“Not even. It’s only until Kelly thinks Shannon is old enough to go out with us.”
Laynie had been insistent on that point, but Sam had shaken his head.
“Riiiight.”
So Laynie had made sure to go out with Sam, even though her heart was with the kids.
Laynie hadn’t been home since July, and she swallowed, thinking of Shannon’s sweet face and Robbie’s gummy grin.
“No, he has some teeth now,” she whispered, “little, tiny teeth.” Kelly had sent pictures.
“They have to be all right,” she said, louder. “They have to be.”
Not much fazed Laynie. Her parents and her brother and his family represented, perhaps, the only tender place Laynie had left in her heart—so tender that her heart clenched in fear for them.
Laynie threw the sofa cushions to the floor, opened the safe, and yanked out her Marstead-issued mobile phone. She flipped it open, found William and Kathy Greene’s number in the phone’s address book and, with a trembling hand, dialed through. Bill picked up immediately.
“Hello?”
“Bill, this is Laynie. I received your wire. What is going on?”
Laynie knew the news was bad when Bill sobbed. Laynie’s brain turned to icy efficiency, her trained response to danger. In a calm voice she asked again, “What is it, Bill?”
In the background, Laynie thought she heard crying. Toddler crying.
Laynie gripped the phone harder, but she maintained her poise. “Bill?”
Sam’s father-in-law gulped. “They-they were coming home from Stephen’s company’s New Year’s party. They were hit by a drunk driver. Kelly . . . Kelly is gone.” He sobbed again.
Laynie tightened the rein on her emotions. “I’m very sorry, Bill.”
The platitude was automatic. Laynie felt nothing. She would not allow herself to feel. Could not allow herself. “Sam?”
“He-he . . . Stephen’s hanging on, Laynie. He’s in the hospital.”
“How bad is it?”
Bill paused and Laynie felt anger boiling up in her chest. “Don’t sugarcoat it. How bad?”
“He has internal injuries, Laynie. He’s in critical condition.”
Laynie yanked the phone away from her ear and stared into space. Memories of the two of them flooded her: growing up together, the adored children of loving parents, and the unbreakable bond they shared.
She clenched her teeth, all business. She would not allow an iota of feeling to seep outside. “Shannon and Robbie?”
“They weren’t with Stephen and Kelly. They were . . . they are here with us.”
Some relief washed over Laynie. The children are all right, a voice whispered. The children are all right.
“Mama and Dad?”
“They are like us. Devastated. But your mother? Gene’s worried about her, Laynie. She is so fragile.”
“Which hospital is Sam at?”
“Harborview. He’s in their ICU. Your parents are with him.” He paused and then said all in a rush, “You are coming, aren’t you, Laynie? You have to—we need you!”
“Yes. I’ll leave as soon as I can.”
She closed the phone and tossed it into the safe. Then she picked up her apartment phone and dialed the number for Marstead. Even on New Year’s Day, a “receptionist” answered immediately.
“Marstead International. How may I direct your call?”
“This is Linnéa Olander. Mr. Alvarsson, please.”
The receptionist paused. “Mr. Alvarsson is not in the office at present.”
“I know it is a holiday. Access Alpha seven three three five.”
“Stand by, please.”
Laynie tapped her foot nervously while waiting for the receptionist to connect her call. When the director came on the line, his tone was brisk. Businesslike.
“Problem, Olander?”
“Yes, but personal. I need to take emergency leave. My brother and sister-in-law have been in an accident. My sister-in-law is dead; my brother is in critical condition. I need to leave for Seattle soonest.”
“The timing is bad, Linnéa. You are getting close to Petroff—and that means getting close to the Russians’ new laser schematics.”
Laynie didn’t flinch at her director’s unfeeling response. She felt nothing herself at the moment. “The timing can’t be helped. I need two, perhaps three weeks.”
Alvarsson sighed. “What will you tell Petroff?”
“I will call him and tell him a version of the truth: a family emergency. He will understand—but you’ll need to backstop my story. A relative’s illness, perhaps.”
