Helen’s fingers flew over the keyboard. She checked her old mail, checked to see if mail she’d sent to Boots had been opened and read, checked to see if she’d missed any mail during the past days. Everything came up negative. She frowned. Something was wrong, she could feel it, sense it. Once again, her fingers flew over the keyboard. She entered the private chat room where she and Boots talked for hours on end. The room was empty. She felt her shoulders slump, and she wanted to cry. Instead she clicked on her e-mail to compose a new letter to Boots. She typed quickly, expressing her concerns and ending with, “I have this eerie feeling I’m being watched. I’m not afraid, though. My dog is nervous. That, more than anything, worries me. I want to talk to you about Sam Tolliver. Our friendship this last year has progressed to where I think he’s expecting more than I think I’m ready for. I was very up-front with him. I told him all I wanted at this time was friendship, and it has been a wonderful friendship. He’s introduced me to things I’d only read about. He never makes demands. I trust him. I really do. He doesn’t ask questions aloud. His eyes say it all. I like him. A lot. He’s good for me. I know that. He makes me get out and about. We do things as a couple. I like that, too. We went to New Hope, Pennsylvania, and bought all kinds of stuff. Mostly junk, but it was fun. We colored eggs for Easter and he made me an Easter basket.
“Sam said he might be going away for six weeks. He has a teaching opportunity somewhere in Vermont. He wants me to go with him. I told him no.
“The business is building slowly and steadily. I’m about to the point where I need to think about renting some store space. The apartment is so full of boxes and materials, it’s hard to maneuver. The three ladies I have sewing for me are having a hard time keeping up with the demand for Lassie Lassie undergarments. I’m going to have to hire more help. I’m still waitressing, but I cut my hours to four a day and just do the lunch trade. It’s paying the rent. I haven’t really touched the funds Ms. Tyger’s foundation lent me.
“I guess that’s it for now. Good night, Boots.” She signed the e-mail the way she signed all her correspondence—TTLS.
Helen turned off the computer and sat for a moment staring at the blank screen. It was amazing, she thought, how a piece of electronic equipment and a person she’d never met face-to-face, could literally help her become a sound, normal, mentally healthy person again. Where are you, Boots?
“Time for bed, Lucie. We’ll clean up this mess tomorrow when we pack up our deliveries. We’ll have some walking-around room once all this stuff is out of here. Get your leash and we’ll go outside.”
Lucie ran to the door and tugged at the leash hanging from the doorknob. Helen fastened it to her collar. “Let’s make this a quick one, girl. I’m really tired tonight. You miss Max, don’t you? I miss him too. I even miss Sam. I never thought I’d say something like that. He’s a good friend. Good girl. Okay, run!”
Lucie ran for the steps leading to the second-floor complex and then ran to Sam Tolliver’s apartment door, where she sat down and whimpered. Helen bent down to pick her up. She crooned to her as she made her way to her own door. “Just a couple more days, baby. I bet Max misses you as much as you miss him. Sam had to go away. His best friend is getting married, and Sam is the best man. He didn’t want to make the trip without Max. You get a cookie, and then we’re going to bed.”
The little dog waited patiently until Helen fastened all three locks on the door before she entered the kitchen. “Okay, two cookies!” Lucie took them daintily and walked off to the bedroom, where she would chomp on them while Helen brushed her teeth and put on her pajamas.
In bed with Lucie snuggled tight against her, Helen turned off the light. As tired as she was, sleep eluded her. She felt wide-awake. Wide-awake and worried. She’d had many nights when she wasn’t able to fall asleep but this time she felt something different tugging at her. Did she miss Sam that much? Was it possible that she was beginning to feel something besides friendship for the college professor? Or was it something else entirely? Boots? Or Daniel?
Helen shifted Lucie and rolled over on her side. She shouldn’t even be thinking of Daniel. Not hearing from Boots these last three days had pushed Daniel forward in her mind. Had he surfaced somewhere? Did Boots’s absence mean Isabel Tyger’s people were taking care of things to ensure her safety? Damn, it always comes back to Daniel. Always.
