“Thank you,” he said, his face still close enough for kissing.
“For what?”
“For tonight. For last night. For being you.” He punctuated each phrase with a kiss. “I don’t know if I believe in fate, but it wasn’t just my father who brought me to this town.”
She smiled, recognizing the thought. “I know.”
Because she knew, because she made it all so easy for him, and because he needed to, he kissed her, deeply and greedily. This time there was no holding back, no deferring to the newness of the relationship or the qualms of revealing all he truly was—possessive, forceful, demanding. A tiny helpless moan of surrender aroused his killer instincts. He was poised to move in for the kill when he heard it again and reined himself in. With the small smacking noise of their lips parting ringing in his ears, he held her away from him. She was so beautiful, and so his ... his heart contracted painfully in his chest, his lungs seized. There was nothing more he wanted from the world than to take her, devour her—except to cherish and indulge her.
This might have been the time, but it wasn’t the place.
“I better get you home,” he said, swallowing hard.
“Back to your place?” Such a wild feral light came to his eyes that her breath caught in her throat. In one of those unreal moments that didn’t have anything to do with anything, she recalled hearing that the tiny little hearts of chipmunks and squirrels were known to beat so hard and so fast in times of great excitement or fear that they sometimes exploded, and wondered vaguely if that same phenomenon could or had ever happened to a human. Unconsciously she reached to calm hers. “My car. It’s at your house. I followed you home.”
He closed his eyes, then chuckled silently at himself. “Yes,” he said, smiling back. “Yes. Yes, it is. Yes, you did. Yes.”
They both knew and rejoiced in the fact that a deed half done wasn’t done at all. Their time would come.
CHAPTER SIX
STEP SIX
Whether you think you can
or think you can’t, you’re right.
—Henry Ford
The power of positive thinking far exceeds that of a hydrogen bomb. It cures diseases, discovers new worlds, takes pictures of Mars, and, in general, makes you feel just fine. Try it. Be that Little Engine that could. Think you can, and you will.
SHE WOKE UP HUMMING. She had her whole day planned before she had her eyes open.
Ellen figured there were good points and not so good points to every season that passed through Quincey—hence she had no favorite. Winter was cold but beautiful, peaceful. Spring was fresh and new; unpredictable and soggy at the same time. Fall was busy and dying at once. And summer was hot and hotter with a scattering of days that were so perfect, they renewed the soul and made life a pure joy.
It was one of those days—the pure joy kind. The sky was a bright, bright blue with fluffy white cotton clouds drifting slow and lazy from west to east. Pushing them was a cool soft breeze that kept the t-e-r from connecting with hot, as it rustled the leaves in the trees. Birds sang and flowers perfumed the air. Felix was safe and sober, albeit hungover, in jail. Her mother was planning to bail him out at noon and take him home while Ellen straightened things out with Tom Krane. But best of all, she was in love—and she and Jonah had rescheduled their dinner for that night.
All in all, a perfect summer day. Felix was safe, her heart was full of love, and the little green book predicted success—she was thinking that a little artful seduction was in order. Either that or she was going to start gnawing on the furniture. She’d tossed and turned the whole night through, waking fully once or twice to wonder if her restlessness was due to Felix’s imbroglio or the titillating dreams she incurred whether her eyes were closed or not.
She hadn’t actually done much seducing in the past. Too-nice people tended not to be vamps. But she’d been to the movies and had a general idea of the concept, and with the looks Jonah had given her the previous night, and the kisses ... well, how hard could it be? Besides, Jonah was taking too long. If she’d kissed any other man the way she’d kissed him, at the very least some serious groping would have occurred by now. But not with Jonah. Oh, he wanted her, a doorknob could see he wanted her. But despite the intimacy of his kisses and the controlled passion in his eyes, his hands and his manner had been nothing but gentle and tender and respectful.
