“Yes,” Gloria answered. “Before it’s too late.”
For the next hour, Gloria told Virginia about her experiences in Eckerd City and what Jesus had done for her in overcoming her fears. She skirted the issue of Tucker and Tracy, and when relaying that part of the story she referred to them as “my friends.” Whether Virginia guessed their identity, Gloria could only speculate. But the dying woman listened avidly to the whole narration, and at the end she cried.
“I’ve never been afraid of anything,” Virginia said, dabbing her runny nose with a tissue. “Until now.” She crinkled the tissue into a ball. “I don’t want to die. I don’t expect I’m all that different from anyone else. No one wants to die. But I don’t know if I’m more afraid of death or … facing God.”
“Then you do believe in God?”
“Of course I do!” Virginia snapped, her eyes angry and flashing, yet fear-filled too. “A smart girl like you should have known that. It’s just been more convenient to say I didn’t, that’s all. But now … oh, Gloria … what am I going to say to Him? When I see Him.” Virginia balled her hands. “What am I going to say?”
“You’re going to remind Him that Jesus paid for your sins, and that because they and you are all under the blood, you’re now the righteousness of Christ and totally acceptable.”
Virginia looked grief-stricken. “But I’m not acceptable.”
“Of course you’re not, but you could be.” Gloria told her about the Fall and Jesus and why He had to come to restore sinful man. And when Virginia sobbed through the sinner’s prayer, Gloria thought—no, she was sure—she heard the angels rejoicing in heaven.
Gloria pulled a pile of envelopes from the black mailbox attached to the siding near her entrance, unlocked the front door—though the Apple Festival was over, she still locked her door because of the stalker—flicked on the lights, then bolted the door behind her. She went straight to the bedroom and tossed her purse onto the bed. Then she kicked off her shoes. She was beat. Virginia had drained the last ounce of her energy. First, she’d take a shower, then have some tea and toast. She wasn’t hungry for much else. And it would be early to bed.
She flipped through the mail and stopped when she recognized Harry Grizwald’s handwriting. Quickly she ripped open the four-by-nine envelope and pulled out the latest C&C flyer. Harry had outdone himself. The flyer was still only one page, front and back, and folded in thirds, but it was a high-end-looking three-color job on coated matte stock with the C&C logo swirling green and gold across the top. She scanned her article on the Slone Foundation and smiled. This should raise eyebrows. She’d show it to Cutter as soon as she got the chance, and when she did, she’d talk to him again about Virginia. If only he understood that time was running out. Reconciliation with his mother couldn’t wait much longer.
Gloria was glad for an excuse to get out of the shop. All morning, Wanda had pestered her about buying the business. “Don’t let this opportunity go by … Don’t be afraid—take the plunge … You have to take chances in life … You’ll always regret it if you don’t.” And on it went. Why couldn’t Wanda understand that Gloria simply couldn’t get the necessary deposit?
Liar.
Okay. She could get it. But the thought of getting it from Cutter left her cold. Gloria had a nagging feeling that maybe it was her pride that couldn’t handle asking Cutter for the money. All right, suppose she did ask. He’d say yes. Then what? People would start talking all over again. And how many times could she allow Cutter to come to her financial rescue before it became indecent? She still owed him for the car. To ask for more money would be taking advantage. You just couldn’t keep asking a man who claimed he loved you for favors.
He loves you.
Cutter Press loves you.
The knowledge didn’t seem as bizarre as it once had. Still, it was ironic that the only man in the world to have ever loved Gloria was the very one she had despised for years. Maybe it wasn’t ironic. Maybe it was just comical and sad. Here she was, looking for love—she’d even, last year, traveled nearly two hundred miles to find it—and it was right under her nose. Only, she didn’t want it.
I know there’s a lesson in this somewhere, Jesus, but for the life of me, I can’t figure it out.
She clutched Tad’s menus under her arm, the ones with the new ice-cream flavors and new prices, and walked briskly down the sidewalk. She had purposely parked in the public lot down the block, rather than along the curb closer to the store, because she wanted to enjoy the beautiful day—low sixties, sunny, not a cloud in the sky, and the air so crisp you could almost hear it snap. Winter was just around the corner.
She inhaled the fresh air. This was her favorite time of year. She greeted by name those she knew as she passed. To others she gave a polite smile. Last year, while she was living in Eckerd, Appleton had been invaded by a horde of city people relocating to the country. It seemed word had gotten out about this beautiful little town. And more and more people were discovering it every day. Gloria was still finding it hard to get used to so many new faces that actually belonged here.
