by Arlene James
The other fellow didn’t so much as blink. “Not that I’m aware of.”
Mitch’s stomach sank. He thought briefly of leaving a message, but he figured that she’d already gotten it and sent one of her own. Hers said, “Go away.”
He looked at his feet, nodded brusquely and turned toward the elevator with a muttered “Thanks.”
Once safely inside the silent car, he closed his eyes and let disappointment unfurl inside him. He was in his office and at his desk before he could tell himself that he obviously wasn’t meant to be more than a passing acquaintance to Piper Wynne.
All right. So be it.
He didn’t like it, but what difference did that make? He would just have to focus his attention elsewhere. God had something, someone, for him. He could think about other matters, other purposes. Such as the letter.
There was one contact in Houston with whom Mitch had not yet spoken. The fellow had responded late last week to the airline’s notification, and he and Mitch had been playing telephone tag for several days. Mitch had been the last one to leave a message, but hey, he thought, might as well try again now.
Lifting the telephone receiver from its cradle, he dialed the number, reading it off the notepad at his elbow, then sat back in his chair and waited for the familiar sound of an answering machine. What he got instead was the man himself.
“Well, hello, there,” he said pleasantly, his mood lightening somewhat. “This is Mitchell Sayer calling.”
“Oh, Mr. Sayer!” the man said, recognizing his name at once. “I’m so sorry I haven’t gotten back to you.” He went on to tell Mitch that at first he’d dismissed the notice the airline had sent, then later had realized that he’d misplaced an important letter. Mitch sat up abruptly.
“A letter, you say?”
“A very important letter. I was frantic for a few days. I’d kept the airline notice—I generally keep everything—and it did say an item of no actual value, so I gave you a call on the off chance—”
In his excitement, Mitch interrupted. “Can you describe the letter for me, sir?”
“It was a letter of intent. Being an attorney, I’m sure you’re familiar with the term.”
Mitch was familiar with the term, familiar enough to know that this man’s letter was not the letter in Mitch’s possession. Deflated, he barely heard the rest of what was being said—something about a large company buying out a smaller one. He waited for a lull in the flow of words, then gave the bad news.
“I’m sorry, but I didn’t recover your letter.”
“Oh, I know that,” the man said, unperturbed. “I found it filed improperly. My secretary has a bad habit of picking up things off my desk and putting them away for me, as if just having them out of sight clears up the business.”
Mitch found a pallid smile. “I see.”
“I’ve had a strong talk with her about this,” the fellow went on, “and I meant to call you yesterday to let you know that I’m not the person you’re looking for. Sorry I didn’t get to it.”
“That’s okay. I’m glad you found your letter. I just wish I could find whoever lost the one I have in my possession. You, um, didn’t happen to see anyone else drop a small folded sheet of paper while moving down the loading ramp to the airplane that day, did you?”
“Well,” the man said, “I sure didn’t, but maybe one of our group did. I could ask them to call you or just give you their names and numbers—whatever you prefer.”
Mitch perked up. “You don’t think they’d mind talking to me?”
“Not at all, but there were about a half dozen of us. If you’d rather not make that many calls—”
“No!” Mitch said quickly. “That’s fine. I don’t mind at all.”
“Just let me get those numbers, then.”
Mitch closed his eyes while he waited for the gentleman to get back on the line. Things were looking up, he assured himself. Surely one of these folks saw something pertinent or could at least lead him to someone else who had.
Holding the phone between his right ear and shoulder, he prepared to write down this new list of leads. It was a little like looking up and seeing a light at the end of a long, dark tunnel. He suspected it was a holy light, and he thanked God for it.
He had come to the office looking for her.
She tried not to think about it, tried not to think about him at all. That way she didn’t have to remember running away in a panic with tears threatening to spill down her cheeks. It was exactly that kind of humiliating behavior that she was trying to put behind her, and she had been correct in assuming that Mitch Sayer was a stumbling block along her path toward that goal.
