Through the Shadows

by Gloria Teague

  It all ended just before Christmas, five years before. The fight started over what kind of tree they would buy to decorate. It escalated into a screaming, cursing battle they would both remember for the rest of their lives. When Jim walked out she spent that Christmas, and every one after that, without him.

  It took Tori several months to realize Jim was never coming home. She now accepted it, but she had never quit hurting. She also accepted the fact that the kind of love she wanted, needed, would never be hers.

  Loneliness had enveloped her soul like a shroud. To accelerate the healing process, Tori had gone back to her one constant, true friend—writing. She thought if she lost herself in words that she wouldn’t miss Jim so much. All she had accomplished was making a little money so she could survive. She took it one day at a time, praying her heart would mend.

  Sharon, her mother, had been a blessing. If not for her, Tori felt she wouldn’t have made it. She had moved in with her daughter until the worst of the storm had passed and only a quiet light mist remained. Sharon had then gone back home but stayed in frequent contact with her only child. Tori knew that her mother prayed every day for her to find a cure for her bruised heart.

  The answer to Sharon’s prayers for her daughter came in the form of a literary agent. Lydia Palmer was a strong force to be reckoned with but she had a soft spot for new, promising writers. The intimidating Brit became Tori’s agent, critic, and friend. Lydia had taken Tori’s raw talent and helped polish it to a dazzling diamond just waiting to be discovered.

  It was Lydia who encouraged Tori when the rejections poured in. It was Lydia who helped construct a foundation to boost Tori’s meager sense of self-worth. It was Lydia who encouraged the young writer to never give up, to keep fighting. For these priceless gifts, Tori would always love and respect her agent.

  Over the years, Lydia had become like family to Tori and Sharon. The older women seem to have a special connection and their friendship grew into a sisterhood.

  As she stared without interest at the television, Tori smiled when she thought about Lydia joining her for lunch in just a few hours. She knew she would look bedraggled from lack of sleep and grinned when she imagined how Lydia would be concerned, but understanding. Lydia, too, had been left by a husband and had floundered alone in a tidal wave of loneliness. Perhaps that’s the reason her career had taken on such a frantic edge.

  So intent on her thoughts, Tori didn’t hear the muffled step in the adjoining room. A soft, seductive voice spoke her name. It asked her when she was coming to bed. The voice, tone, and timber were so real, so intimate, she momentarily forgot Jim wasn’t there anymore. A familiar feeling of loving amusement that he had felt for her side of the bed, found it empty and wanted her to come to bed, made her grin. And, just as always, she answered him.

  “Just a minute, honey.”

  In the space of a heartbeat she remembered, and was terrified.

  Her breath caught in her chest, her ears strained for any and every sound. Her eyes were round and large as she stared straight ahead, afraid to turn her head in the direction of the voice. Terror drummed through her veins and she felt the accompanying pulse at her temple.

  Trembling, her head rotated on its axis and Tori could hear every vertebrae grind in the terminally slow movement. The elasticity of her skin seemed to have shrunken into a sweat-drenched mask, too tight to allow an expression.

  Tori didn’t want to (had to, had to) look into the dark (O God, it’s so dark in there!) hallway. Every fiber of her numb brain implored her to just get the hell out of there. But where could she go, at 3 A.M., in pajamas, and with her keys in her purse, in the other room?

  Oh, this is ridiculous! I’m thirty years old and I’m afraid of some little sound in my own home? Okay, okay, it’s more than just a sound and if I’m honest with myself, I’ll admit I’m scared to pieces. O God, what a horrible, grotesque expression. I don’t think I’ll use that particular phrase ever again. All right, stop it, Tori. Right now. Get up off your duff and see where that noise came from.

  Not any braver for her own pep talk, Tori forced herself to stand up. Taking as deep a breath as frozen lungs would allow, she whirled on her heel, ready to run if necessary.

  There was no one there. It was just as earlier that evening, in the computer room, when she thought she had felt a presence behind her. Was she losing her ever-loving mind? Was it really time for an extended vacation in a Rubber Ramada where all the mattresses were nailed to the wall?

