Page 17 of Romance and Peppermint Lattes
Turning her new apartment into a home was the least of her worries, however. She had yet to tell her parents that she’d quit her job. Their reaction would be as predictable as Nolan’s.
The phone seemed to draw her. Slowly she walked across the room toward it, sighing deeply. Her fingers closed tightly around the receiver. Before she could change her mind, she closed her eyes, punched out the number and waited.
Her mother answered almost immediately.
“I was sitting at my desk,” Muriel Simpson explained. She seemed delighted to hear from Maryanne. “How’s Seattle? Are you still as fascinated with the Northwest?”
“More than ever,” Maryanne answered without a pause; what she didn’t say was that part of her fascination was now because of Nolan.
“I’m pleased you like it so well, but I don’t mind telling you, sweetie, I miss you terribly.”
“I haven’t lived at home for years,” Maryanne reminded her mother.
“I know, but you were so much closer to home in Manhattan than you are now. I can’t join you for lunch the way I did last year.”
“Seattle’s lovely. I hope you’ll visit me soon.” But not too soon, she prayed.
“Sometime this spring, I promise,” Muriel said. “I was afraid once you settled there all that rain would get you down.”
“Mother, honestly, New York City has more annual rainfall than Seattle.”
“I know, dear, but in New York the rain all comes in a few days. In Seattle it drizzles for weeks on end, or so I’ve heard.”
“It’s not so bad.” Maryanne had been far too busy to pay much attention to the weather. Gathering her courage, sheforged ahead. “The reason I called is that I’ve got a bit of exciting news for you.”
“You’re madly in love and want to get married.”
Muriel Simpson was looking forward to grandchildren and had been ever since Maryanne’s graduation from college. Both her brothers, Mark and Sean, were several years younger, so Maryanne knew the expectations were all focused on her. For the past couple of years they’d been introducing her to suitable young men.
“It’s nothing that dramatic,” Maryanne said, then, losing her courage, she crossed her fingers behind her back and blurted out, “I’ve got a special assignment... for the—uh—paper.” The lie nearly stuck in her throat.
“A special assignment?”
All right, she was stretching the truth about as far as it would go, and she hated doing it. But she had no choice. Nolan’s reaction would look tame compared to her parents’ if they ever found out she was working as a janitor. Rent-A-Maid gave it a fancy name, but basically she’d been hired to clean. It wasn’t a glamorous job, nor was it profitable, but it was honest work and she needed something to tide her over until she made a name for herself in her chosen field.
“What kind of special assignment?”
“It’s a research project. I can’t really talk about it yet.” Maryanne decided it was best to let her family assume the “assignment” was with the newspaper. She wasn’t happy about this; in fact, she felt downright depressed to be misleading her mother this way, but she dared not hint at what she’d actually be doing. The only comfort she derived was from the prospect of showing them her published work in a few months.
“It’s not anything dangerous, is it?”
“Oh, heavens, no,” Maryanne said, forcing a light laugh. “But I’m going to be involved in it for several weeks, so I won’tbe mailing you any of my columns, at least not for a while. I didn’t want you to wonder when you didn’t hear from me.”
“Will you be travelling?”
“A little.” Only a few city blocks, as a matter of fact, but she couldn’t very well say so. “Once everything’s completed, I’ll get in touch with you.”
“You won’t even be able to phone?” Her mother’s voice carried a hint of concern.
Not often, at least not on her budget, Maryanne realized regretfully.
“Of course I’ll phone,” she hurried to assure her mother. She didn’t often partake in subterfuge, and being new to the game, she was making everything up as she went along. She hoped her mother would be trusting enough to take her at her word.
“Speaking of your columns, dear, tell me what happened with that dreadful reporter who was harassing you earlier in the month.”
“Dreadful reporter?” Maryanne repeated uncertainly. “Oh,” she said with a flash of insight. “You mean Nolan Adams.”
“That’s his name?” Her mother’s voice rose indignantly. “I hope he’s stopped using that column of his to irritate you.”
