Lori Wick Short Stories, Vol. 3

by Lori Wick

  “Are you going to tell me?” Josie prodded

  “I was just thinking about Ken.”

  “You’re not supposed to be sighing over my fiancé,” her sister teased.

  “It wasn’t specifically about him—just about being in love and knowing someone is waiting for you.”

  The yearning she heard in her sister’s voice brought Josie up on one elbow to look across at the other bed.

  “I didn’t know you felt that way, Lorri. You’ve never given any hint of wanting a man in your life right now.”

  “Really, Josie!” Lorri’s voice held a measure of mild disgust. “Just because I don’t swoon and carry on the way Max does, doesn’t mean I don’t have any interest.”

  “What type of man would you want?” Josie asked, her voice tender, which was her way.

  “Someone like Ken.” Lorri’s eyes were still on the ceiling. “Someone who shared our faith and was so sweet and capable all at the same time. It also wouldn’t hurt if he was as dreamy as Ken.”

  “He is good-looking, isn’t he?”

  “Um hm. Is that the first thing you noticed, Jo?” Lorri finally looked at her sister.

  “It probably was, but it didn’t take long for that to be of little importance.”

  “What did you notice in its place?”

  “Just what you said: his sweetness. He’s the kindest man I know. When he goes out to fight, he has to be tough and brave, but he couldn’t be more gentle with me.”

  “How often do you think about him fighting?”

  “Not very much. I wouldn’t be able to concentrate on anything else.”

  For a time the room was quiet. Both women lay looking at the ceiling. It didn’t matter that it was a Friday night and at home there would have been countless things to do. They lived in a small cabin on a cattle ranch, and most evenings of the year there was next to nothing going on.

  It certainly helped that they enjoyed each other’s company and never ran out of things to talk about, but on Friday nights, when they dreamed of going for a drive on the California coast or popping corn and listening to records at home, it was especially difficult to be away from family.

  “Who’s going to start tonight?” Josie asked.

  “I will,” Lorri volunteered.

  And with that, she began to pray. They had made a commitment to pray together every night before they fell asleep in their room. And so far, they had kept their word. This night—even being a Friday and a little bit disappointing—would be no different.

  Admiral Dean Archer was headed to see his oldest granddaughters. They didn’t know of his arrival, but that made it all the more fun.

  Their father—his son, Tom Archer—had been dead for more than 12 years, but Dean still thought about him often and knew that he would really come to mind when he saw Josie. They didn’t look alike, but her mannerisms were most like his.

  All three girls took after their mother with their dark hair and skin like fresh cream, but Josie always reminded him of Tom. Not that she wasn’t attractive—she was really quite lovely—but he never looked at her hazel eyes without seeing his son.

  Lorrie was the most like Ruth. Slightly more petite, she was swift to smile, and her eyes were large and deep brown. Max looked like a younger version of Josie, but for some reason, never reminded Dean of his son.

  Dean thought about how different Josie and Lorri would look. He tried to prepare himself for anything, but his mind wandered to the years apart. What a time it had been! Seeing his granddaughters had been almost impossible, and he knew their mother and sister missed them terribly. They might have surprised the girls with money for a trip home, but not after the war started. It was all too long and unpredictable.

  For the moment Dean forced such thoughts from his mind. He would be seeing his granddaughters in less than an hour, and he wanted this to be a happy visit. Only God knew when he would see them again, and he had very little time—less than 48 hours—to spend time with them.

  He made himself a little more comfortable in the staff car and thought about how surprised they were going to be.

  “All right, children,” Lorri said with a laugh in her voice. “We’ve been silly long enough, and now we need to get back to our studies. Paul,” she called on a boy whose hand was in the air.

  “Miss Lorri, I can’t remember the last continent.”

  Lorri handled the request in short order and drew the children back to the statement she’d written on the board up front. She could tell that the day was almost over because they were all getting antsy.

  Not taking too much time with any one point, Lorri made herself clear and assigned homework for the next day. This was met with groans and long faces, but she stood firm.

