Gillian's Do-Over (3 page)

Chapter
2

The next day
Gillian woke late and ate a leisurely breakfast.
I could get used to this.
Her laptop seemed to call to her. No reason to check for messages about work, but she powered it up anyway. A series of spam messages greeted her, which she deleted, until she came to an entry from Quinn.

Mom, I have a business meeting in Seattle on Monday. Thought I’d stop in and see you over the weekend. We need to tal
k.


Don’t be mad, but Bianca and I think you need to expand your social horizons. Something more than work and your garden. Give a look at this site (see the link below). Your email name could be
Fortyandfab. All you need to sign up is a password. Something easy to remember, just your initials and some numbers. What’s to lose? And you might meet someone who likes the same things you do, wants to go places and do things. If you need help, I could get you started when I’m home. I even picked out pictures you could upload—to give men an idea of what you look like. Love you, Quinn

P
.S. Have you given any more thought to getting out from under Nick Talmadge’s thumb? There have to be other property management places that would
love
to have you.

Gillian clicked on the attachment and was directed to a site for singles over forty. Quinn had
included another attachment that contained several pictures of her, one of which she thought wasn’t all that attractive.

She pursed her lips. No way was she going to let Quinn set her up on a dating site. But Lauren’s words of the night before came back to her. Maybe she
should
step out of her comfort zone. If she signed up for the dating site, what could it hurt? She’d thought of it herself last night, and it might be good for laughs.

She opted in, set up her password and hit “join.” Minutes later, she checked the site.
What surprised her was the number of people who had sent her “winks” in addition to four full-fledged messages.

Oh, good grief!

She dialed
Quinn’s number. “You won’t have to sign me up on that dating site. I did it myself,” she declared.

He chuckled.
“I see you read my email.”

“
Yes, but really, Quinn, I feel kind of silly.” She paced, not sure whether she should thank him for thinking of her or bawl him out for presuming that she needed help finding a male friend. Since when was it her son’s responsibility to ignite her nonexistent social life into even a feeble flame? On the other hand, without people at work to interact with, having email friends to chat with might be fun.

His laugh sounded so much like her late father.

“What do you think? Did you like the pictures I sent? Did you upload them—from our trip to Yosemite a couple years back and the ones from Christmas? I would have suggested more, but Bianca said I should check with you first.”

“
The one showing my pasty white legs at the beach isn’t the best I zapped that one.”

“
Since you signed up, how’s it working? Get any messages?”

“Several.” She
pinched her bottom lip between her teeth, determined not to give Quinn details.

“Great!” His enthusiasm, normally so infectious, now felt intrusive.

“Look, honey. If I want to find someone, I don’t need your help. That’s why I set it up on my own.” What she really needed was a job, something to fill her time. Or more friends.

“
It was just a suggestion. It’s been ages since you and Dad split. You need to get out more, do more than work and talk over the back fence with Lauren. Take a vacation. You’re not getting any younger, you know.”

“Excuse me?” Now she
was
upset. Because he’d hit the proverbial nail on the head?

“Bianca
said you might be mad. Why don’t you give the website at try for at least a couple of months? Lots of people find friends online these days.”

“When they are younger, maybe,” she replied. “Not at my age.”
Is forty-six too old for this sort of thing?

“How do you know if you don’t put yourself out there? How many times have you gone out last year, not counting work
-related parties, or your Fridays with Lauren? With a man?”

Now he was getting downright pushy. “None,” she admitted.

“In the last two years?”

Her mind was blank. “I’ll have to think about that.”
Zip? Zero? Nada?

“How about in the last five years?”

“This is getting tiresome.” She sighed heavily, not wanting to acknowledge she couldn’t remember the last time she’d been out with a man. Alone. On anything resembling a date. “Wait. I think I did go out a few years’ back.”
What was his name?
“But it didn’t work out.”

“I’ll bet you can’t even remember the poor sap’s name.” Her son chuckled. “I rest my case. Promise me you’ll at least check out those guys who sent you messages or winks. You need to do more than work and go home, work and go home,” he repeated.

It was a litany she realized had kept her going after the divorce, especially after she decided to concentrate on raising Quinn.

She turned her attention to the screen after scanning a couple of the entries.

“I’ll run a background check on any of the responders if you want. And get rid of the questionables. All you have to do is give me your user name and password.”

“
I used what you suggested. But is that necessary?” Then she remembered an article in the paper about a woman who’d been robbed of her savings by someone she’d met online.

“Of course! Anyone you want to know more about, just ask.” He paused. “I
gotta go. My ride’s here.”

“Your ride?”

“My car’s in the shop,” he explained, “and Bianca’s in court. A big case. I’ll see you this weekend. You can tell me what you think after you check out those guys.”

T
he dial tone confirmed her son had ended the call. Before she said she’d been fired. Wrong word. Now retired. Or just plain tired.

Gillian stared back at the list of unwelcome entries on her site. The first picture showed a man who had to be at least seventy
, with bags under his eyes. His hair consisted of overly bushy eyebrows. She sighed and looked out the window.
Since when do I care what they look like?
But she did.

She skipped to the next profile. Hmm. Was this one Quinn
would say looked interesting? He was her age, still working, but he was married.
Married
? This was supposed to be a site for singles. She deleted him from the queue, and proceeded down the line.

