“In a minute.” She closed the book and tucked it under her handbag, ready to go home. “Spike brought me a hot dog.”
She took a small bite, but she really wasn’t hungry. Ever since Xander and her binge, food and home didn’t feel so cozy. She replayed that day over and over, how she barged out of the house, a woman on a mission. Then Matt witnessing her disgrace. Yet he’d been so gracious and sweet, acting like it was no big deal.
“I wantyou back.”What was she to do with Xander’s confession? Did she love him enough to overlook his betrayal?
I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know!
“Harlow, you’re still here.” Tuesday paused by the booth. “Did Matt tell you to stay? Keep an eye on me?”
“No, I just...” She gave her a soft smile. “Didn’t want to go home yet.”
“Put on your skates. Join me on the floor.”
“I don’t have skates.” She moved from behind the booth. “I’m interrupting your tradition. Tuesday Knight at the Starlight.”
“I’d like a little company.” There was a weight in her words, as if some royal command had to be obeyed. “Look in my office, in the cupboard. Bottom shelf.”
“Really, Tuesday, no. Harlow Hayes can’t skate.”
“Harlow Hayes can do whatever she wants to do. Tonight, it’s skating.” Her smile smoothed the lines on her face. “Come on, what are you afraid of, really? Get out there with me. It’ll do you good. Besides, I’ve always wanted a daughter. A granddaughter will do.”
Tuesday had played the trump card. “Okay, you win, but youhave to promise not to laugh.” She’d spent so many years traveling, posing, and being viewed only for her exterior that being wanted for herself was irresistible.
In the office cupboard, Harlow found a large, battered box imprinted with the wordRichardson. Inside was a beautiful pair of white, well-worn boots.
“Tuesday,” she said, carrying them out to the floor, “aren’t these yours? I’ll just get a pair of brownies.”
“Those were the first pair I ever owned. Leroy bought them for me and the boys one Christmas. Weren’t we something with our Richardsons, skating at the Starlight, in a Depression-era small town.”
“I’m sorry the town wants to knock it down.” Harlow joined Tuesday on the bench under the image of Immanuel and kicked off her shoes.
“All my life, people tried to knock me down, but Immanuel saw me through.”
“It’s sort of hard to trust in an image on the wall, Tuesday.” Harlow tugged on the first skate.
“Give it time. He’ll be the image in your heart soon enough.” Tuesday pointed to the skates. “Lace ’em up good. I’ll fire up the music.”
Working the rink night after night, Harlow had fallen in love with the fashion of skates—well, not the rentals, let’s be real—but the beautiful white boots the girls wore, accented with pom-poms. Still, she must be aware of the skates’ trickery—luring her in only to drop her to the ground the moment she moved.
Remember the day she passed out flyers? Exactly.
On the floor, Tuesday skated gracefully to “Clair de Lune,” arms wide, one leg raised gracefully behind her. “Come on, HH,” she called. “You can’t learn without effort.”
Harlow shoved up from the bench, grabbed the pony wall, and stepped her way onto the rink. She wanted to skate to the music. It was so lovely and peaceful. But for now, she’d be grateful to notfall. Glancing toward Tuesday, who was on the other side, turning in gentle circles, Harlow pushed off.
“I want to be like you when I’m eighty-seven,” she hollered.
“Then you’re in the right place.”
“What did you want at twenty-nine?” Glide right, left, trip, stumble, right, left, wheels clattering against the floor, then smack on the ground, face-first.
Tuesday rolled up and offered Harlow a hand. “What all women want. To be loved, give love. I wanted to be a family with Lee and the boys.”
“If anyone ever asked me,” she said, shoving onto her feet, trying not to use Tuesday for balance, “I would’ve told them all I wanted in life was a family. What’s better than being a mom, raising the next generation? Talk about a legacy.”
“You know, I think deep down Matty wants a wife and kids as much as anything.”
“Are you matchmaking, Tuesday?”
