by Sally John
“Joel, how can you keep all of that inside of you?”
He couldn’t, not without repercussions. There was a tell-tale thumping in the back of his head.
“Joel.” Her voice was a little shaky. “Are you getting a headache?”
“No,” he lied.
She was beside him, pushing his hands from his head, pressing her fingertips against his temples. And then she was kissing his forehead, his cheeks, her tears falling on his face. Her face blurred before him, and then he knew.
The iceberg was melting.
Forty-Six
Alec did his best to bolster the kids’ festive mood around the dinner table, but each tasteless bite he took intensified the ache in his stomach. His efforts lagged.
The girls took it in stride that Mom wasn’t driving on the ice; she’d come home when the storm quit. No big deal. Mom always took care of herself. They saw no reason not to go ahead and eat on the good china in the dining room and use linen napkins. Mom wouldn’t mind. She liked special occasions.
Drew laughed with his little sisters. Recovered from his near brush with the need of a tow truck for the second time in one season, he probably was elated as well at the fact that his mother was safe, wherever she was. He would remember the accident; he had been nine at the time.
Elation didn’t describe anything near the emotions tearing through Alec. He was disappointed, angry, relieved, upset, frustrated, defeated, seething. The overriding one? He was really ticked off at Anne, the weather, Charlie Manning, and probably God. He wanted to break something.
To divert his attention, he interrupted the discussion about what the kids planned to do if school were canceled tomorrow. “Hey, gang, won’t Mom feel bad,” he hoped she would feel extremely bad, “that we had her favorite without her?”
Drew held a taco in front of his mouth. “Favorite? Tacos aren’t her favorite.” He took a bite.
“Sure they are.”
He shook his head and mumbled around his mouthful, “They’re mine and Mandy’s.”
Alec glanced at the girls. They shrugged. “So, Andrew, what is her favorite?”
“Salmon.”
“We never have salmon.”
“Because you three don’t like it. Whenever there’s salmon on a menu, that’s what she orders. And when you’re out of town, that’s what she fixes for herself. It’s not bad, actually.”
Alec stared at his son as the boy stuffed another huge bite into his mouth. Salmon?
Mandy reached over and patted Alec’s arm while glaring at her brother. “Yeah, well, smarty-pants, we baked her favorite dessert. Chocolate cake.”
Drew’s laughter turned into a minor choking episode.
Alec gave up all pretense of eating and waited. What else didn’t he know about Anne?
Drew gulped water. “Amy, what’s Mom got stocked in the freezer downstairs? Those cartons we’re not supposed to touch?”
“Ice cream. Praline.”
He gave her a thumbs-up sign. “Mandy, what does Grammy bake for Mom’s birthday every year?”
“Pecan pie!” She met her brother’s high five across the table.
Alec frowned. “I knew that.”
“She doesn’t like chocolate, Dad.”
Alec knew that too. He’d just…forgotten.
I wonder if Charlie Manning knows?
Anne spun around the motel room and giggled. Sleet pelted against the window, but her children were safe at home with their father. She was warm and cozy. And there, under a ceiling light, stood an easel with a blank canvas.
On the way through the parking lot, she had stopped at her car and retrieved warm-up pants, sweat shirt, socks, and athletic shoes. After telling Charlie goodbye and checking into the room, she had immediately filled the bathtub and slipped out of her sweater and slacks. She soaked in the steamy water until the tensions melted away. The thought struck her that the working woman did indeed have time for a bath. Her only regret was she didn’t carry bubble bath in her gym bag. Next time she’d be prepared.
At that she had smiled, and then she began to imagine what she would paint.
She went to the phone. Alec would be anxious by now and wondering if they had made it to Charlie’s house. On second thought, she should use the cell and not add charges to the room bill. She dug it out of her purse and pressed her home number. The phone at the other end rang and rang. She counted 15 rings and started over again. When the same thing happened, she realized that the phone lines were probably down.
Not uncommon, which was why they had two cell phones. She punched in the number of Alec’s and reached his voice mail.
