She nodded.
“That might be one of the greatest theater roles of all time.”
“I’m inclined to agree with you,” Tilley said. “I haven’t been on the stage since I was a girl, and it has been just fabulous.”
George held out his arm. “What?” she asked.
He grinned. “Well, I’m going to drive you, of course.”
“Oh, well…” Tilley was going to tell George that she was actually driving again. But the thought of taking his arm, of being escorted by him… it was too much to possibly turn down. So, instead, she said, “Why, George, you don’t want to waste your time at a small-town play practice when you could be up in your gorgeous rooms resting.”
He took her hand and placed it in the crook of his arm. “Tilley, I assure you that, if you’re playing Dolly Levi, there’s no place I’d rather be than at your practice.”
A warmth spread over her at the feel of his arm, the kindness of his words. Tilley was older now, yes. But she knew—just as she had known as a girl—that she was still beautiful. She could still turn a head. She knew that her mental state had been a problem. But, despite her episode with Maisy earlier, shewasworking on that. Could George see past what others saw? Could he be interested in her, complications and all? Or was he simply being a gentleman? As they walked to the Jeep that George kept at the small airport here for when he flew back and forth, she let herself imagine that this flirtation wasn’t one-sided. What could it hurt?
George opened the door for her, and, as Tilley stepped in, she said, “I’m making a lemon meringue pie for you for Easter Sunday.”
“Really? Just for me? I thought you only made pecan pie at Easter.” She smiled, charmed that he remembered.
“Well, sure. But for you, George, I’ll break all the rules.”
She was flirting. She had played her hand. It was terribly unladylike, and, she reminded herself, unlikely to be reciprocated. She put her hand to her mouth in embarrassment.
But then George took that hand in his and said, “The feeling is very much mutual. Why do you think I had to get here a day early?” She widened her eyes, and he said, “I simply could not wait another day to see you.”
Tilley’s gasp was not audible, she was happy to say. But she felt it all the way into her stomach. And, minutes later, as George sat in the audience, rapt with attention, never taking his eyes off Tilley, she knew she sang louder, smiled brighter, and danced more lightly on her feet.
“No, it won’t be like the first time, but why does it have to be?” Tilley crooned. Of course, it made her think of George, of what could be. She sang, as Dolly, not to look for shooting stars, that love was only love. It was true, wasn’t it? That grown-up love, second-time-around-love, would be, should be, different. She would be okay with that, just like Dolly was. But she had to admit, as she gazed at George in that empty auditorium, she thought that—against all odds—that first-love feeling might have found her again after all.
DAISYTogether
I had all but forgotten about the craziness with Tilley a couple of hours ago. All I wanted to do was sit on the couch and snuggle this squishy, perfect angel baby. She cooed her entire bath time, which was kind of an anomaly. And now, wrapped in an adorable hand-me-down towel with a hood that looked like a lion, I was cradling her in one arm as I savored picking out her very first jammies under my care.
I chose a pair of pink-footed pajamas with bows printed on them. One of the moms had brought over these precious cloth diapers with snaps that I knew weren’t practical for me as a single foster mother long-term, but I had read they prevented diaper rash, so I decided I’d try them out when I had time. Like tonight. She stared up at me, wiggling a little on the changing table as I got her dressed. “You know, Maisy, zip-up baby outfits are perhaps the best invention of all time,” I said, as I put in her tiny feet and then her sweet arms and zipped her up, protecting her head. I picked her up and kissed her, holding her to me, inhaling her sweet scent. I felt drenched with love for her, and I could not imagine ever giving her up.
I thought, briefly, about Sarah. She had made a choice. And maybe I was wrong to let her stand by that choice, to not tell herparents, but the thought of Maisy being taken away from me was too much to bear. I was waiting out the sixty days it would take for Maisy to be officially “abandoned” and available for adoption. I wasn’t one hundred percent sure if I could handle being a single mother. But I knew I would try it a million times over if it meant never having to say goodbye to Maisy.
Mason crossed my mind as Maisy started to fuss. “I know,” I said. “You’re a hungry girl, aren’t you?”
It wasn’t seven yet, but I heard a knock on the door and called, “Come in!” I’d thought of Mason; he had appeared.
Maisy’s fussing got louder as I walked to the door, as I kissed Mason, as I allowed myself to pretend that we were a family. Mason kissed the top of Maisy’s head, and I let my mind wander again. What if this could be real? What if Maisy and I could move into Mason’s beautiful house on the water, if the guest room closest to the primary bedroom could become a nursery, drenched in pink?
“She’s hungry,” I said.
“Sorry I’m early,” Mason said. “I just…” He trailed off and smiled at me.
He just wanted to see me. It made me feel warm all over.
“Do you want to hold Maisy while I get her bottle ready?”
“Um…” He looked nervous.
I laughed and handed her to him. “Just make sure you hold her head.”
She stopped fussing for a moment as she looked up at the relative stranger now holding her. Maybe she sensed that he had saved her life.
I walked into the tiny kitchen as Mason held Maisy, somewhat awkwardly, and said, “Hi, Maisy girl. You’re so nice and clean. Do you like your new room?”
