Dancing Ladies

Dancing Ladies by Marilyn Gardiner Wings ePress, Inc www.wings-press.com Copyright ©2007 by Marilyn Gardiner First pu...

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Dancing Ladies by Marilyn Gardiner

Wings ePress, Inc www.wings-press.com

Copyright ©2007 by Marilyn Gardiner First published in 2007, 2007 NOTICE: This eBook is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution to any person via email, floppy disk, network, print out, or any other means is a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines and/or imprisonment. This notice overrides the Adobe Reader permissions which are erroneous. This eBook cannot be legally lent or given to others. This eBook is displayed using 100% recycled electrons.

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Dancing Ladies "Let's look at this objectively." Cass spread his hands on the table, obviously still shaken. Deliberately, she beat back the tears. Almost pathetically glad he hadn't been frightened off, her throat tight, she spoke flippantly. "There's an objective viewpoint? You could have fooled me." Full darkness wrapped around the screened porch where they sat. The moon was only a silver sliver low in the sky. Overhead a fan whirred as Cass leaned both elbows on the table and gave her his full attention. Kate had scattered lighted candles, dancing now in the backwash of the fan, and intermittent fireflies bloomed and faded across the lawn. In the distance the throaty croak of frogs hummed through the night. The peaceful scene was so rooted in tranquility and the reality of her life so different, that Kate's mind rebelled. With difficulty she dragged her mind back to what Cass was saying. "There's always an objective view. I'm trying real hard to find it just now. When did this all begin?" "The moment Max and I first entered the house. We both sensed a presence then, and I can always tell now, when I set foot inside the front door, whether or not she's here—active, I guess, is the word." "Let's go over it again. What happened, exactly?" Kate's chest rose on a big breath and she thought back. "We were barely in town from Winnetka. Max ran in ahead of me and I stopped just over the door sill. There was a 3


feeling—an unwelcoming presence, for want of a better word—that I somehow sensed. I was, all of a sudden, spooked." She paused and heard the peepers down at the edge of the lake setting up their nightly chorus. A whiffle of breeze blew through the screen, ruffled the tablecloth and moved on. "This house is my home. I grew up here. There's always been a special, enveloping, feel of security. Of belonging. I love this house, and as silly as it sounds, as a child I always felt that it loved me too. These walls represent security to me. But not that morning. There was an oppressive atmosphere somehow. Almost as if something was trying to force me back out the door." "You felt hands? A physical pushing?" "More like a pressure, an invisible force preventing me from entering." "Did Max feel this presence?" "I don't think so. He just barreled on in the door and went straight back to the kitchen. But he saw something there that almost frightened him." "Like what?" "I don't know. I didn't see it. He said he thought for a minute that someone was there, but..." She shook her head. "And then what?" "He was hungry and wanted to go to McDonald's, so we started back out the front door. I looked into the mirror by the stairs to brush my hair..." she paused to compose herself and went on. "I looked into the mirror and saw her looking back." Again Kate's eyes threatened tears. "My sister. Dead 4


for ten years. It isn't possible, I know. Don't say it. I must be totally weirded-out."

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What They Are Saying About Dancing Ladies What They Are Saying About Dancing Ladies Marilyn Gardiner has written a spellbinding story, guaranteed to keep you turning pages to see what happens next. Prepare to stay up late with this one. And don't read it during an intense rainstorm or in a house that creaks at night." —J D Webb Shepherd's Pie Dancing Ladies is an intriguing story of a mother's love and her struggle to make a new and better life for herself and her son. Fresh and vivid descriptions and an emerging romance makes an enjoyable contrast of normalcy to the bizarre undercurrents of Kate's life. —Heather Garside Wings e-Press Author The Cornstalk A Hidden Legacy This paranormal has just the right amount of romance to keep it grounded. The story has that extra something special, and who doesn't love a heroine that is both talented and strong? I looked forward through the tightly woven plot to the 6


last satisfying page. I give Dancing Ladies Four and a Half Beacons. —Lighthouse Literary Review

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Other Works From The Pen Of Marilyn Gardiner Flight Of Angels Who is she? Whose child is she carrying? Two worlds collide when long-dead Olivia Avenlyng freely inhabits Beth's body and Beth is pulled back in time to relive Olivia's terror. My Pretty Lady When Ellen meets her true soul mate and they wrestle with the integrity of an impossible situation, she fears she will have to choose between one of her daughters and Drew. Like A River My Love Floating down the Ohio River in 1778 with George Rogers Clark's small army, Verity endures all the dangers of wilderness travel. Dare she trust her heart to Trey, the freedon-loving company scout? Keeper of The Singing Bones Mac has Rastafari friends and Juliet wouldn't trust him with a weather forecast. A stone statue, deep in an underground cave, points to the surprising answer—and love. When The Wind Blows A mother's worst nightmare! When six-year-old Gilly disappears, Molly sets out to find him herself. Is it possible to fall in love with the detective under such terrifying circumstances? A Trivial Pursuit 8


Talk about lop-sided pursuits! Jeremy is committed to noncommitted relationships and Lauren will settle for nothing less than all the bells and whistles, romance and vows.

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Wings Dancing Ladies by Marilyn Gardiner A Wings ePress, Inc. Paranormal Romance Novel

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Wings ePress, Inc. Edited by: Lorraine Stephens Copy Edited by: Sara V. Olds Senior Editor: Elizabeth Struble Managing Editor: Leslie Hodges Executive Editor: Lorraine Stephens Cover Artist: Barbi Durbin All rights reserved Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher. Wings ePress Books 11


www.wings-press.com Copyright © 2007 by Marilyn Gardiner ISBN 978-1-59705-215-9 Published In the United States Of America March 2007 Wings ePress Inc. 403 Wallace Court Richmond, KY 40475

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Dedication For Fran Priddy, friend, critique partner and orchid consultant, and Lorraine Stephens, editor and friend, without whom none of it would have happened. Acknowledgement My grateful appreciation to Hausermann Orchids in Villa Park, IL for their generous help in researching the orchids mentioned in this book, Fran Priddy, prolific orchid grower, and Tom Gephart, representing the Springfield IL Orchid Club. My profound thanks.

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One Dark Secret Dark purple blossoms with one even deeper purple lip blossom and a hint of yellow in throat. Brassolaeliocattleya Mericlone. Kate had never met a ghost. If asked, she'd have rolled her eyes and said that, in her opinion, anyone actually believing in ghosts must have been smoking funny cigarettes. So, as she walked up the front walk of the family home with her young son, she was totally unprepared. She clutched a suitcase in one hand, an overnight bag and Max's clown pillow in the other. Her eyes were gritty from lack of sleep, she was fighting a losing battle with patience and she was half numb with fatigue. If she'd known what the drive would be like, she wasn't sure she'd have bundled her orchids and her silks and her son into the rusted out old van and headed south. Not that night anyway. But the fact was, she hadn't known. She'd only thought, gratefully, tiredly, that she had been, at last, going home. From Winettka to Winsom. Home. The past few hours had been a nightmare. After being strapped in a seatbelt for five hours, Max, who was usually full of bubbles and enthusiasm, got tired and cross. He was sleepy and wriggly, and Kate's nerves were frayed at the 14


edges. She had struggled to keep a grip. Home had never looked so good. In the bright light of morning, the sky to the east was a harsh, violent blue-black. A vivid reminder of the storm she had driven through overnight. Sheets of driving rain and wind were pummeling Indiana by now. Her arms still ached from hanging onto the wheel and battling the wind, which had seemed determined to wipe her off the road. But now, she was here. For Kate, home amounted to finding refuge. Sanctuary. Shelter when she most needed it. In any case, she was grateful. From the front it was apparent that while the house was old, it had been well kept. A dull, deep green, with pale rose shutters, the house was a true Painted Lady spreading her dusty skirts in the heat of summer. On the right a half-circle appendage reached from the ground to a turret tower surrounding the circular staircase inside. The beautiful six-foot windows in every room made the two-story house light and airy. But now ... She frowned. For some reason those giant windows seemed to loom over her like—involuntarily she shivered—like dark eyes, eerie and ominous. What? They were lovely windows, covered with sheer white curtains. Ominous? Where had that come from? Obviously she'd been on the road too long. Shuddering again, she stepped up onto the porch. It was a wide curving verandah trimmed in intricate gingerbread woodwork and wrapped around both sides, meeting at a huge screened porch in the rear. After their two-bedroom 15


apartment, she and Max would rattle around the ten-room house like marbles in a glass jar. "Mom! Come on." Max was tired too. And hungry, likely. Kate shifted her bags and dug with one hand through her purse while Max waited expectantly at the door. "I'm hurrying. I'm hurrying," she said as she fingered the key and headed across the wide verandah. Max held the storm door open with his flat little bottom while she fumbled at the lock. With a groan, the heavy door swung open and Max shot in, stumbling slightly over the door jam. Kate followed more slowly. The door closed behind her with an audible thunk. The shades had all been drawn and the rooms lay in shadowed darkness. From a fat round newel post, the polished oak staircase rose to her right, with an octagonal, rose-colored stained glass window spilling a mauve flow of light over the landing. "I can't wait to slide down the staircase, again!" Max exclaimed and then shot straight ahead to the kitchen. A knife of pain sliced through her. She was amazed that a ten-year-old wound could still cut so deep. She should have known the first thing Max would want to do was slide down the broad railing of the old-fashioned, curved staircase. We polished that banister to a perfect high sheen with our small bottoms, shooting down it in tandem, shrieking in delight, launching off onto the carpet at the bottom. Kate felt suddenly, inexplicably, odd. The house looked the same. The staircase to the right, the kitchen ahead, and to her left was the living room, a huge parlor and a dining room. 16


But dust motes hung suspended in the heavy air, the silence was oppressive, and the house was shrouded in gloom. She felt almost as if she were breaking and entering someone else's home. In her stomach, a curl of something unpleasant unfurled. She stood, arms full, and fought the instinct to back out the door she had just entered. In spite of the heat outdoors, she was chilly. Gooseflesh raised on her arms. She frowned. There was the weird feeling that someone was breathing down the back of her neck. But that would be ridiculous. She resisted the urge to look over her shoulder. No one was there. The room was empty, but for her. Somehow the house didn't feel welcoming as it always had. She'd grown used to security enveloping her like a wellworn robe when she entered. Not today. For some strange reason, she felt ... She felt spooked. She narrowed her eyes against the shadows. An icy curl of air snaked around her legs and her stomach suddenly went weightless. The hair at the nape of her neck stiffened. A strange pressure seemed to bear down on her, as if the house was actually trying to force her back out the door. A cold quiver ran the length of her body. Kate forced a deep breath into her lungs and blinked her eyes. The house had stood empty too long. That was it. And Mother wasn't there to greet her. No reason to drape weird thoughts around an empty house. A house was a house. Wood and nails, plaster and paint. That's all. Get a grip, girl, she thought, this is the house you grew up in. She dumped 17


her bags at the foot of the stairs, hung her purse by the strap over the newel post and followed Max to the kitchen. He was standing in front of the pantry door. His thin, littleboy arms stuck out of his rumpled Cardinals T-shirt and his hair was smashed to his head on the right, from laying on his clown pillow in the car. He stood stock still, staring at the wide pantry door. His eyes were wide and peering fixedly at one spot. His face was pale. "Max?" He didn't seem to hear. She had to raise her voice and repeat his name before he responded. "Max! What is it?" He blinked, and then he laughed, a trembly effort. "I thought there was somebody here. For a minute I saw this— this thing, and then it was gone." "Who? Where did you see—?" But Max was thinking of food now, his surprise gone. He jerked a nod toward the pantry door. "I'm hungry. Can we go to Macadoodles and get an egg and muffin like you said?" "But who was it? Max talk to me." "Nobody. There's nobody. Can we get breakfast now?" He turned. Reluctantly, she let it drop. Maybe in the shadows he imagined a figure. Whatever it was, it was no longer there. Apparently, the trip had been hard on them both. For the umpteenth time, Kate hoped moving to Winsom was the right thing. Not that she had a lot of choices, but leaving the big city for a small rural town was a huge 18


upheaval for both her and Max. For Kate the homecoming was more a fact of finding refuge than anything else. When two years ago Huey had left her with a busy five year old who liked to eat and needed a roof over his head, he also left a pile of bills that he had no intention of paying and a pile of junk he optimistically called a van. And that was pretty much it. Oh, he'd said there was work in Austin and he'd send for her, but Kate knew it was over when he walked out the door. She had yet to shed a tear. The last blow was two weeks ago. The ax was quick and razor sharp. Huey called. He wanted Max. In a falsely confident voice she'd promised him they'd both be making snow angels in hell first, but the threat remained. Huey's parental instincts had kicked in, and belatedly he'd remembered he had a son. She couldn't allow custody to go to Huey. On the best of all best days, Huey was not good father material. No. Unthinkable. Kate went to the deep bay kitchen window and pulled the draperies open. There wasn't a great deal of lawn in the front, but now as the sunshine poured in she could see the wide expanse of backyard that would need to be mowed. Her back prickled and she glanced over her shoulder. Nothing was there. She shrugged. In the sudden glare of early morning, being frightened seemed utterly ridiculous. The day was just like any other day. Both she and Max felt a bit strange having been transplanted half way down the state, going from an apartment to a large house, driving all night and entering the 19


house for the first time alone after her mother's funeral. Some reaction was surely to be expected. Kate started after Max, then slowly crossed to the pantry door. She put out a hand, hesitated and let it drop, started to walk on, then stopped. What had Max seen? She couldn't leave without checking it out, at least. Her hand lay for a moment on the brass handle, shaking only slightly, before she clenched her jaw, held her breath and flung the door open. Nothing. She sagged in relief. A vague scent hung heavy in the room. Familiar. Overbearingly sweet. Flowers. Although none were in evidence, there must be a bag of dried rose petals in a cranny somewhere, gathered from the rose beds out back and left over from last summer. The smell grew stronger and then abruptly faded away until it was gone. In front of her stood shelves of canned goods, rows and rows of brilliant jars of her mother's homemade jellies, oversized cookers, stewing pots and a stack of salad molds. Pots and pans. Cleaning supplies. She laughed a bit shakily at her own fears. What had she been expecting? A hovering figure in flowing robes threatening them both? A ghost? A knife, maybe floating in the air, dripping blood? This was Winsom. This was her mother's kitchen, for heaven's sake. Of course there was nothing there. Still... "I'm hungry," Max said, again. "Let's go!" His appetite, and impatience, was rising. "You said we were going to eat." "Right. Let's go find the local Golden Arches and get some breakfast. We can unload the van when we get back." Reluctant, yet relieved, she let the matter drop. 20


"Where's my mitt? Did you bring it in yet?" Max left the room with a great whoop. "Macadoodles, here I come!" He caromed off the hall door, righted himself and barreled on down the hall. She glanced quickly around the room one last time. As a child, when awakened by a storm, her mother had always said, "If you listen to the wind long enough, you begin to believe all kinds of things." And she'd listened to the wind all night as she drove, fighting the wheel and wet pavements and her own fears. But she wasn't quite ready to believe in ghosts. Max ran ahead, down the steps and out the front door. She heard his feet clattering over the porch and down the steps to the sidewalk. Kate shook her head. Shadowy figures, indeed. Unwelcoming atmosphere. Girl, you've got to stop imagining tragedy waits behind every door. The bad stuff is in the past. This is a new beginning. Following Max, she stopped at the wall mirror across from the foot of the stairs to see how much residual damage was evident from the night. Dark circles around her eyes, likely, from a sleepless night. Her hair would be a mess. Before she faced the public, possibly people she might know, she ought to repair the damages. She searched in her purse for a brush. The mirror was old. It had come down through, Kate couldn't even remember how many generations. The glass was wavery and a bit dim, but no one had ever wanted to tamper with changing it. The frame was heavy, ornately carved and quite valuable. Beautiful, exquisite workmanship was evident in every line. 21


An antique dealer had once tried to dicker with her mother over a possible sale. But Kate and her mother had agreed that it was part of their heritage and were not interested in selling. Now she let her purse strap fall back over the newel post, lifted the brush to her corkscrew-curly hair and turned to the mirror. Her breath caught in her throat. The strong, honeyed scent of the same flowers she'd smelled in the pantry swept over her. The heavy, cloying smell wasn't roses at all. It was gardenias. Gardenias! Her heart seemed to stop. A face stared back at her. Her face, but ... No, not her own face, but one that looked horrifyingly like her. Dark hair in a loose wanton mass cascaded around an oval face. An oval face with eyes ... Eyes... A bone-crushing, enervating cold permeated her entire body. Gardenias! Leah's scent! The smell threatened to suffocate Kate. She couldn't breathe. An icy wash of fear skimmed over her arms and her spine went suddenly slick with terror. In the mirror, the eyes blazed with a hatred so intense Kate was stunned. The enmity was so strong it seemed to shoot, like electricity, from the mirror straight into her soul. No! The whisper became a silent scream, filling her head, echoing off the walks, lodging like a spike in her head. Oh God, no! Leah, you're dead!

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Two Clear Morn 'Awakenings' Clusters of dainty white blossoms on tall stalks. Cattleya Mericlone. Somehow—she would never remember the details—she left the house, drove to McDonald's with Max, and drank a glass of orange juice while he scarfed down two Egg McMuffins. With a queer sense of detachment, she had stopped at stoplights, found a parking space, spoken to people she'd known since the days of skinned knees, and now sat across a table from Max, clutching car keys in her sweating hand. All without having run down any pedestrians or insulted someone who cared about her. It was amazing in a once-removed sense. Reality set in with Max's repeated question. "When can we go get him? You said I could have a dog when we got here." A dog. Dogs did not come back from the dead. Dogs did not frighten you out of your senses by appearing in mirrors where they had no earthly right to be. Dogs were safe. But what in the world had happened? The face that looked back at her from Grandma's mirror simply could not have been her. Leah. Could not! "Mom? You promised I could have a dog." The word was surrounded by italics. 23


With effort Kate brought her mind into focus. "We will get a dog, Max. Give us a chance to settle in first, will you?" He was jiggling a leg and all but bouncing in the seat. "When? Tomorrow? Can we go tomorrow?" "Maybe. Probably. But we haven't even carried in everything from the van, yet. My orchids are probably overheating and—" "We parked in the shade and you opened all the windows." "—and you haven't yet been up to your room or—" "My mitt. Have you seen my mitt?" "And that's another thing. Aunt Bree signed you up for a Tball league, but we have to call your coach and see about practices. We can do that this afternoon." "Okay. Today my T-ball team and tomorrow the dog. Right?" Max was big on nailing down plans. Everything had to be carved in concrete before he believed it would actually happen. Even then, he wasn't entirely trusting. This was a recent development. Something else to chalk up to the negligent father-of-the-year, Huey Foster. "I will try. Try my best. This is not a cross-your-heart promise, Max. But I will try very hard to make arrangements so that we can look for a dog tomorrow. That's the best I can do. Okay?" Max stared hard at her. "Okay. Let's go home so I can find my mitt." The drive home was all too short. Despite trying to force the thought from her mind while she drove down the pretty road lined with houses bearing flowers in window boxes, it 24


persisted. Would she still be in the mirror, staring back? Would she be in the house? Could she be in the house? No. Of course not. Maybe she hadn't been there at all. Maybe Kate had imagined it from all the times in the past when she'd seen a mirror image looking back. A legitimate mirror image. She had over-reacted in the extreme and that was the end of it. All the stress from the past few months, past few years actually, had added up and she'd simply imagined something that hadn't been there at all. Period, as her dad used to say. Period. End of discussion. But, the gardenias... A sign in a yard caught her attention as they passed. "Reynolds Construction." Cass's father had been in construction. Could one of the half dozen men working on a partially built house be Cass? She wasn't sure she'd know him after all these years and, in any case, she'd gone by too fast to get a good look. Maybe one of them was his dad. She had no idea where Cass was these days. Not likely in town. The thought of him brought a warm rush of memories. He'd been a good friend, years ago. Though, in Cass's case, friend seemed a rather pallid word. She'd had plenty of dates back then, but the one she'd most wanted to come calling, never did. Cass. Once she and Leah had fought fiercely over the tall, broad-shouldered high school football hero who had never shown either of them more than a cursory romantic glance. Well, there had been that one night. A night that was engraved on her memory for all time. But he'd never called afterward. Nor had he 25


appeared to have any recollection of what Kate thought of as a landmark experience. So much for high school crushes. For whatever reason, Bree never mentioned Cass. He could be living in Australia with a wife and ten kids for all she knew. Or right around the corner with a mother-in-law, raising buffalo in the backyard. Maybe—No, she wouldn't go there. That was in the past and had no part of today. None at all. Still, memories didn't change, and there was no harm in thinking of what happened a decade ago. Cass. Wonder... "Mom! Stop!" She braked hard. "What? What?" "The sign. See the sign in that yard? It says 'Free Puppies.' I can read it good. Free puppies. Can we go look?" "Oh Max." She peered into the back seat expecting all her orchids to be on the floor after the sudden stop, but thankfully, the van was packed so tight they hadn't moved an inch. But the dog. Now. Today. "Max..." They were three blocks from home, the car was still laden with bags and boxes and orchids to carry into the house and they were both tired. But Max had been so apprehensive of the move to begin with ... And she had, after all, promised him a dog and it was, after all, a familiar house. She knew the owners. Knew them well. "All right. We'll take a look." The people had been friends of her parents. They were the Dixon sisters, twins actually, unmarried and getting close to retirement age. "Unclaimed treasures," her dad had called them. They'd run the bakery and tea room downtown since she was a child. Ruby June and Pearly June. A bit eccentric, well maybe a lot eccentric, but lovely women. Their car with 26


its distinctive license plate, WUPEDO, sat at the curb. She'd known them all her life. Run in and out of their front door with almost the same regularity she'd run in her own. The Junes, as they were known around town, came out the front door to meet them, arms open. "How nice to have you home where you belong. That house is too nice a place to remain empty and fall into decay. It deserves someone to love it. Besides, we've missed you." Pearly June added, "Everybody in town's glad you're home. Why, T. Roy Blankenship was saying just yesterday, how nice it would be to have you back where you belong." Ruby June chimed in. "T. Roy's become a local politician. Knows everything in town worth knowing. But then, everyone we know is pleased you're back." Pearly June said, "And your friend at the school, Gabrielle. I ran into her at the grocery the other day. Besides," this to Kate, with a hand on Max's head, "you always loved my sugar cookies and I'll bet this young man of yours likes them too." Kate remembered Pearly June from grade school days. She made melt-in-the-mouth cookies, but cheated at double solitaire something fierce. She needed to tell Max to be on guard. Pearly June loved to play cards and so did Max. Ruby June's eyes twinkled. "I'll bet he'd like to see Roxy's babies, wouldn't he?" Max's eyes had gone wide at the thought of homemade cookies and even wider at the mention of puppies. He nodded enthusiastically all the while allowing himself to be led toward the rear of the house. 27


In a sunroom behind the kitchen, they found a large, three-sided box full of sleeping brown and white puppies. Max fell to his knees, his mouth open in wonder. Ruby June knelt beside him. "It's all right, Roxy. This nice little boy isn't going to hurt your babies. He just wants to get to know them. Can we show off how pretty they are?" The mother dog's nose sniffed Max's hand cautiously. Then her tail wagged and she licked his palm, accepting him. The puppies stretched, and yawned, and crowded around Max vying for attention. "They're even house broken, because we just couldn't bear to part with them," Pearly June said. "They're almost six months old." Ruby June nodded. "But we want to be certain they go to good homes, so we're being real picky." "They aren't pure-bred," Pearly June explained. "But," she giggled, "they're smart. Our Roxy backed up to the side of a hill so that Nutmeg could get the job done. He's smaller than she is." "That means the puppies aren't likely to be any larger than our Roxy," Ruby June chimed in, "so we aren't talking about a full-grown Godzilla to feed." Within fifteen minutes it was agreed that the Dixon sisters would keep the young male Max chose until they could pick him up the next day, Max finally tore himself away from "his" dog, a curly-haired, brown and white puppy with floppy ears and a waggly tail, and they were back in the car. He could hardly contain himself. "I've got to get a good name for him. What do you think?" 28


"How about 'Trouble?' That sounds good to me." "Mom!" Max was offended. "He won't be no trouble!" Kate knew better, but let it go. For three blocks Max kept up a running chatter with possible names. Caesar. Attilla. They had been reading graded classics and it was plain to see he'd picked up on the names of the big guys. Then came Bubba and Bruiser and Killer. At wrestlers from World Wrestling Entertainment Federation, Kate drew the line. Max was considering the hugely muscled Neanderthals with so much wild hair in their faces no one could see what they looked like. "Uh ... Hang on. I don't think..." "How about Babe? You know the big ox. I like Babe." "Babe is usually a girl's name." "It can't be. Paul Bunyan wouldn't have no girl ox! I like Babe." Kate refrained from mentioning the famous pig by the same name. "You have all night to think about it." "Yeah. I have to be sure it's the right name, though. You know? It'd be awful to be stuck with a dorky name." "Right. No dorky names." And then they were at the house. Not giving herself time to consider the panicky rush in which they'd left only an hour ago, Kate picked up a pot containing a large flowering orchid in each arm, hung a bag containing two bolts of silk over a wrist, and followed Max up the walk. 29


"Carry something in as you go," she called as Max scrambled out of the van. "I need my mitt and my cars." "They're in the back, in a big plastic box. Blue lid. It isn't heavy. Can you manage it?" What if Leah was still there? What if she was in the mirror when Kate looked again? But she wouldn't be there. I wasn't possible for her to be in the mirror again! Of course, it wasn't possible for her to have been there to begin with. Kate told herself she'd simply over-reacted to what she thought she saw. Some kind of imaginary—something. On the top step she stopped to shift the Cattleya bearing clusters of dainty white blossoms to a spot higher on her hip, and glanced up. For a second, for one split second, she thought there was a shadow behind the curtain. It was gone almost before it registered and the automatic blink of her eyes only confirmed the sheer white curtain hanging quiet and opaque. Undisturbed. She was left wondering if she'd seen anything at all. Maybe a reflection from the street? But no cars had driven past. An air current, she thought, if anything. Something ordinary. She had to stop seeing things that weren't there. It simply wasn't possible for anyone to be in the house. The front door was still locked, Max couldn't get the knob to turn, and they hadn't opened another door while they'd been inside earlier. It was simply not possible for anyone to be inside. You're being paranoid. Just turn the key in the lock and go in. There's nothing there. Slanting her eyes right and then left, she did. Slowly. Cautiously. At the sill, she hesitated as 30


tingling fingers of apprehension crawled up her back. Her feet didn't seem to want to move. Max ran past her. "Max!" "What?" His voice drifted down the hall. "Max, wait for me! Max, don't go—" "I'm in the kitchen. Can't hear you." She moved then. All the way in. No swirl of icy cold around her ankles. No pressure to push her back out the door. The house actually felt welcoming as it always had in the past. She realized with relief that whatever it was, was gone. The house was empty. Somehow, in her bones and tissue, she knew it. And, thank God, there was no other image in the mirror. Jaw set, willing herself to be strong, she made herself look, first thing—the stunning, white Cattleya orchid in one arm and a yellow blooming Oncidium in the other—knowing she'd not relax until she did, and then went limp with relief when only her own face appeared. In happier days, Cass had called her hair the color of good Scotch. That had been before she had known, first hand, what good Scotch looked like. She smiled. Her cork-screwy hair, pulled back in a silver clasp, was the same tawny brown and vigorously curly, but more controlled than Leah's had been. Her chin was a tad more pointed, not enough that anyone else ever noticed, but they'd always known. The two of them had walked with the same stride, worn the same jeans size, liked the same foods. They did not, however, have the same temperament. 31


In the mirror, Kate examined the clusters of yellow Dancing Ladies on the Oncidium, framing her face. They looked like tiny ballerinas twirling on a long stem, and she heaved a sigh of relief. Just her. Only her and the orchids. Thank God. Turning slowly, she knew what she would see through the double door into the living room, and there it was. The portrait of herself and Leah above the mantle. Uneasily, she considered the likeness. They had both been eighteen years old with all the world in front of them. Their identical smiles were full of promise and their laughing eyes were innocently happy. The picture had been painted a month before their graduation. Before the world had collapsed around their ears. Resolutely, she turned away. She had to get on with the day. There was a lot to accomplish before evening and being nostalgic about the past and frightened of her own shadow wouldn't get it done. A few of the orchids would go upstairs. Of the four bedrooms, one had a southern window with a wide sill that would be perfect for the fragile plants. She'd already planned to set up her silk screening table there with some of the plants right in front of her. It would be nice to have them so visibly available as models. "I can't find my mitt. I'm going back out to the car." Max's voice floated up the stairwell as she climbed the steps. "Bring something back in both hands," she called, and continued upward. "Not just one thing." She entered her work room, and placed the orchids carefully on the window sill, stepped back and examined the 32


light coming in, then calculated that they would indeed get the required hours of diffused illumination, screened by a sheer curtain, they needed. There was even room for several pots of the shorter Dendrobiums. Good. They would do well on the window sill. She'd put up her big plant stand downstairs in the south-facing parlor, and that would mean orchids on both levels. Stunningly pretty when in full bloom, they would be lovely enough to lighten the darkest of days. And this was the perfect room to work in. Plenty of light coming from two exposures, and large enough for her silk screening frame and paints. Tomorrow she'd set up and get to work finishing the job she was working on when they moved. Creamy white Phalaenopsis, or moth orchids, with magenta spots in the center and delicate green leaves, all on a deep blue background. The effect was simply glorious. Leaving her rolls of silk and orchids, Kate moved down the hall to the bedroom she and Leah had shared for their entire lives. From the doorway, her eyes took in the twin beds, the posters hung on the wall, the pictures staring at her from the dressers. Two closet doors were closed tightly, but Kate knew what hung inside. Vastly different wardrobes. Vastly different stored hobbies. Flotsam from two entirely different lives. She went to the window, then, and looked out at the familiar sight. Directly below her was Leah's butterfly garden. The reddish-purple clusters of blossoms on her favorite butterfly bush lay quiet in the still of the morning heat. Leah had loved butterflies. She cultivated, weeded and watched over the tiny grouping of flowers supposed to attract butterflies with all the dedication of a mother bear. And it had 33


flourished for her. Leah had found varieties that Kate hadn't known existed, let alone be able to pronounce. As a result the backyard was often riotous with the fluttering wings of both butterflies and hummingbirds. Kate closed her eyes and waited for the memories to overwhelm her. It was only four walls and two windows, and yet they'd cried in that room, whispered secrets, argued and sometimes vowed revenge. To this day, she could often feel Leah beside her, even though she knew logically that her twin wasn't there. Her voice, talking, answering questions Kate was about to ask, simply came to her. Kate didn't question it. They had always communicated silently. Leah's physical absence had left Kate feeling forlorn and frayed. She still, from time to time, felt off-balance. Searching for something that would make her once again complete. There was often an echo almost, not of her own feelings but the way she knew Leah thought. Similar, she guessed, to what an amputee felt. An ache, as if the missing limb were still there. Life had been very hard for a long, long time, but things were turning around now. If only Huey ... But no, this was a new beginning. A chance to start over. A fresh screen upon which to paint her life. Her life and Max's. Without Huey and without Leah. And as bad as it had been, she knew that Huey's leaving at least had been a blessing. She was still learning to cope with Leah's absence. Gently, sadly, she closed the door and turned around. She would sleep in her parents' room. For now, anyway. She could make decisions later. 34


She moved into the hall and stopped at the doors of the other bedrooms to peek in. Her parents had shared the large front room. They'd used it as a sitting room as well, and had a television against the far wall with built-in bookcases on each side and a recliner on either end of the bed. It was a lovely room, done in mauve and cream. They had been comfortable there. Max had staked out his room during summer vacations when they'd visited and had claimed it as his, permanently, before they'd even left Winnetka. She stood leaning against the door thinking that she could make it more little-boyish if she hand-stenciled balls and bats and catcher's mitts around the room at chair rail height and changed the flowered pink draperies to a forest green, maybe. No hurry. There was time for everything now. "Got my mitt," yelled Max, the door thumping closed behind him. "Got my cars, too. I'm coming up." The phone rang, a shrill sound, unexpected since no one knew they had arrived. She moved to the upstairs extension beside the stairs. "Hello." "Kate!" It was Bree. "I'm between classes and just had to see if you were here yet. I'm cooking dinner so don't plan on anything. Just come and be prepared to talk into the night. I can't believe it. You're home!" "Hi. Yes, we're here but you don't need to feed us." "Yes, I do. I'm dying to know everything. E-mail leaves big gaps in what happens." 35


"Then I hope you have enough for an army. Max has a ferocious appetite." "Oh, I almost forgot. Here's the number for his coach. You ought to call right away. Practice began last week." She rattled off a local number. "Got to go. Be there at five-thirty." And she was gone. Typical Bree. She taught third grade at the only elementary school in town, the same school they had attended as children. The original earth-mother type, with black hair hanging straight as a waterfall down her back, Bree had been the one to whom she could talk when the roof of the world caved in for Kate two years ago. Between them, they'd kept the Internet hot. She went down the stairs, still thinking of Bree, and out onto the back porch. Nothing had changed here. The wrought iron furniture with flowered yellow and green cushions stood where it always had, the wicker swinging chair swayed in a slight breeze. Down by the lake, the pier was partially visible. The water was a bit high she noticed, and on the other side the levee sloped gently upward and eventually loomed above the lake. The levee held back the overflow from the river in time of flood. Not that the river ever flooded. Not since the levee had been built, anyway. The embankment was covered with prairie grass, part of the State's plan to reforest the land with the original plant. After asphalt parking lots and high rise apartments, air pollution and the noise of the city, Kate appreciated the view of her lawn, the lake and wind-blown prairie grass-covered embankment. And the tranquility of 36


silence. She could feel her nerve endings relax, tendril by tendril. She smiled. Tonight she'd be with Bree. For years they'd had a standing date for Tuesday nights at ten-thirty. A date for the instant messages feature on their computers and a bowl of chocolate ice cream. Bree. The only person in the world Kate didn't have to pretend with. She could be totally open and honest. And she thought ruefully that she was old enough to be grateful for the blessing of a good friend. Bree did needlework and gardening, she made most of her own clothes and she loved to cook. Kate deliberately did not own a sewing machine and was an indifferent cook, but tonight they'd have a more than decent dinner. They were going to Bree's. By dinnertime that evening, she and Max were fairly settled in. He had his multitude of matchbox cars arranged to his satisfaction, his mitt on a hook in the closet, St. Louis Cardinal ball cap firmly on his head, the bill crimped just so— and he was again hungry. Kate had her silk screening supplies piled in the room upstairs ready to be set up and her large plant stand in the parlor fairly well situated. She'd have to make a trip to buy gravel to put in the large plastic trays to make a bed for the pots the next day, but she had the two levels of plants arranged according to light required. The purples and pinks, reds and oranges were a colorful addition to the room. Max helped and between them they managed to empty the car-top carrier and lug the containers to the garage for storage until she could unpack them. And, they'd struggled 37


until they managed to free the bicycles from the rack and get them into the garage, too. "Grandpa's old car sure takes up a lot of space," Max commented as they tried to fit everything in and still leave room for their own vehicle. Kate fondly contemplated the aging, vintage black and red Ford from the mid-fifties, sitting in the second car slot. "Grandpa was never able to bring himself to get rid of it. He loved that old car." The car had been dismantled for a long time. Nothing had worked, honked or turned over for many years, but her dad had had a soft spot that wouldn't quit when it came to that car. He simply loved it. He was never more content than when polishing its already shining chassis. She put a hand on Max's shoulder. "We might have to see about finding a home for decrepit vehicles." She didn't want to say the words "junk yard" to Max who had spent hours upon hours in past summers helping his grandfather polish the beloved car. "That's all, isn't it? We're done with the carrying. Can we go yet? What's Aunt Bree cooking, Mom?" he asked, dashing in the door between the house and the garage. The screen door slapped soundly behind him. He stopped and looked back at Kate. "I haven't a clue, but whatever it is we'll like it, won't we?" Max wasn't a picky eater so he could answer in all honesty, "Yup. Did you call my coach yet?"

38


"Oh! No. Let me get the number Aunt Bree left." She dusted her hands on the seat of her jeans and followed Max inside the house. The conversation was abrupt. The man obviously was on his way out the door. "Right. I hear he's had some catching experience and I'm in bad need of a catcher. Have him at the field tomorrow afternoon at four. Do you know where it is? Good. I'll look for him then." The line went dead. Kate hung up feeling as if she'd been patted on the head and shown out the door. Short and to the point, that was Max's new coach. Never mind good manners. "What'd he say? What'd he say?" Max hung over the banister watching anxiously. "Uh ... he said to be at the field tomorrow afternoon." She ruffled the boy's hair and pumped her fist into the mitt he had on his left hand. As long as he was a good coach, good with the kids, so what if he had the personality of a Tasmanian Devil? "And he's glad he has a catcher. Come on. Let's find Aunt Bree." She smiled, guiding Max out the door with her hand on the back of his head. However, the more she thought about it, the more it rankled. Drat it anyway, the man had an attitude. Backing out of the driveway, still muttering angrily to herself, she almost backed into a dark car parked across the street from her house. Dark car, dark windows. In her present frame of mind it could have been a Mafia car. In a screeching of brakes that must have brought up heads all over the neighborhood, she slammed on the brakes, reversed forward, and headed south, down Market Street. 39


"Man, Mom! You almost hit that car." "I know what I almost did, Max. We'll just forget it, please, and I'll be more careful from now on." "Man!" But Max knew when to keep his mouth shut. Throwing her a couple of glances from the corner of his eye, he didn't say another word. She fumed, making her way through town, past the bank, where she needed to stop in soon and see Spence to straighten out a few financial affairs, past the Dixon twin's Bakery and Tea Room, and Beloved Books. The man had been downright rude. He hadn't even asked her name, or how old Max was, or anything about his experience. He'd hung up on her. The coach was a jerk! And it was so important that Max get off on the right foot in a new home. Darn it anyway. Just her luck to get what was probably the worst coach in the league. And, dammit, she had dragged Max away from a terrific coach that he loved in Winnetka. Not only that, she'd just almost creamed another car, practically in her own front yard. Everything seemed to be more complicated than she'd imagined. Well, why should she have expected anything different? Her luck hadn't exactly been phenomenal lately. Bree lived in a condo across the valley, on a hill overlooking the town and the river. Five miles of fertile farmland lay between Winsom and Bree's development. Kate had worked off the most of her pique by the time they pulled up in front of Bree's apartment building. While Max admired the view of the pool from the postage stamp 40


patio on the second floor, Kate tried to put the conversation with the coach into some perspective. "What do you know about him? Who is he anyway? And what's his problem?" "Cass Reynolds. Didn't I tell you? We went to school with him. You have to remember Cass Reynolds." Her large gold hoop earrings swayed as her head shook in disbelief. Kate did remember. She remembered Cass Reynolds very well, indeed. "The football player. King of the senior prom. Class president. Co-valedictorian. Leah and I had a king-sized crush on him, once. That was him? When we started kindergarten, he was in first grade. He hasn't acquired any social graces in the years since we graduated, that's for sure." "Oh, come on. He's had it rough. Wife divorced him a couple of years ago. The way I hear it, he didn't regret the loss of her as much as the loss of his daughter. He's crazy about Stacey." So, Cass was a single parent, too. The thought was enough to make Kate stop and think twice. Maybe there was reason why he hadn't been in a good mood. Maybe he'd just been on the phone with his ex. Maybe he couldn't get Stacey for some special event. All kinds of maybes were possible. She'd reserve judgment on Cass Reynolds. "He went through a period when he was so bitter it was almost worth your life to speak to him on the street," Bree went on. "But he's doing better. He sees Stacey a lot. Couple of months ago he bought a Jeep Grand Cherokee Laredo. He's showing a little more interest in the world lately. Now, come 41


into the kitchen and help me with the salad. I'm trying something new." They ate grilled, marinated chicken, fettuccini noodles and fresh asparagus with a spinach salad. Bree had Kate add sliced strawberries, slivered slices of onion and caramelized pecans to the greens and poured poppy seed dressing over it all. They pronounced the salad a success when Max had second helpings. Kate's eyes went wide at dessert: chocolate ice cream over a chocolate brownie with fresh raspberries on the side. Bree grinned. "Are you still a chocoholic?" "The best part of growing up is that you get to eat all the chocolate you want. If I'd have known what dessert was, I'd have eaten it first." With a glance at Max, Bree said, "You wouldn't." "Obviously you've never heard of the double standard for parents and kids." "This is the perfect mother speaking? Kate, who has to do it all alone and won't accept help from anyone?" "You're the one who'll be the perfect mother. How do you find time to cook like this, make your own clothes, and still teach school?" "Any school teacher is adept at multi-tasking. Besides I have no love life." "You don't own a monopoly on multi-tasking. Mothers have perfected the art, believe me. But I work at home, on my own schedule. And what's this about your love life?"

42


Max paid little attention, but kept up a running commentary on everything from knock-knock jokes to baseball scores and WWE rankings. "Why don't giraffes talk? They make funny motions with their mouth like they're trying." "As a matter of fact," Bree, the schoolteacher, answered. "We think they do talk to each other. We just can't hear them or understand what they're saying." "Hey, awesome!" When Max began talking about The Undertaker and Mankind, Bree's eyes nearly glazed over. "The World Wrestling Federation? Kate!" "I'm going to be a wrestling guy some day. Or a baseball player. I'm strong," Max said, proudly. "I helped Mom carry in all our stuff from the van." "Well," Bree rose to the challenge. "I'd expect nothing less from a big seven-year-old boy." And to Kate, "How did you manage to get everything into that—vehicle—you drive?" "By cramming. I sent several boxes on ahead. All our clothing. Most of Max's toys. Stuff. We managed." She smiled at Max. "We're a team." He could only nod with a mouth full of brownies and ice cream. When Max was finally full enough to sit quietly in front of the TV and look at one of his favorite shows, Kate and Bree cleaned the kitchen and stuffed the dishwasher. "Do you ever hear from Lily? Zoe?" The four of them had been the best of friends all through high school. Kate had lost touch. 43


Bree lifted her shoulders in a shrug. "Never. Lily is somewhere out east, still involved in equestrian stuff, I think. But for all anyone knows, she dropped off the face of the earth. And Zoe ... Zoe lives a half hour north of here, but she never smiles. She lost her husband and a young son a couple of years ago and is having a hard time getting over it. She puts on a brave face, but she isn't happy." Bree shook her head. "Did Lily marry again?" Another head shake. "Not that I know of. Her father never mentions her. He goes all stony-faced if you ask questions. It's as if she died or something." "What about Adam?" Lily and Adam had had one of those idyllic high school romances. They'd eloped the night of graduation, but Lily's father had forced an annulment and sent Lily away to school on the east coast. The whole thing had been terribly traumatic and sad. Bree answered. "Adam is still around. Has a ranch west of town and breeds quarter horses. He never married again, either. That whole thing makes me cry every time I think about it." Silence stretched comfortably between them. Kate couldn't help but think what might have been, for all of them, if things had been different. They'd been so young and full of eager optimism. Ready to take on the world. Reality had been bitter and sudden. Bree who wanted only a husband and family was still unmarried. Lily who had loved Adam and horses with all her being had been ruthlessly cut from any contact with Adam. It didn't sound as if Zoe was happy either. And Kate 44


herself ... She and Leah had gone through their own personal hells. Now she painted orchids on silk and, if it hadn't been for the miserable years with Huey, she wouldn't even have Max. Bree broke the silence. "You're really going into business for yourself? Painting on silk? Tell me more about it." "You're avoiding the thing about your love life." "It's non-existent, worse luck. But, seriously, I want to know about your business." Kate relaxed. She could afford to let herself be hopeful about her silk painting. The feedback on her work was gratifying and orders were beginning to come in from New York with increasing regularity. Her textile man was ecstatic. In fact, Joe Kiniki called regularly, not always about business. "I've been painting on silk, part-time, for years. You know that. And, my painting of orchids on a solid background is doing better than I'd ever dreamed it might. As I go along, I'm finding an expanding market for it. Better yet, the textile man I've been working with is enormously encouraging. He thinks the time is right for me, and I agree now's the time to try." Although, she admitted to herself, privately, that all kinds of things could go wrong before she got to where she wanted to be. "This textile man. Is he married?" "Joe? His wife thinks so." Bree shrugged. "You can't win them all, I guess. Is this something you can make a living at?" 45


"I guess we'll see. I'm counting on it pretty heavily. What Mom and Dad left will give me a cushion to begin with. Long enough to get a toe in the marketing door, anyway." She shrugged. "And if I can't make it go, I'll just have to get back into the business work force." "You have more guts than I do. What do you hear from the jerk you euphemistically call the father of your child? He still bugging you for custody?" "Nothing since the last phone call." She dragged in a long breath. "I just can't allow custody to go to Huey. He isn't good father material. You know him, Bree." "You're getting no argument here. The guy's a loser in all departments." "If he has a job, he didn't mention it. And if he's had it for more than three months, it will be a first. I'm not worrying about him. No judge in the world would give Max to him." But she did worry about it. Who knew what some womanhating judge would decide? She lay awake nights worrying about it. Nothing was certain. She couldn't even begin to contemplate what life would be worth without Max. "There are times, though," she said pensively, "when I think how nice it would be if he just disappeared. You know? Just shriveled up and blew away in a cloud of dust and was never heard of again? Poof!" She sighed. "And when I win the Lottery..." Bree leaned both hands on the counter and turned. "Don't you dare feel guilty for thinking those thoughts. You got a world-class dud in Huey Foster. Fortunately, all men aren't like that. We'll get you into circulation before you know it." 46


Kate held up a hand like a stop sign. "No. No you won't. I'm not interested in meeting guys." "Sure you are. Paula's having a cook out this weekend and I thought maybe you and Adam—" "What part of 'N-O' isn't clear? I said I'm not interested in guys. No cookouts." Bree looked startled. "Are you serious? How are you ever going to get back to normal if you hole up?" "Dating is minefield, these days, Bree. I'm not going to get involved again." "Oh, come on. It's just the old gang. No dates. You know everyone." "I-am-not-interested-in—" "I heard you. I just can't believe my ears. I never thought of you as a coward. You're copping out." "You got it." Bree eyed Kate critically. "Huey really did a number on you, didn't he? Where's your fight?" "It's called saving myself. I'm a single parent." "It's called being a nun without benefit of a veil. And it's not like you." "In case you hadn't noticed, my life has changed significantly since I was into the dating scene. Instead of a tiny purse with nothing in it but a hair brush and lip gloss, I now carry a bag the size of Birmingham that says I'm a mother. Extra tissues to wipe a sticky face," Kate ticked things off on her fingers. "Sanitary gel to clean crud from grimy hands, a pad and pencil for an emergency game of tic tac toe in church or the doctor's office, money because I 47


never know when I'll need it. And a hand-held electronic Game Boy. There are times when life could not go on without that Game Boy!" "Yes, but ... Kate, you've had a bad two years. Admit it. You were floundering in Winnetka by yourself. And then, your dad died so suddenly with that heart attack, and within a month your mother—That would have been enough, but before you could get back your equilibrium, your job dissolved and there was no pay check. Your boss. Another jerk. You have a real affinity for attaching yourself to selfish, ignorant men, you know that?" "Recession. Cutting back, he called it." "Whatever. It left you hanging by a thread. You've got a chance now to regain some of what you lost. Meet some decent men. Live like real people for a change. Without the threat of having the electricity turned off every month. Relax a little. Let yourself have some fun. You have to have free time, once in a while." "Hardly ever. And I don't plan on getting married again." "Did I ask you to marry anyone? Just see some guys occasionally. Are you swearing off men entirely?" '"I've nothing against men in general. They're okay, but I've come to believe other women are the anchor we draw on for strength." "As a philosophy that stinks." Kate slid her bare feet into sandals and headed for the door. "I love you, Bree, but shut up. I'm just not in the market for a man now. Maybe never. I don't know. But not now. I have enough on my plate." 48


Bree threw up her hands in an acknowledgment of defeat. "Nobody's going to understand, but I'll fend them off as best as I can. Everyone's been looking forward to your homecoming." With Max already on his way down the steps, ball cap jammed on his head, adjusting the bill as he went, Kate turned. "By the way, do you know if anyone else has a key to the house?" "To your house? Why would anyone else have a key?" "I just thought maybe Mom gave someone a key to check the house when she was gone, or something. You don't know of anyone, right? "No. I've not heard of a floating key to your house. Because it's on the National Registry as an authentically restored old house, your folks have always been pretty careful about security. Isn't there an alarm?" Kate shook her head and frowned. "Why?" Bree asked, honing in Kate's question. "Why do you ask?" "Oh, no reason. There was a..." What? What could she tell Bree that Max saw? What could she tell her about the mirror? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Even Bree, who would do anything, be anything, for her would think she'd wigged out. "It's okay. Just thought I'd ask." "Maybe you ought to have the locks changed." "Maybe. Thanks for dinner. I'll talk to you in a few days." With a wave, she ran down the stairs after Max. That night the dream returned. 49


Three Starr Bright 'Wart Hogs!' This distinctive purple plant often has odd bug-like warts on shoulders that resemble small insects. Vini-colored Paphiopedilum Hybrid, sometimes known as lady slipper. Dirty, muddy water filled her nose, her ears, her mouth. Water everywhere. Pressing her down. Crushing. Strangling. Pummeling. The air was being sucked out of her lungs. Had to breathe. Leah! LEAH ... Swirling silt all but hid the car, settling now to the bottom of the river. Her vision wavered, shifted. Don't panic. Don't panic! But, which way was up? Her arms flailed. Her lungs were bursting. Leah. She had to get Leah! Kicking hard she floundered her way toward the shadow of the car, fighting the shifting current. There! It tilted on its side, gave a small bounce and stopped dead as she struggled closer. Leah's face came into view against the glass, the water rising around her. Her eyes huge with fright, mouth open in a silent scream. In the murky water Leah's gaze met Kate's in a terrified plea. Her own mouth wide in horror, Kate's arm seemed to move in slow motion, stretching toward the car. And then, in the instant before her hand could touch the door, a powerful surge of water carried her away, flinging her upward. Upward. Away from the car. Away from Leah. Awa-a-y— 50


**** Kate awakened with a breathless start, heart pounding painfully, ears ringing. She gulped air through her open mouth, breathing in wheezy gusts, trying to slow the horrible beating of her heart. She stared through the darkness, willing her heart to slow down, promising herself she was safe. So real ... Oh God, her chest ached. The water ... Always it was the same. Always Leah. And Kate was never in time. She flung back the sheet, swung her legs to the side of the bed and sat for a minute trying to orient herself to the bed, the room, the night. No river. No flood waters carrying her downstream. No guilt. She said it again. No guilt. Over the years the words had become a litany. It had been months since she'd had the dream. She'd hoped it was gone forever. Hoped that a year of counseling and four years of college, and then Huey and now, blessedly, Max, would eventually eradicate the memory and her fear of the dark hours. Apparently it wasn't to be so. Kate covered her face with her hands. Would she never be rid of the dreams? Would they go on forever? Logic was useless. It made no difference that in muddy water it would have been impossible to see much of anything, let along Leah's frightened eyes imploring her to do something. Dreams had a life of their own. Especially this one. She clenched her teeth against their chattering and got up on shaky legs to go into the bathroom and get a glass of water. Her mouth still tasted of thick, nasty river water. 51


Ten years of being terrified of bridges, afraid to go to sleep, afraid of dreams. Ten years of thinking that if it happened again, this time—this time—she'd manage to save Leah. She looked at the clock. 4:34 AM. Her eyes were gritty and her eyeballs hurt. No point in trying to go back to sleep, it wouldn't work. And if it did, she might have the same dream all over again. On bare feet she padded down the hall toward her workroom. **** Kate stood with her hands in the back pockets of her bibs and watched through the fence as the batter swung at the teed-up ball. Behind her a single section of bleachers was crowded with screaming parents. The ground beneath her Nikes was worn to the bare earth by the feet of running children. A mound of miniature baseball gear lay to her left. Max was catching. In the outfield one child sat, cross-legged on the ground, his chin propped on one fist. Another had his back to the rest of the field, apparently examining each blade of grass. A third watched a chicken hawk swoop low and then lift into the breeze. Smack! A low, fast-rolling ball streaked across the infield and bounced through the legs of the scrambling short stop. Slowing some, the ball rolled into the back of the outfielder examining grass and deflected off at a right angle. The birdwatcher's attention was jerked back to the game when 52


everyone began yelling at him. Four runs scored while Max stood helplessly at the plate. Kate pulled her hair back in a scrunchy, tugging it tighter and higher on her head, and smoothed a stray curl behind an ear. She was torn between laughter and pity. Cass walked out to the boy in center field, standing dejected with his head down, his arms hanging. She couldn't hear what was said, but the child lifted his chin and nodded, finally turning to run after the ball. Cass. He looked good. The boy she remembered was still visible in the man, but he'd added a few pounds of muscle and a few inches of height, and overall he looked very good. Tight, well-washed jeans and a loose shirt with the arms torn out did nothing to detract from a well-built, fit-looking body. She felt a twitch of an inward smile. There was no denying the man did something for a pair of jeans. The butt-hugging Levis had her stomach dropping like a sinking elevator. Once they'd been good friends. Once they could have been more than friends. Maybe. A long time ago. Now, she doubted if he'd even recognize her. Max stood at the plate, mitt on his left hand, catcher's mask in the other, a padded protector wrapped around his chest, and ball cap on his head backwards. Garbed in so much paraphernalia, the seven-year-old himself was hard to see. While beginning to shed equipment he talked animatedly with a little girl, slightly taller than himself. She wore a long, smooth, honey-colored ponytail pulled through the opening at the back of her cap. Max's face guard came off, and then shin guards, and finally the chest protector. 53


"Okay," Cass called, walking toward home plate. "Good practice guys. See you Wednesday afternoon. Same time. And, everybody ... Practice your catching at home!" Max came running up, flushed and sweaty, with a grin that threatened to split his face. "Mom! There's this guy on the team ... He can burp through his ears!" "Through his ... How does he do that?" "I don't know, but man is it neat! Our team's the Wart Hogs and we know how to kick butt!" Max was hopping up and down as he walked backwards toward the car. "And the coach is great. He's got a new Jeep Grand Cherokee Laredo. Did you see it? It's cool. And I made a friend. Did you see her? Her name is Stacey. Man, can she hit! Oh!" He stopped so fast Kate almost ran into him. "Can we get my dog now? Right now?" "That's next on the agenda. Stop on the way home and pick up Babe. It is Babe. You haven't changed your mind?" "Nope. Boy, is Babe ever going to like the toys we got him this morning. And his bed can stay in my room. Right?" Kate had a fairly good idea that the dog's bed might go unused in Max's bedroom, but that was okay. Maybe if he had a dog to sleep with, he'd stop sucking his thumb again, a habit renewed since first Huey left and then his grandma and grandpa died. "I agreed that you could share a bedroom, yes. But we'd better fix him up a bed downstairs, too. He'll want to be wherever we are." 54


Max talked nonstop all the way to the Dixon sisters' house. The coach was wonderful. The coach was super. The coach said this. The coach said that. He liked the coach. And, it developed, Stacey was his daughter. That was why she could hit so good. Her dad was the coach. Kate was grateful that her initial response to the man had nothing to do with his handling of the boys on his team. He couldn't be all bad if Max liked him this much. Tiny, sixty-some-year-old Ruby June answered the door in an outfit that almost made Kate's eyes pop. She had on short shorts that were at least six sizes too big and were pinned to her blouse with oversize safety pins to hold them up. She looked like nothing so much as one of the benevolent dwarfs who befriended Dorothy in Oz. Her sister wore orange velvet slacks and a tank top. They tried hard not to cry when Max walked out the door proudly leading Babe. Max was not entirely insensitive. "I'll bring him back to visit. Real soon. I promise." And when they got into the car, "He must be a good dog for them to love him that much. Right, Mom?" Kate assured him he was right. Babe must be a good dog. Under her breath, she prayed Babe would be a good dog. Getting Babe settled took some time, but Kate finally left him running circles around Max who lay on the floor, weak with laughter. Smiling she went down the hall to her bedroom, slipped out of her sandals and started for the stairs and on down to the kitchen. Downstairs, a door opened and closed. Kate stopped in mid-stride on the top step and looked down. The front door 55


was in full view. There was no one there. Her stomach did a quick two-step. The back of the house was open. For someone to get in, there would have been no need to open and close a door. So what had she heard? Slowly she started down the stairs. One of the Junes maybe? Bree? "Hello?" No answer. Cautiously she crept from one room to the other, peering in to each as she came to it. The orchid room, empty. The den, with its shelves of home videos, empty. The kitchen, neat and tidy, with the afternoon sun streaming in a window, empty. The screened porch with a scattering of ferns and orchids hanging in the hot, still air, empty. Kate hooked the screen door, feeling a trifle foolish. Locking the barn after the horse was gone, she thought. That's what her dad would have said. But she did it anyway. It gave her a sense of security, false or otherwise. Finally she trudged back up the stairs, mentally shaking her head at what she insisted to herself must be an overworked imagination. There was still an hour before Max would be hungry and she needed to think of food. She could work with her paints. At the door to her workroom she stopped and turned. She heard ... She heard someone calling her. Max was still giggling in his bedroom with Babe barking in shrill, playful, little yips. Not him. But there were no other sounds. Not even the sound of the refrigerator kicking in reached the upstairs hallway. Ah, she was definitely hearing things this afternoon. 56


First the front door and now someone calling her. Maybe she needed more sleep. The bright silk on the frame in the workroom caught her eye and she went in to check what she'd done that morning. The painting of a series of creamy white Phalaenopsis with delicate green leaves intertwined on a deep blue background was just as stunning as she remembered it. And, happily, the resist she'd used for outlining was perfect. No bleeding of color from the flower through to the background of blue. The Phals she'd used as models for the original drawing sat on the windowsill in the late afternoon light. Funny, she'd never noticed that they had an odor before, almost like— gardenias. But this variety of Phals did not have an odor. No odor at all. Especially not anything like gardenias. A shivery chill slithered up her back. Gardenias, the scent Leah loved. How odd. Really weird. She shrugged as the smell faded. Think orchids, not gardenias. This is now, not then. She grunted, a dismissive little sound, and concentrated again on the flowers. The Phals had been in bloom now for almost two months and might begin to fade at any time, so she had to work fast. She had photographs for any touch-up work necessary later, but for the first draft she preferred working with the live flower. She bent over the frame. There was one orchid she wasn't totally pleased with: the throat was a delicate yellow with magenta spots. Straightening upright again, Kate tapped her lip thoughtfully with one finger. A touch more red, maybe. A matter of a few moments. But— 57


