Lauren Stevenson wasn’t worried about the creditors. She wasn’t a spendthrift, but she’d finally come to the realization that life was too short to be lived in a cocoon of timidity. Thanks to her saving prudently and the legacy she’d received when her brother had died nearly a year ago, Lauren had enough money to buy and renovate the farmhouse, pay what little wasn’t covered by insurance for the corrective surgery she’d had, get a wardrobe befitting the new Lauren and establish the business.
“Here we go,” she said as her luggage appeared on the revolving carousel. “Did you drive over or take a cab?”
“I drove. Your poor car was so glad to see me, I swear it got all choked up.”
Lauren grunted. “Must need an oil change. On second thought, it needs to get out of the city. See,itwants to live in the country, too.”
They left the enclosure of the terminal and headed for the parking lot. “Will you be driving north this weekend?” Beth ventured.
“To see my parents? I guess I’d better.”
“I’d think you’d be excited—the new you and all.”
Lauren grimaced. “You know my parents. For ultraliberals, they’re as narrow as a pair of shoelaces. They didn’t see the need for facial reconstruction. They thought I was just fine before.”
“But medically, you were suffering!”
“I know that and you know that, and one part of them must know it, too. They’re both brilliant, albeit locked in their ivory towers. I think they associate plastic surgery with vanity alone, and vanity isn’t high on their list of admired traits. They said they loved me the way I was, and I’m sure they did, because that’s what being a parent is all about. But let me tell you, I feel so much better now, even aside from the medical issue, I’m not sure they’d understand.”
“Of course they would.”
Lauren didn’t argue further. Her trepidation about seeing her parents went far beyond the reconstructive surgery she’d had. She was starting a new life, and much of that life was being underwritten by her brother’s bequest. Her parents resented that. Brad had been estranged from the family for eleven years preceding his death. Colin and Nadine Stevenson had neither forgotten nor forgiven what they’d considered to be their only son’s abdication from the throne of the literati.
Lauren sighed. “Well, whatever the case may be, I’ll see them this weekend. It may be the last time I’ll be able to in a while.” Lips toying with a smile, she darted a knowing glance at Beth. “I have a feeling that the next few weeks are going to be hectic.”
“Hectic” was putting it mildly, though the pace was interlaced with such excitement that Lauren wouldn’t have dreamed of complaining. With the completion of the redecoration of the shop, she and Beth began transferring things from Beth’s apartment. Prints were framed and hung on the walls. Large art folders, filled with a myriad of additional prints and silk screens, were set in open cases on the floor for easy browsing. Vees of mat board in an endless assortment of colors were placed on Plexiglas stands atop the large butcher-block checkout counter, behind which were systematically arranged frame-corner samples, each attached to the wall with Velcro to facilitate their removal and replacement. Bolts of hand-screened fabric were attractively displayed beside bins containing unstained-wood frame kits; matching pillows were suspended from the ceiling like bananas from a tree.
Lauren signed the agreement on the farmhouse in Lincoln and, since it was already vacant, moved in a short week later. Her enthusiasm wasn’t the slightest bit dampened when she saw at firsthand the amount of renovation the place would need. She had only to stand on her front porch and look across the lush yard to the forested growth surrounding her, or to smell the roses that climbed the porch-side trellis, or to listen to the birds as they whistled their spring mating ritual, to know that she’d made the right decision.
And, more than anything, she had only to look in the mirror to realize that she’d truly begun a new life.
In keeping with that new life, she and Beth did go shopping. They bought chic slacks, skirts, bright summer sweaters and lightweight dresses. They bought shoes and costume jewelry to coordinate with the outfits, all the while feeling slightly irresponsible yet enjoying every minute of it. Neither of them had been irresponsible before in their lives, but now they had earned the luxury.
Three weeks after Lauren returned from the Bahamas, the print-and-frame shop opened. It was the second week of June, and the fair-weather influx of visitors to the Marketplace kept a steady stream of shoppers circulating. With sales brisk, Lauren and Beth were ecstatic, so much so that on the first Friday night after closing, they took themselves to nearby Houlihan’s to celebrate.
“If business continues this way, we’ll have to hire someone to help,” Lauren suggested. They were sitting at the crowded bar nursing cool drinks while they waited for their table.
“Tell me about it,” Beth complained, but in delight. “There isn’t enough time during the day to do bookkeeping, so I’ve been taking care of it at night. And you’re going to need time to work with printmakers and the framer.”
“I’ll call the museum. Maybe they’ll know of someone who’d be interested. If not, we can advertise in the newspaper.”
In slow amazement, Beth shook her head. “I can’t believe how good things were this week. We really lucked out with the location. There are people all over the place.”
“Summer’s always a busy season, what with tourists in the city. The Fanueil Hall is one ofthespots to see.”
“Wintertime’s supposedly as good. At least, that’s what Tom next door—you know, at the sports shop—told me.”
Lauren’s lips twitched mischievously. “So you’ve befriended Tom, have you? See what a new hairdo and clothes can do?”
Raking a hand through wavy black hair that had newly been cut to shoulder length, Beth wiggled her brows. “Look who’s talking. That guy over there hasn’t taken his eyes off you since we walked in.”
“He’s probably in a drunken stupor and I just happened into his line of vision.”
“That’s a crazy thing to say. You don’t believe how good you look!”
Beth was right. Lauren had been accustomed to being practically invisible where men were concerned, and old habits die hard. Now she dared a quick glance in the mirror behind the bar to remind herself of the woman she’d become. Even her smart cotton sundress of crimson and cream was an eye-catcher.
With a conspiratorial glimmer in her eyes, she turned again to Beth. “Tell me about him. I don’t want to be obvious and stare.”