Maybe what she needed to do was really think about Daniel. Instead of pretending he never existed, maybe she needed to break the rules and let her mind remember all the terrible things he’d done to her. Maybe she needed to do that. Maybemaybemaybe. Boots and the others said Daniel Ward was in the past, someone she used to know, someone not worthy of her thoughts and feelings. “The thing is, Lucie, I don’t want to be Nancy Baker. I want to be Helen Stanley again. Not Helen Ward but Helen Stanley. I wish I was divorced. I’ll never be free of him as long as I’m still married to him. I worry that all these phony credentials are going to catch up with me. I’m just not a good liar. If the authorities confront me, I’ll fall apart. If Sam confronts me, I don’t know what I’ll say or do. It’s not like I have good or fond memories of Daniel. I just don’t want anyone to know. It’s my dirty little secret. I feel so ashamed, so inferior, so . . . stupid. Sam would never understand someone like Daniel. He would never understand a woman allowing something like that to happen to her. Perhaps once, but not repeatedly. If I don’t understand it, how can I expect someone like Sam to understand it?”
How could she ever explain to Sam the fear she lived with? His first question would be, why didn’t you leave? Why?
Helen stroked Lucie’s head as she forced her mind to recall each and every slap, every punch, every kick. She roll-called every bruise, every laceration, every broken bone, every fracture, and every trip to the ER, every trip to all the different doctors she’d used, every lie she’d ever told to protect her husband.
Lucie moved and bellied up to the top of Helen’s pillow. “Stay, Lucie. I’m going to make some tea and go back on the computer.”
The time flashed on the bottom line of the computer: 1:36 A.M. She logged on and waited. She checked her buddy list to see that RB, better known as Robin Bobbin, was on-line. She immediately sent her an Instant Message. Do you know where Boots is?
No.
Helen sent another message. I’m having a hard time today. I need to talk. Want to go to the chat room?
Sure, came the reply.
Robin Bobbin was a four-month newbie to the on-line counseling sessions. Newbie was a word computer people used for first-time computer users. Boots was also her counselor. Helen thought she could smell the woman’s fear.
A rapid-fire series of questions flew from Helen’s fingers. RB’s responses were curt and always in the negative. “I’m scared,” she wrote.
“Me too. Just follow the rules. Someone will be in touch. Something must have happened. Maybe the computer system is down. It’s happened before. Boots might have some problems or she might be away. Keep sending your e-mails, and if you have fears or questions, put them in the e-mails, too. Someone from the foundation will be in touch. I’m waiting just like you are. You can always reach me after ten. My sessions are scheduled for eleven o’clock. If I hear anything, I’ll e-mail you. Relax. Everything will be okay. Listen, this might sound silly, even off-the-wall, but do you have a pet? No? Get a cat or a dog. They make all the difference. Go to the pound and rescue an animal. Boots will approve. I’ll e-mail her to explain it was my suggestion. Tomorrow is another day. That’s kind of funny now that I think of it. It is today. Is there anything else I can help you with in Boots’s absence?”
“I’m afraid of my own shadow. I hear sounds, voices, and I think . . . I think he found me somehow.”
“Sometimes I still feel like that. I have three locks on my door. It’s over fifteen months. It’s rather like waiting for the other shoe to drop. If you follow the rules, he will not find you. Do you have family?”
“Yes. That’s what make
s it so hard. I miss them. I read a book once on the Witness Protection Program. This is just like being in that program.”
“I know. You’re alive. That’s how you have to think of it. You need to get a pet. You need to be able to love something again. It’s a start.”
“Thanks. I’ll do it tomorrow. Maybe I’ll get two pets, a dog and a cat.”
“Make sure the cat is a kitten and the dog is a pup so they learn to get along. LOL,” Helen added—the symbols that meant “laughing out loud.”
Helen signed off, finished her tea, and fixed another cup. She smoked two cigarettes as she stared at the dark screen of her computer.