She passed the Bread and Pastry Shop and Rosie’s Beauty Parlor, then stopped in front of Tad’s—a corner store facing Main Street, with a side entrance on Spoon Lake Road. Angry shouts, coming from around the corner, propelled Gloria past Tad’s front entrance and around to the side. J.P.’s car was parked near the curb, hood facing away from Main, red strobe light whirling. The car directly in front of J.P.’s had run up on the sidewalk—at least, the two tires on the passenger side had. For a second, Gloria held her breath, thinking it was the stalker, then remembered that the stalker rode a Harley.
“Let go of me! I didn’t do anything.” The voice sounded distorted, like someone was trying to gargle with mouthwash and talk at the same time. But it was also … familiar.
Gloria exhaled. Tracy? No. It couldn’t be. She jogged toward J.P.’s car and saw him standing over her friend, one large hand holding her, bent like a hinge, across the white hood of the other car. Tracy looked wild and dangerous—like a panther on a leash—and Gloria expected, any minute, to see her leap into the air, right over the car, her, everything, and sprint away.
“Hands behind your back.”
J.P.’s tone frightened Gloria. It smacked of boot camp and brass buttons and twenty years of National Guard. It was the tone J.P. used for the more serious occasions. This was no minor traffic violation.
Gloria had to restrain herself from crying out when J.P. pulled a pair of cuffs from his belt and snapped them around Tracy’s wrists. What was he doing? What was happening? This had to be a mistake.
“You creep! You lousy creep!” Tracy’s voice shrilled.
“What’s wrong, J.P.?” Gloria inched closer to Tracy’s white Nissan.
“Gloria!” Tracy shrieked when she saw her. “Tell this baboon it’s all a mistake. I didn’t do anything!” Tracy suddenly lunged backward as though trying to bolt, forcing J.P. to pull down hard on the cuffs. “Ouch! Stop that! You’re hurting me.”
“Then stay quiet,” J.P. said, his voice sharper than ever. Gloria caught his eyes as he looked up. “DWI,” he said, as though answering her unspoken question. He pulled Tracy backward by her arms. “She almost ran someone over on the sidewalk.”
Gloria glanced behind her and for the first time noticed Agnes Keller trembling against the side of Tad’s store, a container of strawberry ice cream melting in her hands.
“Don’t listen to him, Gloria,” Tracy blurted. “It wasn’t like that at all. He’s just filling his coat … his quote … his … he just needs to hand out more tickets, ’cause … because … he … has to.”
Gloria took a step in Tracy’s direction but stopped when J.P.’s eyes flashed a warning. She watched, without a word, as J.P. led Tracy to his car and opened the door. She stood helpless as he pushed on Tracy’s head so she would clear the opening, then tucked her in the backseat. The way he slammed the door gave Gloria the feeling that more than a car door
was slamming in Tracy’s life. When J.P. drove away, his strobe light still flashing, Gloria’s heart sank. Things like this happened to other people, not someone she knew. It all seemed so unreal. She heard a sniffle and turned to see Agnes still cringing against the side of Tad’s store. With a heavy heart, Gloria walked toward the shaking woman to see how she could help.
By the time Gloria returned to the print shop, Pearl Owens had already called and told Wanda about Tracy’s arrest.
“Where’s that girl headed? That’s what I wanna know.” Wanda hovered around Gloria’s desk, making loud snapping noises with her spearmint. She was down to only a pack a day now. “Ever since she got back from Eckerd, she’s been in one fix or another. Losing her job, hanging around that bad boy, Nick Cervantes. Told Paul months ago to look out. Told him Tracy was heading for trouble. Told him she was heading down the Alps without skis.”
Wanda suddenly bent over Gloria’s garbage pail. “Hey, what’s all this?” She pulled out half a dozen discarded papers from the pail and held them clenched between chubby fingers. “You throwing away our inventory? How are you going to make a living from this place if you’re this wasteful?”
“Wanda—”
“Anyway. I’m glad you’re not hanging around Tracy like you used to.” Wanda shoved the papers back into the garbage. “I swear, you used to be that girl’s shadow. You two were inseparable. I called you the Bobbsey Twins. Just ask Paul if I didn’t.”
Gloria shut down her computer.
“What are you doing?” Wanda put a beefy fist on her hip. “It’s not quitting time.”