“Very well, we’ll do our part at this end, but don’t stay gone long—that man will be the most valuable asset we’ve had to date, if you can land him. Don’t stay one moment longer than needed.”
No ‘so sorry for your loss.’ No ‘can we help or comfort you in any way.’
Only ‘don’t stay one moment longer than needed.’
Laynie hung up and called the Marstead emergency number again. “Please book me the earliest flight into Seattle you can get. Arrange appropriate backstop. Approval per Alvarsson.”
“Very good, Miss Olander. I will call back with your itinerary and cover.”
Linnéa threw the receiver back on the phone and began to pack. While she packed, she began the mental preparations for shedding Linnéa Olander and slipping back into her identity as Helena Portland.
No. I’m Laynie.
~~**~~
Chapter 25
THE NIGHT PASSED WITH FRUSTRATING SLOWNESS. Linnéa packed and repacked until she was satisfied, but she could not sleep.
Sammie. My Sammie! I’m so sorry you lost your beautiful wife, the mother of your children. Your one love.
But please be all right!
Early the following morning, the phone rang in Linnéa’s apartment. Gustav’s aggrieved voice greeted her.
“Miss Olander? So sorry, but a courier is here. He will not allow me to sign for the delivery and, since he is unknown to me, I will not allow him to bring it up to you. I beg your pardon, but we are at an impasse.”
“I will be down directly, Gustav.”
The elevator descended to the lobby, and Linnéa stepped out. The courier obviously knew her on sight.
“Sign here, please, Miss Olander.”
“Thank you. And thank you for your concern and caution, Gustav.” Laynie took the thin package to her apartment. She locked her door before she slit open the envelope and dumped its contents upon her countertop.
Inside was a ticket from Stockholm to London in the name of Linnéa Olander and a terse note telling her where and how to await her contact when she arrived.
Laynie looked at the clock. She had three hours to make her flight.
—
IN LONDON’S HEATHROW AIRPORT, Laynie departed her plane and scanned for the nearest women’s lavatory. She entered, went to the sink, and had removed a lipstick tube from her purse when another woman strolled into the busy restroom.
Laynie moved over a little. The woman sidled up next to her to wash her hands, and spoke out of the side of her mouth. “Leave the rest in a stall behind the toilet,” she said quietly.
Laynie had slung her purse over her shoulder as directed. It hung between the two women. While Laynie finished applying her lipstick, the woman dropped an envelope into Laynie’s purse.
Laynie turned away from the sinks, went into one of the stalls, and latched the door. Inside the envelope in her purse, she found her American passport, Marstead business cards, Washington State driver’s license, and credit cards—all under the name of Helena Portland.
She studied the ticket bearing the same name: London to Quebec, then a change of carrier to New York, then on to Chicago and Seattle. The legs from New York to Chicago and then Chicago to Seattle would be tight. A note said that her bags had been claimed, retagged, and sent on their way to Seattle.
Laynie removed all items bearing the name Linnéa Olander from h
er wallet and replaced them with the Helena Portland license and credit cards. She removed her business cards and replaced them with the identical cards reading “Helena Portland.”
All items with the name “Linnéa Olander” she placed in the envelope that the woman had passed to her. She placed the envelope on the floor, behind the toilet.
When she left the stall, the same woman, without any sign of recognition, entered it.
Laynie washed her hands and hurried to find her gate. Within an hour, she had boarded her flight to Canada.
—
RUTH GRAFF DRAGGED HER SUITCASE TO AN AMERICAN AIRLINES ticketing counter at LaGuardia and hefted it onto the scale. “Whew. At least it’s not as heavy as it was when I flew in.”
The woman at the counter gave her an understanding smile. “Packed all your Christmas presents in this one suitcase, did you?”
Ruth grinned. “Oh, it was worse than that. When I left home, I had two suitcases that I lugged to the airport. And the worst part of this trip was not the flight from Albuquerque—it was the drive from here to my daughter’s house. Three hours! And she drives this little, tiny economy car. Why, there’s scarcely enough room in that trunk for both cases when it is empty. But is it ever empty? No, it’s always full of skates and hockey equipment and snow gear!”