There it was again. She stood, frozen into immobility while her mind raced at warp speed. There was an odd familiarity to the voice, a voice she hadn't heard, truly heard, in ten years. She felt it before she recognized it. The husky timbre shivering across her skin, and her body knew an instant before it registered on her brain. Leah. Leah! Katey-did. Katey-did, did, did. Yes, she did. There was a heaviness in the room. An odd kind of thick feel to the air as if some sort of turbulence was about to happen. An invisible storm hovering. Waiting... Katey-did. Shock flooded through her and Kate slammed her eyes closed. She covered her ears. No. It couldn't be. Leah was dead. Had been dead for ten years. She pressed her palms tighter against the insidious whisper. Katey-did. Turning, she rushed from the room and fled down the stairs. The scent of gardenias followed her like it was tied with a string. Her breath came in dog-like pants, short and shallow. Her heart thudded almost painfully as she stopped flush up against the sink in the kitchen, looking out at the sunny yard lying placid and green in the sunshine. Not a breath of air moved. The afternoon was stifling hot and airless, yet while she looked the slatted yard swing began to sway slowly back and forth, for all the world as if someone sat there and by pushing one foot, was moving the swing in a lazy arc. The hair on the back of her neck prickled. Sweat broke out on her upper lip. Her hands gripped the counter. No one else had ever called her Katey-did. No one! Kate's eyes focused on 58


the swing as if by concentrating hard enough she could stop the movement. Despite knowing it was madness, could not possibly be happening, she remembered that Leah had always loved that swing. It had been her habit to sit there in the late afternoon shade and do her nails, making sure there was no nick or chip to mar the perfect manicure. Everyone else in the house would be working at something—homework, beginning dinner, polishing the already spotless old Ford—and Leah would be adjusting the cushions on the swing, a glass of something cold by her side. NO! Kate's brain seemed to freeze. NO! Leave me alone! Turning away from the sight, she tried to block out the horror. She breathed through her mouth. Whatever she heard, saw, felt, remembered, none of it had anything to do with Leah. Leah was dead and buried in her grave. A desperate end to a miserable existence. She was gone! Forever! Yet Kate listened, helplessly, another minute for ... For what? Thankfully, there was nothing but the normal thud of Max and Babe playing upstairs. The smell of gardenias was gone. "This has to stop." She said it aloud into the silence of the room. She couldn't go on waiting for some ghostly disturbance to occur. And, whether or not she was willing to admit it, that appeared to be what it was. She hadn't yet been in the house two days, and Leah was all but haunting her. And this had happened in broad daylight. Weren't ghosts supposed to roam at night? In the dark? 59


Ghosts? Ghosts! Surely she was dealing with memories. Simply memories. But why were the—memories—of Leah coming with such frequency only since she'd moved in? She'd been back to Winsom to visit dozens of times since the accident. Summers and spring breaks while in college, vacations and visits since then. Why now? Was it because she had moved in to stay? And why would Leah object that she had? But ... She and Max had nowhere else to go. She'd just have to put Leah from her mind. Surely it was all in her head anyway. Leftover guilt triggered by something unidentified as yet and, maybe, left-over stress from her marriage. She'd just have to make a renewed effort to remember the good times, like the counselor had said all those years ago. Remember the love they'd shared, the laughter, the togetherness. Put the bad stuff in a closet and close the door. She could open the door and examine what was there when she was ready to deal with it. And that time was most definitely not now. Bending over, she got out the grilling pan and, with a clatter, set it on the stove. Her hands were still shaking. Chicken strip tacos and a salad for dinner. One of Max's favorite meals. If there was anything sinister about tacos, she failed to see it. And Leah had hated them. She drew a long steadying breath. From the corner of the window she could see the lake. A quarter of a mile further west was the river. Big and broad and swift. Because she mistrusted water so greatly, she'd made sure Max swam like a little guppy almost before he 60


walked. Actually, he'd swum almost before he was much bigger than a guppy. Still, she'd caution him again about the lake. It was far too handy for a curious little boy. Deciding that dinner could wait for a few minutes, Kate wandered out onto the porch. She stood for long minutes looking at the small beach they used beside the lake, and then curled herself into the swinging chair hanging by a chain from the rafters. Gradually the tightness in her shoulders began to lessen. Her breathing evened out. The aura of Leah's presence faded. The porch, the lawn, flowers and trees, and the lake beyond were always soothing balm to her spirits. She inhaled the fragrance of honeysuckle deeply. A pair of hummingbirds hovered at the feeder. Max was fascinated with the tiny creatures. He'd informed her the night before that the little bitty ones flayed their wings up to 200 times a second. "Can we name them, Mom?" "Like what?" He frowned. "How about the selfish one who thinks the feeder belongs to him? He's an Attila. The guy in the book." "You mean Attila The Hun?" "Yeah. That's him." "I like it. How about Attila The Hum?" Max laughed. "Yeah! Because hummingbirds hum. You made a joke, Mom." For a minute, coming down the stairs, pursued by the scent of gardenias, Kate had felt like her heart was beating at least that fast. Here, with the backyard and tranquil lake before her, the episode seemed ludicrous. It could not have 61


been as it seemed. She'd go back upstairs in a minute and find everything normal. She would. Sounds of Max and Babe's rough and tumble play drifted down the stairs. Max laughed, a sound of joyous happiness. The puppy barked. Somewhere down the block a lawnmower droned. Normal. Kate slowly expelled a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. Normal. Beyond the lake the levee rose, overgrown and wild, protecting the land from the possibility of a flooding, rampaging river. On this side of the levee things were fairly tame. Ducks and geese flew in and out with regular precision, laid their eggs and raised their young. A long-legged blue heron stalked the shallows in lonely dignity looking for unwary small fish. On the far side of the lake, flanked by prairie grass, was a wooded gully that the deer used as a passageway to the water. Kate snuggled deeper into the cushioned chair. Over the years, her mother had created a sprawling lily garden on the gentle slope leading to the river. Every year she added to the colorful bed, sending to Europe for exotic bulbs. Her mother's pride and joy, the taller Asiatic beauties, double Aphrodites, stood three to four feet tall, bracketing the sides and back of the bed in scarlet splendor. Inside the circle was a profusion of color in the shorter varieties: the Tigers, Pumilums, pink and white Turk's Caps, Elegant Ladys and the spectacular Nippons, with seven inches of ruffled white blossoms edged with cherry red. When the wind was right, their fragrance spilled over the lawn and drifted up to the porch. 62


Her dad had often teased her mother about spending more time with her lilies than she did in the kitchen. And it was half true. Mom had enjoyed more than almost anything being on her hands and knees, weeding, separating bulbs and packing the extras to give away to friends. How heavenly it was to be home. Safe and secure from the problems that had formerly plagued her. Free from money worries. Free from Huey. Free to be a stay-at-home mom and paint. Free from everything, apparently, except memories of Leah. She would not allow herself to fret about that, however. She'd been over-extended and over-burdened for too long, that's all. She was home now. It would take a concentrated effort to free herself from memories, too, but she could do it. Kate put her head back, closed her eyes and made a deliberate effort to let the tension drain from her body. **** In the next few days, Kate got the gravel and settled her downstairs orchids, as she called them, in their new bed, did laundry, talked to all the utility companies, called her dye supplier in Maryland and placed an order, did more laundry— baseball practice was dirty work, as Max said—and went to the bank to spend an informative hour with an old friend. They had graduated high school together. Spence was in his office. "You're coming up in the world. Vice president of First National. I'm impressed!" "Yeah. Well, it happens when your dad's president." "You look good, Spence." 63


"You too. You look great. I heard you were home again. With your son." "And a million matchbox cars," she laughed. "I'm envious. I'd make room for an additional million if..." he said, before his voice broke and he looked away. "I heard. I'm terribly sorry. That's hard, Spence." She reached across the desk and touched his hand. Both his wife and daughter had been hit by a car while waiting for the school bus. A double tragedy. He shuffled papers for a minute and then straightened. "Did you come home to sell?" "Sell what? The house?" "The house, yes. I've been asked to make you an offer." "Someone wants to buy my house? No. Not interested." "Yes. That's what I thought you'd say, but I had to ask. I'll tell him. Nice to have you back in town, though. Did I hear right? You have your own business? Painting on silk? I never heard of it." They talked for a few minutes of trivialities, her painting, Max, the heat, and then transferred everything from her parents' name into her own and signed all the forms. She left after a warm handshake, feeling as if she'd touched base with another friend upon whom she could depend. That was two: Bree and Spence. More than she'd had a week ago. On a drizzly Friday afternoon, after yet more laundry and baseball practice held in spite of the falling mist, Kate looked into the fridge and found very little except for a squashy green orange that had begun to grow hair, and milk about to turn sour. 64


Max hated to shop. Kate thought long and hard about the advisability of taking him to the grocery store, but there wasn't any real choice. She hated to play drill sergeant, yet there were times when it was the only thing that worked. "Now. Max, I mean it. Into the van. We won't be gone long enough that Babe will have time to get lonely." "He doesn't like to be alone. He's afraid of the orchid room." "Afraid? What do you mean, he's afraid of the orchid room?" "He won't go in. Just sits at the door and stares. He's scared of something in there." That bothered her. She'd heard stories of animals avoiding a room where supernatural events took place. But she didn't have time now to worry about it. "Babe will be fine. Let's go." And so, Max grumbling beside her, they traversed the town, around the ball field, to the supermarket. He brightened long enough in the parking lot to turn with only a slight frown. "Do birds belch?" "Heaven's Max. How would I know?" "I'll bet they do. I bet they belch worms. What do you s'pose that'd taste like?" "Eeuw! You're going to make me throw up. Forget the worms." He shrugged. "I'll bet they..." "Max!" She lost him the minute the electronic door let him in, before she had separated her cart from the line outside. She found him five minutes later bowling a fat can of bean sprouts 65


and another of water chestnuts down the international foods aisle. "The water chestnuts go farther 'cause the sprouts cut to the right all the time," he was saying to a man squatting alongside the matzo balls and showing great interest in the experiment. Briefly Kate closed her eyes. Max's adventures in supermarkets were legend. They'd been all but banned from the neighborhood Safeway in Winnetka before they moved. "Max, unless you intend to eat a lot of Chinese food in the next few days, I suggest you stop this instant." Max detested Chinese food. Max and his companion both looked up. Kate recognized the man instantly as Cass, Max's T-ball coach. She also remembered the day in seventh grade when he'd taught her how to hit a baseball properly. Arms around her waist and his hands covering hers on the bat he'd said, "Use everything you've got and swing from your heels." She'd made the middle school softball team the next week. "Cass," she said. "Hi. It's good to see you." The laugh lines around his eyes deepened. "I thought that was you on the sidelines last week. Why didn't you come over and say hello?" Kate smiled and shrugged. "I'm always in a rush and you always have your hands full of, how many? Fifteen little boys." "And one girl. Mine."

66


She remembered a long, honey-colored ponytail falling from the back of a blue ball cap. "First base, right? She's not bad." "Not bad," he agreed. He put a big hand on Max's shoulder. "Neither is your little Mark McGwire here. He has a good arm. Who taught him to hit?" "I did. And I had a good teacher." Kate felt her face relax and fall into a smile. Openly she allowed herself a closer inspection than had been possible at the ball diamond. The same thick, brown hair threatening to curl. Broader through the shoulders and more narrow around the hips. He had to be close to six feet tall with a hard, muscular body. This was a man who used his body daily, either in work or at a club. Legs longer, of course, than they'd been at eighteen, and stubbylashed eyes that had always given away whatever he was thinking. Right now he was liking what he saw. Her grin widened. "Hey!" Max was tired of being ignored. "You guys know each other? He's my coach. Stacey's dad." Kate pulled her gaze away from Cass. "Max, Stacey's dad knocked out my first tooth in kindergarten." "Wow!" Max's head cranked around to look at the man who had lived to be reminded of such a thing. "Only because you used me as a tree to stop a headlong rush on new roller skates. We both went down as I recall. My elbow knocked out one of your teeth and I tore the knee out of my new jeans." They smiled at one another, filling up with the warmth of shared experiences, while Max stood between them with his 67


ball cap slant-wise on his head and a can of vegetables in each hand. Cass moved first, hooking a thumb in his belt and cocking one hip. "I hear you've acquired an 'ex'. Me too. Three years ago." Kate nodded. "I heard." And when his eyebrows rose, she explained simply, "Bree." "Ah," he said. "Bree, the town social director. Organizer of pool parties and cookouts. I haven't seen you at any of them." Max drifted down the aisle to a display of small toys and her eyes followed his square little-boy shoulders, the attempted swagger he was copying from older kids, the tufts of hair sticking out beneath the ball cap. He was morphing, or was trying to, from little boy-hood into whatever stage came next. It was sad in a way, and yet very happy in another. None of which explained why she avoided Bree's cookouts. What could she tell him? That she was afraid? "The rules have changed in ten years," she said and saw, gratefully, that he understood. "It's because we have the good sense now to be wary. Don't apologize." "I'm getting very good at sidestepping complications." He nodded. "I stick to good friends and run like hell from complications, myself." A small silence built while they each considered the changes of the last decade and the small miracle that, after all these years, they still thought alike. 68


"Did you," Kate asked, curious, "get a try-out with the Cardinals like you hoped?" "Nah. Went into business with my dad after he had a heart attack and bypass surgery. Building. Contract work. I'm a restoration carpenter. And you? Do you teach?" She shook her head. "Actually, until recently, I've been in business with a computer. I'm a graphic design artist. I've just begun my own business, though, painting on silk. I studied it in college and have been dabbling with it in my spare time ever since. It's too soon to know what will happen." She had a brief surge of sorrow for him. He'd been a good ballplayer. And he'd wanted so badly to play professionally. He said, "I always figured you for a lit. teacher, lecturing on the Greek tragedians to a room full of students." She shrugged. "Me too, but necessity has a way of altering long range goals. I'm happy with my paints." She tilted her head, changed the subject, and grinned. "By the way, Max says he's an official Wart Hog now. And believe it or not, I just got a commission today to paint a wall hanging of Wart Hogs." At his look of bewilderment, she explained. "They are a specific kind of orchid. With funny little wart-looking things on their shoulders. Lovely, but really strange looking." He shook his head and smiled. "You, painting exotic flowers on fabric. It blows the mind. Your fondest dream was always teaching William Shakespeare." "And I remember when your fondest wish was to play second base for the Cardinals." 69


So, they each had to alter their fondest wishes. Kate wondered briefly if all of life was like that. You gave it your best shot and then had to make the best of a forced righthand turn. Cass shifted his weight to both feet, sighed, and glanced at his watch. "I'd better shove off. Stacey will be waiting. It's good to have you back. See you around." He looked back as he turned at the end of the aisle and their eyes locked for a moment. She caught a glimpse of something ... Interest? Friendship? Fond memories? And he was gone, leaving her to wonder what kind of look it had been. Once, fleetingly, there had been the promise of something special, but Leah was always there to complicate things and neither of them had done anything about it. Kate knew he was a loyal friend and fun to be with; he'd always been able to make her laugh. There was a gentle side, as well. She remembered the afternoon they'd found a dog that had been hit by a car. The dog died on the table at the vet's, but Cass had helped her load the animal into his car to take it there. He had always been on the honor roll, she remembered. He'd wanted to know about everything. Planned on college, first, and then the Cardinals. He'd played first-string football and third base for the school baseball team, and—She pulled up short. What was she thinking? He wasn't for her. She wasn't in the market for a man. Not today. Not next month. Groceries. She'd come to the store for meat and vegetables and fruit. Not for dreaming of impossibilities. 70


Kate collected her thoughts and her son, bought her groceries, and went home. But she couldn't help a happy little inward bubble that remembered childhood dreams. Seeing Cass had brought a rush of memories, and she found her mind dredging them up one by one, all the way through town. The rain had turned into a steady drizzle that seemed to have set in for the day. Having an attached garage was a blessing she hadn't had in many years, and it was nice to carry in groceries without getting drenched. Entering the house, she hesitated a moment on the threshold. Memory or not, there was always a moment, with her first step in the door, when she knew whether or not Leah was there waiting. More times not. Yet, she couldn't stop the apprehension that washed over her every time she walked in the door. Despite herself, she seemed to be convicted of the certainty that Leah's presence was more than a mere memory. Her fear that this was so, was so strong it made her shudder. Would this be the time she walked in the door and something awful happened? She didn't even know what she was afraid of. Just the fact that Leah was there with literally no earthly explanation of how this could be. Or maybe it was the fear that all this existed only in her mind, and she was losing touch with reality. That was sobering, for if she was impaired mentally, what would happen to Max? Would the law give him to Huey? The thought was too awful to bear. Panic lay right behind that fear, so deliberately she blocked it out. One thing at a time. Go into the house and confront whatever is there. Just do it! 71


Crossing the doorsill, she stopped and waited, her arms full of grocery bags and her heart beating hard at the back of her throat. Within seconds, though, she knew it was all right. This time, there was no tingle of warning, no cold drafts, no whispers or glimpses of an alien presence. In a wash of relief, she carried her groceries into the kitchen. Over the next few days, in a blessed respite from whatever was causing the unpredictable visitations, she began to relax. In spite of herself, though, she kept remembering the time, eons ago, when she and Cass hovered on the brink of something more than friendship. One winter night, her high school date had too much to drink at a party, and Kate hunted out Cass, through the din of hard rock and haze of smoke, and asked for a ride. They'd ridden home in the front seat of his dad's old Buick. The heater didn't work, but the radio did, and they'd sung at the top of their lungs, laughing at the balloons of vapor coming from their mouths in phrases. In the bliss of being eighteen, healthy and happy, he had kissed her goodnight. One second Kate was laughing, her head thrown back against the seat and turned slightly toward Cass, and the next she was waiting while his mouth descended slowly toward hers. Her breath stopped in her throat. He didn't touch her. His left hand was slung over the steering wheel and his right braced on the seat between them. His lips brushed hers like wisps of cobwebs, once, twice, and then again. In the cold and the dark, his breath fanned her cheek with warmth, and deep inside, in a place she didn't even know existed, a curl of something wonderful began to grow. 72


He pulled away, only far enough to see her in the dim light from the dashboard, and they looked at each other in surprised wonder for one long moment. And then, Cass turned and firmly placed both hands on the steering wheel. His voice was unsteady. "That was stupid, wasn't it? I don't usually move in on another guy's date." Kate scrambled out of the car and, leaving the door hanging open, ran up the walk, took the steps two at a time and threw herself across her bed. She listened, dry-eyed and panting, as Cass drove away. By morning she'd decided that the kiss had not meant the same thing to Cass as it had to her, or he would not have thought it stupid. Anyway, she'd have to give him up as a friend if they started something else. She hadn't been willing to do that. And there was always Leah, who Kate knew would like nothing better than to date Cass. If she and Cass were to date rather than Leah and Cass ... That was a bag of worms she had not been willing to open. The kiss was never mentioned again between them. She never told Leah about the kiss, but the secret bothered her. They told each other everything, and this small subterfuge, as Kate thought of it, gnawed relentlessly at her. Still, she didn't tell. Leah had been jealous of every sideways glance Cass had thrown at another girl and Kate knew it. But he had never asked either of them out, and in a sense Kate was glad. Maybe he didn't want to come between twins. Maybe she was afraid he could. He'd graduated a year ahead of them and had his own group of friends. By the time Kate 73


was ready to graduate, Cass already had one year of Northwestern behind him. Now, college, marriage, careers and kids later, the friendship they'd shared, and that one kiss, occupied more of Kate's thoughts than she cared to admit. As she tossed and turned one night, sleepless, it occurred to her that at least she had something to think about other than Leah's haunting. For, wonder of all wonders, after an entire week of peace, Leah seemed to have given up. If Leah had been in the house, Kate would have known it. She seemed to have an inborn, instinctive sense of Leah's presence. And she hadn't been around, thank God, for seven full days. Except that Babe still wouldn't enter the orchid room. The sight of him sitting on his haunches at the door and staring, unblinking, into the space beyond made her distinctly uncomfortable. But she'd deliberately gone into the room herself and found nothing there. Nothing at all. She could not, however, entice Babe to come with her. The one time she'd fastened his leash onto the collar and tugged, he'd merely slid along on his backside and ferociously fought the pull. With the hair on the back of her neck prickling, she gave up. Whatever it was, even if she was unable to see it, was still there.

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Four Purple Phantom 'Apparition' Dainty rounded pink petals. Phalaenopsis Hybrid. Kate awakened in the dark, breathless, heart pounding. Her hip was warm. Very warm. Besides the heat, she had the sensation of being patted, not gently. A hand. There was a hand on her hip! She lay on her right side, one arm curled beneath the pillow and one tucked close to her body. By the dim glow of the night light, she could plainly see both of her wrists. A hand on her hip? She felt as if she was kicking hard for the surface from fathoms-deep water. Acutely aware, yet somehow struggling through a muddy lake. There was movement again in the sensitized area. No longer was there any doubt. Something was on her hip! A surge of adrenaline opened her eyes wider. The furniture in the darkened room was cast into vague relief, and she was alone. Who was in bed with her? Her heart suddenly racing, she swung her left hand in a defensive arc backward over her body to knock away whatever, whoever, it was but her hand whisked through thin air. Jerking around in bed she stared, heart clamoring fiercely, at the foot of the bed. Nothing. No one there. And no one in bed beside her. She sat up, sweating and panicky. The overhead fan whirred, creating a swirling draft. The sheets were cool. In 75


spite of sweating, her body felt chilled. Everything was cool, except for the spot on her left hip that still felt warm. Cautiously she felt her hip with a hand. No warmth farther down her leg. None across her stomach. Just the one patch about the size of a palm on her left hip, and that was warm almost beyond the comfort zone. She tried to clear her mind. She must be dreaming. Suddenly, she was aware of the heavy scent of gardenias in the room. Her heart seemed to hesitate, then her stomach fell away and she sat bolt upright. Katey-did. Katey-did-did-did. Yes, she did. Katey did it. The words came as before, drifting as if on the air from far away. Whispering. No! Not again! But her lungs were full of the cloying scent of gardenias. She swung her body to the side, her feet fighting the sheets. A whimper of fear rose in her throat. From the corner of her eye she saw a shaft of light in the hall. It came and went all in a second, like a bolt of lightning. She stared into the darkness, holding her breath. Again—a blinding spear of light in the hall, and then blackness. There was no storm outside. A glance showed moonlight streaming in the window. If not lightning, then a short in a light fixture? The shaft of light came again, this time in jagged streaks on the wall opposite her door. Katey-did, came the sing-song voice. Katey-did-did-did. Rational thought was a thing of the past. She felt sweat pooling in the middle of her back. Her hands were clammy. 76


Head lights of a car going by in the street? No. The hall wasn't at the right angle for lights to reflect in through the window. No logical explanation presented itself. Katey-did, did, did. Her breath jammed in her throat. The dead did not walk, talk! They did not! Her head went light. This wasn't happening. Could not be happening! "Leah?" It was a mere whisper of disbelief. "Leah? Leah, is it really you? What do you want?" A giggle. Kate sucked in air. Leah laughing. The sound was unmistakably hers. The satisfied chuckle she made low in her throat when she'd finally gotten her way after an argument. And then, taunting, the voice came again. Katey-did. Kateydid-did-did. "Stop it!" Kate cried into the empty room. "Stop it. And leave me alone." The light flashed repeatedly, this time illuminating not only the hall, but oozing as far as the bedroom door as well. It was more of a blue iridescent glow than an actual light. There was an eerie, otherworldly, cast to the vision. Brilliant, yet shot with shadows that came and went. Dammit, Leah hadn't changed, even in death. She was still playing games! And then Kate was on her feet and running to the door as much angry as she was frightened. How dare Leah do this? Whether or not she wants to admit it, she knows what happened that afternoon at the river! She flicked the light switch. No hall light came on. But the strange glow was changing shape as she watched. It seemed to be trying to find a form, ballooning and bulging first this way and then another, like yeast rising and falling, growing 77


fat and then abruptly elongating. Suddenly, in the blink of an eyelid, it shrunk to the size of a dinner plate, hesitated, and then seemed to rush at her. Kate slammed back into the wall. Her hands came up protectively, but her fingers melted through the apparition as if it weren't there. The glowing blob stopped an inch, it seemed, in front of her face and pulsed with a frantic radiance. Kate panted, afraid to move. Afraid to close her eyes. There was no sound, but she had the feeling the thing was shouting at her. She was terrified. "Leah," her voice was shaking so badly she could hardly speak. "Leah, this isn't funny. Go away!" Again the giggle, but the form backed away, hovered and moved down the carpeted hall, toward the staircase, the throaty chuckle trailing back as if over a shoulder. Katey-did. Yes, she did. Katey did-did-did. Kate stood, breath coming hoarsely in shallow gasps, staring at the spot where it disappeared. It was just—gone. One second the thing was floating, undulating down the hall, and the next Kate was left peering into the dark. What could it have been? Not Leah. Surely not Leah. Leah was dead. Kate had been there, seen it all, suffered it all. And yet, no one else had ever called her by the special name of Katey-did. Since they had both begun to talk as toddlers, after hearing their father repeat the name in play, Leah had called her Katey-did. The name had been used affectionately, or so Kate had always thought. The hair on her arms was raised and stiff with shock. Was she hallucinating? But the warmth on her hip had been real. 78


That wasn't just hearing things, seeing them. She'd felt the warm hand. Which was interesting, in a horrifying way. The hand had not been trying to hurt her. Had not shaken, or pinched, or even gripped hard. More as if it was trying to awaken her. As if Leah, who had never needed as much sleep as Kate, was awakening her to get up and play. Was it truly possible, after all, for spirits to come back from the dead? Because, even though she had never believed in such things, it appeared Leah was trying to make some sort of contact with her. If it was indeed Leah. But who else, oh God, what else, could it be? She had no enemies. Not even Huey hated her. Granted they'd had their differences, but this was weird. It smacked of the occult. She thought of séances and mediums and, what did they call them? Sensitives. She wondered if she was one of them. A sensitive. Oh God, please no. She didn't want to be a person who dealt in the reality of the inexplicable. Kate covered her face. She felt jangled and mixed up. Was she going crazy? This kind of thing didn't happen to normal people. What was she going to do? Max would—Max! Tripping in her haste, she ran down the hall to his room, flung open the door and skidded to a halt beside his bed. He lay sleeping soundly, spread-eagled on his stomach. Babe's head was lifted, ears laid back and the ruff of hair around his neck raised. He crouched on the bed beside the sleeping boy. "What was it, Babe? Did it come in here?" No, not likely or, given his ready-to-spring stance, the dog would have raised a rumpus. But it was clear that he had been aware of 79


something he didn't like. He had been ready to protect Max with all his puppy heart. If only the dog could talk. For reassurance she put a hand on the child's back, feeling his regular breathing, lungs pumping in and out. Max was fine. Leah hadn't bothered him. She breathed easier. But Kate knew with a conviction that needed no explanation that Leah had been there. Leah picked moments when Kate was preoccupied and vulnerable, working at her silks, sleeping, tending her orchids, and she came like a restless wind to tease and tug at memories. To tweak the cover of things best left buried. To push the guilt button. The pattern had been the same as a child. Whether it be a friend, a parent, or Kate, Leah had loved to tease. The problem was that she didn't know when to quit. She teased until her victim was at the point of hysteria and then pretended it was all in fun. Oh, Kate knew her well. The thing was, Leah had never been cruel. Never, until the end, and that was understandable, had she deliberately caused anyone or anything actual pain or anguish. She was always pushing the envelope to the very edge before she stopped, but there had never been any malicious intent behind her teasing. However, Kate thought, she didn't need to wonder any longer if Leah was tormenting her now. She knew. **** By the weekend she almost had her composure back. Leah had not returned. No nocturnal supernatural visits. No calling Kate's name in sepulchral tones. No apparitions in a mirror. 80


For the most part, life settled into a normal pattern. Despite that, she was restless. Edgy. Taut and wary. She didn't want to be this way. Being afraid of her own thoughts had never been her style. Confrontation was best. Face whatever it was and work through it. The counselor had taught her that. Now she was afraid of every little incident that wasn't planned. For two days running there had been a black car with dark windows parked in front of the house. Just like that first day when she almost backed into it parked across the street. The car was there for several hours, both days, and as she opened the door to go out to see if someone needed help, it pulled away. Kate could have gotten really nervous about if she hadn't held herself sternly in hand. On the third day, the car had not appeared and she relaxed. And there was the telephone. It rang and rang, with no one on the other end of the line, until both she and Max were sick of answering. "Wrong number," she'd told Max at first. "They dialed the wrong number and hung up before we answered." And then when the calls continued she'd said, "A telemarketer. They ring a bunch of numbers and talk to whoever answers first. It's no big deal. Just annoying." And yet, in a back corner of her mind, she wondered. Twice the phone had rung in the middle of the night. Did telemarketers call at two am? Besides that, she'd put her name on a national list not to be called for advertising purposes. Kate worked at remaining calm. At not jumping to conclusions. At keeping her cool. There were natural laws governing all things. Laws of nature and the universe. She 81


just didn't know, yet, what natural laws were being bent. If, indeed, any were. For Max, life was full. He had Babe and T-ball practice and homemade cookies which Ruby June brought down with faithful regularity. One afternoon, Kate took him and Babe down to the lake and, after a long conversation about water safety and why he was never, ever permitted, under any circumstances, to go to the lake alone, they played in the shallows. Kate gloried in the picture they made, the boy and the dog, beneath a delphinium sky, splashing and cavorting without a care in the world. Evenings, they played games—sometimes video games, sometimes Chinese checkers or chicken-foot dominoes. Between double solitaire, every night, and board games for ages six through eight, Kate felt as if she might be slipping into her second childhood. Ever so slightly, barely admitting it to herself, she began to be impatient with her self-imposed isolation. Working at night, after Max was asleep, she completed one commission and began another, this time magenta and pink Dendrobiums on pale lavender silk. The orchids were smaller and needed greater concentration on detail. Her own bedtime found her exhausted, with bleary eyes and sagging spirits. One night, late, Joseph Kiniki, her fabric man, called from New York. He had nothing new in the way of another commission, no business—he just wanted to talk. Kate liked Joe, liked him a lot, but the man was married, and she was a 82


bit uncomfortable with the path some of their conversations took. She cautiously held him at arm's length. "What'cha doing, Baby?" "It's been a long time since I was anyone's baby, Joe. And, if you must know, I'm working. Working hard. I'm close to finishing the evening trousers you ordered." "Great. Ahead of schedule. Look, I have to fly to Chicago next week. How about joining me there? Dinner and a play sound good?" "Wonderful. And I'm Alice in Wonderland. Are you the White Rabbit or the Cheshire Cat?" "You aren't taking me seriously." "No. I guess I'm not." "I'm hurt. Why not? I'll send your plane ticket." "Ah ... I can't do that." He went on as if he hadn't noticed her thanks-but-nothanks. "It's just a quick hop from Springfield to Chicago by plane." "Not possible. You'll have to tell me about it later." "Wear one of your own creations and I'll have the prettiest girl in town on my arm." "Joe! Your turbo is on constant charge!" "I suppose it is. So?" "You're married!" "I've told you, we have an understanding. Maybe another time." Kate rolled her eyes at the ceiling. Joe was hard to discourage. But she had to admit he was good for her ego. She didn't flatter herself that she was the only female Joe 83


came on to. A whole chorus line of girls probably danced through his life. But, she smiled to herself, he was entertaining. And he was a fabulous fabric man. She couldn't do without him. He was also a stable connection with the outside world, and she needed that right now. Kate admitted to herself that she enjoyed his phone calls, even enjoyed fending him off. Joe was reality. Without the interference of Leah, life took on the trappings of life as usual once more. Ah, blessed in-a-rut normality. Kate couldn't help hoping that maybe Leah had done her damage and given up, or moved on, or whatever restless spirits did in their spare time. She felt vaguely restless herself. The realization finally dawned on Kate that she was lonely. After weeks on end with little to no adult conversation except for the occasional call from Joe or maybe Bree, she felt she was encased in bubble-wrap and invisible to everyone except Max. She also knew, although she never actually spelled it out, that she was pouring her entire self into Max, and it probably wasn't healthy for either of them. So, on a Saturday, after considering if she really felt comfortable leaving Max with a sitter in a house she was beginning to think of as haunted, she resolutely called Ruby June and Pearly June to ask if Max could stay with them for an hour. In delight, they invited him to spend the night and she agreed. "Max, remember what I told you about Pearly June? She loves to play double solitaire and you need to know that sometimes she sort of cheats." 84


Max stopped stuffing matchbox cars into his duffel bag and looked up. "Cheats?" "Well yes. I'm sure she doesn't think of it as being wrong, but sometimes she counts the cards in her hand the wrong way when she turns them over. They're reversed that way. I think she forgets more than she deliberately cheats. But in any case, I want you to know this happens and not make a big deal of it when it does. Don't accuse her and be rude." "Cheating is wrong." "Yes, I know it's wrong and you mustn't do it. She taught me to play and I lived my whole life playing with her like that. Just ignore it and try to get her to play something else." "Cheating!" He was clearly appalled. "I've never known her to be less than truthful about anything else, but she loves to win at double solitaire and— She does sometimes cheat. I don't want you to love her any less because of this. We all have faults. But it's just better to overlook some things." He looked dubious. "I'll play with my cars," he said, and tucked a few more into the corners of the duffel. "Can I walk down there by myself? Me and Babe?" "If you'll call me when you get there so I'll know you're okay." So, humming a nameless little tune in anticipation, Kate made a shrimp and pasta salad, found her bathing suit, and after Max called, took herself to Bree's pool party. She was happy to see old friends, catch up on marriages and babies and eat someone else's hors d'oeuvres, for a change. 85


Spence was there, looking a bit lost, and she spent a bittersweet half hour with a drink in her hand, listening to him talk about his "girls" and looking at wallet photos. At some point, Cass arrived and stopped to join them. "Heard you fell off a ladder the other day. Good thing you lit on your head." Spence laughed. "I'd swear somebody greased the rungs on that thing. I started to slip and went down, rung by rung, like a rock in a pool. Charlie Chaplain never did it better." "Were you hurt?" Kate didn't see anything funny in falling off a ladder. He shook his head. "Only my dignity, and it can stand a good shaking up once in a while." He clapped a hand on Spence's back. "How's it going, buddy?" Spence glanced at Kate. "I'm getting by." They talked about the banking business and the contracting business, and then Spence threw up a hand to some new arrivals and went off to speak to them. Just then Bree called that the food was ready, and together Kate and Cass made their way to the serving table. They ate plates of hamburgers and baked beans, and Kate wiped a dollop of spilled catsup from Cass' chin. Later he dunked her during a spirited game of water polo, and by ten o'clock they sat, pleasantly tired, in side-by-side lounge chairs off to the edge of the crowd. Music played softly on the other side of the pool, couples still splashed in the water, but they were surrounded by an oasis of relative calm and quiet.

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"So, what are you doing to keep busy these days?" he asked, stretching out his long legs and propping one ankle on top of the other. "Ferrying Max to and from T-ball practice. Painting. Odds and ends." "Tell me about this painting. I don't understand. You actually paint pictures on silk?" Kate took a sip of cola. "Exactly. I specialize in flowers. Usually orchids." "Right. And what happens to these works of art after you paint them?" "Things are made from them. Wall hangings, clothing, accessories, pillow covers, shawls and stoles, bedspreads, you name it. Silk painting is big business. So far, I have a toe in the basement door, and that's all." He grunted. "I never heard of it. What kind of clothing? Pretty fancy stuff?" She nodded. "Pretty fancy. Nightgowns and evening wear mostly. Right now I'm working on a piece that I had to cut out from a pattern before I began to paint, so that the flowers match at the seams of the garment. It's a floor-length gown, with huge, bell-shaped sleeves, a trumpet skirt—" her arms spread to demonstrate the width of the skirt, "—and a flowing cape to match. There is also a strapless, beaded top, which I won't do. Someone else does that and sews the whole thing together. It's my biggest commission so far and I'm working my heart out. I need for it to be perfect in order to build my reputation." "Perfection? Isn't that a little steep?" 87


Kate shook her head. "I don't intend to be a hack artist." "That would probably be a very good living you're aiming for?" "I don't know. It's possible. I'll see if and when I get there." She smiled. "I saw a sign in front of that house going up on south Market Street. You're the contractor?" "Yeah. Building it on spec. If we have a spate of good weather, it shouldn't take us long now that we have the frame in place. The hang-up at the present is the trusses. The company sent the wrong shipment and is trying to find out, now, where the ones went that were intended for us. I have guys standing around with their thumbs in their pockets." "Aren't you awfully dependent on the weather?" "Sometimes. Not if we're working inside, but we aren't to that point yet in this house. And speaking of construction, I'd really like to take a look inside your house some day. I've been past that place a thousand times and have always admired it from the street. I'm really interested in old houses. Restoring houses is my field. Any chance of me wrangling an invitation to wander around in yours?" "Sure. Only it doesn't need restoring. I like it the way it is." "I'd still like to see it. Call it research." "Okay. Any time. Just call first to make sure we're home." He nodded and assured her he would do that, and then rose to his feet to answer a call for another game of water polo. She made her way through the crowd to talk to Bree, and that was that. 88


By eleven she was home. Alone. She had thought for a minute that Cass might set a date to come by, but he didn't and it was a toss up all week as to whether she was relieved or disappointed. She had enjoyed talking to him, but it was apparent that he meant what he said that day at the grocery store about not getting involved. She respected that. Heaven only knew she felt the same way. And he didn't call. However, it was clear that she wasn't immune to all the tugs and pulls of attraction after all. That didn't mean she had to act on them, but it made her uncomfortable to know she was vulnerable. It was his eyes, she thought, that she liked the most. Not exactly the color, although they were a rich, deep brown with short stubby lashes, his eyes were compelling. When he looked at her she knew he was completely focused on her and her alone. His attention wasn't divided, or distracted. She had the feeling he was trying to look inside her and understand her thoughts. And, she loved the sound of his laughter. Hearty, earthy and full-throated. It made her want to laugh, too. Two weekends later at Bree's, it was the same, except that Cass nearly emptied the pool during a water fight and she seemed to get the worst of it. Kate realized they were acting like kids, but she didn't care. She was having fun for the first time in too many years to count. Max reported a win over Pearly June at double solitaire when he got home the next morning. "She cheated," he said his voice ripe with satisfaction. "But I did too, and I beat her." 89


She didn't have the heart to scold him. It was hard to play cards with Pearly June. The next Wednesday, Cass and Stacey treated Kate and Max to pizza at the Whoa and Go and putt-putt golf after Tball practice. In the middle of the game, Max told Stacey that her father had knocked out his mother's tooth when she was little, and Stacey looked Kate over calmly and stated that all parents were just a little freaky, didn't Max agree? Max most certainly did. The following week, on Saturday night, after much soulsearching, instead of going to somebody's pool party, Kate threw a handful of pine nuts in a salad, put three foil-wrapped potatoes on the backyard grill while Cass fired balls into Max's mitt and they ate grilled pork chops with all the trappings on the screened porch. It was Stacey's weekend with her mother. In another life, B.C., before children, Kate had been a pretty good cook. She'd enjoyed experimenting with new recipes, altering old ones, creating combinations that pleased Huey. Now, with juggling Max, a job, laundry, car pooling, shopping for groceries, paying bills, cleaning the garage ... And somewhere along the line Huey had stopped caring what she put on the table. Often he didn't come home at all. Now, getting an appetizing meal on the table was well down on the list of priorities. Whatever Max liked and was nourishing filled the bill most nights. So, it was kind of fun cooking for three and trying to make it a bit special. She had told herself that there was no harm in spending time together for companionship's sake. They enjoyed the 90


same things and it was great that their kids got along so well. There was no romance involved, just another adult to trade ideas with. She told herself that, emphatically. Max went up to take his bath after they ate and Cass moved to the hammock strung in a corner. "Nice. I always like a screened porch." Cass put his arms behind his head, crossed his ankles, and smiled at her. "This is the life. A good dinner, pleasant company and a hammock in which to relax." "It's especially nice in a gentle rain. I love to read a book in the hammock with the sound of rain in the background." "I can see why. I'd have my coffee here every morning, I think." "I do. Coffee and an English muffin usually. I've even been known to bring hot chocolate out here in the winter. Parka, mittens, everything. The view is spectacular after a snow." They talked about memories shared of childhood, about grandparents, vacations and books they'd read. Without heat, they were arguing politics in the gathering dusk when Max came down from his bath. Besides his frown he wore nothing. A pair of summer-weight sleeping shorts dangled from one hand. "Does God have toenails?" he asked, coming into the room in naked innocence. "Where's Babe?" Kate's face flamed. "Max! Don't you think it would be a good thing to put on your p.j.'s when we have company?" She reached for them. "Babe is out taking care of business." "Oh. Yeah." He looked absently at his pajamas. "Does he? Does God have toenails?" 91


Cass covered a strangled laugh. Kate shook her head. "I don't know, Max. I really don't know. What God does have is lots and lots of love for little boys, right out of the tub. However," she said, tugging the shorts up over his flat little bottom, "I have a feeling he thinks they ought to remember not to run around starkers when they have a guest." He nodded matter-of-factly. "I know He loves me. I just wondered if He has toenails." "Do you want dessert before bed?" He shook his head. "Would His toenails be real long like His beard?" "We've talked about this before. God could be female, you know, in which case—" "Yeah. No beard. But—" "It's story-time, I think," she said, cutting her eyes at Cass. "Are you okay while I put the tiger here into bed?" "Take your time. I'll be fine." He was so fine, in fact, that when she came down twenty minutes later, he had cleared the table and put most of the dishes into the dishwasher. Kate stood in the kitchen door transfixed. "I didn't know men had the right equipment to do dishes. You amaze me." "You've been hanging around with the wrong kind of men," he answered drying his hands on a towel. "Would now be a good time to see the house?" "Sure." She turned. "First let me check on Babe." "He's still out." "Great. He's probably dumpster diving." 92


"What's that? Dumpster diving." "He loves to raid trash cans. I usually take him out on a leash at night. Sometimes he gets hold of something that makes him sick. Oh well, he'll be back soon. Let's go through the house. You've seen the back. Let's go through to the front." He was interested in the mirror on the wall beneath the stairs, and Kate held her breath until he moved on. Thank God, Leah apparently isn't in residence tonight. He had half a hundred questions to ask about her orchids on their stand in the south window, and the circular stairway fascinated him. So did the portrait of Kate and Leah above the mantle. They had been eighteen, fresh of face and experience, smiling with all the happiness of good health and faith in the future. Kate tried not to look at the picture too often. She always got a pain in her stomach. This was her other half. The half that was gone. The half that she still felt, in a painful, visceral way, was still there somehow. Just beyond the reaches of her spirit. "It's a bit eerie to see two of you looking back at me," Cass said. "You must miss her very much." "Yes," she said simply and moved toward the stairs. Cass followed, looking back over his shoulder at the painting as they left the room. Thoughtfully, however, he said no more about the portrait. He did not hide his fascination with the house, though. "The architecture is amazing." He said it over and over. About the stairwell, about the casings around the windows, the 93


carved crown moldings beneath the high ceilings, the concealed pantry in the kitchen. Stopping in the living room, he examined a hand-painted vase by Valle'. Kate had always admired the painting of trailing fuschias in shades of reds and rose on a creamy background. The vase was precious to Kate simply because of the exquisite artwork and the fact that her mother prized it highly. Cass went on, up the stairs, looking into all the rooms, except the one where Max slept, commenting on a cherry wood vanity in her parent's bedroom, the one where she now slept, and a rosewood armoire that had once belonged to her grandmother that stood between the beds in the room she had shared as a girl with Leah. He stopped for a long time in her work room, asking questions about her brushes wrapped in their bamboo shields, the resist and special pen she used to outline the flowers, and the egg cartons where she kept her mixed paints in their small plastic pots. "Wow," he said, finally, looking at the window sill of orchids. "They're beautiful flowers." "They're orchids, not just flowers. They are orchids." "Right." "They come in all sizes and shapes and varieties, from thimble-sized miniatures to ones that grow to be twenty feet tall. Some blossoms are no bigger than a mosquito and some are the size of a dinner plate. Those," she pointed to one of the blooming Phals, "are the ones most people are familiar with. Cattleyas of prom night corsage fame." 94


"I'm impressed. They're beautiful." "And this one is called a Black jewel, even though the blossom is white." She palmed a tiny, perfectly formed creamy white orchid the size of her little fingernail. "The leaves are almost black." "Amazing. Really amazing." "Yes. And I attempt to paint them on silk." He carefully examined the silk on the frame, keeping his hands in his pockets so as to not accidentally touch the fabric. Finally, he looked up to where she waited for him in the doorway. "You are very good. I never realized just how meticulous this kind of painting is. The orchids look real enough to smell!" Determinedly, Kate pushed to the back of her mind the night she thought she smelled the Phals and realized finally that it was really gardenias. She concentrated on the moment. "A certain kind of Dancing Lady does have a strong scent." She patted her chest and batted her eyelids in exaggeration. "Be still my heart. The Sharry Babies even smell like chocolate! But you have to order them, and they're expensive." He shook his head. "An orchid that smells like chocolate. Unreal. You like chocolate, I take it." "I'm only a founding member of the original Chocoholic Club. Yes, you could say I like chocolate. Wait until you see dessert waiting downstairs." 95


"Chocolate? Mmmm," he said pretending bliss. "But first," and he pointed to the silk on the frame. "Is this the ball gown?" She nodded and went to his side examining one bellshaped sleeve stretched on the frame. "Yes. I'm almost finished. It's taken me weeks to do, but so far I'm pleased." She smiled and looked up into his eyes. I'm too close. Back off. Look away. She did neither. A flame ignited somewhere in her innermost being that she hadn't felt in years. It was astonishing, but she hadn't forgotten that crisp, cold evening in his father's battered old car. With a flare of excitement she recognized the same questioning, excited glint in his eye tonight that he'd had as a teenager. He had leaned over that night and, without otherwise touching her, kissed her slowly, tentatively, sweetly. And she'd met that flame, in growing wonder, with her own fire. She remembered, instantly, that her vision had glazed and a tingling thrill raced through her entire body. She had been nearly awe-struck. With dawning delight, she discovered, standing beside her silk frame and before a bank of orchids, that in the intervening years he'd learned to use his hands. She felt them now on her waist, drawing her closer and closer to his heat. His head bent as if waiting, and when she didn't move away— as if she was capable of rational thought!—he leaned nearer. His hands tightened. She came up flush against his body and a flood of something incredibly sweet rushed through her. His lips whispered across hers, and then clung. Her heart skipped 96


a beat and then plunged ahead. Somehow his arms were around her body, molding her to him, and her own left arm seemed to move of its own accord, around his neck. She had the crazy thought that maybe, just maybe, those were real stars bouncing around the edges of her vision. Her right hand was caught between them, feeling the thud of his heart, and she knew, without knowing how she knew, that he wanted to be closer still. She lifted to her toes, responding with her whole body and— A horrible, loud, blaring sound startled them both. His head jerked up, her body leaped back. The sound went on and on. Kate jumped for the door. "What is it?" he called. "Don't know," she yelled, taking the stairs two at a time, one hand on the banister, the other flailing to keep her balance. Cass was right behind her. Downstairs she whirled in a circle, trying to focus on the sound. It was so loud she couldn't tell where it was coming from. She clapped her hands over her ears. "A car horn," he yelled, and went out the front door at a dead run. Kate headed for the back of the house. Careening through the kitchen, she opened the door to the garage, and the sound hit her like a brick wall. Hers was the only car there, except for her dad's old Ford. She bashed a fist on the wall door opener to let Cass in from the front and ran back to the house for her keys. Her purse was hanging on the newel post as usual. She fumbled 97


around in the bottom, found the keys, and ran back to the garage, feeling as if her eyes were crossed from the awful, terrible noise. Cass was standing by her car with the hood up and two wires in his hands. He looked bewildered. "It isn't my horn and it isn't yours," he yelled. "Where is it?" Together they looked at the old Ford. She screamed, "It's been dismantled for years. The noise couldn't be coming from that horn." Nevertheless, he lifted the hood and nodded. The noise was definitely coming from the Ford. "Impossible," she screamed. He nodded again and reached inside. Nothing happened. He straightened. "Nothing's hooked up," he shouted. "There's no connection. There's not even a battery. Can't be here." But the noise was coming from Dad's old Ford, and both Kate and Cass knew it. Together they stared in disbelief at the old, proud relic from another generation. With sudden clarity, Kate even knew why it was happening. Her eyes narrowed. Cass had been kissing her. She had been enjoying a kiss from a man of whom Leah had been jealous when the horn began to blare. Kate's head came up. She didn't shout. She didn't even raise her voice. "That's enough, Leah. You've made your point. Now, stop it!" The sudden silence was profound. Kate's ears ached. What would Cass think? He'd know for sure she'd lost her mind. He would leave in poorly concealed embarrassment and never come back. It was an act of will to look at him. 98


He wore an expression of disbelief. "You stopped it. You spoke to someone and it stopped!" His eyes honed in on hers. "What's going on, Kate?" She heaved a breath that went all the way to her heels. Drawing herself together, she said, "Come inside and I'll try to explain." After checking on Max, amazingly still asleep in his bed, she went back downstairs. "He could sleep through an earthquake," she said, realizing as she said it that her words smacked of evasion. She wanted to put off the moment when she told him. Cass didn't answer, but drew out a chair on the screened porch and seated himself across the table. She noted the fact with sad amusement. Across the table and not next to her. Things would change now. Because she had to tell him the truth. None of it would make sense, and he might not believe her anyway, but anything else would sound like subterfuge. She wasn't a good liar. "There was a tragedy ten years ago." He frowned and seemed to think back. "Sure. Your twin sister died." "Did you know there was an accident before she died?" "I was away at college, but mother told me. Leah was paralyzed, right?" Kate stared at her hands, clenched in her lap. He might as well know the whole thing. She looked up, over the table and into his waiting eyes. "Six months before she died, our senior year in high school, we were on the way home after classes in a horrible 99


rain. The spring storms had been awful that year and nine inches of rain fell in three days. Creeks were out, rivers were overflowing, the levee up north had broken. Basements were flooded, roads were under water and closed. It was bad. "Leah was mad at me. The reason isn't important. It was insignificant. She had yelled at me all the way home. I was driving. When she got like that you couldn't answer her. Any word said was like pouring gasoline on a fire. So I ignored her as I always did. She ranted and raved, and I just drove and pretended not to hear." Kate drew a ragged breath. Her fingers were knotted together so tightly they ached. "We had gotten as far as the bridge over the river, just south of here, when she screamed that I wasn't paying attention and ... And she grabbed the wheel and we went into the river." Her breath was coming in short, shallow bursts. "I managed to get out. She was trapped. I couldn't get to her, but when I surfaced there was a carload of boys up on the road that had seen our car go into the water, and they dove in and saved her." Woodenly, she went on as if relating a grocery list. "She had been injured, apparently as we tumbled down the embankment. I remember rolling over and over, but I had on a seat belt. She didn't. Afterward, Leah was paralyzed from the waist down. "She hated me from that moment. She didn't remember grabbing the wheel. She didn't even remember yelling at me, being angry. But she blamed me. 100


"She sat in her wheelchair for days, weeks, on end, hating me. I didn't go to college in September. I couldn't leave her here, like that, while I went on with life as we'd planned. Mom and Dad wanted me to go, but I just couldn't. Anyway, I stayed home to help take care of her. For a long time she wouldn't talk to me, wouldn't even look at me, but when she began, it was all screaming and name calling and ugliness. Then she stopped talking all together, to anyone. Stopped eating. Stopped dressing, allowing us to get her up. Everything." Kate sighed. "She slashed her wrists one afternoon after I helped her into the bathtub and strapped her into the bathing seat. She was supposed to bathe herself. Doctor's orders, to give her a bit of independence, he said. Instead she ... She chose not to go on living. She died blaming me, hating me, for what happened to her. "And I guess she still blames me. Lately, since I've returned to town, things have been happening. Strange things. Things for which there are no explanation. Like the car horn." Cass leaned forward. "And you think..." She closed her eyes briefly and then opened them again. "I think it's Leah." She struggled for a moment with trembling lips while she waited for the disbelieving look in his eyes to materialize. "I know how it sounds. I know what you must think of me for saying it, thinking it, but there isn't any other explanation. It's Leah." 101


She threw her hands wide in a helpless gesture. "There you have it." She felt her chin tremble, after all. "The crazy lady in the old house on Market Street grilled your chop for dinner. I don't expect you to understand. It's pretty heavy stuff and," she sighed and lifted her chin, forcing her eyes to meet his. Her voice softened. "And totally unbelievable. I know that, but you deserved an explanation. Maybe you'd better just—leave." There was a horrible moment when she thought he might actually get up and go, and then he said, "Are you trying to scare me away? I haven't had that wonderful dessert you promised, yet." Kate's eyes filled with tears.

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Five Bob Betts 'White Lightning' Spectacular white flower with deep orange throat and ruffled petals. Blooms in October. Cattleya Mericlone. "Let's look at this objectively." Cass spread his hands on the table, obviously still shaken. Deliberately, she beat back the tears. Almost pathetically glad he hadn't been frightened off, her throat tight, she spoke flippantly. "There's an objective viewpoint? You could have fooled me." Full darkness wrapped around the screened porch where they sat. The moon was only a silver sliver low in the sky. Overhead a fan whirred as Cass leaned both elbows on the table and gave her his full attention. Kate had scattered lighted candles, dancing now in the backwash of the fan, and intermittent fireflies bloomed and faded across the lawn. In the distance the throaty croak of frogs hummed through the night. The peaceful scene was so rooted in tranquility and the reality of her life so different, that Kate's mind rebelled. With difficulty she dragged her mind back to what Cass was saying. "There's always an objective view. I'm trying real hard to find it just now. When did this all begin?" "The moment Max and I first entered the house. We both sensed a presence then, and I can always tell now, when I set 103


foot inside the front door, whether or not she's here—active, I guess, is the word." "Let's go over it again. What happened, exactly?" Kate's chest rose on a big breath and she thought back. "We were barely in town from Winnetka. Max ran in ahead of me and I stopped just over the door sill. There was a feeling—an unwelcoming presence, for want of a better word—that I somehow sensed. I was, all of a sudden, spooked." She paused and heard the peepers down at the edge of the lake setting up their nightly chorus. A whiffle of breeze blew through the screen, ruffled the tablecloth and moved on. "This house is my home. I grew up here. There's always been a special, enveloping, feel of security. Of belonging. I love this house, and as silly as it sounds, as a child I always felt that it loved me too. These walls represent security to me. But not that morning. There was an oppressive atmosphere somehow. Almost as if something was trying to force me back out the door." "You felt hands? A physical pushing?" "More like a pressure, an invisible force preventing me from entering." "Did Max feel this presence?" "I don't think so. He just barreled on in the door and went straight back to the kitchen. But he saw something there that almost frightened him." "Like what?" "I don't know. I didn't see it. He said he thought for a minute that someone was there, but..." She shook her head. 104


"And then what?" "He was hungry and wanted to go to McDonald's, so we started back out the front door. I looked into the mirror by the stairs to brush my hair..." she paused to compose herself and went on. "I looked into the mirror and saw her looking back." Again Kate's eyes threatened tears. "My sister. Dead for ten years. It isn't possible, I know. Don't say it. I must be totally weirded-out." "Do you think you're imagining things? And how could you tell it wasn't you? You were identical twins." "I could tell. There were subtle differences. Her hair was always curled more tightly than mine. My chin a tiny bit more pointed. The look in her eyes. I could tell." "Are you questioning your mental stability?" "N-not exactly. But I can't help wondering if all my faculties are in the right place. Maybe the synapses are skewed or something." He made a gesture of dismissal. "You experienced something very out of the ordinary. And that's the fact we have to go on. What else?" "She calls me," Kate said, hesitantly, thinking we. He said 'we'. But Cass would think she'd really gone around the bend with the business about Leah calling her name. "Calls you?" "She says my name. 'Katey-did.' No one else ever called me that." He eyed her speculatively. "Katey-did. Did what?" Her eyes bore into his. "She says, 'Katey-did-did-did. Katey did-it,' the same sing-song voice she used when we 105


were kids. And I did. I drove the car into the river. I swam out uninjured. I wasn't paralyzed. I went to college. I found love, such as it was, and had a child. I have a career. I've been alive for ten years and she has been dead. I did it." A June bug slapped against the screen. The candle in the center of the table flickered wildly. He didn't take his eyes off her. "You know, of course, you weren't to blame, no matter what she thought." "I know it was an accident. I know Leah grabbed the wheel, making me lose control of the car. But she's right. I have ultimately done it all, while she had nothing." He reached for her hand across the table. She gripped his broad palm and held on tight. "One night recently she came in the wee hours and was a bubble of light, prancing up and down the hallway." At his raised eyebrow, she nodded. "I felt her hand on my hip, a warm pressure. But when I looked, no one was there." When he said nothing, she sighed. "I know. I can't expect you to believe it. There are times when I'm not sure I believe it, myself." "It's just a bit much to take in all at once. Are you sure you aren't dreaming when these things happen? Some simple explanation?" "Of course I'm sure! Do you think I haven't thought of that? There's something called autosuggestion. I've looked it up on the Internet. A possibility exists, slim but possible, that just my coming back to the house where such traumatic events happened could trigger these things that exist only in 106


my mind. Real to me, but not actually happening at all. Some trick of the brain. Left over guilt surfacing, maybe." "I got that." "I don't believe in walking through psychic corridors to the other side of reality. This isn't the Twilight Zone." He nodded. "I don't just believe it. Max saw something that first day in the kitchen. What?" "I don't know. What?" "I think he saw Leah in a form he wouldn't recognize." "Has he seen pictures of her?" She pulled her hand free. "Yes. Photos of us both. Photos of her all alone. The portrait of the two of us in the living room. You saw it. We were identical except for small, insignificant differences. If Max had recognized the shape as human, he would have thought it was me. But he knew I was behind him, coming in the door." She paused. Then, "But there's another reason why I believe it was her. There is always a strong scent of gardenias when she's around. Her scent. It was what she used while she was alive. She's here," she said firmly. "She was in the pantry that morning. No mistake." When he was silent, she fisted her hands in her lap and rushed on. "Don't you think I wish it were all my imagination? That none of it was true? This is my twin we're talking about. I loved her. She was my other half!" She covered her mouth with one hand and willed herself not to cry. Cass steepled his fingers in front of his face, elbows on the table. "You're forgetting something. I heard the car horn. 107


That wasn't your imagination and it wasn't autosuggestion. That was real." "Yes. Thank God. And thank God Max is totally oblivious to all this." "Are you afraid of being here alone?" "Afraid of Leah? No. Surely, she wouldn't actually harm me." "You did say she looked at you with hatred from the mirror." "But she always looks that way when she's angry. She cools down and everything is okay again." She threw her hands wide. "Listen to me. I'm talking as if she were alive!" "Ten years is a long time to build a head of hatred. She's terrorizing you." "She's—she's Leah. My twin. I can't believe she'd really hurt me. I won't believe it!" He raised both hands palms out. "Okay. Okay. You do realize, though, that this evening's experience has raised everything to a new level. She showed her power to another person. You are no longer the sole heir to all the harassment she's dishing out. I was here. I heard. I'm a witness." Kate sat back in her chair, his words skittering through her thoughts. Did that put Cass in a danger? Leah's jealously was evident in the timing of the blasting horn. Would her friendship with Cass make him a target, too? She closed her eyes and thought wearily that Leah dead was no better, and no worse, than Leah alive had been. Unpredictable and unstable. 108


Oh God. It just got worse. Would Leah allow anything to develop between her and Cass? Or would she make life such a harrowing experience that he'd be driven away? And if that were so, why in the name of heaven was she going to all this trouble? Not, of course, that Kate wanted a romantic relationship, but she needed a friend. She needed a friend. And Cass appeared to be that person. So many questions. So many whys. And no answers. Kate put her head in her hands and closed her eyes against the quaking uncertainty that shook her insides. **** "Do you have everything? Come on, Max, this isn't practice. We'll be late for your first real ball game." She was standing at the foot of the stairs looking upward, listening to Max banging around in his room, when the phone rang. Another telemarketer? If so, having to answer the phone and finding no one there so many times a day, as well as the night, was getting old. Winsom seemed worse, even, than Winnetka had been. "Kate? It's Spence. Do you have a minute?" Not a telemarketer. "Spence! Well ... Barely. I'm on the way out the door." "I've just had another offer on your house. A man here in town, who insists he be anonymous, wants me to inform you he's willing to up the ante on your house."

