Present Danger

by Susan Andersen

  A second later, unseen by either woman, a young man in a plaid flannel shirt rushed out of the Pike Street exit of REI and looked up and down the block. He walked to the corner and scouted that block also. Then he swore, pulled a small black notebook out of his breast pocket, and irritably scribbled a swift notation.

  Trust James to have his own ideas about dating etiquette, Aunie thought in amusement as she peeked through the peephole at his knock. She opened the door. “Why didn’t you use your key?” she asked as she looked him over admiringly.

  “This is a date,” he informed her, doing some inspecting of his own. “You don’t go barging into your date’s home, you ring for her.” Or so he imagined. Actually, his courting practices had always leaned more toward casual pickups than prearranged engagements. If Magnolia wanted a real date, however, then he was determined to do it right. He brought his hand out from behind his back. “Here,” he said coming as close to diffident as a man of his temperament ever got as he handed over a cellophane florist’s box, “This is for you.”

  “A corsage,” she said weakly. She would not laugh … she would not. She hated corsages, but she would bite her tongue in two before she said so. He was treating this evening out as though they were high school kids going to their senior prom, and she found his sweetness so touching that tears rose in her eyes. She lowered her head and took her time extricating the corsage from its container, refusing to look up until she had herself under control. “It’s very pretty,” she finally whispered. “Thank you.”

  He took it from her and picked up her hand. “Look, it goes on your wrist,” he said, sliding it into place and admiring it against the paleness of her skin. “I thought the other kind was sort of dumb, since it was bound to get all squished when we dance.”

  Aunie brought the corsage up to her nose and inhaled its heady fragrance, then held out her hand to admire its adornment. Okay, she’d admit it: This one was different. It looked pretty against her wrist, and she loved it. Unlike many of the large, fussy corsages she’d worn in the past, he’d picked one that was dainty and restrained, just two tiny white gardenias nestled in a few of their deep green leaves. It looked old-fashioned and gracious. She raised her eyes to his and smiled, her dimples slowly denting her cheeks. “Thank you, James.” Standing on tiptoe to give him a kiss, she then stood back and trailed her fingertips over his smooth-shaven cheeks and jawline. “You look great.”

  He did, too. No conservative suit for James Ryder; his formal attire was as individualistic as he was. She’d never seen him in anything but casual wear, but tonight he was wearing a pink shirt tucked into pleated slacks. A superfluous but snazzy pair of narrow, powder blue suspenders clung to his broad shoulders, bonded to chest and flat stomach. His tie was funky: blue to match his suspenders, with an old-fashioned sugar cone at its southernmost tip supporting four scoops of pastel-hued ice cream. He wore a raw silk jacket with the same casualness that he wore his habitual T-shirts, and in the lapel was a bouton-niere, a dainty pink rosebud.

  Standing close to him, Aunie brushed her hands over his broad shoulders, adjusted the knot in his tie, and smoothed its tail down his hard chest and abdomen. “I’ve never seen you in a tie,” she murmured. “I’ve never seen you dressed up at all.” She fluttered her lashes. “Ah sweah, suh, you look good enough to eat.”

  “Why, thank you, Miz Scarlett,” he replied, inserting a rough-tipped finger into a shining curl of hair and gently pulling on it. “So do you. I’m glad you wore that dress.”

  It was the same one she’d worn the night she and Mary had celebrated finals. She had debated wearing something instead that he’d never before seen, but of the several outfits she’d tried on and discarded, this one had simply kept calling out to be worn. She’d curled her hair, carefully applied more makeup than usual, including glossy red lipstick, and donned her sheerest hose and tallest pair of heels.

  “Give me one little kiss to tide me over and then we’ll hit the road,” James said. “Our dinner reservations are for eight.”

  Laughing at a remark James made as he held open the apartment house’s front door for her, Aunie slipped beneath his arm. She grabbed his hand to pull him down the stairs with her, then stopped dead at the sight of a long white limousine double-parked in the street. Bobby, in uniform and cap, climbed out of the driver’s seat, walked around the hood, and held open the back door. She turned to James, dark eyes sparkling with delight. “For us?”

