by Ann McMan
“What makes you think it would be unforgettable?”
Maddie paused. “I have an active imagination.”
“You do?”
“Oh, yeah.”
Syd paused as if she were thinking it through. “Tall person. Cookies. Strange pajamas. I think there might be a connection, after all.”
There was more silence.
“We should have more conversations in the dark,” Syd said.
“Why’s that?”
“Because you’re . . . different.”
“I am?”
“Yes.”
“How am I different?”
“I don’t know—different. Shorter, maybe?” Maddie chuckled. “More accessible?” Syd paused. “Less guarded?”
“That’s probably true. Right now, I feel supremely over-confident. Especially since I’m standing here with two pairs of pajamas and you have, lemme see? None?”
Syd sighed. “Okay. I apologize.” She held out her hands in supplication. “I promise never to throw borrowed pajamas at you again.”
“That’s more like it.” Maddie smiled as she closed the distance between them. “You’re forgiven.” She held out a set of nightclothes.
As Syd took the pajamas, their hands met. She peered up through the near darkness at Maddie’s face. “Thank you.” Her voice seemed miles away. “I guess we should get some sleep.”
“Probably.” Maddie started to back away, but on impulse, leaned down to plant a soft peck on Syd’s cheek. Syd turned her head at that moment, and before Maddie knew what was happening, their warm mouths collided in an accidental kiss. They jolted apart and stood in shocked silence for a moment before sharing a nervous laugh.
“Well. Goodnight.” Maddie backed toward her door on shaky legs. “You can use the bathroom first.”
“Thanks.” There was an awkward pause. “Goodnight to you, too. I hope you sleep well.”
“Thanks.” The way her lips were tingling, Maddie knew she didn’t stand a snowball’s chance in hell of sleeping well.
Syd turned away, entered her room, and flipped a wall switch to turn on the bedside lamp.
Maddie quickly retreated into her own room and stood quietly for a moment once she was inside.
“Hey!” She heard Syd’s complaint through the closed door.
Smiling through her anxiety, she tossed the set of sheep-covered pajamas onto the bed. Humming a few bars from “Strike Up the Band,” she started to undress, preparing herself for another long and sleepless night.
SYD STOOD LEANING against the back of her door, still clutching the footie pajamas to her chest.
Oh my god. I can’t believe that just happened. She closed her eyes and took deep breaths, trying to calm herself down. She could feel her heart pounding beneath the folded wads of red flannel. What the hell was I doing? She’s going to think I was flirting with her. She opened her eyes, went to the bed, and sat, then lay down on the soft mattress. She stared blankly up at the tin ceiling, absently running her fingers back and forth across her lips. She wanted to be anywhere but there.
With a start, she bolted back up into a sitting position. Oh, Jesus. I told her about Jeff. I told her about Jeff and the whole “you must be gay” thing. She closed her eyes. She’s really going to think I was hitting on her, now. Waves of mortification washed over her, and she dropped onto her back again. Oh god. She held the Dr. Denton’s against her hot face. Maybe I was.
Chapter 9
It snowed on Thanksgiving Day. Maddie stood in the kitchen of her farmhouse, watching the fat flakes drift down and cling to every surface. She could tell by the size of the snowflakes that the storm was winding down, but it was beautiful while it lasted. She was surprised when she got up that morning to see the ground white, especially since it had been above the freezing mark when she’d finally retired the night before. Squalls of snow had rolled through off and on all day, and, although the roads were mostly clear, there had to be at least four or five inches on the ground.
Pete was still outside. Maddie could see him nosing around the fence posts near the creek bed, his yellow coat thick with snow. He’d be a pupsicle if she didn’t coax him back inside soon. She felt envious, watching him, as he slowly made his way along the fence toward the barn. Life was simple for Pete. He had land to roam, critters to chase, a big porch to sleep on, and a full bowl of food twice a day. He never complained. He never wandered off. He never hesitated to ask for the things he needed. And he never worried about the after-effects of the choices he made.