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She pictured him sitting in his office at the bank, white shirt sleeves turned back, papers strewn on the desk. "Another offer? The same person?" "Yes, the same guy. He seems to be dead set on buying your house." "I told you earlier. My house isn't for sale. Are you sure he wants my house?" "No mistake about that. He insists that I call and make another offer. A rather generous offer, I might add. Could I come out and talk to you about it?" "That would be pointless, Spence. I'm not interested. Where did he get the idea I wanted to sell?" "How would I know? Shall I tell him 'no,' then?" "Well yes, tell him no. I'm not going anywhere." She was indignant and a little irritated. How many times did she have to refuse? Although, in the back of her mind a little voice spoke up, I wonder if Leah would follow me somewhere else? Is she confined to this house, or is it just me in particular she wants to victimize? "I have no intention of selling my parent's house," she said, enunciating carefully. "Okay. Okay. That's what I'll convey. However, while I have you on the phone let me ask if I could interest you in some Mexican food one night. Would you and Max like to go out for enchiladas or something?" Her attention stalled. Dinner? A date? But he hadn't actually put it that way. And he'd included Max. Maybe the man was just lonely. And he was a friend. One took care of friends, didn't they? 110


"Sure," she answered a bit hesitantly. "That would be great." Max came down the stairs in a stumbling rush, equipment hanging from both hands, and his ball cap on not only backwards but upside down. "Hurry up, Mom. I'll be late!" "Ah, Spence. I have to go or we'll be late for Max's first ball game. But we'd love to share a fajita—Max loves fajitas— or an enchilada with you some night. When did you have in mind?" "Friday? Rather than one of Bree's pool parties?" "Good. Friday it is. Got to go now." By the time they secured Babe in the kitchen, on his haunches and looking forlorn, with soulful and accusing eyes watching every move they made, Kate barely had time to take a quick glance into the mirror. Hair looks as if it had been styled with a leaf blower, she thought, scooping it back with one hand and trying to thread a long barrette through the curling mass as she ran for the van. As she backed out of the garage, a black car appeared in the rearview mirror pulling away from the curb. The black car again? Who was it? The windows were too dark to see inside. She fretted all the way to the ball field. This was becoming more than annoying. The word stalking came to mind. Was this something else she needed to worry about? Max didn't give her anxiety time to mount, however. They got to the field barely in time, Max pressing against the seat belt all the way. "I don't see why Babe can't come, too. He'd like to see the ball game. He's going to be all alone." 111


"Max, we aren't taking Babe to ball games. He'd get stepped on and fallen over, and he'd be hot and thirsty before the game was half over. He's better off at home." "But he didn't want us to leave him. He was sad." "Yes, I saw. But he'll live. This is not negotiable. Babe is not going to ball games with us." He'll have Leah for company, she thought ungraciously. Maybe she was doing the dog a disservice. Leah had never been an animal lover. Max was glum the rest of the way, but perked up once they were at the field. Kate sat on the third row of bleacher seats, applying sun screen and swatting away gnats. In the last inning Stacey hit a three-bagger that went through the legs of the short stop before coming up against the fence. A run scored. Max's team was ahead by one point, but then the other team was up to bat. Kate was nearly deafened by cat-calls and screams as parents cheered for their team. She stood up with the rest when Big Lionel hit a hard line drive past the short stop and it dribbled into the outfield. "That's my boy! Did you see him smack that sucker?" a man directly behind Kate roared. "That ball's headed for Texas!" another yelled. "We're going to win," screamed a lady in short shorts and a skimpy halter. Kate had had an irreverent thought earlier that the woman wore more mascara than clothing. "It's our game!" The runner's legs churned as he ran the bases. First, then second and on to third. The ball was being thrown to the infield and the short stop scrambled for it. The runner 112


rounded third, put his head down and drew a bead on home plate. Kate caught her breath. Max had little to do as catcher most of the time. He'd complained only last night that maybe he wanted to play first base, instead. Nobody in the bleachers ever yelled for him, he'd said, like they did for everybody else. But there was yelling now. "Get him Max!" "He's not so big you can't handle him!" "Don't drop the ball, for God's sake!" Cass's voice carried above the rest. "That's your home plate, Max. He can't score unless he gets past you. Face screwed into fierce determination, Max stood with one foot on each side of home plate as Lionel bore down on him. At the last second, he jumped into the air, caught the ball in his mitt, and tagged Big Lionel as he came sliding across the plate. He did not drop the ball. "Out!" called the umpire. "Yes!" screamed a couple dozen parents. Kate put two fingers into her mouth, whistled a loud blast through her teeth and turned to the man behind her. "That's MY boy!" "As fine a little catcher as I ever did see," said a man Kate didn't know. He patted her back. "Fine as frog's hair." Do frogs have hair? Kate wondered. But it sounded good. She beamed. "Thank you," she said, and screamed at the field, "Way to go, Max!" 113


Cass took the entire team to the Dairy Queen for ice cream afterward. Cass and Kate and two van loads of pumped seven and eight year olds. There wasn't any point in trying to keep a lid on them, they were loud and laughing and couldn't sit still. Cass spoke to the manager in apology and was waved off. "If you have a banner, bring it in and we'll hang it. Go Wart Hogs!" Kate offered to make a banner on the computer. She turned to Cass. "What's a wart hog look like? Do you know?" "Don't have a clue," he said, "and neither does anyone else, likely. Mean, I'd guess. Snarly. Do your best." "I'll Google them. There has to be a photo somewhere." The two of them sat at a separate table, but adjacent to the team. Laugh lines spread from the corners of Cass's eyes. "This is known as team bonding," he said. "Couldn't be better. And actually," he added, "they're doing pretty good." Confusion eddied around them, paper whizzing off the end of straws, smack talk mimicking professional players, and one spilled Blizzard. "My mama could beat their whole team with one arm in a cast." "They stunk so bad they oughta be buried." "Nah, man. We're just good!" After a few minutes Cass's eyes turned sober. "Any problems after I left last night?" Kate shook her head. "No. Everything was quiet." With both hands she pulled her hair off her neck, twisted it and 114


pulled it high on her head. "Long hair is sometimes a real pain," she said, resetting the large clip holding it. "Sometimes I think this is all a bad dream, and I'll wake up with the sun shining and Leah truly gone. And then I get real and know it's all true, and whether or not the sun shines, she isn't going to go away." Her eyes met his. "Who do I talk to about this kind of phenomenon? Who would believe me? Do you think I have a circuit cross-wired in my brain?" Cass frowned. "Don't do anything crazy with that hair, like cutting it. I like it. And, let me tell you that horn would have made a believer out of anyone. I guarantee it. And, no, I don't think you need a psychiatrist, unless I need one too." His mouth twitched in an almost-smile. "A witch doctor, maybe." He shook his head slowly. "There is absolutely no earthly explanation for that blasting horn. The wires aren't connected to anything enabling it to work!" He flattened one hand on the table and his eyes narrowed in focus. "Impossible." Kate's mind was still on the fact that he liked her hair. Did that mean anything important? It probably meant just what he said and nothing more. He liked her hair. There wasn't a lot you could read into such a thing. But Leah ... There was a lot to be said about Leah. "I keep hoping she'll go back to wherever she came from. This whole thing is—unnerving." "You have my cell phone number, remember. I'm at the end of it. Just call." "Thanks." And she was grateful. Grateful for his friendship and his belief in her. Grateful that he was Max's coach, after 115


all. Grateful that he didn't think she was a candidate for the funny farm. Then he was on his feet. "I'll phone you," he called, and began herding a swarm of still-excited kids out the door and into his van. "Right," she called back, shepherding her own carload of children into seat belts. He'd said he liked her hair. Smiling, she tucked a loose curl behind one ear. At home, with Max and a deliriously happy, wriggling Babe cuddled in the same chair watching cartoons, she stood in the kitchen and tried to think of dinner. Anything seemed anticlimactic after the ball game. She'd planned on baked steak and potatoes. Had left the meat out on the counter to thaw and the potatoes sliced and standing in water with that in mind, but the game ran so long it was now too late for an oven-cooked meal. Max would fall asleep with his nose in his empty plate before it would be ready. Besides, they'd just eaten ice cream and neither of them was likely to be that hungry. She put the meat and potatoes back in the refrigerator. "Macaroni and cheese okay?" she called to Max. "Yeah! My favorite!" he yelled back. So, it was mac and cheese, applesauce and canned asparagus. Quick and nutritious. And Max's favorite. The game had left a pleasant glow in its wake, and Max relived every play—especially his game-winning catch—all the way through dinner and his bath, prayers and another chapter of Harry Potter. When he was finally asleep, she went into her work room and picked up her brushes. 116


The piece was coming along well. The colors were vibrant and she was happy with the pattern she'd designed of Dendrobiums, stems and long, tapering leaves. With any luck, in another week it would be finished. Ready for shipment. She worked for an hour and a half before thunder rumbled in the distance. Lightning flashed and through the open window she smelled rain. More thunder. Her shoulders were tired anyway. She might as well quit for the night. Weary, she stretched and began to clean her brushes, critically eyeing what she'd accomplished. The trumpet skirt would fall in many gores from a smooth waist. The magenta and pink Dendrobiums she'd painted on the pale lavender silk had turned out well and the two strips of solid purple around the hem line set off the entire piece. She was pleased. She looked in on Max, sleeping soundly as always, spreadeagled on his bed, changed into a skimpy teddy and robe, and went downstairs in the dark to check the doors and windows before she went to bed. Thunder growled menacingly and she stepped out on the screened porch to peer up at the sky. The storm was coming in, fast. The hanging chair looked too good to resist and, not bothering to light the candles, she curled herself into its cocoon. She ought to go up to bed, but storms were always exciting and it appeared as if a huge one was moving in. She'd wait awhile and watch. Lightning lit the clouds from behind. In a brief glimpse, great churning, seething masses of black rolled across the night sky. 117


No matter the season, no matter the weather, the porch and its view was lovely. In winter tree limbs were etched in glistening ice or pristine mounds of snow. Birds flocked to the feeders. In summer the hummingbird vine climbing the trellis at the side of the steps gave off a lovely scent. Butterflies dotted the lawn. Now, lightning illuminated the Dutch elm to the south, her mother's roses, the utility shed out back. The storm moved closer. The night was hushed. Waiting. No insects buzzed against the screen. By whatever process, they knew bad weather was coming and had already taken shelter. There wasn't even any traffic on the street out front. She should have checked for the black car before she sat down. Checking for the black car had become a habit. Its frequent presence gnawed at the back of her mind. Not that whoever drove it ever bothered her, but ... Was someone keeping tabs on her? Watching her movements? And, what reason could anyone have to be interested in what she did, where she went, who she saw? Not Huey. Certainly not Huey. He wouldn't mess around with stalking tactics. He'd come barreling in the front door yelling if he wanted to talk to her. Nothing about it made sense. Would life ever return to normal, she wondered. Was it possible that, by some miracle, she would ever be able to relax and just enjoy waking up in the morning? Going to bed at night? Playing catch with Max without the squirreling curl of nerves in her stomach that someone was watching. Whether it be a black car with an anonymous driver, or Leah dead yet somehow here, it was a scary scenario. Maybe she 118


should call the police. She couldn't tell them about Leah, but surely there were laws against things like the black car. Things like this just didn't happen in Winsom. She'd had a wonderful childhood. The town had always been the perfect place to grow up. Nice people lived there. People like Bree and the Junes, Spence and Cass. Honest, hard working, decent people. The last few years she'd thought she'd left the small town behind, outgrown it, and come to find out it had been with her all along just waiting for her to realize how much she'd missed it. Needed it. The problem was, Winsom might be the same, but her mother's house wasn't. And it wasn't, because Leah was carrying a ten-year-old chip on her shoulder. Thank you very much, dear sister. Another flash of lightning brought her mother's lily garden into stark relief. For many years, in the middle of her precious beauties sat a black, marble statue of a young girl on tiptoe, arms extended. Leah had loved the figure and, since it looked so similar to Leah herself, Dad bought it for her. After her death it was too painful to be reminded daily of their loss, and Dad put the statue in the gardening shed, out of sight. It was still there. Kate had seen the tarp-shrouded figure when looking for gardening equipment. A jagged stroke of lightning speared down, too close for comfort, and a horrific clap of thunder made her jump. Rising, she went inside to turn on the small television on the kitchen counter. Storm warnings were out, with the possibility of hail and strong winds. Unplugging the computer and those 119


appliances she could reach, Kate climbed the stairs. The prospect of not only the storm but a new book on her Ereader drew her to bed. The electronic reader was backlit so she needed no light to read, the book was a good mystery, and she rested comfortably on stacked pillows. Gradually, however, the storm increased in velocity to the point where she couldn't concentrate. She feared for some of the older trees at the back of the lawn. Wind howled around the corners of the house and whipped branches to snap and smash at the windows. Rain lashed against the glass. Thunder crashed and echoed until she thought the storm must have stalled directly overhead. The words danced on the page. Or was it her vision that danced? There had been a great deal of rain, lately. Lots of it. In the morning lawns would be flooded and streets running with sewer overflow. Tee ball would be canceled, likely, the field would be too wet, and Max would grumble. Rainy days, with Max confined to the house, made her grumble too. Finally, she threw back the sheet and turned to flip on the bedside lamp. No light. She tried again. Only then did she realize there was no light in the hall, either, where she usually left a small night light burning in case Max needed the bathroom in the middle of the night. The power was out. Drat! She jumped as a shaft of lightning seemed to split the world in two, illuminating the room in startling clarity. Alarmed, she thought surely the house had been struck. Her feet fought the sheets trying to untangle them. And then the 120


thunder crashed in a booming crescendo of sound that had Kate covering her ears. Thunder, that seemed to be born in the ground itself, rattled the foundation and assaulted her hearing. She was on her feet. Max— She had gotten as far as the hall when a scream pierced the darkness. The sound seemed to arrow straight through her heart. She'd heard it once before, on their thirteenth birthday, when Leah had fallen through a window and cut her leg. The sight of Leah bleeding and hysterical seemed to be emblazoned on the inside of her eyelids for all time. The memory propelled Kate first to Max's room where he slept blissfully unaware of the storm and the scream, and then her feet flying, to the stairs, for it seemed as if that was where the scream had originated. She stared into the black well of the staircase and hesitated. What was down there? Was Leah lying in a crumpled, bleeding heap on the landing? Kate shook her head. No, of course not. Leah was dead. Leah wouldn't ever be hurt again. But who had screamed? Wind wailed like a chorus of banshees encircling the house. A profound sense of dread washed over her. Hair on the back of her neck stiffened. Her heart clubbed painfully in her chest. Surely her bones would rattle. Something awful was about to happen. It was out there waiting. She could feel it. A violent shivering crawled up her spine. The night was so dark, it was as if the very air was black. And then, as Kate stood looking into the darkness, another lightning strike came, dizzying in its brilliance. The small 121


window on the landing bloomed crystal bright, seeming to be thrust forward by the light against the inky night. A figure stood out, etched on the glass. Kate's breath stopped in her throat. It was Leah. Leah, with her long hair blowing around her face and one arm raised, pointing. Pointing at Kate.

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Six Gypsy Belle: 'Wanderer' Elegant, lovely, pure white. Phalaenopsis Mericlone Hybrid. Fear grabbed at her throat. She had an instant and absurd urge to run around locking the doors and checking the windows, and then gave a sharp, panicked gasp at how ridiculous it was to think she could lock out a ghost. Kate stood staring into the darkness, gripping the banister, with her heart clubbing frantically in her chest. Where was she? Where was Leah? She could be anywhere. Behind her. In front of her. Hovering right beside her. Kate shrank against the railing. The lightning seemed to have stopped with that last horrible, jagged spear. The window did not light up again. Thunder was receding into the distance. Slowly she forced her fingers to release their death grip on the banister and she straightened. Her heart slowed. Was she gone? Had Leah disappeared back into the nothingness that contained her when she wasn't tormenting her sister? Kate took deep breaths trying to force her heart back down out of her throat. Think. Calm Down. Nothing is really there. No. That isn't true. There is "something" there. The question is: what is it? Where is it now? She'd feel foolish going downstairs and looking around. Ghosts didn't leave tracks. And Leah had always been smart. She wouldn't be overt with anything. No, her style was more 123


subtle and slick. There would be no evidence of this latest visit. Unless she was upset, big time, and then there was likely to be mayhem. But, Kate went anyway. Back to her bedroom for the flashlight and then down the steps and through the house, room by room. Of course, nothing was out of place. Nothing disturbed. All the windows remained locked and the doors double bolted. Her orchids were safe in their two-tiered stand. And then she came to the den. It looked as if the storm had come inside. Sofa cushions were upended, lamps askew, and all the videos on the bookcase were lying scattered on the floor. It was as if an invisible arm had scooped them off the shelf in a fit of pique. For an interminable time she stood, transfixed, trying to grasp what this might mean. Shock, then fear, warred through her body. Shock was a numb disbelief. Fear was a sick, oily scum in her stomach. Then, slowly, as if she'd aged thirty years in the last five minutes, she slowly went into the kitchen pantry to get the oil lamp, retraced her steps and began putting the room in order. The cushions went back in their places, lamps were righted, and at long last the dozens of videos—most of which were home movies arranged by date—were back on the shelves. There was no point in trying to make sense of it. Leah's motive, if she had one, was obscure. At least there had been no attack on her person, or on Max. There, Kate decided on the spot, that is where she would draw the line. If Leah attacked Max, frightened him, they would have to leave the 124


house. It would break her heart, and Max's, but she could not, would not, risk Max's life. Things just seem to keep happening, she thought, carrying the oil lamp down the hall to the kitchen to check the back door. Little things that didn't mean anything, like the videos all scrambled on the floor. What possible, earthly reason could there to be to such an action? Almost poltergeist in character. "No," she said aloud. "I don't believe in poltergeists." And then with a wry, desperate shrug, "I don't believe in ghosts, either." She'd make a pot of coffee, drink a cup, and put the rest in a thermos for morning. A little caffeine in the system helped almost everything look a little more manageable. But as her hand reached for the coffee pot, she realized it was already full. She blinked at it, on the counter, in the wavering light of the lamp, in confusion. Could she have made the coffee and forgotten? But she hadn't. She was sure she had not. She hadn't made coffee all evening. And then her eyes came to rest on a cup beside the coffee pot on the counter. She frowned. The cup didn't hold coffee, but something was stuffed inside it. With two fingers she lifted a strap, and the whole thing came out. A bra. Her bra. Her favorite sports bra! The bra she wore when she ran. The bra that ought to be upstairs in the very back of her drawer since she no longer ran every morning. A queer niggle of alarm went off in Kate's stomach. Furtively she glanced around, not knowing what she thought she'd see. 125


And then, with an icy spill down her spine, she realized that no coffee could possibly have been made. The power was out. Unless it had been made before the storm hit a transformer cutting the power. And she had not been to the kitchen during that time. She couldn't move. Couldn't even blink away the sight of her bra in the coffee cup. Her brain seemed frozen with the impossibility of reality. For long minutes she stared at the coffee pot and cup. At last she poured the coffee down the drain. She wasn't exactly sure why she felt this to be necessary, but she didn't want to drink the brew when she had no clear idea of who or how or when it had been made. She couldn't be sure, but it seemed as if there was a surreptitious giggle from somewhere behind her left shoulder. Leah's giggle. There was, however, definitely, the scent of gardenias wafting through the kitchen. Feeling more than foolish and mumbling to herself about idiots who let themselves be thrown into senseless panic attacks, she climbed the stairs once more, lamp in hand. She knew full well who the ghost was—ghost hah!—and she'd just been assuring herself she didn't believe in them—and at least part of the why. She also knew this particular ghost inside and out. Leah was jealous. Kate found herself more and more angry, but for some reason, no less afraid. Feeling grumpy and disgruntled, she checked Max still sleeping soundly, put out the oil lamp, and went to bed, flashlight at hand. The storm was over. No leftover wind gusts buffeted the windows. The window by her bed, which she'd left cracked when she settled down to read, let in the sweet 126


smell of rain on the neighbor's freshly mowed grass. All appeared to be peaceful. She sat for a few moments, wishing for a cup of coffee and forcing herself to think rationally, and then gave up and closed the window. She knew the pane of glass wouldn't keep Leah out if she came again, but it gave Kate a sense of doing something, anything, to protect herself and Max. Assuming they needed protection. Which she believed at least enough to hang on to the flashlight. No electricity, no overhead fan, she groused. The room was stuffy. Frowning she picked up the E-reader again. Words danced before her eyes as if they were on puppet strings. Clicking the device off, she tried to close her eyes against the dark, but for some strange reason she felt safer with them open, even though she couldn't see even the shapes of furniture. At least I'll be ready if something jumps at me or lights begin to flash or—something. And then she covered her eyes with one hand and groaned. There wasn't any kind of preparedness against Leah. Apparently sleep, if any was to be had, would be an exercise in determination. She tossed and turned, alternately flung back the sheets and covered up to her chin. Leah might return at any moment. Yet, that wasn't her pattern. She'd never come back in the same night after one appearance. Being reasonable was fruitless. Here she lay, shaking and talking to herself, when she knew, didn't she, that Leah would not physically harm her. She was sure of it. But ... But, what? Mental torment was worth a lot of points on the anxiety scale. And the worst was never knowing what to expect from one 127


moment to the next. One day or night to the next. She was getting tired just being constantly on alert. Things happened. Little things. Things that didn't mean anything, did not frighten or startle. Just tiny reminders that Leah was still there even when Kate didn't see her. Things to keep her off balance. There had been more little flashing lights in the hallway at night. Kate tried to ignore them, thinking that maybe if she didn't give Leah the attention she craved, she'd give up and go away. So far, it hadn't worked. And, how in the world had her bra gotten into the coffee cup? At the end of an hour, she gave up trying to sleep. In her little claret-colored silk robe she shuffled down the hall to the workroom and re-lighted the kerosene lamp. She'd work for an hour and then try the bed thing again. She had just picked up a brush when the phone rang. "Are you all right?" Cass's voice was warm, deep and enormously reassuring. "That was one hell of a storm." "We're okay here in the house. I'm not sure about some of the old trees outside, though. We had a lot of wind." And another visit from Leah. "I'll come out to check first thing in the morning. I have a couple of limbs down." "You don't need to do that. I can—" "I'll check." There was a small silence while she appreciated his thoughtfulness and thought just how very lucky she was to have found a friend like him. 128


"Cass, I really appreciate everything. But I can take care of myself. Really I can." "Maybe I enjoy taking care of someone special. Ever think of that?" Another silence while she digested what he'd said. This was encroaching on being more personal than she wanted. Would he kiss someone he didn't feel was special? "By the way." He interrupted her thought. "What are you going to do with that old car in the garage? The noisy one." "I take it you aren't talking about my van. You mean the falling-apart Ford." "I mean the vintage Ford, gathering dust and scaring you senseless with a horn that can't possibly work. That's what I mean." "I don't know. Have someone haul it to the junk yard, I guess." "Junk yard! Woman, bite your tongue! That car is worth a small fortune. It's a treasure! There are folks out there who'd pay a great deal for that car." "Really?" "Yes, really. Do you want me to look around for a buyer?" "Well ... Sure, I guess so. Max, and me too, would feel a whole lot better about finding a home for it. He has fond memories of working on it with my dad." "I'll keep my eyes open. By the way, how do you and Max feel about picnics? Tomorrow looks like a good day for one. Want to try it? I have Stacey for the day." "Sure. We love picnics. I'll bring dessert." "Great. And I'll bring some fishing gear. Max like to fish?" 129


"I don't think he ever has. He'll love it." Another small silence. Then, Cass asked, "What are you doing?" "You mean now? I couldn't sleep, so I was going to work a bit." "Everything quiet? She hesitated, but for some reason didn't want to tell him about the videos and tapes, much less about the image on the window. Not on the telephone. She could deal with it face to face, but the phone was ... No, not now. "Now that the storm is over, yes." "And you're going to paint." "For a while, yes." "Paint those squiggly things you have on the windowsill onto fabric." "They aren't 'squiggly things.' They're beautiful orchids on tall, slender stems." "The flowers are gorgeous, I agree, but the stems are spindly and squiggly." "They aren't! They wand-like and graceful!" "Not that they aren't pretty when you get done, but on the windowsill they're squiggly," he insisted. "You're as stubborn as Babe when he wants his belly rubbed!" "You offering to rub my belly?" "You wish. No, I'm not going to rub your belly." Although the idea did have a certain charm, she admitted. He sighed. "Yeah. I wish." And then, "What do you sleep in?" 130


"What do I—" The question was so unexpected Kate fumbled. "Cass..." "Indulge me in a little bit of fantasy here. If I can't kiss you goodnight, I can dream at least." Silence. Kate was speechless. "So, what do you sleep in?" She looked down at her body. "I have on a claret-colored robe." "M-m-m-m. And underneath?" "Cass, this is pointless. We aren't going to—" "Please." "A ... A matching teddy, if you must know." He groaned. "I shouldn't have asked. I'm not likely to sleep at all now." And he hung up. Kate stared at the dead phone for a full minute before she disconnected. A faint curl of something, anticipation, warmth, something, began to unravel in her stomach. She wasn't even going to think it. No questions. No fantasy. No dreaming. She was not going there. She was going to pick up her brushes and paint. The turkey. He'd done that deliberately. Said something outrageous and then hung up before she could respond. Her mind refused to shut down, however. There was something more between them than just the male-female thing. It went deeper than simple sex. And that's what worried her. Passion she could have handled. This other went to the marrow of her bone. And that bothered her.

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With the giving of oneself to love came the power to be hurt. She'd not willingly make that mistake again. If she could help it. Absently, with her mind still on Cass, she noticed that the swinging drawer at the bottom of the little sewing table was ajar. The little ball and socket catch had been hard to work for years, but the walnut table was an antique, her grandmother's, and because Kate had many loving memories of her grandmother sewing in her rocker beside this very table, it was precious. She bent to readjust the drawer to fit and close it properly, and then swung it open all the way to run her hands over the tiny spindles lining the drawer and filled with small spools of various colors of thread. There were a half-dozen crochet hooks. Crochet hooks when she hadn't crocheted in years. An old evening bag in tissue paper that had belonged to her grandmother. She remembered it was covered in tiny, multicolored beads, with a small gold clasp at the top. A tapestry needle, curved with a large eye that her mother had once used to mend a rip in the seam of an overstuffed chair. A cut glass jar of buttons, looking like so many jewels inside the glass. So many memories. So many memories. Her hand stopped. In back of the drawer where it should not be, was a video tape. All the other tapes were downstairs on shelves in the bookcase. Tapes like those that she had just an hour ago replaced, in order. What was this one doing up here, in the sewing cabinet? She was sure it hadn't been there last weekend when she was hunting blue thread to 132


mend a tear in Max's favorite T-shirt. She would have noticed. Leah again? She stood for a long moment with the video in her hands, gazing unblinkingly at the innocent box. In her father's sprawling script it read "Little Dancing Ladies." She knew very well what it contained. She remembered every inch of tape recording a dance recital when she and Leah were five years old. They wore matching short, pink, ruffled dresses and black patent Mary Janes while tapping a Me and My Shadow routine. Dad's voice would be on the video narrating, calling them "My two best girls. My little dancing ladies." Kate smiled even as she wondered why Leah had put the tape there for her to find. Put it where she could hardly overlook it. Because she was sure beyond a shadow of a doubt that Leah was responsible. Their favorite pastime for years had been getting out that old homemade video and dancing along with the tinny piano music and their own beginner, learning steps. They took turns being the shadow, because it was more fun making a comedy routine out of it and mimicking each other in silly ways. She remembered the rainy afternoon she had been holding two fingers up behind Leah's head while they danced and fell over the ottoman, badly spraining an ankle in the process. She limped for a month. The ankle was weak to this day. Leah had teased her unmercifully, asking who was wearing the finger-ears now, but she had fetched and carried anything Kate wanted without complaint the entire time. She had even saved her own piece of pineapple upside down cake, from dinner. It was Kate's favorite, and this way Kate could have a 133


treat in the middle of a sleepless night. They had been so close then, each part of a whole. Twins. Kate stood beside her grandmother's sewing table, with the video in her hands and tears swimming in her eyes, remembering the good times. The wonderful, warm feeling of being complete and content. For the moment, bad memories were a blur, indistinct and unimportant. A certain part of her life had stopped with Leah's death. She'd been taken away, jerked away violently, and Kate wasn't certain her brain had even yet processed the loss. The shock had been like taking a fist in the solar plexus. She awakened every morning knowing that Leah wouldn't be there. That half of her person was forever gone. She'd been in pain for years. Another glimpse came into focus. The two of them facing each other in the lawn swing out back, toes touching, sucking on red popsicles and laughing at the ring around each other's mouth. That was all. One brief moment out of all the rest. Why that image should stick in her head and her heart Kate didn't know, but there it was, burned for all time in her being. The way it should have been for always. That glimpse surfaced at the oddest times. And it always brought tears. Was Leah trying to tell her something? Ought she to go downstairs when the power came back on and watch the tape? Why the tape in the sewing table? Why the finger pointing from the window last night? Why the whispers about being careful? Could it possibly be that Leah had another reason to get her attention, rather than simply trying to frighten her half silly? A lump too hard to swallow lodged in 134


her throat. Could there be more to these ghostly manifestations than she thought? A sob shuddered through her chest. What had Leah really felt about Cass? Surely, high school crushes didn't go on after death! Were these manifestations more than just jealousy? Trying to ignore the tightness in her throat, Kate replaced the video in the drawer and only then saw the two matching pennies in a small plastic zip lock bag half hidden beneath an envelope. With one finger she pulled it out. One lay heads up and one heads down. Her grandfather had given them both a penny, shiny and new, with the year of their birth. She had wondered briefly, years ago, what became of them and her mother didn't know. Now here they were. She picked up the bag to look more closely at what was another warm memory and jolted when the date seemed to jump out at her. Frantically, she turned the other penny so they matched. One side of each still bore the year of their birth. The other—Dear God—the other bore the year of Leah's death. And on the second she read the date of the current year. Her fist closed over the bag and she threw back her head. Was this to be the year she, too, died? What was happening? Was someone playing with her? Trying to frighten her? If so, they were succeeding admirably. Was this Leah's doing also? She didn't know what to believe. What to think. She couldn't think at all. She slammed the drawer closed and backed away. One thing for certain, she was not going to look at that tape any time soon. Not until she had company with her, in broad daylight, with every light in the house blazing. 135


Creeping back into bed, trembling in every fiber of her being, after having seen Leah in the window and being thoroughly terrorized yet one more time, after everything that had happened, Kate lay thinking that it ought to be difficult to call up all those warm, fuzzy memories of the sister she'd so loved. Amazingly, it wasn't. The love was still there, not even buried very deep, but she had to admit Leah was beginning to sorely test the strength of their bond. In the dream she'd had for the past ten years, Kate unflaggingly saw Leah's terrified, pleading, drowning eyes through the rear window of the sinking car. Was it because they were so different, or so much alike that she couldn't quit thinking of her? Toward morning she slept. **** She awakened with gritty eyes and a dull headache, not surprising after the night she'd had. It was also no surprise to find not a trace, anywhere, that Leah had been around. Even the power was back on. In the kitchen Max gave her a once-over and frowned. "Why are your eyes all squinched up?" "Headache, Max. Big time." "I'll get the medicine." Obligingly he scooted to the edge of the chair, ready to make a run to the bathroom medicine chest. "Thanks, I appreciate the offer, but there isn't enough medicine in the western world for this headache. I've already taken some." 136


"But—" and he obviously had something on his mind. "You promised we'd make cookies today. Are you sick?" She groaned and gave in to the inevitable. "Not too sick for cookies, if you'll help." His face cleared. "All right! "Chocolate Cherry Drops, right?" "Right." She got out the flour, butter and sugar and began creaming the mixture. "Grandpa's favorites, right?" "Right." "And Grandma made him a special batch every year for Christmas, didn't she?" "She did. Do you remember that?" Both hands and half his arms covered in flour, and a swipe of white powder already across one cheek, Max resembled the Pillsbury Doughboy more than himself. "He sneaked me one last year while you and Grandma were doing dishes and he told me. I'd already had my dessert, but he said it was Christmas and it was special and I had to cross my heart and hope to die that I wouldn't tell. Does that count now that he's in heaven?" His brow puckered in a worried frown. "Probably not when we're just talking about cookies, but a promise is a promise, Max. Promises are important." He nodded slowly. "Cass says that a man is no better than his word, and that means keeping promises." He made a small sound of distress and looked up with eyes filled with guilty concern. "I shouldn't have told you, I guess." Kate was surprised to think that Max had secrets from her. She didn't know of a single one. "Cass said that, huh?" 137


"Yup." "What else does Cass say?" "He says I ought to watch out for you and help you more. But that's no secret so I can tell." "Well, I think you're doing just fine in the helping department. But I'll let you know if I need anything. Okay?" "Sure. When are these going to be ready to eat?" "You can have a couple when they come out of the oven, but we're saving the rest for a picnic." Max's eyes widened. "A picnic! When? Where?" "Right after ball practice. Cass and Stacey and us. We're going out to the lake, and Cass is going to bring along his fishing stuff." "Man! Fishing! Cool! I ain't never—" "Haven't." "I haven't never fished before." "That's what I told him and he said it was time to change that." "Man." Max's voice was awed. "Fishing! Just like Lionel and his dad. Fishing." Kate took it to mean he liked the idea and smiled, but she couldn't help a flutter of something akin to grief. Boys learned things like fishing from their fathers. They also learned the value of a man's word. Max's father couldn't have cared less. She found that very sad. ****

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"Did you see the ball Max fired to Stacey in the last inning?" Kate yelled to Cass over the din of a van full of celebrating ball players. He shouted back, "In another year, maybe two, he'll be able to nail any spot on the field. I told you he had a good arm." She beamed at him, proud of Max, happy for the Wart Hogs and just—happy. She took a minute to savor the feeling. Life was good right now. If she could forget whatever Leah was up to. Enjoy it, she told herself, it might not last. Happiness, for her, had not had much longevity, since Leah's death. "I took the banner to the Dairy Queen and the manager hung it on the wall," she said. Somewhere behind her Max yelled, "We're number one!" A chorus of "yeahs" and high fives followed. "When other teams see it they'll likely want theirs up there, too. Thanks Kate. The kids will love it." "The manager said he'd welcome all the banners the kids brought in." They gave up conversation. It was necessary to scream to be heard and they had time later to share. Kate smiled inwardly. That felt so nice. Time later to share. She sighed, a deep contented breath of air. Their picnic was safe in a cooler at the back of the van and Max had, thankfully, held his tongue about their plans. If he'd told, all the other kids would have clamored to go along, too. Dropping them off at their homes, one by one, was accomplished without fanfare. 139


With one child left to deliver, they made a stop to pick up Babe, nearly hysterical with joy at being allowed to go with them in the car. And then, "We're off!" Cass said, watching the last kid run up the driveway to his home. "Who's hungry?" "Me." "Me." Stacey and Max yelled. Babe wriggled on the seat between them. "And I know what's for dessert," Max added in a hoarse whisper to Stacey. "What?" She dared him to say. "Can't tell. It's a secret." Cass shot a look sideways at Kate. "I'll bet it's chocolate." "I didn't tell!" Max protested. "I didn't!" "If your mom made it, it's got to be chocolate." Cass's eyes teased Kate's. "And it's got to be good if it's anything like the Double Fudge Brownie with chocolate ice cream and chocolate sauce she served me the other night." That had been the night of the horn. A night still fresh in their memories, although neither Stacey nor Max knew anything about it. "Am I right?" he persisted. "Yes, it's chocolate. But that's all I'm telling." Max said stubbornly, zipping his mouth closed with one hand. "Bet I can beat your butt at the alphabet game before we get to the lake," Stacey said smugly. "Can't either!" Max retorted. "There's an A on that sign. A for Dairy Queen!" And they were off, loudly, on their favorite in-car game. 140


Kate sat listening, still wondering about that night in the garage. When Cass left, he hadn't kissed her goodnight. After the sweet and tender kiss in her workroom—the one Leah had so effectively interrupted—she'd expected that he would. As if he read her mind, he took her hand and held it snug against his thigh. "Considering what happened upstairs, I didn't want to kiss you goodnight and then leave you alone." She managed a faint smile. "Got quite a reaction, didn't it?" "In fact, I don't want to leave you alone at all. Are you sure you're okay?" "We've been over this a half-dozen times. She won't hurt me. Besides, she'd already done her damage for one night." "My beeper goes where I go and you have the number. Don't hesitate to use it." She nodded. "I will. And thanks. For everything. Anyone else would have cut and run." "What? And missed a fudge brownie sundae? Not this man." She offered a fleeting smile, and then sobered. "Something else has happened. I need to tell you." It took all of five minutes to bring him up to date and another five for his frustration to simmer down that she hadn't called him. "I can't believe you ignored my cell phone number. I specifically gave it to you." "I know, but I wasn't in any real danger. Just more scary stuff. For whatever reason, Leah seems to get enjoyment out of this." 141


"I want your promise. Your solemn promise that you'll call me if it happens again. Can I have it? Kate?" "There is absolutely no need—" "Kate!" "All right. If I feel threatened." "If you feel threatened, you'll what?" "I'll call. Really I will." Kate looked out the windshield, as the lake came into view, remembering, feeling again as bereft and alone as she had that night when Cass left. She'd needed the physical contact, being close to another adult, to keep the bogey man away. Or, she thought, bogey woman. Leah. Her thoughts hadn't gone any further. She truly meant it when she told Bree she didn't want any romance in her life. Things were complicated enough as they were, but Cass seemed to be a good friend before anything else. And his steady, bulky frame had been extremely reassuring throughout that entire shaky evening. She would have braved the consequences of another kiss. **** The lake was nearly deserted when they arrived. The mothers who'd brought their little ones to swim had gathered blankets and buckets, called the children in from the water, and gone home to fix dinner. Teens, showing off for one another and working on tans, were drifting away, heading homeward for showers and to make plans for the evening ahead. The long stretch of sandy beach was theirs. Kate and 142


Cass. Stacey and Max. Had a nice rhythm, she thought. Like it went together. They swam for a half hour, Kate trying not to feel conspicuous in her new bathing suit with the back cut down almost to the impossible. She belatedly realized the teal green one-piece suit had not been designed to swim in. She'd dropped Max off at the Junes and driven to town to shop hurriedly. She hadn't even taken time to try it on, just grabbed the suit off the rack, paid for it and left before she changed her mind. Never in her life had she worn anything except a utilitarian, black tank suit. To be truthful, she'd never really cared what she wore into the water. But for some reason she hadn't examined, it seemed to be important to look a little special this afternoon. What had appeared in the shop to be a good idea was something else at home. A narrow but solid front was held on the body by a complicated series of spaghetti straps and a low-cut, barely adequate bottom. Kate looked at herself in the mirror with something akin to horror. Twisting and turning in front of the glass, she started to strip it off—she'd have to exchange it—and then looked again. Actually, she sort of liked what she saw. She looked good. She looked—sexy. Not simply like Max's mother. She'd have to keep her front toward Cass, though. The back felt entirely too naked. She'd asked Max, when he poked his head around the door. He shrugged and said that it was okay. Kate shrugged, too. So much for the male opinion. Bree, when she called, laughed at Kate's modesty. "Why not flaunt it, if you've got it? Remember how daring we 143


thought the first bikinis were? Zoe got a little hot pink number and we were all pea green with envy." "Zoe was always more daring than the rest of us." "And you were Old Mother Hubbard! Live a little Kate!" Kate forgot her concern, however, once they were in the water. Cavorting with the children, she had too much fun to think about her back. The children took turns diving down and swimming between her and Cass's legs. They played tag while Babe swam circles around them all. And then they had a jousting match with Max riding on Cass's shoulders and Stacey on hers. When they had all been dunked so many times they felt half drowned, they staggered up the beach to lie on towels and laugh. "You cheated. You held on to me." "You used your feet. That was cheating, too!" When they'd all gotten their breath back, Stacey rolled over on her stomach and said, "I got a new swimming suit just for today." Max was noticeably unimpressed. Cass merely glanced at her. "It's darling," Kate said. "I love it. Did you pick it out?" The suit was a two-piece, yellow, with smiley faces sprinkled liberally all over. Max, always guaranteed to cut through the garbage, said matter-of-factly, "My mom got a new one, too. But she almost took it back to the store." "Max!" Kate warned. She felt her face flush hot. She sat up. "She said she felt naked." 144


"Max! Hush!" "But that's what you sai—" "I said 'hush,' and I mean it!" Max hushed, looking bewildered. Cass rolled over and got to his feet. "Why don't we try out these fishing rods I brought along, buddy? It's about time for the bluegill to be hitting." "I can't think of a better idea," Kate said, indignantly. "Take him away." As he passed her, Cass leaned over and whispered. "I do like the back, though. Raises a man's ... senses." And he walked serenely along the sandy beach, Max and Stacey trailing along, trying to match his steps. Babe trotted importantly beside them, thrilled to be included, making brave dashes to the water's edge and then scooting back, tail between his legs, ahead of the small waves. Kate watched them go, wondering if Cass had meant the comment to be a double entendre, or if she just had a dirty mind. In either case, she smiled. Why this man? There had been others, at the office, through her painting, at church, who had given her those "Hey Baby" looks, telephone calls, innocent-seeming trips to the water cooler when she was there. She'd never given a one of them a second glance. So what was it about Cass that prompted that funny little catch in her breathing? What special chemistry was it that made him endearing with sweat staining his shirt and making the hair stick to his forehead in clumpy spikes? Whatever it was, it was a powerful draw. 145


Eventually they ate sandwiches, ham and Swiss on rye, peanut butter and honey for the kids, deviled eggs and potato salad from the deli at The Bakery, and Chocolate Cherry Drop cookies. Babe looked on, imploring someone to take pity on him and toss him a bite. "Babe, lie down," Kate commanded and he did, crushed by the insensitivity of humans. Licking his fingers of the last cookie crumb, Max looked up tentatively. "Is it okay if I tell Cass that these are Grandpa's favorite cookies?" "Yes, of course it's okay. You just shouldn't tell private things. You need to think before you say ... certain things." "Okay." He turned to Cass. "My Grandma made these for my Grandpa every year for Christmas. She wrapped them in a pretty box and then tied a red ribbon around them and put the under the tree. And he always pretended to be surprised, but he really wasn't. He knew they'd be there, 'cause she always made them. Sometimes the juice dribbled down his chin and he'd act like he didn't know they had cherries inside. And sometimes," he shot a glance at Kate, "sometimes he'd sneak me an extra one when Mom didn't know it." Cass said, "Your grandma must have been a special lady. She must have loved your grandpa very much." Max nodded. "I guess." "In fact," Cass leveled a long look at Kate, "it sounds as if Grandpa kind of liked Grandma, too." Again Max nodded, finished with the subject. Cass had brought kites and they ran the length of the beach, over and over again, watching the kites loop and dip 146


overhead like drunken balloons. The four of them ran looking upward, their mouths open in the sheer joy of movement and color. The sound of their laughter echoed in the evening air. Kate thought she'd never been so happy. If only the moment could go on forever. If there weren't things to think about at home, like an orchid she couldn't seem to get just right on the silk, like Max's occasional earache, like Leah. Like the fact that Huey had threatened to try and take Max away from her. If there was some way she could freeze this day and make it last. But, of course, life didn't happen that way. No one knew that better than Kate. Reality returned. They built a fire and toasted marshmallows and talked until the children began to nod, and then went home. Stacey went to sleep in the van with her head on Max's shoulder, but he shrugged her off so that she leaned on the door instead. Max was tired himself. Cass's voice was soft. "He doesn't yet know the thrill of having a lady's head resting on him. Trusting him to take care of her." "Hopefully, I have a whole bunch of years before I need to worry about things like that." "Maybe," he said, and pulled her hand over to hold on his thigh while he drove. His hand was warm and big. Comforting. Kate thought that maybe it wouldn't be so bad after all to have someone to think about, someone to take care of you. If they really did do the care-taking bit. Huey hadn't even thought of her and Max, or marriage, in those terms. She sighed. Huey hadn't been 147


ready for commitment. Or fatherhood. Maybe he never would. Maybe she wasn't the person to draw it out of him. She'd never know. Hopefully, he was out of her life. Permanently. They dropped Stacey off with her mother and the lovely, safe, normal, feeling lasted all the way home. Kate had left the porch light on so they could see their way in. It suddenly seemed as if the fixture must have a thousand-watt bulb in it, as bright as it shone. Way too bright for a goodnight kiss. It was just as well, she thought. Kisses led to other things. Things she didn't want to deal with. She really wasn't ready for another relationship. But Cass had no such hang-ups. Max went on in the door and they could hear his footsteps stumbling up the stairs. With one swift movement, Cass's hand snaked in the door and flipped off the porch light, and he reached for Kate. "I don't know if this—" "You talk too much, sweet lady." He caught her hand and linked their fingers together. "They still fit," he said, his voice sober. "Yours is bigger," she replied, remembering his teenage fists. "All the better to..." "Yes? All the better to what?" "Fill in the blanks," he muttered lowering his head to hers. His lips were warm and soft as he cradled her head between his hands, turning her head to fit the slant of his. Of their own accord her arms went around him, cautiously at first and then with more pressure. A happy kind of excitement filled her until she felt as if her whole body was humming. 148


She told herself it was the emotion of the moment. After the stress of trying to deal with Leah, the afternoon had been so relaxing, so nice, so ... everyday kind of good, that her guard was down. But she gave herself to his embrace fully, enjoying the feel of a strong and hard body caressing hers. Before she wanted him to, he drew away. For a long moment he simply stared at her. "I'm not sure I'm ready for this." He swallowed hard, his hands still firm on her elbows. "I know." She'd had exactly the same thought a moment ago. She was gripping the house key hard enough to leave the print in her palm. His mouth stretched in a little, lopsided grin. "But neither of our horns blew and nothing fell off the walls. We're making progress." "Is that what we're doing?" "Among other things." He drew a long breath. "I'll wait until I hear the locks go. And the chain. Don't forget the chain." "I won't." "And you will call if Leah pays a visit. Right? "Yes. I will. Promise." "Maybe I should just stay." "No. I'll be fine. You kissed me just now and nothing happened." He grinned. "I wouldn't say that. Something happened all right." "Go on. Git. You're bad." "I'm on my way. Lock the door." 149


"Yes. I will. Bye." "Bye, Baby." He waited until he heard the bolts run home before he left the porch. There was no sound from Max's bedroom and Kate let Babe out the back long enough to take care of his business. She found she was trembling a bit as she waited for Babe. It had just been so very long since she'd been close to a man as vital and compelling, as caring, as Cass. That was it. Only human for her to feel ... feelings. That old primal pull between male and female. The desire was as old as Adam and Eve. And she definitely wasn't immune. It might not have been wise, but there it was. But when I am with him, I'm happy, she argued. What more did she want? Somehow, over the month, throughout all the trouble, she'd found someone in whose presence she was content and trustful enough to relax and feel happiness. He made her happy! The feeling had sneaked up on her so gradually she hardly knew what to make of it. She'd so conditioned herself to betrayal by Huey that she'd been blind to something good when it happened. She'd come near to blowing it. How could she have been so shortsighted? Babe appeared at her feet, wagging his tail, anxious to get inside and go upstairs to find Max. She let him in and then she, too, started up the stairs, replete and smiling, tired yet basking in the glow from the long and peaceful, contented day. At the landing where the stairs curled to the left, she stopped. There was the familiar giggle from behind her 150


shoulder. Thinking no, no, not again, she turned slightly and her eyes went automatically to the small window. A figure was etched there. The same figure from last night. Leah. Only this time the power was on. The stairway was clearly lighted. Kate saw her sister as before in long flowing robes and pointing. Had she been there all day and Kate hadn't noticed? Surely not. She would have seen. Her heart kicked into high gear. Leah again. How could she be in the same place, dressed the same, pointing the same—again? Hesitantly, Kate stretched out a finger. Her voice was weary. "Leah, let me have some happiness. He's a nice man. A friend. Please, just let us alone." She wondered, even as she said it, if she was being entirely truthful. What she felt was a bit more than friendly. Despite the warm summer evening, the window was icy cold. So cold it almost hurt her skin to remain in contact. She drew her finger across the bottom of the figure, the feet and the robe. There was a defined indention. Up toward the waist and higher. Every line of the figure felt to be etched into the glass. Leah's head and ... Kate's finger stopped before she traced the outstretched, pointing arm. Her hand was almost numb from the cold before she withdrew it, but the cold seemed to follow. She was engulfed in a wintry whirl of chilly draft. She shuddered. "Leah?" she asked in a mere whisper of sound. "Leah, what do you want? You know how sorry I am for what happened. If I could, I'd undo it and relive that whole afternoon. But I can't. What do you want of me now?" 151


The figure didn't change, but the voice came again. No giggle. It seemed to swirl around Kate, engulfing her in its whispery essence. Hair on the back of her neck sprang erect as if electrified by a shock. " ... careful, Katey. Careful, Katey-did. Careful ... " It faded into nothingness while Kate's ears strained to hear more. Be careful? Was it a warning or a threat? Chill bumps broke out on Kate's arms and a hard core of fear solidified in her breast. Careful of what?

