Chapter 8
Peter could tell Nina was playing with her whole heart in the softball game. She was a good pitcher, controlled, graceful, and she threw the ball so the little kids at bat had a good chance to hit it. Out there in the sun, in her plaid shirt, a streak of dirt on her cheek, she looked almost like one of the kids on the field. Taller, of course, but she played with the same enthusiasm as her ten-year-old teammates. He watched as the last hitter made the final out for the side and the game ended with a seven-inning tie. Everyone cheered, flooded the field to congratulate both sides, and swarmed the hot dog stands along the sidelines. He caught up with Nina as she tossed balls and gloves into equipment bags.
“You looked about the same age as those kids out there.” He helped close the bag and lifted it for her. “Did you have as much fun as it looked like you did?”
Nina swiped her glistening forehead, leaving another streak of dirt behind, and pushed her Dodgers cap back from her face. Damp tendrils of hair made tight curls around her ears. “I had a great time. Every kid got to play, both teams scored, and nobody was a hero or a bum. Everybody won, nobody lost. Best kind of game, as far as I’m concerned.”
“Show me where to put this stuff, and I’ll buy you a snow cone,” he offered.
“You’re on, Peter. A cherry snow cone would hit the spot.”
Nina’s plaid shirt had come untucked and her capri pants had a grass stain across the seat, but Peter saw life and laughter in her caramel-brown eyes. She looked far better than she had earlier in the week.
“I think the end of school agrees with you,” he told her. “Are things better?” He immediately wished he’d stayed quiet. A shadow darkened her eyes.
“I’ve managed to put everything we talked about—Danny, the other women, all that—out of my mind for a couple of days. Getting the last classes finished, report cards out, and planning for today took every minute.” He followed her through the deserted school halls and helped put the playground equipment away. “Now about that snow cone,” she reminded him.
“One cherry-flavored snow cone coming up.” Peter waded through the milling children and their parents to the small booths at the end of the playground. By the time he got to the front of the line, made his purchase, and struggled back around knots of people, Nina had moved to the far side of the playground and was talking to a shapely blonde woman carrying an armload of books. Nina waved as Peter edged past the crowds to join them.
The cherry snow cone dribbled sticky syrup over the edge of the paper cone as the ice dissolved inside. “Your frappé, mam’selle,” he said, offering the slushy cup.
“Perfect, thank you.” Nina drank from the damp cone, leaving a pink outline above her upper lip. “I needed that.”
Her blonde companion snickered. “Just like one of the kids. I swear, Nina, in some ways you’ll be ten years old for the rest of your life.”
Nina took a bite of the tinted ice. “I certainly hope so.” She turned to Peter. “This is my friend and fellow teacher Paula King. She teaches the fifth grade. Her class and mine made up the softball teams. Paula, this is Peter Shayne. I told you about him and the T-Bird.”
“So you have Danny’s car? How do you think his driver’s license got into the trunk?”
Peter was taken aback by the woman’s bold questions and the calculating gleam in her wide blue eyes. She had to be one of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen, but he felt no attraction. She was too chilly for his taste. The silky hair swirled in golden waves around her shoulders, her eyes had the twinkle of experience, and that figure... Peter decided she should be wearing a sign that said “dangerous curves ahead.” In spite of her physical attributes, Peter preferred the lithe girl in the plaid shirt and baseball cap, her lips stained with cherry syrup and her hair in tangled curls. Nina had more natural appeal than the voluptuous blonde could ever manufacture.
“Do you think stirring things up again really will help Nina?” she was asking.
Nina answered before Peter could. “He’s been a lot of help, Paula. I really think we’ll find Danny, now that some clues are coming to light.”
Paula shifted her books, gave Nina a pitying smile, and shook her head. Blonde waves shimmered in the sunlight. “I don’t think you’ll find him, sweetie, and I hate to see you break your heart trying.”
“I have to keep at it,” Nina answered. She turned her attention to Peter. “Paula thinks my life is a TV drama. She keeps waiting for the next episode.”
Paula laughed. “Yours isn’t the only one. I’m about to get a full share of drama on my own, so I probably won’t have time to worry about yours.” She glanced at Peter and added, “The man I’m going to marry next month is a widower with two children, both teenagers. Talk about drama! I always wanted a family, but I hadn’t planned to get a ready-made one with almost-grown kids.” She shifted her books again and looked at her watch. “Oops, if I don’t get these books turned in, I’ll be coming back from my honeymoon to explain why. See you later, Nina.” She nodded to Peter. “Nice to meet you.”
“Pretty girl, but a little negative about your chances of finding Danny,” Peter commented as Paula hurried away.
“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” Nina answered. “She has reason to be hesitant about the search for Danny. I think she hates to see me disappointed again. She was going to be my bridesmaid, but she took pneumonia just before the wedding. She feels if she’d been at the wedding, nothing would have gone wrong. Her pneumonia was actually worse because she was so distraught. She fretted over it all summer.”
“Sounds as if she’s marrying an older man,” Peter added.