  “None other.” He guided her into the plush interior and grinned at his brother when he gave them a respectfully solemn salute before he closed the door. “Can’t have a dress this hot ridin’ around in an old Jeep.” He handed her a fluted goblet of champagne and leaned over to press an impulsive kiss into the exposed portion of one white shoulder. “God, you’re beautiful.”

  For once those words were music to her ears. She wanted to be beautiful in James’s eyes. She hoped he saw other, worthier attributes as well when he looked at her, but for tonight… she could live with beautiful.

  He took her to the Space Needle. It was a mild May evening and the rotating view was spectacular. After dinner, they walked around the Center. James insisted on a game of put-put golf, and after tripping around the tiny course in her inappropriate heels, Aunie retaliated with bumper cars. Ultimately, they ended up in a dimly lighted bar in Pioneer Square, swaying to the smoky rhythms of a blues band.

  It was around midnight when he heard her murmuring into his tie. He tightened his hold and lowered his head. “What?”

  They swayed in place for a couple silent heartbeats. Then Aunie rubbed her cheek against his chest. “I love you, Jimmy.”

  Ah God. James took a deep breath and squeezed his eyes shut, heart pounding into overdrive. He had tried—God knows he’d tried—but he just couldn’t fight this anymore. His hands slid upward until they were framing her face and he bent down to kiss her, there on the dance floor. “God, I love you, Magnolia,” he said hoarsely.

  Aunie stopped dancing and her forehead dropped against his chest. Her arms exerted more and more pressure around his neck. Finally, he heard her mumble into his shirt, “I was beginnin’ to think I’d never hear you say that.”

  “Yeah, well.” James’s laugh was more an exhalation of breath than an actual verbalization of humor. He struggled with second thoughts, knowing he probably shouldn’t have said anything. Nothing had really changed, after all. Hell, all the reasons he’d had for keeping his feelings to himself were still valid.

  “Don’t make the mistake of thinking they’re magic words, Aunie,” he felt compelled to warn her. “Just admitting it out loud isn’t gonna make anything easier. It won’t make your problems go away.”

  “Speak for yourself, James. Hearin’ it makes things a whole lot easier for me. Tell me again.”

  There was so much pressure in his chest. “I love you.” The words were forced out through a constricted throat.

  She seemed to pick up on his tension. Dark eyes searched moss green ones. “Are you sure, James?”

  Was he sure? The pressure started to ease. He might have reservations about his timing, but he wasn’t the least bit uncertain of his feelings. “Oh, yeah,” he replied. “I’m positive.” His smile was crooked. “How about you? Are you sure?”

  “Oh, yes.” She pressed tiny, smacking kisses along his neck. “I’m very, very, very sure.”

  “God.” His arms closed so tightly around her she squeaked in involuntary protest. “Sorry, baby,” he murmured as he loosened his hold. His hands slid up her slender arms until they connected with her wrists behind his neck and he pulled her hands loose. Slipping them down to his chest, he pressed them against his shirtfront, one long finger nudging the browning petals in her corsage as he looked down at her. “Let’s get out of here, Aunie.”

  He instructed Bobby to find a scenic route home and then settled back in the plush seat with Aunie tucked up against his side. He couldn’t seem to get a handle on his emotions. He’d sworn to himself that he
wouldn’t tell her how he felt until some of her problems were resolved. Dammit, he hadn’t been blowing smoke when he’d said expressing his emotions wasn’t a magic cure-all. Simply saying the words , wasn’t going to alleviate this mess she was in; it was, in fact, more likely to complicate matters when he insisted on continuing the self-defense sessions.

  On the other hand, just once, he was going to revel in the freedom of making love to her without choking back the words.

  For the remainder of the weekend, Aunie walked on air. She had convinced herself it was a feeling destined to last.

  Sunday provided some excitement of its own. She and James, along with Mary and Otis’s sister Leeanne, helped the Jacksons put the finishing touches on their nursery. The men assembled a changing table. Mary and Leeanne washed the window and hung the balloon shade. Aunie and Lola stenciled little white rabbits as a border where walls met ceiling.

