The Setup Read Online Free

floors had just been buffed to high gloss and she wanted to make sure that neither of the two deliverymen tracked in any more dirt than necessary.
    “Date?” she repeated, staring up at the strawberry blonde whose willowy figure she secretly envied. “What date?”
    “Ms. March,” the trucker mumbled into one of his two chins, abbreviating her surname as he struggled with the crate. It was obvious that he wanted to be back in the truck and on to his next destination.
    “Put it over there.” She gestured toward the wall farthest from the front entrance. “I just need you to take the tops off the crates and then you’re done.”
    Her announcement was greeted with relief by both men. The truckers made her think of bulls in a china shop. There were several delicate sculptures displayed in the gallery, and the truckers were accidents looking to happen.
    Renee shifted, blocking Sylvie’s view of thecrates. “We thought that maybe it was time you had a little break in your life, Sylvie. You’ve been pretty driven these past few years.”
    Funny, Sylvie thought. Driven was the last word she would have used to describe herself. But then, so would mother, and here she was, enjoying that role most of all.
    The taller of the two truckers brought her a clipboard with a crinkled yellow sheet to sign. She paused for a second to read it over and make sure she was signing for five paintings and not for the delivery of some East Indian elephant.
    “We?” she asked, putting pen to paper and signing with a flourish. “Just who’s ‘we’?” She surrendered the clipboard and pen to the trucker, who tore off a copy for her and handed it back. “Certainly not Mother.”
    “No,” Renee agreed, moving out of the way as the truckers ambled out the front entrance, pushing a huge dolly before them. “Not Mother. The rest of us. Charlotte, Melanie and me,” she added for good measure.
    For the first time, Sylvie glanced at the paper in Renee’s hand. It was from a dating service. God, how very button-down. Had it come to that? she wondered. Did she need to be matched up with someone via a computer? It wasn’t all that long ago she would just wander into a gathering of people, select someone she wanted to get to know and make eye contact. Nothing more was necessary. Now she’d been reduced to a collection of statistics input into a database.
    The very thought sent chills zipping up and down her spine and made her want to grab her child and her paint box and flee.
    Instead, she remained where she was, the irony of Renee’s words bringing a hint of a smile to her lips. “So you think I need a little break. I find that kind of amusing, coming from the non-social three.”
    The street entrance door slammed shut, signaling the departure of the truckers. The three crates stood with their tops removed, waiting for their contents to be lifted out and displayed. Ordinarily, nothing would have kept Sylvie from it. The paintings inside had been sent over from a museum for a limited time. But for the moment, they took a back seat to what was unfolding before her.
    A dating service?
    What in heaven’s name were her sisters thinking?
    She shook her head, looking at Renee. “I don’t exactly see the three of you kicking up your heels, either.”
    Renee stiffened ever so slightly. Love was something she had personally given up on. Most men she met wanted her solely as a decoration, arm candy to reinforce their own machismo. When they realized that there was an iron butterfly beneath the soft-spoken words, they quickly bowed out. She had become weary of having her hopes dashed and her heart used as a hockey puck. At thirty-seven, she’d never married and had come to the conclusion that she would remain that way.
    But she had no children, and Sylvie did. It wastime for her younger sister to get busy and start looking for a father for Daisy Rose. “One pair of heels at a time, Sylvie.”
    Sylvie pressed her lips together to keep her smile