Page 60 of Fortune's Control
“Or I could take you out?”
“No, we can do that another time.” I wanted to focus on my new job while he worked in the woodshop—a perfect evening at home.
“Home them.”
*****
I shut the guest room’s door behind me. Sophie asked for extra time to get ready, and I wanted privacy. The water pipes echoed through the walls, signaling that Shane hadn’t finished his shower.
Emma urged me not to call Sarah Jane at the baseball game, and, while I understood she wanted to spare my feelings, Sarah Jane was still my mother.
I held the phone and rehearsed what to say. She suggested making Shane suffer, and I rejected that advice, but she would want to know more about our relationship. My grandmother’s search stalled out, so maybe she’d provide a clue if I begged a little. Plus, my new job.
Experts suggested the sandwich approach, where you place the request between two positive comments. They referred to giving feedback, but this was similar.
It rang several times, and I wondered if she preferred voicemail to a conversation.
“Delilah, honey. How are you?”
“Hi, Mom. It’s been a busy several days.”
“I thought you forgotabout me.”
“It hasn’t been that long.” I did the math. “Ten days.”
“Those ten days must have been mighty important. Are you still there?”
Ten wonderful days. “No, not at all. I’m also still in Fortune’s Creek, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“So, you insist on staying? Then wear sunscreen and watch yourself. That weather is brutal on a woman’s complexion.”
“Thanks for the advice. I called so we could catch up. Do you remember Shane? Our relationship is better than the last time we spoke. He’s a terrific guy, and I like him.”
“Tell me about this mysterious Shane.”
“He’s the captain of the town baseball team, and he’s their best player.”
“Interesting. A grown man who plays games. What else?”
“He does woodworking and sells his craft items at a local store.”
She sniffed. “That’s a horrible way to make a living. He sounds like a dreamer, and let me tell you. I dated a dreamer once, and…well, he could barely afford a steak dinner. Did you know George is in finance?”
Many words described Shane Wilcott, but “dreamer,” with all the negative connotations my mom attached to it, was not one of them. I admired the creative part of him.
“You didn’t, but congratulations to you.” Because a man’s career determined a woman’s self-worth. “Shane’s skill is amazing. Maybe you’ll see his work someday. He also owns property that he rents out and was in the Marines.”
“The first part sounds promising. Was he an officer?”
“I don’t think so, and why would it matter? He’s here in Fortune’s Creek, with me.” She huffed into the phone when I mentioned the town’s name. “He let me stay in his garageapartment, and I cheered him on at a game a couple of days ago. Shane’s a good man, Mom. I like him. You would like him.”
“You live in his garage?”
“No, that’s not what I said.”
“Delilah, let me offer you some advice because you need it. A man who cares about you doesn’t shove you into his garage like a piece of property. That’s a man who won’t support you, and frankly, even you should know better.”
Even me.