  When the phone rang, the women had finished cleaning up and were attaching the frothy skirt to the bassinet. James was holding three separate parts of the changing table together while Otis tried to thread the screw through the aligned holes. When it rang a second time, Lola said, “Otis!” in exasperation. At the same time he looked up in frustration and called, “Lola, will you get the damn phone? I’m up to my armpits in the parts for this table.”

  Lola trotted off to answer it, and Leeanne moved to stand over her flustered brother. “If you think putting that thing together is tough, just wait,” she advised him with a knowing grin. “Every bike, trike, big wheel that you buy the kid is going to say, some assembly required. They tell you it’s so simple a four-year-old could put it together, but they always neglect to send along the four-year-old to give you a hand.”

  “Otis!” Everyone stilled at the urgency in Lola’s voice, heads turning toward the door. Otis surged to his feet and Leeanne gripped his arm. “Oh, God, is it Mama?” she whispered, moving with her brother toward the doorway. “Has something happened to Mama?”

  They could hear Lola murmuring into the phone, and then the sound of it being replaced in the hook. She poked her head around the wall. “Muriel is fine, Leeanne. I’m sorry if I gave you a scare,” she apologized. She turned to Otis and a beatific smile spread across her face. “We’re parents, mon.”

  “What!”

  “We’re parents! To a baby girl, a little premature but healthy. Five pounds, four ounces, nineteen inches long. She was born at 2:19 P.M.” She laughed and executed a little dance step. “Otis, we’re parents!”

  “A daughter? We’ve got us a daughter?” Otis stared at his wife in stunned silence for a moment, then suddenly whooped. He picked up Lola and whirled her around. “When can we see her?”

  “Right now.” And within minutes, they had floated out of their apartment on a cloud of parental bliss and excited congratulations.

  Three days later the proud new parents brought Greta-Leigh Jackson home. It was a day of extreme emotions for Aunie, for reality had intruded by then, splintering her too-brief euphoric state beyond repair.

  Dammit, she hadn’t even had a tiny grace period. At school on Monday, the distressing reality of her situation had once again reared its ugly head.

  Okay, so she shouldn’t have been taken by surprise, shouldn’t have allowed her expectations to climb to unrealistic heights. James had been warning of this very thing when he’d admonished her not to expect all her problems suddenly to vanish just because she’d heard a few words from him that she had so longed to hear.

  That didn’t make it overwhelmingly easier to accept when she once again felt the weight of someone’s eyes watching her. The crash back to earth was merely that much harder in the wake of the too-few hours that she’d flown so high. Her immediate gut reaction was anger and—as much as she hated to admit to it—self-pity. Dammit, why her? What had she ever done to deserve all this negative attention? Other women got to fall in love and act young, be carefree; why were things always so difficult for her? It was so unfair.

  Well, all right, so nobody had ever actually promised her life would be fair. In a perfect world it would be; but face it, she’d known for a long time now that this world was far from perfect.

  Having conceded that much, she forced herself to take it one step further and to relinquish the dubious comfort of feeling sorry for herself. Instead, she applied some rational thought to the matter. And the first thing she thought to do was go to a pay phone.

  She dug a fistful of change out of her purse and placed a long distance call. The instant she was put through to Wesley, she replaced the receiver back on its hook and slumped back against the warm brick wall, her heart beating heavily.

  Very well, then. She pressed a fist to her breast and took several deep breaths. Get a grip and review the facts. Fact one: It wasn’t Wesley who was watching her. That didn’t eliminate the possibility that it might be one of his private investigators, of course; but it was comforting to know that at this moment, at least, Wesley himself was nowhere in the vicinity.

  Fact two: She never felt under observation when she was in class. She didn’t know if she should consider that significant, but she rather thought she should. Of course she also rather thought that in order to cause the fine hairs, on her nape to stand on end the way they did, a person would necessarily have to stare rather long and hard at her. And realistically, that would be somewhat difficult to achieve with a minimum of discretion in a classroom. So where did that leave her? With fact three, she supposed: It was only during lunch breaks on the plaza that she’d felt she was being watched.