152


Seven Jewel Box 'Dark Waters' Miniature, with five-inch scarlet blossoms and yellow throat. Slender blossom with delicate wand-like tentacles. Sophrolaeliocattleya. Mini-Cattleya type Mericlone. Morning dawned hot and cloudless. Kate awakened slowly. The air conditioner seemed to be having difficulty keeping up; the sheet clung to her body. She squinted her eyes against an irritating noise and frowned. It was a moment before she could identify the sound echoing in her head. She groaned. A woodpecker pounded out a solid beat on the eave. "Go away!" she shouted at the window, not expecting a response and not getting one. The rat-a-tat-tat went on. She sat on the edge of the bed and leaned forward with her elbows on her knees and her head in her hands. She couldn't go on like this. Nights when she hardly dared let herself drift into sleep and days consumed with wondering where Leah would appear next and in what form. She was beginning to dread the fall of darkness, fearing what the night would bring. Thankfully her fears for Max's well being were dissipating as night after night rolled by and he slept peacefully, undisturbed by any nocturnal antics of his lovely but unpredictable Aunt Leah. Other than that first day, he had never once mentioned seeing or hearing anything odd or 153


different. And, not wanting to put ideas into his head, Kate hadn't asked. He was settling in so nicely, seemed happily content with their lives as they were shaping up in Winsom, that Kate rejoiced yet again that—apart from Leah—she had made the right decision to move. If she could just ignore her sister. Impossible. If she could just put Leah in some sort of perspective where these unearthly manifestations didn't rattle her so. That was impossible, too. Somehow, she had to find a way to dilute Leah's impact on her life. The alternative was to check herself into the psych ward at the nearest hospital. She slammed the door on the thought. No matter what, she couldn't allow herself to get to the point where a psych ward was a possibility. The thought had begun in jest, but she stopped short, realizing it wasn't a laughing matter. Ghosts didn't exist in real life. They just didn't! Was there really something wrong with her? She'd discussed with Cass reading that some people were "sensitives," but had not seriously thought of herself in those terms. But was she? She couldn't remember what Cass's reaction had been. What he'd said. Had he given the idea any credence? Moments spent with him, developing their friendship—and that was all she would call it—were small, bright blessings scattered though some not-so-bright days and nights. He called frequently at night and the more they talked, the more it seemed they found to talk about. The friendship was deepening, in spite of her trepidation, and in an odd way was becoming a comfort. She found herself looking forward to 154


those late-night conversations. They were friends. Like Bree was a friend. Like Spence. Spence! She'd almost forgotten, tomorrow was the night she and Max were going for Mexican food with Spence. It wasn't a date. Not a real date. You didn't formally date a friend. She said it out loud, "Both Cass and Spence are casual acquaintances." For heaven's sake, she was taking Max along. Forget Cass's kiss on the porch that had melted her bones like hot wax—as if she could forget—she wouldn't allow it to be more than friendship. She'd built up a huge distrust of men during the Huey years. She was smart enough to know she'd better not forget the lessons of hard core experience. Men, as husbands, were not to be trusted. Huey had insisted on living in the high rent district of Winnetka, but he couldn't keep a job, and they were always poor. The electricity had been turned off more often than she cared to remember, and she'd been the one who had to take the money in late and stand before the careful, expressionless faces of clerks who knew she and Huey were deadbeats. And that was when he'd had a job. Huey was the original three-month-thirty-day man. He'd work a job for three months and just when he was eligible for insurance and other benefits, he'd take offense at something someone said or just decide he didn't like the work, and quit. He'd then go on unemployment, for as long as it lasted, before beginning the hunt for another job, which most often took another thirty days or more. 155


That was when the water would be turned off, as well as the power. The rent was always overdue, meaning they had to pay extra for late fees. Kate was a basket case by the end of every month. She'd been so humiliated at times that she could hardly bring herself to walk in and pay the bills when she had the money. She did well to buy groceries and keep the car running on her pay check. Juggling doctor bills and medicine had been a nightmare of unbelievable proportions. Talk about being a poor judge of men. Kate thought she'd deserved an Oscar for her performance at home, so that Mom and Dad wouldn't know just how bad things were. And that wasn't even counting the nights Huey came home at dawn smelling of someone else's perfume. Huey knew nothing about giving. All he knew about was taking. And Cass was as different as anything she could imagine, yet she wasn't ready to loosen the strings that tied her to caution. No, she and Max were doing okay all by themselves. With a sigh, Kate made an effort to pull her scattered thoughts together. Cass. It was awfully nice to have some adult conversation once in awhile, and even nicer to feel like a woman again. Nicer yet to know that Cass was only a phone call away if she needed him. And, it was wondrously good to know that she could lean, just a little, if she needed to, and the wall wouldn't crumple and give way. He gave the impression that he was a simple and uncomplicated man and yet she'd never met a more complex one. He'd given up his dreams to come to his father's aid. As a single father, under difficult circumstances, he was doing an 156


admirable job. Not doing too bad with her, either, Kate thought. Other than the Leah problem, she felt more settled and content than she had in years. If there was just some way she could get to the bottom of this thing about a haunting. She didn't have a clue why Leah had chosen to come back and torment her. It wasn't all Cass. Strange things had begun happening before she'd met him again. The thing with the mirror, for instance. That was the day she and Max moved in. Yes, Leah had been terribly angry before she died. Yes, she died blaming Kate for the accident that left her almost a paraplegic. And yes, indeed, her life had been cut miserably, unfairly, horribly short. But it was her own decision to die. There was nothing Kate could have done to prevent her death. Leah had chosen to end her life as she did, knowing that Kate would find her. Knowing how bereft and griefstricken, utterly devastated, her sister would be. Leah chose to deliberately punish her twin—the other half of herself— beyond the grave. And Kate had a hard time forgiving her that. She was still working on it. There was an ache inside her too deep for words. Dad, Mother, I need to talk to you. I don't know what to do. I handled Huey. I handled losing my job. I even handled it when you both died so suddenly. But I don't know what to do about Leah. I need you! There was no answer, of course. She didn't expect one. But it was comforting to talk to them. I need to know ... Do you think ... I've read about some people being "sensitives," and I can't seriously, really 157


seriously, think of myself in those terms. But, am I? Am I going to be sensitive to all multiple ghostly manifestations? Or just Leah? Silence. Mom? Dad? I'm scared. A squiggle of unease slithered into her stomach. She was a couple of giant steps beyond scared. After awhile, she sat up and brushed her hair back out of her eyes. She was so tired she felt like a puppet with collapsing strings. But with all the rain, the grass was growing and, Leah or no Leah, she simply had to get the mower out today and see about mowing the lawn. If she could figure out how to start it. The boy she'd hired to mow for her was on vacation with his parents, and from the way the grass was growing she'd almost swear the kid had been using fertilizer as he mowed. Did grass always grow this fast? By mid-morning the mower was still in the garage and she was still trying to get it going. The riding mower was a monster of a machine with more gears and knobs and strange-looking symbols than she'd ever seen. She couldn't find a manual, she was hot and sweaty, all patience long since gone, and no closer to mowing the lawn than she'd been before breakfast. She would have kicked a tire except that she'd hurt her foot and it wouldn't have budged the mower in the least. She felt downright peevish. Leah, you do just about anything you please around here, so why don't you make yourself useful for a change, and start this damn thing! She didn't think her irritable request was so 158


off-base. Weird, maybe even stupid, but not off-base. If Leah was determined to be a part of her life, the least she could do was add something positive. Breathing hard, standing over the mower with her hands on her hips, Kate's eyes rested on the utility shed farther back in the yard. Would the garden statuary Leah was so fond of still be there? One day while shopping when they were both about ten years old, they'd found a black marble image of a young ballerina, up on her toes, one arm extended in a graceful pose. Leah had fallen in love with it. Dad had placed it in the rose garden where it sat until the year after Leah's death. He never been able to dispose of it completely. She had known in her bones the figure would still be where Dad had placed it in the shed all those years ago. Her feet seemed to move almost of their own accord as Kate left the mower where it sat and walked the length of the back lawn to the white, barn-like structure where all garden equipment and rarely used maintenance material was stored. At the door, she flipped on the light. There it was. A tentlike, tarp-covered object about three feet high. The soles of her shoes seemed stuck to the floor. Reluctantly, yet somehow needing to see, she picked her way in slow motion around a tiller, stepped over rakes and hoes, flower pots and stacked paint cans. Leaning one hand against the wall between hanging spades and shovels, hesitating only a second, she picked up the corner of the quilt covering the statue. And caught her breath. 159


Maybe because the interior was in shadows, maybe because she didn't want to see as badly as she needed to see, but the visual impact of the ballerina and the similarity to Leah, punched straight into her blood and ran singing through her veins until she was suddenly lightheaded. Even though she hadn't seen the figure in years, the effect was still the same. It could have been sculpted from Leah herself. The same light, weightless, almost ethereal image. The angle and lift of the small arm. The flirting tilt of the head upward in anticipation of good things happening. A sob lodged in Kate's throat and her fingers opened allowing the shroud to fall back in place. She couldn't seem to move. It might as well have been Leah herself in living, breathing, joyous dance, en pointe. She'd been so full of vitality and energy. How could all that be gone? Where had it gone? And then, breaking into her thoughts, came the sound of ear-splitting barking. Babe was apparently feeling larger than life in his role as protector of the house. From where she stood, she could hear the doorbell ringing. Hurrying, she replaced the tarp, closed the door to the shed and ran up the incline toward the house. It was Big Lionel, from just down the block, asking if Max could play. Breathless from her run up the back lawn, Kate left them with cartoons on television, but negotiating who had the first turn with the Game Boy and headed back toward the garage and the lawn mower. On her way through the kitchen, the phone rang. She skidded to a halt. "Hello?" 160


Nothing. No answer. No sound at all. She felt like slamming the receiver into the cradle and swearing. During her morning-long bout with the mower, the phone had rung at least three times, and she'd dropped everything to run inside to answer, wiping grease from her hands as she went, to find no one there. Well, that wasn't completely true. She was fairly sure there was someone on the other end of the line, but they wouldn't respond. She had thrown the receiver down so hard the last time she was afraid she'd broken it. Kate stood staring at the phone for a long minute. Was something wrong with her line? This had been happening with unerring regularity for weeks. At first she'd hardly noticed. Telemarketing calls were almost a way of life, it seemed. You were computer-dialed along with a dozen other numbers and whoever answered first got the spiel selling insurance or siding, more credit or whatever. But it finally dawned on her that she was certainly getting more than her fair share of these anonymous calls, especially since she'd called the national number to not be bothered with them. The frequency was beginning to be scary. She'd have to break down and call the phone company when she had time. However, first things first. The lawn had to be mowed. She approached the mower eyeing it with distaste and disgust. An evil machine with stubborn and vicious intent. Her fingers closed around the handle and she pulled with all her might. It didn't even growl at her. She gritted her teeth and tried again. Same thing. Sinking back on her heels, she closed her eyes. Maybe if she turned it over and looked underneath, she 161


could see something wrong. Yeah, right. As if she, who barely knew a screw from a nail, would recognize a problem with machinery. She gave an unladylike snort, but turned it over anyway, and sat looking at the unfamiliar blades and housing. Maybe if she could... Just when her stomach began making noises of neglect, and she figured it was noon and she could justifiably stop tinkering to fix lunch, Max came running out of the house followed by Big Lionel. "Can I spend the night at Lionel's house? His mom says it's okay." This was a first. Max had never spent the night with a friend, away from her. Only twice at all, and then with the Junes. She wasn't sure she liked the idea, but didn't feel she could object with no good reason. "I'd have to talk to his mother first," she hedged. "Good, 'cause she's waiting on the phone." Again, Kate wiped the grease from her hands. "I'm on my way." After minimal negotiations, it was agreed that Max would go home with Big Lionel after ball practice and spend the night. Telephone numbers were exchanged, permissions granted all around, and she hung up. Kate had just pushed the button to close the garage door when the phone, right beside her on the kitchen wall, rang again. Startled, she jumped a foot, heart galloping. Her hand on her chest, she stood staring at the receiver. Behind her the refrigerator rumbled quietly, the TV blared from the other room and somewhere Babe's toenails clicked on the floor. None of it was important beside the incessant 162


ring of the phone. For a second, her knees were weak. They— whoever they were—were calling again. She knew it, felt it in her chest. She'd pick up the phone and there would be no one there. Someone was playing tricks on her. Cruel tricks. Oh, come on, she thought, it's probably Bree. Or Spence. Maybe someone selling something. You're making too much of this. Just pick up the phone. Hand only a bit shaky, she reached for the receiver. Again no one there. "Hello," she said, louder, pressing the phone harder to her ear. "Hello!" No answer. Her stomach clenched, and her brain felt numb. But she was positive she heard the barest whisper of sound, as if someone was breathing very softly. Leah? Can it be Leah making the phone ring? Do ghosts use telephones? And what would be the point? Leah's style was to scare people out of their wits and then laugh. And the first thing they knew, they'd be laughing right along with her. She'd always had a kind of "witchery" about her, but nothing evil. Not even mean. She was quick and magical, somehow. Almost everyone loved her. But ghosts! What Kate knew about ghosts would fit comfortably on the head of a pin with room left over. Maybe she ought to make a stop at the public library and do some research. Very carefully, she put the receiver into the drawer beneath the counter and pushed it closed. Let them sit on the 163


other end and wonder what had happened. At least they couldn't call her again. Not for a little while anyway. She could be getting paranoid about this whole phone thing. Most likely she really was making too much of it. Just back off and relax. Practice deep breathing and think lovely thoughts. Right, except that it didn't work. Her brain seemed focused on the phone, silent now, hidden in the kitchen drawer. At least it was quiet. After BLTs and applesauce, Kate sat in the hammock chair on the back porch and tried to organize her thoughts. She ticked items off on her fingers. She had to do something about the mower, but what? The height of the grass was going to reach crisis proportions before long. She needed to call Maryland and order more paint; she was almost out of both magenta and resist. But not this minute. She still hadn't returned the call from Joe Kiniki in New York. That was top priority. He'd left a message day before yesterday. Maybe he had another commission for her. But she couldn't call him when she felt so frazzled. He'd pick up on it in a minute and never believe she was just sleep-starved. Max wouldn't be home tonight. Maybe she'd get a good night's sleep. She grunted. Yeah, right! Max wasn't the problem. She wished with all her heart for her Dad. He'd always been good with Leah. He'd know how to stop this whole thing. A hard lump lodged in her throat and she fought back tears. Dad wasn't here now. She'd have to handle Leah by herself. 164


Wiping a trickling tear from her cheek with a thumb, she got up and wandered up the stairway. She'd work awhile and then attack the mower again. But for some reason, she walked right by the workroom and stopped in the doorway of the room she and Leah had shared for so many years. There were a lot of happy memories here, as well as sad ones. Idly she ran her hand over the glass-topped dresser on Leah's side of the room. Leah had sat here countless hours making up her face. She'd had enough cosmetics, Dad had teased, to start her own shop. Here was her jewelry box, twice the size of Kate's. Until her junior year, Kate had been more interested in softball and track than makeup and boys. She picked up a snow globe from the top of a bookcase and looked across the room to find the identical one on the matching bookcase against the other wall. Kate smiled at the snow swirling around a pirouetting ballerina. "Santa" had brought them the year they were eight. By that time, Leah had added tap to her ballet lessons. Leah excelled at dance. Kate had only been adequate, and far less interested. Watching the snow swirl, Kate remembered the summer Leah spent hours wearing a catcher's mitt, catching balls Kate fired to her. That was the summer Kate aspired to be a pitcher. Ultimately second base claimed her, and she no longer needed Leah to help her practice. Leah couldn't throw a ball across the backyard, let alone the distance Kate required to hone her skills. But for one entire summer, Leah uncomplainingly carried a permanent bruise in the palm of her left hand from catching the balls Kate threw. 165


Her head came up, and she stared, unseeing, out the window. Was something else going on here, maybe? Could Leah possibly be trying to help her? Warning her about something, or ... No. No, that was silly. No one was threatening her. A year ago, maybe two years ago it could have been Huey, but not now. Now she had a dependable roof over her head and money in the bank. Not a lot, but still ... Now she had a great deal to be thankful for. Huey was out of the picture and Max was playing ball, and happy. Yet the thought persisted. Was it remotely thinkable that Leah had protection in mind rather than harm? The question remained, however—protection from what? From whom? Kate replaced the snow globe and went down the hall to her fabric and paints. It wasn't a puzzle she was going to solve right then. And work was waiting. And Max's ball practice. Before she drove Max to the practice field, she must remember to take the phone out of the drawer and replace it on the hook. Then what? She'd have a dozen blank messages on the answering machine, that's what. She'd had six day before yesterday, and seven the day they'd gone on their picnic. How many was too many before she could decide to do something about it? And what then? She could always call the police and have them thinking she was a nut case. Of course, she didn't have to tell them she thought the culprit was likely the ghost of her sister who had been dead for ten years. Maybe they could do something. But if not ... If not, it might somehow get back to Huey that his former wife, Max's mother, was imagining things. Wasn't 166


stable. Oh God. She needed to avoid something like that at all costs. No. She couldn't call the police. Incoming calls could be blocked, but then she'd never know what was going on. Her head dropped forward on her chest. And she still couldn't start the mower. An alternative, however, might be to call a friend who had urged her to do so. She would put her pride in her pocket and dial the numbers she had committed to memory, and ask for help. "Hi, it's Kate." "Kate. Well, Kate. Hi," Cass said. He didn't sound annoyed at the interruption. He sounded ... He sounded glad to hear her voice. "What can I do for you? Is there a problem? Is Leah—" "No. Nothing like that." In the background she could hear the cacophony of building. Men calling to one another, hammering, the engine of some large piece of equipment grinding away. "I won't keep you, but I'm taking you up on your offer of help. I can't seem to figure out how to start this monster Dad mowed the lawn with. I'd really appreciate it if you could stop over some time when you have a few minutes and teach me how to get it going." "Sure. How about after ball practice this afternoon?" "Great. If you're sure it's not a problem." "No problem at all. Glad to help." Pause. "How're you doing? Everything quiet?" 167


"Yes. Everything is fine. I just didn't realize how fast grass grows. I used to help Dad before I left home, but what we used then was nothing like this thing. It galls me to admit defeat, but the lawn is going to be higher than the corn in the fields if I don't get it cut soon." "Consider it done. I'll take care of it this evening." Sigh. "Thanks Cass." "Right. See you at the diamond." She slumped in relief. It was amazing how solving one problem helped the rest fall into place. Now, Maryland. She'd made the call often enough that she was on a first name basis with everyone there. Then Joe Kiniki. And that would be three problems down, leaving only Leah and the phone calls. And the strange car with darkened windows that often parked outside. She'd think about them later. **** Babe made a fuss, as usual, at being left at home but Kate hardened her heart and closed the door on the dog's pleading eyes. Ignoring Max's whining all the way to the ball park was something else. "But he gets lonely, all alone. Please, Mom." "Max, we are not taking Babe to the field with us and that is final. We'll not go through this every day. We will not! You will either shut up about it, now, or we'll turn around and go home. You can call Cass and tell him you are resigning from the team. One or the other. Is that clear?" He flopped back in his seat with his lower lip pouting. "Do you hear me? 168


"Yes!" "Which is it to be?" A flash of angry eyes. "Ball!" "Are we clear on that? No more whining?" "Yes! No!" "I'm glad to hear it. The team needs you." There was silence all the way across town to the ball field. It was the usual practice, Cass working with several kids at a time on base running, another dad off in a corner of the field teaching other kids hold the bat properly, and Kate turned from the fence finally to look for a place to sit in the bleachers. As she turned, she noticed an older man in a straw hat and white shirt looking at her. She realized, suddenly, that she had surprised him looking at her before. This wasn't the first time. He was at most practices and all of the games. She took a seat a row behind him, put on her sunglasses, slathered sun shade all over, and tried to pretend he wasn't there. He looked vaguely familiar. A head full of white hair and a nice tan for a man of his age. He turned several times, his gaze scanning over her anonymously, and she was aware that his attention seemed to be more on her than the game. She glanced down to see what she was wearing: white clam diggers, a pink striped tank top and woven, mahogany brown slides on her feet. Certainly not a fashion figure. All the other mothers looked much the same. Why was he watching her? She'd always assumed he was here to watch a favorite grandson practice. Maybe he had another agenda. 169


Uncomfortable, she kept a wary eye on him while watching the kids on the field. At the end of the practice, while she was waiting for Max to come off the field, he passed her on his way to the parking lot and tipped his hat in an old fashioned gesture. She nodded in return and watched him walk carefully across the pitted field, scrubby with struggling patches of grass growing between the holes. He did not turn around, but got behind the wheel of an ancient Lincoln and drove away. Somehow, she had the feeling she ought to know him. She recognized most of the people in town. He was vaguely familiar. She forgot all about him then, for Max hit her like an avalanche, demanding his back pack containing everything required to survive the night away from her. He was so excited he could hardly talk. "My Game Boy?" "It's in there." "The Black and White game?" "Nope." "Okay, we'll play his Play Station game. Bye Mom. I'll see you." "Be good now. Mind Lionel's mother and—" "Sure. Bye." She spoke briefly with Lionel's mother, said to call if there was any problem, and waved them off. Driving home, she felt the least bit lonely, but spending the night with a friend was a rite of passage so to speak. One step up the ladder to maturity. And then she had to swallow 170


hard. When Max grew up, she'd have nobody. She might have had Leah, if only ... If only. The public library was on the way home and she stopped, briefly, to check out three books on ghostly phenomenon. She finally found what she was looking for under "parapsychology: the study of the paranormal. Psychic phenomenon." One book looked almost too spooky to read, with a photo on the front of a so-called haunted graveyard and an unexplained blob that could possibly have been a human figure hovering overhead. She wasn't sure she'd ever open the cover on any of them. To do so would somehow be to admit she half-way believed in Leah's nocturnal mischief. Just as she pulled in the driveway, another car screeched to a stop at the curb. There was no mistaking Ruby June's vanity license plate reading WUPEDO. She wore a widebrimmed straw hat with a huge, floppy artificial rose attached, and was waving something shiny in the air. "Is Max here?" "No, I'm sorry. He went home for the night with a friend." Kate walked down to the curb and leaned over to look in the window. "Oh. Well, I'll give it to you. Actually it's for the puppy. He was our favorite and Pearly June and I thought we'd just get it for him. See it has his name on it." "It" was a small heart-shaped name tag with "Babe" printed on it, with Max as the owner and his telephone number. "You attach it to his collar, and then he'll never get lost. See?" 171


"Oh Ruby June. This is very sweet of you. Max will be so pleased. Won't you come in for a minute?" The sky was a big, inverted bowl of stunning light and heat. Kate felt as if she were frying on a griddle, standing in the full glare of the sun. "No, I got to get on home. We're going to the Whistle Stop tonight." The ragtime piano-playing joint south of town really jumped on weekends. Kate had heard about it, but never been there. "Sounds like fun." "Got in the habit years ago when we were all kids and we'd go to the Whistle Stop on Friday night, and somebody's house, the whole gang of us, on Saturday night and watch television and eat popcorn. Your mom's folks had the first TV in town. Did you know that? We went to her house, more often than not." "Really? I hadn't heard that story." "Your mom and her boyfriend. They were the most popular couple in town." "My mom and dad?" "Well, not your dad. He wasn't around yet." "Mom had a boyfriend other than Dad?" "Well, surely you didn't think he was the only one wanted her, did you? Your mom was the belle of the town back then. I thought old T. Roy was going to die of heartbreak when she dumped him for your dad. He'd had a clear field until then and he wasn't used to being thwarted." Kate was almost bug-eyed. "How could I never have heard of him? What happened to him?" 172


"T. Roy? He's around. He farms big-time. Raised a lot of Cain and a couple of kids who are not doing him proud I'm sorry to say. He's dabbled in local and state politics for years but never ran for office for some reason. Made a bunch of money on the stock market, I hear, and hires his farm work done now. He's probably the wealthiest man in the county." She rolled her eyes. "I've heard of him, but I wonder why I never met him" "You did meet him. He came to the funeral home when your mother died. I saw him talking to you." And all of sudden she remembered. Was he the poet? She did remember now, years ago, her dad teasing her mom about the poet she used to date. The one who could recite Shakespeare by the ream. She'd never connected him to a name, however, and certainly never to the steady-sounding kind of boyfriend Ruby June made him out to be. She said, "He's the man who came up to me at the viewing with tears in his eyes. He looked at Mother's picture on the coffin and said, 'She was always such a pretty girl'." "Yes, and then he said, 'And you look a lot like her.' I heard him. That was T. Roy." "T. Roy what?" "T. Roy Blankenship. Has a huge farm out north of town. Been known to pop a cork once in awhile, but a fairly decent man, I think." Into the silence, while Kate thought about this, Cass's Jeep pulled up behind Ruby June. 173


"I'm off," Ruby June said, gunning the engine. "Got a cake at home waiting to be iced." With a wave she was gone. Cass unfolded himself out of the vehicle. "Let's take a look at that monster you were talking about." He grinned. "Can't be all that bad." "Worse. It's a brontosaurus. A wicked one. With teeth. It's in the garage." There was something satisfying in watching a man work with his hands. Something safe and secure and take-charge. A tight little ball of anxiety inside Kate seemed to loosen in the time it took him to coax the engine to gurgling life. In three minutes Cass had the mower running and drove it out into the sunlight. "Let me take a turn around the yard to make sure it's cutting smooth," he called, and took off cutting a wide swath along the sidewalk, beneath the maple and around the rose bed. Kate stood on the driveway and watched for a few minutes, but when he didn't stop she went inside to make a pitcher of iced tea and set out a plate of chocolate cherry drop cookies on the back porch. When he still didn't stop, she went out and stood once more on the driveway, watching. He called, "I'll just finish the front." And, not waiting for an answer, he mowed on, up one strip and down the next, around the white painted rocks surrounding the ornamental pear tree and skirting the front steps. He disappeared around the corner of the house and didn't return. Kate realized he was mowing the back and moved in that direction so she could see him. 174


She admired her mother's lily bed as he wheeled around it. The colors were alternately stunningly vivid and softly muted. Right in the middle is where the statue used to stand. Unbidden the thought rose, and just as quickly her mind shied away from the hurtful memory. I won't think of the statue. Not today. Today was a day for smiles. The sun was shining. At least she hadn't needed to run the seeper hose in weeks. Not with all the rain. The ground was nearing the saturation point. Any rain that fell now would just run off. Cass mowed at an angle across the yard, just like her dad. What difference could it make which direction the lawn was mowed? Somehow it seemed to be important to men. She shrugged. When Cass finally cut the engine and stepped off, she said, "I didn't mean for you to do my mowing. I only wanted you to show me how to start it. I can do it myself." "I don't doubt it for a minute. I happen to like mowing, and this," he patted the hood of the monster, "is a honey. She's sweet." "Sweet." Kate looked at him dubiously. "You call that sweet." "Purrs like a kitten." "Not for me it didn't." "You didn't stroke her just right." "Apparently. I consider anything with moving parts to be evil and out to get me. Is this one of those guy things?" He shrugged. "I could be persuaded to finish the rest of the yard, for a long drink of something cold." "I have iced tea and cookies on the back porch." 175


"I'll take the tea now and come back for the cookies when I finish." The feeling of being safe and secure only solidified as Kate sat on the back porch and watched him guide the mower around and around, moving the swing to mow beneath it, snugging the blade up to the grape trellises. The scent of freshly mowed grass clung to her nostrils, triggering nostalgia so strong it almost swamped her. Newly mowed grass, iced tea and a cool breeze that set the hammock chair to swaying. She closed her eyes for one of the few peaceful, happy moments she'd known since she moved back to Winsom. And Cass was responsible for it. She was grateful. Resolutely, she refused to think about all the local tongues wagging about Cass mowing her lawn. There would be interested speculation discussed over the zucchini at the produce aisle in the market and beside the pumps at the gas station. To say nothing about what would be passed down the pews in church on Sunday. Kate decided she could live with it. Let them talk. He turned the hose on the mower to clean it when he'd finished, and drove the monster back into the garage before coming to the porch. Babe rushed to meet him, prancing a welcome and wriggling so hard he almost toppled over. Cass bent to scratch the dog behind the ears and then to rub his tummy. Within minutes, Babe fell asleep at Cass's feet. "I'll take the tea and cookies now," he said, wiping the sweat from his brow. She could faintly smell him, feel the heat steaming off him. Man. All man. Sweat mingling with 176


soap, shampoo and a certain earthy pungency. It bothered her slightly that she was getting so used to him. She felt familiar even with his scent. He sat down at the table and looked out over the lawn and around at the porch. "This is very nice." "I've always liked it," she answered. "It's home." The ceiling fan created a gentle breeze among the flowers. She'd brought out a number of orchids, some of which hung from the rafters while others stood on pedestal tables, even one in an old pie press. About half of them bloomed in riotous colors. She'd always thought of the others as waiting patiently for their day of glory. "Got a nibble on the Ford. Can I bring the guy around to look at it one of these days?" "Sure. Anytime you want." "Fellow collects antique cars. Has a huge garage at the back of his lot where he keeps them stored. You ought to see them. They're polished until they almost hurt your eyes to look. He always runs a half dozen of them in the Memorial Day Parade. One of these years you'll be standing at the curb and see your dad's old Ford glide by." "I'd like that. Dad would like that. Whatever he's offering, consider it done." "It will also eliminate the possibility of any more horns going off where there is no way a horn could go off." He narrowed his eyes. "That appeals to me a great deal." He drained half the glass of tea and lowered his gaze on hers. "Any more visits from our friend?" 177


"Leah? Not in the last couple of nights. Maybe she's given up." "Do you believe that?" "No." "Well then. What are we going to do about it?" She shook her head. "There's a new wrinkle. I think she's calling me on the phone." His eyebrows went up. "The telephone?" "Yes. It rings several times a day and there's no one there. Or at least they don't answer. I have a feeling someone is on the other end, though. Listening. It has to be her. Have you ever heard of ghosts dialing a telephone?" "Why does it have to be her?" She made a bewildered gesture with one hand. "Who else would it be?" "I don't know. Some teenagers having fun. An adult up to a bit of meanness." She considered the idea. "I hadn't thought of that. At least that's normal. Not some unbelievable scenario involving ghosts! I'd rather go with your idea." "Just an alternative. I could be all wrong." "I'll assume you're right until proven wrong." "Where's Max?" "He's at Lionel's house. Staying overnight for the first time. Babe and I are holding down the fort." He shifted positions and leaned back. "Tell you what. I'm going home to take a shower. Unless you have other plans, I'll stop at the Toot 'n Tell 'Em and bring back a pizza and we can eat here. Does that appeal to you?" 178


She looked up to find his eyes on hers, and although the width of the table separated them, it was as if an elastic band stretched tight from him to her. Kate tried twice before she found her voice. "Sure. That sounds great." He stood. "Be back in a flash. Pizza, you and me. Just us three." He waggled his eyebrows in a suggestive wriggle. "The imagination boggles with possibilities." And before she could close her mouth, he was gone.

179


Eight Lavender Star 'Ruffled Kiss' Lush, ruffled, deep ruby petal with a radiant lavender blush and creamy center. Brassolaeliocattleya. "At first, it was okay after we were married. Huey went to work in Jackson and we came home here at least once a month for Sunday dinner." She lifted a shoulder. "Things weren't great, but they were okay." They sat on the porch with the remains of a pizza in its box between them on the table, and tall glasses of soft drinks sweating in their hands. She couldn't remember why they'd begun talking about Huey. She'd never talked to anyone except Bree about the disastrous marriage, but didn't stop to let herself analyze why it felt right to talk to Cass about it now. It was enough that she was relaxed for the first time in months, years even, and could share herself with a man. She'd known Cass almost all her life. He was safe. Well, safe in a way. He sprawled in his chair completely and totally male—muscles and calluses showing the results of hard, honest work, and eyes that revealed a sensitivity she'd not seen in many men. Just his very presence seemed to generate a sense of completeness in her life. In that sense, he might not be safe at all. And, of course, the candles lighting the porch, flickering in their tiny pots, created a kind of intimacy that ought to make her take to her heels and run. 180


Yet, somehow, she couldn't feel that Cass was a threat. She could tell him anything. And maybe it was time she told someone other than Bree. "Four months to the day that he began work, he was fired. Came home and said he'd gotten tired of the guff a couple of the men were slinging at him, and he'd thrown a handful of receipts at a customer who then took a swing at Huey. Huey, being Huey, swung back, and broke the guy's nose. Of course, the manager fired him. He sat out his unemployment, not doing anything much except growling because I was pregnant already. He didn't even begin to hunt for a job until the unemployment checks ran out." "And what were you doing while he sat on his butt?" "Throwing up around the clock and trying to hang on to my job." She paused. "We had a lot of fun in college, me too— Huey in a good mood was a great date—but after graduation and then marriage, he expected the frat parties to go on as usual. He couldn't cope with a job and responsibility. "And I was sick with the kind of morning sickness that goes on day and night for nine months, and I guess I didn't do a lot to stroke his ego. In all fairness, I was so caught up in constant nausea and the need to function at work, worrying about paying the rent and having enough to eat, that I probably made things worse with my nagging. I wasn't little Miss Merry Sunshine during those months. I'm fairly sure he came close to hating me by the time Max was born. Probably with good reason." "He broke a guy's nose for hassling him? A customer?" Cass's eyes narrowed. "Did he ever get rough with you?" 181


"Oh ... Pushing and shoving. He drew back his fist once, shortly after Max was born, but never threw the punch. Caught himself in time." Her chest tightened with the memory. She had been scared. "I would have been out of there, if he had. Afterward, when I had time to think about it, I promised myself that." She'd also made a promise of another kind to Huey, but Cass didn't need to know about that. The man had gone pale at the mention of the knife drawer in the kitchen, and a hand had drifted below his belt. She hadn't actually used the word "bobbitized," but it was implied strongly enough that he'd gotten the message. Her voice had been so cold with fury, it hadn't even sounded like her voice, when she said, "You have to sleep sometime." He'd never shown her a fist again. "And things didn't get better?" "For a few weeks, after Max came. He was thrilled that the baby was a boy and loved to boast to everyone about his son. But when the novelty wore off, he cooled down fast. He didn't 'do' diapers and middle-of-the-night feedings. Fatherhood had no place in his master plan." "You weren't working." It wasn't a question. "After three weeks. The water had been turned off." Cass's face settled into grim, hard lines. "He was a real SOB." "I kept thinking he'd rise to the responsibility. He never did." "At least he didn't want custody when you divorced." When she didn't answer right away, he leaned forward. "He didn't, did he?" 182


"No," she said. "But he's threatened since to take him. I know, my lawyer says that's a standard threat and the man almost never follows through, but the possibility is scary." "Unless he's cleaned up his life considerably in the interval, you have nothing to worry about, surely." "Probably not, but still..." "Child support?" She shook her head. "And you didn't take him to court?" "I managed. In all honesty, I didn't want him in our lives in any way. The further away he stayed, the better. And I had Max, and my self-respect." "Yeah, but how in the world did you manage? It sounds pretty grim, even before he left." "I hit an all time low when Huey didn't show up at the hospital to bring Max and me home, and I had to call Bree who, thank God, was in Chicago at a seminar." His eyes flattened in anger. "Where were your folks in all this? They didn't help?" "They would have, if they'd known. But they had been opposed to the marriage from the beginning. They'd tried their hardest to talk me out of marrying him. I guess it's an old story. They saw character traits in him that I was blind to, and afterward I was too proud to let them know I'd made a mistake and covered everything as best I could. I don't think they ever knew just how bad it was." She unclasped her hands and let out her breath, "I don't usually talk this much. I don't know why I told you all that." "Because I wanted to know." 183


"I survived and that's the point." That was enough. She didn't need to whine on his shoulder about her life with Huey. She tucked one foot beneath her and changed the subject. "How about you? Textbook college, degree, and marriage?" Cass leaned forward to scratch Babe. The dog rolled to his back, all four feet up in the air and a foolish grin on his doggy face. He answered, "Right. At least up to the marriage part. That was sour almost from the beginning. Like you, a big mistake. Of course, I got Stacey out of it." "You met in college?" "Yeah. Jessica was the valedictorian type. All intensity and brains, energy and excitement. Except for her tunnel vision about long range goals and where she wanted to be in ten years, she and Huey might have gotten along. She was a great date, too. What happened after the wedding was less than great." "You must have loved her." "I guess. I thought I did. Actually, I've thought about it a lot, and you know, I think the time came when I simply needed someone to take care of. I needed to be needed. Responsible for someone else. I think maybe a lot of men feel like that." "I know one who didn't." He nodded. "I said 'most' men. Call it whatever you want, but no one has a problem with saying women have a nesting instinct. I think men have it too. After college—somehow it was just time to get married and begin a family. The right time for that to happen. For me, anyway." He stopped talking and swirled the ice cubes in his glass. 184


Then, "Jessica didn't take much to running a home. She wanted to be a career woman and refused to be 'harnessed,' I believe was her word, into a lifestyle she didn't want." "How long did the marriage last?" His chin rested on his chest. He was uncomfortable with talking about the breakup of his marriage, Kate could see that, but he persisted. "We struggled along until two years ago. I decided it was harder on Stace with us being together than it would be if we parted, so I gave in. We've been friendlier since the divorce than we were while we were married. And so far, at least, Stace is doing okay. Jessica is generous with her. I get to see her almost whenever I want." "Is Jessica remarried?" "No. She's clawing her way up the corporate ladder. Logging billable hours by the zillion. If you ever need a lawyer, she's a damned good one." "I'm surprised you don't have custody." "Jess wasn't ready for that. Said a little girl needed her mother, and I was tired of fighting. But since I'd rather have Stace, myself, than send her to a sitter, I have her more than Jess does, anyway. I've been thinking about reopening the residence part of custody. Jess might be more receptive now." Bugs thumped against the screen. The sound of frogs croaking drifted from the lake. Candles guttered low in the breeze and above it all wind rustled through the maples. An August moon rode high in the sky.

185


So many kids from split families. So much pain. And an ever growing need for lawyers. Kate wished for the millionth time that life could be different. Simpler. Safer for kids. It would be nice if Leah was a problem that could be solved by lawyers. She wondered where she was now. What she was doing at this very minute. Waiting to pounce once more, likely. There was no doubt about it, she wouldn't like Kate getting too friendly with Cass. Leah had always more than liked him when they were young, but Cass had never made a move toward her. He was one of the few boys she couldn't just reel in with a little subtle flirting. No, Leah had proven dramatically that she didn't want Cass kissing Kate any more today than she had ten years ago. Kate studied the lines of his face. He wasn't classically handsome, but there was a sort of rugged integrity about him that fascinated her. His face was almost chiseled, with hard and clean lines, but when he smiled, as he did now, the lines were softened. He looked exactly like what he was. A nice, hardworking, decent man. Responsible. Secure. And he hadn't backed out the door after Leah's rather obvious statement with the car horn. More points on his behalf. For all of one minute she was disgusted with herself. Why was it that a woman always felt more secure with a man around? Granted he was bigger and stronger, and knew things like how to start a balky lawn mower. But it was more than that. It had to do with a sense of being complete. Like finishing a circle or mixing paints until you got exactly the right color. Sharing yourself and your life with someone else seemed to carry a happy, contented feeling along with it. In 186


her case, that someone else apparently meant a man. And that confused her. She wasn't in the market for a man. Maybe some day, but not now. She was doing all right on her own. A man meant giving up power. Abdicating the right to decision making. Friendship was safer. She could go with that. Even a very good, close friendship. And she considered Cass a very good friend indeed. But, conversely, she had to admit Cass wasn't pushy. He didn't pressure her to do what he considered best or infringe on her space. He was just there if she needed him. Sure, he had strong political views; she wouldn't respect him nearly as much if he didn't. But they had discussed, calmly, her differing views. They both loved old movies, the Beatles, kids and dogs. They enjoyed doing many of the same things. Kate frowned. She'd never felt, not once, as if she was being asked to give up rights or power or herself with Cass. Maybe as her dad had said, all men weren't like Huey Foster. She'd never given the thought serious consideration. Could be it was time to do so. "Any more anonymous phone calls?" he asked abruptly. "One while you were gone," she admitted. "I'm almost getting used to them." "I don't want you getting used to them. You can have your number changed and unlisted." "I could," she agreed, "but that would be a problem with all Max's ball games and my business contacts. And anyway, if it's Leah, what good would that do? She doesn't need the phone book to call me." 187


He tilted his head in acknowledgment. "There is that, isn't there? Have you thought about the fact, though, that it might be someone else?" "Like who? You mentioned kids making mischief. Wouldn't they get tired eventually? An adult bent on annoying me? I don't have any enemies. I haven't been back long enough." "I had in mind someone else. Like maybe Huey." Huey! She had thought of Huey and decided against it. But maybe—It could be him. She'd been so sure it was Leah that she hadn't really considered anyone else. "I guess it's possible," she said, "but I don't understand what he'd have to gain by frightening me." "Just a thought," he said. "Covering all the bases. I'd like you to think about changing your number, anyway. And get caller ID. Just to make it more difficult." "I'll think about it," she agreed. He was quiet, half-smiling, watching her for so long she was, all of a sudden, uncomfortable. "What?" She picked up a napkin. "Am I wearing my pizza? "You're just good to look at. I like sitting across the table from you and having a meal." "Stop it! You've had too much to drink." "Too much Mr. Pibb? Sure." He lifted his head and laughed, making laugh lines crinkle the corners of his eyes. A tingle rushed through her, sweet and impossibly strong. "And now that we've successfully buried the past, we need to think about the present. Let's take a ride. There's something I'd like to show you." "What?" 188


"Never mind. You'll see when you get there. Take your cell in case Max calls." He rose and held out a hand. "Do I get to ride in the new Jeep?" "Yup. I dusted off the seat just for you." He gripped her hand in his and led the way. "When we come back I'll take you on in a game of Black and White." "You don't mean Max's computer thing?" "Sure. The computer game. Or did he take it with him to Lionel's house?" "No. It's here. But I don't think—" He raised his eyebrows. "Are you scared? Bet I take you before—Before eleven o'clock. Or are you afraid I'll stomp you into the ground?" Her own eyebrows went up. "You're on. Don't forget that game lives at my house. It's no stranger around here." "Yeah? Should I be shaking in my boots?" "Rule number one under this roof is that everyone has to suffer the consequences of their actions. You challenged me." He handed her into the Jeep, closed the door and sprinted around the front to crawl in the driver's side. As they made their way through town she couldn't help but watch the play of emotions across his face. This was a man content within his own skin. She could see his eagerness to share something with her, feel his hope to please her. It was amazing, but she noticed a fascination with the tilt of his wrist as he drove. When had she ever paid attention to a man's wrists, of all things? She closed her eyes and faced forward. That line of thinking was non-productive. "Ever been to Shooter's Hill at night?" he asked. 189


"The make-out spot for teens? That's none of your business. And anyway, it was a long time ago." "A-hah! Who was the lucky guy?" "I don't remember." "Fat chance!" "Well I'm not telling you even if I do remember." "That's were we're going tonight. Not where all the kids go, but another place further up. Stace and I are learning the constellations and some of the planets. On a clear night, it's awesome." "You're taking me to a make-out spot?" "That's the idea." "Hang on." She held up a hand like a stop sign. "I'm not about to—" Her voice rose. "No hanky panky." "Hanky panky? Is that what they call it now?" "Whatever they call it, we won't have any." "Promise?" "Promise. I just want you to see the sky from there. It's amazing." Kate's heart slowed somewhat. "Okay. Just to see the night sky." The only other time she'd been here, she'd been sixteen years old and the beauty of the night sky had been ruined by a wrestling match in the front seat of the car. This time there would be no confrontations. Cass said so. She'd take him at his word. She strove for normalcy. "Have you ever taken Stacey to a Planetarium? There's a nice one in St. Louis and another in Chicago." 190


"Not yet. One of these days. There's no hurry." "I know a place she'd dearly love. There's a wonderful Butterfly House in St. Louis. Mom and I went last summer. No night skies, but you walk around in this tropical paradise with butterflies riding on your shoulder, your finger, your head, and fluttering all around you. There are waterfalls, blooming flowers everywhere—especially orchids, twisting, narrow paths to follow ... It's a fairy-like place. You have to take her." "Why don't we all go and take both kids? Make a day of it and go to the zoo as well. We could pack a picnic or find someplace up there to eat. We could—" He stopped at the look on her face. "Kate?" All of a sudden she felt crowded. The two of them and their kids, all day, sounded too much like a family. And she wasn't sure how she felt about that. It needed some considering. "We'll see," she said, finally. "Maybe some day." She sat up straighter in her seat and peered out the windshield at the trees on the hillside. "How far is this place we're going?" He flicked another look at her as if trying to read her mind and then accepted the change in subject. "Almost there." Within minutes, the headlights picked up a picnic table and a wired-to-a-post garbage can in one corner of a small clearing and then the rocky bluff going straight up in a layered, irregular strata of limestone. Cass angled the Jeep in toward the hillside and cut the lights. "It's a clear night. I'll put a blanket out on the ground so we can look up without breaking our necks and I expect to 191


hear plenty of heartfelt words of appreciation." He reached into the back and drew out a huge, heavy blanket. Kate stood to one side, behind the Jeep, and tapped a foot. "Looks to me as if you've had practice at this. I hope this isn't a feeble attempt at 'come see my etchings.' Just how many females have you brought here to ooh and ahh over the view?" "You have your secrets and I have mine," he answered and grunted with the effort to straighten the blanket. "You could help with your end, you know." She bent to grab one side of the blanket and then sat on it to hold it firm. He lowered himself beside her, scooted around and then lay flat on his back. He patted the blanket. "This is the best way to get the full impact. Close your eyes and then look up. I guarantee you'll be awed." Gingerly, Kate lay back with her eyes closed, fished under the blanket with one hand to dislodge a stone, wriggled to get comfortable, and opened her eyes. She didn't try to camouflage her gasp. A dense dusting of glittering stars swept across the inky, velvet blackness of the sky. It seemed suddenly as if the entire world was filled with winking bits of gems scattered across the heavens. A brilliant lantern moon swam in the midst of all the stars, casting a faint milky glow across the night. Kate felt swallowed by the enormity and beauty of it all. "Oh Cass," she breathed. "It's wonderful." "Yeah," he answered on a sigh. "My feeling exactly." 192


"It's raining stars!" Kate caught her breath. "I can almost feel them around me." Something hard and edgy melted within her at the magical feel of the night and the man beside her. "I know," he said simply. "And for your information, the only girl I've ever brought here is Stacey. Since high school, that is. You're the first, except for her." "I'm impressed." They were silent for long minutes, lost in absorbing a sense of wonder at the huge expanse and beauty of the river of stars above them. A fresh woodsy scent was all about them. A gentle breeze sighed through the pines and from somewhere below, down in the valley, there was the whine of a motor, the bark of a dog, a faint whisper of music. Kate could feel her muscles begin to relax almost one by one. Her voice was barely audible, as if she was afraid to break the spell. "I can't even remember when I last took the time to look at the stars. You can't see them from Winnetka because of all the city lights, but I'm not sure you can see them anywhere as beautifully as right here. This is special." "I thought so." He reached for her hand and held it quietly by his side. And Kate did nothing to discourage him. It seemed right somehow, to be in physical touch with him in the presence of such magnificence. Slowly he entwined his fingers in hers. The sky was so clear that each star seemed etched against the sky, sharp and clear as if they'd been individually stamped out of diamonds. 193


"I'm glad," he said, "that no one else has brought you here like this." "M-m-m-m," was all she could manage. "It's a lovely gift. Thank you." He released her hand and put that arm around her, snugging her up close against him. "Perfect," he said. "Absolutely perfect." Kate wasn't sure what he meant was perfect, the night, her, or the combination, but she didn't ask. She felt the rightness of the moment, too, and wondered why it was that she seemed to belong exactly where she was, in the curve of his arm. Her head on his shoulder. Why she wasn't shoving him away? There was something different about Cass. He filled an empty spot within her that she hadn't even known needed filling. The air seemed suddenly thick with unspoken emotion. Her heart clubbed against her breast bone and she could hear that his breathing had deepened. "Can you see..." His voice was raspy, and he stopped and pointed heavenward with the other hand. He cleared his throat and began again. "Can you ... Dammit, a promise is a promise, I guess." Eyes steady on the stars, she ignored the fact that her stomach had gone all gooey, and answered, "That's what you told Max." "Insert size twelve work boots into one big mouth." His pointing finger made circles in the air. "Up there, somewhere, is the Seven Sisters and the Queen's Chair and..." "...and," she prompted, her breath shallow. 194


He lifted on one elbow and looked down at her. "Some promises are made to be broken." For the life of her, she couldn't find a voice or words to answer. The little white top she wore had a deeply scalloped neckline, leaving her throat and neck bare. With one finger he traced the loops of the cotton knit against her skin, leaving a searing trail behind. A shudder shimmered from the top of her head to her toes. His eyes never left hers and somehow their caress seemed more intimate than the kiss the other evening. Her thoughts scattered. The intense look in his eyes mirrored what she felt, and she knew a moment of disorientation. It was as if she could see into his mind, because her thoughts were the same. Want, need, like a tidal wave, swam through her veins. This was Cass, she reminded herself, struggling for some sort of perspective. He had been a boy all those years ago when he'd first looked at her like this, but now he was a man. All man. And she knew what he wanted as if he'd said it aloud. She was terribly conscious of his nearness. He wasn't a huge, beefy man, but somehow he seemed to be taking up all the space in the clearing. He did things to her nerve endings. Things she couldn't remember ever feeling before. Not even with Huey. For a panicky second she wanted to push him away. Push him away before he got close enough to her inner core to maybe hurt her. Yet, at the same time, she needed more than anything to press herself to him from neck to knee. 195


"Cass?" Abruptly he turned away and flung himself flat on the blanket. His voice was husky with emotion. "Can you ... uh ... find the Seven Sisters? They're..." His voice trailed away. "I'm sorry, Kate. I'm within a hair of breaking a promise here." "M-m-m. Maybe it's just too much, too soon." He nodded without speaking and gripped her in a onearmed hold he might use on a wrench, tightening a bolt. After a moment, he slid his arm out from beneath her shoulders and held up their joined hands to look at the shadow they made against the sky. He hooked his thumb with hers and spread their fingers against the moon. "Nice, huh? Kate and Cass. Cass and Kate. Good image." When she didn't answer, he let their hands drop and striving for a normal tone, he said, "I need a change of scenery here. Something else to think about. Tell me more about Leah. So far, my impression isn't one of sweetness and light." It took Kate a moment to make the change in mind-set. "No. Sweetness and light isn't something I'd connect with Leah. She was a wild spirit, I guess. She was mischievous, loved a good time, was always up for anything new and different. Fiercely loyal. Dedicated to her dance. She loved ballet and was becoming very, very good. She had a dark side, too, but—I'm probably not the person to ask. I'm her twin." "Was her dark side dark enough to lead her into the kind of harassment we think she's been up to?" 196


Kate hesitated, still aware of the warmth of his body touching hers, his hand gripping hers. Strength seemed to emanate from him, flowing into her hand through his. What did she believe about Leah? "I believe there are some things that go on in the spiritual world that we have no control over. And no answers for." "Go on." "I don't know. There is a statue in our utility shed that Dad bought when we were both young. It is so like her, I can't bear to look at it. I'm almost afraid to look at it, and I know that doesn't make sense. It is just a hunk of marble. But that's the way it is." She drew a shaky breath and lightened her tone. "You didn't bring me up here to whine on your shoulder. I'm a coward and possibly even delusional." He made a rude noise. "You know better than that. You're none of those things. What you are, is scared, and justly so. A pathologically jealous, dead, twin sister coming back from the grave to terrorize you—If that doesn't scare you spitless there'd be something wrong with you." "I sometimes think it's all an illusion. You know, like David Copperfield produces. And I wonder if there is anyone else in the world who could make something like this happen." "I can't imagine anyone in central Illinois having a vendetta against you to begin with, let alone being violent enough to produce illusions like this." "I'm not subject to hallucinations, or at least I never have been. I'm not an imaginative person. I paint what I see. I deal in the absolute. Not in magic." 197


"It's curious to me that Leah hasn't revealed herself to anyone but you. I've seen what her visits produce, but not her." "Count your blessings! There are moments when I remember how much she loved me and I feel guilty for even thinking she might do something like this. How can I fight with her if she's not here to fight back and make up after? Mom and Dad are gone too, so I can't talk to them. There's nobody." He rolled to his side, facing her. "I'm here for you. You know I'm here." There was a quick hitch in her chest and a tightening that made her meet his eyes for one breathless moment. She brought their entwined hands to her breast and held them there. "That helps more than you know. More than I can tell you." He looked at her for a long moment, dragged in a long, slow breath and sat up. "Take a look at the other half of the view before I do something I shouldn't." And he pulled her up beside him. The moon rode high above them. Splashes of spangling silver light lay a shaft of brilliance across the river. Cass was right. The moment was, indeed, perfect. Peaceful. Lovely. Someone special at her side. Kate thought briefly that there weren't many times in one lifetime when you could say that. This moment is perfect. I'll remember it forever. And she promised herself she would remember the very second when she thought that maybe, just maybe, it would be possible to love again. Someone. Someday. 198


"Let's go home," she said, laughing and gathering her legs beneath her. "I still have to beat your butt at Black and White. You brought me out here and plied me with the night and the stars and gave it your best shot to distract me from our bet. But it won't work. I'm way ahead of you." There was a predatory gleam in his eye for an instant, when he accepted that she was ending the interlude, and then he surged to his feet and grabbed her hand. "If I remember right, the computer was in that front room with all the orchids. Let's see how much damage we can do with those men and weird little creatures on the screen." **** They laughed their way through worlds one, two and three before putting the game on hold long enough to pop some corn and refresh their drinks. "Almost eleven," he smirked. "And I'm ahead." "Not enough to brag about. You cheated back in the first world!" "Nuh-huh. That was entirely legal. If you could find the rules, I'd prove it to you. Are you going to be a sore loser?" "This game isn't over, and you're only ahead by ten percent. I wouldn't crow yet!" But by eleven o'clock it was plain to see she wasn't going to catch him in time. She negotiated for eleven thirty and he agreed. At the allotted time he was still ahead. Kate defended herself. "My man is stronger and bigger than yours!" "Yeah, but mine learned more than yours. You're doomed." 199


"Never!" At midnight she admitted defeat. "You misrepresented yourself," she accused. "I assumed you knew nothing about this game." "Ah, but did I say that?" "You didn't say you were a master player!" Kate led the way back into the living room. He laughed, following. "One of those discs lives at our house, too. We play almost every time Stace comes over." A big hand shot out to snare the couch pillow she fired at his head, and he stopped her with a hand on her arm. "And now I get to collect my winnings." "What winnings? Nothing was said about winnings." "Mmmm, let's see." His eyebrows waggled playfully. She flushed and backed away. "Nuh-huh. You said no hanky-panky." "Stace calls it playing kissy-face, but whatever you call it we are no longer on Shooter's Hill and all promises are off." His hands were on her waist drawing her closer and his eyes teased. "We have some unfinished business. Come here, lady." He pulled her slowly forward until she was snug against him. Her heart kicked up a notch and—oh lordy, but it felt good to be held again. His hands were firm but gentle and his body felt as strong as a tree trunk, crushed as she was against it. Leah. Kate managed one rational thought. Leah wouldn't like it. "This is probably not a good idea. Uh, Cass..." 200


"Yeah?" His hands moved up and over her back and a tingling zinged all the way from her heels to her hairline. The man had great hands. Oh my—truly great hands. He made a small sound of longing. "Your skin is like satin. Katey. My Kate..." "Cass, wait. Cass. Cass! I'm not in the market for a ... Cass, you aren't listening." His eyes were glazing over. "Sure I am. What did you say?" "I'm really not a good risk right now for anything more than friendship. I told you that, that first day." "Right. Friends. Good friends." His mouth lowered and his head angled to match hers. "Very good friends." "And Leah. We don't know what she would—" The tingle had flashed to singing electricity. "—do," she finished weakly. "Leah who?" he muttered. It was his eyes that were her undoing. Gentle, teasing, questioning. Laughing. She sighed and relaxed against him. In that split second before his lips met hers, the telephone rang. She tensed. Cass groaned. "Let it go." "I can't." She pulled back. He pulled her tighter to him. "Sure you can. Just don't answer." His mouth sought hers again. "Cass! Max isn't upstairs in bed. He's at someone else's house. I have to answer the phone." Reluctantly, he let her go, stuffing his hands in his pockets and following her to the phone. 201


She hesitated only a second before picking it up, hoping against hope it wouldn't be another prank call. It wasn't. It was Max and he was crying. "I want to come home, Mommy. I don't feel good." Mommy? Max hadn't called her Mommy in a long time. "I'll be right there. It's okay, Max. I'm coming right now." "What? Is he sick?" Cass was at her elbow. "I'm not sure. He said he didn't feel good, but he sounded more scared to me than anything else." She slipped her bag from the newel post and started for the door. "I'm sorry, Cass. It was a fun evening. I enjoyed it enormously. I'm sorry it had to end so abruptly, but..." Somehow he managed to beat her to the door and leaned all his weight on one splayed hand. "I'll drive you. Where does this Lionel live?" "He's only in the next block, but you don't need to drive me." With one hand at her back he ushered her out the door, closed it behind them and guided her down the steps. "Yes, I do. Got to find out what's wrong with Max, don't I? You expect me to just disappear without knowing if my catcher is sick? We have a game tomorrow." "Oh, the game." He shot her a promissory look that said there was more to his accompanying her than the possibility of his catcher missing a game. Her mind, however, was on Max and she didn't respond. Max was standing in a puddle of lamplight on the porch when they arrived, with Lionel's mother beside him. He ran 202


down the steps, half dragging and half carrying all his overnight stuff with him and climbed into the car as if he were running from a thirsty vampire. "What in the world? Max?" Kate looked at Lionel's mother as she followed him down the drive. "He got homesick, I think," the woman said, holding her robe closed with one hand. "All at once he simply had to go home. We'll try it again another time." Kate thanked her and they left, Max sitting as close to her as he could get without being on her lap. "Problems?" Cass asked. "Tell you later," she whispered. Max was trembling. "What is it, honey? What happened?" He shook his head. "I just wanted to come home." "Does your tummy hurt? Your head?" Again, he shook his head. "I needed Lambie. And you weren't there." "Okay. It's okay. We'll take you home and tuck you into your own bed with Lambie and you'll sleep tight all the rest of the night." She cuddled him close, and he began to relax. Cass was following every word with anxious eyes on the child. "Who was there?" Max burrowed sleepily into Kate's shoulder. "Lionel's dad talks loud. I don't like him." And all of a sudden it made sense. Kate's eyes met Cass's and they shared a moment of unspoken understanding. Huey had talked loud and shouted when he was angry. Usually just before he threw something and slammed out of the house. 203


Cass said, "He probably wasn't mad though, Max. Lionel's dad just has a big voice. He always talks loud, even on the telephone when I call about a game. I'll bet he can't even ask to pass the potatoes at the table without yelling. Actually, he's a very nice man." "He gave me a camera." "A what?" "When I got there he gave both me and Lionel a camera, the kind that you can throw away, and told us to take all the pictures we wanted." "I think it was very nice of him to give you both a camera, so you can remember your sleepover. Even if you didn't make it all night. Don't worry. You'll see Lionel tomorrow." Max didn't answer and Kate didn't press the point. Max had associated Lionel's dad's loud voice with Huey's fits of violence and gotten frightened. She understood. She'd speak to Lionel's mom later and explain. After Max had been soothed and sung to in bed, after he'd snuggled down with Lambie beneath his chin, and his eyes were beginning to droop closed, Kate left his door ajar and went downstairs to where Cass paced in the living room. "Thanks for waiting," she said. "And thanks for explaining about the guy with the big voice. I've heard him at ball games. And you're right. Even in casual conversation you can hear him all over the ballpark. I'm sure he didn't mean to frighten Max. I'll talk to his wife." Cass looked up the stairs. "He's been through the wars, hasn't he?" 204


"Actually, I didn't think it was that bad. I tried my best to shield him, but for all his in-your-face exuberance and energy, he's still a very sensitive little boy. He rarely asks about Huey, but he must wonder. He's never really expressed much interest in Huey's being gone. But maybe he was affected more than I knew." "He'll be okay. It may take awhile, but he'll come to grips with his life. He has you. And he has me. I hope he thinks of me as a friend." She took his hand. "I think of you as a friend. Max adores you. He can't speak three sentences without telling me your views on the subject. You are very good for him, and I'm grateful." "No gratitude needed or wanted. He's a great kid." He tugged on the hand that held him. "We're having a real struggle trying to take care of unfinished business here. I'm beginning to think in terms of a conspiracy." She took a firm grip on the sudden flight of butterflies in her stomach and shook her head. "Really, Cass. I don't want to start something I have no intention of finishing. Let's not— " "Oh, come on," he wheedled. "We have to find out if it's as good as we—I—remember. I'm thinking about a night a long time ago in my dad's Buick. I didn't sleep for a week. And I'll bet it's even better as adults." "But Leah..." "We'll know where to look to stop the noise, won't we?" In the moment while she hesitated, he took advantage with his hands on her elbows and pulled her to him. Not 205


suddenly or hard, but firm and purposefully. Kate read in his eyes that he intended to kiss her, and a fleeting thought went through her head that he would be a difficult man to outmaneuver once his mind was made up. The bottom line was that she wanted him to kiss her just as badly as he apparently wanted to kiss her. To finish what they'd started the night of the blaring horn. Why fight it, when she knew in her heart that the day would come when it would happen, anyway? Besides, she was as curious as he was. With a small sigh of resignation she leaned forward and tilted her head. What began as a getting-to-know-you kiss, searching and gentle, swiftly became something far more. His arms went around her, molding her shape to his, and his breathing roughened. "Ah, Kate. Sweet," he murmured against her lips, pulling her closer. "So damned sweet!" His hand slid around her shoulder to cup the nape of her neck, and then his fingers threaded through her hair, positioning her head just so. The other hand crushed her even tighter against him and memories, long dead, came rushing back. This was the way it felt to want. To need. To anticipate fulfillment. And this was Cass. Not Huey. Just Cass. Cass... Emotion washed over her. Pain, hope, and grief flooded in, colliding, peaking and ebbing like a tide on the ocean. This was how it was supposed to be. How it could have been all along. She was shaking before he released her. He sucked in an edgy breath and stared at her with a quizzical look. "Wait. Hang on—" 206


With a tinge of wonderment, Cass said, "When I was seventeen I knew in my gut that you were the one for me." Kate remembered the night in the car when he'd kissed her and ran. She whispered, "You didn't do anything about it." "I was scared and stupid." He whispered too, into her ear. "By the time I got smart and understood what I'd felt that night, I was in college and you were dating that Neanderthal from the football team." No, she thought, even as she pulled back and tried to organize her thoughts. This was no ordinary kiss between friends. Even very, very good friends. And what he was saying in no way implied friendship. I can't do this. Not again. It was an anguished cry of the heart. Love was a wicked lady. Promising and offering happiness with one hand and denying and destroying with the other. If she'd learned one thing from past experience it was that love was not to be trusted. But, oh, it felt so good to be held by him. Maybe... Before she could utter a sound or so much as flutter an eyelid, there was a crashing, bashing, ripping sound behind her that jerked them apart. A high wind seemed to rush through the room. The draperies bellied out from the windows to snap and whip around them. A newspaper lifted from the coffee table and came apart leaf by leaf to plaster itself against their legs. A pencil flew through the air like a missile. Kate staggered backward from the force of the wind. Her hair felt to be almost scraped from her head. 207


Cass grabbed her arm and held on with brute strength. Slowly he managed to pull her to him where he braced himself against a tall armoire and wrapped both arms around her. As suddenly as it began, the wind stopped. The quiet was so total and complete that Kate wondered for a moment if she'd gone deaf. Neither of them moved. Time was suspended. Forward progression halted in midbreath. The portrait of Kate and Leah, which had hung over the mantle, lay on the floor. The glass was shattered like a ruined spider web and the frame broken into pieces. From the wreckage, Leah's eyes seemed to bore into her own with a frightening intensity. To Kate's shocked surprise it was, indeed, possible for blood to run cold. There was no longer a question of what Leah would do if Kate found happiness in Cass's arms.