She was about to put on a jacket and go get him when her phone rang. She stood still for a moment, leaning against the countertop with her eyes closed—persuaded that it was probably someone calling in a panic because they’d choked on a dinner roll, or contracted a bad case of reflux from ingesting too much turkey gravy. For a split second, she thought about not answering it—thought about pretending that she was out of town. Out of town, and in her right mind for once. The phone rang again. It would always ring again. Nights. Weekends. Holidays. The rings would always find her because they now formed the parameters of her life—a set of concentric circles that began and ended with a panicked voice on the other end of a phone line.
“This is Stevenson.”
“Final-fucking-ly! I thought you’d skipped town.” It was David.
“Nope. Happy Thanksgiving to you, too.”
“Hey, no time for polite conversation. I’ve got an emergency out here.” He sounded desperate enough.
“What’s wrong?” She was all business now. A quick glance at her watch told her it was a few minutes before five. She could probably be out there in fifteen minutes—faster than the EMTs could make it from Jefferson.
“Beats the shit outta me. The goddamn thing is on the fritz.”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me. It’s on the fritz.”
She relaxed. “What’s on the fritz?”
He sighed. “The frickin’ espresso machine. Goddamn Italian piece of shit. And I’ve got a dining room full of overstuffed flatlanders who aren’t getting out of here any time soon if I don’t find a way to sober them up with some double-cappuccinos. Get my drift?”
“What’s wrong with it?” She leaned back against the countertop and picked up her own coffee mug.
“How the hell should I know what’s wrong with it? It’s not espressing. It’s not steaming. It’s not doing shit. I can’t even get it to turn on.”
“So, what do you want me to do? Bring mine over?” She glanced at her father’s prized DeLonghi. The thing had to weigh over a hundred pounds.
“No, Cinderella.” He sounded really exasperated now. “I want you to put on a fucking ball gown and fly over here to do a pole dance on the sun porch. What do you think I want you to do? Grab your friggin’ tool belt and come fix the damn thing.”
She sighed. “David, you’re pathetic. It’s a holiday, for god’s sake.”
“Oh, gee, thanks for the news flash, Katie Couric. I know it’s a holiday. Why else do you think I’m calling your obstinate ass?” David paused in his tirade. “Look, I’m sorry. Really. But I need your help. I’m desperate.” He paused again. “Please, Maddie.”
That did it. He never called her “Maddie” unless he truly was desperate.
“Okay. I’m on my way. Let me in through the kitchen. I don’t wanna parade across the dining room with my toolbox.”
David released a long sigh. “I owe you for this one, Cochise.”
“You got that right, Tonto.”
He hung up. She set her cup down on the counter, took a long, last look outside at the white landscape. Pete was no longer visible, and it had stopped snowing. She could see faint ribbons of yellow light snaking across the horizon. If the clouds rolled out, it would be a very cold night. Some cappuccino might be good. She wondered if Michael had any more of that maple pie. She grabbed her car keys and cell phone, and snagged a jacket off one of the pegs by the back door before going outside to whistle for Pete
.
SYD’S FATHER PUSHED his plate away with a moan. “I have never eaten so much wonderful food in my entire life.” Too late, he seemed to realize his mistake and reached across the table to touch his wife on the arm. “I mean, out in a restaurant, of course.”
Janet Murphy rolled her eyes. “I don’t even know how you manage to chew when your foot is always so firmly planted in your mouth.”
He squeezed her arm before retracting his hand.
Syd smiled at both of them. “Michael went to a lot of trouble for us, but the few times I’ve eaten here, the food has always been amazing.”
Her mother nodded. “I won’t argue with you about that. I wasn’t sure what to think at first about the cornbread stuffing, but I think it was a perfect compliment to the currants.” She took a sip of her white wine and glanced around the dining room. “Is it usually this busy here?”
Syd followed her gaze. It was true that the place was busier than she had ever seen it. There were even several tables set up on the sun porch adjacent to the dining room. David was running around frenetically, seating guests and taking beverage orders. “No, I’ve never seen it quite like this. I thought the snow might keep more people at home.”
