“Nice pictures.” Mack said to his daughter.
“They’re called paintings, Daddy! Not pictures.”
Mack’s wife chimed in, “We’re off to the bathroom for a time out!” She wrangled two unruly boys.
It was hard for Mack to return to New York City. He thought about the life he once had there and the woman in it. Now he was back and the woman was the reason. Shelby was an artist from Austin, Texas who made the leap from unknown to known. She was doing what she hated most, mingling. Mack was an arms length from her when she saw him. Gulping from the glass of Beaujolais, she poked him in the ribs. “What do you think? Does my art show any promise?”
He turned and faced the woman he had always been in love with. “It’s not your best, but it’s good.” Mack winked. “Nice to see you again, Shelby.”
The little girl ran to her. “I saw your picture in a magazine! Someday I want to paint as good as you.”
“You mean well. Paint as well.” she corrected. “Mack, aren’t you going to introduce me?”
“This is my daughter, Harbour Joy.”
Shelby and Mack locked eyes on a secret buried years ago.
Monica exited the restroom with two year olds on each hip. One side of her dress was hiked inside her panty hose and smudged lipstick from little boy kisses on her face. “Hi. I’m Monica, Mack’s wife. You must be Shelby.”
“Nice to meet you. You have your hands full!”
“That’s for sure.” she laughed. “I’m so impressed with your work, just brilliant.” The boys, bored, started fighting. Monica divided her time between the adults and the children, ever the consummate mate. “Rocky! Did you bite your brother again?” She shook her head and tightened them on her hips, dodging the blows they hurled at each other. “Pardon me, back to the lavatory.” Grabbing a tissue from her purse, she dabbed  a bloody nose. 
In the space left by Monica’s absence, Shelby asked Harbour, “Would you like to see my work first hand?”
Harbour gleamed. They took each other’s hand and headed down the rows of paintings. Mack walked behind them, admiring how similar they were. Blond hair, blue eyes, muscular legs, as though they belonged together.
“Harbour,” Mack interrupted them, “Will you get Daddy some punch? I want to talk to Shelby for a minute.”
Harbour huffed. “Okay, but I get her back.”
Shelby laughed, “You got it!”
Mack stood in front of her, hands clasped at his waist. “I see you still wear cowgirl boots.”
She smiled. “Does that surprise you?”

“I couldn’t afford to buy the one’s you’re wearing.”

“I gave the ones you bought me to charity.” She teased.

“The boots and I have something in common.”

“Don’t do that, Mack. Please. There’s no need to open a can of worms.”  Shelby kicked the floor like Texas dirt. “Why did you name her Harbour Joy? That was going to be the name of our daughter.”

“Talk about  letting worms out of the can! What difference does it make, Shelby? I don’t have the answer. I just knew she was meant to be.  Things didn’t turn out the way I thought they would. You were supposed to be her mother.  I didn’t believe in you, I guess.”

“No, Mack, you didn’t believe in me, yourself or us. That’s why I had to leave. It’s not important anymore. You have a beautiful family. You have Harbour Joy. Things work out the way they do for a reason.” As strong as she sounded, as strong as she hoped to be when this moment came, tears welled her eyes and she turned away. “Tell your wife I’m glad you could make it. Get the little one a rabies shot.” she smiled, wiping a silent tear. Shelby gained strength as Harbour made her way back. “Harbour! Come give me some sugar!” She held her close while looking into Mack’s eyes. “Back to mingling again. I am so glad you came by to see my pictures.”

“You mean paintings.” Harbour corrected.

“You’re right, Harbour Joy.”  Shelby said  as she walked away.

“And one day you will paint as well as me.”

The twins ran to  Mack. “Daddy! Can we go now?” 
“Monica, I think we should head back to Austin. A week in New York City is enough.” Mack picked up the boys and kissed his wife. 
“Where is Shelby?” Monica asked. “I want to thank her for inviting us.”
“She had to leave…”
Her cowgirl boots kicked concrete on a New York City street. It wasn’t the same as Texas dirt.