Her Great Expectations. Joan Kilby

      Jack stirred the curry. He and Renita were close, but there were things he hadn’t told his sister about the crash. Didn’t she get that he’d tried to move on? “I asked a woman out today.”

      Renita lowered her prawn cracker. “Jack, that’s wonderful! Are we going to meet her tonight?”

      “Don’t get excited. She said no.” He measured rice and water into the rice cooker and sprinkled in salt. “They always discover my hidden personality defects and scram.”

      “What’s her name?” Renita said, getting back to the point.

      “I didn’t ask.” He was still kicking himself for that oversight. “She’s just a woman I met over Kaffir lime leaves in the grocery shop. She must be new around here. I’ve never seen her before.” Or she could have been passing through. An unwelcome thought.

      “Did you invite her to dinner?”

      “I all but issued a standing invitation for every Saturday night from now till eternity.”

      “And she declined,” Renita deduced. “Any sensible woman would. You should have asked her out for coffee first.”

      “Yeah, maybe, but I was getting good vibes. Then I mentioned a dinner party and her smile wilted like week-old lettuce.”

      “Could be she doesn’t eat.” Renita started taking items out of the box she’d brought. “Was she superskinny?”

      “No, she seemed just right,” Jack said, thinking back to her soft curves, partly hidden beneath her jacket. Then he shrugged. “Never mind. It was just a spur-of-the-moment thing. You know me—I’d invite the postman for breakfast.”

      Six months after the crash and fresh out of the hospital, he actually had asked the postie in for coffee. Begged, in fact, offering to drive Irwin around on his route to make up for the lost time. It had been one of those days when the walls vibrated with silence and empty rooms echoed with the voices of the dead. Jack had gone a little crazy. He’d probably be in the loony bin right now if Irwin hadn’t obligingly drunk three cups of coffee and listened to Jack ramble on. Not that Jack had said anything of significance. He’d yakked about local politics, the weather, anything but his grief and guilt.

      The crash had been a turning point for Jack. Before, he’d run a successful light-aircraft charter, rebuilt airplane engines and worked on his own invention, an improved global positioning system for small planes. After the crash he’d walked away from the business, the flying and his broken GPS, now shrouded in plastic in his work shed. He’d had no paid employment for three years. Investments and insurance payouts kept him in groceries, paid the mortgage and financed cheap extended holidays. His family sometimes got after him to go back to work, but mostly they supported whatever he chose to do. Personally, he didn’t see a single thing wrong with his lifestyle. Wasn’t it everyone’s dream to have enough money and leisure to travel and pursue hobbies while they were young enough to enjoy it?

      Now Jack made a career out of making sure he was always surrounded by family and friends.

      Life was too short to spend it working. As subtext to that motto was another. “Never alone, never lonely.” The one thing his mother and sisters would say he lacked was intimacy, but they were women—and women were never content until a man was hooked up for life.

      The doorbell rang. Before Jack could react, it rang again. And again. He caught Renita’s eye. They burst out laughing and said in unison, “Lexie.” Jack didn’t bother going down the hall. Lexie would be inside before he got there. The bell was less a request for entry than an announcement of her impending whirlwind arrival.

      Sure enough, a moment later their older sister hurried into the kitchen clutching a wine bottle, her shoulder-length curly blond hair swinging behind her as if trying to catch up. Lexie was thirty-eight going on eighteen, and about as responsible as an eight-year-old, but her smile lit a room. “When do we eat? I’m starving.”

      “Jack’s met someone,” Renita announced.

      “I haven’t.” Jack shot her a warning frown.

      “Who is she?” Lexie squealed, ignoring Jack’s denial. She reached for a wineglass, her fingers clean but permanently stained with oil paints. Tonight she’d changed out of the equally stained, loose shirt she wore while working on portraits and into a long Indian cotton skirt and a V-necked T-shirt. A fractured stripe of cobalt-blue curved around her forearm like a tattooed bracelet.

      “No one,” Jack said firmly.

      “A mystery woman who likes to cook,” Renita said.

      “I’m not sure about that,” Jack protested.

      “She was after Kaffir lime leaves,” Renita pointed out. “Not exactly a staple ingredient in most households.”

      “She sounds perfect,” Lexie said. “When do we meet her?”

      Thankfully Jack was saved from having to answer by the arrival of Ron and Diane. Glenn and Sharon got there a few minutes later. Soon Jack’s kitchen-cum-family-room was filled with talk and laughter. They poured wine into glasses and set dishes on the long jarrah-wood table surrounded by mismatched wooden chairs all painted a warm deep red. Work clothes had been shed for jeans; everyone had come ready to relax.

      Renita’s appetizer took longer to prepare than she’d anticipated, but no one minded. They ate her garlicky skewered prawns standing around the kitchen counter, jostling good-naturedly for space, three different conversations going at once.

      Jack teased his sisters and joked with his friends, but his thoughts returned over and over to a certain pair of fine gray-green eyes. He was all stocked up, but he found himself thinking about his next trip to the greengrocer. What were the chances he’d run into her again? And could he wait a whole week?

      GARLIC AND CHOPPED ONIONS were sizzling in the frying pan. The chicken was on a plate to one side, waiting to be sliced into strips. A bottle of curry paste sat defiantly next to the chicken. Glancing at the clock, Sienna frowned. It was nearly seven-thirty. Glyneth and Rex were late.

      “See you later, Mum.” Oliver strode through the kitchen, pulling on his jacket. “I’m going to Jason’s now.”

      Sienna tossed the onion and garlic skins into the garbage. “Aren’t you staying for dinner?”

      “We’re going to get a pizza.”

      Sienna sighed gustily, blowing back the same wayward lock of hair that always came loose and fell over her forehead. Pizza sounded good about now. “Be home by eleven.”

      “One o’clock.” Oliver sniffed the air. “Is something burning?”

      With a cry, Sienna whirled to see acrid smoke wafting up from the pan. She flipped the gas off and turned on the fan to carry away the odor of scorched garlic.

      “Midnight,” she said firmly to Oliver. “Call me if you need a ride.”

      “I’ll walk. It’s only a few blocks.”

      “Don’t forget your key.”

      “I won’t. See you later.”

      Sienna grabbed the frying pan and took it to the sink. As she scraped out the burned onion and garlic she heard Oliver’s footsteps in the tiled hall, then a moment later the front door shut with a snick.

      The phone rang and she left the pan in the sink to reach for the cordless handset on the counter. “Hello?”

      “It’s me,” Glyneth said, sounding harried as she spoke above the sound of traffic. “The car’s broken down on the freeway. Rex thinks it’s the fuel pump. We’ve called the auto association, but it’s going to be a couple of hours before they get here. I wanted to take a taxi, but Rex won’t leave his stupid Jag and I don’t have the heart to abandon him. We’re not going to make it, Sienna. I’m sorry.”

      “Oh, hell. I was so