  Tori’s explosive release of breath came from the pit of her stomach. Mentally shaking her head, she gave into the shiver that jittered between her shoulders.

  Tori heated her cold coffee in the microwave then went back to her old comfortable chair. She steadily increased the volume of the television, covering up the silence. She didn’t have to worry about disturbing the neighbors—she didn’t have any. The only protesters would be the small animals playing tag in the dirt and gravel driveway.

  Artificial, canned laughter filled the rooms of the too-large house, sweeping cobwebs from the dusty corners. Tori leaned back in the recliner, coaxing the footrest to come out of hiding. Each passing, uneventful minute brought a decrease in her heart rate. She started to question her own hearing, her own logic, at last convincing herself either she hadn’t heard what she thought she had, or it was on the television.

  She spotted a bottle on the table next to her chair. Maybe I’ll just pop a Benadryl, get a little drowsy and then go to bed.

  Television infomercials took up the next forty-five minutes. She shifted into neutral and the spinning wheels of her brain slowed to an idling phase. Her purple-shadowed eyelids grew leaden. Less than an hour after her gut-wrenching terror, Tori was snoring softly. She never heard the mournful sigh echo throughout the house.

  Chapter Two

  A persistent, annoying pounding crashed through the delightful dream Tori was smiling through. Groggily, she opened her eyes, only to be momentarily blinded by fierce, radiant beams of sunlight falling through the window. She rubbed her eyes like a small child, still wearing a grin which dissolved with the next series of hammer-blows on the front door.

  Tori glanced at the clock next to the TV as she climbed out of the chair.

  Wow, I can’t believe I slept that long.

  Without looking to see who the impolite, irritating person was on the other side, she pulled the door open.

  Her hair was a wind-tossed bird’s nest and she was shifting papers to keep her claim on them, Lydia glared at Tori.

  “Oh. My. God! It’s eleven o’clock and you’re still asleep! Great. I went to all the trouble of making lunch reservations and now we won’t get there on time. Wonderful, Tori, just bloody wonderful!”

  Tori threw her arms around her disgruntled friend and pulled her into the room. She lightly kissed Lydia’s cheek as she closed the door.

  “Good morning, dear, sweet, understanding, Lydia. I’m so happy to see your bright, cheerful face.”

  Lydia Palmer struggled to maintain the look of stern disapproval for her young client’s behavior.

  “Don’t start with me, Victoria Lynn Stanfield! Good thing I told you I’d pick you up for lunch or you would’ve stood me up—again. I know it’s tough being a writer but you absolutely have to get your priorities straight. Stop that insane grinning, will you? Mon Dios, you’re driving me to drink! Speaking of which, be a dear and fix me a screwdriver, okay, love?”

  Tori laughed merrily. She leaned over to pinch the agent’s cheek and Lydia tried, in vain, to slap the hand away.

  “Now, now, Lydia! Play nice. A screwdriver? At eleven o’clock in the morning? Kinda early, isn’t it?”

  Lydia expelled air through her surgically perfect nose.

  “Some of us do not sleep away an entire day, Tori. Some of us get up very early and have accomplished many important things by eleven o’clock in the morning. Besides, a screwdriver has orange juice, a regular breakfast beverage. Okay? Now stop acting like m
y mother and fix your agent a nice drink.”

  Tori spun on her heel and headed for the kitchen to start a pot of coffee. Lydia wouldn’t be too happy about it but that was just too bad. Tori knew her friend disliked American coffee and only drank tea, when she could be persuaded to drink anything non-alcoholic. This morning, though, Miss Snooty wasn’t going to get her way. It was going to be coffee or nothing.

  Lydia kept up a steady stream of conversation as Tori measured coffee grounds in the filter. She could imagine her friend’s words, had she been in the room with her.

  Really, Victoria! Perked coffee? For God’s sake, don’t you at least have an espresso machine?

  Tori carried the coffee into the living room and Lydia frowned when she saw the aromatic steam rising from the cup. Tori grinned and Lydia’s lips puckered in a pout.