208


Nine Flameout: 'Cherry' Stunningly scarlet. Potinera Cattleya-type Mericlone Hybrid. Miniature. Kate stared out the window over the sink, her hands in soapy dishwater up to her elbows. The steady drizzle appeared to have set in for the day. She'd heard it begin sometime during the night, and the over-cast, foggy, and rainy day only solidified her dismal mood. In an effort to lighten her spirits, she'd mixed up a batch of pumpkin muffins, topped them with a crumb and crushed pecan topping, and the kitchen filled with a spicy aroma as they baked. Max would enjoy a couple for breakfast and she'd freeze some as well. Still, her spirit flagged. It had been two weeks since Max stayed overnight with Lionel. Two weeks since Cass brought pizza and they'd watched the stars from Shooter's Hill. That had been some sort of benchmark in what she was beginning to think of as their relationship. A tiny band of something sweet and tender and—and what?—stable maybe, had begun to unfold. And, of course, there was the kicker: fourteen days since the portrait had crashed to the floor when Cass kissed her. She'd had the dream every single night since. The blasted dream which she thought she'd eradicated from her life years ago. The dream. 209


She hadn't told Cass about the nightmares her nights had become. He called every night before going to bed, and every night he'd ask, "Anything going on there? Are you okay?" "Sure. I'm fine," she'd answer, knowing it was a bald-faced lie. The possibility of Leah's constant presence loomed like a towering tidal wave. Every night was the same. It would be another bad night, but there was nothing he could do to help. She reasoned there wasn't any point in giving him fodder for applying pressure to move out of the house. Not that he'd been leaning on her. She was just afraid he might. It would be reasonable, after all. Who else did he know that lived with a resident, bona-fide ghost? Over the weeks, their nightly phone conversations became longer and delved deeper into their past lives. Her grandmother, his grandfather. Past Christmases. Politics, where they differed radically and argued intently. Religion: he went to church sporadically, whenever the mood struck, and she never missed a Sunday, considering it important to give Max the structure of a formalized faith. She told him Max's latest knock-knock joke and he talked about his men on the job, what had gone wrong and what went better than expected. Within two weeks, just listening to him breathe on the other end of the line made her heart quicken. Absently, she rinsed and wrung out the dishcloth and hung it over a towel rack. It frightened her in a way, this growing feeling for him. And she resolved every night after they hung up, to keep her feelings under tight reign. She didn't dare let go. Too much was at stake. And there was always Leah. The totally unpredictable Leah. Kate cared too much to let Cass 210


get any deeper embroiled in whatever pot Leah was mixing. She didn't want him hurt because of her. And yet, when the phone rang at ten o'clock, her stomach went all fizzy in anticipation of it being Cass. Damn! Her fingers searched for the plug in the sink. She should have loaded the dishes into the dishwasher, but somehow she'd thought having her hands in warm water would relax her. Heaven only knew why she imagined the mindless task of washing the bowls and cups would turn her thoughts away from the problems at hand, but it hadn't worked. Leah had not actually made another appearance—unless it was Leah causing the dream, not out of the realm of possibility—still her presence was as evident in every hour of the day and night as were the headaches Kate was trying to live with. Mornings felt like she'd been doing battle all night long. Over and over again, she fought the river, trying to get to the car where Leah's eyes pleaded desperately for help— suffocating, frantic—and in the end she was washed away by the current, as always. Her heart pounded just as it had that afternoon ten years ago. Her stomach twisted. Her efforts hadn't been good enough. Even though she now knew the damage to Leah's spine had already happened before she went under the water, still, Kate's best hadn't been enough to help her sister. It had taken four boys to get her out of the car and to the surface. The lovely Leah, damaged beyond repair. 211


Kate's pain hadn't diminished. It was as fresh as if she stood, this very moment, dripping on the bank, watching them drag Leah, limp and choking, from the water. Gasping, she splashed water from the faucet on her face and pulled herself forcefully back to the day at hand. The main thing was to focus on the facts and not get mired down in fear. Nothing could help if she was in a constant state of terror. Don't think about it. Put it out of your mind. Time progresses forward, she told herself, not backward. The past is over. Let it go. Paint! Early morning and late at night, while Max still slept, were her best times for painting. Bracing, she told herself that anxiety over Leah was sheer self-indulgence and would have to wait. She had a commission that wouldn't. Her silk frame and paint brushes were sitting idle while she felt sorry for herself. Bracing her shoulders, she headed for the stairs. So much depended on the next few months. Success or failure. She had the talent, she knew, but getting the breaks and being noticed in the right places, by the right people, was up to fate and her own determination. And in order for that to happen, she had to have a product to sell. She turned around. Coffee. She needed a blast of caffeine. Hot and strong and fragrant. It would be a good day. She'd make it a good day. She wasn't all that picky anymore about what constituted a good day. She considered it a banner day if both she and Max had clean socks in the drawer and they weren't forcibly escorted from the grocery store. A day 212


without any annoying caller on the phone was a blessing. One without Leah's ghostly presence was a major triumph. Fifteen minutes later, coffee at her elbow, she looked critically at the huge frame. Yesterday, she'd received word, along with a nice check, that the customer was thrilled with the ball gown and would be commissioning more work. Possibly three or four bridesmaid's gowns. The relief was enormous. Kate felt that she had moved up several rungs on the professional ladder with the successful completion of the gown. In the meantime, she had a couple of scarves and three hand-painted ties to do, and possibly an outfit with long, loose evening pants and flowing cape to match. The work in progress was a large wall hanging. She'd already prepared the silk by painting the pale, almost iridescent, green background. The customer wanted Cattleyas swarming in a natural-looking setting. She envisioned dark green leaves with primrose-and-cream shaded blossoms, balancing on lighter green stems. The piece would be hung in a large room, effectively filling a blank wall and bringing in the outdoor garden. She would work with an enlarged photograph of the room. When the phone rang, she was dipping a cotton swab in alcohol to fade and graduate the colors in the throat of the flower, a delicate operation. She needed both hands, paintbrush in one and cotton swab in the other, and could only do a small area at a time before stopping to dry quickly with a blow dryer. She let the answering machine pick up. Bree's voice, in a hurry as always. 213


"Hey. Got any free time today? I'm up for a cup of coffee somewhere. Give me a call." Kate finished that particular orchid, turned off the hairdryer and straightened to stretch, examining what she'd done. She was pleased. Delicate and fragile-looking, the orchids seemed to float on the background, their colors blending so well the fading of one into the other was almost imperceptible. A glance at the clock showed that she'd worked for two hours and her coffee was long cold. She had cleaned her brushes and was returning Bree's call when Max wandered into the room. His hair was standing on end and his p.j.s had slipped so low he was walking on the legs. Cradling the receiver between ear and shoulder while the phone rang, she held out her arms. "Good morning, sleepy head. I love you." It was a standard greeting, repeated nearly every morning of their lives. The reply was a ritual. "I love you back." "I love you more." "I said it first." "I thought it first." And a quick hug before Max went back to his room to dress. This morning, instead of the expected, in the middle of the hug Max asked, "Where's the picture of you and Aunt Leah?" His voice was muffled in the painting smock covering her, but she heard it plainly. What was this? Max had never asked about Leah. Never. Not a single question after she'd explained about the accident and death a long time ago. 214


Bree answered her phone at that minute. "Uh, just a minute, Bree." And then to Max, "It fell off the wall a couple of weeks ago and broke. Why?" "It's gone." "It's pretty smashed up, I'm afraid." "You gonna have it fixed?" She drew away and looked at him. "I don't know. Do you want it fixed?" "I guess." And then more emphatically, "Yes," and a vigorous nodding of his head. There was a sudden wariness about him that set all her inner antennae to quivering. His eyes didn't quite meet hers. "Any reason why?" she asked, taking care not to spook him. For only seven years old, he had a worry wart as big as Texas. "She wants..." He stopped and his eyes went suddenly hooded. "Nothing." "What Max? Who wants something?" "Nobody. I just like to look at you both and now she's gone." "You said, 'She wants...' and then quit. Who were you talking about?" "Nobody!" His voice escalated and tears formed in his eyes. "Nobody! Nothing!" He tore from her arms and ran from the room. Kate stared at the empty door for a long minute before she remembered the phone in her hand. "Bree? You there?" 215


"Of course I'm here. What's going on? Max is upset about something." "Yeah. I'm not sure what, but I need to find out." "Do you have time in your busy schedule to give an old friend a cup of coffee? Or do you want to meet me somewhere? Your choice of day, place and time." "Why don't you come here? I'll put on a fresh pot. Come whenever you want." "I'll be there in an hour. I have an appointment at Shurl's at ten thirty." "You aren't having your hair cut!" Kate's hand went to her own wildly curling mop and automatically she tucked a loose strand behind one ear. Bree's hair hung straight as falling water almost to her waist. It was a long and luxurious, thick fall of mink-like silk, and her best feature. To cut it would be heresy! "Just a trim to whack off the split ends and even it up. Nothing drastic. Do you think mine would look like yours if I had it permed?" "No! Don't do anything to your hair! It's perfect the way it is." "I'd rather it was curly." "You wouldn't love it if you had it. Mine has a life all its own. And it doesn't listen to me." "Yeah, well what it does looks spectacular. Okay, I'll table the perm for right now. See you later." Kate hung up and went purposefully down the hall to Max's room. He was industriously making his bed, pulling the 216


spread up and smoothing it to cover whatever jumble the sheets were in below. Kate knew the drill. Without looking at her, he stripped off his p.j.s and began pulling on the shorts and shirt lying on the chair by the bed. She had to be careful here, but with Max it was always the simplest to go straight to the point. "What's this about your sudden interest in Aunt Leah? Have you been thinking about her?" He hesitated, then nodded and reached for a pair of folded socks. "What about her, Max? Just ask me and I'll tell you." "Nothing." He still wouldn't look at her. He was hiding something. "There has to be something or you wouldn't have brought it up. Are you thinking about twins? How they can both come from their mother's stomach at the same time?" "No. You already told me that." "About the accident? How she died?" "No. You told me that, too." She hadn't told him everything, but enough to satisfy his questions. "Then what?" "Nothing." "Max." Kate put a firm edge to her voice. They were talking about Leah and she had to know what was going on in his head. "I want to know." He swiveled around to face her. He sat on the bed with one shoe on and one dangling from his hand, and his eyes were stubborn and set. His mouth trembled and she could almost 217


see the wheels cranking around inside his head trying to decide what to tell her. He blurted finally, "It's a secret. I can't tell." And then, obviously feeling that the issue was settled, he pulled on the other shoe and pressed the Velcro fastening down. "It's a secret, Mom." Kate was silent. What did she say to that? Kids could rack you up in an instant and go on about their day, leaving you speechless and without a leg to stand on, all because of your own words. Was he maybe talking about Stacey? Not Bree. Bree would have shared at least a piece of whatever it was. But he hadn't seen Bree recently. Leah? Oh God. Surely not Leah. Please, not Leah. "Maybe you could talk about it with Cass," she suggested. He shook his head. "Nope. It's a secret." "Between you and who else?" "Me and—nobody." "Who is this 'nobody'?" "Not telling. It's a se..." "Yeah, I know. It's a secret." She started out the door and turned. "Max, if you need to talk about anything, anything at all, you know I'll try my best to understand. "Yup. Can I have waffles for breakfast? The frozen kind?" Admitting defeat, Kate went down the stairs to put two frozen waffles into the toaster and warm the maple syrup in the microwave for Max. Her mind nattering about whatever it was Max wouldn't tell her, she got out the coffee grinder and threw in a handful of beans. She'd have to be patient and very slick to get at what Max was referring to but, she 218


promised herself as she plugged in the coffee pot, she would eventually pry it out of him. Max had just finished eating and gone outside when Bree knocked and walked in the back door. "You make the best coffee in the world. I smelled it half way down the block." Kate lifted her nose and sniffed appreciatively. "And you always bring the best stuff to eat with it." Bree lifted the bag in her hand enticingly. "I stopped at the Bakery and Tea Room. Pearly June was just taking the Oblatens out of the oven. They're still hot." "I could put on five pounds by just inhaling." "Ever find out what was bugging Max?" Bree asked, putting two of the delicate cookies onto a plate Kate handed her. She followed Kate to the back porch. They sat at the wrought iron table and Kate filled their cups from a carafe. A hummingbird hovered at the feeder and down the block a lawnmower droned away. Max's laughter floated from beyond the swing where he played with Babe. "This is my favorite place in your house," Bree said, leaning back in her chair, cup in hand. "Now, what about Max?" "He says it's a secret. And after a conversation we had a couple of weeks ago about the importance of keeping your word and a secret being part of all that, it may be hard to find out." "Maybe it's just as well I don't have kids yet. I'm not sure how I'd deal with that." 219


Kate talked around a bite of the Austrian cookie. "Most of parenting is done by the seat of the pants." She swallowed. "The thing is, 'they' have a secret. Whoever 'they' is. And he asked about the portrait of Leah and me that used to hang over the mantle. I'm so afraid that he's talking about Leah." With a cookie half way to her mouth Bree stopped. "Leah? What about her? Something happen to the portrait? I always thought it was especially good." Kate reached for the carafe to refill their coffee cups. She'd not told Bree, yet, about Leah's activities since she and Max had moved in. Cass was the only one who knew, and she wouldn't have told him if he hadn't been here for one of Leah's more flamboyant entrances. Maybe it would help, though, to get a second opinion. Bree wouldn't judge her sanity. She hadn't ever, even through the worst of Huey. She topped up their cups, and sat with her hand still on the carafe. "I'd better tell you." To her credit, other than almost having to close her mouth with her fingertips, Bree didn't react in hysterics or disbelief. She listened all the way through, and when Kate finally stopped talking, she shook her head. Kate all but sagged in her chair with relief. Bree hadn't turned a hair. She believed without question, that Leah was somehow here. Bree had known Leah all her life, and she believed. And she was more than a bit indignant. "You've been keeping all this to yourself for over a month? I can't believe you didn't tell me." 220


"It sounds like—It sounds like I'm going nuts. If it weren't for Cass being here when the horn went off and again when the picture crashed, I might believe I was!" Bree's mouth stretched in a sarcastic grin. "Odd, isn't it, that those things happened at that particular moment. Leah hasn't changed, has she?" "Apparently not." Kate toyed with the handle of her cup. "But she hasn't harmed me. Scared me silly, but not harmed me in any way. And, thank God, she leaves Max alone. He sleeps through everything." "Kate, you can't stay here. You need to move in with me. I have a spare bedroom. The two of you would have to double up, but I don't think you ought to stay here alone." Kate gave a short negative jerk of her head. "Believe me, I've thought of leaving. But it wouldn't work. Who knows how long it would be before I could come back? How long before she gives up or gets tired of hassling me? And Max is well established here. He loves it. He has friends in the neighborhood and good memories of his grandparents living here. He needs the security of that right now. He needs it badly. And anyway, your landlord wouldn't take dogs. What would I do with Babe?" She sagged against the back of the chair. "No. I can't do that. But thanks for offering." "But Kate, what are you going to do? What if she keeps this up? Gets worse?" Quickly she crossed herself. "God forbid, but what if Max really is talking about Leah?" "I don't know. As long as Max is okay, as long as she leaves him alone—I don't think she'd actually hurt me." And at Bree's suspicious, skeptical look, "I really don't." 221


"You have a short memory. Have you forgotten how she used to break all the rules, do something dreadful and then fix it so that it appeared you were to blame?" "No, I haven't forgotten, but I did the same occasionally, as a child, and I know she wouldn't take an ax to me, or something." "Oh God! Don't even say such a thing. How do you know what her spirit is capable of? How much her hate has grown in the ten years since she died?" And squeezing her head between her hands, Bree groaned. "Listen to me. I'm talking as if she's actively walking around in the house. If you're nuts, so am I!" Kate shrugged. "I've even thought of hunting up a spirit medium and ask him/her to interpret. You don't exactly find them listed in the yellow pages, though. Not in Winsom, anyway." Kate almost laughed at Bree's horrified expression. "You're kidding, right?" "I know. It all sounds like woo-woo stuff, but I swear it's real." "You don't have to convince me. I believe you. I admit it's hard to swallow. I mean—ghosts? But I knew Leah. She hated as hard as she loved. I can imagine this. I really can." "Bree, sometimes I'm not sure I believe it myself. It's totally unreal. Hocus pocus stuff in the extreme." Bree stood up abruptly and paced around the table. Her eyes were wide. "You have to come home with me. I can't leave you here, alone. I feel as if I need eyes in the back of my head just sitting at your table drinking coffee. And she 222


isn't even mad at me. What must it be like for you? Go pack a bag." She shivered. "It's this house. This beautiful, old, and maybe haunted house." "Maybe," Kate agreed. "I found a book at the library that had a 1995 listing of the U.S. Chamber of Commerce certified haunted houses. Maybe this one ought to be added to that list." "Listen to you! Pack a bag and come with me. Now." "Look, I want make a home for Max. A house with a fireplace and," she waved a vague arm, "a kitchen made for baking cookies, and a backyard with a swing. This place is a god-send just when I need it most. I need to do this for Max, to make up for the guilt of choosing Huey for his father. I will, I promised myself I would, give my child the stability and security of having a real home. And I'm counting on you not to panic on me. I need a calm base here." "Calm? Calm! When you talk about your sister being an angry ghost and terrorizing you? Calm? Maybe you have lost your mind. This isn't normal, Kate." "I know that. But I think I have to ride it out. And I can as long as she leaves Max alone. Just—Just don't tell anyone." "It isn't likely that I'd tell anyone something as crazy as this. They'd think the cheese was slipping off your cracker!" "Exactly. That's why you can't tell. Huey would love to get wind of this. It would be just what he needed to take Max away from me. Please, Bree." Bree put an arm around Kate. "Of course, I won't tell. I promise. You can count on me. Just call. Anytime. For anything." 223


After Bree left, Kate sat at the table watching Max, happy and contented, point his feet and pump toward the sky in the swing Cass had re-strung and hung from a tall branch a week ago. But though her eyes recorded the peaceful sight, her brain insisted on wrangling over another scenario. She'd meant what she said to Bree about wanting to give Max a home. She wanted him to have a fireplace, and a kitchen table, and a backyard swing. Somehow, there was a deepseated need within her to do this in order to make up for the miserable excuse for a father she'd given Max. She had all that right here in her parents' home. She wouldn't be driven out. No matter what Leah did. Could it be possible that in Leah's mind the smashed portrait was somehow symbolic of their relationship? Ruined? Ended? Broken beyond repair? Despite her constant avowal to both Bree and Cass that Leah wouldn't hurt her, she kept seeing the jagged edges of glass in the rubble on the floor around the smashed portrait, looking for all the world like weapons of slashing, bloody mayhem. And the big question, of course: could she continue to count on Leah leaving Max alone? For how long? And more importantly, was she leaving Max alone? **** The cemetery was mowed as neatly as her own front yard, the tombstones standing in sharp relief against the late afternoon light. A brisk wind skipped among the leaves of the old maples and elms, blowing her hair into wild tangles before it moved on. 224


Juggling a plastic jug of water and a handful of flowers, she stopped before her parents' stone. Two entwined hearts had been engraved upon it, and their names and dates. No inscription. Everyone who knew them knew how devoted they had been. There was one difference today, however, and it brought Kate up short. Fresh flowers stood in the steel vase on her mother's side of the headstone. The large vase of hothouse chrysanthemums looked so fresh they might have been picked an hour ago. None graced her father's side of the gravestone. She stared in disbelief. Who would put flowers on her mother's grave? There was no family left, anywhere, except her. And why only on her mother's? It made no sense. She stood, stupefied. Had someone made a mistake and put them on the wrong grave? She looked around. As far as she could see, other graves had flowers adorning them. The chrysanthemums seemed to look back at her, preening themselves arrogantly. A chill invaded her body. A cold that started from the inside and spread. Who? The zinnias in her hand, which had been so pretty in the garden earlier, seemed small by comparison to the huge, gorgeous blossoms already there. Her mind was blank. She couldn't think. This was just so very odd that her brain refused to compute. There should be no flowers here, but there were. What did it mean? Anything? Maybe not. Maybe she was making a mountain out of a molehill. They were only flowers, for heaven's sake. Maybe one of mother's dear friends had brought them. But if so, she 225


couldn't imagine Ruby June, for instance, bringing flowers for only her mother. She'd bring enough for both graves. Leah, again? She couldn't afford to discount any possibility where Leah was concerned. It didn't seem Leah's style, somehow. And yet, the showy chrysanthemums, flagrantly flaunting themselves in the afternoon sun, would be more to Leah's taste than garden zinnias. The only thing was that Leah was crazy about her dad. She'd never have slighted his memory. Never. Walking only a few feet to her right, she stood in front of Leah's headstone. What was inside the casket buried beneath the manicured grass? What remained of her twin's physical body was there, certainly; she didn't care to think exactly what lay inside. But where was Leah herself? The excitement, the talent, the love, enthusiasm and energy? And yes, her faults as well. Where was she? None of this meshed with Kate's long-held religious beliefs. The essence of Leah, of her parents, could not have been buried. Wherever they were, they were free. And Leah ... Of one thing she was sure. Leah was not confined to time or space. Leah was roaming. Moving back to her parents' graves and leaning over, she defiantly placed the zinnias in the vase on her father's side of the stone and added water from the jug she carried. At least, it didn't look so one-sided now. And they were flowers her father had planted every year himself, saving the muchprized seeds from one season to the next. They were seeds coveted all over town. The zinnias belonged. 226


There, she felt better. As if she'd struck a blow of some kind. The thought was childish, she knew, but she felt better for it. Sitting down on the grass, cross-legged, she tried to empty her mind of the puzzle. Even if the flowers were hard to explain, and strange in the extreme, there were other things of more importance to think about. She'd left Max with Lionel for an hour just so she could commune with her mother and father. "Mom, your Surprise Lilies are blooming along the hedgerow at the back of the house. They looked totally unreal the other day when the backyard was flooded after that big rain. The pink is especially delicate this year. They're gorgeous." Calling up the vision of the lilies brought to mind the lily bed her mother had planted and added to over the years. "The Turk's Caps are spectacular this year, too. You'd love them, and the little things, whatever they are, around the border." She sat in comfortable quiet, not expecting an answer. But it felt undeniably good to talk as if she did. "I think maybe Leah is awfully mad at me." Her throat tightened and her eyes burned. "I'm so sorry. I wish things could have been different. I wish..." A chilly breeze swept over her and seemed to hesitate. A cool wind on such a hot day? Kate frowned and then noticed a shadow creeping across the headstone. She looked over her shoulder. No one was there. Not a cloud in the sky. The 227


shadow remained. How, she never knew, but for some reason she understood it was a male figure. "Dad?" From inside her head there was a whisper of sound. "Love doesn't die, Katey. Remember that. Love survives everything." Staring straight ahead, she cut her eyes right and then left. The hair on the back of her neck felt electrified. It was her father's voice. Was it possible that she could talk to him and he would answer? Could that really happen? A pulse pounded in her throat. "I don't understand this," she began hesitantly, and then went on with more confidence. "...but maybe you do." She eyed the chrysanthemums with distaste. "They certainly can't hurt you now, but they bother the hell out of me!" She spoke aloud. There was no one to hear her, and it comforted her in some unexplained way to talk as if her father and mother sat before her. "I need to talk to you about Leah. I don't know what to do. You would know, but I don't have a clue. And I need some help. "Is she really a ghost? I'd never have thought such a thing was possible. But it seems to be happening. To me. And why to me? Why am I sensitive to her? The twin-thing, yes, but this is beyond the realm of reality! Dad, what should I do?" She sat mute, her throat aching, while the silence settled around her. The big red orb of sun was setting behind the tops of trees. On either side the sky stretched in long streamers of 228


pink and rose, lavender and soft grays and blues. A mourning dove cooed, unseen, in the trees, and another whiffle of air stirred the grass. She let out a breath she didn't even know she was holding. The day was almost done. There was no answer. Maybe she'd imagined the words her father spoke. Maybe she just needed them so badly, she'd conjured them up. Never the less, she was comforted. Slowly she stood up. She had to go home and get herself and Max ready for Mexican food with Spence. The evening paled to unimportance beside the problem of Leah. "Where does it stop?" Her voice broke on the words. "You'll handle it." The voice again! "You were always the strong one. You'll manage." Tears of weakness blurred her vision. Tears of desperation and helplessness. She was hoping for help from the dead, when the dead were causing the problem! A hard lump formed in her throat. The whole thing with Leah was incongruous. What was happening absolutely could not be—it couldn't! Yet it was as real as the breath she drew. "Am I sensitive to every auto-suggestion, from every spirit out there, or just Leah? I'm afraid that I might be receptive to multiple ghostly manifestations. What if that happens?" No answer. The shadow was gone from the gravestone. She was all but sobbing. "I'd be some sort of medium or whatever they call themselves. Suppose people find out? Oh Dad, what would I do about Max, then? I can't let Huey have him. I can't! His life would be hell." 229


And that, of course, was the bottom line. Max. What about Max? **** Babe was barking joyously as she let herself in the back door. She knelt to rub behind his ears and then, when he turned belly up, grinning and making delighted little sounds of happiness, she tickled his tummy too. "You. You need as much attention as Max," she complained. But she didn't mind. He was a sweetheart and Max adored him. The puppy wriggled and squirmed around her legs as she hung her purse on the newel post. "Come on, you'd better go out. It's clouding up in the west and we might get more rain soon." Babe was absolutely convinced he would melt if he got wet and avoided any dampness with all the passion of a vampire hiding from the sun. "Out? Want to go out?" Responding to his favorite word, Babe stopped prancing and leaping around her feet and made a beeline for the back door. She let him out and went through the house to check the mailbox before going upstairs to dress. Still thinking about the strange happening at the cemetery, she straightened a cushion on the wrought iron chair, pulled the deadheads from a pot of petunias on the step, waved to a neighbor watering her flowers across the street, and gathered the mail from the box. Her dad thought she could handle Leah. She straightened and squared her shoulders. Dad had rarely been wrong about anything. Maybe it would be all 230


right, after all. She just had to hang tight and endure until it was. Turning to go back inside, she leafed through a half dozen advertisements, the water bill and a note from a former fellow worker in Winnetka before she came to the last piece of mail in her hand. It was a postcard and she recognized the writing before she turned it over. Her heart seemed to stop beating. A queer buzzing in her ears made her feel as if she'd suddenly gone deaf. No. Dear God in heaven. No. DID YOU THINK YOU COULD HIDE FROM ME? THINK AGAIN! There was no signature and no postmark. The card had not been mailed, but had been slipped into her mailbox by hand. It was from Huey.

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Ten Port Royal Sound 'Moonstruck' Lavish, ruffled, reddish-lavender blossoms with a tiny yellow spot in throat. Blooms in winter. Brassolaeliocattleya. Frightened thoughts flew around in her head like hysterical hornets. What should she do? Where could she go? Were she and Max safe in the house now that Huey knew where they were? But where would they go if they left? How would they live? Huey would just find them and follow. She was half sick to her stomach. Take big deep breaths. Inhale through the nose and exhale slowly through the mouth. In and out. Find some perspective. He won't try anything in broad daylight. Huey is a shadows and under-the-cover-of-darkness man. Okay. We're safe right now. This minute. Don't panic. That's what he wants. In and out. One day at a time. One hour at a time. Eyes peeled. Doors locked. I can always call Cass; I have his cell number. I can do this. Take it easy. In and out. By forcing Huey's note from her mind and doing her best to squelch a sudden anxiety attack, she was ready when Spence rang the bell. Max clattered down the steps while Kate glanced into the mirror one last time. Black. Unrelieved black. "I could give Morticia a run for her money," she muttered, taking in her black cotton slacks, matching summer knit sweater and the dark circles around her eyes. Not exactly the terrific-looking date of the year, but it would have to do. 232


A date. Do people still date? It had been so long she didn't really know. From what she saw on television people went out for a drink and then fell into bed. Not something she was comfortable with and not, she was sure, what Spence had in mind. She was better off to forget relationships if so. But, date or not, she didn't feel like going out. Where would Huey be? Maybe he'd show up at the restaurant and create a scene. He'd made scenes in public places before. Surely he wouldn't try to snatch Max right before her eyes. She drew her thoughts up short. She was making waves where there were none—yet. Calm down. Get a grip. She would not permit Huey to jail her in her own home. He'd like that. Frightening her, causing her anxiety, would be his aim. That sounded like him. Well, it wouldn't happen. With hands shaking only slightly, Kate applied a light film of lip gloss and added cloisonné butterflies to swing from her ears. Maybe the colorful earrings would elevate her mood. Max answered the door, sporting a white Cardinal T-shirt with a red bird on the pocket matching the ball cap he wore backwards on his head. "Are you a Cardinal fan or a Cub fan?" he demanded before backing away to let Spence over the threshold. "Uh—I'm not really much of a ball fan." Spence was clearly surprised by the direct question. "If pressed, I guess it would be the Cubs, since they're an Illinois team." "Wrong answer," Kate said, coming down the steps. "We're born-again St. Louis fans. Both of us." "Does that make me an alien or something weird?" 233


"No, just suspect." She grinned. "Like maybe your brain is one dime short of a dollar. Tell Babe goodbye, Max, and let's go." She turned to Spence. "I'm sorry, but when I take Max out to eat, he's hungry and patience is thin. There isn't time for a comfortable drink before dinner. Maybe you can come in for dessert, when we get home." He nodded and glanced at Max. "Food first. Right. Man after my own heart." He wore a sport shirt open at the neck and trim trousers. Black wingtips on his feet. Kate suppressed a smile. Spence might as well have been dressed in a white shirt and tie. He still looked like a banker. Maybe a mortician. Her grin widened. They'd match. In spite of herself, Kate couldn't help comparing him with Cass. For a Mexican dinner, he would have appeared in jeans, clean but soft and faded with washing, definitely worn, and a knitted shirt. Scuffed Nikes on his feet. She wondered if Spence even owned a pair of jeans. This might be a long evening if they couldn't find anything to talk about. The food, however, was excellent. Max had no trouble telling the waiter what he wanted. He didn't even look at the menu. "Chicken fajitas with lots of sour cream and guacamole. And red rice with green stuff in it." At Spence's questioning look, Kate explained. "At home I call it Spanish rice. Here, I'd guess it's Mexican, with bits of tomato and green pepper. Max, take off your cap." Halfway through his enchilada and beans, Spence looked up. "I tried to get you several times this afternoon. No, nothing was wrong," he said at her raised eyebrow. "Just wanted to double check about tonight. But I couldn't get 234


through. Your line was busy for hours. Even called the phone company to see if it was out of order." Kate swallowed her own bite of pollo loco and tried not to look as if she were worrying about something. That hateful note from Huey was probably scorching a hole in her bag. She was having trouble not thinking about it. What would he do next? Furtively, she cast a quick look around the small room, not for the first time, and couldn't help a wash of relief not to see him. Would he be out on the street maybe, waiting to follow her home? Maybe he'd trailed them to El Rancherito earlier. No, forget him. Focus on Spence. "I was talking with the phone company. I've been getting a lot of crank calls, nobody there, and thought maybe caller ID would help before I went through all the mess of changing my number." She watched Max build a fajita. Sloppy but efficient. At least he had his chin over the plate when he took a bite and didn't dribble the juice down his shirt. "What'd they say?" "I can get caller ID, but if the call has been blocked my screen would show only: 'Unknown Name. Unknown Number.' Not the phone number of the caller. That isn't going to help a whole lot. I'm going to sleep on it and make up my mind in the morning." "Crank calls you said. From whom?" "Well Spence—how would I know? That's the issue." "I guess that sounded dumb. I meant, do you think it's kids or adults, or obscene, or what?" 235


"No one ever says anything. Someone is there, though. I can almost feel their presence. It isn't a dead connection. But there is never any sound. And there's nothing wrong with my phone or the line. I've had it checked." Even talking about the anonymous calls sent a curl of something unpleasant to writhe in her stomach. She didn't want to speculate aloud about Leah. What's more, she couldn't talk about her with Spence. As nice as he was, a three-piece suit like him, he saw things in black and white. Spence wouldn't understand. "It's probably kids. Best to just ignore the calls." She nodded, not looking at him. "Probably." She'd let him think that, anyway. "Any more offers to buy my house?" she asked, deliberately changing the subject. "It's a strange feeling to know someone insists on wanting to buy your house even when you've repeatedly said you aren't interested in selling." "As a matter of fact, yes. The guy called again this morning. He's upped the ante, again, and is offering far more than market value." Spence named a figure that made her eyebrows rise. "And, to sweeten the pot, he's making it a cash transaction. Are you sure you don't want to rethink this whole thing? You'd make a bundle." "Why? Why does whoever-it-is want my house that badly? What's in it for him?" "He insists that he's admired that house for fifty years and just wants to own it. This man has been known to pull a cork or two, and I thought at first maybe he was just dreaming through a haze of alcohol, but he's serious Kate. I think you ought to at least think it over." 236


"Does he have the money to make it cash?" "Oh yes. Believe me, money isn't a problem." "It's too much to think about now. I have other things on my mind. And I don't want to sell in the first place." "The phone? Kate, I can take care of it in a minute for you. Get an unlisted number, for Pete's sake." Max was beginning to fidget. He'd finished his fajitas and Kate could see the minute approaching when he'd want to leave. Against her better judgment, she gave him two quarters and told him to check out the electronic games over by the door. She would be able to see him from her chair at the table. A wide grin split his face. "All right!" He snatched up the money and hurried across the room. She faced Spence. "One reason I might do that is because I have reason to think Max's father knows where I am and might try to see him." Spence's mouth opened and then closed. Then, frowning, "I take it you don't want this to happen." She nodded. "He never expressed any interest in Max while we were married, didn't want custody, never sends child support or birthday presents. Nothing. He isn't father material. To be honest, I'd be afraid to let Max go anywhere with him. He isn't dependable and doesn't use common sense. Yet, just before I moved home, here, he threatened to try and take Max. So, yeah. You could say I would be anxious about him getting in touch." "Sounds like you're in hiding." 237


"Not exactly," she answered slowly. "But I didn't make any attempt to notify him when I moved. And while I'd be happy if he never found us, that isn't likely. I'm not sure he knows that both my parents are dead, but he certainly knows where they lived. He'd check here, first, if he was looking for us." "Then..." "I think he may be just harassing me with anonymous calls. Maybe not, but it's a possibility. He would fit right into the mold of someone who would do that." Spence sat back in his chair and hissed through his teeth. "The single life is peppered with all sorts of pot holes, isn't it? And I thought I had it bad." Touched by the sadness in his eyes, Kate put her anxiety about Huey aside and touched Spence's arm. "It's no consolation, I'm sure, to remind you that your life isn't over." He didn't raise his eyes to hers. "There have been times when I wished it were." "I know. I'm sorry." He heaved in a big breath and changed the subject. "You haven't been to one of Bree's picnic-slash-pool parties for a couple of weeks." She inhaled her own long breath. "No, I've ... been busy. Maybe next week, though." "Mom, I need some more quarters. That dag-nabbed machine won't let me win anything!" Spence started to laugh, changed it to a cough, and ended up choking. "Dag-nabbed?" he croaked. "Dag-nabbed?"

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"Mom says I'm not old enough to cuss," Max answered, without a smile. "And that's always what my grandpa said when he was mad." "Good word," Spence managed in a strangled voice. "Very expressive." He shot a look at Kate so comical that it almost doubled her over. He was obviously not used to little boys and was trying hard to be agreeable. He was a nice man, she thought. How many men would ask a woman out for dinner and include her seven-year-old son? "I need the money, Mom." "No. I hate those money-eating machines, Max. No more money." "But Mom—" "Maybe I have some quarters." Spence dug into a pocket, but Kate shook her head. "Why don't we just go? I have an apple spice cake at home, waiting for someone to sample." "Awesome!" Max's eyes gleamed. He loved apple spice cake. Spence was smiling. "Sounds great to me, too." **** When she heard the downstairs clock chime midnight, Kate straightened in her chair and stretched. Surprised at the time, she capped her paints and cleaned her brushes. The wall hanging was stunningly beautiful and she was enormously pleased. It didn't always happen like that. Except for a few little finishing touches she was almost done. Ahead of schedule. The designer would be pleased. 239


Next was a series of evening scarves, huge square things in varying warm and rich colors, but while she was glad of the work, she didn't expect anything challenging. Anything that would hoist her up another rung on the ladder of success. She'd have to find a way to make them intriguing. Call her work to the attention of important people. She'd have to think about it. Downstairs, it was becoming habit to check all the doors and windows, and the coffee pot, before going to bed. Tonight there was nothing out of the ordinary. Everything was in its place. Outside another storm was threatening, but inside she was cozy. Still ... She unplugged the television and her computer. Save her a trip downstairs if and when the storm hit. Three rinsed dessert plates sat in the sink along with three forks. Two coffee cups and one glass, draining. Spence hadn't stayed long. It hadn't been as pleasant an evening as it might have been and she felt faintly guilty for allowing worry about Huey to color her time with Spence. She hadn't been able to block out the ugly note she'd found in her mailbox. Time and again, her thoughts reverted to the slip of paper and the frightening words on it. She had enjoyed visiting with an old friend, but was glad to see Spence out the front door. Stacking the dishes in the dishwasher, she firmly put worry about Huey out of her mind. What was the difference between Spence and Cass, she wondered. Why did she respond with excitement and something akin to joy when she was with Cass? 240


Spence was as comfortable as an old shoe and just about as exciting. Somewhere there would be another woman for him, she fervently hoped so at least. He was too nice a guy to live the rest of his life in isolation. But he wasn't for her. Spence was the epitome of the modern Metro-sexual Man, getting a pedicure each month, a manicure every Friday and using moisturizer at bedtime. No less of a man, but not her kind of man. While Cass, now ... Without the cigarette and cowboy hat, he was the image of the Marlboro Man. Rugged good looks, strong personality, a gentle but firm hand on the reins when needed. The chemistry between any two people was a mystery to her. You didn't do anything to foster a relationship. It just happened. Or not. She liked and admired Spence, but she didn't want to date him. What special something was it that had linked her and Bree from the very beginning? Why not Bree and Leah? They'd all met at the same time, but she and Bree had clicked instantly and it had never changed. Later, in high school, they'd added Lily and Zoe. Cass now, Cass was another matter. He had grown on her. Truth be told, she didn't exactly know what to do about him. And trying to sort out her feelings could possibly take on all the trappings of the assault on Iwo Jima. Not that Cass was doing the assaulting. She was her own worst enemy here. None of her defenses were fool-proof. Despite all her protestations of not getting involved, she was already involved to a certain extent, like it or not. How did that happen? She hadn't a clue. 241


She inhaled sharply. She had neither the mental space nor the courage to risk on love. Love took commitment and a degree of compromise, and she had neither. Not now. All her resources were being used in another direction. And the question remained about Huey. She'd persisted in seeing him over her parents' objections and it had ended in disaster. How could a man so physically beautiful be so totally self-centered and selfish? Ugly on the inside. And why hadn't she been able to see that if her parents could? She'd never understand. She wondered if they would approve of Cass? There was a strong feeling that they would. If the relationship continued to grow ... But it wouldn't. It couldn't. There were reasons why she wasn't solid ground upon which to build a relationship. And it wouldn't be fair to either of them to allow whatever feelings were there, to go deeper. But, oh my, she liked him. Felt so free with him. Trusted him. She'd told him all about Huey. All about Leah. All about her deepest fears. About her fledgling business and how important her painting was to her. She'd even called him when she couldn't get the mower to work. Without making a decision to do so, she was trusting him with her life. With Max's life. Even her affections. God, this was pathetic. It would have to stop. At the moment she had neither the time nor the energy, nor the inclination, she told herself firmly, to give herself in a romantic way to any man. And even as she thought it, she knew she was lying. Maybe she didn't have the time or the energy, but she certainly had the inclination. Boy Howdy, did she have the inclination! 242


She'd have to hold a rein on it, though, at least until this thing with Leah was settled. And the thing with Huey. Sheesh! How did life get so complicated? Maybe she'd call Bree in the morning and see if anything was going on at her house for the evening. Spence had been right about her not making a recent appearance at the pool. Hopefully, Ruby June would be free to baby-sit. Making the turn in the hallway at the bottom of the stairs, she avoided looking into the mirror. She couldn't quite do it— the possibility of seeing Leah gazing back was still uppermost in her mind. Avoidance of the mirror had become a habit. Thank you Leah! She'd like to avoid the octagonal window on the landing at the turn of the stairs as well, but there wasn't any other way to get to the bedrooms. Ever since the night of the storm when Leah had appeared, pointing her finger at Kate, there had been a cold draft emanating from the landing, as well as the scent of gardenias. Let's be honest, Kate thought. From the window. From Leah. Kate worked hard not to let Leah's presence inhibit her from enjoying the house. It didn't always work, but she tried. Stopping on the landing, she put thoughts of Cass out of her mind and, curious, stretched out a hand to touch the glass. There was almost a brittle feel to the window, it was so cold. In the middle of summer! She sighed. Leah was still there all right. And she, Kate, was still trying to come to grips with her. Deliberately, she waited until the chilly air swirled around her ankles and begin to rise. Clenching her teeth against a 243


need to run, she stood quiet while it rose higher and even higher, enveloping her with its dank cold. After all, it was just Leah. Forcing herself to stand still, she stared at the frosty glass. Leah's form was still etched there, apparently forever embedded in the window. Max always went down the stairs at a dead run or by way of the banister and hadn't noticed. Or if he had, he hadn't said anything. Still Kate waited; she wasn't sure why. It was as if she expected Leah to talk to her. To explain what was happening, the hatred in her eyes that first day, the lightning flashes of light. But there was nothing. As always, Leah never came when Kate called. She came when she, herself, wanted to come. Apparently, she didn't mind Spence's presence. Just Cass's. And, Kate admitted, there was a difference between the two men. A big difference. Even though she tried, it was hard to look at another man and not compare him to Cass. She liked the way Cass's eyes crinkled when he laughed and somehow, the way the hair on his wrists grew was— interesting. She didn't understand why this was so. It was hard to forget the strength of his hands on her back or the gentle way he'd caressed her cheeks, her closed eyes, her hair when he'd kissed her. Remembering was easier than forgetting. When they were in the same room, she always knew exactly where Cass was. Some invisible antennae kept her aware of his presence. She could feel his eyes on her, in the kitchen, the living room, beside Bree's pool, even before she knew that he'd entered a room. And she had a feeling that he 244


was considering, as she was, just where the relationship was going. What was almost as weird as Leah's ghost was how these feelings could rise so sharply and so suddenly without her even knowing they were there. How a surge of desire could come at the least appropriate times and without her wanting it at all. She needed to sort out her own feelings, she knew. Someday. It wasn't enough to just deny what she felt. Actual knowing, deep inside, was important. For now, it was enough to know he was there for her, on the other end of the phone, by her side, and at her back if she needed him. She had told Spence not one word about Leah, nothing about the strange happenings since she'd moved back into the house, or her fears of what they might mean. Certainly he was trustworthy, but Spence was too analytical to give honest consideration to anything supernatural. He dealt in facts and figures and she had few of either to offer. She'd need to prove something to him, and she couldn't prove anything. And, quite honestly, as time went on and nothing dreadful happened, she relaxed somewhat. Her stomach had eased its nightly dance of nerves. Maybe whatever the problem was, with Leah, was over. Kate took her hand away from the window. For whatever reason, Leah seemed to be content to just frighten Kate, to tease and torment. And, at this moment, allowing herself to leave the window and go on up the stairs to bed, Kate knew she could live with that. 245


On her bedside table lay one of the books she'd picked up from the library. A book about haunted cemeteries. If she was going to bone up on extrasensory activity, she'd better read it. All the books would be due back at the library soon. Kate slipped on her little silk gown, left the light on and propped herself up to read. There were numerous photographs with shadowy, ghostly figures in the background, and glowing balls of light that seemed to be floating in the air. The hair on the back of Kate's neck stiffened. She'd seen one of those glowing balls of light, first hand. From the very place where she now sat, with her own eyes, she'd seen that light. Fighting a building sense of dread, she continued to read. According to the author, more hauntings take place in the home of the roaming spirit than in graveyards, although popular fiction would have it otherwise. God forbid, Kate thought, maybe this guy knows what he's talking about. Up until now, she hadn't quite been able to bring herself to look at the books because it seemed as if by reading she would give credence to the belief that her house was actually haunted. She hadn't been ready to admit that. Now ... Now maybe her perception had changed. Along with hazy photos of spectral images, the book described the separation of the body and the spirit as nothing more complicated than rising from one's recliner in front of the television. The two entities, body and chair, no longer had any relationship to each other. Generally, she read, unless some heinous act of outrage caused the spirit to seek release 246


in the ether, some need for revenge or need to right a terrible wrong, the spirit required no excuse to become mobile. Her heart did a queer stutter step. She read, "When the dead become violent or abusive it means they want to communicate." An entire fleet of butterflies stirred uneasily in the pit of her stomach. There were chapters on places that were haunted after a traumatic event. A violent death, perhaps, or unexplained accident. Chapters about evil spirits and malevolent energies. And, with growing alarm, Kate found more inexplicably horrifying experiences than she wanted to contemplate. Thirty pages into the book, Kate softly closed the cover. "Heinous outrage." The words spun around in her head. "Need for revenge. Need to right a terrible wrong. A violent death. Evil spirits and malevolent energies. Want to communicate." With horror she realized her relationship with Leah fit as if cut from a cast iron die! She was cold all over. Even her eyelashes felt frozen. Oh Lord. The book may have been written for her! About her! Why in the world had she thought it such a good idea to move home to Winsom in the first place? Turning out the light and lying, shivering, in the dark, she thought bitterly she should never have chosen a book on ghosts as bedtime reading material. Not smart, Kate! Not smart at all. Think about something else. Huey. No, not Huey. Definitely not Huey.

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Max. Not good. She was still worried about whether or not it had been Leah he had been muttering about regarding the portrait. Think about painting. The current silk, almost finished, or the one she could begin tomorrow. Not wonderful, either. She had yet to decide on a pattern, on which orchid to use next. And she couldn't do that in her current frame of mind. Cass. Uh, no. That required concentration and an open mind, neither of which she was capable of at the moment. An appendectomy. That might do it. Thank God, she didn't need one. She smiled to herself and picked up the E-reader. What she needed was a mystery. Not a romance, not a suspense, definitely not a paranormal. She was living all of those. A simple, cozy mystery would do. It was a long time before sleep came. **** By night the cemetery was forbidding, dark and ominous. Moonlight threw the tombstones into shadowy relief. An owl hooted in the distance. To the right, a concrete mausoleum loomed silent and huge, somehow threatening. Bewildered, the figure turned her head from side to side. Why was she here? She couldn't remember why she'd come. The two stones looked cold and stark in the darkness. The intertwining hearts meant nothing. There were no flowers at the sides. To the right stood another set of headstones. Two sinisterlooking stones, writhing and twisting in the night, when there ought to have been only one. Two stones, yet joined by a pair 248


of outstretched hands. She moved closer, seeming to float ethereally over the damp grass. A wind stirred the tops of the trees, blew her gown in a swirling, filmy mass around her legs and moved on. Dried leaves rustled in the background. Somewhere a dog howled. Her eyes were riveted on the two engraved granite stones. "Leah Louise Griffith" the first one read, "beloved daughter of..." and her birthdate and the date of her death. August 31.... Weeds obscured the year. Beside it, connected by a statuary of hands clasped even in death, was a second stone. "Katherine Louise Griffith Foster, beloved daughter of ... and her birthdate and the date of her death. August 31.... Her fingers gently floated forward to move the weeds so that the year was visible. The high keening wail of a lost and agonizing soul lifted from the ground and hovered overhead, wailing in grief, before echoing away into the night sky. The tombstones shivered in its wake. The figure stood alone, bereft and quaking, as a high wind swept across the land. **** Kate awakened from the nightmare in the wee hours, sitting straight up in bed, clammy and gasping for air. A faint whiff of gardenias teased her nostrils. Her hands trembled. The dream was different than the one with Leah and the car in the water, but no less frightening.

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For a second she thought there was a figure beside the bed. "Careful, Katey-did. Careful." The words echoed in her ear and were gone. What? Who? She tried to concentrate as she fought her way up from the depths of terror. Cold sweat ran slick down her back. She was shaking. Had there really been someone there. Leah? Had Leah spoken to her, again? Or was it all part of the dream? The tombstones. Oh God, the tombstones. The date of death on hers had been this year! This month! Had she just seen her own death foreordained? The hair on the back of her neck went stiff. Was it a warning or a promise? She struggled for control. "It was that book," she said aloud, ignoring the quiver in her voice. "That damn book about haunted graveyards." With a hand still trembling, she turned on the bedside light. The room was reassuringly normal. The dresser stood solidly where it always stood with Max's picture grinning at her from the top. The bathroom door was ajar, as usual, with a night light burning. Her slides which she'd kicked off as she crawled into bed, lay on the floor at crazy angles. But her heart still thudded against the wall of her chest and she couldn't yet breathe all the way down. The dream was so vivid she was afraid to blink her eyes. And then, "Mom-mie!" Max's voice speared through the dark from down the hall. Kate's heart kicked into even higher gear as she recognized the terror in his voice. "Mom-mie!" Her feet kicked desperately at the sheets. 250


Eleven Sophrolaelia 'Psyche' A hybrid dwarf plant growing only inches tall. Iridescentlooking clusters of pointed, exotic, bright orange-red blossoms. Sophrolaelia 'Psyche', Laelia type, related to Cattleyas. Max sat in bed, clutching his clown pillow, with tears sliding down his cheeks. His arms strained forward as she rounded the corner into his room. "Mommie..." Backed into a corner, bristling as if confronting an attacking mastiff, teeth bared, Babe barked hysterically. Kate folded herself on the bed beside Max and rocked him back and forth. "Sh-h-h. It's all right. I'm here. Sh-h-h. Babe! Hush!" Max buried his head in her neck and gripped her in a stranglehold. "I want my ... light," he sobbed. "Can I ... please ... have my light?" Only then did Kate notice that Max's little baseball player lamp, always plugged into the baseboard socket, no longer gleamed in the night. Light from the hall way filtered in the door, but the little ceramic and glass baseball guy lay on the floor. Babe had never stopped barking. The ruff of hair down his spine stood on end and he was stiff-legged, staring fixedly at something she couldn't see. 251


"Babe! Stop it! It's okay." Reluctantly, the dog grumbled and with a punctuating yip, sank back on his haunches. Max had both arms wrapped tight around Kate's neck, but with one hand she groped for the bedside lamp and flipped the switch. "There, is that better?" He nodded weakly. "Can I sleep with you? I don't want to stay in here." Max hadn't slept with her in years. What in the world? True, she could hear a storm building in the west. Thunder rumbled distantly and lightning lit the windows, but it wasn't yet overhead. And, anyway, Max had never been afraid of storms. Why now? What was different? "Max, it was only a bad dream, and it's over now. Everything is fine." She tried to hold him away from her, but he clutched her even tighter. "You smell better than..." Kate went cold. "Better than what? Who?" "Her." "Does she have a name?" And with fear tightening her insides, "What was that about a smell?" "She smells like flowers, but I like the way you smell better." "Who, honey? Tell me who you're talking about." Flowers. He'd said flowers! "I can't." The tears started all over again and he fumbled blindly for Lambie beside him on the bed. "It's a secret. I can't."

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Kate pulled him into her lap. "Max. This is important. There are times when it's best not to keep a secret from someone who can help. I want you to tell me who you saw." No answer. "Who did you smell?" No answer. Kate closed her eyes. The ground here was a bit boggy, so she spoke carefully. "It is somebody I know?" A slow nod, his face still buried in her chest, Lambie hugged between them. "Is it someone we see often?" Max's head shook an emphatic no. "Is it a woman?" He had, after all, said "she." Max's body didn't move. He seemed to be holding his breath. "Aunt Bree?" Of course, it wouldn't be Bree, but... Again, a negative shake. "Ruby June or Pearly June?" This time a small expulsion of breath before he said, "No." It's time. All or nothing. "Aunt Leah?" She felt him tense against her. No answer. "Max, I think Aunt Leah has been visiting you. Am I right?" "I didn't tell you. I didn't!" "No, you didn't tell me anything. I guessed." "She said it was a joke," he sniffled, "but it isn't funny any more." "I can see that. I don't think it's funny at all."

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Leah, you snake! If you have been terrorizing my child, I'll ... What? What could she do? If Leah weren't already dead, she'd strangle her herself. Frightening babies. That was low! Rain came then, slashing against the window and pounding on the roof. A crash of thunder and Max's body pressing even closer to hers, decided her. "Come on into my bedroom. We'll ride out the storm together." Babe trailed them nervously as she carried Max awkwardly down the hall to her bedroom. A sturdy seven year old with gangly legs wasn't the easiest thing to manage on her hip, but as distraught as he was, she wasn't going to ask him to walk. Pulling a cuddly, cotton afghan from the back of the chair, she kicked back in the recliner by the bed and tucked them both in tight. Babe lay down squarely under her feet. He was shivering. "Now, I want to know more about Aunt Leah." When there was no response, she came at it from another angle. "Let me tell you about us when we were small." Kate spoke softly into his ear, as if confiding something special. "She was so pretty. The prettiest little girl you ever saw. And, when we were growing up, she was always pulling silly stunts. She loved, more than anything, to startle people. To scare them. Well, primarily me, and if I didn't get frightened at one thing she'd dream up something else until I did. Now, today, when I'm all grown up, I can remember those times and laugh, because there wasn't any danger involved. Leah would never have really hurt me. And I also know," God help me, please don't let me be telling a baldfaced lie, "that she would never, never hurt you. If she were 254


here, she'd love you to pieces, Max. My guess is that she's somehow playing more silly jokes. But I can't help you until I know what's going on." He hiccupped softly. "She comes in the night, sometimes, and tells me things." "Tells you things? Like what?" "Like she doesn't like you hiding the painting of you both in the closet. She wants it back on the wall." "Is that all?" "I'm not supposed to take all the pictures in the camera Lionel's dad gave me. She doesn't want them developed. She says you won't like it." Kate frowned into the top of Max's head. "Why won't I like it?" He shrugged. "I don't know." "Is there more?" "Well, she doesn't much like Cass." Kate strove for an even tone. The problem was that once Leah had liked Cass too much. She said, "That's a lot of things she doesn't like." "She likes me. And she likes you a lot. But she wants you to do something and you won't do it." "Oh yeah? What does she want me to do?" "I don't know. I can't get it." "What does that mean?" "I can't understand it." "Does she talk to you, Max? Out loud?" "I can't hear what she says, but in my head I know. It's weird." 255


Oh God, this was worse than she'd thought. "Is that scary for you?" "N-no. Sometimes she's funny. Like your bra-thing in the coffee cup. We laughed 'cause you couldn't make out how it got there. You looked funny. That was a joke. And the car horn. You and Cass were running around..." His voice trailed away. "I didn't think it was terribly funny, but I can see that you might." "But then she got mad about the painting in the closet. She thought you'd fix it and hang it up again and you didn't." "I wish you'd have told me about this a long time ago, Max." "She said..." He hesitated, then blurted, "I couldn't! She said it was a secret." Kate swallowed what felt to be a stone in her throat. "Sometimes secrets aren't fun. They're a burden. I wish she hadn't said that." Outside, the wind had picked up. Leaves and twigs were being flung at the window. Wind howled around the eaves and seemed, almost, to be trying to get in around the window. If Leah had anything to do with the weather, she was probably responsible for all the rain recently and the storm pounding now at the windows. But what kind of phenomenon was going on, anyway? Talking to Max "in his head!" Kate had never heard of such a thing. Was she wrong, after all, and they were in danger in spite of her conviction that Leah wouldn't harm them? She needed to talk to someone. Was there some kind of 256


organization that dealt with the supernatural? Some resource she could tap for information about paranormal activity? There were, she knew, gauges that registered all sorts of things. Magnetic fields, temperature changes, electromagnetic pollution, disturbances of electric fields. There were people who specialized in all kinds of physical manifestations of the spirits. Kate shuddered, hoping with all her heart she wasn't going to have to resort to something like that. Mediums. God forbid, seances! Ghost busters! She buried her nose in Max's hair. He smelled of soap and talc and little boy, and was absolutely the dearest thing in all the world. She couldn't, she wouldn't, let anything happen to him. Exorcists? No, she didn't want to go that far. No mediums either. Surely, for the moment anyway, they were safe. That had to be enough for now. Max yawned hugely and Kate settled him more firmly in her arm. "Go to sleep. I've got you. Nothing bad will happen. No more dreams." Max's eyes drifted closed. "You won't leave me, will you? Put me back in my bed?" "No, we'll sleep together in my bed, and when you wake up it will be morning." He sighed deeply and was asleep in minutes. Kate sat in the darkness wondering if she could ever find it in her heart to forgive Leah for frightening Max. Although to be fair, until tonight Max hadn't seem traumatized by Leah's appearances. Not the way Kate would have expected, anyway. 257


And the nightlight. Did Leah take it out of the socket and lay it on the floor? Or had Babe maybe knocked it out when he became so excited? But Babe had been on the other side of the room looking at something. Something that wasn't there. Wasn't visible, anyway. Was it remotely possible, like she was beginning to be convinced, that Leah was really and truly walking and talking on the earth? She'd never before believed in paranormal happenings. Things that couldn't be explained by the natural laws of the universe. But she hadn't imagined her bra in the coffee cup. Cass was here when, impossible or not, the car horn went blew. And, again, when the portrait crashed to the floor in what appeared to be protest of Cass kissing Kate. And now Max was involved. Her heart hardened. "Talk to me, Leah. Not Max," she said fiercely, but softly enough not to wake the sleeping boy. "If you have a problem, deal with me, not a child." Silence. "Are you there? If you can hear me, listen up, girl. Leave Max alone. Understand? Max is off limits. Tell me whatever is cranking around in your brain. What you want of me. Not Max!" The silence was so profound and thick it might have been poured from a pitcher. **** Dawn, when it came, was hard to recognize. Rain was still pouring down in sheets, overflowing the eaves and making miniature lakes in the backyard. Kate couldn't even read the 258


small print on the rain gauge from her window. It was pointless to squint at it anyway. Full was full. The entire world was wet and gray and dismal-looking. And she felt as poor-spirited as the day looked. The worst was bound to happen on a morning like this. She half expected the front door bell to ring and Huey to be standing there smirking at her. If that happened, she would simply drop dead on the floor. Wearily, she thought she simply couldn't cope with both Huey and Leah at the same time. True, after his cowardly little note Huey seemed to have gone back into the woodwork, but Kate knew better than think he'd give up this easily. He'd surface when least expected and where he calculated he could do the most damage. Being always subconsciously aware of where he might be and what he might be planning was wearying. He would turn up again. The question was when and where. Max dawdled over his soft-boiled egg and toast soldiers. "They're gonna cancel the game this afternoon, aren't they?" "I'm afraid the field will be too wet, Max, even if the rain stops right now." Max's chin lowered to his chest and he frowned. "Dag-nab it, anyway." Kate smothered a laugh. "Tell you what. You can help me spritz the orchids." He crossed his arms over his chest. "Don't want to water flowers." "Well, how about playing with your cars on the floor in my workroom while I paint?" 259


"No." "Out on the porch?" "No." "Then what?" "Nothing." His lower lip came out in a pout that only Max could master. "Well, suit yourself." Kate picked up a basket of folded laundry. "I have to work." She left him sitting, slumped, at the kitchen table. He'd follow pretty quickly, she thought. Max wouldn't sit idle for long. At the top of the stairs, she hitched the basket onto one hip, made a quick detour into Max's room and pocketed the camera on top of his dresser. No way was she going to let that camera sit there any longer if something was on it that Leah didn't want her to see. She'd take it by the one-hour photo shop later and have the film developed. At the same time, she really ought to do something about the portrait. Dad's old friend, Snooky Gebhart, was a retired cabinetmaker and did minor repair work in a shop in his garage. She'd call and see if she could drop it off there. But before that, she had work to do. Her silk frame and paint awaited. However, before she could even lay out her brushes, the phone rang. Her heart skipped a beat. Another anonymous call? No. Please no. "Beautiful day, isn't it?" It was Bree. No one could be as upbeat and breezy as Gabrielle about a miserably dreary morning. Kate groaned. "Have you looked outside?" 260


"It's gorgeous." "My silks prefer natural sunlight." "Oh, but, smell the freshness of a rain-washed world!" "I'd rather smell brewing coffee. Are you coming over?" "Nope. Just alerting everyone that the gathering tonight is out at Luke's farm. He just finished remodeling the rec room. Put in a pool table and everything. With the weather as unpredictable as it has been, it seems like a good time to christen the renovation. Bring munchies." "Sounds great. I'll call Ruby June and see if Max can spend the night." "Any more weird goings-on at your house? Ghosties and goblins and the like wandering around clanging on dishpans and dragging chains?" "That isn't even funny, Bree. The answer is yes, but there's nothing I can prove. We're in a holding pattern." "You know my door is always open. Come if you want. I'd volunteer to come there and keep you company, but to tell you the truth I'm petrified." "That makes two of us. So what else is new?" After a small hesitation, Bree said, "There's a new guy in town. Manager of Bytes and Bits, the computer store. He's coming tonight." "Well, that is news. Are you going to Shurl's this afternoon? Splurge on the works? Nails and everything?" "No, but I'm making my shrimp and cream cheese spread for crackers. Can't pass up any possibilities. He might be a shrimp man." 261