She buttoned the button and zipped the zipper on her dark moss-green slacks and didn’t miss the cunning grin on her face when she stepped in front the mirror to check the fit. She hadn’t missed the I’ve-had-sex-around-the-world-in-eighty-days-and-you’ve-never-been-outside-Indiana disposition he’d displayed either. An excited giggle escaped her. Experience wasn’t everything. He’d have a whole new perspective and a different kind of respect for her after tonight.
She was going to love him so hard and so well, he’d blank out every other encounter he’d ever had. She was going to love him so deeply and so generously that he’d forget every moment he’d ever spent alone and lonely. She was going to love him so totally, he’d be able to feel her in every cell of his body and he’d never again know where he ended and she began ... or vice versa.
With the matching dark moss-green jacket hung over one arm, she was dumping the contents of one purse into another when she thought she heard a soft rapping at her door.
“Mrs. Phipps,” she said when she opened the door, a strange mix of surprise and alarm washing over her. She rarely came to her door, because Ellen spent a great deal of time in Mrs. Phipps’s apartment, but also because climbing stairs was hard for her. “What are you doing up here? I thought we agreed you wouldn’t use the stairs unless someone was with you?”
“Oh, I’m fine,” the old woman said, smiling a bit. She didn’t look fine, she looked ill at ease. “We just wanted to thank you for leaving our things by our door when you came in last night. We were still up, we heard you. We guessed you just didn’t want to disturb us at that hour.”
To save time, Ellen fastened up her purse and slipped on her jacket while she asked, “Are you having trouble sleeping?”
“None at all. We were just awake.” She watched as Ellen held Bubba out of her apartment with one foot while reaching for the door to close it. “We brought you a warm muffin,” Mrs. Phipps said, an uncommon timidity in her voice. She held up a dishcloth-covered plate that Ellen hadn’t noticed till then. “Blueberry. Our favorite.”
“Oh. Thank you,” she said, taking the plate. And again to save time, she took the old lady’s arm and turned her toward the staircase. “Here, let me help you back down. I’m running a little late this morning, but I’ll take this with me. I’ll thank you again during my coffee break.”
“We thought you had a little more time yet. You don’t usually leave this early,” the woman said, stepping down slowly and carefully, so unsure of each step that they might as well have been moving. “We thought some tea and a muffin ...”
“Oh, no,” Ellen said with a small laugh, gently supporting her and trying hard not to hurry the old bones down to the landing. She knew no was enough, that an explanation wasn’t necessary, but this was Mrs. Phipps, after all. “I don’t really have time for tea this morning. I’m going in early because I want some extra time at lunch for some errands I want to run. ...” And, recalling that Mrs. Phipps was the Queen of Errands, she added, “I don’t have a minute to spare today.”
“Oh.”
Every rule in the little green book flashed through her mind, and still she couldn’t stop herself. “Can I have a rain check on that tea?”
“Yes. Yes, of course, dear. We’re always happy to see you. Any time you have free, we’ll have tea.”
“Thanks, Mrs. Phipps. And thanks for the muffin,” she said, lifting the dish towel once they’d reached level ground. With muffin in hand, she hurried down the hall toward the back of the house, calling, “Have a good day, Mrs. Phipps.”
“Quincey First Federal. This is Ellen,” she announced into th
e telephone. It was midmorning and already the people of Quincey were showing frequent signs of stress and concern over their finances. Ellen was worried about them. “How may I help you today?”
“You can come across the street and let me kiss you, for a start.”
There was half a second of panic and confusion before the voice registered. She laughed.
“I’d love to, but I haven’t even had time for a coffee break this morning,” she said, eyeing the crumby remnants of Mrs. Phipps’s muffin on the tissue in front of her.
“I noticed. I almost brought you a cup, to help wash down your muffin.”
“My ...” She laughed and swiveled her chair to the big picture window. Across the street he waved his cordless phone at her. “Is your eyesight that good? Or have you been using binoculars?”