  “Tori, love, you know I hate coffee.”

  “Yes, my dear Lydia, but that’s all that’s available in this house. Now, be a good girl and drink up while I take a quick shower. I’ll be ready in 20 minutes.”

  Lydia took the proffered cup, refusing to meet Tori’s eyes.

  “You know, Tori, you’re not my mother. And you really should forget this notion you have that I drink too much.”

  Tori smirked, then shuffled toward the bathroom.

  In the living room, Lydia opened her Louis Vuitton bag. While watching the hallway for signs of Tori, she surreptitiously pulled a silver flask from her purse. The lid rattled against the glass and she quickly removed it. She may hate American coffee but never let it be said she hated Irish coffee.

  The women continued their conversation across the hallway. Tori was pulling on her sweater and jeans as Lydia sipped her now-acceptable coffee.

  “So, Lydia, where are we having lunch?”

  Lydia gulped the swallow she held in her mouth so she could answer and swore as the hot coffee scalded her throat.

  “Bloody hell!”

  “What? I didn’t hear you. Where did you say?”

  Lydia dabbed at her smeared lipstick and again reached for the bottle.

  “We’re eating at The Fountain.”

  Tori sighed then pulled her sweater over her head and jerked down the zipper of her jeans. She duck-walked to the closet; the jeans still wrapped around her ankles. She lifted one leg free and sailed the pants across the room with her other foot. She scraped hangers across the metal rod in her closet, trying to find a dress suitable for the restaurant Lydia had chosen for lunch. Tori would’ve been happier with fast food but Lydia would have been horrified at such a thought.

  She rummaged through the dresser drawers, looking for a pair of stockings with the least runs, muttering to herself. The best pair she found had no runs but there was a rip in the crotch.

  Well, it’s the best I can do. With any luck, they won’t rip any more. Where’d I put my clear fingernail polish?

  Tori covered the entire ripped seam with the acrylic polish then blew on them to speed the drying process.

  “Why The Fountain, Lydia? Couldn’t you have chosen something a little less elegant? Good grief! It’s only lunch!”

  Tori could just imagine Lydia rolling her eyes toward the ceiling as if imploring someone to give her strength to not yell at her young, unsophisticated writer.

  “Well, love, we’re having a guest for lunch. An important guest, and I thought it terribly inappropriate to ask him to eat a kiddy’s meal!”

  Tori walked into the living room and lifted her eyebrows at the flask sitting on the end table next to her agent.

  “If I’m forced to drink this swill I have to make it more civilized. Coffee, indeed!”

  Lydia dropped the alcohol back into her purse, not bothering to make any further excuses for herself.

  “A guest? Who is it, Lydia?”

  Lydia grinned and Tori recognized the look. It was the expression Lydia wore when she had successfully pulled off a great coup.

  “It’s your next publisher, Tori. His name is Ted Woodward and he’s the acquisition editor for one of the biggest houses in New York! Isn’t this exciting?”

  Tori was always amazed at Lydia’s confidence. She didn’t doubt for one moment that this publisher would be interested in Tori’s work.

  “Lydia! You just automatically assume this man will want to publish my book?”

  The agent stood in front of Tori and smiled as she smoothed the young woman’s stray wisps of hair.

  “No, love, I don’t doubt it. You are very talented, Tori, and this man will see that. Not only will he publish this next book but he will be begging to publish each one of your books after that.”

  Tori quickly hugged her agent and tears shimmered in her eyes.

  “I wish I had as much faith in me as you do, Lydia.”

  “One day you will, sweet Tori. Now, hurry it up! We’re going to dazzle this man, but it may be more difficult if we show up an hour late!”

  She swatted Tori with her purse as she rushed her to the front door.

  * * *

  Lunch with Lydia was always a learning experience for Tori. She watched the beautiful agent work her magic on the editor. She charmed and wooed the distinguished looking man, winning him over completely. She had brought along the partial for Tori’s next book. At first, Ted Woodward seemed eager to read it but he only gave it a cursory glance before he told them he would look forward to reading the completed manuscript.