She laughed and leaned toward the clerk. “Can you believe it? This suitcase rode in the backseat on the grandkids’ laps all the way to their house. Once I got to my daughter’s house and unloaded the kids’ Christmas loot, I hardly had anything left to pack!
“I consolidated all my clothes into the smaller case, which left the bigger one empty. I put the smaller case inside of the larger case. Voila! One suitcase—this one.”
Ruth grimaced and waggled her brows. “Weird, right?”
“Not at all. Ingenious. And totally not the weirdest thing I’ve seen a passenger do.”
They grinned at each other. The woman pulled Ruth’s case from the scale and swung it onto a conveyor belt. She handed Ruth her claim check.
“Have a good flight.”
“Thanks. I will.”
Ruth, feeling liberated with only a purse to manage, wandered toward her gate. “Now to find a bite to eat and a good book for the trip.”
She bought a paperback, paid for a slice of pizza and a soda, and found a seat near her gate. The book, however, didn’t immediately hold her attention. Instead, she kept remembering the wonderful time she’d had with her daughter and her family over the holidays.
Lord, this was a good trip. Thank you that even though Hank and Amanda don’t live near me, I have the means to visit them. You are so good to me.
She wiped crumbs from her fingers and finished her soda, glancing around at the other passengers starting to assemble for their flight from New York into Chicago. Ruth loved watching people.
A tall, slender woman with dark blonde hair walked at a harried clip to Ruth’s gate counter where she engaged the agent in animated conversation. Their exchange ended with the agent handing the woman a boarding pass. The woman turned away, relief momentarily washing her face. Then, her face relaxed into placid lines.
Ten minutes later, the agents began boarding the flight. It would be a short hop into Chicago’s O’Hare Airport. From there Ruth would catch her connecting flight to Denver and then on to Albuquerque.
Ruth found her aisle seat and settled into it. Better not get too comfy, she told herself. Someone will be along shortly to claim the window seat, and you’ll need to get up to let them in.
The plane ran rows of two seats down one side and three down the other—Ruth was glad to have only one seat to her right.
“Excuse me. I believe I have the window seat.”
“Of course. Let me get into the aisle.”
Ruth stood up and came face-to-face with the woman she’d noticed in the boarding area. She smiled, and the woman, perhaps in her late thirties, smiled a strained, practiced smile in return.
When they were both seated, Ruth said, “Hello. I’m Ruth.”
But the woman was not in a sociable mood. She mumbled, “Nice to meet you,” pulled the in-flight shopping magazine from the pocket in front of her, and snapped it open, effectively blocking Ruth’s friendly overtures.
Ruth shrugged and opened her new book, hoping Chapter 2 would be better than Chapter 1.
In the seat beside her, the woman turned pages with aimless intent. When she sucked in her breath, Ruth slanted her eyes onto the magazine.
The page was covered in children’s toys—cute and cuddly stuffed animals, mostly.
Nothing special.
Ruth turned her attention back to her book, only to pause, alert, when the unmistakable whiffle of a suppressed sob reached her ears. She kept her eyes on the pages in her lap, but she began to pray.
Lord, whatever is going on, I pray that you draw this young woman to you. If you can use me to comfort her, here I am. I will do what you ask of me.
Ten minutes later, Ruth realized their flight was a little late getting off the ground. That her neighbor was fretting about something was patently obvious.
At last, the airplane taxied to its assigned runway and rocketed down the tarmac until the pilot raised the nose and they were airborne. Ruth buried her nose in her book and, as the action in Chapter 3 picked up, she momentarily forgot about her fellow passenger.
The flight had barely cleared New York airspace when Ruth’s neighbor sniffled and dabbed her eyes with a tissue.
As the woman wiped her nose, she saw Ruth watching her. “I’m sorry for disturbing you. It’s nothing.” She again pretended to be engrossed in the shopping magazine.
Ruth put her head on one side. “Forgive me for disagreeing, but I think you are struggling with something painful. Would it help to talk about it?”