"All you have to do is walk around with that long, straight hair falling halfway down your back and his knees will turn to water." "That's what I like about you, Kate. Your imagination. Talk to you later." Before Kate could punch in the numbers for Ruby June, however, the phone rang again. As she answered Max appeared at the door, looking mutinous. He leaned against the frame wearing a massive scowl. "Where's my box of crayons?" "In the red drawer in your room, where they always are. Did you put your dishes in the sink? Hello?" "Ah, the lady keeps office hours. How are you, love?" Max slouched out the door and down the hall out of her sight. "Joe?" Joe Kinicki, her fabric man in New York. "I'm fine. About to float downstream with all the rain, but so far Max and I are both fine." Kate liked Joe. He was a likable guy. And he threw a lot of business her way. However, it was important that he be reminded, frequently, that he had a wife and that she had a son and was not as free as the air to wheel or fly around the country on any whim he might have. Joe seemed to think she ought to be able to drop what she was doing and meet him in Aspen or the Islands or Cancun on twenty-four hours' notice. He didn't discourage easily. "What can I do for you?" she asked, smiling into the phone. "Was the wall hanging satisfactory? Did the client like it?" 262


"The client is ecstatic! My compliments. You wove your usual magic with the brushes. Those orchids looked real enough to set on a table and display." Kate closed her eyes with relief. She'd been pleased with the job, but never relaxed until she knew how the client felt. "In fact, the client wants another just like it to give as a gift. This is a rush job. You'd have to put it in front of everything else. Like now. Tomorrow. Well, actually, next week. Can you handle that?" "Next week? But Joe, it will take a couple of days to even get the fabric." "Not a problem." Kate could almost see him focusing on the specifics. Nothing was too big a problem for Joe when he was on a roll. "I'm flying in tonight and can hand deliver the fabric. Got a meeting in St. Louis in the morning. Can you meet me tonight in Springfield?" He named a well-known restaurant and a time. "Well, sure. I guess." She glanced at the length of silk ready to be stretched on the frame. This would eventually be an evening scarf, but it wasn't due for another month. There was time to squeeze in another job, if she worked a few long hours. "Good. I'll see you then, pretty lady. Bring your appetite— the steaks are supposed to be great. Oh, what will you be wearing? So I'll know you." As often as they'd spoken on the phone, they'd never met. She had no idea what he looked like, and he obviously didn't know her. 263


"M-m-m, black slacks and a persimmon blouse. Fitted black jacket, no lapels, with a single gold button at the waist. And you?" "Don't know. I'll find you. Ciao." And he was gone. Kate sat for a moment staring at the phone. She wouldn't be seeing Bree tonight, after all. She'd be driving to Springfield to meet Joe Kinicki. And that was okay, except that it meant she wouldn't be seeing Cass either. **** Shortly after lunch the rain stopped. A weak and watery sun struggled out in a bleached sky, but didn't last long. In the false twilight of late afternoon, she rummaged in the closet under the stairs for the painting of herself and Leah, silently cursing the fact that there was no light inside the closet. She'd drop it at Snooky's shop and have it taken care of, and off her mind. And Leah's apparently. If only she could find the portrait. She straightened with her hands on her hips and, perplexed, looked at the hanging ends of coats and dangling scarves, and the collection of boots on the floor. Where was the damaged picture frame and painting? Again she plunged into the closet, searching more by feel than by sight for the framed painting. Nothing standing against the walls. No picture frame anywhere. Kate stood upright and frowned. She'd put it there the day after it had fallen off the wall. She remembered distinctly holding the coats aside so that it would stand, leaning against the far wall. But it was gone. Could she have moved it? 264


"Mom?" Max slid down the banister and landed with a clatter at the bottom. "Mom!" He was laughing. "I just thought of this. What does an elf do when he goes potty?" "Hmmm?" Kate's attention was still on what was missing in the closet. "Mo-o-m! Listen. I made a joke. What does an elf do when he goes potty?" Max's eyes snapped like firecrackers. Kate made an effort to focus on Max. "I don't know. What does an elf do when he ... Max," she finished warningly. "Be careful." He laughed out loud. "He does a wee pee!" And he doubled over giggling. "Do you get it? He does..." "I get it." Kate had to laugh, too. "But you can't tell it in mixed company." Max raised his eyebrows in question and she explained, "Not in front of girls." "Okay. But it's funny, isn't it? Can I tell Cass?" "It's a winner. And yes, I think you could tell Cass. It's a guy thing." Kate put a batch of bread in the bread maker, ran the vacuum on the screened porch and fertilized the orchids. The phone rang twice during that time, but there was only silence on the other end. No one there. By the time Kate was ready to leave the house with Max and Babe, the western sky was dark again with sodden, moisture-filled clouds trailing long skirts of rain. Gathering her purse and Max's gear for an evening with The Junes, she hesitated and then turned to look again for the portrait. Its 265


absence wasn't something she could put in the back of her head and forget. She knew she'd leaned against the wall of the closet in plain view. Determined to rummage through the boots and folding chairs one more time, she flung open the closet door, and she saw it. There was Leah, her eyes almost laughing, looking back at her from the painting in the very spot where it should have been all along. Kate's eyes narrowed as she scanned the small space. Everything else was the same. Neatly hung winter coats, boots in careful rows beneath them, hats and scarves on the shelf above. Where had the portrait come from? She would swear that it hadn't been there earlier. And as big as it was, there was no chance she could have overlooked it. A chill rippled up her back. Was it more of Leah's tricks or was she, Kate, maybe so tired of the whole thing she unconsciously blocked out the sight when she was looking for the painting? She shook her head. Another inexplicable happening to add to the lengthening list. It was getting old, this feeling of inadequacy, of constantly being off balance, no knowing what to expect next. Damn! She would not, would not, let this get to her. Resolutely, Kate bagged the portrait and went to the garage to place it in the back of the van, where Max and Babe waited. She had time to stop at the framing shop. Backing out of the drive, she began her standard speech. "I might be late. It's just dinner with Mr. Kinicki so I can pick up silk for another job, but it's all the way over in Springfield. 266


I'll have my cell on, though, so you can get me if you need me. You and Babe be good." "Yeah. Do you think we'll have practice tomorrow?" "Why don't you call Cass and see? He'll make a better guess than I can. You know his cell number." Kate scanned the streets for Huey as they drove through town. Very few pedestrians were out, but the grass was green and flowers bloomed in every yard. The result of all the rain, she thought. The possibility that Huey might not be in it at the moment made the town even more lovely than ever. Winsom wasn't more than a tiny speck on any map, but to Kate it represented more than capricious mid-west winters, mile after mile of soldier-like precision rows of green corn sprouts and soy beans, and an arching, endless sky. There was either too much rain or too little, corn bore or a blight on the beans, or a mine shutting down throwing hundreds out of work. Those who knew said all the money in the county was controlled by three families, and politics were debated with more heat and heritage than common sense. But whatever it was, driving rain or simmering sunsets, Winsom was home. The bakery, the bank, the chiming clock on the corner. All were dear to her. She made a quick stop at Snooky's to see if he could mend the portrait. The man was in his woodworking shop at the back of the house and, after looking at the frame, he waved an airy hand. "No problem. It isn't that bad. I can have it fixed in a jiffy. Want to pick it up in an hour?" 267


"Wonderful. I'll stop on my way home from Springfield. Is ten o'clock too late?" "Nope. I don't go to bed until after Letterman. You drive careful now, Missy. There's a storm coming, I hear." "I will, and thanks." Coming out of the One Hour Photo shop after having dropped off the film, she felt the first few drops of rain. She couldn't help wondering, again, where Huey was. Would she see him walking along the street? Would he even be in town? Was he apt to step up on the porch and ring the doorbell? Or maybe he'd call on the phone and then sit silently while her stress soared. Her stomach was already in a knot and now it did a slow roll. One problem of the magnitude of Leah and/or Huey at a time was more than enough. Even though she tried not to, she watched the streets for him all the way across town. With one ear, she listened to Max warning Babe of an entire litany of things not to do. Even as she peered into passing cars and around corners, Kate hid a smile because it sounded almost word-for-word like some conversations she'd had with Max. "First of all, you're a guest in their house and you have to behave yourself or you'll never get asked back again. That means no accidents on the rug. When you need to go out, you gotta ask." Fine. Except that Babe rarely had accidents. Ruby June and Pearly June had trained him themselves before he ever came to live with Max. 268


"And you can't beg at the table. Just get it out of your head. That's real bad manners." Amen and amen. "Most of all, you can't bark loud like you did last night. We'll ask if you can sleep in my room with me, but if you can't you'll have to sleep with your mother and be real quiet." Kate parked at the curb and opened the door. "Everything you said goes for you, too, buddy. Behave yourself, don't beg for anything, and don't be too loud. Got it?" "Got it!" Max was already halfway up the sidewalk, Lambie in hand, with Babe at his heels. "Hey, Ruby June and Pearly June. I'm here!" Kate grimaced. He was already too loud. Ruby June met Max on the porch her arms wide. "My two best boyfriends are here for the night. How lucky can I get?" When Babe had been scratched behind the ears and Max had been hugged to his heart's content, the two of them went on in the house to see Roxy, Babe's mother. Ruby June sat down in a wicker chair and motioned for Kate to do the same. "Pearly June not here?" Kate asked. "She's down at the bakery," Ruby June said with an impish smile. "And, of course, she took her mouth with her, so she's likely to be gone a while. Why? You need her for something?" "No, I just wanted to talk to you both about the twin-thing. It can wait." "Are you missing Leah? It's natural you know. You shared your mother's womb, a bassinet, toys—your whole lives. She's been gone now for what, ten years or so?" 269


"Yes. Ten years." Kate leaned back in a chair and stretched out her legs. She focused on her toenails, bright pink in her open, sling-backed, black sandals. "We didn't always get along, but there's still a big hole in my life where she used to be." The older woman nodded. "And that's probably been made worse because of the nature of the separation. The accident and the way she died. Must have left you feeling abandoned. Half gone." And guilty, Kate thought, in spite of everything the counselor had tried to drum into her. Tears were right behind her eyes and ready to fall. She clamped down hard on her back teeth. Ruby June put her hand on Kate's knee. "You have questions, honey? Can I help?" "I don't know. How can we be close when she's dead? How can we not be close even though she's dead? Her life, even in death, is still impacting mine." Kate bit off the questions she'd really like to ask. She didn't dare tell Ruby June about Leah's nocturnal visits and the strange activity going on in the house. She couldn't share the real reason she didn't want to hire a teenage girl to baby-sit for Max while she was out. Ruby June patted Kate's knee and leaned back in the rocker. "There are all kinds of things that make twins different than single births. Have you ever heard of synesthesia? It's a very interesting form of joined sensations sometimes shared by twins. The technical definition is something about the real information of one sense being accompanied by the perception in another sense. It doesn't happen always with 270


only twins, but it often does. Just because one of you dies, doesn't mean the other stops feeling those shared feelings. We've talked of it at twin conventions. After one twin dies, this phenomenon seems to be stronger than ever. Maybe you are experiencing that." "I don't know that Leah and I shared synesthesia. My problem is that, in a funny way, I still feel as if she were here. Beside me. Talking to me, sometimes. Arguing." Surely that wasn't stretching the truth too far. She didn't dare tell the woman that she'd stopped on the stairs and taken a shot with Max's camera of the window where Leah's image was engraved on the pane. Or that the roll of film already partially exposed contained something that Leah didn't want her to see. Ruby June folded her hands across her stomach and assumed her retired school teacher look. She spoke thoughtfully. "Pearly June and I've studied the twin-thing as you call it, extensively. Almost every fall we go to a twin convention and over the years have talked to hundreds of other twins. Human beings are primarily energy, and energy, once released, cannot be destroyed. If there has been a trauma, it's possible that energy could find expression in violence. Aggression. I've read about it, and it makes sense." "But would I be sensitive to all that activity?" "My guess is no, only to this particular spirit. She was very close to you, close as only twins can be, and you have a vested interest in what would have been her happiness and well being. In this particular case, your sensitivities are heightened. It would be like looking at the stars through a 271


telescope rather than with the bare eye. Ordinarily, we see each other as through a microscope, a limited view, but right now it sounds like you are seeing Leah and her life through expanded vision." "I guess I want to know if that is unnatural. The feelings are getting stronger rather than diminishing with time. The counselor I went to after she died said I'd eventually be able to put the whole thing in a place where it wasn't consuming my life, and I thought I was getting there until I moved back here. Now, it's as if she's part of my every thought, almost. It's getting worse." "You've come back to live at the scene of the trauma. Maybe she is talking to you. The power of suggestion is very strong, you know," she said quietly, and continued... "There is also the problem of the brain selecting what sensory input to accept and what to turn away. You know we are impacted twenty-four-seven by sensory stimulation of all kinds. If the brain didn't practice a high degree of selectivity we would all go mad from the bombardment of chaos. Right now you seem to be acutely attuned to Leah awareness. She is taking priority." Kate nodded. "And I dream of her. Not always happy dreams." She was actually talking about a visitation that was far more than a dream. "Sometimes those dreams are ... Disturbing to say the least." "And there is the problem of forgiveness. The hardest person to forgive, always, is ourselves. And we know, in our hearts, that the lovely Leah hadn't forgiven herself when she died. She knew she was guilty of the accident and that's the 272


reason she was being so unreasonable afterward. I've thought, for years, that she died still angry at herself." "Herself?" All of Kate's emotions seemed lodged in her chest. "She didn't appear to be mad at herself. She was furious at me." "Her anger was directed at you because it was safe to do so. You weren't going to stop loving her no matter how nasty she was, and she knew it. There was too much danger in admitting to herself, aloud, that it had all been her fault. She kept up the pretense to the end, even though she knew better." Kate wished she could believe Ruby June. Life would be so much easier if only she understood and believed Leah had absolved her of guilt. "You'll get through this hard part, in time," Ruby June said gently, "and things will revert to the usual. Be patient. I can't imagine my life without Pearly June. I think—I strongly think—that her presence would be as real to me in death as it has been for all these years, alive. The twin-thing, as you say, is very powerful. I imagine we'll still be arguing politics when we're shaking hands with St. Peter." Kate sighed and stood up. "Okay. Thanks. You've given me something to think about, but I need to get on the road. I have a feeling it's going to storm again and I'll be an hour away from home when it does." Ruby June stood, too. "Come back when Pearly June is here. She may have some different insights that would interest you. And," she added as Kate went down the walk 273


toward the car, "drive carefully. We'll take good care of Max and Babe." Before heading the car west out Route 29, she wanted to stop at the photo shop for the pictures, but while negotiating her way through town, she called Cass on the cell phone. He was not pleased to hear she wouldn't be going to Luke's. He was even less pleased when he found out where she was going. "So. Okay. You have a date in Springfield." She wasn't deaf to the tension in his voice. "No. I do not have a date. Not in the way you mean. This is a business dinner. Joe is bringing the silk for a rush job and I'm meeting him there to pick it up." "And having a steak with him while you're at it." "Well, yes. But it isn't what you think." "First you go for Mexican with Spence and now you're hopping off to Springfield to the best steak house in the state with Joe. I gotta say that's not doing too bad. Where's Max?" "He's with Ruby June, but I..." "You have your cell phone? The weather could be rocky tonight. I don't like the idea of your driving an hour over there and then an hour home late at night. Alone, I hope." "Cass! Of course, I'll be alone. Joe has to be in St. Louis tomorrow morning for a meeting. This is silly." "Silly. That isn't the word I'd choose, but suit yourself." On the strength of two kisses, the man was jealous! She swallowed the urge to laugh. And then, suddenly, the situation lost its humor. Cass was pushing. He'd never done that before. 274


"I'm not sure I like your tone. I'll have dinner with whomever I please, Cass Reynolds. It's none of your business." There was a disgusted grunt and then, "You're right. It's none of my business. Just make sure your cell phone is turned on, and drive carefully. The forecast is possibly bad." "Cass..." But the line was dead. He had hung up. And she had wanted to tell him about Huey's note. She wasn't in any mood to tell him about it now. The insult still smarted that he thought he had the right to tell her what she could and couldn't do. Not that he'd actually told her, but she'd gotten the picture with no problem. He didn't want her seeing other men. Still fuming, she made a brief stop at the photo shop and, unable to quell her curiosity any longer, opened the envelope in the car with the windows steaming over and the engine running. Her anger evaporated as she thumbed through the photos. The hair on the back of her neck stiffened. The third picture had obviously been taken from Max's room. In the door to the hallway was an oddly shaped, gray form that looked exactly the same as the ballooning and shrinking apparition that had confronted Kate in the night. The figure was semi-solid. Kate could see the shadow of the bureau beyond it—through it actually—but not clearly. A double exposure? No, not that. She went cold. It was sort of human, and yet not human. A caricature of a Halloween ghost. Hurriedly looking through the rest of the pictures, she found a half dozen of Big Lionel clowning for the camera, 275


standing on his head in a corner of his room, and one of Max pulling a horrid face so close to the lens it was distorted. And then the last picture on the roll. The picture she had taken that afternoon of the stair well and window was beautifully clear and in vivid color, except ... The window frame was there but the entire portion where the glass should have been was smudged in an irregular, oblong shape, and blank. Fuzzy around the edges. There was a faint suggestion of ... something. Almost, but not quite, like the one in Max's doorway. Not a double exposure, but too blurred to make out. What was odd was how well defined everything else was around the window. The photographs on the wall, a dried flower arrangement on the pedestal table below, the pattern in the wallpaper. Everything stood out in stark relief, except the glass in the window. Everything except Leah's image.

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Twelve Starr Bean 'Dark Twin' Dark, velvet-like flame colors. Vini-color Paphiopedilum Hybrid. By the time Kate hit the highway, an early dusk had settled over the evening. A heavy, moist wind blew from the southwest and she turned the air conditioning on high. Her skin was still crawling with the image of the strange shape in the photograph of the window. The same shape in another form that Max had apparently captured in his bedroom. The whole thing gave her the creepy-crawlies. Kate shoved the envelope that contained the negatives and prints beneath her jacket in the passenger seat. Out of sight, out of mind, she thought. Yeah. Right. Crossing over a bridge, she saw to her surprise that the creek was out of its banks and spreading into the adjoining fields. Entire sections of farmland were being swallowed by the rising water. Only the tender green tips of corn were visible, extending in precise rows through the flooded fields. The water came up to the very edge of the road on both sides making the highway a narrow strip of relatively dry pavement for as far as the eye could see. The sight was surreal. Like having an ocean on both sides of the highway stretching for miles across the flat prairie. Too much rain in too short a time. The ground could absorb no more, and there was 277


nowhere for the water to drain. Much more rain and the road would be under water and closed. It had happened in other years, and to Kate, given her fear of water, the thought was frightening. She forced her eyes back to the road. It was impossible to cross a body of water without responding in a spasm of reflex-clenching anxiety. The counselor to whom she'd gone for so many years thought that eventually the reaction would diminish. So far, it had not. The memory was as vivid as if it had happened last week. Bridges were an on-going nightmare with which she lived. Her stomach reacted the same as it had the afternoon she and Leah went off the road, into the rain-swollen river during a torrential downpour, and sank into the water. The gutwrenching feeling usually subsided within minutes, leaving her slightly nauseated. She'd gone to great pains over the years to make sure that Max did not pick up how she felt about bridges and rushing water. It was important he not absorb her irrational fear. Huey had never understood. Huey had never cared. Never cared about much of anything that concerned her, much less her terror of water and bridges. Past the bridge now, her stomach settling, Kate let her mind wander. From the beginning she'd done it all alone. Even— especially—since Max. Middle of the night feedings, diapers, nursing, day care, teething, chicken pox. She'd done it willingly, of course, Max was worth every minute of it, but still it was hard to see other young families coping together and know that she would never have that luxury. 278


There were moments when she regretted with all her heart giving Max such a self-centered wuss for a father, but she schooled herself not to complain. And, of course, without Huey she wouldn't have had Max to begin with. Baby sitters, first grade, new shoes and macaroni and cheese. Her decisions, all of them, and she'd not often looked back. She smiled. For a seven-year-old, he'd taken in stride being dumped into small town life very well. He loved his new friends, T-ball, Babe, and Ruby June. Loved living in his grandparents' home and swinging in the backyard in the same place his mom and Aunt Leah had played. Loved sitting in the hanging chair on the screened porch and looking at the lake. He really loved having his own room. Most of all, he loved Cass. The acclimation process had been nearly seamless ... and then she frowned. He was attaching himself firmly to Cass. Maybe too firmly. One of these days, if and when it would be possible to separate herself from the chaos Leah was creating, she had to stop and consider where her relationship with Cass was going. How was she to know how much of what she felt was real, and how much she could attribute to sentimental memories? He had become so dear. So caring of little things. She was touched. It was almost as if—almost—as if she'd fallen in love with him from the inside out. Wait! She was startled. Love? Was that really what it was? Had she honest-to-God fallen in love? It would be hard not to love Cass. He was so everlastingly thoughtful and considerate. To say nothing of how good he looked in a pair of jeans. 279


However, buns aside, Cass had made Max memorize his cell phone number, just in case he needed, wanted, something when Kate wasn't available. He'd offered to go to an orchid show with her, though she was certain he'd be bored into rigor mortis with looking at room after room of blooming flowers. One evening, after days of arguing about their doubtful usefulness, he'd even brought dead-bolt locks for both her front and back doors. It had been a bad day. Her painting had not gone well, she'd been interrupted by a number of increasingly annoying anonymous telephone calls, Max was in the grumpy stage of recovering from an ear infection and she'd baked a sour cream pound cake that fell as she was taking it out of the oven. She'd not been particularly gracious. She eyed the locks. "Lovely. Do I hang them from my ankle?" His eyes narrowed at her rudeness. "They are deterrents against the uninvited guest," he said carefully. "Sure. Against ghosts." He turned his back on her. "I'll have them in before I leave." And he was as good as his word. She did manage to pull herself together enough to thank him and he'd stayed for a cup of coffee. She apologized and he grunted a reply. She stared down into her coffee cup. "Look, I am appreciative. I just fail to see how a lock, how a dozen dead bolts, are going to keep Leah from terrorizing us. It's pointless. And I'm scared." 280


"Come home with me. I rattle around in that big house until I get on my own nerves. Bring Max and..." She leveled a look at him that stopped him cold. If Huey ever got word of something like that, he might have grounds to get Max. Innocent or not, it would make no difference to a good lawyer. Unwholesome atmosphere at home. Not conducive to thriving. A mother who believes she is being hassled by a ghost. She could almost hear Huey's lawyer talking to the judge. Even to her, it didn't sound like a healthy home environment for a child. Cass had stood up. "All right. I get the picture. Then go to Bree's. I don't care where you go, just get out of this house of horrors." But she couldn't do that either. And, anyway, Leah hadn't done anything truly harmful. Nothing at all since she frightened Max out of his wits and had Babe snarling at nothing. Nothing visible, anyway. And, considering Leah in the same light she had Cass, she needed to think about her, too. How much of Kate's love/hate feelings toward Leah were real, and how much could be attached to the need to make right an accident for which, right or wrong, she still carried a sizable weight of guilt? Just last week, she'd stood in the door of their old bedroom, mentally apologizing to Leah for the millionth time, and closed her eyes, leaving herself open to whatever, whoever might want to speak to her. Nothing. She'd left the room feeling foolish and empty. Her ambivalent feelings toward Leah made her wary of what she felt for Cass. Was it possible that the empty place 281


that remained after Leah's death was still so poignant that she was trying to fill it with another good friend? Cass? For he was, first of all, her friend even if there was a ripple of coolness between them. And if so, why him and not Bree? Maybe subconsciously she feared being alone for the rest of her life. Could she simply be overriding her unacknowledged dread of being alone to the extent that she was amplifying her feelings for Cass? Oh God, she hoped not. He was such a nice man and she liked him so very much. Even if she was still a little irked at him for being a bit high-handed about Joe. He'd been supportive of her in ways no one else knew. In ways she knew she had no right to expect. He was patience personified in helping Max train Babe to sit on command. He'd fixed a loose down spout after the last rain. He'd spent one entire evening on the concrete, beneath the van, searching for the cause of a rattle he didn't like. Then he'd taken it to the shop and had it repaired. He was always available. With a sigh, Kate realized he was well on the way to becoming indispensable. As the lights of Springfield came into view, glowing eerily though the early fog and mist, her thoughts flowed toward the man she was to meet, Joseph Kinicki. He was married she knew, yet he flirted outrageously over the phone in a comic, teasing manner that made her think that if she ever took him up on one of his invitations, he'd run the other way. And while she didn't approve of his suggestive bantering, she couldn't help but like him. That Cass was jealous was laughable. And that led to another thought. 282


In order for Cass to be jealous, he had to first care. A quiet little bubble of happiness floated to the top of her throat, but was followed just as quickly by the fact that she didn't want to feel joy if he cared. But she couldn't keep the corners of her mouth from curling up and a glad balloon of something unidentifiable rising in her chest. He cared enough that he didn't want her having dinner with Joe Kinicki. Whether or not the relationship went anywhere, it was nice to be cared for. Possibly not fair to Cass, but still nice. The restaurant was subtly elegant in mauves and cream, the lights and music low, and the maitre d' showed her directly to the table where Joe was waiting. Her heels made no sound on the lush carpet as she made her way to a candlelit corner. Joe rose to meet her. As she suspected, he was a handsome man, dark hair and eyes, white shirt and soft burgundy tie beneath an impeccably tailored, beautiful dark suit. It was no stretch at all to believe he dealt with fabrics. He smiled into her eyes as he took one hand in both of his. "You are just as I imagined," he said. "Lovely as the orchids you paint. Hello Kate Foster." He waved the waiter away and held her chair himself. His grin was infectious and she found herself responding. "And hello to you, Joseph Kinicki. Full of blarney as always." He seated himself opposite her with an expanse of white tablecloth and a glowing cream-colored candle in a small pedestaled hurricane lamp between them. "How can you say that?" He pulled a pained look. "I'm as transparent as glass. And delighted to finally meet you face to 283


face. It isn't at all surprising that you paint exotic flowers. You are a flower yourself." "Joe," she sighed and shook her head. "You've heard the alternate meaning of PhD?" He laughed. "Sure. But in this case it refers to orchid petals." Talk was easy. Many past telephone conversations, mostly business, made it seem less as if they were strangers. They talked about his wife, who ran a business of her own and traveled a great deal, and Kate's journey south from Winnetka to Winsom and settling into her family home. They talked about Max and T-ball, the inordinate amount of rainfall in the Midwest... "Eight point six inches in three days! My God, Kate, it's a wonder you're not floating!" "And more is predicted all the way through the weekend. It's coming up from the Gulf and Hurricane Jolene." "Don't you live near a river? Are you safe?" "Some people are worried about the levee holding," she admitted, "but I'm high and dry. Don't worry. When is it you are going to Barbados? Are you taking your wife this time?" The wife, it appeared, would be in Europe and unavailable for vacations for some time. His eyes avoided hers. Then his expression changed. He folded his hands on the table, aimed a seductive smile her way and said, "I'm hoping you can get away. You'll have finished the new project by then. How about it? Are you up for some fun in the sun? I can recommend the chef at the hotel. He is truly magnificent. And the water is more shades 284


of blue and green than there are on your palette. The people are captivating, and the whole island is simply gorgeous." He raised his eyebrows. "All expenses paid. Can I tempt you?" "Sure," she grinned back. "Me and all six kids. Grandma and the dog would like very much to go, as well." "I'm serious. I'd love to take you." "This isn't my year for Barbados, I'm afraid. You'll have to endure it on your own." "Your puritanical little soul is getting in the way again, Kate." "If so, it's my own little soul and I'll live with it," she said gently. "So, where is the fabric you brought me?" He made a put-upon face and lifted a package from an empty chair. "It's the most smashing color you ever saw. Island Teal. I can't wait to see what you do with it." The breath caught in her throat as she opened the package. "Oh Joe, it's breathtaking." Orchids blossomed in her mind, colors immediately presenting themselves as candidates to work against this wonderful blue-green, reminding her of the sea surrounding a South Seas island. Her hands caressed the material, crushed it gently in her fist and smoothed it out. "I feel as if I ought to create a miracle with this lovely stuff. Where on earth did you find it?" "That's my secret. And I expect nothing less than a miracle from your brushes." As far as Kate was concerned their dinner was miracle enough for one night. They ate grilled swordfish with a chunky pineapple sauce, twice baked potatoes and melt-in285


the-mouth pecan pie. Sipping a smooth Napa Valley Zinfandel wine, Kate relaxed and sighed that she'd probably put on ten pounds but the dinner was worth every ounce. Joe grinned. "I love to feed a woman who loves to eat. And all those ounces are in the right place, love." As they ate, while Kate sneaked repeated glances at the package of silk, they talked about movies they'd seen recently, who was going to run next for political office, and books they'd both read. Before they left Joe mentioned a project he had in mind for the future. "It's a silk, free-falling, calf-length jacket with matching shell. Scooped neckline. Ankle-length skirt. Jacket has slits on the sides, with three-quarter sleeves. The pattern looks stunning and I'm envisioning it in aubergine. What do you think?" He named a price and smiled triumphantly. "Interested?" "Of course I'm interested. You devil, you know I'm interested!" The thought of working with the rich purple silk almost made her eyes water. She'd use cascading creamy Cattleyas and—"I can't take it on, though, for another six weeks, at least. Will the client wait that long?" "Do you need an assistant?" "A what?" "A personal assistant." "An assistant? Whatever for?" "A very personal assistant." His eyebrows wiggled lecherously. "Joe! You're impossible. Be serious for a minute. Will the client wait?" 286


"I'll see to it. I knew the minute I touched it, the piece had your name written on it. There's also the possibility of a wedding gown. It would have to be white on white, of course. And I don't know yet about the bridesmaids' dresses. I'm working on it." "Wedding dress?" Mentally she framed what she might do. Something with very subtle pastel shading, almost invisible on the white, outlining the orchids maybe. Something at which you'd have to look closely to see the color at all. Just a hint. Excitement swelled in her chest. What a remarkably beautiful garment she could create using only white on white. And maybe bridesmaids' dresses too... "Joe, you are a wonder. I can't thank you enough." "Just keep painting your gorgeous orchids on my fabrics and I see a rather nice and profitable future for each of us." She nodded happily. "You send me your marvelous silks and I'll paint." They were on their way to the door when he asked casually, "Any men in your life? Or are you still celibate?" She turned, tilted her eyes up at him and let a smile play around her mouth. "That, Mr. Kinicki, is none of your business." He was the second man to whom she'd said that tonight. He sighed elaborately. "Of course you're right, but I'm curious. You are too special to sit in self-imposed isolation on a shelf. Some man is going to come along and sweep you off your feet one of these days. And since it doesn't look like it's going to be me, I'm interested." "I'll be sure to alert you when that time comes." 287


He gave her a goodbye kiss on the cheek, locked her into her car and stepped back as she put it into gear. She was driving through thick fog, homeward bound, when it occurred to her that she hadn't thought of Leah the entire time she was in the restaurant. Joseph Kinicki, lady's man that he was, a flirt and a tease, was good for her. **** Driving conditions were not good. The hour's trip home would take longer than usual and her stomach had been tied into knots before she even left the city limits. Cass was right. The weather was, indeed, foul. The rain seemed to have petered out, thank heaven, but the fog that moved in was wicked. Kate drove with both hands on the wheel, leaning forward to better see through the windshield. When the cell phone rang, a half hour out of Springfield, she nearly jumped out of her seat. "Hello?" "You aren't home yet and I'm worried. Are you all right?" Cass. She groaned. She had lost track of time in the restaurant. The atmosphere had been lovely, her dinner the best she'd eaten in months, and she'd enjoyed talking to Joe. However, the weather being as bad as it was, she wished now that she'd been more aware of the hour. "I'm fine," she assured Cass. "Visibility is awful, though, and I'm driving no more than twenty-five miles an hour." "There are weather warnings all over the central part of the state. I'll feel better when you're home safely. Where are you?" 288


Her grip on the wheel relaxed fractionally. If she could keep him on the line long enough, she'd be over the bridge. "About half way there. But Cass, the fields are flooded up to the sides of the road. What's it like at home?" "Water standing in the streets. The gutters can't handle it all. It'll go down pretty fast, though, now that the rain has stopped. Just take your time. Don't get in a hurry." A small bridge over a creek, normally only a thin trickle, emerged through the fog like some ethereal apparition and before she could draw a shaky breath she was on it. Then over. She could see nothing on either side but the gray blanket of fog, and the headlights which penetrated not nearly far enough for comfort. The bridge over the river still lay ahead. "I'll be home in forty-five minutes, probably. And then I have to pick up Max from the June's. As early as it was, he didn't need to spend the night. Oh, and the portrait from Snooky's shop." "Call me when you get there, will you? So I can go to sleep." "Yes, I'll call. And thanks, Cass. I appreciate your concern." Silence. "Yeah. Well ... How was dinner? The guy?" "Joe? Joe was..." She shrugged against the shoulder harness. "Joe was Joe. I've never met him before, only spoken to him on the phone, but he's just about what I expected."

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"Look, I was out of line earlier. I shouldn't have barked at you like that. You have a right to see anyone you like. I just thought, with the weather and all ... Anyway, I'm sorry." Kate smiled, peering through the fog. She was surprised at herself for being so quick to forgive. "It's okay. It's kind of nice for someone to worry. I'd gotten out of the habit of anyone caring, I guess, and I snapped right back. But Cass, it seemed to me your attitude was a bit controlling. And you need to know I'm not going there again. I can't. Once in a lifetime is enough." There was a small silence. "I guess it did sound like that. I said I was sorry and I meant it, but you have to let me worry. I need to do it." A sigh. "Don't forget to call." "I won't." "And drive carefully." "I will." "Do you have on your low beams? They slice through fog better than high beams." "Yes, Cass. I have on my low beams. I'll be fine. Don't worry." "Okay. Great. Bye then." "Bye." He really was worried, the old sweetie. He needn't be. There were no problems, although she'd be happier if she could see better. But Cass—It was possible that trying to decide what to do about Cass Reynolds was going to rank right up there with one of the most important decisions of her life. She shook her head at the fog and the dark and the unreality of an unbelievable problem with Leah. 290


But Cass now. There was a soft, liquidy feeling in her heart that went far beyond fondness. With a little groan, Kate knew it was dangerous to let herself think like this. But there was the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled, and the gentle way he cupped the heads of the boys on the team as he encouraged them, win or lose. He was such a great guy. And, she thought wistfully, she'd always wanted more children. What if... Careful! Katey! Careful! Leah? Here? Kate frowned, all mental antennae suddenly on high alert. Ghosts didn't leave the house or place where they died. All the books said so. Surely— Blinding lights appeared, distorted by the fog, coming fast. She could hear the vehicle. A motorcycle? No, something big. Coming to meet her. Guard rails appeared along the road. Then grid work. The bridge! She was on the bridge! And then, her rear window lit up in a soft halo of light. A car coming up on her bumper? The light wasn't strong enough for headlights. Her heart kicked into even higher gear. She couldn't breathe. Was it a car? She was going to be rearended! A car behind her and something huge coming at her from the front. She didn't dare go any faster. The guard rails—No place to go. Oh God... "Careful, Katey. Careful, careful, Katey-did." The mist, tires beating on the pavement, brilliant lights seeming to spear into her eyes—and then the vehicle was upon her, so close she felt the draft of air sucking her closer. An eighteen-wheeler. Desperately she fought the wheel and the zero visibility. For an instant the two vehicles were 291


separated by no more than a coat of paint, she was sure. And then it was gone. Suddenly there was an image on the rear window, still glowing softly. An odd shape. Almost ... almost like the one on the stairway at home. She looked harder, squinting her eyes against the glare. It wasn't. It couldn't possibly be... It was Leah. It was Leah. All the hair on the back of Kate's neck went stiff. Leah! And then the whisper again. Careful, Katey-did. Her heart pounded thickly in her chest. She was panting and her legs suddenly began to tremble. Dear God. It had been so close. The sound of the truck still echoed in her ears. How had they missed each other? For long minutes Kate drove automatically, very carefully, very slowly, but her mind was shocked into numbness. Leah had warned her. This time there was no doubt that her words had been meant in warning. Later she'd think about Leah's spirit leaving the house and what that might mean, but just now it was enough to know that Leah came to her aid when she was in danger. Kate sagged against the seat belt. The rear window was dark. Leah was gone.

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Thirteen Dancing Ladies Oncidium Varicosum, the Dancing Lady, is a familiar name for all oncidiums. Comes in bright yellow and/or brown, lavender, white, etc., flowers about two inches across. The full skirt of the blossom resembles a lady in a ball gown gracefully dancing on long stems. Sometimes called Dancing Dolls. Tears of frustration gathered in her eyes, and with one hand she dashed them away. The view out the back window was now as unrevealing as the front. The world was enveloped in a thick blanket of gray fog. There were no car lights to illuminate whatever had been etched on the glass, and Kate had no idea what had happened to the beaming light that had been so brilliant from behind. It was just gone. She banged the flat of one hand on the steering wheel. "What are you doing? Leah! Damn you. Talk to me!" She wanted to clutch her head with both hands and rock back and forth, but did not dare take even one hand off the wheel. Visibility was even worse than it had been earlier. The fog abruptly disappeared and rain began again, sheeting down as if she were beneath a waterfall. "Leah," she said aloud, swallowing around the thickness in her throat, "Is it really you? What do you want? Are you still mad about Cass? Is it that I'm living in our house? Are you angry because I'm alive and you aren't? I'm sorry about that. 293


You'll never know how sorry I am. If I could live that afternoon over again, you must know I would. But I don't know what you want. Max says you talk to him, why not me? Why not me?" There was no answer. The only sound was the steady beat of rain on the car and the slap of windshield wipers as they struggled to keep up with the deluge. "You warned me about the truck a minute ago. Is that all you're going to say? What about the tormenting stuff back at the house?" Her heart was a huge, heavy stone in her breast. Yet, for some reason she didn't comprehend, she felt a very strong connection to Leah at that moment. Almost as if they were sitting side by side, as they often did as teens, in the front seat of the car. She felt strangely comforted and at the same time, half angry. Leah was playing games again. Well, two could play at that. Maybe it would be good to remind Leah of the good times. "Remember sitting on the rug in front of the fire and stringing cranberries with a needle and thread for the Christmas tree? Or popcorn. You always liked popcorn best because you could eat it as we strung. The needle was Mom's old tapestry needle, long and curved. Remember? It's in Grandma's sewing table now. And all the years we made red and green construction paper chains? Mom hung every one of them somewhere. Up the banister in the stairwell, around mirrors, draped inside the branches of the Christmas tree. We made popcorn balls at Halloween for trick or treat, too, and 294


one year won a prize at the Community Hall for the best costume. We went as twin 'I Dream of Jeanies'." She was almost home. Another ten minutes and she'd be running up the walk at Ruby June's to pick up Max. Was Leah listening? "We used to love staying all night at Grandma and Grandpa's. We climbed their apple tree, and one summer we read every Nancy Drew mystery we could get our hands on, swaying high up in the breeze. Grandpa would make ice cream in the hand-crank freezer and Grandma always ate too fast and got a pain in her head." The memory created a soft cuddly moment. Early mornings with frost rimming the windows, sitting at the kitchen table smearing grape jam on buttered toast and idly swinging Mickey Mouse-clad, slippered feet. Sometimes they'd eaten Grandma's "black jelly," as they'd called it, on toast when they came in from dates. So many dates, on shivery chill nights or on steamy, foggy ones like tonight. Most often together, as the curfew was the same for both of them. And, a bubble of laughter caught in her throat. There was the time they'd bought a bottle of Pouilly-Fuisse, sneaked it home and up to their room, and drank most of it in the dark, sharing the bottle between them. The headache in the morning convinced than to never, ever, do it again. Somehow, they convinced Mom they had a twenty-four hour flu bug and stayed in bed all day. The road unfolded in front of the car foot by foot. The high beams were no good at all, and the low beams picked up only 295


a few feet of the narrow strip of road ahead and nothing beyond the edges of the highway. This was weather the deer most liked and Kate could only pray none chose this moment to leap across the road in front of her. "One summer you scared us all half to death by going to the basement and sticking the ice pick through your blouse and into a catsup-stained cork. You came up the cellar steps groaning and clutching the handle of the ice pick with catsup oozing between your fingers. I thought Grandma was going to have a heart attack when you pulled it out and then you started to laugh! I thought surely Grandpa would blister your bottom for scaring us all so badly, and he only scolded you. You were always his favorite." Feeling sentimental and soft with remembrance, Kate ran through the rain at Snooky's to pick up the portrait, wrapped in plastic, and made her way slowly down streets where water still stood hub cap deep, to the Junes. She pulled up in front of their house, behind their car bearing the WUPEDO license plate, and cut the engine. She sat for a minute, immersed in the memories she'd pulled around herself like a warm shawl. "Remember the year Mom said we could have our hair cut and styled? I didn't want mine any shorter than shoulderlength, but you had yours cut so short that if you hadn't been so dainty and feminine, folks would have thought you were a boy. You could have shaved it all off and been bald as a jelly bean, and you'd still have been the prettiest girl in school. "I know, we disagreed a lot, too," she paused and let the nostalgic moment wash over her, "but we had some great 296


times, Leah, and I don't understand why you are doing this now. You'll have to tell me." Suddenly, it was as if a gush of warm water had been released in her veins. The feeling was born before the thought. "Leah." Was Leah trying to communicate with her? Trying, indeed, to tell her something? Max said he did not hear any words, he just knew. The sensation became rapidly warmer and warmer, almost uncomfortably so. "What Leah? Tell me!" She wasn't afraid. Whatever Leah had in mind now, it wasn't an attempt to frighten or make her nervous. What then? Deliberately, she tried to make her mind blank so that if Leah was trying to communicate, she could. But no words came. Gradually, she realized that something was happening, though. A great peace seemed to flow over her. A sense of rightness flooded through her, so profound that she smiled. She felt, for just an instant, as if she and Leah were having one of their rare moments of oneness. A deep sense of trust and understanding flowing from one part of the whole to another. A thing they had called their own special twin-ness when they were small. Kate inhaled deeply, savoring the feeling. Oh, she'd missed this sharing with Leah. The times when they'd quarreled faded, the moments when she felt keenly Leah's unfair judgments, hours when Leah had seemed to cut her out of her life. What remained was a meld of memories distilled and blended, some good and some sad, but all precious. Tears of thanksgiving sprang to her eyes. Leah. Truly the bold and the beautiful. 297


She sat for a long moment before the feeling began to fade and then, basking in a contented glow, she got out of the car and made her way up the walk, through the rain, to collect Max. As she left the Junes' house, Max in tow and Babe dashing ahead, she hesitated and turned at the door. "I've heard rumors about someone wanting to buy my house. Repeated offers, as a matter of fact. I'm not considering selling, but I'd surely like to know who is interested. Have you heard anything?" Ruby June and Pearly June looked at each other and then shook their heads. Pearly June answered. "Nary a soul. But who would want that great barn of a building? Pretty to look at, and valuable too I'd guess, but my stars what a lot of work! Would keep you busy all day, every day, dawn to dark. You'd have to be young to live in your house." Ruby June echoed her. "If anyone was serious about it, you'd think we'd have heard the rumors in the shop. But, not a whisper. If we do, we'll let you know." **** After Max had been read a story, tucked in with prayers and was asleep in his own bed, Kate went back downstairs to hang the mended portrait. She stepped back to look at it for a long time, frowning, wondering, and then turned away, steadfastly refusing to speculate about where it had been earlier when she couldn't find it. She was positive it hadn't been in the closet when she looked, but had no explanation for why it had reappeared so magically. So be it. The painting 298


was fixed and hanging above the mantel again, and that was that. She wasn't going to let go of the warm feeling of togetherness with Leah she'd experienced in the car. Wandering into her workroom, she stopped at her grandmother's sewing table. The unique arrangement of drawers, combined with a revolving door with spindles for different colors of thread had stood in the same spot for Kate's entire life. It wasn't likely she'd ever forget the shock of finding the video tape of a dance recital in the back of one of the drawers. Her father had labeled the tape "Little Dancing Ladies." Maybe now was the time to look at the tape. First she had to call Cass and let him know she was home safely. He answered on the first ring. "Thank God. I was beginning to panic." "I got Max into bed before I called. I'm sorry you were anxious." "Yeah. Well. I've seen better nights to be traveling Route 29. And me, personally. I've seen better nights myself, too." "What was all that, anyway? You were—" "Look, I'm not usually some tom cat howling on a back fence. I was worried." "I don't know what to say. It was a business meeting." "As long as you're okay." His voice was still a bit testy. He had been angry, she thought. From what she remembered, the heat in his voice at the time could have thawed ice cubes. "Were you really mad at me?" she asked. 299


"I'm not sure," he muttered. "Probably. But whatever gave you the idea I'd want to control you?" "I've been there before. And I don't intend to go back. In a relationship, you give over yourself, your will power and control, and I'm not about to surrender all that again." "Thank God," he shot back. "I don't want that kind of responsibility." There was a long pause, then, "What are you doing now?" Kate glanced at the sewing table. "I'm going to put in a video Dad took a long time ago and look at Leah and me doing a happy dance in tap shoes, and I'm going to remember the good times." "Do you want to be alone or would it be all right if I came over and watched the tape with you?" "If you don't think you'd be bored stupid watching a couple of self-conscious five-year-olds on stage, I guess it's okay." "As it happens, I love five-year-olds. Be right there." He checked the dead bolt as he came in, closed the door with one foot and reached for her all at the same time. He kissed her once, hard, and shot the dead bolt home with one hand before turning and staring down at her. It had been a kiss of possession. An imprint. Kate could almost see the question in his eyes. "No," she said. "No what?" "No is the answer to your question." "You're reading my mind now?"

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"I read your eyes, and the answer is no, Joe did not kiss me. I told you, we're business associates and friends. That's all. Satisfied?" "But he tried. Right?" "No, he did not try." She did her best to look innocent. "He gave me a goodbye peck on the cheek." "You're not telling me something. What did he do?" Kate sighed. "Joe is an inveterate flirt. He's always trying something. However, the man has a wife whom he apparently loves, since I've never heard anything to the contrary. He'd probably run like a scared squirrel if I ever took him up on anything. He puts no dedication into his flirting. It's just a casual, friendly thing. Part of who he is. It doesn't mean anything. And besides, even if he did—" She frowned. He let out a gust of air and shook his head. "You're right. And I'm sorry. Am I always this transparent?" "Not always." She leaned back in his arms and smiled. "But often enough to make it interesting." "I give up. Where's this famous tape?" "On top of the television. You plug it in and set it up while I pour us a cup of coffee." When she came back with the coffee he was running a hand around the trim of a piecrust table. "This is nice. Your mother's?" "Yes, but before that I think it belonged to an aunt. The house is full of antiques. But they are precious to me only because they first belonged to people I loved." She turned to the wall behind her. "That was my grandmother's." Kate looked lovingly at a painting of a deep 301


blue nighttime sky with stars illuminating a spangled path across ocean waves. It hung between two high-backed navy blue chairs and over a tiny Victorian table with a minuscule pull-out shelf big enough for only a cup of tea. Kate's eyes scanned the painting. "Grandmother used to say that stars were the angels' forget-me-nots in a heavenly meadow. She was a home-grown philosopher as well as an artist." "She painted it? That's where you get your talent then." "Probably. It's where I get my love of paints. Of color." "Did Leah paint, too?" "No. Leah didn't have the patience to paint. She did dance, though, much better than I did. Watch, I'll show you." Kate flicked the VCR button and after a few squiggly lines and false beginnings, the picture came into view. She and Leah wore matching pink ruffled dresses with large, floppy hats, white gloves and black Mary Janes. "Wow," Cass said softly. "You were certainly look-alikes. Your hair is curlier, right? You're the one on the left?" She grimaced. "My hair has always looked like a Brillo pad. Leah's was more manageable. I envied her that." "Don't." He ran a hand across the back of her hair. "I like it as it is." Kate sighed and sat on the sofa. Cass folded himself down beside her and put an arm around her shoulder. "Any other defining ways to tell you apart?" "Nothing that I'm going to share." "Not even me?" He leaned close enough that his breath tickled her ear. 302


"Especially not you. You told everyone in the third grade when I got a C in math." "I'm older now and smarter. I'd never tell anyone you got a C in math." He ran a hand beneath the hair on her neck and pulled her closer. "I don't..." He kissed her before she had time to protest. Somewhere in the depths of her brain it registered that she was being downright foolish to let those wonderful quivers run like quicksilver over her body. But, nowhere could she come up with the will to stop them. It felt so good to be touched. To be wanted. His lips were soft and warm and to her surprise, she realized she felt like butter ready to be molded. Thick and hot and sweet. His tongue traced hers slowly, savoring every second, and she gave herself to him without reservation. The hand on her waist inched up and sneaked between the buttons until it rested just beneath her breast, waiting. She could feel the heat of his fingers on her bare skin brushing the under side of the gentle swell and—and suddenly, she didn't have any breath. The room seemed to have been sucked dry of air. For a long minute she allowed herself to sink into the delicious warmth of being wanted. Then sanity reasserted itself. Madness. This was madness. She pulled away. "This is not a good idea." "I'm willing to risk it," he answered, his mouth in her hair behind an ear. "Cass..." 303


He held her for a second, reluctant to let go, and then released her. They sat, simply staring at each other, for one long minute, breathing hard. Then his eyelids slammed shut and he threw his head back. "The video..." she croaked, finally. "Yeah," he said, his eyes closed, his breathing ragged. Forcing her eyes away from his dear face, she stared unseeing at the screen until her own breathing slowed. Without another word they watched the tape. Watched two little girls in pink tights, frilly skirts and floppy hats do a simple tap routine while grinning for the camera. Watched and listened to her dad's obviously proud and loving comments about his two little dancing ladies. Watched a funloving Leah dance behind Kate and flail her thin arms so that it appeared Kate had four arms. The two of them collapsed giggling, with their arms around each other. When the screen went blank, Kate got up to rewind and turn it off. She stood staring into space, lost in warm feelings and the sadness of memories of events long gone. "You were cute kids, both of you." "Yes. Cute kids. Once." "Kate—" "Makes you wonder what happened, doesn't it?" She was all at once wilted, exhausted. Boneless with constant worry. It was the not knowing that was the worst. "I can't begin to imagine why she's doing this now." Cass got to his feet and came to stand behind her. He wrapped both arms around her and hugged her to him. "We 304


can't speak for her. We know she had a terrible experience and simply couldn't cope with the result." Kate nodded as her eyes swam with unshed tears. "I would have helped if ... But I did as much as I could." She bowed her head. She ought to tell him about Leah's appearance in the car tonight. He turned her and cradled her against his chest. "I know that. I'm sure she knew that, too. The bitterness must have temporarily overwhelmed her. Can you ever forgive her?" Her heart seemed to hesitate and then beat again. "How did you know..." "It would be hard to forgive someone you loved as much as you loved your twin for deliberately removing themselves from your life. Even worse, when they chose to do it in the way she did, knowing you would blame yourself. That would be almost impossibly hard to forgive and forget." He rocked her back and forth in silence. After a moment, when she had drawn a deep breath and composed herself, he spoke into her hair. "How about a movie tomorrow night? You and Max?" "What movie?" "I don't care. Whatever's playing at the mall theater. We have twelve choices." "Max will want something animated. Can you bear it?" "Sure. But there's a Harry Potter thing playing, I think. Has he seen it?" "Is there such a thing as too much Harry? Max'd love it, but are you sure you want to do this?" 305


"If it's the only way I get to spend time with you, I can take anything. Ruby June had him tonight, you won't want to ask her to sit with him again tomorrow. Tell you what. I'll call Jessica and see if I can get Stacey. With the billable hours she's putting in at work Stace ought to be domiciled with me, anyway. We'll make it a foursome. Pizza first?" She tapped a balled fist on his chest. "You've got a date, buddy. Max will love you forever." He went suddenly sober. "How about Max's mother? How will she feel about me?" Kate stilled. She didn't know how to answer him. It couldn't be what she felt it might be, could it? They'd never even had a date. Blizzards at the Dairy Queen with a baker's dozen little boys, and one girl, didn't make dates. Mowing her lawn wasn't a date. Of course, he'd gone out and bought pizza that one night. There was a good possibility that she loved him right back. However, there were too many other things pressing in on her life to take time out for a relationship. But, she had to say something. She owed him that. He'd done so much for her. Made himself available, even when she didn't know she needed him. Was unfailingly patient, especially when she was not. Was so very, very good for and with Max. She owed him something. "Cass." She clasped her hands in her lap and looked up at him. "Now isn't the right time. With everything that's going on ... I'm not wrapped real tight. I can't focus on anything else. I have Huey breathing down my neck. At least I think it's Huey. He's apparently in town and he left a half306


threatening note in my mailbox yesterday, and I look for him behind every tree when I go out." "Huey? Here? When?" She only nodded and went on. "There are the ongoing calls with no one on the other end and the display on the phone shows the caller is blocked. And there is always Leah. She appeared tonight on my back window, in the fog, just before I was almost flattened by an eighteen-wheeler on Route 29. I don't have time to consider anything else at this point except trying to keep my life—and Max's—on an even keel. Don't ask me questions yet, please." He didn't say anything for a long minute. Then, in a quiet voice, "Why didn't you tell me about Huey? And about Leah in the back window." "I would have. But I was ticked by the way you acted about Joe and ... So I'm telling you now. I guess it was a childish response." "Anything else that got lost between the cracks?" "Just the photos." "Photos?" "I'll get them and you can see for yourself. I had them developed this evening." They sat together on the sofa while he examined the pictures of whatever showed and didn't show in the photo she took of the landing window, and the one Max took of Leah, supposedly, in the doorway of his room. Nondescript blobs, both. Proving nothing except that the general shape and size was the same as what confronted Kate in the hallway that night. It was Leah. She knew it. 307


Finally, with a raised eyebrow, Cass looked up. "You do realize, don't you, that nothing happened when I kissed you tonight? Leah was quiet. And I kissed you not once, but twice. And I fully intend to kiss you again before I leave. Has she given up, do you think?" "You're tempting fate. Of course she hasn't given up. Leah never gives up. I've had the twin tombstone dream again, too. The one with the date of my death already chiseled in. That's scary, Cass." He stared at her in wordless anxiety, before drawing her close and holding her against his side. "I wish you'd come home with me. I wish you'd let me stay. Let me put the two of you up in a motel room for a few..." The clicking of toenails on the hall floor upstairs announced Babe's approach. He came down the stairs, tail wagging, whining, and started to turn for the kitchen and the back door. "He needs to go out. I'll get it." Kate moved away from the shelter of Cass's arms and gathered herself to rise. Abruptly Babe swiveled, his hindquarters slipping on the hardwood floors. He stared fixedly into the dark well of the sunroom where the orchid stand stood, invisible now, in the east window. He took three hesitant steps forward and stopped, all the hair on his back rising in stiff hackles. His ears quivered forward and his nose twitched as he scented the air. The dog stood rigid, unblinking. And then he barked, savagely, making half lunges toward the door but stopping short of the darkness. The ruff of hair around his neck bristled 308


in warning. He snarled, growling ferociously in a way Kate had never heard. "Babe! Stop! Hush, it's all right. There's no one there. Babe!" But the dog wouldn't stop and wouldn't turn his head. His lips rolled back, exposing his teeth. Kate's stomach went into a fight or flight mode. She stood to go to Babe, but Cass's hand on her arm stopped her. He strode to the doorway, peering into the darkness for a second before reaching around and flipping the light switch. Light flooded the room and Babe stopped barking. He growled a warning deep in his throat, but went no further into the sunroom. From where she stood Kate could see the rocking chair, tilting forward and back, forward and back, for all the world as if someone had been sitting there and only now arose to go elsewhere. The short hair on the back of her own neck stiffened. The room was empty. Even though Babe still grumbled, from where he stood, warning of danger and announcing his intention to protect what was his, Kate could see nothing. The dog refused to look away from whatever he had sensed in the dark. The room was empty.