She didn’t know why, really, but something about him put her in direct touch with her past. Houston and all that had happened there seemed distant and misty unless she was with him. What was he—some spiritual or metaphysical conduit to her most painful moments? She shivered at the thought, but more mystifying still was how relaxed and comfortable she felt in his company, until the memories blindsided her.
It was a pity, because she really did like the man, but she just couldn’t be with him and preserve her sanity.
She leaned over the side of the chaise and trailed her fingers in the water. It was still warm enough to swim in the afternoon, but the evening was too cool. She liked the serenity here when there was no one else to splash and laugh and scrape the furniture across the decking.
“Oh, for pity’s sake,” Melissa said, breaking into Piper’s reverie. Piper had almost forgotten she was there, sitting next to a glass-topped table with an open novel in her lap.
“What?” Piper asked, assuming that the slightly sarcastic outburst had something to do with what Melissa was reading.
“You!” Melissa replied, to Piper’s shock.
“Me?”
“Yes, you. What has got you so down?”
Piper laughed lightly, as if to prove her friend wrong. “I’m not down.”
“And I’m not human,” Melissa retorted dryly.
Piper fixed her with a deadpan look. “I knew there was something fishy about you.”
“Right. I’m a fish, and you’re as happy as a pig in clover.”
“I am not depressed,” Piper insisted. “I’m just bored.”
“Okay, fine.” Melissa set aside her book. “Let’s go out and have a little fun, then.”
Piper smiled perkily. “Excellent.”
“I’ll have Scott call Nate.”
Piper’s face fell before she could stop her reaction. “Uh, let’s not.”
“He wants to see you again.”
Piper controlled her grimace. Barely. “It wouldn’t be fair. Nate’s not my type, and even if he were, I don’t want to see any one person right now. I want to keep my options open, you know?”
Melissa shrugged. “Is that why you aren’t seeing that Mitch guy?”
Piper’s gaze sharpened. “What made you think I would be?”
“Maybe it was the way you perked up when you laid eyes on him at the restaurant that night,” Melissa said, “or the way you gushed afterward about meeting him.”
“I’m not seeing Mitch,” Piper said flatly.
“Duh,” Melissa said. “If you were, would you be sitting here with me on a Saturday evening? I think not.”
“I—I just…”
“Want to keep your options open,” Melissa said dryly. “Hey, it’s okay by me, but if you really want to look over the options, why don’t we go hear this band down at the West End?”
Piper squirmed inwardly. She’d never been one to frequent concerts, but what else did she have to do? Besides, it might be fun just to see what went on. She could listen to some music, do a little people watching. What could it hurt?
“I’m, uh, not sure I have anything to wear.”
Melissa flopped a hand dismissively at that. “Oh, we can come up with something.” She scooted forward to the edge of her chair, hands on the arms, ready to rise. “Why don’t I run it by Scott,
and if he’s up for it, I’ll come down, and we’ll take a look in your closet. Okay?”
Smiling, Piper squelched a niggle of dismay. “Sure.”
Melissa lunged to her feet, proclaiming eagerly, “I’m going to wear spandex!”
Piper’s spirits sank even lower. “If Scott doesn’t want to go, don’t press him,” she said hopefully. “We can always do it another time.”
“Oh, he’ll want to,” Melissa promised, hurrying away. She looked back over her shoulder. “He loves the band that’s playing.”
Piper closed her eyes and tried to tell herself that she wouldn’t be sorry.
The music pulsated so loudly that Piper felt sure the walls must bulge with each thunderous beat. Melissa and Scott seemed to have perfected a style of communication for just such deafening circumstances, including hand gestures, well-aimed shouts and a form of lipreading that involved exaggerated pronunciations. For her part, Piper felt lost in a world of chaotic noise and shifting shadows peopled with slightly threatening bodies. She found it impossible even to enjoy people watching at these decibels. To say that she was out of her element was putting it mildly. She looked around and wondered if she were even part of the same species as these laughing shrieking creatures.