  “I’m not happy with the way you’re struggling with this, so we’ll take a little time at home to get it settled in our minds.”

  And that was the final word of the day. Lorri dismissed the children and worked with her sister to straighten the room, glad that the next day was Friday.

  “My feet hurt,” Josie commented as the women exited the schoolroom.

  “Do they?” Lorri looked down. “Why did you wear those shoes?”

  “I always wear these shoes.”

  “No, you don’t. You wear the black ones.”

  Josie looked at her own feet and giggled a little. She had been tired that morning but hadn’t realized how much.

  Lorri laughed as she watched her, so neither woman was looking ahead. Dean had come around the corner of the building and simply stood, waiting to be noticed. Just seeing the girls had brought tears to his eyes, but he still knew the moment they saw him.

  “Grandpa!” Josie was first, running like a five-year-old, Lorri close behind her, to be caught in the arms of the man who had been both father and grandfather to them for more than ten years.

  “When did you get here?”

  “We had no idea!”

  “How’s Mother?”

  “How long can you stay?”

  The words tumbled from both women as their grandfather kissed them and hugged them again and again. Everyone cried, and after some moments they grew quiet and just looked at each other, drinking in every detail.

  “Where can we talk?” Dean asked as he finally found his voice, emotion still filling him.

  Josie led the way back to the schoolroom, and the three of them grew comfortable on the seats there, sitting close, needing to be near.

  “First of all, your mother and Max send their love.”

  Lorri didn’t think she would cry again, but tears flooded her eyes. Her little sister would be so grown up by now, and they had missed so much.

  “They miss you but love your letters.”

  “We love theirs too,” Josie put in, her voice thick with tears.

  “You both look wonderful,” Dean suddenly said. “Oh,” he continued as he reached for his case. “I have a few things for you.”

  The women took the small packages and letters but didn’t open them. Such things could wait; getting to look at their grandfather could not.

  The admiral was older—very tan and fit—but a few extra lines had inched their way around his eyes. His mouth was a bit drawn when he wasn’t smiling.

  “I spoke to Ian Colins when I arrived. I asked if I could steal you for the next day and a half, and he agreed.”

  “He said we could cancel the children’s lessons?”

  “Yes. Now what would you like to do?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” the women laughed and told him, “as long as we can be with you.”

  “In that case,” Dean took delight in answering, “we’re going into town.”

  “We can’t,” Lorri said, her voice almost sad.

  “Why not?” Dean asked, both family members looking at her.

  “Josie’s feet hurt.”

  Both Dean and Josie laughed at this, just as Lorri hoped they would. Her brand of humor was always dry and subtle, and it set the tone for the next 36 hours
. Dean, feeling like a king with his granddaughters at his side, took them away from the ranch, not willing to waste a single moment.

  “What looks good?” Dean asked, his menu open as the three of them sat in a restaurant that evening in downtown Carson Point.

  “The chicken,” Josie decided. Lorri wanted the same.

  “I, on the other hand,” Dean teased a little, “will have the beef, since I don’t have the pleasure of living on a cattle ranch.”

  “The beef is good,” Lorri agreed, gaining a wink from her grandfather that made her smile to herself at what joy one could have over simple things. They had not done anything special that afternoon—a little shopping and now a meal in a small café—but it was more than that. She had been with people that she loved and cherished, and every act made it the most special.

  “So tell me,” Dean prompted when the order had been taken, “are you enjoying the job?”

  “Yes.” Josie was the one to speak up. “The children are wonderful, and so are the parents. We are treated well.”

  “Very well,” Lorri added. “In fact, there’s a birthday party tomorrow night, and we’re invited. Just like family.”

  Dean stared at them.

  “You both have accents. Do you know that?”

  “We do not,” Josie argued on a laugh.

  “Yes,” he was adamant, “you do. It’s subtle, but it’s there.”

  The girls exchanged a look, smiling in surprise.

