat. Ever since that girl stopped over, you’ve been hiding out in your garden, just waiting for the cops to haul you away—as if you had anything to do with whatever Nick’s trying to get away with, not paying severance and all that. It’s time you kicked up your heels. Not the same kind of fun as your garden. Something you wouldn’t otherwise do. Admit it. If I hadn’t got the tickets, would you even consider it?”

“I’m not considering it now.
Show me what you’re holding.” She motioned to the brochure and sheaf of pictures clutched in his left hand.

He shoved the
items to her side of the table. “Bianca’s friend took those pictures. Imagine shooting the rapids like that! It’ll be fun.”

His enthusiasm was infectious. “I can see you and Bia
nca doing it. Me? Not so much. But it is a pretty area. Maybe I’ll sit on the shore and watch the two of you float by while I sunbathe.”

“You could do that,
but you’ll have more fun with us. Come on, Mom. Live a little. Do something outrageous. It’s not dangerous. Even little kids do it. See that picture?”

“They have helmets on. I don’t see helmets on the adults,” she countered.

“Everyone wears life jackets, even the adults,” he replied. “Ask Lauren to water your garden for you. We’re going. Next week. Before Bianca starts work.”

“She found a position?”

“She interviewed with two different firms this week. She’s pretty confident one of them is going to offer her a position.”

“
Hmm. So when do we leave on this so-called adventure?”

“Ten days from today.”

Gillian peered at her son, so intent on wanting her to come with him. So insistent that she do something out of the ordinary. She had to admit her life was bland, staid, not all that exciting. But at least she wasn’t at risk of drowning. She wondered what Mo would say if she asked him about it.

“Are you sure Bianca won’t consider me a wet blanket?”

“You’re not sleeping with us, Mom. Your room is down the hall from ours.”

She blushed at the implication.

“Besides, maybe you’ll meet someone there. You know, someone your own age.”

“I already know people my own age
.” Mo, older by a good ten years than she and now a regular walking friend, came to mind. They’d been taking leisurely strolls a couple times a week since their first meeting, usually stopping for coffee before he escorted her home.

“How many?”

“One or two. Quinn, nosiness is not becoming.” She felt her cheeks flush. Now why was that? Mo was no
man
friend, just a walking partner. Matt’s more handsome visage flitted across her mind’s eye. But she hadn’t seen him in weeks. He was probably too busy for regular breaks, like most lawyers with their own practices.

“You’re not going to call me old, are you?” she teased.

“Of course not. You’re not old. You’re just—”

“Of a certain age. I know what you were going to say.” She peered again at the pictures. “Are you sure folks
my age
do
this sort of thing? All day, it says here.”

“
Absolutely! And they feed us, all part of the package.”

“Hmm.”

“You’ll do it?”

“I’ll go.
But I don’t have nine lives, and I don’t want to lose the one I have.” She would make time to get to know Bianca. The real reason she was going. Quinn didn’t need to know.

He cheered.

“On one condition, Quinn.”

He
grimaced.

“If I don’t like it, I can get out
of the raft when we stop for lunch and watch you for the rest of the trip. If I bring my art supplies, I could paint and draw.”

“I don’t know if they
’ll allow you to bail after we have lunch. But don’t worry. It’ll be fun. You’ll see.”

Somehow, the gleam in his eye suggested he’d figure out a way for her to stay on the raft after lunch.
Gillian went back to her weeding after Quinn gave her a hug and an enthusiastic kiss on both cheeks.

“I’ll see you later. After I pick up Bianca.”

That evening over dinner Gillian quizzed Bianca on the rafting trip, hoping she might be less enthusiastic than Quinn. Lawyer Bianca tended to think things through longer than Quinn, whose tendency was to jump with both feet into virtually any new adventure. But Bianca was equally enthused. “You’ll love it, Ms. Griffiths. I know you will.”

“
Please call me Gillian, dear.” Yes, she definitely needed to get to know Bianca. So much for her future daughter-in-law being on
her
side of this new experience.

Gillian checked into her room at the inn. The drive to the rafting site had been tiring, but the July sun was warm, almost hot, really, and the water looked inviting. Near the inn, the river seemed to poke along at a pace she considered safe. People in the rafts waved at others on the shore as they coasted by, not even paddling, as the river carried them along at a leisurely pace. Maybe this rafting thing wouldn’t be so bad.

