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“Is it about your father?”
Sunny looked at her blankly. “What about my father?”
“Nothing.”
A few people on the sidewalk stopped to watch, none of them trying to be discreet about it. Sunny, the busy executive, tapped impatient fingers on the steering wheel. “Are you sure you can’t spare a few minutes from your busy schedule to discuss a possible business venture?”
“Business venture?”
“I’ve seen your jewelry. I want to talk. Get in.”
Meg’s plan for the future was foggy at best. She weighed the risk of postponing her departure for an hour against the benefit of hearing what Sunny had to say. Sunny might be a pain in the ass, but she was also a smart businesswoman. Meg set aside her reluctance to enter an enclosed space with another Skipjack and got in the car.
“Did you hear there was an article in the Wall Street Journal, of all places, about Ted’s contest?” Sunny said as she pulled out into the street. “Part of a series on creative approaches to charitable fund-raising.”
“No, I hadn’t heard that.”
She drove with one hand on the wheel. “Every time one of those stories comes out, the bidding goes up. All this national attention is getting pricey, but I haven’t splurged on anything for a long time.” Sunny’s cell rang. She slipped it under the sickle of shiny dark hair that swung over her ear. “Hi, Dad.”
Meg stiffened.
“Yes, I read the memo, and I spoke to Wolfburg,” Sunny said. “I’ll call Terry this evening.”
They talked for another few minutes about lawyers and the land deal. Meg’s thoughts drifted back to Ted, only to be brought up short as Sunny said, “I’ll have to check on that later. Meg and I are hanging out right now.” She looked over at Meg and rolled her eyes. “No, you’re not invited to join us. Talk to you later.” She listened for a moment, frowned, then disconnected. “He sounded pissed. What’s up with you two?”
Meg welcomed the flood of anger. “Your father isn’t good at taking no for an answer.”
“That’s why he’s successful. He’s smart and focused. I don’t understand why you’re giving him such a hard time. Or maybe I do.”
Meg didn’t want to have this conversation, and she regretted getting in the car. “You wanted to talk about my jewelry,” she said as they turned out onto the highway.
“You’re underselling. Your pieces are distinctive, and they have snob appeal. You need to reposition yourself for the high-end market. Go to New York. Use your contacts to meet the right buyers. And stop wasting your merchandise on the locals. You can’t build a serious design reputation in East Jesus, Texas.”
“Good advice,” Meg replied as they passed the Roustabout. “I thought we were going for a drink.”
“Short detour to the landfill.”
“I’ve already seen it, and I really don’t want to go back.”
“I need to take some pictures. We won’t stay long. Besides, we can talk in private there.”
“I’m not sure we need a private conversation.”
“Sure we do.” Sunny turned into the lane that led to the landfill. It had received a fresh coat of gravel since Meg was last here, the time she and Ted had made love against the side of the truck. Another wave of pain punched her in the chest.
Sunny pulled up next to the rusted sign, grabbed a camera from her purse, and got out, every gesture, every movement, purposeful. Meg had never met anyone so self-confident.
She wasn’t going to cower in the car, and she stepped out, too. Sunny put the camera to her eye and focused on the landfill. “This is the future of Wynette.” The shutter clicked. “At first, I was opposed to building here, but after I got to know the town and the people better, I changed my mind.”
After you got to know Ted Beaudine, Meg thought.
She took more shots, shifting her angle. “It’s really a unique place. The bedrock of America and all that. Generally, Dad’s not crazy about small towns, but everybody’s been so great to him here, and he loves being able to play with guys like Dallie and Ted and Kenny.” She lowered the camera. “As for me . . . It’s no secret I’m interested in Ted.”
“You and the rest of the female universe.”
Sunny smiled. “But, unlike the rest, I’m also an engineer. I can meet him as an intellectual equal, and how many other women can say that?”
Not me, Meg thought.