“Me, too,” her father said. “When I got up this morning, I was sure we were going to get buried in it, but it’s all but stopped now. Maybe we can go for a walk outside after dinner?”
Janet gave him an incredulous look. “What do you intend to wear on your feet?”
“I have my waders in the back of the Tahoe.” His green eyes looked hopeful.
“Waders?” Syd asked warily. “Dad, I really think Michael and David might be able to outfit you with something more suitable.” She smiled to herself. “They’re pretty accommodating when it comes to that.”
George sat back and crossed his arms. He looked handsome in his brown tweed jacket and khaki slacks. “Why, baby? Are you afraid your old man will embarrass you if he’s seen tramping around in his high-water gear?”
She smiled back. “Something like that, yes.”
He shook his head. “Last time I checked, there was something we used to call a river located about a quarter of a mile that way.” He inclined his head toward the sun porch and the white lawn that spread out beyond it. “I’d love to poke around in it.”
“Well, why don’t you wait until tomorrow to do your exploring?” Janet picked a piece of white lint off the sleeve of his blazer. “Margaret and I are going to run up to Roanoke and do some shopping. That should give you plenty of time to muck around in the mud.” She pursed her lips. “Unless, of course, you’d like to join us?”
“Shopping?” His face took on a tortured expression. “I think I’ll pass.”
Syd knew her face was a mirror image of her father’s. The prospect of spending an entire day in the raw glare of her mother’s scrutiny was enough to make her want to hide beneath the nearest bed and not emerge until spring. They still hadn’t talked about her recent encounter with Jeff—and she was fairly certain that he had probably already called her mother and given her his version of their unhappy exchange.
“You know, Dad, I’ve grown very passionate about slimy rocks. Do you need any help tomorrow?”
“Nice try, Margaret,” her mother drawled. “Don’t stave off the inevitable. We’re going. You need some new clothes. You don’t have anything suitable for a winter up here.”
“Well, ‘suitable’ is a pretty expansive term, Mother. I’m only going to be here for eighteen months. It didn’t make sense to bring everything.”
“I realize that, but shopping for a couple of new sweaters and some better boots won’t kill you.”
“What doesn’t destroy me makes me stronger,” Syd quoted. “Somehow, I don’t think Nietzsche was talking about an afternoon at Orvis.”
Her father perked up. “Orvis? There’s an Orvis in Roanoke?”
Syd felt a surge of optimism. “Oh, yeah, a big one. In fact, it’s one of their pilot stores.” She watched his eyes grow wistful. “Rods. Reels. Waders. Fishing maps of the Smith River with little flies attached to the best sites . . .”
Janet watched the two of them with interest. “And it’s conveniently located right next to the downtown mall.”
George’s face fell. Janet gave her daughter a triumphant nod. Her gray eyes glinted with humor.
Syd drooped her shoulders. She held up her thumb and forefinger. “I was this close to cheating death.”
She noticed that her father’s gaze was now directed toward something going on behind her. She half-turned in her chair to see David, engaged in animated conversation with Michael near the beverage station at the back of the dining room. Michael had his arms crossed and stood there slowly shaking his head, while David gestured wildly toward the espresso machine. She thought she saw Michael say something that looked like “you’re crazy,” before he walked off. He glanced over and saw Syd looking their way, and abruptly changed direction and stopped at their table on his way back to the kitchen.
Syd smiled as he approached. “Something wrong?”
Michael rolled his eyes. “Only the same thing that’s been wrong for about thirty-two years.” He smiled at her parents. “How are you folks doing? Everything okay with the meal?”
They replied en masse with a chorus of praise for his efforts.
Michael gave them a good-natured smile and placed a large hand on Syd’s shoulder. “I apologize in advance for what’s about to befall you.”
Syd narrowed her eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Michael sighed. “Well, according to David, the espresso machine is broken, and he placed a panicked call, begging for emergency repair service . . . if you know what I mean.”