Somewhere, something was wrong. It was the same kind of feeling she always had when she knew Daniel was going to use her as a punching bag. She was so wide-awake, it was scary. Rather than waste her time just sitting, Helen reached for her computer book.
For weeks she’d been again toying with the idea of setting up a web page and selling her Sassie Lassie lingerie on-line. Sam said it was a terrific idea and volunteered the services of one of his students to design the web page. If she did that, she would have to quit her job in the mall and really concentrate on getting store space. She’d been reading up on Internet selling, and if her little business took off, she would be working twenty hours a day filling orders. As Boots said, nothing ventured, nothing gained.
The biggest hurdle would be finding enough people to do the sewing. Again, Sam had come to the rescue, saying some of his students would be likely candidates. She agreed. She was on a roll now, excited with the prospect of branching out. Perhaps the three seamstresses on her payroll could cut the patterns and the college girls could sew them at her new location. She could sew and sell under one roof. Packaging could be done in the back of the store. Sam said it would only take a few days to get a working version of the web page on-line. You can fine-tune it as you go along, he’d said, and then volunteered to keep her books. All in the name of friendship.
She really needed to talk to Boots. She knew she was capable of making the decisions, of working hard to make the small business work. Still, she wanted . . . no, she needed Boots’s approval.
Could she do this? Was she capable of starting a business and making it work? Oh, yes. Maybe if she worked really hard, one day she would be in a position to buy a small house with a backyard for Lucie to run in. A house with a real kitchen, where she had room to move around. A house with a family room and a fireplace that burned real wood. If there was extra money left over after her bills were paid, she’d donate to the animal shelters in the area. She vowed then, at that precise moment, to give back as much as she could to make some other woman’s life a little easier.
Helen pulled out her sketch pad. Her pencil raced across the pages as she drew pictures of sexy, lacy underwear. She giggled when she thought of the college student looking at the garments, taking pictures of them, and then scanning them onto the web page. It was going to be fun. She was going to need some power words to attach to her web page. Decadent. Delicious. Sensual. Sassy. Definitely sassy. Feathers. She was going to need feathers on the web page. Maybe eventually she would need live models. Uh-huh. She giggled again. Life was starting to look really good.
It was four o’clock when Helen stacked all her sketches and her lists into a neat pile. She took a last look around the apartment, checked the doors again, and turned off all the lights.
Lucie squirmed off the pillow, making room for Helen’s head. She fell into a deep, dreamless sleep, with her arm around her beloved pet.
Up to her neck in boxes, materials, books, and ledgers, Helen stopped what she was doing when Lucie suddenly let out an earsplitting howl. The fine hairs on the back of her neck stood at attention. At the same moment she dropped to a low crouch to hide behind one of the larger packing boxes. “Lucie, get over here. Shhhh. Come here, girl!”
Someone was coming to her door. Friend or foe? “Come here, Lucie,” Helen said a second time. The little dog scampered over to where she was hiding and leaped into her arms. “Shhh, Lucie. No barking.” She placed the open palm of her hand loosely over the dog’s mouth. It was something Lucie knew and understood from their days back in California. The Yorkie trembled in her arms.
They waited for the inevitable knock on the door. When it came, Helen started to shake as hard as the little dog. She struggled for a deep breath, her heart knocking inside her rib cage. Was it always going to be like this? Of course it was. A stranger would always be a stranger.
The knock was loud on the metal door. Overly loud. Way too loud. She hated the sound.
Helen almost fainted when she heard a voice shout, “Miss Baker, I’m Les Webster from the college. You called about your web page a couple of days ago. Professor Tolliver sent me.”
“It’s okay, Lucie, Sam sent him. This time, it’s okay.”
Helen wove her way through the boxes to the door. “I’m sorry, Les, I was in the other room,” she lied. “Come in.” Her hold on Lucie was secure.