“If I had, I’d know what kind of muffin it was.”
“Blueberry.”
“Ah. Thank you, that was driving me nuts.”
They grinned at each other. There were a lot of things driving them nuts; the distance between the bank and the camera shop was definitely one of them.
“Guess what I found out this morning,” he said. He almost shuddered at how eager he sounded. Sharing wasn’t exactly his forte, but he could hardly contain himself. So strange, it was as if his left hand were telling his right hand what it was doing, what it was feeling and sensing, as if he needed to share with her to feel balanced and more coordinated, to feel whole.
“What?”
“I stopped by to check on my father this morning, to see if the doctor had anything new to say.”
“And?”
“And he didn’t, but that’s not it. What I called you about.”
“Okay.” She waited expectantly.
“His nurse came in while I was there and started cleaning up his room, you know, putting his bath things away and getting ready to change the sheets and throwing out dead flowers. ...” He hesitated, as excited about his news as he was about sharing it. “So I thanked her, for the flowers.”
“Why?”
An incredulous noise. “I thought she’d been bringing them. Her or some charity organization, or a group of little old ladies who bring flowers to sick people to cheer them up. Sick people with no families—”
“You didn’t bring them?”
“No, I ... I didn’t think ...” He didn’t think his father would notice or appreciate flowers. “No. I wish I had.”
“So, who’s been bringing them? I don’t think nurses do that.”
“They don’t usually,” he said with a small laugh. “She thought I was crazy. Told me that if nurses brought flowers to every sick person they cared for, there wouldn’t be a single bloom left on the face of the planet.”
“Who’s been bringing them, then?”
“Well,” he said, rather pleased with his investigative results, “apparently my father has a lady visitor every afternoon.”
“Really?”
“Yep. I sometimes check on him in the morning and I usually go every evening, but since I opened the shop, I’ve been skipping afternoon visiting hours. It never occurred to me that anyone else had been visiting him.”
She smiled at him through the window. “So you’ll be taking a long lunch today too.”
“Too?”
“I have some errands to run.”
“Oh. Yes. Late too. Afternoon visiting hours are from two to four.”
“Aren’t you dying to know who it is? I am,” she said, the excitement in her bubbling in her voice. “I won’t be able to think of anything else till I know.”
He laughed. “You have three lines blinking there. Get back to work. I’ll call you later, as soon as I know.”
“Okay. Jonah?”
“Yes?”
“I’m looking forward to tonight.”
His smile flashed in the window across the street. She squinted. It was a deep-down happy smile. She’d seen it before. He used it every time he was deep-down happy, whether it had anything to do with her or not.
“Me too. See you later.”
“You’re making it way too easy for him,” Vi said, stepping around the petition before Ellen could connect to a blinking light. “Men like a little chase before they catch their prey.”
Ellen cast her friend a torpid glance, pushed a red button, and made her announcement, then added, “Do you have that account number handy, Mrs. Walker? Good. One moment please.” She put Mrs. Walker on hold and while she looked up her account on the computer, said, “It’s not like that, Vi. We don’t need to play games. We don’t want to. We like being honest with each other. Telling each other what’s on our mind, how we feel ... it’s ... I don’t know. It feels so natural and right to be with him. Mrs. Walker? Yes, check number seven-fifty-two was written for the amount of $45.67 on July seventh. Yes, ma’am. You’re welcome.” She pushed another button and repeated the procedure. “I’ve never felt this way before. It’s different than anything I’ve ever known.”
Vi smiled, though her expression was thoughtful as she studied her friend’s face. “Good for you, kiddo. I’m glad for you. In fact ... you look”—a vague shake of her head—“different. New vitamins? Or is it love?”
Ellen giggled. “Yes. I think so.” And she thought of her little green book. “And more. A new outlook on life.”
Vi’s brows rose with interest. “What triggered this spontaneous evolution?”