“Hey, mister. I can’t get through to the house phone. I suppose it’s the storm. I’m at the Stratford Inn next to the store, in room 212. Charlie insists on paying for it. He said he wouldn’t want his wife staying with another man. And guess what?” She giggled. “I’ve got an easel and canvas and paints! Right here in the room! I’m going to paint. If I can’t be home with you all, this is my second choice. Just me and the paints. Call me. I’ll keep the cell phone turned on. I love you.”
Anne stared at the blank canvas. “Oh, Father, thank You.”
“Daaad!” Amy whined, stretching the one syllable down the hallway and into the den.
Alec had been staring at the computer screen, pretending to work, pretending his stomach wasn’t churning, pretending the image of Anne cooking with that tall artist in that tall artist’s kitchen wasn’t rerunning in his mind’s eye.
He swiveled his head around. “What, Amy?” His tone was sharp.
His daughter didn’t seem to notice. “The phone’s not working!” she wailed.
Alec yanked the desk phone from its cradle. There was no dial tone. He rubbed his forehead. “It happens, honey. The ice storm—”
“It’s not fair!”
No, it’s not! he wanted to scream. Your mother can’t get through! She’s hanging out with another man. I don’t even know if she tried to call!
“Dad. Can I use your cell phone just this one time? We won’t talk long, I promise!”
Cell phone! Where was the cell phone? “Drew!” Alec shouted and rushed out the door and into the family room where his son sat on the couch. “Drew, what’d you do with the cell?”
A sheepish look crossed his face and he jumped up. “It’s still in the car. I’ll get it.”
“I’ll get it!” Better to expend his energy going out to the barn rather than throttling the kid.
“I’m sorry, Dad. I know I’m not supposed to—”
Alec shut the kitchen door on his words, walked across the porch, and out the door. He stepped gingerly down the steps, although he had already sprinkled rock salt on them. The sleet stung his face and felt as if it would penetrate his sweatshirt.
That other night came back to him with a fury. The sheriff had called. There’s been an accident… Your wife will be all right, but she’s in shock, bruised. The ambulance is transporting her to the hospital, just to be sure. Someone witnessed her car leaving the highway and notified the sheriff’s office. She wasn’t exposed long to the cold. Still, it had taken awhile to extricate her from the crumpled car that had rolled, coming to rest on its side…
Alec entered the barn and flipped on the lights. The two dogs bounded from their warm straw beds, tails wagging. He patted them cursorily and went to Drew’s car. After several moments spent checking on top of the seats, below the seats, the floor, the glove box, and the door pockets, he mentally reviewed what being grounded would mean to Drew a second time around in one season.
As he backed out of the car, the small silver phone caught his eye. It was in the backseat. The backseat?!
He retrieved it and turned it on. Nothing happened. Dead battery.
Alec ran his hand across his face. “Okay, Lord. I quit. You know where she is. You know what she’s doing. You take care of her. Please. Keep her,” he took a deep breath, “keep her from driving home in this.”
Forty-Seven
A distant chirrup startled Britte awake. It sounded again. Her foggy brain registered that it was a cell phone. Not hers. Abruptly, Joel was on his feet, and she was toppling onto the couch cushion where he had been sitting close beside her, his arm around her.
He loped to the kitchen. She sat up and noticed from the VCR’s digital clock that it was 10:35. Considering Joel’s chest probably wasn’t going to be her pillow for the rest of the night, she should go home.
He returned to the living room now, cell phone to his ear. She watched him as he talked. His face was becoming increasingly familiar. A short while ago she had kissed his furrowed brow and stern jawline, his stubbled cheek damp with tears shed by them both. When she sat on the arm of the recliner, he had buried his head against her neck, his shoulders heaving.
After a time he had looked at her as if to say something, but instead stood, gathered her into his arms and wordlessly guided them to the couch. He kissed her then…passionately kissed her as she’d never been kissed before.