“Quite a bit older. She was seeing somebody seriously a couple of years ago, but he took a job out of state, and I guess they drifted apart. I’m not sure how deeply she loves this new man, but she wants a family and he seems devoted to her.” Nina crumpled the sticky remains of her snow cone into a wad and looked for a place to deposit it. “And she really loves those kids.”
Peter took the pink-stained wad from her and tossed it into the trash at the end of the walkway. “Hey, a point for our side!” he called as the paper ball sailed into the bucket. Nina cheered, and they turned to the playground. The heat was mounting with the afternoon sun beaming down. They walked to a shady corner, where the trees blocked some of the heat. “If your teacher friend was going to be your bridesmaid, then she must have known Danny pretty well, too.” Peter watched the young woman across the schoolyard juggle books to free a hand so she could open the door. “Does she have any thoughts about what happened to him?”
Nina hesitated. “I don’t think so. Like everyone else, she adored Danny and couldn’t believe he’d just take off after the wedding. Now, though, she’s looking at it in a little different light. At first she insisted something had happened to him—abduction or an accident, something he couldn’t help—but it’s been so long now, I think she believes like everyone else that he ran out.”
“And you, Nina, what do you think? Has anything we’ve learned made a difference in the way you feel?”
The sigh, the far-off stare, the finger that without conscious effort touched a wide gold band on her left hand, all of that painted the picture of unresolved pain. Nina’s eyes met his. “I’m afraid everyone was right. I can’t see it any other way. He wasn’t the man I thought he was. He must have had another way out of town; he had to have planned it that way. From what everyone says, it adds up to another woman. But I still don’t know...” She stopped, perplexity forming a crease between her eyes.
Peter took her left hand in his and touched the gold ring. “So where does that leave you, Nina? Married or not married? You wear his ring but not his name. You made vows that couldn’t be kept. The wedding ceremony was performed but the marriage didn’t exist. So are you married or not, sweetheart? Miss Kirkland or Mrs. Wilson?”
Nina turned away. “I don’t know, Peter. I just don’t know.” She looked back at him, bleak sadness in her eyes. “What does
it matter anyway? Married, not married, I’m in limbo.”
Peter touched the pink stain above her lip, traced the full upper curve with his thumb. “It matters, Nina. What you believe, how you see it, that matters a lot.”
A bewildered stare widened her eyes. “Why?”
“Because I want to kiss you, Nina. I want to hold you in my arms and kiss you, and tell you how your eyes are the color of sherry and when you laugh the room lights up. But I don’t kiss another man’s wife. So it matters, it matters a hell of a lot, whether you are Nina Kirkland or Mrs. Danny Wilson. Do you know which one you are, Nina? Can you say?”
Nina stared down at the ring on her hand. She looked bewildered, panic flooding her eyes. Peter could feel the confusion that flowed through her. Finally she shook her head. “I’m married, Peter. Even if I had evidence that Danny did leave with another woman. Or that he married me for some reason I can’t begin to understand. No, until Danny is found and can say that he does or doesn’t want to be married to me, I have to believe I am married. The vows and promises I made hold me to him whether or not they hold him to me. Unless he says otherwise.”
Peter took two steps back. “Among the things I love about you, Nina, is the steadfast way you stick to your word. Inconvenient as hell for me, my dear, but I’ll respect your feelings. I won’t go over the line.” He pushed her unruly curls back from her face. “But Danny Wilson better have some good explanation for the nightmare he’s left for you. And if for some reason he’s foolish enough to set you free, I’ll be at the door before his coattail clears the fence.”
“Peter, I...” Whatever Nina would have said was lost as a quartet of small boys surrounded her, demanding she start the relay games, hand out potatoes and spoons for the potato race, and assign pairs for the horseshoe tournament.
“I’m back on duty, Peter.” She put her arms around the boys vying for her attention. “Just a second, fellows. I’ll be right there.” She turned back to Peter. “Are we still on for a trip to Barlow tomorrow?”
“If you’re sure you want to go, I’ll pick you up around 11:30. You’re certain you want to do this?”
Nina managed half a smile, but wariness tightened the corners of her eyes and an anxious tremor in her lips betrayed her. “I don’t want to go, but I think I’d better. If there’s any information, a single scrap of a clue, I need to be there to see it. I can’t hide in the closet and pretend this whole thing is just a fantasy, a bad dream that will go away, or let somebody else do it for me. I have to face it. So I’ll be ready in the morning. See you then.”
Peter watched her walk away with the herd of youngsters clustering around her. Danny was playing around with other women when he had her? He must have been out of his mind.
****
Peter? Peter wanted to... Oh, no, that wouldn’t do. Still Nina couldn’t get that moment on the playground out of her mind. She was a married woman, he an attractive and eligible man. With an interest in her, an interest she had to cut off. All through Saturday morning Nina dithered about the wisdom of making the trip to Barlow with Peter. Would he stick by the limits, respect her resolve to honor her marriage vows? Disillusioned by the recent revelations she’d had about Danny’s character, the flaws she’d discovered in a man she’d known almost her whole life, Nina hesitated to put her trust in any man, much less one she’d met only weeks earlier. Still, her need to know where Danny was and why he’d left outweighed her concern about Peter’s intentions. At last Nina dressed in the least becoming outfit she owned, a beige skirt and muted print blouse with serviceable brown flats, and prepared to face whatever the day might hold. In this outfit, she was certain she’d be too drab to stir Peter’s interest further. As she waited for him, Nina wondered what she could say, how she could keep an impersonal wall between them on the long drive.
