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AFTER WE finished the gazpacho—store bought, if I knew Didi—she encouraged George to talk about himself.
"I consult back to my old insurance firm," he reported, "mostly handling the needs of two local universities, long-time customers of mine.
“I also sell if an opportunity presents itself," he elaborated, "but I don’t go very far out of my way for that anymore.”
“An opportunist,” I observed.
“I suppose that’s one way to put it.” He blinked uncomfortably as he served himself a dollop of mashed potatoes. "Also, I’ve been divorced for a year.”
Alarm flashed through me as swiftly as heat lightening.
“Do you play golf?” Will asked into the silence.
George answered no, then swiveled back toward me.
“Do you have family?” he inquired.
He didn’t want more succotash, so I set the bowl aside. “A newlywed daughter and a son in college.”
“Your son—what’s his name?—where does he go?”
“Garret. University of Virginia.”
“Oh! Good school,” George exclaimed.
“Guess what Garry asked me to send down right after he arrived.”
Didi guessed money.
“Food?” George offered, forking a bite of roast pork into his mouth.
“Nope. Golf clubs and a tuxedo.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Afraid not. I told him I needed to see some grades before the clubs got the okay. But it seems they still dress-up down there, so I sprung for a used tux from a rental shop."
“I suppose he’s home for summer?"
“Not yet. Somebody invited him to Cape Cod for a couple weeks.”
“Making the most of his opportunities.” George teased. Payback for my cheeky “opportunist” remark.
We all concentrated on our dinner for a bit. Then Didi stabbed the air with her index finger. “You know, Gin, George might have a problem for you to solve.”
George swallowed hard.
“Something about your son-in-law?” Didi hinted.
“Yes. Yes! He’s...he’s just...not nice.”
George’s comfort zone was a tiny dot in his rearview mirror; but if he wanted me to become interested in him, this wasn’t such a bad approach. I rested my chin on my fist and leaned in a little. “Does he abuse your daughter?”
“No. No! Nothing like that. At least I don’t think so.”
“Then what do you mean, not nice?”
“Not nice. He doesn’t help Susan with the baby. Doesn’t help her with anything that I can tell.” He set down his utensils. Contemplated his empty dinner plate.
“Lots of people get marriage wrong the first couple of times.” Didi’s contribution, but she was on her second marriage, her husband on his third. “Right, dear?”
Her present spouse agreed, but that was clearly all he planned to say on the subject.
“You think that’s all it is?” I pressed. “An unsuitable marriage?”
George fixed his hazel eyes on mine and admitted he didn’t know.
“None of our business, is it, really?”
“No, I suppose not," he concurred.
I stared at my salad.
“I do have a client I can’t find.” A weak effort, but an effort nonetheless.
“Why do you need to reach him? Or her?” I asked just to be polite.
“I...ah...thought I’d...no reason. I just couldn’t find him when I tried.”
“Don’t call me/I’ll call you sort of thing?”
“Er...uh...yes, I guess so.” Then suddenly the sun came out. “Susan’s getting a part-time job. How would you like to babysit?”
“Me?” I glanced from George, to Didi, to Will, and back.
George nodded vigorously. “Three half days a week. They just moved here from Jacksonville and don’t know many people. I said I’d ask around.”
The prospect horrified me, but to be honest I had just enough income to keep me and mine housed and fed and dressed as long as I didn’t become a world traveler or go in for collecting, well, anything. I had plenty of skills, but very few of them were marketable, and anyway I’d been spoiled by the freedom from employment Rip’s job afforded me. However, putting Garry through college was proving to be a bigger drain on the budget than I’d anticipated. A tuxedo, for God’s sake. What next? Lab fees and underwear?
“One kid? Two? Four? Eight?” I inquired.
“One boy about eighteen months.”
Resigning myself, I admitted, “I guess I could be interested.”
George slapped the table hard enough to rattle my wine glass. “Way to seize an opportunity.”
I grumbled something grouchy.
“Sorry, didn’t catch that.”
“Thanks,” I said loud enough to be heard.
I would soon learn that my first instinct was the hands-down winner.