When the wildly energetic band finally took a break, she realized that her ears were ringing and perhaps always would. Scott bounced up to journey to the concession area for fresh sodas and a gratis basket of popcorn salty enough to guarantee an increase in beverage sales. Piper had been careful to limit herself to ginger ale, prompting Scott to jokingly proclaim her a “cheap date.” When he offered her another refill she declined with a smile and shake of her head, then studiously pretended not to notice the activities around their tiny, cramped table.
The room was dark, but not so dark that she couldn’t see those around her. She fixed her attention on a raucous group at the bar, only to realize within moments that the hilarity was being generated by a contest among the males. They were launching kernels of popcorn up into the air and trying to swallow them. Piper looked away, only to start when someone bumped her chair from behind.
She glanced over her shoulder, just as that someone began telling a joke to someone out of sight.
“So there’s this guy on a deserted island, just him and the birdies for months on end, when one day three women wash ashore, a blond, a brunette and a redhead….”
Piper tried to tune him out, but he was practically standing on top of her, and as the story grew more ribald by the syllable, she felt her cheeks begin to burn. Squirming in her chrome-and-plastic chair, she sought mightily for a way to shut out the words. She even began to wish for the earsplitting music to crank up again, despite the continued ringing in her ears. Seeing her discomfort, Melissa made a valiant attempt to come to her rescue.
“I really like that coppery orange on you. It makes your eyes positively glow.”
Piper smiled. “Thank you.”
It wasn’t the best conversational gambit. Melissa had gushed about the stretchy knit top from the moment she’d pulled it from Piper’s closet earlier that evening, and she’d repeated that bit about the eyes three times already. Nevertheless, any distraction was greatly appreciated at this point—not that it helped much. As the punch line drew near—hopefully—the jokester actually raised his voice, launching Piper into desperate conversation.
“I wish I could wear that shade of red you have on,” she said so loudly that Melissa looked pained.
It was Piper’s turn to wince as the joke reached its punch line, employing a certain expression she found particularly vile. Even Melissa’s cheeks pinked. As laugher erupted around them, Melissa leaned across the table.
“This isn’t really your scene, is it?”
Piper blanched guiltily. “I guess not, but that doesn’t mean I’m not enjoying myself. The band seems good.”
Melissa slanted a pitying look at her. “They are, but the music’s too loud even for me. I’ll ask Scott to take us home when he gets back to the table.”
Piper felt immense relief, but good manners made her voice a token protest. “Oh, you don’t have to do that. I don’t want to ruin anyone’s evening, and he seems to be enjoying himself.”
Melissa flipped a hand nonchalantly. “Don’t worry about that. We can come back another time. It’ll be more fun a few weeks from now, anyway. These new clubs always start out trying to blow you out of the room, show you they’ve got the necessary ingredients for a good time, you know?”
“They certainly have the necessary sound equipment,” Piper commented wryly, “provided, of course, that a good time necessitates rendering one permanently deaf.”
Melissa chuckled. “They’ll tone it down some before long.”
As far as Piper was concerned, they could tone it down a lot and still be too loud.
Scott returned a few minutes later, and Piper was glad to see that he’d almost finished his soda already, if not the basket of popcorn that he placed in the center of the tiny table. Immediately Melissa rose, wrapped her arms around his neck and whispered into his ear. He grinned and quickly downed the remainder of the liquid in his glass, wrapped an arm around his wife’s slender waist and happily abandoned the basket of popcorn as he stood.
“What are we waiting for?”
Piper telegraphed her friend a silent message of thanks as they began winding their way toward the door. As they stepped down onto the relatively peaceful sidewalk, Melissa linked arms with her husband, gave Piper a wink and set off at a brisk pace toward the lot where they’d left their small, foreign-made, economy coupe.
