Page 25
Story: You'll Find Out
“You’re right, she probably shouldn’t be so . . . forthright. But it doesn’t matter—not with me.”
Angie looked as if she didn’t quite know what to make of the conversation. Fully expecting further protests from her mother, she was surprised when none came about. After casting a confused and furtive glance at her mother’s friend, she sat down on the bench and began playing with the doll and blanket, telling Lolly about her morning in the park on the trains.
“Excuse me, Mr. Kennedy,” June said, meeting Shane’s dark gaze. “Did Mara say that you were interested in purchasing Imagination?”
“That’s correct.”
“Well, I hope she explained to you that the company is absolutely, without condition, not for sale!” June retorted. Mara was surprised. June never took an interest in the family business, much less interjected an opinion of company policy.
“That she did,” Shane agreed, leaning against an oak tree and watching Angie play with her doll.
“Then . . . I guess . . . I don’t understand why you’re still here . . .” June evaded.
“As Mara stated earlier, she and I are old friends,” Shane replied smoothly, almost intimately. Mara felt a wave of color once again stain her cheeks.
“Oh, then you’re here in Asheville for the weekend?”
“At least,” he drawled, a slow smile spreading over his arrogant features.
June’s lips pursed slightly. “I see you were at the apartment. Did you get all of Angie’s things? Her nightgown was in the spare bedroom.”
“No, we only picked up the blanket and the doll. But I thought you could bring her other things over when you come to stay with her on Monday.”
“Well,” June began crisply, a hint of exasperation flavoring her words. “In that case, I’ll be running along.” She picked up her magazine, tossed it into her basket, and rose from the bench. At the effort, her skin seemed to pale.
“Wouldn’t you like to spend the rest of the afternoon with us—perhaps go to lunch?” Mara offered.
“I don’t think so” was the stiff reply, aimed directly at Shane. “Dena’s coming over later in the day—for the life of me I don’t know why—I can’t remember the last time she came to visit me.”
“Thanks so much for looking after Angie,” Mara whispered, giving June a kiss on the cheek. “I’m sure she had a wonderful time.”
June’s face relaxed a bit as she looked at Angie, busy again in the sandbox. “Yes, I think she did. It was my pleasure.” June’s long, bony hand clasped firmly over Mara’s. “I’ll see you Monday morning.”
“All right.”
“Good-bye, Angie,” June called out to the little girl, who looked up from her play long enough to flash June her most ebullient smile and wave her hand and blanket at her grandmother.
When June was out of earshot, Shane turned his attention back to Mara. “I’d say she doesn’t like me much, wouldn’t you?” He cocked his head in the direction that June had taken.
“She probably just didn’t like the fact that you attempted to see me on the day of Peter’s funeral. She was pretty upset. Peter was her only son.”
Shane shrugged indifferently, but Mara couldn’t help but think about her mother-in-law. The chilling undercurrent of tension that had developed when Mara had introduced Shane to June couldn’t be ignored, and the withering look of haughty disdain in the older woman’s eyes—a look so atypical of June—spoke of a deep-seated mistrust or hatred. Why did June instantly dislike Shane? Was it, as Mara had suggested, because he had broken through unspoken bonds of civility and tried to see Mara on the day of the funeral? Did June overreact because she was emotionally drained at the time, or could there be another, deeper, angrier cause for June’s personality reversal?
“I think your suggestion earlier was great,” Shane said, breaking into Mara’s distracted thoughts.
“What . . . what was that?”
“Lunch. I’m starved. One cup of coffee wasn’t quite enough this morning.” Shane dropped a protective arm over Mara’s slim shoulders. “Quit worrying about June. It’s her right not to like me.”
“It’s just that I don’t understand it. It’s all so out of character for her. She’s usually a warm, open person.”
“Somehow I find that hard to believe.”
Further conjecture was cut short as Angie came up dragging her blanket behind her. Mara smiled at her child. “Are you hungry, Angie? How about some lunch?”
“Hot dogs?” Angie asked, her eyes lighting.
“Hot dogs?” Mara repeated. “Is that what you want?”
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