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  “So don’t ruin this one,” Nanette said. “I was upset about you losing David, but that’s all right now. Just don’t lose Calvin, too.”

  “Mother, I don’t want him,” Min lied.

  “Of course you want him,” Nanette said. “You’ll have beautiful children.”

  “I don’t want those, either,” Min said. “New subject. I’m thinking about quitting my job to become a cook.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, dear,” Nanette said. “You around food? You’d blow up like a balloon.”

  “Thank you, Mother,” Min said. “I’m going to go now.”

  “Go where?”

  “I’m having dinner with Cal’s parents.”

  “That’s nice. Who are they?”

  “Jefferson and Lynne Morrisey. I don’t know—”

  “You’re having dinner with Lynne Morrisey?”

  “Yes,” Min said. “Because she gave birth to my date, otherwise, I wouldn’t be.”

  “Min,” her mother said, her voice dropping in respect. “Lynne Morrisey is huge in the Urban League.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Min said, thinking that was the first time she’d ever heard Nanette say “huge” with approval.

  “No carbs, darling,” Nanette said. “And tell me everything when you get home.”

  “Oh, dear Lord,” Min said and hung up to go back to her hair problem.

  When Cal knocked on her door, she and Elvis were contemplating a headband without much confidence.

  “Do you think a headband?” she said to Cal when she opened the door.

  “Christ, no,” he said, reaching down to pet the cat, who had come to purr at his feet. “Look at you, you’re in mourning again.”

  “Don’t even try to talk me out of this dress,” she said.

  He looked down. “At least give me your feet. How about the shoes with the black bows, the ones you wore the first night?”

  “Cal,” Min said.

  “It’s not a lot to ask,” he said, leaning in the doorway grinning at her. “Go change your shoes, Minnie, and then we’ll face the dragons together.”

  She smiled back in spite of herself. “That charm stuff doesn’t work on me,” she told him and went to change her shoes.

  Chapter Ten

  When they were in the car, she said, “Okay, give me the cheat sheet for your parents.”

  “There is none,” Cal said. “They will be very polite but not warm. We don’t have to chill the wine at home, the atmosphere does it for us.”

  “Oh, good,” Min said, “this is exactly the time I want to hear jokes.”

  But when they arrived at his parents’ home, she realized he wasn’t being funny. The house was large, one of the Prairie mansions that always looked to Min like ranch houses on steroids; the maid at the paneled door was polite, the paneled hall was cool, and when they went into what Min doubted they called the living room, Cal’s parents were downright frigid.

  “We’re so pleased to have you,” Lynne Morrisey said to Min, taking her hand. She didn’t look pleased; she didn’t look anything but darkly, stunningly, expensively beautiful, as did her husband, Jefferson, and her son, Reynolds, possibly the only man on the planet who made Cal look a little plain.

  “Min!” Harry said from behind her, and she turned and saw him towing Bink into the room.

  “Hey, you,” she said, bending down to him. “Thanks for the dinner invitation. I was starving.”

  Harry nodded and then leaned forward and whispered, “I like your shoes. The bows are neat.” He nodded at her, grinning maniacally.

  “Thank you,” Min whispered back, and stole a glance at Cal. His face was expressionless, and she realized he hadn’t said a word since they’d arrived. O-kay, she thought. Welcome to hell.

  She did her best to make politely chilly conversation until they were all seated and served with a series of plates beautifully presented with syrup swirls. Then she gave up and just ate.

  “What is it that you do, Minerva?” Jefferson said when they’d reached the filet-and-piped-potatoes course.

  Min swallowed and prayed she didn’t have anything in her teeth. “I’m an actuary.”

  “I see,” he said, not impressed but not scornful, either. “Who’s your employer?”

  “Alliance,” Min said, and went back to her rare beef. The food was both beautiful and excellent, she had to give the Morriseys credit for that, but it wasn’t Emilio’s. They needed a few comic ethnic photos on the wall to liven things up. Not that they’d ever admit to being ethnic. She glanced around the table. Irish, she’d bet, and not just because of the name. Dark and beautiful, all of them, in that austere, tragic way. She looked down at her lavishly presented plate. Although the potato famine was clearly behind them.

  “Dobbs,” Cal’s father said, and Min realized he’d been silent for a while. “George Dobbs is a vice president there.”

  “That’s my father,” Min said.

  Jefferson Morrisey smiled at her. “You went to work for your father’s firm.”

  “Well, it’s not as if he owns it,” Min said, positive there was a land mine somewhere in the conversation. “But he was a help in getting me the job.”

  “You didn’t need any help,” Cal said, his voice flat. “You’re an actuary. You must have had forty offers.”

  “There were a lot,” Min said, wondering what the hell was going on. “But there weren’t a lot of great offers. My dad helped.”

  “That was very wise of you,” Lynne Morrisey said.

  Min turned to meet her cold dark eyes and thought, I don’t want you approving of me, lady.

  “To take the help your father offered,” Lynne went on. “Very wise.”

  “Well.” Min put down her fork. “It came with no strings attached, so there wasn’t a down side.”

  Across the table, Reynolds smiled and became even better looking. I don’t like you, either, Min thought. Bink sat frozen, not in terror so much as in watchfulness, and between them, Harry clutched his fork and plowed his way through his piped potatoes, keeping an eye on everybody.

  “And many benefits, no doubt,” Jefferson was saying. “I’m sure your father helped you along the way.”

  “She made it on her own,” Cal said, his voice still flat. “Insurance companies are not sentimental. She holds the record for promotions within her company and nobody’s saying it’s because of her father. She’s smart, she’s hardworking, and she’s excellent at what she does.”

  There was something bleak and awful in his voice, out of proportion to the tension in the conversation, and Min discreetly put her hand on his back. Even through his suit coat, his muscles were so rigid that it was like patting cement. She felt him tense even tighter for a moment at her touch, and then his shoulders went down a little.

  “Of course she is,” Jefferson was saying, but he was looking at his wife, a half smile on his face. “We think it’s admirable of her that she followed in her father’s footsteps.”

  “My father’s not an actuary,” Min said.

  “Of course not, dear,” Lynne said, a little edge to her voice. “We admire you for making the right choice and staying in your father’s business.” She smiled past Min to Cal. “Don’t you think so, Cal?”

  “I don’t think Min ever makes a mistake,” Cal said. “This filet is excellent.”

  “Cal didn’t go into the family business,” Reynolds said, smiling at Min, pseudo-pals, and Min thought, And you are dumb as a rock to be the one who says that out loud.

  “Well, for heaven’s sake, why would he?” Min said brightly. She took her hand away from Cal’s back, thought, I’m never going to see these people again so screw ’em all.

  “Why would he go into the family business?” Lynne echoed, raising one eyebrow, which annoyed Min because she was pretty sure she couldn’t do it. “Because it’s his legacy.”

  “No,” Min said, and across from her, Bink’s eyes widened even farther. “It would be completely wrong for him. He’s clearly d