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Fourteen Velvet Dusk One of the largest Laelias, growing about twenty inches tall. Flowers are fragrant and huge, up to eight inches in diameter. Colors vary from pure white to bluish purple. Slim, pointed petals. Laelia Purpurta. When Cass had gone, Babe finally relaxed and dropped his head between his paws and dozed. Kate's nerves still skittered like water on a hot griddle. In an effort to calm herself, she checked on Max sleeping soundly, spread-eagled on his back, changed into her gown and went back down to the screened porch. The storm was over, as if there had never been thunder and lightning, sheeting rain and fog. Moonlight splashed silver lights off the lake as it laid a glimmering shaft across the water. By moon glow she could see that beyond the lily bed the dock was completely submerged. An uneasy flutter danced through her. The backyard was half drowned. She wondered if the river was out of its banks and inching up the levee. An edgy and hazy dread accompanied the thought. Not yet, likely. Surely not yet. The moon scudded between clouds, casting moving shadows and creating interesting highlights. She wished her talents extended to the painting of landscapes. Lawn By Moonlight she'd title it. Or Lake at Dangerous Level. 310


No, she knew her limitations, and they had settled into a solid sense of satisfaction. She couldn't paint landscapes, but she did paint flowers, especially orchids, well. Extremely well, according to some people, she thought with pride. She had climbed a couple of rungs up the ladder of success, at least. Gradually, her nerves began to settle. One of the things she loved best was to sit with a cup of coffee in hand in the soft pearly light of early morning or, as now in the dark with only the tiny votive candles lighted and night insects coming out after the rain and buzzing against the screen. She seemed to do her best thinking on the porch. After their initial reaction of fright, and on Kate's part anger, had passed, Cass hadn't stayed long. They agreed the rocking chair was another of Leah's antics, designed to get their attention and tell them that while she was not overlooking the kiss, it was not an act of aggression big enough for her to cause panic. Cass had taken Kate out on the front steps and kissed her long and hard. "A precautionary measure," he grumbled. "Only kissing in the house itself seems to bother her. Not always, but sometimes. And you need a restful night's sleep." Cass took his leave then, exacting a solemn promise from her to call him if Leah did anything crazy that night. He said he'd pick up her and Max at five the following evening, waited until he heard the soft chink of the bolt shooting home, and drove away, his toolbox rattling in the back of the pickup. Kate had checked all the doors, her regular bedtime ritual, then decided she was too wired to sleep and opted for a last cup of coffee on the back porch. Now in her gown, cup in 311


hand as she sat in the hanging chair, she grimaced. At this rate, with all the caffeine she was swallowing, it would be dawn before she got to sleep. The fact that Leah had left the house to appear in the rear window of her car niggled at the back of her consciousness. In all the reading she'd done in the last few weeks, there had been nothing to indicate the spirit ever left the house in which it had suffered and died. Maybe she ought to check the Internet for paranormal events, ghosts, whatever, and see if she could unearth any data to support the theory that it might be Leah warning her, yet again, of something. But what? She thought back over the evening. The bridge had been just ahead of her when it happened. So, too, the big truck that almost ran her down. But what was Leah—and it must have been Leah—warning her about? The truck? Some form of impending doom? The phone calls? An attack she herself, Leah, was planning? Revenge? Retribution? A decision or action of Kate's from the past that would rise again to bite her? Huey? Whatever the motivation, Leah's reason must be powerful. For a spirit or ghost, leaving the scene of death was highly unusual, that much Kate knew. The cordless phone rang at her elbow, making her jump. The sudden strident sound in the quiet of the night set all her nerve endings aquiver again. "Hello." Nothing. 312


"Hello!" No sound at all. Her patience at an end, Kate's voice rose. "Look, I don't know what game you think you are playing, but it's time to quit. Stop bothering me or say what it is you want!" A low-pitched chuckle came across the line, and all Kate's senses sprang alert to focus on the sound. It was the first audible thing she'd heard since the calls began weeks ago. The amused laughter faded and again there was silence. "Talk to me, damn you!" The silence was strong enough to stiffen hair at the back of her neck. "Then leave me alone!" She punched the off button and slammed the phone down on the table. It immediately rang again and Kate let it ring. She looked off into the distant darkness, tapping her toe in seething frustration, wishing the telephone was anywhere but where it was, wishing she dared turn off the ringer, wishing she could call the police and demand a tracer. None of those things were possible so she simply let it ring and waited with foreboding for the answering machine to kick in. "Kate, if you're there, pick up. I need to talk to you." It was Bree. Relieved, anger evaporating, Kate reached for the phone. "I'm here, Bree. Just had another of those anonymous phone calls and I thought they were calling back again. What's going on?" "I told you to get a whistle and blow out their eardrums the next time they called. This is harassment, pure and simple." 313


"This time the person laughed as if something was funny. At least this time I know for sure someone was on the line. But what do you want? Is something wrong? It's almost midnight." "Kate. This guy is hot! I mean hot! And he liked my shrimp and cheese appetizer. Kate, I'm almost glad you couldn't come. He'd have taken one look at you and not given me the time of day." There was no doubt who she was talking about. The new man at the party. "Bree! Stop being so melodramatic. That isn't so and you know it. Did you talk to him?" "Between us, we cleaned up the dish I took. So, yes, we talked. Half the night. He's wonderful! You'll never guess. He's a part-time caterer." "Guess I don't need to ask if you had a good time." "I'm already planning next week's get-together dish. I'm taking Thunder Thigh Casserole. You know, that thing with all the cheese and wine and croutons and..." "I know what you're talking about. The dish you rarely make because of the astronomical calories." "Right. I've given up on ever seeing size eight again, but I'm hanging on to size fourteen for dear life. I'll only eat a tiny little bit and take a big broccoli salad with grapes and sunflower seeds and healthy stuff. I'll eat that. It's got to be perfect with him being a caterer. What do you think?" "I think this guy made quite an impression. Does he have a name?" "It's Rick. He's managing that new computer store down town and he's beginning a catering service on the side. You 314


should taste his Angels on Horseback. Mmmm. To-die-for good." "Angels on—What in the world are they?" "An almond stuffed inside a date and wrapped with a half slice of bacon and broiled until the bacon is done. Heavenly!" "Maybe I'll meet this paragon next week." "You've got to promise me you'll frizz out your hair and wear your Morticia eyelashes. I don't want him interested." Kate laughed. "I have my hands full of my own problems. I don't need another." "What? Springfield didn't go well? Mr. Perfectly Wonderful didn't show?" "Springfield was fine. Joe Kiniki was fine, but I almost got smeared across highway 29 coming home in the fog, and within seconds Leah appeared on my rear window. Explain that! Then once home, Leah did another of her fright tactic maneuvers and scared the living daylights out of Cass and me." "Wait a minute! Begin at the beginning, please. The last I heard you were having dinner with this flirty guy who's always inviting you to Puerto Vallarta or someplace exotic." "My fabric man, yes." And Kate filled Bree in on her evening, leaving out very little and finishing with Babe's ferocious response to the rocking chair in the empty, darkened orchid room. "Well." Bree was silenced for a moment. "Well, dogs are supposed to have an extra sense or something, aren't they? They see and hear things we humans can't." "Obviously." 315


"Do you think it was Leah, again?" "Yeah, I do. But Bree, I don't get it. None of it makes any sense. Was she warning me of danger or taunting me just to tease? Thing is, I never ever felt she hated me, you know? We had our disagreements sure, and she always had to have the last word, sometimes at the top of her lungs, but hatred, wanting to do me bodily harm—no. Never. She was never vicious." "What makes you think she's turned vicious now? Taunting isn't necessarily vicious, is it?" "I can't forget the first time she appeared. The day we arrived. The look she gave me in the mirror was ... was murderous. My twin. The other half of me. She surely doesn't love me. That hurts." "Could you have misinterpreted that look in any way?" "I don't think so. I don't know. I was so shocked, I went brain-dead for a few seconds." "You know, experts say we only use a very small portion of our brain. Maybe our minds, or spirits, are capable of far more than we ever dream." "I'm becoming a believer." "When did this thing happen tonight with the rocking chair?" "Right after I put in the video of Leah and me dancing at a recital when we were little, and Cass had kissed me." "He laid a good one on you, huh?" Kate nodded into the dark and agreed with what amounted to a smug, satisfied little smile. "The toe-curling kind, yes." "And Leah objected." It wasn't a question. 316


"Apparently so." "I could use one of those toe-curling kisses sometime myself." "Oh yeah?" "Well, not from Cass. For me that would be like kissing my cousin. But I know a guy I'd certainly let try." "You are incorrigible! Is he that good?" "I don't know yet what kind of kisser he is, but I promise you I'll find out soon. If my Thunder Thigh Casserole doesn't do it, I'll think of something else." "You're a fabulous cook; that's a given. But did it ever occur to you that a man might like you simply for yourself?" "No." "Then dwell on the thought. The right man just hasn't come along yet." "We don't know that! Not after tonight." "All right, we don't know that. Now, are you going to let me go to bed? I'm about wiped out." Kate yawned conspicuously into the phone. "I'm not ready to go to bed yet, but it sounds like you are. Go sleep the sleep of the innocent, Katey. My own thoughts aren't particularly innocent tonight." "Fine. I'll talk to you—" The line had gone dead. Kate dialed Bree back, but the line was truly dead. She stretched and shrugged. The line was apparently out of order. The storm. All that standing water. The phone company would fix it in the morning. And then she smiled. Bree's thoughts were a bit frisky, huh? 317


Well, her own thoughts less than innocent, as well. Kate hung up the phone and wandered through the house, plumping pillows, replacing the video tape in the sewing table, straightening antimacassars on the backs of chairs. The blank, dark door to the orchid room seemed to draw her with an ungodly fascination, and reluctantly, heart clubbing hard in her chest, her feet took her to the door. She stopped with one hand on the frame and stared into the well of darkness. What was Leah up to? There had always been a reason for the things she did. Often not a reason Kate had considered valid, but still in her own mind Leah's actions held meaning. Why had she left the house earlier in the evening to show up emblazoned on the rear window of the car? Was Leah making the telephone ring? Why? The chuckle hadn't sounded like a female voice, not Leah's laugh, but then who knew what ghosts were capable of doing? Voice alteration certainly wouldn't be much of a stretch considering other inexplicable events. Inadvertently, Kate's eyes went to the window on the landing. Yes, Leah's silhouette was still visible if you looked carefully, etched there permanently she supposed. Maybe she ought to ask Bree or Cass to take a look at the window just to see if someone other than herself could see the figure. Leah had only appeared in the mirror once, and quite honestly, Kate now avoided looking into that mirror if at all possible. No point taking chances. Although Leah had not been there that same day when she and Max returned from breakfast, there was always the possibility that she would appear again, and Kate didn't want to see it. She still got cold 318


chills remembering the frightening look spilling out of Leah's eyes. Deliberately not letting her hand shake, Kate turned on the light in the orchid room. Everything looked normal. Damask draperies at the window, grandmother's Persian carpet underfoot. The orchid stand remained colorful and sturdy in front of the big window. From the door she noted that the burgundy Velvet Dusk was beginning to bud. When in bloom, the orchid would lend a particular dramatic touch to that corner of the room. Mentally she recorded that maybe she could use it in the next painting. In fact, all the orchids were flourishing. The light from the window was obviously exactly right. A half dozen were in full bloom, brightening that part of the room with vivid color. But the focal point for Kate, at that moment, was the rocking chair, and it remained stubbornly still. Kate stared for a long minute, willing it to move, but nothing happened. The flutters in her stomach never reached the butterfly stage, but were definitely on alert. Waiting. The chair sat, stubbornly quiet, as if mocking her nerves. Finally, with a grunt of disgust, she flipped off the light and returned to the porch. Nothing more was going to happen that night. But she was wrong. Kate had blown out half of the candles and was working her way around the porch when an oily voice, dripping with sarcasm, came at her from the darkness. "Thought I'd find you here. How are you, wifey dearest?" Huey! A breath caught in Kate's throat and refused to let go. She swung around so fast she nearly staggered. Huey! 319


Even though she'd known he was probably around for at least a week now, she'd secretly hoped she was mistaken. Huey. The worst of her nightmares. An inner trembling began that had her tensing to cover up. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing how he affected her. He must not know how frightened she was of what he might do. Max was asleep upstairs! "I do have a front doorbell you know." "Yeah, but this is more fun." He rattled the screen door. "How about letting me in? We need to talk." Talking with Huey was absolutely the last thing in the world she intended to do. There was nothing between them except a latched screen door, and screening was no protection at all. He could punch a hole through it with little effort. Had he been walking around the outside of the house while she stood in the door of the orchid room? While Cass was here? How long had he been watching? Had he seen Cass leave? Her knees wanted to buckle. She managed a calm, even tone. "I don't want to talk to you, Huey. Go away." "Now is that any way to talk to your husband? After I came all this way just to see you. And the boy. Especially the boy. How is he? Where is my son?" She chose to ignore the questions about Max. "You haven't been my husband for a long time. What do you want?" "I want in." He rattled the door with more energy, making it clatter in the frame. "Open up!" Kate had not moved from the center of the porch. She could only dimly see Huey in the flickering candle light. He 320


looked a bit seedy and rumpled, as if he'd maybe slept in his clothes. His hair was longer than usual and even though there wasn't much light, his eyes seemed to glitter with an unnatural brightness. "I think not. Go back to wherever you came from, Huey. You're not welcome." "I don't give a damn about welcome!" He leaned both hands on the frame of the door and thrust his face close to the screen. "You're living in a mighty fancy house—wife—and there are things we need to discuss." He pushed hard on the door, making the entire screen bow with tension. "Now, unlock this goddam door or you'll be sorry." It took all of Kate's willpower not to take a step back, away from him. She didn't even blink an eye. "It will be called breaking and entering Huey, and you'd better believe I'll press charges." She picked up the cordless phone. Please God, he didn't know it was out of order. "The police can be here in three minutes. All I have to do is press one number. And if you don't believe me, try it. I'd dearly love to put you in jail." He drew in an audible breath, and when he spoke it was in a whisper. "There are things we need to discuss. We will talk!" "I can't think of a single thing we have to say to each other. We said it all a long time ago. So, go home, Huey, back to whatever gutter you climbed out of, and let me alone." "You bitch! I want to see my son." 321


"I doubt that. You've never cared about Max before. You've never contributed anything to his welfare or support, you never paid any attention at all to being a father. For all intents and purposes you deserted us, leaving us penniless and alone. You deserted us even before you left town. If you have anything to say to me, you can say it through a lawyer. Good night." Leaving the rest of the candles burning, Kate turned on her heel and went into the house, locking the kitchen door behind her. For the first time, she was grateful for the double locks Cass had installed. The dead bolt action was very comforting. Through the walls she could hear Huey still yelling. "Your parents were well-heeled enough to keep you. Are you trying to tell me you were hungry? Because I don't believe it. Your dad wouldn't let that happen." She stood shaking, leaning her head on the locked door, praying he would go away before he roused the neighbors. Max didn't need gossip whispered around the ball field and at Lionel's. But now Huey was at the front of the house, banging with his fist on her front door. Had she double bolted the front? Kate rushed through the house in the dark, dropping the cordless phone on a table as she fumbled with the locks, and blessedly, found them in place. Thank God for Cass! Her breath came in rapid spurts and her heart pounded thickly in her chest. What would Huey do next? She ran to a window. There was no car on the street. Had he walked to her house? No, he wouldn't park where his vehicle could be seen. From the outside there was only 322


silence. The quiet was more unnerving than not knowing where he was. Kate made her way in the dark to another room and peered out. Clouds had covered the moon, and the darkness was profound. Where was he? Panic bubbled in her throat and she had to stop and take a deep breath. All she had to do was call the police, her cell was upstairs. She didn't want to do that and create a public scene, but she would if he didn't go away. She could always call Cass. She was sure he would come, but she didn't want to bother him in the middle of the night. There might be a fight and someone would be hurt. "Where are you, Huey?" she asked softly. With two fingers she lifted a curtain to cautiously peer out. "What are you doing?" "I'm right behind you, Kate." She whirled around, her back to the wall. Her heart seemed to stiffen before it ripped into high gear. She froze in shock. The room flooded with light. To her horror he was standing in the doorway to the kitchen, his hand on the switch, smiling that evil grin of his. The one that came just before he used an emotional hammer of some sort. Her heart thudded so hard it echoed in her ears. "How did you get in? What—" "What I'm doing is—" He spread his arms wide in a territorial gesture. "—taking up residence in my new home and reconciling with my darling wife." "You aren't living here! Oh no, not for a minute! How did you get in?" Kate wished her voice was stronger. Wished she had some energy to fight him. He was in the house! Inside 323


the house! How could that have happened? She'd locked up herself. Cass had put in the dead bolts. This should not have happened. Oh God, he was inside! Somewhere in the back of her head she could hear Babe barking. He was closed in Max's room for the night, but the dog could hear a strange voice downstairs. If only she hadn't shut the door on him! He would be no help behind a closed door. "I didn't break anything getting in. That's all you need to know. Now, how about a big, welcome-home kiss?" He moved toward her. "No! Get out! Leave me alone!" She made a swift move toward the cordless phone, hoping to bluff him into thinking she would make a call, but he was faster and held it high above his head before she could reach it. "No police," he said softly. "That wouldn't be very nice of you, now would it? No police." He wandered around the room, his eyes never leaving her for more than an instant at a time. "Beautiful antique furniture, expensive carpets, an authentic, historic house on the register of old houses. Ought to be worth a bundle. How much, you think?" "No." Kate tried to focus. He was moving toward the stairs. Max was upstairs. "No. I have no idea what it's worth." And then it suddenly it made sense. Huey was broke again and needed money, and assumed he could bend Kate to his will, as usual, and sell the house. Of course. "If you are thinking of selling this house, you'll have to think again because it is in 324


my name, and mine alone. You'll never get your hands on it, Huey. Not in a million years." "Sure I will. My hands? Oh yes." He turned to her and looked pained. "But why would you be suspicious of my motives? The man who has loved you since college days? The man your father gave you to, in marriage, before God and half this town in the chancel of the Presbyterian Church? Naw. You're reading things into our reconciliation that aren't there." Kate ground her teeth. "There is no reconciliation. It's all in your mind. I wouldn't be married to you again for ... for anything in the world. You are gutter scum, Huey! Now, leave my house." "Nope. I'm here for the duration." His eyes narrowed and in a swift move he had her by the wrist and pulled her toward him. "You'd best get used to me, baby. I'm here to stay—in our house. As man and wife!" She struggled as he pulled her closer and closer. "I won't. You can't ... make me." He'd always had a wiry, sinewy strength. He had no trouble now forcing both arms to her back and drawing her tight to his chest. She tried to use her knee, but he deflected it on his thigh. She slung herself from side to side, hoping to off-balance him, but he simply spread his legs and rode out her effort. A table went over. A lamp shattered on the floor. Kate screamed. "Come on, Kate. It's no good fighting me. This was the one good thing we had going. The sex was always good." "Get away from me! What's wrong with you? Are you insane?" 325


"You thought a piece of paper would get rid of me. Well, you were wrong. I'll—Ow!" He flung her from him and grabbed a shoulder. "You bit me! Damn it, you bit me! It's bleeding!" She had, indeed, finally found something she could get her teeth into and she'd bitten down, hard. There was blood on his shirt and a metallic taste in her mouth. Kate felt a short stab of triumph. She'd wounded him! She turned to run, but a hand found the back of her head and she was jerked up short by her hair. The pain was blinding. And then he hit her. An open-handed slap on first one side of the head and then the other. Her ears rang and she fell to the floor, going in and out of blackness. Max. She couldn't let him get Max. She struggled to her knees, wobbling back and forth, trying to condense the three Huey's she saw into one. Roughly, he hauled her to her feet. "Is that enough or do you want more? I intend to stay and you'd just as well give in easy. Makes no difference to me." From somewhere came the stubborn insistence that he would not win. Huey would not win this time! Sheer hatred, born of past sins unrequited rose in the back of her throat, nearly strangling her. A sound came from her that was almost a growl. Then, "I'll kill you before I let you get your hands on Max," she hissed between clenched teeth. "Kill me?" He laughed. "You? See how scared I am? Kill me?" He laughed again and then, without changing expression, balled up a fist and punched her in the stomach. 326


The gorge came up in her throat. She rolled half under a table, gagged and tried to stand up. On her hands and knees she swayed back and forth, and through a red haze saw his boots advancing over the carpet. One foot drew back. He was going to kick her. Feebly she struggled to move out of the way and hung there, tottering for a second, before collapsing back down. Babe was barking hysterically, somewhere nearby. Max! Max mustn't... Huey was poised over her when the front door crashed open. Footsteps thundered across the floor. There was a roar of anger that seemed to fill the room. The solid thwack of bodies clashing. From her sideways view, head flat on the carpet, she saw other boots. Four of them writhing together, digging for purchase, legs straining. Heard a grunt of pain. Then, Huey's feet left the floor. He seemed to fly across the room. Hitting the wall with a resounding thud, he slid down to a sitting position, his head lolling on his neck. And then Cass was beside her. He glanced up at Max on the stairway behind him, his eyes as big as banjos and wide with horror. "It's okay, buddy. I've got her. Relax, it's okay." Cass's hands were on her, feeling for injuries. His voice was anxious. "Are you hurt, baby? Kate, talk to me. Where did he hurt you? What can I do?" His arms went around her, folded her to his chest and rocked her back and forth. "I should have killed him. I may yet. Kate, answer me. Baby..." 327


One hand skimmed back her hair, then molded his palm around her jaw. "Oh Kate. If he's hurt you..." One of her own hands found his wrist and gripped. Her voice trembled. "How..." She couldn't formulate the words. Her hands cradled her stomach and she doubled up. "Where did...?" She gagged again. "How did I get here? Max called me from your cell phone. You just rest now. I'll take care of everything. By the way, this chicken sh—" He bit off an expletive. "...over there wouldn't happen to be Huey, would it?" Cass was here. He would take care of everything. Even Max. Cass was here. She could rest. Her eyes drifted closed.

328


Fifteen Valiant One 'My Hero' Large white blossoms with red lips. Mericlone Phalaenopsis. Kate tried hard to convince old Dr. Franklin that she was fine and didn't need to go to the hospital. "I have a son," she said, squinting her eyes against a headache, "and he needs me." Her childhood doctor squinted his own eyes. "Your young man has him. He's fine." "My ... Cass? You mean Cass has him?" "Yes, and you couldn't do better." While she tried to sort out what "your young man" might mean, he went on talking. After all, he said, he'd brought her into the world and at his age he wasn't going to be intimidated. He'd look her over to his heart's content and she may as well lie back and allow herself to be coddled for once. "Don't look to me like you've had much coddling lately. You're skinny as a plucked chicken." She lay back and allowed herself to be driven to the hospital. Once there, the doctor had proceeded to poke and probe, shine lights into her eyes and take X-rays, and test for various and sundry things regarding possible abdominal damage from Huey's fist. By dawn he decided that, other than purpling bruises on her rib cage, there was no permanent 329


injury done. When Cass called two hours later, Dr. Franklin told him to come and get her. When he arrived Kate was sitting on the edge of the bed, dressed and waiting. His eyebrows went up. "I can see you're determined to stay. Like it here, huh?" "Don't be funny. Where's Max?" "He spent the night with me. In my bed, with me. This morning I probably have more bruises than you." But his eyes were anxious as they scanned over her. "Doc says he wrapped your ribs." She squirmed uneasily against the binding. "Nothing's broken. Just a bit battered." She craned her neck to look behind him. "Where is Max now?" "With Ruby June. We'll stop by and see him if you like, but he's all set to stay the day, him and Babe, while you catch some z's. You missed a few last night." "I need to see him." She wanted to talk to Max about Huey. Maybe not now, this minute, but soon. It would be enough to get her arms around him for a moment. But very soon, she needed to know how much he'd seen. She needed to make sure he understood that even though Huey was a vile human being it didn't necessarily mean that Max was anything like him even if he was his son. How could she have let this happen? She should have been more vigilant. She ought to have anticipated that Huey might appear out of the darkness, unexpected, when she was least prepared. Once she was in the car, safe in Cass's familiar presence, Huey's unexpected visit of the night before seemed more 330


unreal than ever. She stared straight ahead. What was brought clearly to light was that she had been incredibly blind. He was more dangerous than she'd ever imagined. "What did they do with Huey? Where is he?" "Where he won't be hurting you again. He's in jail, temporarily. Are you going to swear out a complaint?' She didn't hesitate. "Yes." "Good girl. We can stop at the police station after we see Max. By the way, how would you feel about my putting up a basketball hoop for Max?" It was an obvious effort to give her something else to think about. The change of subject threw her. "Now? He's only seven! Does he need to shoot baskets?" "He needs something else to think about. Something good to erase last night's memory. Basketball ought to do it." "Well—" "Basketball is big in Illinois. Seven is most definitely not too young to begin shooting hoops. Okay with you?" "Sure. I guess. If you think it's important." "It's important that he get the chance to see if he likes the game, and it's important that we fill his head with stuff to look forward to. The future. Good stuff." She nodded. "Okay." Kate shivered. She couldn't seem to get warm enough. Early as it was the sky was overcast and the underbellies of dark clouds were full of rain. Cass pulled a jacket from behind the seat and handed it to her. 331


"Thanks." She draped it across her chest and huddled against the door. "You need to sleep all day. I'll tuck you in and—" "How did he get in last night?" Her voice was wooden and strained. "I had everything locked up tight. I checked your locks and they were solid. So how did he get in?" "We know how he got in. He was proud enough of his planning to brag about it. Walked right in the back door yesterday when you were out front getting the mail. He unlatched the pantry window and walked back out the door, bold as a brass bull. He could have gotten in any time he wanted after that." She was silent, thinking how easy she'd made it for him. He'd done everything the sneaky way, however, when she'd been expecting him to barrel in and confront her at the top of his lungs for all the neighborhood to hear. Or accost her in a crowded place and humiliate her in front of a host of people. Huey had always liked an audience. Her stomach was queasy. He'd been that close to Max. "Has Max talked about it? How much did he see?" "He heard it first from upstairs, and called me on your cell phone. He didn't know who was down there. Just that someone was hurting you. Babe had already charged downstairs, barking for all he was worth. Max had to come downstairs to unlock the door, but I made him promise, no matter what, to go back upstairs until I came to get him." He hesitated. "I don't think he actually saw much. When he slipped down the stairs to unlock the front door, you both were out of his sight around the corner of the room, and he 332


ran back up again just like I told him. He heard me coming in and that's when he sneaked back to hang over the banister. He knows Huey hurt you, that's why you were in the hospital, but I don't think he actually saw him hitting you." She released a long breath. "I guess it could have been worse." "It was damn well bad enough!" Unexpectedly, her eyes puddled up. "If you hadn't come..." "Yeah, well, I did. You have a kid that thinks on his feet, thank God. He called me first thing." He covered her hand where it lay on her leg with one of his big ones, and squeezed. "You're okay. Max is okay. And now I know that, I'm okay too. It's over." Wordlessly, she nodded. Then, "Thanks, Cass. I guess that makes you the hero of the hour. After last night ... I was so afraid Huey would get to Max." "Don't feel much like a hero. I was scared spitless that he'd killed you. I was more terrified than heroic. I've been sitting here all day trying to forget how it felt when I thought you were bad hurt. I'm not likely to ever forget it." "And," he went on, "I'm taking the day off and sitting with you, just to make sure you stay in bed and rest without interruption." "But—" "Max is fine with the Junes." Kate sagged back into the seat, suddenly weary clear through to the bone. "All right," she said. "After I talk to Max on the phone." 333


Somehow, another invisible change in their relationship had occurred. Maybe it was just that her perception of what they meant to each other had become clear. All her uncertainties seemed to have drained away. The silence between them was different. They'd crossed some barrier when she wasn't aware of it. It was as if she had found a piece of ground within herself to plant seeds of trust and hope. Kate couldn't imagine how she would feel the change so profoundly if he didn't also. She felt linked to him in a way she didn't understand, yet didn't question. Her life suddenly seemed to include him in an integral way, and she was through wondering. As if in support of what she was thinking, he glanced over at her. She saw an intensity of emotion that shook her. He didn't touch her, but she was comforted. **** Kate shot upright from the depths of an exhausted, deep sleep in a sudden panicked explosion of fear. For one blind moment she didn't know where she was or what was the matter, and then rational thought asserted itself. It was the dream again. Twin tombstones, entwined concrete hands, the blackest of all black nights with a howling wind blowing her hair into wild tangles and her gown like sails billowing on the ocean. And her name. Katey. Katey-did. Oh, Katey. Kate sat up and wrapped her arms around her knees. The dates. Oh God, the dates. She had been looking at her own tombstone with the date of her death already inscribed. That 334


date was today. She was shaking, her breath coming in short, shuddering gasps. Her head fell forward onto her knees and she forced herself to inhale slowly. It was only a dream. No one could foresee his or her own death. It was just a dream. She could call Cass. There wasn't a doubt in her mind that he was downstairs as he'd promised. She could open her mouth and call and he'd be there in a minute to put his arms around her and offer comfort. But she didn't. This was between her and Leah. However, Leah hadn't been in the room. Leah had only been in her dream. And there was no voice at the moment calling her name. Kate could feel that Leah was not anywhere near. She filled both hands with fistfuls of hair and squeezed against her skull, as if the pressure would drive Leah from her mind. She hadn't slept well in weeks. Between doublechecking the windows and being acutely aware of every strange noise in the house, between the no-answer phone calls, Huey, and anticipating Leah's appearances, she was so tired she felt bruised with weariness. Maybe she ought to have a security system installed. Although, she couldn't imagine that would truly be protection against someone who had been dead for ten years. It was the not-knowing, the living on the edge of horror, that was wearing her down. And then there had been the anxiety about Huey. Where he was, what he would do, when he would make himself known. At least she could stop worrying about that. Huey wasn't going to surprise her again, at least not in the near future. 335


From the thin light coming in the window, it was impossible to guess the time. At least it wasn't raining again. Yet. Slowly she untangled her feet from the sheets and stood up. Her skin was clammy with sweat. What sleep she'd had would have to be enough. She'd shower first and then go down and find Cass. Together they'd go pick up Max. One thing at a time. One hour at a time. And Cass was there, she was sure, right down the stairs. And he was, indeed, just where she thought he would be. He sat on the back porch, elbows on his knees, nursing a cup of coffee between his big hands. He stood when she rounded the door. "Up already? It's barely noon. Couldn't you—" She waved him into silence. "I'm awake. It's okay. Any more of that coffee?" "Sure. I'll get you a cup," he said, moving toward the kitchen. She raised her voice. "You cleaned up the mess from last night. I saw as I came through the house. You didn't have to do that." "Sure I did." His voice trailed back from the kitchen, then he reappeared with her coffee in hand. "Had to put in the time some way. That fancy lamp is a dead soldier, I'm afraid. The table it was on, though, is repairable. I'll take care of things." Kate looked down into her lap. "You're being too good to me. I can handle it on my own." 336


"I know, but let me do it, anyway. Okay? I want to." He cleared his throat around what sounded like an obstruction. "It's just as well you're up. We're expecting a visitor. Spence called from his office and said something was worrying him and he needed to talk to you. I didn't want to disturb you, but told him to come on over. Said he needed another set of brain cells to sort through a puzzle." He shook his head. "Do you know what he's talking about?" "No. Is that all he said? Is it something about Mom and Dad's estate, do you think?" "I doubt he'd want me present if it's something confidential. He wouldn't do that. Not Spence." "You're right. Spence wouldn't betray a confidence. But I can't imagine what kind of puzzle he's talking about." "We'll know soon enough." He sat across from her, leaned back in his chair and gestured toward the lake. "This is a nice place to let the world go by, isn't it? The porch and the view." Kate sipped her coffee. "I've always liked it. Almost every morning I have my first cup of caffeine out here. And sometimes the last one too, at night. It's always peaceful. Except when it's storming." Although she didn't say it aloud, the thought occurred to her that it hadn't been peaceful with Huey banging on the screen door last night, either. Everything in her tightened at the memory. She might never feel the same about the back porch ever again. "Yeah, well, another storm's on the way. Forecast isn't good. A solid bank of thunderstorms is bearing down on us. By late afternoon we'll have more weather warnings up." 337


A small silence built while they both looked at the lake, so high now that it lapped at her mother's bed of exotic lilies. The dock was completely under water, not even a shadow was visible. Cass nodded at the far bank. "What about the levee? Just how strong is it, do you think?" Kate raised her eyebrows. "It's never broken. After the Mississippi flooded in '93 and so many of the levees gave way, this one was examined. As far as I know it was considered safe back then. Mom and Dad never worried." "Probably okay then. But this is a record-breaking spring and summer as far as rainfall is concerned. I'd feel better if you weren't so close. How about coming to my house for a few days?" "Cass." She gave him a patient look. "We've been through that. I appreciate your concern, but I can't. And you know the reasons. We'll be okay here." "What about Bree, then? She has room and I know she'd love to have you." "You've forgotten Babe. Bree isn't allowed pets in her apartment." "Babe can camp out with Ruby June. They would take him. Come on, put my mind at rest." "I'm not convinced there's any danger. Have you walked up on the levee to look at it?" "No, but I intend to do that. Today." "I won't take chances with Max. Believe me, I wouldn't do that." He nodded. "Your call. But I'm going on record as not liking it." 338


Kate nodded back. "Noted." Cass put down his cup. "About the kid. How do your custody papers read, Kate? Does Huey have a legal right to see Max?" Kate frowned. This was her biggest fear. "I'm afraid so. At the time it didn't seem to matter. He was gone. I hadn't heard a word in months and stupidly thought it would continue like that." "We need to correct that. How would you feel about consulting with my former wife and maybe going back to court?" She heaved a sigh. "Yes. I need to do something to protect Max in the future." "Right. I'll call her." He got to his feet and looked out toward the levee. "Let's hike up there later and take a look. You feel like it?" "I'm okay. And I'd like to see what the other side of the levee looks like, too." True, the lake, on this side of the levee, usually silent and passively lovely, was not itself. Right now the wind whipped little white caps to ride on the waves, and the body of water itself seemed to be growing. The shoreline was disappearing fast. Her mother's prized lily bed was in imminent danger. The taller, scarlet Sphinx double Asiatic lilies stood proud and tall, but the shorter varieties, the pink and white Turk's Caps, the orange and cream Tigers and dangling red Pumilums could almost be imagined cowering in the face of possible drowning. Kate frowned. She'd hate to lose the lily bed, but 339


the bulbs were deep in the ground and would not be harmed if they were flooded out. They would come back next year. Would she be here to see them? Kate wrapped her arms around her ribs and shuddered. Today was the date on the tombstone. The day of her supposed death in the nightmare. Last night Huey could have made that dream come true very easily. Mentally, she shook off the frightening thought. Thanks to Cass she'd survived. The prediction, if that was what it was, had been averted. Temporarily, at least. She closed her eyes in a silent prayer of thanksgiving. Maybe Max would have a mother, and she would have a future, after all. And her future included orchids. Lots of them. "I missed the orchid show!" she said, remembering suddenly that it was today. "And I'd been looking forward to it for months." Cass glanced at his watch. "I guess there's still time if you feel up to it." "No. You have to be there before noon or all the best ones are gone. Damn! There's one called My Hero, no pun intended, that I wanted to photograph. Maybe buy one if it wasn't too expensive. It's a mericlone phalaenopsis. Has huge, luscious white blossoms with red lips. Really spectacular. I am considering using it as a model for my next project. And thanks to Huey I've missed my chance!" "Is there something else you could use?" "Yes." She was hugely disappointed. "And I can paint from pictures, too, although photographs are better. The optimum is, of course, the live plant itself. And I wanted to see a blooming Sharry Baby, too. They're supposed to be fabulous." 340


The doorbell chimed and Cass got to his feet. "Ah! That'll be Spence." The lawyer came in with the air of a man distracted and frazzled. He shook his head at the offer of coffee. "Already drunk more than my quota for the day," he said. "But I'm glad you're awake, Kate. I think we may have a problem." He seated himself at the table, folded his hands on top and took a deep breath. "I've given this a lot of thought and I hope what I'm going to say isn't a breach of professional ethics. Under the circumstances I think not. You know," he nodded at Kate, "that you've had an offer on the house. Several of them, in fact." "Well yes, but I don't want to sell." "I know. I'm not going to name names, but the same person has been back a number of times wanting me to try and talk you into it. He's upped the ante far more than the market value. In fact, he named a figure that, well ... it astonished me. Kate, he really wants this house. Wants it badly." "Why?" Cass spoke. "Why does he want it so badly?" "My question exactly. He won't say. He was in a few days ago, again, pushing me hard, and I had to agree to present the offer to you. But after he left I got to thinking and made a few phone calls. Called in a couple of markers. I discovered something not widely known yet. It isn't necessarily an official secret, but certain people would just as soon it didn't get out. Eventually, there will be public hearings and so forth, but— scuttlebutt has it that in the not too distant future, because the lay of the land, Kate's property will possibly be part of 341


what the state will need to acquire for the building of a major highway." Kate frowned. "My land? I'm going to lose my land? My house? Everything?" She sat up straight. "To a highway?" "There are natural obstacles to be considered, of course, and the road itself might not come through your land directly, but would only be part of the purchase. Also, there's the possibility your acreage will be adjacent to whatever is built and be valuable as maybe a park or commercial establishment. The house is solid and certainly big enough to be considered for a B&B." Kate was appalled. "But, can they do that? Just take my land even if I don't want to sell?" Spence nodded. "If you won't sell at what they consider to be a reasonable price, they could condemn it, yes." He grinned wryly. "In the name of progress, they can do almost anything. Remember though, this isn't something that's going to happen tomorrow. It'll be a couple of years. The state hasn't even begun to buy up property yet. But for someone who intends to get rich from it, there is a time crunch. My guess is that this guy is thinking to buy from you cheap and then hope to make a killing on the property by developing it for commercial purposes. I'd be willing to bet the farm on it." He sat back in his chair and waited. Cass responded first. "A highway. Why haven't I heard about it? When did this all start?" "What? His first offer? As near as I can tell, he approached Kate's dad before he died. Then afterward, I know for a fact that he talked to Kate's mom. She came in and consulted with 342


me about what the property might be worth. We had it appraised. All he said at the time was that he'd loved this house since he was a kid and thought maybe it would be too much for a widow by herself, and offered to take it off her hands. He sounded as if he was doing her a favor." "Because of the highway. Unless he's so rich he has money to burn, he wouldn't make such a generous offer just because he's liked the house all his life. Even if he honestly thought he was helping her." "My feeling exactly. Why? That's why I went hunting for answers." Cass narrowed his eyes. "Is he capable of intimidation? Would he, for instance, try to frighten Kate into selling the house?" "Frighten her?" "There've been some strange things happening around here recently. Anonymous phone calls, a car parked out front much of the time that drives off when she goes to the door, someone trying to frighten her inside the house. Apparitions. Stuff. Could it be him?" Spence spread his hands. "I guess it's possible. But as far as I know, he's never operated outside the law." He frowned. "Apparitions?" Kate waved a dismissive hand. "I want to talk to him." "Oh, I don't know if that's a good idea. He's rough as a cob, but he's capable of turning on the personality when needed. With him, you never know. He'd either charm you into putty or chew you up." "I want to talk to him," Kate insisted. "Can you set it up?" 343


"You're sure you want to do this? Cass?" "Positive," Kate answered without waiting for Cass's response. "It's my call, and I want to get to the bottom of this. I've been frightened long enough." Cass said, "Set it up if you can do it without letting him know about this conversation. I don't want him coming in already knowing we've discussed it." "I can tell him—what? That you are interested, but you insist on speaking to him personally? How about that?" Kate drew a deep breath. First, Leah haunting her every thought, day and night. Then Huey turning up in an even worse scenario than she'd imagined possible. Now this. Someone was trying to take her home! If the state didn't get it before he did, whoever he was would reap the profit! Her heart hardened. "Set him up. Let's do it." Cass nodded. "I'm right behind you. Do it." When Spence had left, Cass reached for Kate's hand. "If Spence is right, we have him, honey. It's all over. You can relax. It's over." Kate's courage flattened somewhat. If only it was over. She turned bleak eyes on him. "Not quite. He isn't impersonating Leah. The phone calls and black car, maybe. But not Leah. She isn't something he could manipulate. And the date on the tombstone ... I know it's only a dream, but Cass..." She leaned into his hard strength and his arms went around her. "That date is today, and the day isn't over."

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Sixteen Spider A very fragrant spider orchid with tall wand-like stems. Bears long, spiky tentacles, or fringe, on each pale yellow blossom. Brasia Gireoudiana. There were no trees on the levee, and as they approached the top of the man-made dam the air was stifling hot. The clouds hung black and menacing overhead and an oddcolored light shimmered in waves through the daylight. A shiver ran up Kate's spine. Cass put an arm around her, matching his step to hers. "You okay?" "There's a funny feel," she said, rubbing her arms. "Hot and yet chilly at the same time. Tornado weather. If that sky turns green, we're heading for the basement." "Agreed. More weather warnings are up. I checked before we left the house. By midnight another front will be on top of us. All the moisture from the gulf is coming up from the south, and we're going to get dumped on again." "Midnight? I need to make sure I have enough oil for the lamps in case we lose power. Bread and milk. Other than that I think we're okay." Cass extended a hand to Kate, to help her over the rocks. Idly, he said, "Wonder where Leah was last night when Huey was throwing his weight around?" 345


"I've wondered that myself. She wasn't where she was needed, was she?" Cass smiled. "Can't you see old Huey if she'd done one of her numbers then? He'd have freaked for sure." They climbed in silence for a few minutes and then in a soft voice Kate said, "I wish you could have seen her dance. She simply sparkled on stage. Long, slender legs in white tights and pink satin toe shoes, graceful beyond belief en pointe. She was something special." "If you say so. I have trouble seeing her in any way except scaring you half to death and making your life miserable. She had a reputation, even in high school, for being mercurial. She seemed to change character along with clothes." "M-m-m. Sometimes, I guess. But she was unforgettable. And she cared, passionately, about causes. Anything that interested her, or any injustice, she dug into like a lioness protecting her cubs." "I've been doing some digging myself," Cass said, as they approached the top of the levee. "The Internet turned up a guy named Edgar Cayce who was supposedly a Christian psychic. He died back in 1945 or he could maybe have had something to say about Leah. If I'd had the time, I'd have tried to find some of his writings. I may yet. We might learn something." "It's worth pursuing, at least. Ah, here we are." They breasted the crest of the levee and Kate caught her breath at the expanse of wickedly churning, fast-rolling, brown river. 346


She gasped. "I've never seen it like this. Cass, it must be a mile across! How could it have risen so fast? How far below flood level is it?" "Only about a foot, but they've had even more rainfall upstate than we have." "Thank God for the levee!" Cass put his hands on his hips and stood, feet apart, braced as if for a fight. "Kate, look at that river and tell me you feel safe here. I will not leave you in this house tonight." Her senses were numbed by the ferocity of the river. The water hadn't been quite so daunting from the bridge she'd passed over in the car the day before. Now, as she stood at the edge of the river, uprooted trees, their branches and roots reaching up from the watery depths were carried by. A bloated, dead pig was caught in a swirling eddy, almost at their feet. A Rose of Sharon bush, blossoms still clinging to the limber wands, swept by. The river was almost clogged with flotsam of all kinds. Just the power of the rushing river, if nothing else, was frightening. What Cass said made sense. A part of her wanted to agree with him. But a surge—of what? Apprehension? Reluctance? Something, swept through her. Not fear of the river; but a feeling that leaving would be a form of desertion. Disaster would come in its wake. She said, "I can't leave the house. What if—" "My point exactly. What if." "But the levee is sound. And surely it isn't going to rain six inches tonight." 347


"What if it does?" He made a rude sound and spun her around to face him. "Why are you being so stubborn about this? What is it that matters more than your life? And Max's?" Their eyes locked. "Nothing. But I just can't leave the—the house and let something happen." Cass's voice escalated in disbelief. "Do you think you're going to personally hold back the river if it comes to that?" "I ... I don't know. But just to abandon her—." "Her? Who? The house? Kate, this is madness!" She had no answer, but stood looking into his eyes pleading for understanding. What he asked was impossible. It was unclear, even to her, who or what she'd been referring to, but the fact was she simply could not leave. Also, lodged in a back corner of her mind was a frightening fact. "Today is the date on the tombstone." "But Kate, that's all the more reason to leave. Get out of here now!" "I'm safe here. I know it sounds weird, but I feel that as long as I stay here, I'm okay." A sudden gust of wind flattened her slacks against her legs and tugged at her hair. Looking up, they saw the sky had turned a dull pewter gray, active with rushing, rolling clouds. Churning whitecaps swarmed over the face of the lake. "Oh hell!" He turned away and then swiveled back to face her. "I can't let you stay. I can't let you stay." He poked his chest with a thumb. "I love you, woman, and you're asking me to approve something that could mean your life. What do you think I'm made of? Look at that sky. Look at the river! Think of that idiotic dream." An arm swung out toward the 348


river, then swooped upward to the lowering clouds. Then both hands gripped her shoulders hard enough to bring pain. "We're looking at possible disaster here. Let me take care of you, Kate. I need to do this!" She brought three fingers to her mouth and fought back threatening tears. He'd never told he loved her. Never had his eyes held so much anguish. The struggle was plainly written on his face. A sob seemed lodged in her chest. She didn't want to put him through this. She wanted to give him what he needed to relieve his stress. But there was an inner block that refused to let her go. The same feeling she'd had many times over the years she and Leah had been growing up. Leah needed her. There was a deep certainty that her twin, a part of herself, needed her. She was filled with a sense of desperation. The feeling was so outrageous as to be condemned insane. With Leah having been gone—dead—for ten years, her conviction was inexplicable. Never the less, it was there, and with it came the echo, "Careful, Katey. Careful, Katey-did." The words were born on the air, floating from far away. The house? Kate turned in a circle to look back, but of course there was nothing to see. Never the less, somehow, Leah was there. Kate knew. Cass made an inarticulate sound. Then, "You're supposed to say something here, Kate, and not let me dangle." Kate couldn't speak past the ache in her throat. She nodded, then shook her head, and tried to put her feeling into her eyes. It would be unfair to tell him she loved him when Leah still hung around her neck like the proverbial albatross. 349


When there were so many questions unanswered. None of it was of his making. But Cass was everything she'd ever hoped for in a husband and, after Huey, never thought to find. How had she ever even considered settling for someone less than her dream? And now here he was, declaring his love and offering her the world and she was caught in a spider web of horrors, and unable to give herself to him. Her breath wedged somewhere in her throat when he ran a slow finger down her cheek. The ghost of a smile curled the corners of his mouth. "You smell good. And you look good, even when you're exhausted and worried and being stubborn as a goddam mule." Her throat clogged up again. "Oh Cass ... I can't say what you want me to say. Not now. Not yet." His grip on her arms tightened and he tipped his head back to look at the bleak gray of the sky. "Then come home with me. Let me take you home." "Please understand. I might as well hire a town crier to spread the news. 'Kate Foster is sleeping with Cass Reynolds'." "Unfortunately, that wouldn't be true." "Try to get anyone to believe that. This is a small town. It would be making the rounds over breakfast tables before we were even awake. Served up with the Danishes and coffee at Ruby June's." Cass dropped his hands to his sides. "So what? This isn't the fifties!" His mouth narrowed. "Okay. Okay. We have until midnight at the earliest before the storm hits. Let's go get 350


Max. I have to run to Springfield in the truck and pick up a door for the new house. The wrong one was delivered today and the guys are already waiting for it. I want you to come with me. I couldn't concentrate on driving if I left you here alone. Will you and Max come? We can stop for something to eat and still be back by dark. I'll give you until then to make up your mind about staying here tonight. But I'm warning you. If you stay here, I'm staying with you if I have to sleep in the car." Kate managed a watery smile. "Sure. I'd like that." She could give him that, at least. A trip to Springfield. And maybe she'd even let him stay. Sleep on her sofa. Although she didn't know how she would explain the presence of his car in the drive in the morning. Still, she did live on the edge of town, and not like Cass whose home was right in the center and more likely for people to notice a strange car parked in front of his house. Tomorrow was time enough to worry about that. Tonight she'd be grateful for the company. She'd taken care of herself and Max for a long time now, and it would be heavenly to lean. To let someone else help. He was so worried about her, and she appreciated being worried over, but she couldn't leave. Not yet. Not as long as the levee held. Not as long as Leah needed her. **** The phone was ringing as they entered the house intending to go straight through and out the front door. Her heartbeat tripped. Another anonymous caller? "Would you get 351


that?" Kate asked, striving for a nonchalant tone. "I'll get my purse." Cass changed his aim and headed toward the kitchen wall phone. Kate went down the hall to the newel post and slipped the strap of her bag over the top and took out her hairbrush. As always her eyes avoided the mirror. Yet, she needed to know if Leah was, indeed, still here. Hesitantly, heart fluttering nervously, not sure she wanted to do this but feeling compelled anyway, she looked into the mirror. Nothing. Nothing but her own reflection, her hair a little wild from the wind and coming loose from its anchor at her nape, her eyes dark and almost as wild as her hair. Tired, she leaned back against the wall opposite the mirror. Had it really been Leah speaking to her on the levee? Really Leah? Would she ever know? There was no end to the horror, the mystery. No end at all! She would be baying at the moon and babbling nursery rhymes if the tension didn't abate soon. She pushed away from the supporting wall, wearily, and dragged the brush through her hair as Cass came through the door. "Slight detour. That was Spence. He's got the guy coming to the office in a quarter hour, and asked that we meet him there. What do you think? We could handle this before we get Max, and then head for Springfield. Okay with you?" There was an enormous sense of relief. Of flowing adrenaline. Her exhaustion was gone. They were going to do something. Take action. No more would she be a victim. She 352


would be the aggressor for a change. They'd settle this guy's hash finally. This part at least would be over. "Yes! Absolutely!" She all but ran out the front door and down the steps. Kate felt like Max, so excited she wanted to bounce on the seat. They couldn't get there fast enough. It seemed to her that they crawled down the streets. They'd confront this guy and make him understand that there was no way he'd cheat her out of what was hers. Problem solved. Riding with Cass, heading toward a confrontation she both embraced and feared, she was only peripherally aware of the town. Somehow the beloved and lovely village seemed unreal in the face of her personal crisis. Yet, on the bank corner, a large clock still chimed the hour as it had ever since Kate could remember. The chimes rang out as they pulled to a stop. None of it seemed real. The air seemed more sluggish and thick with moisture than ever. The people walking the streets were nobody she knew. Reality was the unknown man waiting in Spence's office. Spence met them at the door. He lowered his voice. "Back here. He's waiting. I warn you, he's an oily old guy. I've just met him for the first time, face to face, and realized he's not who he pretends to be. Watch your step." A man, pushing past middle age, sat with his back to the door, broad muscular shoulders wearing a blue and white seersucker summer suit. Spence walked behind his desk and indicated chairs for Cass and Kate. 353


"Kate Foster and Cass Reynolds, I'd like you to meet Robert Blandings. Mr. Blandings, this is the lady who owns the property in question, and her friend." He turned to face them. Hair. Lots of black, thick, longerthan-fashionable hair. Full beard and moustache, hearty, ruddy complexion as if he spent time in the sun, and searching hazel eyes that within a heartbeat made Kate acutely uncomfortable. He rose from his seat, shook hands, and sat back to wait. Although he nodded and looked friendly enough, he did not speak. She'd seen him before! Kate's thoughts stalled. Where? He was familiar. And then she knew. The ball field. He was the older man at Max's games who seemed to be watching her. Spence cleared his throat. "Kate, Mr. Blandings has offered—offered several times—a considerable price for the property you now occupy and own. I've brought you his offers and, so far, you have refused them. You indicated today that you wanted to talk personally to the prospective buyer and so I've brought us all together." Spence's hands moved nervously over the papers on his desk and the look he directed at Kate was strangely penetrating. She frowned. "What's he doing here?" The question was as abrupt and rude as the voice was sharp. Mr. Blandings eyed Cass. Before Cass could answer Kate said, "He's here at my request. I invited him. He's my ... my advisor." "What do we need an advisor for?" he demanded harshly. No charm here. He was aggressive and—the word predatory 354


came to mind. "I'm offering a prime price for the property. Straightforward deal. What's to advise about?" "Mr. Blandings, I question why you persist in trying to purchase my home when I've indicated again and again that I wasn't interested in selling." He crossed his hands over an expansive belly. His attitude changed, became conciliatory. "I have admired that house since I was very young. Never lived here, only driven through town from time to time, mind you, but the house appeals to me." A speculative gleam shone from his eyes. "It's on the National Historical Register, and I want to acquire it. Maintain it the way it should be maintained. Respect the antiquity, the past, as it were. I can afford to indulge myself." "But it's the house in which I grew up. It has considerable sentimental value, and it's also my home now that my parents are gone. Mr. Blandings, I am not interested in selling." "Come now. Everything has its price, little lady." The false charm was laid on as thick as Max spread peanut butter on his bread. "Just name yours, and you have it. Anything within reason, that is." A crafty, cunning expression settled around his mouth. "It would mean something, surely, to know the house was loved and cared for with no expense spared. It would never begin to look seedy for need of a coat of paint. Never have stains on the ceilings for want of a new roof. Never have weeds growing in your mother's rose and lily gardens. You'd rest easy knowing that, wouldn't you?" 355


Kate frowned. "How do you know about my mother's rose and lily gardens?" A flicker of unease showed in his eyes and was gone. "I make it my business to check out every aspect of an acquired purchase." He sounded sincere, but there was that mouth which Kate didn't trust for a minute. She fixed her gaze on his, trying to read the thoughts that lay behind his words. The silence grew longer. His stare grew more intense. His eyes narrowed. Beside her Cass moved his hand next to her elbow on the arm of the chair as if offering support. Spence sat quietly, only his eyes moving from one of them to the other. Finally, Kate said, "What would you say if I told you that I have information that a major highway will be coming through this area one day and the state will be buying up all properties in its path? What will that bit of knowledge do to your offer, Mr. Blandings?" A twitch appeared at the corner of one eye. His face flushed. "What do you know about that?" Kate smiled sadly. Sincere? In a pig's eye. It was all or nothing, she thought. She would bluff her way through, hopefully without betraying Spence. "Mr. Blandings, I was born and raised in this town. I know the people. Your repeated offers for the house prodded me to ask some questions." Kate forced all expression from her face. "Quiet feelers have been out state-wide for some time about the price of local land. This particular stretch, along the river, is still unpurchased. Others have been quietly acquired. Farm land 356


mostly. Obviously, the price will go up drastically when landowners discover what is about to happen. You, Mr. Blandings, are looking for a steal." His face suffused with anger. She'd seen the look often enough when Huey had been discovered red-handed while trying to put something over on her. Cass leaned forward. "You are a spineless shyster. A real son-of-a-bitch. First you tried to swindle Kate's dad, and when he died you went after her mother. Now, you've fixed on Kate. You've been working on this for a long time. There's a nasty word for what you are trying to do, Mr. Blandings." Kate watched while the man struggled with emotions almost too strong to tame. Finally, the red began to recede from his face and he straightened in his chair. He spoke to Kate. "Your mother was a pretty girl, and she grew into a beautiful woman, but unfortunately she didn't have the sense God gave a goose or she'd have taken my offer a year ago. I cared a lot for her once. But this is strictly business," he said. "My low profile was necessary, surely you can understand that. If you hope to acquire land, the price shoots up fast when people know you're buying. Just business." Cass gave a short bark of disgust. "And what did you have in mind? When Kate's dad turned you down, and then her mother, and finally Kate herself, did you try intimidation? The telephone? Stalking by way of watching her every move from your car. Making sure she saw you often enough to keep her on edge? Scared. Wondering. You slime! What was plan B, when she kept refusing?" 357


Blandings turned angry eyes on Cass. "She has no business sense whatever. Just like her mother. Prettiest girl in town, but no brains. Doesn't usually matter to me if the woman is a good enough looker, but when it comes to business..." He went on, his voice deprecating. "Trying to make a living by painting on yard goods! What kind of money does she expect to make from that? She's totally ignorant of land speculation, and in the long run would have let this opportunity slip through her hands. It was business on my part. Just business." "Right. A business that would turn you a tasty profit if the State bought from you instead of her." His voice hardened and his eyes narrowed. "I'd get top money. She'd let it go for a fraction of what it was worth." "Wasn't that her choice to make?" "Hell no! What kind of business man would I have been not to take the bull by the horns?" "Maybe honest?" He spat. "Bah! That house would make a top of the line B&B with the right management. Or we could level it off and put in a major service station with an attached convenience store. Either would be a big money-maker in a few years when the highway comes. Is she—" he gestured toward Kate, "is she going to capitalize on this opportunity? No! She hasn't got the guts!" Kate sat frozen in her chair. A bed and breakfast? Her parents' home? A service station? When he'd just sworn to keep the house in good repair. Honor her mother's rose 358


gardens. So much for preserving the past. For respecting antiquity. Anger began to build behind the stunned feeling. Cass turned away, expelling breath in total disgust, then swung back around. "So you set about trying to scare her into getting rid of the house." "Just tried to make her uncomfortable. I meant her no harm." "No harm? Do you call ghostly phenomenon no harm? My God man! What about a child? You terrorized a kid into believing in ghosts! No harm?" "Ghosts? I don't know anything about ghosts. All I did was call her on the phone once in awhile and watch the house. Followed her. If she saw ghosts, she did it on her own." Kate sat shocked into silence. He was the one in the black car following her! And he was definitely the man at the ball field who had watched her so closely. The same man, with dyed hair and a beard. Of course, he couldn't have conjured up Leah and placed her in Kate's own mind. She would have been foolish to cling to the ridiculous hope that this would solve all her problems. It made no sense. No sense at all. From the beginning there had been no rhyme or reason. Who was behind the ghostly manifestations? He wanted her house, yes, but apparently Leah wasn't part of the scheme. She was still mulling it over, anger simmering, when they left Spence's office. Cass's hand rode lightly on the small of her back. In the bank lobby, Pearly June called from a teller's window where she waited in line. 359


"Good to see you up and about, Kate. You going by to get that sweet little guy? He's waiting. Oh. Afternoon, T. Roy. It's been an age since I've seen you. When did you grow all that bushy stuff on your face? Look like you met a bear and came off second best. And, I'll swan. You've gone and dyed your hair. You entering your second childhood or what?" Slowly Kate turned to look at "Mr. Blandings." He was T. Roy Blankenship. Her mother's old beau. The one her mother's diary had commented on by saying that he was as easy to reason with as it was to put socks on a chicken. This ... this excuse for a man couldn't possibly be the poet, as she'd thought. Not in a million years! Her eyes followed him. "It's you! You put the flowers on my mother's grave." "I already said she was the prettiest girl in town. I've been wanting to send her flowers for forty years and she'd have none of it. She's got nothing to say about it now." "Would she have accepted them today, after your attempt to cheat me?" The man seemed to shrink inside his suit. He walked on without answering and went out the door. Definitely not the poet. **** Kate had gone over and over in her mind how to approach Max about his father's behavior the night before. Fortunately, she had no visible bruises to remind him of the violent scene, but she was anxious to know Max's reaction. It was important that he not link his personality with Huey in any way that would assume Huey's behavior predetermined his. As it 360


turned out, on the surface at least, the conversation wasn't as difficult as she feared. Ruby June had thoughtfully left them together in her living room while she showed Cass where she wanted him to build a storage shed out back. Max was subdued. "Is Dad a bad man, Mommy?" Mommy. Well, she'd known he would be upset. She took both his hands in hers and strove for a matter-offact tone. "Actually, people aren't bad, Max. Sometimes what they do is bad, but the people themselves aren't necessarily bad down in their hearts." "But he hurt you. That's bad." Kate nodded. "Yes. You are absolutely right. Hurting people is bad." He thought about that for a minute. "But Cass stopped him. That was good. Right?" "That was very good. And the fact that you called Cass the first thing was smart. Very, very good. I'm proud of you. So is Cass. He told me how proud he was that you remembered his cell phone number in a crisis. That's pretty high praise." She ran one hand over the back of his head and pulled him to her. She closed her eyes for a moment and sent a quick prayer of thanks heaven-ward. His voice was muffled in her shirt and he pulled away. "Why did Dad do that? Why did he come here and hurt you?" His eyes were squinched up tight with trying to understand. She looked at him soberly. He was too little for her to expect him to make sense of adult behavior, but she had to try. 361


"We all make choices, Max. Life is about learning to make the right ones. Every morning we get up to a whole new day of making choices. There are times when we want something so bad that we think we just can't live without it, and occasionally we make the wrong decision about how to get whatever it is." "What did Dad want?" Kate sighed. "He wanted ... He wanted us all to live together again. He wanted..." Max's eyes widened in alarm and Kate hurried on. "...he wanted more money than he has and he thought the way to get it was to sell this house." Max's eyes went round. "Our house? Will he ... Are we...? Do we have to move again?" "No." She shook her head firmly. "This is our house, yours and mine. Your dad's name is not on the paper at the bank, it's called a deed, and we are definitely not going to all live together again. I don't want you to think that for one single minute. Grandma's house is our home now. Yours and mine alone." Max looked down at his lap and mumbled so softly Kate could barely hear him. "Will he come back again?" "I don't think so. Not any time soon anyway. You know, Max, whenever you do something unacceptable, when you break the rules, you get punished. Right?" He nodded, again looking at her. "Well, what your dad did was something unacceptable. We called the police because we were afraid he would keep on doing it, and Dad is in jail right now. He is being punished." 362


"He won't like that." "You're right. He won't like it at all. We hope he won't like it enough that he'll never do anything like it again." He hesitated. "Why is he my dad? Why couldn't somebody else be my dad, instead?" Here it was, she thought, and took a big breath. "We're all different, Max. Every single person on the earth is the only one just exactly like that. You are different than me. You are different from Big Lionel. You are different from Cass and your dad. The nice thing is that, no matter who our parents are, we get to choose what we want to be like on the inside. And then we make decisions that shape how that happens. You, and nobody else, decides how you are going to be on the inside when you grow up. Is that clear? It's up to you to make that choice. No one else can do it for you." Max didn't answer, but she could almost see the wheels cranking around in his brain as he tried to process this information. "And," she went on, "as far as another dad is concerned, there is a possib-i-lity," she dragged out the word, "that some day I could find you another dad. Would you like that?" He nodded vigorously. "Yeah. Could we get Cass? Can we ask him? I think he likes us okay." Kate smothered a smile. "I'll give it some thought." Max heaved a big sigh and moved to get up. He turned and gave her the ghost of a conspiratorial grin. "Pearly June cheated again last night at double solitaire, but like you said I didn't get mad. I let her win one game and she was happy." 363


She gave him a quick hug. "I'm proud of you, Max. You're growing into a nice person. And a good friend." He wriggled free, the smile gone. "Okay. Can me and Babe go outside now and play?" Kate wasn't completely satisfied with the doubtful look on his face, but she released his hands and sat back. "It's going to be all right, Max. I don't want you to worry about your dad coming back. We'll be fine." She patted his bottom as he got up to leave. "Go outside now, but don't go far. We're going to ride with Cass over to Springfield and pick up a door." "Awesome! Hey Babe! Let's go out." And he was gone with a clattering rush, Babe's excited yips echoing and his toenails scrabbling on the floor, through the house to the front door. Kate sat back and closed her eyes. It had been too easy. There was surely lots of anxiety hidden beneath what Max was willing to reveal, but she'd work on it one day at a time. One day at a time.