  “Now tell me,” Dean pressed, feeling the hours running fast, “when do you go to Hoyt for vacation?”

  “Next month.”

  “Are you looking forward to it?”

  “Yes, we’ll have almost a week to ourselves here and then follow the family in a separate plane.”

  “We’re both ready for the change. And the children need this as much as we do,” Lorri offered.

  “Tell us more about Mother and Max,” Josie suddenly put in.

  “I will, Jo, but you must understand that Ruth and Maxine are going to ask about you. I can’t go home with no information.”

  “When will you be home again?”

  “Possibly in July.” He shrugged. “It all depends on this war.”

  The very word caused silence to fall on their little table. The food was delivered to this silent group, but Dean was not going to let them be sad. As soon as he prayed, he began to tell them more about home.

  In short order the three were laughing and sharing, holding nothing back. If there was a feeling of desperation in each heart, well, that was to be expected. These few precious hours were to be treasured, and treasure them they did.

  The Saturday morning goodbye was one of the most painful they could remember. For a time after the admiral left, both Josie and Lorri were inconsolable with tears.

  “This is silly!” Lorri declared, working to dry up. “We should be thankful that he came and not bawling like children.”

  Josie looked at her, eyes still swimming. Lorri looked back. It was no use. They both cried until they had headaches.

  June

  “Of all the times to break my heel!” Lorri said with disgust, taking a seat inside the small building where they waited for word from the pilot.

  “Let me see it.” Josie put her hand out and waited for the shoe. She examined it just long enough to see that her sister was right and then tried to hand it back. She found her sister opening her suitcase and searching along the edge.

  “All I’ve got in this bag is a pair of saddle shoes. I’m going to look like a bobby-soxer!”

  “Don’t wear socks with them. That will help.”

  “That’s true, but the backs of these will scrape my heel if I do that,” Lorri answered, even as she pulled on a pair of white socks, slipped on the shoes, and tucked the broken-heeled pumps into her case.

  This accomplished, the sisters settled themselves a little more in the seats, their eyes going to the windows.

  Crossing the tarmac, Josie and Lorri squinted against the wind outside the small airport. With one hand they each held a suitcase, and with the other, they attempted to keep the hats on their heads.

  Walking in front of them, confident and all business, was their pilot, Clarence Fuller. He worked for the Colins family, and if Lorri’s guess was right, he was sweet on Josie. He never did or said anything improper, but she was always given preference in the plane, and when he had a question or statement to make, it was directed at Josie.

  As if to confirm this belief, they arrived at the plane, and Lorri watched Clarence settle Josie with the utmost care in the front next to him. He was kind to Lorri, but in a rather impersonal way.

  Lorri wondered whether she should ask Josie if she’d gotten a recent letter from Ken but decided that was mean. Her sister was all grown up and able to handle her own affairs. It was also true that she never did anything to encourage Clarence. However, she was lovely and sweet, and Lorri couldn’t say she blamed the man.

  “Are you comfortable, Lorri?” Josie asked.

  “Yes, Jo, thanks. How about you?”

  Something in Lorri’s voice made Josie turn and give her a stern look. Lorri’s eyes danced with silent laughter—she’d teased Josie about Clarence’s interest in the past—but both women remained silent as their pilot chose that moment to join them.

  “All set?” he asked.

  “I think so.” Josie did the honors.

  Clarence nodded, checked a few more dials and switches, and just minutes later, the plane and its three occupants were airborne.

  Every Storm

  If you enjoyed Lori Wick fiction, you’ll love this excerpt from Dana Mentink’s

  Sit, Stay, Love

  Turn the page to meet baseball pitcher Cal Crawford, new dog sitter Gina Palmer, and Tippy, the dog who brought a family together.

  One

  “What is that?” Cal Crawford looked in disgust from Pete to the sagging bundle under his pitching coach’s arm.

  “It’s a dog, of course,” Pete said. “Your mother’s dog. What kind of a question is that?”

