Sandpiper Way (Cedar Cove #8)(51)

Cliff had told her that this game would determine the team’s ranking in the playoffs later in the season. Grace liked football well enough, but at the moment it seemed irrelevant to her. She was too concerned about Olivia.

When she got to the cafeteria, she stood in line with a couple of male nurses and reached for a midsize cup. Someone came to stand behind her, but she didn’t look over her shoulder.

“Hello, Grace.”

She made an effort to disguise the effect Will Jefferson’s voice had on her. She shouldn’t be surprised that he’d shown up at the hospital. Olivia was, after all, his sister, and he was as worried as anyone. Apparently he’d visited Olivia yesterday evening, but their paths hadn’t crossed.

She turned. “Hello, Will.” She spoke in a controlled, even voice. Their history made her wary of him. It wouldn’t be out of character for Will to say or do something to make her uncomfortable.

“How’s my sister?”

“There hasn’t been any change since early this morning.”

“She’s out of danger, isn’t she?”

She nodded. “Immediate danger, yes. She’s still fighting the infection.”

“Poor Liv,” he murmured.

Grace reached the coffee machine and filled her cup. Will followed and filled his own. She noticed that his shoulders were wet.

“It’s raining?” she asked, disappointed because that meant she couldn’t go out for fresh air.

“Afraid so,” Will said. “Actually, I was hoping for snow.”

Grace smiled. “You and every school-age child in Cedar Cove.”

Will grinned back at her. “Hey, I guess I’m still a kid at heart.”

“Apparently so.” In more ways than one, she mused. She got to the cash register and was digging in her pocket for change when Will beat her to it.

“Both coffees,” he instructed the cashier.

“Thank you, Will, but that isn’t necessary.”

He shrugged. “Consider it a peace offering.” He gestured toward an empty table. “Do you have a few minutes?”

Grace hesitated.

“If Cliff objects, I’ll understand.”

Grace knew he was baiting her. Her husband wasn’t an unreasonable man, nor was he particularly jealous, although Will had given him cause to doubt her.

“I just wanted to ask you a few questions about the gallery,” he said.

She looked pointedly at her watch. “I don’t suppose five minutes would hurt.”

“Good.” He led the way to a small table and sat down.

Grace joined him.

“I signed the final papers last week,” he said proudly.

“Already? I didn’t think you were taking over until January.”

“I didn’t, either, but the paperwork went smoothly and there was no reason to wait. The previous owners thought it would be to their advantage tax-wise to close early, so I agreed.”

“Congratulations.” She raised her cup in a gesture of celebration.

Will touched his own cup against hers. “If not for Olivia, I would never have known about the gallery.”

“The community is grateful.” Grace knew the art gallery had given many local artists their start. Jon Bowman, her son-in-law, was one of them. His photography was first displayed at the Harbor Street Gallery back in the days when Maryellen had managed it.

In fact, they’d met through the gallery. Jon’s work was displayed in a large Seattle gallery these days, and he now had an agent. His photographs appeared in print ads, including a series of high-profile tourism ads for the state.

“I was astonished at the amount of artistic talent in this area,” Will told her. “When’s the last time you were in the gallery?”

Grace had to admit it had been some time. “I’ve only been by once or twice since Maryellen left.” Her daughter had been instrumental in the success of the Harbor Street Gallery. When Maryellen was forced to give up her job due to a difficult pregnancy, the gallery’s fortunes had steadily declined.

“That’s the message I’m getting from everyone,” Will said. “I’m talking to Maryellen, of course, but I’m also meeting with local artists and getting their suggestions on how to generate interest in the gallery again.”

“That’s a great idea,” she said, and meant it.

“Thanks.” He accepted her praise in an offhand manner. Staring down at his coffee, he asked, “Do you know Shirley Bliss?”

The name was vaguely familiar to Grace. “I think so…I seem to recall Maryellen being impressed with her work.”

“She’s a fabric artist. She quilts, but she also uses other techniques and she’s very inventive about materials. Her work’s really exciting.”

The gallery had occasionally displayed fabric art, like Shirley’s, but had tended to feature paintings and photography.

Will glanced up. “I’m hoping Shirley has some fresh ideas. We’re meeting this week. I’d like to do more with fabric art.” He added a little more sugar to his coffee and stirred. “Quilting and knitting are incredibly popular activities these days—as my mother has pointed out.”

Grace nodded. “That’s true.”

“Mom thought I should have a special quilt display,” Will said. “They’re usually seen as practical—you know, a traditional domestic craft—but they can be works of art.”