He raised his face a mere fraction of an inch. “Britte.” His voice was a low rumble, his eyes at half-mast. “What’s a princess like you doing hanging out with an old, broken-down Marine?”
She touched his chin. Her throat was dry; her heart hammered 100 miles an hour. “I have no clue.”
He chuckled softly and lowered his head again.
After a time he sighed deeply, his arms still around her. “Mmm, those rules of engagement keep revising themselves. Not a good idea. I should take you home.” He hugged her tightly. “But can I just hold you for a while?”
Nodding, she snuggled against him, trying to catch her breath, almost frightened at the depth of her response to this man. She should go home. Instead, they both fell asleep.
He closed up the phone now and smiled at her. “Hi.”
“Hi.”
He slumped back onto the couch, his shoulder against hers, reached for her hand, and yawned. “That was Bruce Waverly.” The school district’s superintendent. “Evidently we’re in the midst of an ice storm and the phone system is down. That’s why he called on the cell. Some of the districts are already canceling tomorrow’s classes, but he’s decided to wait. Forecast says it’ll warm up through the night.” He yawned again.
“Ice storm? I’d better go home.”
“Mm-hmm.” He turned toward her. “Hey, Britte. I just found a better cure than a pill for migraines. Kissing you! Maybe we could patent it.”
They laughed like two silly teenagers. Britte knew he was spoiling his General’s image, but she wasn’t about to point that out.
“Joel! Ice storm!” She stood, pulling on his arm. “Let’s go.”
In a slaphappy mood, they managed to put on shoes and coats. Outside in the garage, she stood by the large automatic door as it rattled open. “Uh-oh.”
He came up behind her. “What?”
“Look at this.” The streetlight shone on the blacktop road, his driveway, bare branches, and evergreens. A thick layer of ice coated everything in sight. Like falling needles, frozen raindrops pelted the snow-covered lawn with a steady rat-a-tat-tat.
“It’s beautiful.”
Surprised at his comment, she peered over her shoulder at him. “It is, but I can’t believe we didn’t hear it from inside.”
“No mystery to me why we didn’t hear it.” He tugged at her sleeve. “Come on. I shall get you safely home, O Damsel in Distress. Piece of cake.”
“Joel, have you ever driven in this stuff? Out in the country?”
“I’m sure I have. Chicago is in the Midwest, isn’t it?”
“Your armor is looking a bit smudgy, O Knight. Promise to go slow?”
They climbed into his car. He inched it in reverse down the driveway. All the while she narrated a litany of harrowing incidents that resulted from driving in this type of storm.
“See, Britte? So far, so good. Got your seat belt on? No more stories. Please!”
Half a block from his condo, they crept toward a stop sign. Joel braked and the antilock brakes went into action, but to no avail. The car didn’t respond. It just continued moving, as if in slow-motion, through the intersection.
The center of the blacktop road rose slightly higher than its sides. The car, its steering nonresponsive, followed the gentle line of the slope toward the left, sliding slowly until at last coming to rest in a shallow ditch.
“Whoops,” Joel announced.
Britte sighed dramatically. “Well, Knight, your armor is completely corroded now.”
“Never fear, Princess. I shall carry you home.” He cut the engine and pushed his door open a few inches. “But we’ll have to get out your door. Mine appears to be blocked.”
She opened hers and climbed out, her athletic shoes crunching through the snow. He followed her. “Joel, you don’t need to walk me home. Then you’ll have to walk all the way back. I can go by myself—”
“Are you kidding? I wouldn’t let you do that even if Hughes were still locked up. Don’t you have a hat or a hood?” He was tying on his own hood, and then he held out his gloved hand. “Give me your hand. Why aren’t you wearing gloves?”
“Because I was just going to ride in your car for eight blocks.” They climbed up to the road. “I can walk home. Nobody’s going to be out on a night like this.”
“You think we’re the only numskulls out? I’ll go— Whoa!” His left foot hit the iced pavement and, like the car, kept on going.