The next picture showed a man with a broad smile. He seemed kind of pudgy to her, but his bio said he was looking for a friend, someone to share activities with, though he hadn’t said which ones, and he lived in
Seattle. Near her, maybe? A local guy. Hmm. Divorced, like her, three children, one of whom lived with him. Would a live-in child be a complication?

She clicked on the next picture and deleted him immediately after reading that he liked kinky sex.
Good heavens!
Definitely a turnoff. That left three people who’d sent little winks. Here was one calling himself “Homebody.” A nice picture. The man had a full head of graying hair and a pleasant face, kind of angular but not gaunt, though it was hard to tell from the way his hat was pulled down, hiding half of his face. He reminded her of that man at the park with Adelaide. Too bad someone like him wasn’t trolling online for a female friend. She recalled thinking there was something sad about him, and wondered why.

Gillian went back to Homebody. Quinn
might like him. But for just that reason, she skipped his profile.
I’m
not
going to give him ammunition to quiz me.
She checked out the last three messages in the queue and closed the laptop. Should she tell Lauren what Quinn had said so the two of them could laugh about it? Or would Lauren tell her to go for it, maybe even offer to help her write back to some of those men?

She opened up her bucket list file. What should she do about that? Make travel plans, maybe? She’d always wanted to see the Grand Canyon. And the Alaska wilderness, though she’d never been one who liked the cold
. Didn’t they have big bears up there, ones that ate people? New York—she’d love to visit the museums and Central Park and check out the view from the top of the Empire State Building. But it was so far away. At least six hours by plane and air travel had become such a pain with the excessive security requirements they kept adding.

Gillian reached for her coffee, took a sip, and reheated it in the microwave before adding those places to the list.
Maybe I’ll go to Mount St. Helens.
The last time she’d ventured there, the fog and rain had obscured the view, which had been a disappointment. If she returned, perhaps she’d have better luck seeing the new crater since the big explosion in 1980.

She sat back in her chair, unsure what to add. Visit M
ount Rainier where she’d worked while in college and where she’d met Owen, her ex-husband? For old times’ sake or to prove to herself that her unhappiness with Owen couldn’t possibly color how she felt about The Mountain and its spectacular surroundings?

She pursed her lips before adding
“go to dinner at the Space Needle.” It had been ages since she’d been there. Her list was prosaic, unexciting, consisting only of places that were local and easily reached by car, but at least she’d started it. Maybe telling Lauren that she’d begun her list would make her neighbor ease up with her suggestions about being adventurous. Adventure was
so
not her style. Lauren had called it her “do-over” list.

She
walked upstairs to shower and dress, and then wandered through the house, mentally checking off what she should do in each room. Another list she needed to make. She went downstairs. No need to wait until Saturday to do the laundry.

After starting the washing machine, she wandered into the
basement game room, so rarely used now that Quinn no longer lived at home. She opened one closet, so full of discarded games and toys, the door no longer shut completely. In the corner, in need of additional air, leaned the blow-up clown her child had often pummeled, with her encouragement, when he was angry about something. It had come in handy before the divorce, when Quinn had taken out his anger on his friends at the all-day preschool. With the teacher’s encouragement, Gillian had bought the toy and encouraged her son to use it. One day, when he finally stopped pummeling the clown, Quinn told her he was beating up Dad for being mean to her. At least he hadn’t tried to hit Owen.

Something else to do—clean out the closet, straighten it enough to be able to close the door.

Gillian hauled out the blow-up clown and added air to the big toy. The old clown looked a lot perkier all plumped up. Entirely too cheerful. She pushed at it and its head bounced away from her, the weighted feet remaining where they were. She pushed it again then slapped it. “Take that, Nick Talmadge,” she growled, slapping it a second time. Before long, she was yelling at the clown and hitting it with both hands. Her anger at Nick blossomed into rage as she used hands and feet to punish the blow-up toy.

Her breath was coming in short spurts when she heard someone banging on the back door. Gillian turned, caught her breath, and trotted upstairs.

Lauren smiled at her through the screen door. “I saw lights on and decided to check on you. Why are you out of breath? Exercising on Quinn’s old equipment?”

“Actually, I was beating
up Nick, aka that blow-up clown of Quinn’s.”

Lauren
snorted. “I’ll bet that felt good.”

Gillian nodded and brushed her hair off her forehead. “Want some coffee?”

“Sure.” Lauren took a seat in the kitchen. “What are you going to do today?”

“Your guess is as good as mine. I put clothes in the washer.
The dryer’s almost done with the first load. I suppose I could tackle the ironing.” She made a face. “I know I should do
something
. Just haven’t figured out what.”

“You said you might do some sketching when we talked last night.”

“I did, didn’t I? Maybe I will.” But she didn’t move from her seat across from Lauren. “To tell you the truth, I don’t have much energy to do anything at the moment, now that I’ve beaten Nick to a pulp.” A little chuckle escaped. Lauren snorted, and then they both burst out laughing.

“That’s a good start, if you ask me.”

“Quinn’s coming home this weekend.”

“Good. Have you told him what Nick did?”

“I never quite got around to it. Maybe over dinner. He said something about needing to talk.”

Lauren patted her hand. “I’m glad you have that clown toy. Put
ol’ Nick’s face on it and give him a few whacks for me, too. You deserve better.”

“
I went on a singles website.”

Lauren chuckled. “
Good for you. It’s about time you met some men. How long has it been?”