Once at the car, Piper crawled into the narrow back seat and belted herself in. Melissa and Scott dropped into the front buckets, with Melissa behind the wheel, and they were shortly off. As they drove swiftly through the busy, darkened Dallas streets, Scott kept his hand on his wife’s knee, occasionally giving it a squeeze. Melissa would shoot him a smile every so often and get a rub or a pat in return. Piper pretended not to notice.
She had never felt quite so alone.
Once the car was parked in its narrow assigned space at the apartment house and they had all managed to climb out without denting those automobiles occupying spots on either side, Piper thanked her friends for the evening and started toward the rear pass-through into the inner courtyard. Scott and Melissa followed. Piper didn’t have to look to know that Scott had his arms wrapped around his wife, but as the trio drew near the bottom of the stairs Melissa disengaged and sent Scott on ahead, promising to be right up after walking Piper to her door.
Piper put her off. “Don’t be silly. I’m ten feet from home. Go on up with your husband.”
Melissa reached for Piper’s hand, her warm hazel eyes intent. “Not until I’m sure that you’re okay. What is it, hon? It’s pretty clear to me that something’s bothering you.”
To Piper’s dismay, she felt the hot weight of sudden tears behind her eyes. To hide them, she employed a slight laugh and gave her head a little shake.
“Can’t fool you, can I? It’s just a headache. I didn’t want to complain. The loud music and all…you know how it is.”
“Are you sure it’s just a headache?” Melissa asked, her voice tinged with concern.
Piper knew it was more than that, but evaded the question. “I’ll be okay tomorrow. You go on up to your husband, and don’t worry about me.”
“If you’re sure,” Melissa hedged uncertainly.
Piper squeezed her friend’s hand and pulled free. “Go on. If I’m not mistaken, you have promises to keep.”
Melissa grinned. “Oh, yeah.” She waggled an eyebrow and swung around the end of the heavy metal banister up onto the stairs. “See you tomorrow,” she called, pelting up the steps.
Piper smiled and waved before turning desperately toward her own door and safe haven.
Melissa and Scott seemed so happy together, so crazy about each other, and she was delighted for them, but she couldn’t help thinking how shallow and pointle
ss her own life seemed to be. Was this what God intended for her? she wondered bitterly. Was this her punishment, to forever feel out of sync and alone despite such friendship? Tears were streaming down her face by the time she got inside the apartment, and this time she couldn’t seem to stop them.
Chapter Seven
Mitch wasn’t looking for her, not really, or so he told himself as he stood staring down at the busy sidewalk. The plate-glass window of his office offered a great view of the insurance building where she worked. It was just past noon, and he had been standing here fully ten minutes or more, craning his head, cheek almost touching the glass. He had performed this same ritual the previous Thursday and Friday, since he’d visited her office and been so obviously rebuffed. Why couldn’t he get it through his head that she didn’t want to see him?
Accept it, counselor, he told himself sternly, but even as he thought the words, he spied a bright, pale copper head behind the glass doors of the Medical Specialist building facade. His breath stopped, and his heart began to race when she pushed through to the sidewalk. She paused for a moment, glanced down the street in his direction, tugged on the tie of the heavy sweater belted at her waist and turned toward the square, her lunch kit in one hand.
Mitch didn’t think about whether or not he should follow her. He didn’t have to. The decision had been made long ago without his even realizing it, and he was of no mind to second-guess. Grabbing his suit coat from the hanger inside the small closet, he tore out of his office. His eyes barely registered the full wall of built-in amenities—from sink, small refrigerator, television set and file cabinets.
He hadn’t brought his lunch, but he wasn’t concerned about that just now. His secretary had left earlier, and when he’d told her that he wouldn’t be going out, she’d offered to bring back something for him to eat. She would most likely return before him, but he didn’t bother leaving her a note to let her know where to find him. All that mattered at the moment was getting to the square before Piper left it, provided of course that was where she was going. At this point, he wasn’t taking anything for granted.
