What did a haircut cost these days? She had no idea. She dug three twenties out of her purse, set them on the counter….
“You need some good conditioner.” Debbi took two of the twenties to the cash register, and returned a ten and a five to Sarah. “The next time you come in, I’ll do a hot-oil treatment.”
“Probably a good idea.” Sarah left the twenty and the five on the counter. “Good luck with your daughter,” she said.
CHAPTER THREE
“CHOCOLATE CHIPS.” Lucy snapped her fingers, a surgeon demanding an instrument. “Butter. Two sticks.”
“Coming up.” Matthew held out a bag of chips, semisweet, as she’d requested when she made the shopping list for him. He watched as she carefully measured flour into a bowl. Her long dark hair, pulled back into a ponytail, was dusted with flour. More flour had fallen like snow around her feet; a dusting of white covered the granite counter tiles.
He couldn’t have been happier.
“Want some music?” he asked.
“Your kind or mine?”
“Since I don’t think of that stuff you listen to as music, it would have to be mine. And if you’d really listen to the words, you’d realize the Eagles—”
“Oh, Dad, no. Please. Not the Eagles.”
He grinned and wrapped his arm around her shoulders in a quick hug. “Do you know how much I like having you here?”
“No, but hum a few bars,” she said.
“Old, old joke.”
“I learned it from you.”
“I guess that makes me an old, old guy then.” He pulled out one of the bentwood dining chairs, sat on it backward, his chin propped on the curved wood. “If I decide to go with the Seattle company that’s moving onto the peninsula,” he told her, “you could spend every Saturday with me.”
“Do it,” she said.
“Would you like that?”
She beamed.
He grinned back at her. Ultimately, it might not take much more persuasion than his daughter’s approval. “I’m thinking about it. It’s just…” The phone rang. “Hold on,” he told Lucy.
“Pleeese, pleeeese, don’t let it be a boring old patient,” she muttered.
He picked up the phone from its hook on the wall. “Hello.”
“I have no pride,” a female voice said. “I leave you messages—”
He burst out laughing. “Sarah!” No salutation, no polite preliminary chitchat. No acknowledgment that it had been fifteen years since they last spoke. “My God. You haven’t changed.”
“Yeah, well, there’s nothing I can do about that,” she said. “By forty the character’s pretty well established. So anyway, I stopped by to see you—”
“I know. Well, I was pretty sure it was you. I’d heard you were back. But the receptionist said a lady came by to see me and the lady part threw me.”
Sarah laughed. Same old raucous laugh, somewhere between an engine starting and a gaggle of geese.
“I ran into your mother in the cafeteria last week,” he said. “Almost literally. You know Rose, a hundred miles a minute. She said you were coming back. She seemed surprised that I didn’t know, but I reminded her that keeping in touch was never one of your priorities.”
“Yeah, well…you know.”
“Listen, before anything else, I’m so sorry about—Ted…”
“Thanks. Me, too.”
Something in her voice warned him to move on. “I want to see you,” he said. “Soon. Now. Damn it, I can’t…when are you available? What are your plans?” He could see Lucy in his peripheral vision; the wooden spoon in one hand had gone very still. “My daughter’s here with me,” he said. “Lucy. Fourteen going on thirty and about to set the theater world on fire.” Lucy flashed him a look over her shoulder and he winked at her. “And you didn’t hear this from me,” he stage-whispered, “but she’s a dead ringer for a young Elizabeth Taylor.”
“She looks like her mother then,” Sarah said.
An almost imperceptible change in her voice reminded him of the last time they’d exchanged anything more than polite formalities and he found himself at a loss for words. “Very much.”
“Don’t you owe me a Frugal burger?” Sarah asked.
“Frugals.” Smiling now, he leaned back against the wall. “Haven’t eaten one of those in years. I’m of the age where I have to think about cholesterol.”
“We both are,” Sarah said. “But you still owe me a Frugals.”
“Hold on.” He glanced at the calendar above the phone. “How about…tonight?”
“Dress rehearsal, Daddy,” Lucy said. “Remember? You promised.”
“Okay, tonight won’t work.” He scratched the back of his head. “I’m on call tomorrow night, but if we keep our fingers crossed that no one gets creamed on the 101 or mistakes their significant other for a shooting range, I could pay off my debt to you.”
“Great,” Sarah said. “What time?”
“Around six? I’ll pick you up.” He thought for a minute. “Guess I need to know where you’re staying. Your mother’s?”
“Actually, I just rented an apartment,” Sarah said. “Yesterday. At the foot of Peabody, just above Front Street. The Seavu. I was walking back to my mother’s, saw the For Rent sign, called the landlord and moved right in. I’m still bringing boxes over from my mother’s.”
He mentally located the place, a rambling multistory wooden building with fire escapes running up the sides and seagull droppings on the front steps.
“You don’t mean the old hospital?”
“Yep. I always wanted to live there. Especially after it became a place for shady ladies. Kind of appeals to the outcast in me.”
He was still laughing when he hung up the phone.
“That wasn’t very nice of you, Daddy,” Lucy said, her back to him.
“What wasn’t very nice?”
“What you said about people getting into accidents and getting shot at.”
“Oh, honey,” he said, still thinking about Sarah, “it was just a joke.”
“People dying is just a joke?”
“Give me a break, Lulu,” he