He came in his old blue Mercury to pick her up. The bigger, more sedate sedan was far less cozy than the Thunderbird and held no painful memories. Nor did Peter’s stories of his students and their attempts to bluff their way through his course lead to more personal topics. Relieved when he made no reference to the fleeting, intimate exchange of the day before, Nina let the wind pouring through the open car window tousle her hair. The bright sun flooded the day and only hinted at the heat coming in the weeks ahead.
“I think this is the road,” Peter said, turning down a wandering country lane. “It’s been several months since I was here, but this looks right. Watch for a sign that says something about homemade preserves or peach jam. Something like that.”
Only a minute or two later she saw a hand-painted board advertising peach butter hanging from a fence rail. “Is that it?” She pointed to the plank swaying to the rhythm of the breeze.
“Got it.”
The narrow drive was bordered by masses of goldenrod and late blooming winecups in a sea of green. The graveled surface twisted through rolling hills and coasted past a brilliant blue pond that could have been torn from the Texas sky.
“The house should be just around the trees over there.” Another turn and the road came to an end in front of a white house with spice-brown shutters and trim. Banks of lantana spread mounds of yellow and orange flowers around the covered porch.
“It’s like a doll house,” Nina said softly. “Or a picture on a postcard.”
“This is the place.”
As Peter opened the car door, a rotund, bustling figure came from the side of the house and hurried to open the white picket gate. “Peter Shayne? I thought that was you. And this is the girl whose young man went missing?” Betty Andrews, pink and white like an old-fashioned china doll, hurried to greet them. Peter made quick introductions as their hostess shooed them along the walk and into the house. “I hope I can help, my dear. Such a terrible thing, all this time and not knowing. I miss my Ed as much as any woman can miss a man, but I declare, if I didn’t at least know what happened to him, I don’t think I could keep going. You are a brave little thing, yes, you are. Trying to make some sense of things without a smidgen of help for all these months.”
The house was as much like a doll’s abode inside as out. Nina caught sight of crocheted doilies, stiff with starch, on every tabletop. The wood floor glowed with a sheen that comes only from years of polishing. She glimpsed fluffy flowered curtains and shining brass accents as she and Peter were ushered into the kitchen.
“I always wind up with my guests in here,” Betty Andrews told them. “It’s just easier to pass cookies and pour tea when everyone is sitting around the table, isn’t it?” The lady of the house followed her words with actions, placing tall, frosted glasses and plates mounded with homemade cookies in front of them.
“Now what can I tell you, Peter, that will help clear up this mess?” She put a plump hand over Nina’s and patted. “You just ask anything you want, Nina, and don’t think you’ll be bringing up a sad subject for me. It all has to do with Ed’s passing, but that’s nothing to do with you. Where do we start?”
Mrs. Andrews had compassionate eyes and a nature that seemed born to help. Nina waited for Peter to begin, but when he didn’t, she took the lead. “How did your husband come to buy the car, Mrs. Andrews?”
“Oh, land sakes, call me Betty, hon.” A chuckle put a wreath of laugh lines along the older woman’s cheeks. “I look back, and it all seems silly now. That was just about the worst fuss we ever got into in all the thirty years we were married.” She leaned both elbows on the table, her smile fading as she began. “Ed worked out of the country, long chunks of time, and mostly he was in Saudi Arabia. He made money, oh, lots of it, and he was careful, thrifty. It was his nature to put aside something for a rainy day. We had the twin girls, Daisy and Pam, and their schooling to pay for. Ed saved for them to make sure they got the benefits we didn’t have when we were kids. But he liked gadgets and machines—toys, I called them—and cars. He just loved tinkering with cars. When that Thunderbird car first came out, he said at least fifty times how he’d like to have one. I thought it was jus
t talk, like a man goes on about things he won’t ever do.” Betty’s lips tightened. “Shows you don’t always know a man’s mind, even when you’ve lived with him more than half your life.”
From her recent experience, Nina could echo those words. “And the surprises aren’t something you ever expect, are they?”
“Isn’t that just God’s own truth,” Betty agreed. “When Ed came home that spring, two years back, he announced he was getting too old to keep running around the world. He’d decided he’d do just one more job, take about nine months to a year, and then put himself out to pasture. We’d do some of the things we’d kept putting off till ‘someday,’ and we’d start right then with a good family trip together. It was early summer, and our girls were just out of school. Daisy and Pam wanted to look at colleges, and Ed said we’d do things up right and take a month just traveling, stop when we wanted to, and check out those schools for the girls.”
“But the car? He bought the T-Bird?” Sweet as Betty Andrews was, Nina couldn’t see how her rambling reminiscences helped.
Half Past Mourning Page 10