“Cute dog,” the young man said. “Great computer. Top-of-the-line. I like this,” he said, sitting down and flexing his fingers. “With what you told me on the phone and what Professor Tolliver said, I think I’ll just get to it if that’s okay with you. Just go on with what you were doing. I won’t bother you.”
“That’s it? You don’t want any input? You don’t want me to sit next to you and tell you how I see it all?”
“Nope. Sex sells. We know that. I have all the pictures right here. Sexy underwear. I’m your man. I have five sisters. You want flash, pizzazz, bright colors, and lots and lots of sass. Like I said, I’m your man.”
“Oh,” was all Helen could think of to say.
“My sisters seem to think you need something ethereal if you want to go with the feathers for your, ah, innocent line. Clouds, lots of lace, and a demure whatever-that-thing-is.”
Helen watched the gangly young man as he clicked and clicked at the keyboard. Lucie barked once and then again.
“Cute dog. We have three dogs at home,” Les said absently. “Big dogs. They eat a lot. Do your best to keep yours quiet. I have to concentrate.”
Helen nodded until she realized the boy couldn’t see her. He couldn’t be more than nineteen, and it was doubtful he’d shaved yet. His hair was a richly burnished copper color. There was no part, no effort to control the corkscrew curls that stood straight in the air. They were a perfect match for the millions of freckles that peppered his face and arms. His jeans had so many rips and tears in them Helen had to fight herself not to offer to sew them for him. The rugby shirt was worn and faded and looked extremely comfortable. Sam had one just like it. The sneakers he wore looked like Sam’s, too, half-beaten to death, worn, and dirty, the laces frayed and just as dirty. He turned and smiled. “Did I pass muster?”
“Uh-huh.” Helen decided she liked him. “Would you like something to drink, a Coke, coffee, or tea?”
“Maybe some herbal tea, but later.”
Helen knew the moment the words were out of his mouth, she was forgotten. He was so engrossed with what he was doing, the building could cave in and he wouldn’t notice.
“Okay, Lucie, let’s me and you go for a walk. Get your leash, baby.”
“Professor Tolliver was just parking his car when I got here,” the kid threw over his shoulder as Helen opened the door.
“Really,” was all she could think of to say. Sam was back. Lucie would be so happy. She felt giddy at the thought. She’d missed the big Lab. She’d missed Sam, too. God, I really missed Sam. A lot. More than a lot.
Lucie jerked forward, dragging Helen down the walkway to Sam’s door, where she let out a ferocious bark. An answer came through the door. The Yorkie danced and pranced until Sam opened the door. She was inside in a flash, running to Max and tumbling all over him.
“Too bad her owner doesn’t greet her neighbor the way her dog does,” Sam grumbled.
“Hello, Sam. It’s nice to see you. We missed you. I miss
ed you. I really did. All she did was mope around.”
“That’s what Max did. I thought he was sick at first. Then I showed him a picture I had of all of us. You remember the one I took when we went fishing at Round Valley. I stapled it to his blanket. He was kind of okay after that. Did you really miss me, or are you just saying that?”
“No, I really missed you. I knew the dogs would miss each other. What will we do if one of us moves away?”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Sam said. “Are you planning on moving?”
“Not right now. Someday I hope to buy a little house with a yard so Lu . . . so Nine-A can run around.” Damn, it was still hard to keep thinking of Lucie as Nine-A.
“Someday could be a long way off,” Sam said glumly. “Want to come in for coffee? I brought back some flavored, the kind you like.”
“Sure. I guess I’m kind of in the way in my apartment. I can’t wait to get a place where I can store all this stuff. I feel like I’m living in a warehouse. By the way, I quit my job yesterday. I was going to ask to borrow your newspaper to look for a store location. Want to come with me?”
“Okay, but I don’t know what you’re going to find on a Sunday afternoon.”
“I’m just looking. Once the web page goes up, I’m going to need the space. I’ll feel like I’m going to work if I have a place of my own. I hope this works. I’m so nervous about it all. I’ve never done anything like this before. It’s kind of scary.”
What You Wish For Page 10