The woman hesitated as though struggling to decide whether to talk to Ruth or not. Finally, she whispered, “My sister-in-law just died.” Another soft sob escaped from her.
Ruth, quite naturally, placed her hand on Laynie’s. That simple, comforting gesture undid the woman. Her eyes began to water and she looked away.
“We are never ready to lose someone we love,” Ruth murmured.
Her seatmate gasped, and then her tears flowed freely. A sob racked her.
Ruth gripped her hand until the spasm of grief had passed.
“My dear, I’m so very sorry for your loss. So very sorry. My name is Ruth.”
“Helena,” the woman managed, “but everyone calls me Laynie.”
She turned in her seat and Ruth got a good look at her face.
She has pretty eyes. Such a soft, unusual shade of blue.
“Laynie. What a delightful name. Well, Laynie, if it would help, why don’t you tell me what has happened?”
And Laynie did. In short, choked sentences she told Ruth about the New Year’s Eve party, about the drunk driver who killed her brother’s wife Kelly, about her brother’s serious injuries.
“My dear! You must be worried sick for your brother.”
“Yes, I am. I-I need to get to Seattle as soon as possible. Sammie needs me.”
“Of course he does.”
They talked for a while until Laynie’s emotions settled a little.
“Thank you,” she said. “You’ve been so kind to me.”
“The Bible encourages us to comfort one another with the same comfort God has given us. I’m glad we were assigned seats next to each other.”
The ding of the airline’s intercom interrupted them.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we are making our descent into Chicago. Please fasten your seatbelts, make sure your seats and tray tables are in their full upright and locked positions. Please refrain from leaving your seats until the aircraft is on the ground and we have come to a complete stop at our gate.”
“Well, thank you again.”
“My pleasure,” Ruth answered.
As they waited to deplane, Laynie murmured, “Our flight is late getting in and my conne
ction was already going to be tight. I’ll have to run to make it.”
“Let me help you.” Ruth jumped into the aisle and backed up a step, blocking the passengers behind them.
“Go on ahead, Laynie. And my prayers go with you.”
With the barest of nods to Ruth, Laynie strode down the aisle, onto the gangway, and was off like a shot. She was long gone when Ruth stepped into their arrival gate.
I’m glad my gate is in the same terminal, not far from here.
Chicago’s O’Hare was its usual madhouse. Ruth visited the restroom, bought a small snack, found an empty seat in her gate area, and opened her book.
Another hour’s wait, she sighed to herself. But, for some reason, she could not stop thinking of her seatmate on the flight from New York.
Lord, I hope she made her connection, Ruth prayed.
Something else niggled at her, but would not quite come clear.
Lord?
Ruth boarded the flight to Denver. This time she had a window seat. No one came to claim the aisle seat.
—
ONCE INSIDE THE TERMINAL, Laynie paused at the first flight information display and frantically searched for her flight to Seattle. When she spotted it, she groaned inwardly.
It was already boarding—in Terminal 3.
Laynie’s flight had arrived in Terminal 2.
“No, no, no!” Laynie flew down the concourse to the first ATS station she saw—the fastest way to get from one terminal to another. The doors were mobbed with people waiting to catch the next train.
Laynie, murmuring “Excuse me, excuse me,” elbowed and shoved her way through the crush of passengers and onto a car. She squeezed in behind the doorway so she would be one of the first passengers off the train.
The doors closed and the train lurched forward. Laynie braced herself. While the train sped and swayed along its rails, her mind was on the strange encounter from her last flight.
Forgive me for disagreeing, but I think you are struggling with something painful. Would it help to talk about it?
Laynie had been stunned when the words, “My sister-in-law just died,” rolled out of her mouth with no willful forethought.
Ruth.
Laynie frowned and stared at the train tunnel walls as they flashed by. Her seatmate’s kindness had dissolved some internal restraint Laynie usually possessed. When she had blurted out those revealing words, Ruth had placed her hand on Laynie’s, and that simple, comforting gesture had undone any self-control Laynie had left.
All God's Promises (A Prairie Heritage Book 7) Page 29