Syd colored. “Oh, god. Is it really broken?”
“Who can say?”
“She’s going to kill him.”
“One can only hope.”
Her father and mother looked back and forth between them. Then her father’s gaze shifted again to the back of the room. His eyes grew wide. “I’ve never been much of a fan of those boutique coffee drinks, but if that’s what you people call a repair person, I’m gonna buy five of those contraptions and break them all.”
Michael and Syd turned in unison to see Maddie, now standing next to David by the espresso machine. She was dressed in a pair of black jeans and a form-fitting blue sweater. Her long hair was loose and shining, and she held a small aluminum toolbox in her right hand. They watched her set the toolbox down on a nearby bussing table before she pulled the unit away from the wall and peered behind it. After a moment, she stood upright and turned to face David with her lips pursed, lazily swinging a disconnected power cord around in small arcs. They had what appeared to be an energetic exchange, before Maddie shifted her handhold on the power cord and held it up in front of David’s neck like a garrote. He was still talking and waving his hands—now defensively.
Michael chuckled and softly whispered, “And in four, three, two, one . . .”
As if on cue, David and Maddie turned to face the Murphy’s table. Syd met Maddie’s gaze and smiled shyly, lifting her hand in a polite wave. Maddie tossed her head back and closed her eyes, before picking up her toolbox and walking to their table. David, who now was grinning like a Cheshire cat, followed behind her.
GEORGE NOTICED THE subtle change in his daughter’s demeanor as the tall woman approached their table. She sat nervously clenching and unclenching the napkin in her lap, but her face looked open and welcoming as she exchanged glances with their visitor. It was clear that they knew each other.
He got to his feet as David performed the introductions. “Mr. and Mrs. Murphy, I’d like you to meet the county’s most eligible and sought-after tool jockey, and my very dear friend, Madeleine Stevenson. Maddie, it’s my pleasure to present George and Janet Murphy, of the Baltimore Murphys.”
Maddie smiled as she faced Syd’s mother. “Mrs. Murphy, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” She turned to George, extending her h
and. “And you, sir.”
George took her hand and dumbly gazed into a pair of incredible blue eyes that were on a level with his own. He decided to throw caution to the wind. “I’m not quite sure what it is yet, but I’m fairly certain I’ll break something later on. Would you and your toolbox like to join us and wait around until it happens?”
Janet swatted him with her napkin. Shaking her head, she looked up at Maddie. “Forgive my husband’s lapse into puberty. But do, please, join us.”
Maddie laughed as she released his hand. “You’re very kind, but I certainly don’t want to intrude on your meal.” She looked down at Syd. “I just couldn’t be here this evening and not come say hello to Syd’s parents.”
“I’m glad you did.” Syd smiled up at her. “I would have called you myself if I’d thought there was any chance you’d venture out on a night like this.”
David snickered in the background. Maddie turned and fixed him with a menacing glare. “Don’t think you fooled anyone here with your little manufactured crisis. Paybacks are hell, Davey.”
David gave the group a baffled look and feigned innocence. “How was I supposed to know the damn thing was unplugged? I’m not the one who majored in small engine repair—remember?”
Maddie was still glaring at him. “Oh, I remember.”
“I have to get back to the kitchen,” Michael cut in. “May I assume that you’ll all be having pie and espresso?” He looked at Maddie. “You too, Doctor. I’ve got a slice of something special with your name on it.”
Maddie hesitated. George saw Syd discreetly touch her hand. “Please stay.”
George and his wife exchanged looks. “Let me get you a chair, Maddie.” He started to leave the table but David stopped him.
“No need, Mr. Murphy. I’ve got one right here.” Without ceremony, David shoved an unoccupied chair into the back of Maddie’s legs, causing her knees to buckle. She plopped down and half fell across Syd’s lap as she tried to avoid hitting the table.
George watched as Maddie tried to right herself without spilling the contents of her toolbox. She was blushing furiously as Syd grasped her by both forearms and helped her slide back onto the seat of her chair.