Read Page 6

"Lainey. Lainey?"

With a shake of her head, Lainey pulled herself out of her reverie and looked across the table at her mother. "What?"Advertisement

"Do you want dessert now, or later?"

"Later, Mom."

Dolores St. John shook her head ruefully. "You hardly ate a thing, sweetie. Are you all right?"

"Fine."

"Leave her alone,Dee . It's bound to be man trouble. I haven't seen her look this depressed since she split up with Drew."

"Dad!"

Ralph St. John lifted one dark brown brow. "Am I wrong? Tell me I'm wrong."

Lainey couldn't help smiling as she shook her head. She'd never been able to fool her dad, not for a minute. Not when she was a little girl, not now.

Dolores stared at the two of them, then stood up and began clearing the table. "No, you go on and talk to your dad," she admonished when Lainey started to help. "In the state you're in, you'll probably wash the leftovers and put the dirty dishes in the fridge."

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With a grateful smile, Lainey followed her father into the front room and curled up in a corner of the blue print sofa.

Ralph sat down in his easy chair, removed his shoes, and put his feet up on the coffee table. "Ah, that feels good," he remarked. "So, what is it, honey - what's troubling you?"

"Just what you said."

Ralph nodded sagely. "Man trouble. Do you want to tell me about it?"

"There's really nothing to tell. I went out to the old Grayson place..."

"The Grayson place! Lainey, are you out of your mind?"

Right then, she decided to skip the part about spending the night at the mansion. "Dad, I just went out to take some pictures, you know, for inspiration. Anyway, when I had the film developed, I saw something in one of the upper windows and..."

"And you just had to go have a look for yourself."

"Right. Anyway, there was this man there and..." Lainey made a vague gesture with her hand. "I don't know how to explain it, but he made me feel..." She shrugged. "It was the funniest thing. Even though I didn't know anything about him, I felt safe, kind of peaceful."

Ralph St. John frowned. "Safe? Peaceful? What is this guy, some kind of guru?"

"No. He's a navigator."

St. Johngrunted softly. "Your mom said he's a foreigner of some kind."

Lainey nodded. "He's got a marvelous accent, although it's very slight."

"And I suppose he's tall, dark, and handsome, too."

"Tall, blond, and handsome."

"So, when are we gonna meet him?"

"That's the trouble, Dad. He doesn't want to see me anymore."

"Why not?"

"I don't know. I went to see him last night and everything seemed fine. Later, we..." She couldn't stop the blush she felt heating her cheeks. "We were making out a little and suddenly he told me to go."

Ralph St. John frowned. "Maybe he's gay."

"Dad."

Her father shrugged. "It was just a thought. Maybe he's afraid of getting AIDS. Maybe he just wasn't in the mood."

"Dad," Lainey said with a grimace, "the men I've met are always in the mood."

"So, maybe this guy's different. Maybe he's got some morals, if they exist anymore."

"Dad, I wasn't trying to seduce him. We were just kissing. And he liked it, I know he did."

She felt the tears well in her eyes and blinked them away, determined not to cry. She had already shed enough tears for a man she had only known for a couple of days.

"I wish I could give you some advice," her father said, "but I guess all you can do is wait for him to call. Or call him."

Lainey shook her head. "He doesn't have a phone. And I wouldn't call him if I did." Rising, she kissed her father on the cheek. "Thanks for listening, Dad."

"Any time," he remarked, reaching for his paper. "How's the new book coming along?"

"Slow," Lainey said, resuming her place on the sofa.

"It'll pick up. It always does."

Lainey smiled at her father, but he already had his nose buried in the sports page. Nothing had been settled, but, as always, just talking to her dad made her feel better.

"I think I'm ready for dessert now," she remarked, and went into the kitchen to help her mother dry the dishes.

She'd get over Micah, just as she'd gotten over Drew. It would hurt for a while, but she'd bury herself in her book until the worst of the hurt was gone. One thing about being a writer, she thought, she was always in control.

And she could have as many happy endings as she wanted, at least on paper. pqdm.com