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Seventeen Sharry Baby: Sweet Fragrance Dark green leaves with tiny yellow or deep red and/or lavender blossoms in clusters of sprays—50-100 to a spray. Smells delightfully of chocolate! Grammaphyllum Scriptum. Over Max's protests, Babe was left at home, safely crated in the orchid room. "He'll be lonesome," Max wailed. "He has lots of windows to look out and I cracked one open so he can even smell all the lovely odors from outside." "I'll be lonesome," Max counterattacked. "With all three of us?" "But—" "Max," Cass said quietly. "Babe can't go into a restaurant with us, you know that, and it's too hot to leave him in the car alone. He'd die of heat stroke. And I thought maybe, after we pick up the door, we'd stop at Monical's and get a pizza." Silence. Then, "He played real hard with his sisters at Ruby June's. I guess he might be tired." A bare hint of a smile appeared around Cass's mouth. "Good thinking." Finally, on the road to Springfield, Max settled back with his Game Boy and the only sounds from the back seat were the faint bleeps from the hand-held electronic game. 365


Cass glanced at Kate. "Feel better? Part of it at least is behind us. Can you believe old T. Roy was the guy at the wheel of the mystery car?" Kate shook her head. "I'm still trying to assimilate it all, I think. He was Mom's old beau. You wouldn't think he'd want to do her financial harm. Not the way he acted at the funeral home." "Are you sure it was him?" "Ruby June thinks it was, and she was there. I don't know. He seemed so fond of Mom. And he turned out to be a crook!" "Ruby June wasn't surprised. When we went out back to see where she wants a utility shed, she said he's been dabbling in local and state politics for years. Never ran for any office, but always wanted to be in the know. Where the action was. There've been a few suspicions, she said, of slick deals, shady stuff, but nothing was ever proven. He's a good ole' boy and a wheeler-dealer. Maybe your mom knew, or sensed, even back then, that he wasn't the honest, open guy he pretended to be. After all, she dumped him for your dad." Kate shook her head. "Maybe. She surely scoped Huey out. She tried to tell me the kind of man he was, but I thought I knew him better. Shows what a good judge of men I am." "Ruby June had something to say about him too. Actually, it was more about you." "Me? What about me?" He slanted a glance at her. "She said she wanted to make sure you knew that you couldn't go around drowning all cats because one of them had fleas." 366


Kate swung around in the seat to look at him. "She said that, huh? Why?" "I ... She ... That is..." Cass's ears turned a curious shade of bright pink and Kate felt her own eyebrows go up. Cass was blushing. Cass was blushing! A quick look showed Max deeply into his game. "Cass. Tell me just why Ruby June imparted that bit of homespun philosophy right out of the blue." He cleared his throat. "She, uh, she said she hoped my intentions toward you were honorable. She said it with fire in her eye, and I assured her they were but that I wasn't sure you felt the same way." He said it all in a rush as if he wasn't sure he could get it out any other way. Intentions ... Honorable ... Oh Cass. There were too many other issues hanging. Life was fragmented. She was fragmented. She'd allowed her guard to relax a little and then Huey appeared. Just look what had happened. And there was still Leah lurking around the edges of everything. She couldn't hurt Cass, because she did care. Too much maybe. "Oh Cass. You're such a dear man. And I do have feelings for you." She whipped her head around to peek at Max. She half whispered, pleading, "If I were looking for another man, it would be you. But—" He answered softly but firmly. "Too late. I'm in your face and you can't ignore me." "I'm not a real good bet, right now. You must see that." "Nope. Now that I'm old enough to know what I want, I see the girl of my dreams. You're it." 367


"Hey! Are we almost there?" Max surfaced from the Game Boy to look around. "Won't be long, buddy," Cass answered, his voice falsely enthusiastic. "Why didn't we bring Stacey? She likes pizza, too." "This is the night she tumbles and she can't miss a practice. She has a meet coming up next week." "Oh yeah. I forgot." And Max's head bent to the game. Cass went back to whispering. "Talk about G-rated romances. This one is grand champion." Kate laughed. "You know better than to whisper. His ears are probably stretched out to here. My guess is that he's heard every word." Cass made an inarticulate sound. "I need to talk to you. Pr-i-v-a-t-e-l-y," he spelled. "However," and he gave her a long look full of portent, "first we'll get the door, and then we'll go to Monical's and tie on a couple of diet colas, and..." He sighed. "And everything else will have to wait. In the meantime, are you thinking of what you intend to do with little buddy back there, tonight? Is he going to Bree's?" "I think so. I'll call her now." She dug in her purse for her cell phone. Two minutes later it was settled. Max was delighted with the prospect of popcorn and a scary movie on Bree's sofa bed, just the two of them, and Cass and Kate were both relieved that Max would be out of possible harm's way if the levee didn't prove to be as dependable as Kate thought it was. **** 368


The door was, indeed, beautiful. A fan-shaped, stained glass window arched across the top of inlaid wood paneling. It was, as Cass had said, a special door. Kate watched the workmen wrap it carefully in layer after layer of padding and then tie it securely. The door was placed, with great attention to safety, on even more padding in the back of the pickup and covered in case of rain. At Monicals, Cass and Max declared the pizza to be fantastic, exactly the way pizza ought to taste and seldom did, and Kate was pleased with a huge salad and breadsticks. The room was bright and cheerfully noisy, and somewhere over their heads country music played. They didn't tarry long because, from the booth where they sat, they saw the southwestern sky worsening rapidly as twilight settled over the city. "We're traveling east, ahead of whatever is coming, so let's get going." Cass's eyes were anxious as he hurried them out the door. They stopped at a convenience store only long enough for Kate to run in and get flashlight batteries, bread and milk, and a toothbrush for Max. "Aw, Mom. I don't need a toothbrush." "Yes, you do. You can get by with what you're wearing until I pick you up tomorrow. But you do need a toothbrush." "Oh," Max sat up in alarm. "What about my pillow? And Lambie?" Ah. The pillow could be a problem. He hadn't slept without it for years. It was his security blanket. 369


"I'll bet Bree has a pillow you could substitute. You may have to pretend. But you're good at that. And Lambie will just have to suck it up and do without you for one night. He can manage if you can. All right?" "Well," Max nodded reluctantly. "I'll try." At Bree's he grabbed his Game Boy from the seat, kissed Kate goodbye and was off running up the walk to the apartment door. **** Once home, they let Babe out of his crate. They laughed together as he wriggled around them in welcome, face stretched in what had to be a doggie grin, tail wagging so furiously it threatening to swipe things off tables. "I'll put him out the back door before he demolishes the room," Cass offered. "How big is he going to get, do you think?" Babe's excitement mounted at his favorite word, "out." His toenails scrabbled frantically on the hardwood floor. "Not much bigger. He's seven months. Oh, look!" Kate bent over the orchid table. "The Twinkle Fantasy is going to bloom. It's a baby. Never bloomed before." Carefully, she moved a leaf to peer closer. "The blossoms will look like tiny winged angels. They are so sweet." Cass looked, made the appropriate noises, and then assured Babe they were indeed going out. His cell phone rang as he left the room, and she could hear his voice answering as he went toward the back of the house. 370


The orchid table was a mass of glorious and various colors of blossoms and healthy, glossy green foliage. She added some water to the gravel in the bottom of the tray and turned a few pots. Then, satisfied, she stood back to admire the sight. The orchids looked almost iridescent against the backdrop of lace curtain and an odd pearly glow of fading light from the window. The sky looked strange as the approaching storm neared. A shiver ran up Kate's spine. Cass poked his head around the door frame. "Are you all right here for a few minutes? I have an errand that won't wait. Won't be gone long. I want to beat the storm." "I'm fine. I don't need a babysitter." "That isn't what I meant, but I'll hurry. I don't like the looks of the sky." And he was gone. The door closed behind him and she heard him taking the front steps two at a time. She smiled. He was always in a hurry. As bad as Max. And as good. And about as dear. For the first time she allowed herself to think just how dear he was, and her heart clenched like a fist in her chest. She cared more than she liked to think. He was every inch a man. Not counting muscles, abs and sheer breadth of body, he was about as "male" as a girl could possibly hope for. He even smelled like a man. Not sweat, although he worked as hard as any of his men and did raise a steam by the end of the day, but there was a unique male scent about him that wasn't all soap and water. It was just Cass. Again, she smiled. She liked it. Then she frowned. She did not think it was a good sign that she thought about the way he smelled even when he wasn't near. 371


As long as she was considering his attributes, she ought to include that he was good with Max. He actually seemed to enjoy the boy. Anyone who voluntarily spent quality time with a seven-year-old boy couldn't be all bad, could he? And he was honest. Dependable. Caring, in small ways. The way he guided her with a hand in the small of her back when they left the house. His help in the kitchen as they worked together getting a meal on the table, reaching around each other companionably, tasting whatever bubbled on the stove, cleaning up after eating. His patience with Stacey and Max. His determination to protect her from the levee. His work ethic, strong and unflagging. She could go on. Yes, he was stubborn as a two-headed mule, as her father used to say, but then so was she about some things. She heaved a big breath and let it out slowly. To her surprise, what she felt about Cass included the word contentment. A gently swollen, very good, feeling. Oh Mom, where are you when I need you? What do I do with this good man? You were all too right about Huey, but what about Cass? And then she made a very unladylike sound. It would be insanity to put the two men in the same class. They were as near alike as a glacier and a bonfire. She wasn't thinking straight. None of this need be decided right now. But there was one pressing thing that did need to be done. The special wall hanging she'd agreed to do for Joe was finished and ought to be dry enough by now that she could package it for sending. The wall hanging, the rush job, was indeed ready to be rolled and sent. She loved the feel of the silk sliding through 372


her fingers and critically admired what she'd done to make the piece beautiful. It was good, she thought, without pride. Damn good. I just have to bring it to the attention of the rest of the world. And Joe Kiniki was her ticket to prosperity. She laughed. At this point, he was her ticket to survival in her field. Crawling up the ladder of success, rung by rung, was a challenge she welcomed, but the stress involved was formidable. Even though Joe had prospects for her, including dresses for the entire female half of a wedding party, nothing was certain. She didn't dare get complacent. She never knew where the next commission was coming from. Kate had just finished sticking the address label on the package when Cass appeared at the door. "Let me in, lady. I come bearing gifts." In the distance thunder rumbled and the window lit with a brief flash of lightning. At the door, in the near dark, he stood grinning like Max with a handful of dandelions. Only he held a great pot of something swaddled in tissue paper. She opened the door. "Gifts? For me?" "Well, one gift anyway." He handed her the pot. "Be careful. It's heavy." "What is it?" "Open it and find out." The smile threatened to swallow his face. "Cass, you don't need to buy me presents. What have you done?" She put the pot on the table and carefully undid the tissue. Her sharp indrawn breath was a gasp of surprise and delight. "Oh Cass! It's beautiful!" 373


She peeled the last of the paper away. "An orchid! You bought me an orchid!" Kate laughed as the long fronds waved with movement and set all the tiny blossoms to dancing. "Yup. I did that very thing. First, read the card." Slipping the small card from the wand which held it, she read, "From Someone Who Loves You." Her eyes flooded with tears. "Oh Cass. You shouldn't have." "It's been on order for weeks from the lady at that orchid show you wanted to go to, and it just came in. That was what the call was about. Jerry wanted to know if I needed it before she closed the shop for the night." Kate stood watching the dancing blossoms with one hand to her mouth. Her voice was quiet with awe. "It's a Sharry Baby. I can smell the chocolate from here." She knew what these special plants cost. She dealt with them daily. One this size would have set him back a sizable sum. She'd fantasized about owning one for a long time. "That's what I ordered. Sharry Baby. That first time I came to the house and you showed me through, that's what you said you wanted. Do you like it?" "Like it? That isn't the right word. It's from the Oncidium family. This variety is a mericlone. See the yellow skirt and frilly wine-colored tops? Oh Cass, it's absolutely gorgeous! Thank you!" She turned and threw her arms around him in a spontaneous gesture of gratitude. When she would have withdrawn, his hands at her waist pulled her gently but firmly to him, closer and closer. 374


His head bent to hers, his eyes suddenly and fiercely intent. His voice went husky. "It takes orchids to get a hug? Wonder what a diamond would get me?" His look was as black as his hair, curling over his forehead, and his gaze was so intent the smile lines fanning out from his eyes deepened. She felt his thumbs on her ribcage, moving in a circular motion. "What would a diamond get me, Katey-mine?" he asked, his voice rough. Before she could think how to answer, his head descended slowly and she forgot to think at all. His mouth was soft, brushing his lips over hers until her own mouth softened and she felt a sigh leave her. Oh yes. This was Cass. Dear, dear Cass. A rock against which she could safely brace her back and face the world. His hands still spanned her waist and his eyes, those stubby-lashed, dark eyes that she so loved were not laughing. "This house would be a nice place for the wedding." "Wedding?" "Our wedding." The air in the room seemed to disappear. Take it lightly. Don't panic. "Oh yeah? And just when had you planned this big event?" "Kate, I want to marry you. Whenever you say." "The second Tuesday of next week do?" She tried to lighten the moment, to distance herself from him, but he held her tight. "I'm serious. I want a life again. A family. I want a home to come to at night. I want kids around the table. I want to help someone with homework. You in bed with me when I 375


wake up in the morning. I want a house where I can mow the lawn and a driveway where I can work on the car. I want to take care of you and Max. I want to teach the kid how to tackle around the knees and shoot three pointers from the corner of the court. I love him. I love you. I want us to be married." Kate tried to steady her breathing. He deserved more than a flip answer. This was the time for honesty and openness. She touched his cheek with her fingertips and let them trail down his jaw to his lips. Her head fell forward to rest on his chest. "Let's go out on the porch. I need more air for this kind of conversation." They went through the hall and the kitchen, where a tiny, shaded lamp glowed on the counter, and out onto the screened porch. No candles burned this night. The only light came from the dim lamp in the kitchen. The porch was dark. Beyond the screen, the wind had heightened, whipping long trailing fronds of the hanging asparagus fern back and forth. Deep charcoal, hanging clouds seethed against the nearly constant sheet lightning blossoming on the night horizon to the southwest. Kate picked up the cushions from the chairs and stacked them against the house. "Looks like we're going to get that storm after all." Cass took her arm. "I didn't come out here to talk about the weather. I want to know why you're dragging your feet about marrying me. I know you love me. I can see it in your eyes and feel it when I hold you. We're good together. And I 376


don't just mean compatible. We're good at life. We compliment each other. I'd be good to you, honey. You know I would. And I'd love Max as the son I don't have, yet. Eventually, I'd like more children, if you would. But Max would always be my first son. Why are you hesitating?" Kate wrapped her arms around her middle and looked at him miserably. "It's true. All of it. I do love you and if there was ever to be another man in my life, you seem to be him. I never thought I'd ever find someone who I could trust Max with, be comfortable with myself, live with. I didn't want to love again. Because when you give yourself in love, there's the potential for so much hurt." "I won't hurt you, Kate. You must know that. I'd never hurt you. Never." "Not intentionally. I believe that. But there are so many ways we could hurt each other." He threw his hands wide. "You can't go through life throwing happiness away because of what might happen. You'll end up lonely and bitter and missing all of the beauty life has to offer. You can't do that, Kate." "I wish I could love you just a little. It would be easier. But I don't. What I feel for you is so much more than that. And I'm almost willing to gamble that we could make it work. But Cass, I'm scared. What about my history with men? What about Leah? You can't just blow off problems. They have to be solved. And I'm not sure either one of these things will ever be solved."

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He threw up his hands. "What 'history'? My God, Kate, you're talking about one man. One man! That doesn't constitute much of a history." "It's a lot to me and Max." "But it's over now. Huey is not going to be a problem ever again. I can guarantee it. We'd want no child support. After what just happened, there wouldn't be visiting rights for a long time, if ever. I give you my word I'll take care of the two of you. Huey is no longer your burden alone. We, you and I and Stacey, are Max's family. I'll be his dad. And I'll do my damnedest to be a good one. Now that Huey knows he can't get his hands on this house and bleed you for money, I have my doubts that he'll ask to see much of Max anyway. Huey is a name from the distant past for us. Believe it!" A vicious gust of wind pulled at them, whipping Kate's hair across her face. The trellis at the corner of the porch rattled against the screen. Abruptly, the screen door opened and slammed shut. There was a smell of imminent rain in the air. She nodded, her eyes swimming with tears, and threaded her fingers through her hair to smooth it back. "I'd like to. I'll try. I really will. But there's still Leah. How can we deal with a ghost? There isn't anything to be done!" "I don't honestly know how we'll beat her, but fighting her together will be more powerful than you all by yourself. The first thing we'll have to do, I'm afraid, is move out of the house. How would you feel about that?" She sniffled inelegantly. "I don't know. I love the house. And I don't want to 'fight Leah,' as you put it. I have a funny 378


feeling about her. Maybe we're interpreting these happenings all wrong." He made a face of disbelief. "How else could we interpret them?" "I'm not sure, but I have an occasional feeling that she's trying to warn me of something." "Warn you of what?" "If I knew I'd feel a lot better. The other night in the rain, in the car. That was a clear warning. And there is the dream of my own tombstone with the date of my death already chiseled in. Which, incidentally, I haven't forgotten is today. Thank God nothing has happened, but early this morning I wasn't so sure." "But honey," Cass said. "It is after all a dream. Just a bad dream." "Maybe. I'm beginning to think that could have been a warning, too. The first minute we walked into the house, Leah was here, definitely warning me of something, although I surely didn't think that at the time. I wonder, now, if I might have misinterpreted that look from the mirror. Was Leah expressing, not anger or hatred like I had thought, but fear of something? Not that she, herself, was fearful, but that she was trying to tell me I ought to be afraid, watchful, for something." Cass frowned. "You knew her in a way I didn't. Do you really believe this?" "And when these things happen, the scent of gardenias is always present. Her favorite scent. It's as if she's still with me in some uncanny way." 379


Cass's frown deepened. "What about the way she makes herself known when I get too close to you? Isn't that a warning too? Of another kind, maybe?" "Did you notice? When you kissed me just now, in the house, nothing happened." Wind gusted about them, flattening their clothes against their bodies. On the patio, a flower pot blew over. Kate scarcely noticed. "Yeah. What's that signify?" Kate shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine." "Could she have been warning you all along about old T. Roy's planned deception?" "Somehow that hardly seems a big enough issue to bring her spirit out of wherever it's been all these years. No, I could have handled T. Roy eventually, on my own. I think she is afraid of something I can't handle." "If it is T. Roy, then it's over." "But if it isn't..." Cass threw his hands wide. "She's one piece of work, your sister. Was she always this difficult?" Kate hesitated. This seemed to be the night of opening closed doors. She made up her mind. "I'd like to show you something out in the utility shed. Will you come with me?" He held out a hand in acquiescence and she took it in hers. Collecting a flashlight from a drawer in the kitchen, she led him across the porch and outside. The wind pulled the screen door from Cass's hand and slammed it back against the house. Kate's hair whipped across her face. Long tendrils came loose from the clasp at her nape, nearly blinding her. 380


The force almost staggered Kate; it pushed and pulled at them relentlessly. She raised her voice to be heard over the wind. "It's a lawn ornament. A statue of a young girl Dad bought when Leah and I were about twelve. We all fell in love with it one day when we were shopping and we brought it home. It stood in the rose garden until she died and then Dad had it removed because it reminded him and Mom of her. The constant memory was too painful. I found it in the tool shed back at the rear of the property. I want you to see it." "I'm guessing there's a reason." "It's so like her. Maybe you can get a better picture of her by seeing this statue than you can by looking at our picture." He dodged a flailing tree branch, dragging her with him. "If you say so. Frankly I'm more interested in you at this point." Wind lashed the swing in ragged arcs. Roses, in their neat beds, whipped back forth as if they were being shaken by an earthquake. Cass steadied her against his side as they leaned into the wind and raised his voice. "We'd better get back inside. I don't like this wind. Where's Babe?" They were shouting. Kate put her hands to her mouth and yelled. "Babe. Come here. Babe!" No playful puppy bounded toward them. No shrill bark told them he'd heard. "He isn't in the yard. I don't see him." "He's around someplace. Don't worry. Where could he go? Ruby June's?" "Maybe Max left the gate open somehow..." 381


"He'll turn up," Cass shouted into her ear. They fought the wind to open the side door of the utility shed, but once inside and away from the force of the storm they could speak normally. Kate flipped on the overhead light, which cast a dim glow on only a small central area, and picked her way around an old saw horse, past a jumble of clay flower pots, and a row of stacked paint cans to a back corner. The flashlight picked up the form of something shrouded in an old tarp. "There," she said. "That's it." "Just what is it?" "I'll show you." Leaning forward she grasped the end of the tarp and pulled. A three-foot high piece of garden statuary emerged, silent and frozen in graceful motion. The marble image was a deep, obsidian black. The head was bowed slightly and turned sideways in a teasing, almost laughing manner. On her back were two relatively small wings, flexed and waiting. The hands were outstretched, palms upward in supplication, and on one finger a tiny butterfly balanced, ready for flight. She wore a short, flared skirt and stood on one foot, the other raised slightly as if she were about to pirouette. "I can never look at it without remembering Leah as she danced, flirting with the audience, appearing weightless, elfin and magical." She swallowed down a painful stricture in her throat. "Apparently, she isn't finished dancing through my life." "She's beautiful." Cass said, warily. 382


"This is Leah," Kate said, softly. "My twin. The other half of myself. Can you see—?" She broke off with a cry of horror. From each of the statue's eyes trickled a rivulet of moisture. The cheeks were wet. Leah was crying!

383


Eighteen Free Spirit: Lea Sometimes called "moth orchid," up to three inches across with pure white sepals, plump petals, and a buttery yellow throat. Phalaenopsis Amabilis. "Leah!" The anguished cry broke from Kate's lips. She took one horrified step back and came up against the hard wall of Cass's chest. "Easy. Easy. What the hell is happening?" Kate closed her eyes to the sight, and with a moan she turned and buried her face in Cass's shirt. His arms came around her, protecting, shielding. "She's hurting. Leah never cried. Never. Until the end. She didn't want anyone to know if she had pain of any kind. She's hurting!" "Kate. Honey. I don't know what to say." His voice wasn't steady. "Shall we cover her up and leave?" She shook her head, both fists clenched in his shirt. "No. Give me a minute." With great effort Kate pulled herself together and turned, leaning against Cass. The black marble statue stood as before, silently weeping, arms outstretched, butterfly poised. What is it, Leah? Don't cry. Please don't cry. Didn't we cry enough tears at the time to last a dozen forevers? 384


The overpowering scent of gardenias suddenly filled the small tool shed. Kate stiffened. "She's here," she said. "Leah's here. Can you smell her?" Against her back she felt Cass's chest swell as he inhaled. "I don't smell anything," he answered. She slanted a quick look up at him. He shook his head. "Nothing. What do you smell?" "Gardenias. Her special scent. She used it all the time. She's here." Cass's arms tightened. "She won't hurt you. I won't let anything hurt you." Kate shook her head. "She isn't here to hurt me. You don't understand." "You got that right." He expelled a nervous lungful of air. "This is well beyond the league of bending spoons." Katey-did. The voice seemed to expand out of thin air and magnify. Kate's heartbeat accelerated. Katey-did-did-did. "I'm here, Leah. Talk to me. Tell me." Cass's voice rumbled from behind. "You're communicating with her?" he asked in disbelief. "I can hear her. Feel her. She's here." Careful, Katey-did. Please! Be careful. "Careful about what, Leah?" Silence. "I'm waiting, Leah. Careful about what?" Nothing. "Why are you crying?" Kate pleaded. "Maybe I can help." No! No! It was an agonized wail in Kate's head. Careful, Katey. Be careful. 385


Without thinking, only feeling the pain, the fear, in Leah's voice, Kate moved out of Cass's arms and took a step toward the statue. And another. She knelt and reached out a hand, taking the tiny, cold, marble fingers in hers. The voice in her head was louder. Tortured. Kate winced. Go! Get out! Now! Leave! "You want me to leave the shed? Leave here? But why?" Go away! Far away! Go now! "You want me to leave you and go far away?" "Yes!" Still holding the hand of the statue, Kate looked up at Cass. She would try and explain later, for the look on his face plainly spoke of his confusion. "She wants us to leave. Do you think the two of us together could lift this statue and put it into the pickup?" No! No! No! Go, Katey-did. Careful! Quick! The tears coursed more freely than ever down the cheeks of the statue. "But ... I don't want to leave you." Yes! Go! Now! Reluctantly, Kate rose and took a step back, never taking her eyes from the statue. "She says we should go away. Away from her, the shed, and maybe..." She frowned. "Cass, maybe even away from the house. That's what she said, anyway." "Got it." Cass turned Kate with a hand in the small of her back and propelled her toward the door. "Let's get out of here." "But why?" Kate looked over her shoulder. "To please her. You said yourself this is what she wanted." 386


"I can't leave her." "Just go! Katey-did, GO!" "But I don't want to go!" "Please!" Reluctantly, she moved away from the statue, toward the door. Then her feet stopped. She tried to turn back but Cass refused to let her. "If you don't come on your own, I'm going to throw you over my shoulder. We're getting out of here." Kate turned away and then swung back. "Leah..." She went cold and stopped dead in her tracks, Cass plowing into her back. "What the hell? Move, Kate!" "Look. Cass, look. The butterfly—It's gone!" Cass hesitated, looking over his shoulder. "My God. It's disappeared." For one stunned second they both stared at the statue, the small finger bare, then Cass opened the door and abruptly thrust her outside and into the storm. The wind and rain caught them with a vengeance. With Cass's arm around her they fought their way across the yard, past the rose bush and the wildly gyrating swing and into the house. "Wait!" Kate shouted, as Cass was about to shut the door. "Babe is out there." He looked out at the storm and the wind and the night and shook his head. "He'd never hear us calling. We'll keep watch at the doors if he comes home." "He's never been loose. The gate must have been left open. Max ... I don't know what he'll do if Babe is lost." 387


"He'll come home. He's probably taken shelter under someone's porch." Kate pulled her dripping hair back with one hand and held it at the nape of her neck. She turned toward the bathroom. "Let me get a couple of towels for us to dry off and..." Without warning they were plunged into profound darkness. "Well hell!" Cass said from somewhere across the room, in the dark. "There went the power. Hope the oil lamp is where you can get at it." With the aid of the flashlight, but somehow, hampered by a feeling of impending doom, she was able to locate the oil lamp in the pantry and light it. They set it in the middle of the kitchen table and looked at each other across the flickering flame. "Now what?" Cass asked. Something was going to happen. Kate knew it. And apparently Leah knew it, too. "Leah wants us to leave. Get out, she said, and I think she meant out of the house." "Best news I've had all night. Let's go." "But why? She didn't say why." "I don't know why, but I like the way she thinks, in this instance anyway. Come on. The way it's raining the lake might overflow. And in that case I don't like our chances here." "Cass, I don't want to go anywhere." Clearly frustrated, Cass came around the table and took her in his arms. With his chin resting on her head, he rocked back and forth. 388


"I know you don't. And I know this is hard. But I think we need to go as Leah said, no questions asked. Let me get you out of here if only for the night. Please Kate. Don't dig in your heels on this. Just until morning. Okay?" Finally, she nodded. "Until morning. Okay. But I have to take a few things. I can't go without—" She drew away. "Where will we go? Bree and Max think I'm here." "We'll call them and let them know where we are when we get there. My house is the obvious place at this point, but we'll discuss it when... Suddenly, the night was split by a loud siren. Kate's mouth went dry. The sound undulated louder and fading, louder and fading, for several seconds before Cass moved. "That's the disaster signal from the top of the water tower. It's pulsing and that means evacuate. Something big is threatening. Likely the levee. Let's go." Heart pounding, Kate ran for the stairs. "I'm not going without..." "Without what? There's no time for anything. Kate!" But Kate was already halfway up the stairs. She called, "Grab as many orchids as you can handle from the table in the sun room and take them to the truck, will you? I'll be right behind you." Within minutes she was down the stairs carrying a full laundry basket. She stopped only long enough to snatch the package ready for mailing to Joe Kinicki from the table, lift the portrait of herself and Leah from the wall and stuff the new Sharrie Baby orchid pot down the side of the basket. 389


Slamming the front door closed, she fled down the steps and to the pickup with the siren still screaming in her ears. She was filled with a wild terror. The sounds of the night were so loud she felt deaf. The rising wind. The harsh clash from the neighbor's wind chimes. The keening in her own throat that she couldn't quite stop. Cass had the engine running and his cell phone in his hand. "It's rained five inches in the last hour to the northeast and the levee's been breached up river. We've got to get out of here." "Max!" she cried, dumping the basket behind the seat in the club cab, climbing into the pickup, and slicking back her rain-drenched hair from her face all in one movement. "Bree's apartment complex is on high ground, to the east, well away from the river. They're okay, but you'd better call. I already called Stace." Kate dug in her purse for the cell phone and punched in Bree's number. "We're okay," Bree said, striving for an even tone. "Don't worry about us. But you get out of the valley. Fast." "Right. We're on our way. Call me, will you, if anything changes?" "Sure. Just go, Kate! Go!" It was what Leah had said. They went. Cass gunned the engine and tromped on the gas pedal. "I called the police station. They estimate the water will be over our own levee in ten minutes, tops. My house is in as much danger as yours so we'll head for Shooter's Hill. It's the nearest high ground. Hang on." 390


It seemed that everyone in town was trying to leave. Cars were thick on Main Street, swerving, trying to hurry, their drivers half-blinded by the sheeting rain. Limbs were down, trash lay in the streets, and water pooled in the roadways so that in some spots traffic was slowed to a standstill. "Can you see?" Kate asked, peering through the windshield. "Not much." He was hunched over the wheel. "If you spot anything in the road, yell." The relentless rain poured down as the windshield wipers slapped ineffectually back and forth. "There're the Junes!" Kate pointed. The license plate could belong to no one else. "And all the dogs are in the back seat." "Yup. WUPEDO's hard to miss!" Both Cass's hands gripped the wheel and his eyes focused on the road. He negotiated the flooded street in water well up the hub caps of the pickup. "It looks like Babe in the back seat. I think it's Babe! It is Babe! They found him!" As they cleared the city limits, the congestion lessened. One line of traffic headed west onto the Interstate, but Cass turned north onto a country road. Though she couldn't see well, Kate had an impression of ditches beside the road flowing with a hard, fast current. From time to time Cass slowed to a crawl as they made their way through water standing across the highway. "Dangerous to do this—we don't know how deep it is," he muttered. "But we have no choice. We have to get further away from the river and to a higher elevation." Kate clung to the door and willed them through. 391


The road narrowed to a single lane bordered on both sides by so much water they couldn't see dry land. The flooded fields lapped at the blacktop. For the first time, Kate was truly afraid they might not make it to the hill. When, finally, the road began to climb, fields that had become lakes vanished and trees began to appear beside them. Cass relaxed somewhat and put out a hand to grip Kate's. "We'll be fine. And so will Max. Don't worry. We're okay." "I know." Kate said through chattering teeth. "Just pray we make it up Shooter's Hill." Visibility was so poor Kate could only guess how Cass kept the truck on the road. Rain poured on the roof so hard and loud it was necessary to shout to be heard. Cass squeezed her hand for a moment before gripping the wheel again. "Are you cold? I know you're wet, but it's warm." "Just scared, I think. And wishing I'd had another five minutes to collect things from the house." "I have a couple of blankets and an almost full thermos of coffee behind the seat. And," he shook his head ruefully, "a magnificent door that won't be worth spit if I don't have a house in which to hang it when dawn breaks." "Oh Cass! I never thought about the house you're building. It's almost done! Will you lose everything?" "It might be okay. It's on the other side of town, away from the river, but we'll have to wait until dawn to see. And yeah, I'll lose a bundle if the house goes, but not everything." "What about your own house?" 392


He shrugged. "It isn't all that far away from yours. We might lose them both, Kate. You need to be prepared for that." She slumped back in the seat and peered sightlessly out the windshield. The wipers did little to clear vision, anyway. Her house, her home, might be gone before morning. Her haven, with no mortgage. All her mother's beautiful furniture, some antiques, her own silk frames ... The list grew. Her grandmother's sewing table. Grandpa's ball peen hammer that he'd given her when she was five years old. She'd used it as she followed him the around house puttering at odd jobs. The dollhouse in the attic she and Leah had played with and loved with all their little-girl hearts. The rose and lily beds. Her orchids. Oh God, her orchids. So much. She would lose so very much. She stared out the windshield, unable to look at Cass. They had each other. That was the most important thing. They were all safe and not riding the roof of a house down a rampaging river. To fill the silence she had to say something. Words. Normal words. "I'm not totally sure that was Babe in the back seat. If not, he's still out in this, somewhere. We'll never find him." "I'll look for him the first chance I get. He's likely all right. Try and think that, anyway." They were on a gravel road now, steadily climbing. Trees whipped wildly above them, blotting out the sky. Gusting wind pummeled the truck, rocking it alarmingly. Cass hung on to the wheel and eased up even more on the gas pedal. 393


If possible the rain came down harder than ever. It was like driving through a waterfall. Solid sheets of water. The windshield wipers were useless. "Where are we?" "Almost up Shooter's Hill." "Isn't Shooter's Hill where we used to bring sleds in the winter and shoot down the incline?" Kate knew she was chattering, but didn't care. Talking helped. "It was the steepest hill anywhere near. Never thought it would turn out to be a safe haven in a flood. That's also where we looked at the stars from the back of the pickup. Right?" "Right. Only we were on the other side of the hill." He spared her a quick glance with one raised eyebrow. "Quite a view. There used to be a spot about half way up the bluff ... Yes, right here." He cranked the wheel, hard, and they were off the road at an angle and stopped. No landmarks were visible through the storm and the wail of the wind and the pounding of the sheeting rain was more pronounced than ever. Sound seemed magnified within the confines of the cab. "This is an overhang where, on a good day, you can look over the entire valley. I figure we'll have a bird's eye view when there's light enough to see." He backed the pickup into the side of the hill. They were almost snuggled into the trees and brush with a narrow opening to one side. "We'll be protected here from the worst of the weather and a possible tornado, should there be one." "I don't remember this." 394


"Just built it about five years ago. There are some picnic tables off to the side. It's a nice little park. On a good day." He stretched out an arm back of the seat and came up with the thermos of coffee. "Here, have some. It'll warm your innards, as my dad used to say." Kate poured the hot liquid into the lid of the cup and they took turns sipping from it. Long minutes passed while she tried to absorb what was happening. A flood was coming. Was already here. In the dark. In the night. And her house might be washed away. No, probably had already been washed away. Her house and everything in it. Yet despite all this, she was filled with a sense of enormous relief at being safe. She and Cass were okay, and Max was with Bree. And Stacey was with her mom in a high rise across the river. She prayed the Junes had escaped to high ground as well. All the important people in her life. As if he'd read her mind, Cass asked, "What did you bring from the house? In the basket that you shouldn't have taken time to fill," he added wryly. She sighed and brought her mind back from wandering out over the edge of the overhang, over the blackness of the abyss that might, even at this moment, be filling with muddy, black river water. "Max's clown pillow. The one his grandma made him when he was a baby. He sleeps with it every night. Lambie. A photo album, mostly pictures of Max as a baby." Kate wrapped her arms around her waist and took a deep breath. "A couple of orchids, including the Sharry Baby you brought me tonight. The silk I just finished for Joe. It's ready for mailing and 395


means a fat commission. I scooped in all the paints I could reach in a hurry, and brushes. And two packages of silk I haven't even opened yet. Two containers of Max's matchbox cars. I balanced the portrait of Leah and me on top of the whole thing." She was silent for a moment. "Not much really." "You got the important stuff. But you wanted to bring Leah's statue." "I hated to leave her." She turned in her seat to face him. "Cass, do you think it possible that she was trying to warn me all along of the coming flood? That somehow she knew and was afraid for me? I'd like to think that." "Nothing in this whole summer that involved Leah has made sense. I don't know why this should be different. It's all in how you choose to interpret events. Sure, it's possible. She must have loved you, even when she was being difficult. Your memories of growing up support that." "She was terribly angry with me, though, at the time of the accident. And then she took her own life in such a horrible way, knowing that I'd be the one to find her." "Ah, honey." He reached for her and drew her close. He moved his hands over her slowly, comfortingly, as if memorizing her body. "Sometimes people give in to angry rages that have nothing to do with the ones they love. You were handy for her to vent her frustration. Maybe she knew you'd find her and maybe not. In any case, she knew that you, above all others, would forgive her. No matter what she'd done. The two of you were halves of a whole. She trusted you with everything she had to give." 396


Her eyes were so dry that her eyeballs ached. She closed her lids and burrowed into Cass's shoulder. Her voice was muffled. "I would have liked to say goodbye. We left in such a hurry, and the storm was so awful. She was crying." "That statue wasn't her, Kate. You know that. She might have used it as a conductor of some kind to get a message to you, a message so strong you couldn't ignore it, but she herself has been gone for a long time." "She's been pretty close around since I came back to the house! Well, her spirit, anyway." He rubbed her back as they sat in companionable silence. "I don't pretend to understand any of this, but the one thing that is coming in loud and clear is that no matter how angry she once was, she loved you more than you've been thinking. That dream about the tombstones. She even gave you the date your life would be threatened. Had you thought of that?" She nodded. "That helps. It helps a lot. What was so hard was believing all along that she hated me. And now, now that she's truly gone, I feel a sense of peace, of closure, about her. Do you think the house will be gone in the morning? Her statue?" "I think it's a distinct possibility. I'm afraid so. Yes." "If the house is gone ... Everything I've read leads me to believe that the spirit stays within the confines of a certain space. On the other hand, she appeared in the car." Kate drew a ragged breath. "Now that she accomplished her goal ... If the house is gone, maybe Leah is gone, too. Maybe she wanted me to release her somehow. Maybe she 397


thought that if I got mad enough at her interference I'd somehow do something to set her free." "You're going to have to choose a theory. Either she was trying to make you thoroughly angry, or she was trying to save you. I vote for the latter. And I agree that if the flood reaches that far, and there's little doubt it will, the house is gone. And so, likely, is Leah's spirit. Hold the thought, honey, that she's happy. She warned you, and you and Max are safe. At the same time, she has been set free from her attachment to the house. Can you be content with that?" "Maybe. Yes. I think so." She was weary. So weary she thought her bones might crumble into dust, and at the same time she was wired too tight to sit still. "I keep thinking of her pointing at me from the window at home. What if she wasn't pointing, but imploring me to understand? What if she wasn't telling me to go, but saying 'let me go,' instead?" The beam of headlights cut through the night behind them and a car inched its way into the space beside them. Behind that car, another and yet another, came to a stop. "Someone else remembered this as high ground," Cass said. "It's the Junes! And I don't know who else. Crack the window," she cried. "Are you okay?" she called through the slit. The storm hadn't abated. Wind and rain sliced in through the narrow opening. "Right as rain," came the answer and then a laugh. "Well, never mind the rain. We're all okay. And we have Babe here. 398


He'd just come to visit when the sirens went off, so we loaded him into the car with all the rest." Kate waved that she understood, gave a thumbs up with both hands, and pressed the button to roll up the window. "They have Babe!" "I heard. And now you know everyone is all right. You can quit worrying about that, love. We'll cope with the rest in the morning." She tried to smile, but couldn't quite bring it off. "I guess. I'm not sure I want morning to come, though." "It's all right, Kate. We'll make it all right. As long as the ones we love are safe, we are rich beyond belief right now." "I'm going to call Max to make sure. I think Stacey will feel better to hear from you too." "Right. You go first." Kate was right. Both children were immeasurably relieved to hear they were safe. Max was watching a rerun of some baseball movie with Bree and chowing down on a bowl of popcorn he'd made in the microwave all by himself, with Aunt Bree standing by of course. They hadn't even lost power. Kate heaved a huge breath. The tension and fear of the past half hour began to drain away and in their place came a curious sense of peace. Whatever would happen was already under way and there was nothing she could do about it. They were all safe, and houses and possessions could be replaced. She sighed. "I don't guess we have to worry about selling Dad's car now, do we?" "Not likely. And I had a hot prospect too." "Now, to wait until dawn." 399


"And I know just how to put in the time." She looked at him with a question in her eyes. He looked almost boyish. In the dim glow from the dash, his eyes shimmered with love and a glimmer of laughter. "How long has it been since you made out in the front seat of a car?" "A very long time," she said, and glanced around the inside of the cab. "I'm not sure I want to know how long it's been for you." "That's all about to change." "But Ruby June and Pearly—" "Let 'em find their own man. I need to kiss you now that we're all safe." His kiss wasn't tentative. Nor was it the kiss of a patient man. It was that of a man who had waited long enough. She could feel him trembling through the cotton of his shirt. Damn the torpedoes, she thought. The windows were so steamed up she couldn't see out. Maybe that meant no one could see in. A laugh welled in her throat. The Junes would only cheer her on if they could see. She turned her face to his and felt the silky texture of his hair brush her cheek. The need to affirm life was strong. They'd survived a very real, and horribly frightening, danger. Life, every moment, was precious. "Maybe it's been long enough." "Long enough for what?" he whispered into her mouth as his lips sought hers again. "Long enough to trust again. Long enough to love." 400


In an easy move he pushed the seat back, pulled her across his lap and angled his body so that they were comfortable. In the shadows she saw his mouth stretch in a smile. "You can trust me, Katey-love. I'm a law-abiding, churchgoing, old-fashioned husband type. Boring." His hand snaked up beneath her blouse and unerringly found a breast. "Perfect. I knew it. Perfect," he breathed. "Never..." Her breath became shallow as her heart began to club against her rib cage. "Never boring." His thumb, callused with hard, honest work, brushed across one nipple and her whole body sprang to attention. "I have never been to Cancun or the Galapagos Islands, and may never get there, but I can take you to the stars any old time you want. Just say the word." And he grinned at her wickedly. She tilted her head at a provocative angle and asked playfully, "Just what word would that be?" "Marry me," he demanded. "Say it. Say you'll marry me. We'll spend our engagement night in the pickup, making our own fireworks." He pulled her closer yet. The softness of her breasts was crushed against the hard planes of his chest wall. He trembled the entire length of his body. The thought registered that in spite of the difference in their sizes, they seemed to fit. Wonder of all wonders, her curves and fullness fit just where they needed to fit against the rigid angles of his body. Her softness against his hardness. 401


He ran a hand down her hip and thigh. "God, you feel like silk. The finest, most expensive silk that city slicker friend of yours can buy. Oh yes. Whoopee. Big whoopee." "Whoopee?" she laughed. "Whoopee?" "A certain license plate comes to mind, but you get the idea. Will you? It's over, love. It's all over. Leah is at rest and all that's left for us is the good stuff. You and me, Max and Stace. The amount of billable hours Jessica is putting in, I don't think she'll object to changing Stacey's domicile to my address. We've talked about it. What do you think?" He held her away from him and ran his hands up and down her arms. "You may not even have an address, come morning." His hands never stopped. It was if he thought she might disappear without the touch of his hands. "Sure I will. May not have a house on the property, but the land will still be there. I'll make a home for us, Kate. Don't ever doubt it. I'll build a house for you. It may never be on the National Historical Register, but it'll be first in our hearts wherever and whatever it is. How about it?" The feel of his hand caressing her back was almost like a blessing. She felt treasured. Cherished. "You'll make Chocolate Cherry Drops at Christmas and I'll do my best to dig up and transplant your mother's lily bed. Sound good?" She could feel the beginnings of a slow smile begin to spread, first in her heart, as he had said, then into her eyes, and finally it reached the corners of her mouth. She took her time, cocking her head and sliding a sloweyed look his way. "Question." "Yeah?" 402


"Build me another screened porch if mine is gone?" "You got it. On the new house, if yours is gone." The smile spread across her face. Her chin tilted toward him, his face anxious, his eyes showing dawning understanding. "It's yes!" he shouted. "You're saying yes! Tie down the lampshades, ladies, she said yes!" "Shhh ... You'll wake the dead, Cass! Ruby June—People in the valley will hear you." "I want them to hear. Kate Foster is going to marry Cass Reynolds!" he shouted at the windows. Then, suddenly, he was quiet. His eyes swam in a skiff of moisture and his arms went around her in a rough hug. "You are saying yes, aren't you? I want to hear the words." She cupped his face in her hands and rubbed her thumbs gently over his lips. "Yes, Cass. I'm saying yes. I never thought it would be possible to love again, trust again, but I do. I love you." His eyes softened tenderly. "Ah Kate. I love you back." "As Max would say, 'I love you more." "I said it first." "But, I think maybe I thought it first." And forever, she thought. Kate and Cass. Cass and Kate. Just as it was always meant to be.

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Epilogue Melinda Rose Weber 'October Bride' Stunning green blossom with lavender lip. Cattleya-type, Laelia-Cattleya Mericlone. The triumphant chords of "Joyful, Joyful, We Adore Thee" crashed about their heads and poured into the crisp autumn twilight as they recessed up the aisle and out the double doors of the church. Cass accepted the cape an usher handed him and wrapped it around Kate when they hesitated on the top step. He turned and enfolded her in his arms carefully, as if she might break. "I meant what I said in there, you know," he said slowly, his voice gruff. "I promised to have you and hold you from this day forward, for better and for worse, for richer and for poorer, in sickness and in health, and I intend to love and to cherish you, until we are parted by death." Wedding guests, held back by Spence, hooted and heckled from the doors while Kate held herself still, almost without breathing, within the shelter of his body. "I know," she whispered, her eyes fastened on his. "Me too. My solemn vow." Voices of the crowd eddied around them, but Kate was only peripherally aware. "Lay one on 'er and let's get on with the party!" 404


"You going to neck all day on the church steps? Where's your imagination, man?" "Get on with it, Kate. I've got dibs on your bouquet, later." The crowd had apparently overrun Spence, for they flowed down either side of the steps and lined the walk to the car, jostling one another for position and calling impossible advice to the bride and groom. Cass shook his head in slow motion. "We've had the strangest courtship within corporate memory, but we'll make up for it now." "Is that another promise?" "You bet." "Mom!" Max pulled on Kate's skirt. "Aunt Bree says we can't throw birdseed until you guys run to the car. What're you waiting for?" Stacey cocked one hip, her eyes on her dad lowering his head to Kate. "They have to play kissy-face, dummy. It's what you do when you get married!" Kate heard a rude sound from the area of her left elbow and figured Max had been good about as long as she could reasonably expect. She pulled her mouth from Cass's and murmured, "We'd better get on with the show before Max begins to direct the action." "Right. But hold this thought." He kissed her on the nose and smiled down into her eyes. "I have a heavy agenda for later tonight. Real heavy. Stace'll be with her mother and Bree is taking Max for the night, and believe it or not, the house is all ours." "After the reception," she said. 405


"Don't guess we could just skip it and let these guys party on their own?" "After all the trouble Bree and Rick have gone to? Don't even think it." With gratitude, Kate had turned the reception over to Bree and her new boyfriend, who was making a respectable name for himself in town as a caterer. She hadn't a clue what to expect, except for the requested Angels on Horseback, but knew that between Bree's fabulous cooking skills and Rick, the food would be wonderful. "Ready?" Cass held her firmly around the waist and they made a dash for the car. Birdseed rained over them, catcalls and happy laughter followed them into the car, and above all the organ still pealed, "Joyful, Joyful." The ride home wasn't long. Not that it was a lovely ride, for the western edge of town had been nearly destroyed by the flood. The June's house was in the process of being restored, but neither Kate's home nor Cass's could be saved. He had poured himself into finishing the house he was building, so as to be able to put a roof over his bride's head, he said. In addition, he had added a large screened back porch, a work still in progress, and labored by lamplight to dig up some of Kate's mother's lily bulbs and transplant them, as well as a few of her roses. He'd also added, with a wicked gleam in his eye, a Jacuzzi in the master bathroom. All he would say, with one raised eyebrow, was that he had plans for that Jacuzzi. All this while volunteering a few hours almost every day to help renovate the town. 406


Everyone she knew, Kate thought, labored at some point from dawn until dark trying to put the town back together. Slowly but surely, it was happening. The business district had been severely flooded, water marks extended six feet up the walls, but great progress had been made in shoveling out all the mud and scraping walls and floors. Most stores and offices were open for limited business. Homes too badly damaged had been bulldozed and new construction begun on many. Resolve and determination had taken the place of dazed grief in people's eyes. Farmers had not been so lucky. The crops in fields to the north and west of town had been completely destroyed before the backlash of the levee breach. Bits and pieces of clothing still clung to telephone wires, abandoned appliances stood forlornly in the middle of acres of rotting corn stalks, and homes tilted precariously on their foundations. FEMA had opened an office in town and was settling the homeless in temporary trailer villages. Winsom was moving forward, "crippled but not killed," as Ruby June said. Eventually, life would be back to normal. The thought occurred to Kate that the horror that had ended with the catastrophe of a devastating flood, had actually begun ten years ago with two girls catapulting into a swollen river and the life-altering events that followed. Water, one of the basic elements of existence, had been both the cause and the closure. A torrent of gratitude flowed swiftly through her. She had, indeed, found peace on the other side. Life was again good. 407


Cass pulled into their own drive and cut the engine. A steady stream of cars followed him to the curb, WUPEDO leading the pack, but as often happened, he and Kate had been thinking along the same lines. They made no move to get out. "We have so much to be grateful for. It scares me sometimes," he said. "It's the people," Kate said quietly. "We've lost nothing that can't be replaced. And what you and I have gained is incalculable. No price can be put on love. On family." Cass heaved in a big breath and chuffed it out. "Do you still think Leah was trying to get your attention and warn you all along? To get you out of the house before disaster struck and you and Max were in mortal danger?" Kate nodded. "I do. And I believe her spirit is at rest now. We can be happy, Cass, with no strings attached. Leah is gone except for my memories, and every day more of the warm and loving ones emerge as the bad ones sink into the past. Thanks to Leah, and you, I'm alive and I'm free." He unbuckled his seat belt. "She's the unseen guest at this wedding. And a welcome one." "I like that." She laid a hand over his and squeezed. "And now, we'd better get inside or Bree will bring the party out here." He unfolded his long legs and opened the door. "Let's go make some more memories." Inside, the door opened onto a large foyer. There was no grand circular stairway to the right, but there was a double door leading to a light and airy room for her orchids. The Sharry Baby and a yellow Dancing Lady sat in isolated 408


elegance on a library table. Unopened wedding gifts were stacked around them. The house was a combination of his touches and hers, symbolic of two blended lives they'd built by uniting families. His leather easy chair, her lovingly refurbished grandmother's rocker. His work shop attached to the garage, her beginning of another orchid collection. The box of picture albums Kate had carried down the stairs, her heart pounding with fear, the siren wailing in her ears. Max's small car collection, Lambie and Grandma's pillow. Stacey's Barbie doll treasures and an entire shelf of classic children's DVDs. And for both kids, a new free-standing backboard loomed at the east end of the driveway. Oddly, the butterfly attached to the statue's finger survived. The statue had not. The portrait of Kate and Leah hung over the mantle in the family room. The black butterfly rested on a small white marble pedestal beneath it. Although she rarely stopped long in front of it, the picture had become a comfort to her. Something to be cherished. "I have to get a shot of you in that gorgeous dress, Kate." Bree, brandishing a camera, shepherded them into the orchid room. "And then the two of you together. We have to record it for future anniversaries." Kate ran her fingertips down the skirt of her gown. The dress was her most ambitious project yet, and the result surpassed even her wildest dreams. She'd painted the creamcolored fabric with almost translucent blush-tinted orchids tumbling down the sleeves and onto the skirt of an A-line, 409


waltz-length gown. Bree, then, had sewn the whole thing together. They'd stood together in front of a mirror and giggled like school girls when Kate tried it on for her first fitting. The slim silhouette and her hair in a wild spill around her face gave Kate start. She looked happy, she thought. I am happy! It had been so long, she barely recognized the feeling. How could she have known what this kind of love was about? She'd never felt it. Hadn't known there was this much caring in the world, let alone concentrated in one man. For a long time she'd felt shell-shocked and rather as if she were recovering from a debilitating illness. With great patience and tenderness, Cass had helped her accept that an ending was only the prelude to another beginning. A beginning with him. Together. Kate and Cass. After awhile, she'd felt fate carrying her forward and realized there was nothing more for her to do. Leah was gone again, to her rest this time. The home place was no longer there to be fought over. The property would be valuable one day if the highway came through, but the land where it sat was scoured as clean as if a mighty wind had wiped it clean. A day came when she'd accepted that life was returning to normal. She was content with the way events had worked out. She had Cass and Stacey, Max and a new home, much of it built especially for her, good friends and a thriving business. Joe Kinicki was actively interested in marketing a line of formal wear patterned after the fabric she'd painted for her own wedding gown. The work room closet already held bolts of silk ready for her to begin when the orders arrived. 410


There was no doubt in Joe's mind they would pour in, in abundance. Bree clicked away happily with her camera while Cass snugged Kate closely to his side. It was no chore to smile contentedly up into his eyes. He was so incredibly dear. "Are you prepared," he whispered, with a tug at her waist, "for life in the fast lane? A husband and maybe more family?" "Are you prepared," she answered softly, for his ears only, "for the distinct possibility of twins?" He grabbed her in a bear hug and swung her around. "Katey mine. Oh my love. Just as soon as is humanly possible." "What are you guys mumbling about?" Bree called over her shoulder, heading for the hall. "Come on. The party won't wait much longer." Bree's best schoolteacher voice would have carried across a football field. The dining room was filled with Cass's fellow workers, business associates, people from church, friends from all over central Illinois, and to Kate's surprise and delight, Joe Kiniki. The table had been extended its entire length and covered with an ivory cloth and a half dozen long-stemmed red roses, ones she'd carried down the aisle, scattered down its length. A huge silver punch bowl sat at one end, a silver service for coffee and tea at the other end, and various delectablelooking finger foods dotted the table between. Quickly Kate identified baked phyllo with Brie, colorful veggies in a pedestal bowl with dip along side, the famous Angels on Horseback, a personal favorite of Cass's, a cheese and cracker platter, tarts and luscious-looking lemon squares, 411


Bree's To-Die-For brownies, and charming little individual heart-shaped, Bundt cakes that Kate knew were a variety of carrot cake, German chocolate and a yellow, buttered-rum cake. Bree opened the swinging door into the kitchen with one hip and came through carrying the wedding cake. Kate caught a glimpse of a huge cheesecake riding in regal splendor, encased in an elegant, domed cake plate. "You said you wanted something different," Bree said, as she passed Kate. Cass sighed, snagging Kate's hand and squeezing. "I'm in heaven. The girl of my dreams and cheesecake, too." He waggled his eyebrows in an evil leer. "Got to keep up my strength." She leaned into him. "Stop it.You'll embarrass me." "I'm going to do more than that." He dodged her elbow. "In about two seconds I'm going to have that cake knife in my hand. You'd better behave." His eyes went soft. "Whatever you want, Katey-love. From now on, if it's in my power, whatever you want." **** Later, much later, in the pearly gray of dawn, Kate awakened slowly, languorously. Cass was on one elbow, looking down at her. "Mrs. Reynolds. Mrs. Cass Reynolds. It has a certain ring, don't you think?" She stretched and smiled up at him. "Like bells cast in England. The mister part of it isn't bad, either." 412


He was holding her hand, caressing it lightly, and Kate had the fleeting thought that he'd been holding it even as she slept. "I've been watching the moonlight flow over your hair and your face," he said. "You're as perfect as one of your orchids." "You're prejudiced and I love it." "Very likely," he conceded. "But I can't imagine how it would be possible to improve anything about you." He rested a hand on her belly, so softly it might have been butterfly wings skimming across her skin. "I do want more babies, you know. Your babies." "If we're lucky, we'll have one, or two, in nine months and fifteen minutes." "If we have a baby, anytime, we'll be the luckiest two people alive." She took his hand and brought it to her lips. "Cass," she spoke hesitantly. "If we have a girl, I'd like to name her after Leah." He nodded. "She was a part of you. And in the end, she loved you more than she loved herself. Little Leah. It's good." Meet Marilyn Gardiner My byline has appeared on everything from children's literature to senior citizen fiction, from news writing to poetry, fiction and non-fiction. I have taught a successful creative writing course and been involved in a program teaching adults to read. Credits include Wings ePress, Inc. as well as a multitude of newspapers and magazines. I have placed in the 413


top three in national contests and treasure a Writing Excellence Award from my college. I have a loving and supportive husband and two grown daughters, who have given me a total of eight perfect, handsome and intelligent grandchildren. (So says this prejudiced grandmother.) Since my first memory, music and books have been my passion. Music continues to feed my soul. I have sung in choral groups all across the eastern half of the U.S., done solo and ensemble work and am currently a member of a large chorale. Today I have books in every room in my house, and never go out the door without reading material under my arm. With equal passion, I avoid cooking and cleaning house. VISIT OUR WEBSITE FOR THE FULL INVENTORY OF QUALITY BOOKS: www.wings-press.com Quality trade paperbacks and downloads in multiple formats, in genres ranging from light romantic comedy to general fiction and horror. Wings has something for every reader's taste. 414


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