  As they were parting at the entrance to the restaurant, he shook Tori’s clammy hand and kissed Lydia’s cheek.

  “Tori, it was a pleasure to meet you. After all of Lydia’s glowing praise, I wondered if your work could live up to it. Lydia, are we still on for dinner this evening? Ladies, it has been a delight!”

  Tori was wondering just how much her written words had swayed this man’s opinion and how much it had been Lydia’s voluptuous figure. Either way, she had a tentative publishing contract with one of the largest houses in the business!

  On the highway leading back to her house, Tori turned to the agent with a mischievous smile playing around the corners of her lips.

  “Lydia! You sneaky little devil, you! How long has this been going on?”

  Lydia glanced over with rounded eyes, an expression of assumed innocence at the implied charge of consorting with the enemy.

  “Why, Victoria! Whatever do you mean? There’s nothing ‘going on,’ as you so rudely put it! Ted Woodward and I have only known each other for a few days. I contacted him by phone to discuss your book. In the course of the conversation, he just happened to say he thought I had a sexy voice and that he just simply loves the English accent. So I casually mentioned that, perhaps, we should meet in person to discuss my young lady’s work. We’ve had dinner a couple of times, during which I persuaded him to meet with you.”

  “Lydia, you are one, sly fox!”

  Tori’s loving smirk did not escape Lydia’s notice.

  “Now you just mind your manners, Missy! What do you say to going by to see your mother? It’s been a few days since we’ve talked and I miss her. Besides, we simply must tell her the news in person!”

  Without waiting for a reply from Tori, Lydia pressed the accelerator a bit harder, seeming to be in a hurry to reach Sharon’s house. But then, Lydia was always in a hurry.

  Tori smiled, thinking how truly lucky she was. Not only did she get a top-notch agent who had become a loyal friend, but her mother gained a soul mate. The friendship between her mother and her agent always made Tori feel warm inside. It was nice to know that her two staunchest defenders were the best of friends.

  In fact, Sharon Canon saw more of her agent than Tori did. They had dinner together and went on long, exhausting shopping excursions for hours on end. The two women often stopped by Tori’s after a day spent together, just to show her things they had purchased on their recent mall safari. They would joke and giggle like schoolgirls when they were together. They would unabashedly discuss the men they dated, causing Tori to blush furiously and beg them to s
top. Sharon and Lydia would both laugh and only make her blush more.

  Lydia pulled the car to the curb and Sharon was standing on the front steps to welcome them before they even got out of the car. She kissed her daughter’s cheek and hugged her best friend before escorting them into the house. Immediately, the two older women began their companionable chattering, being so in synch with one another that they would often finish the other’s sentence.

  “Well, Lydia, what have you and my baby…”

  “…been up to? Oh, nothing important. Only meeting with the acquisition editor of a well-known, verrrry prestigious, publishing house. His name’s Ted Woodward and he’s…”

  “…from New York! What did he say? Is he interested in Tori’s next book? Oh, how silly! Of course…”

  “…he’s interested! He’s read the synopsis and the first three chapters. He told us he wants to see the rest of the manuscript, right away! Isn’t that…”

  “…wonderful! Oh baby, I’m so proud of you! Not surprised, though! We know you’re a good writer and we were just waiting for someone else to know it, too. Right, Lydia?”

  “Absolutely! Let’s have a drink to celebrate!”

  As Sharon fixed them a martini, she turned to her friend with a sly smile.

  “Okay, Lydia, confess! Just what did you do, or promise to do, to get Mr. Big Shot Editor to come here?”

  The pretended look of innocence was less convincing than before.

  “What is it with you people? Tori asked me the same bloody question!”

  Sharon chuckled, then draped an arm around Lydia’s shoulders.

  “Could it be, just maybe, that Tori and I know you pretty well?”

  Adopting a fairly good Southern drawl, Lydia shook her head at them.

  “Y’all thank yor sa smart, don’t cha?”

  Tori laughed so hard she had to hold her stomach. Sharon grinned as she shook her head at Lydia.