She changed into shorts
and a sleeveless blouse, plastered sunblock on her pale legs and arms, and went outside to sit on a blanket in the grass. Quinn was right to have encouraged her to pack the fancy wide-brimmed hat she hadn’t worn in years. The warmth of the sun coaxed her to roll over onto her back as she read the book she’d brought along. After a few minutes, she closed her book, propped her head on one arm and closed her eyes.

“Hey there, little lady!”
A poke to her shoulder and an overly loud voice interrupted Gillian’s impromptu nap. She rolled onto her side and squinted in the direction of the sound.

The man
crouching next to her wore shorts out of which fat, hairy legs protruded. His bare arms were covered with tattoos from shoulder to wrist. His brown eyes seemed to laugh at her and a smile split his pock-marked face.

“Glad to see you’re not dead,” he declared.

Not with a voice like yours, loud enough to wake the dear departed
. Maybe he was hard of hearing. Gillian propped her chin on one hand. “Am I in your way?” she asked, her voice barely above whisper range, hoping he’d lower his volume.

“No, you’re not
in my way. But what’s a pretty lady like you doing out here all by yourself? You’re not married, are you? Better yet, even if you are, tell your old man to go away so we can have some fun!” he fairly shouted, and then chortled as he plunked down next to her.

So much for a relaxing nap.
She sat up, straightened her sleeveless blouse and pulled it down to meet the waistband of her shorts where it ridden up, inadvertently showing a bit of midriff. “I was reading,” she said, hoping he’d take the hint that she preferred to get back to her book.

“
With your eyes closed?” He chuckled. “Well, that’s not the best use of your time here, now is it?” he asked. “You going rafting, or did you just come back? You don’t look wet.”

I’m going to get wet?
“Tomorrow. I’m going tomorrow.”

“Well, now, that’s just great!” he
announced. “I am, too. Maybe we’ll be on the same little rubber boat. That would be ducky, don’t you think? Rubber Boat. Ducky,” he laughed. “Get it?” He poked her shoulder again.

Maybe. Maybe not.
She reached for her book and opened it in another attempt to make him see that he’d interrupted her.

“You by your lonesome here?” he persisted.

“I’m with my son and his fiancée.”

“Oh. Too bad.” He looked around. “I don’t see them. Maybe we could eat dinner together—
just you and me—and get to know one another.” He winked at her.

“I—thanks for the off
er, but I’m eating with them.” She rose and picked up the blanket and her book.

He nodded and
awkwardly scrambled to his feet to stand next to her.

The man had to be
several inches above six feet tall. She estimated him to weigh close to three hundred pounds.
Big enough to sink a raft
.

“Well, then, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow—for the rafting. What did you say your name was?” he asked.

“Gillian,” she replied, in the vain hope he would leave, though he seemed immune to her hints.

“Got a last name?”

“Griffiths.” Maybe he would be in a different raft, so he couldn’t sink theirs.

He reached out and grabbed her hand. “
Gillian Griffiths! Lovely name for a lovely lady. I’m Herb, Herb Hanson. All my pals call me HH. Except for my last ex-wife. She called me Herb from Hell.” He laughed, as if enjoying the joke. “You can call me HH, too, if you like.”

Gillian was relieved to see
Quinn and Bianca strolling in her direction.

“I see your folks are here to collect y
ou.” Herb glanced at them. “See you tomorrow, Gillian Griffiths. GG, like Gigi in that French film.” His loud hoots rang against the building and seemed to pummel her as Gillian watched him lumber off.

“Didn’t take you long to find a
friend,” Quinn said, beaming. “A man friend. Mom, you’re collecting men like bears to honey. Lauren told me about that doctor. Mo, is it? And now this guy?”

“Oh, Quinn. Don’t be silly.” But she blushed in spite of herself.
“That man is
not
a friend,” she said. “I was minding my own business, taking a nap—which he interrupted—and then he wouldn’t stop talking.”

“Loudly, too,” Bianca added, a grin playing about her expressive mouth.
“Honey, I don’t think your mom needs that internet site anymore.”

“Please, Bianca,” Gillian huffed.
“Can we talk about something else?”

“Sure. How about the wedding? I finally got Quinn to agree to a date.”

“Yes. The wedding. Good.” Gillian nodded at the news. She would use this trip to show Quinn how much she wanted to get to know Bianca. But she had to play it cool. Let the young couple lead the wedding discussion. “Are you two ready for dinner? We can talk about the wedding while we eat.” She brushed a piece of grass off one shoulder, noting that her skin still felt warm from the sun. Perhaps she would need more sunblock tomorrow.