  By the time Otis picked her up that Monday afternoon, brimming with excitement and Polaroid snaps of his newborn daughter, Aunie had reconciled herself to the truth of her situation. As much as she might wish otherwise, her life wasn’t going to progress with fairy-tale smoothness, so she might as well learn to live with it. The knowledge had upset her; she’d held her pity party, and then she had applied herself to searching for an answer and had moved on.

  It was the fight she had with James after school on Wednesday, just before Otis and Lola were due home with their new baby, that did the most damage to her wildly vacillating emotions.

  Someone meant her harm, and she couldn’t deny it was frightening. But the truth was, it didn’t possess half the power to upset her as did the resulting tension it produced between her and James. They were living with an ever-present stress, a constant pressure that caused them to snap and snarl with cruel thoughtlessness at the first wrong word or misinterpreted look. Jimmy could fight really dirty when the mood struck him. If she were to be honest, she supposed she’d have to admit that she could, too. But it hurt when she was the recipient of his anger. It hurt a lot.

  Wednesday’s fight seemed to her to blow up out of nowhere. And the culprit on which it hinged, apparently, was her ability to shelve unpleasant realities for short intervals. If he could have given her just two damn seconds to explain …

  Her adeptness at setting aside problems was a measure of how truly screwed up her life had been for a long time now. She wasn’t stupid; she didn’t believe trouble would simply go away if she ignored it.

  But a person could only live on the edge of her emotions for so long without precipitating a crisis. To avoid emotional meltdown, she had learned long ago to temporarily set aside the problem and concentrate on the minutiae of day-to-day living. It was an unhappy fact of life that once she was strong enough to face it again, the nastiness would be right there where she had left it; but the trick was to give herself a moment in which to collect a bit of stamina. It was a delay-and-address system she had employed for the past few years to defuse and compartmentalize the chaos of her life.

  She hadn’t deliberately been withholding information from James when she’d failed to mention her suspicions that she was once again being watched. She had forgotten, dammit. She had simply forgotten. She’d worked past her own feelings on the subject, had taken some preliminary steps to identify or eliminate possibilities, and then
she’d set the problem aside for a while to be considered later. She’d meant to tell him about it, but once she was at home, other matters had arisen to drive it from her mind.

  God, the way he’d acted when she had remembered to tell him, you would’ve thought she was a one-woman commando squad charging blindly into booby-trapped enemy territory. And that was when he wasn’t accusing her of being just plain blind. To personal danger. To reality. To the most meager ration of intelligence, to hear him tell it.

  All of which was downright mild compared to his reaction when he learned that not only had she kept this information to herself for two whole days, but she’d also called Wesley to verify his whereabouts.

  She had given up attempting an explanation by that point. Perhaps she should have persisted, if only to cool him down a little, but she hadn’t. Frankly, she had been too busy reacting, quite poorly she’d admit, to his tone, his words, his attitude. How dare he yell at her, swear at her, talk to her as if she were a brain-damaged infant who lacked the intelligence to be left on her own for an unguarded instant? She didn’t have to take such treatment from anyone.

  She couldn’t say with any authority afterward what the exact words had been that had triggered it, but somehow, their furious verbal exchange had segued into equally furious lovemaking up against the refrigerator door. God, what a mess! She didn’t know about James, but when her gripping legs had gone lax and he had slid her to her feet, when he had stepped back, arranged his clothes, and slammed out of the apartment, she knew that she for one didn’t feel any better. Only marginally satisfied physically, and emotionally she was a wreck.

  The clamor of James’s furious exit rang in her ears. Her back slid down the fridge door until she was in a gangly heap on the floor, head hanging, short skirt bunched around her waist, panties dangling from one ankle. What had she said? Gawd, what on earth had she said to set him off that way? That wasn’t lovemaking, that was … it was … She didn’t know what it was, but it hadn’t been lovemaking. She bawled her eyes out.