  The dog stared at Cal with mournful brown eyes. Or maybe it was the hang-down ears or the graying jowls that added to the gloom on the gaze. “I’ve had dogs. Hunting dogs. That’s not in the same line.”

  “She’s a dog all right, a dachshund mixed with something taller and wider.” Pete gave the animal a conciliatory rub between the eyebrows. “I’ve been taking care of her since the funeral.”

  Cal shifted. He’d forgotten. He’d been on the road when his mother passed away and Pete had taken care of the details, Cal flying in just before the funeral and jetting off immediately after. “That’s right,” he said. “It was good of you to do that, Pete.”

  “Yeah, it was, but I’ve got to have my boat rehauled and anyway Tippy’s not a good sailor. I think she’s prone to seasickness.”

  Cal winced as the physical therapist kneaded the sore muscle in his shoulder. Shouldn’t be so tender, not in the off-season. He shoved the thought aside. The dog stared at him. “So why did you bring it here?”

  “Her, not it. Name’s Tippy, like I said, and your mother wouldn’t want her to go to the pound. I’ve asked everyone from the short-stop to the hot dog vendors and no one wants a thirteen-year-old mutt of dubious ancestry.”

  Cal gaped as the facts assembled themselves in his mind. “You’re not thinking that I’m going to take it?”

  “Why not?”

  “Spring training’s coming up.”

  Pete quirked a sarcastic eyebrow. “I’m aware. We work for the same team, you know.”

  “I’m a starter.”

  “I’m aware of that, too, Mr. Big Shot Pitcher. I’ve been watching you since single A ball, sonny boy, when you couldn’t lace your cleats by yourself, so don’t put on airs with me.”

  Cal was adrift at what Pete seemed to be asking him to do. “I don’t like dogs that don’t work for their keep.”

  “You make a seven-figure salary. Hire someone to like her f
or you.” Pete placed the ungainly dog on the floor and gave her a scratch behind the ears. Her knobby paws slowly slid outward on the slick flooring until she oozed like a puddle, round belly first, onto the tile. “Here’s your new daddy, Tippy. He’s kind of crabby for such a young guy, but don’t let that fool you. He’s still grieving for his mama. Underneath, he’s got a heart of gold.” Pete shot Cal a look. “Somewhere.”

  Cal leapt out of the massage chair. “You can’t leave me with this animal.”

  Pete fished a tattered rectangle from his pocket. “Here’s a card for a dog sitter.”

  “But…”

  “She’s vetted and trained; she works with celebrity clients exclusively. Takes care of Coach Bruce’s goldens when the missus is out of town.”

  “I can’t…”

  “Yes, you can. I’ve got a meeting. See you later.”

  Cal clutched the card. “No, Pete. This is not happening. I am not taking this dog.”

  “She eats pretty much anything and she’s already had breakfast,” he said.

  “I’m not doing this.”

  Pete headed down the hallway. “And whatever you do, don’t let her near your car keys.”

  “Why?” Cal yelled down the corridor. “What does it do with car keys?”

  “She,” Pete thundered. “Tippy’s a girl.”

  Gina sat in her cousin’s car, fingers clenched on the wheel, staring at the gate which separated her from a house she would never be able to afford in six lifetimes. Maybe seven. Sea Cliff, San Francisco, was not the natural habitat of a girl of Gina’s financial circumstances. Her hand hovered over the gear, eager to slam the Volvo into reverse and flee. God will equip you for anything, remember? Her insides quivered as she recalled that she hadn’t exactly made a spectacular success out of her last endeavor. She whispered another prayer, hoping the equipping would commence immediately, in great quantity, and inched the car up to the guard whose nametag identified him as Ed. She smiled, he smiled, and she admired the little crayon sketch taped on the wall next to his phone with a name scrawled in crooked capital letters underneath. Addie Jo. The guard’s granddaughter, he told her with a proud smile. They chatted about Addie Jo, the artistic four-year-old who was learning ballet and had a bowl full of guppies that would not stop reproducing.