She glanced out the window. “He did. And you did. You helped. You were right, you know. I used to be way too nice. I’m standing up for myself now. Taking what I want. It feels great.”
“Like the loan officer position when Mary has her baby?”
“Yes. I told Joleen I’d quit if I didn’t get it.”
“Did you know Lisa Lee was interested in it too?”
“Sure. But I have seniority. I should have it.”
“I didn’t know you were all that interested in loans,” she said, a furrow forming between her eyes.
“I’m not. But it’s not like it’s a permanent position. And it can’t hurt to know that stuff. Don’t worry. I won’t leave you here to handle customer service alone for very long.”
“That’s not what I’m worried about,” she said. There was an odd tone in her voice as she slipped back around the partition.
Ellen thought she almost sounded angry, but about what? The blinking lights were multiplying like rabbits on her phone. She shrugged and pushed another button.
Vi wasn’t going to be any happier with her when she didn’t come back from lunch on time on such a busy day, but that couldn’t be helped. Neither of her errands were the emergencies she’d told Joleen about, but with the right attitude those little white lies that never really hurt anyone and that everyone resorted to now and again were becoming easier and easier to tell people. Besides, how many times had she covered for Vi over the years? A hundred zillion times? She’d get over it.
Especially if Ellen showed her what her first mission had accomplished.
Most days Gerald’s Ladies’ Apparel was a little too rich for Ellen’s tastes, and particularly for her pocketbook. But today it was the only place to go to get what she wanted. And Vi would wholeheartedly approve when she told her she’d finally bought something there. Vi swore they had a better selection of ladies’ lingerie than most of the X-rated catalogues she subscribed to.
Sure enough, in less than thirty minutes she was in the fitting room, a teal blue negligee slinking over her skin like something spun by elves and sprinkled with fairy dust. She stood sideways in the mirror, one shoulder of the robe drifting loose to her elbow, her hair full and curly, her eyes bright ... and she smiled. She didn’t look too nice now. She looked like a well-equipped femme fatale. A temptress.
Her heart fluttered with nerves and excitement. Jonah may have been around the block a few more times than she had, but his wandering days were over. She giggled at her reflection. Who would have believed that someone as nice as she was could ever harbor su
ch wantonness? Not that she was actually wanton; she wouldn’t know where to begin to be genuinely wanton. She was just crazy in love and acting like it, doing what came naturally. Maybe that was the difference, then. Maybe she’d never loved anyone else enough to wrap herself in shimmering teal blue silk and give herself to them like a gift—heart, soul, and body. Maybe she’d never thought of herself as being special enough or unique enough to be a gift before. ...
With the black and silver shopping bag from Gerald’s in hand, she walked out onto the sidewalk, sucked in a lungful of that oh-so-perfect day, then chugged right along to her next assignment. I think I can. I think I can. I know I can pumped through her brain as she drove by the bank and the camera shop again, beyond the street she lived on, farther than the turnoff to the hospital, and then a few more miles until she pulled into the parking lot of a place called Krane’s Krap. Junk, Junk, and More Junk, the sign said.
The Town Council had been after Tom Krane to change the name of his establishment for as long as she could remember. It was the misspelling of the second word that invariably put a halt to the legal actions taken against him. As children, she and Jane and Felix would herald their every sighting of the place by reading the signs, out loud and in unison, to make their mother cringe—and because it was just plain fun to say.
She still smiled every time she drove by. You had to respect a man who would dare such a thing in the first place, then defend it for so long. And she knew Tom Krane a bit from his dealings with the bank. Though not exactly someone she’d choose as a bosom buddy, he was a practical man who refinanced his loans when interest rates dropped enough to make a significant difference in his payments, and he made no effort to hide the fact that he didn’t appreciate the bank’s service charges. In, fact, Joleen had taken to quoting him in her sporadic pep talks. “All our customers are thinking, ‘When I pay a service fee, I expect some service.’ ”
By the Book Page 10