Britte, still on the snow, steadied him. Inwardly she moaned. Things were not looking good.
He managed to reel in his left foot. “Careful. We’ll cross here and then just stay in the snow as much as possible. But first we’ll go back inside and get you some gloves and a hat.”
He was beginning to sound persnickety like Brady, which annoyed her. “Mr. Kingsley, I already have a mother and a father.” Hands locked, they walked by millimeters. “And a big brother and a big sister.”
Britte’s foot slipped. Joel lost his balance. They rocked back and forth, exclaiming “Ohhhh” in unison with increasing volume. And then they fell.
“Ouch!” she cried. Her hip and elbow took the brunt of the fall. She gave up resisting it and lay back on the street.
Sprawled beside her, Joel asked, “Are you okay?”
“Sure. Falling flat on the pavement is a favorite pastime of mine. Are you okay?”
“Yeah. Assuming we can make it across the street to my place, will you spend the night with me?”
“No! Of course not! Don’t be ridiculous!”
“Tough. I was only asking to be polite because I don’t think you have a choice.” His chuckle was low. Infectious.
She joined in. The whole scene was so absurd. Soon they were howling contentedly while ice accumulated on their coats and in her hair.
Again with the phone! The ring shrilled near Britte’s head, rousing her from a deep sleep. She reached toward the noise, her arm floundering, her vision hampered by sleep and the fuzzy light of the predawn hour.
“H’lo?”
“Uh, may I speak to Joel?”
Joel? The mere sound of his name even in dream zone ignited sparks somewhere deep in her being, diffusing heat, liquifying her bones. But he wasn’t with her now. “Mmm,” she replied sleepily, “not here.”
“I’m terribly sorry.” The voice was familiar.
“Mmm,” she said again and fumbled to replace the phone. She clunked it against the nightstand. The cradle wasn’t in its usual spot.
It wasn’t in its usual spot because there was no nightstand. She wasn’t at home!
And she had just talked to the school superintendent on the phone. She shot straight up and yelled, “Joel! Joel!”
“What?” A large shadow came barreling around the hall corner into the living room.
“Waverly just called.”
“Huh?”
“Bruce Waverly! I told him you weren’t here. I think that’s what I said anyway.”
“What!” He
sounded awake now.
The phone rang again, and he stepped over to answer it.
In the hazy light she could tell he wore long pajama pants without a shirt. She peered at his left upper arm, searching for the tattoo the kids talked about. It was too dark to see anything. Curious that she would be drawn to a military guy. Not that she’d ever known one before. At least the tattoo didn’t have some other woman’s name on it. Now that would really be bizarre.
“Thank you, sir. Goodbye.” He hung up the phone. “Temperature’s up. School’s a go. Coffee.” He headed toward the kitchen. “Call a tow truck…”
“Joel.”
He turned.
“Did Waverly say anything? About a woman answering your phone?”
“Huh? Oh. No.”
“He probably thought he had a wrong number. Of course, when word gets out that I spent the night here, you’ll probably have to tell him the truth.” She noticed Joel shuffling away and called out to him, “I thought you were a morning person?”
“It’s not morning yet. I was still awake at 3 A.M.”
Britte snuggled back down on the couch, under the covers. It didn’t feel like morning to her either. What time was it? The VCR clock was flashing, signaling a power failure.
Last night, after laughing like hyenas in the deserted street, they had inched their way back to the condo, wet and freezing. His laundry room adjoined a bathroom. She took a hot shower while her warm-up suit tossed in the dryer. They drank hot chocolate, gently fussing over sleeping arrangements. She opted for the couch, refusing to take his room. He finally seemed to catch on that for her, that would be too…intimate. He had smiled in an odd way, and she knew he thought her old-fashioned and naïve. Well, he was right. She had tossed and turned on the couch. The last thing she remembered was peering at her watch sometime after two.
Innocent as the situation was inside the walls of his home, outside them somebody was going to believe they had this time indeed broken a rule. And they would pay for it.