“I’m taking a few hours off. Charge it to my personal time.” Gloria rose to her feet. “I just realized I have something to do.”
“Now, what’s so all-fired important that you gotta leave in the middle of the day?”
“Wanda, it’s four o’clock.” Gloria ground her teeth, hoping her shortage of patience was only temporary. “I just realized I should be with Tracy. Maybe there’s something I can do to help.”
“I knew you were going to say that! I just knew it.” Wanda popped her gum. “Well, all right. You go ahead. But Gloria, honey, there’s not a thing you can do for someone who doesn’t want help. But I suspect you’ll have to learn that on your own.”
Gloria knew J.P. wasn’t happy about her being there. His mouth sagged at one end and his eyebrows pinched together over the bridge of his nose. His fingers tapped the desktop like her old pair of ProMark drumsticks, and for a long while, he wouldn’t even look at her. She sat quietly in front of him, hoping his mood would improve, and when it didn’t, she finally reached over and tugged at his arm.
“C’mon, J.P., let me see her. Just for a minute.”
“I already told you no. She’s drying out. Drunk as a skunk. Blood alcohol’s gotta be point-zero-eight or more, but we’ll see what the lab says. You want to help that girl, you start praying, and praying hard. She nearly killed Agnes. Agnes wanted to file charges. Said she had been assaulted with a deadly weapon. I told her to go home and forget it. But Gloria, now I think I made a mistake. Maybe I should have let this be taken to the next level. Tracy’s heading down the wrong lane.”
This was the second time today someone had said that about Tracy. And it only confirmed what Gloria already knew. She had been praying. But it didn’t seem to have made any difference. “What’s going to happen now?”
J.P. fiddled with his notebook. “Well, at least she submitted to a BAC test. If she hadn’t, I would have revoked her license for six months. It’s her first offense, so that’s a plus. But it’s still a criminal offense, and she’ll need a lawyer. If she’s convicted, she could do jail time, get fined, or have to do community service. She could also lose her license. But she’ll have to go before a district court judge and have her case disposed of there. If the lab results come back the way I think they will, she’ll be convicted for sure. ’Course, Tracy can take it to the next level if she wants and appeal to a superior court. But it won’t do her any good. Any way you look at it, your friend’s in trouble.”
Gloria sat staring at J.P., wondering how Tracy had come to this.
Cutter slipped a navy sweatshirt over his head, then pulled on navy sweatpants. He had not lingered at the office like he sometimes did but came right home so he could fit in his jog before Gloria stopped by. This was new, a two-mile jog around the posh neighborhood, something he’d started a little over two weeks ago, around the time he’d realized he was in desperate need of some discipline—a realization brought on by Sadie’s resignation.
Discipline.
That good-old D-word, which he’d had, up until now, little use for. But hadn’t his lack of discipline, his lack of self-control, gotten him into all sorts of trouble? He laced his Nikes and thought of Gloria.
He was glad she felt comfortable enough to stop by his house, even if it was just to show him the latest flyer. If he’d used more self-control when he was younger and not been so impulsive, maybe Gloria would feel even more kindly toward him today. Even now, his lack of self-control threatened to ruin everything. How many more times are you going to tell Gloria you love her? Man, you just can’t keep your mouth shut.
But that was all going to change. He was going to become the model of discipline, even if it killed him. And … he was going to avoid temptation. He laughed when he thought of Mabel Anderson, Sadie’s replacement, with her wrinkled face and short, square body. The woman had to be pushing sixty. Certainly no problem with temptation there. He had purposely picked Mabel because of her age and looks, although she did come with a good résumé and was proving to be a very capable assistant. Still, he was relieved he didn’t have to see a curvaceous body sashaying in and out of his office every day. Until now, he hadn’t realized what a strain it was having someone like Sadie around all the time, with all the sexual tension and innuendos.
He grabbed a bottle of Poland Spring from the refrigerator and downed half of it. Yeah, discipline, that’s what he needed. He’d sweat this impulsiveness, this weakness, right out of him. He’d show Gloria he was a man of character. He put the bottle back into the fridge, then half-walked, half-jogged to the front door and yanked it open. He stepped back in surprise when he saw Sadie Bellows standing in front of him, her hand raised as if ready to ring the bell. She wore a black halter top and black pants that were so tight Cutter was sure they had to be made of spandex. Over that, she wore a little black cotton jacket. Her head was a mass of blonde hair—blown out in long, soft waves around her head.
Temptation with a capital T.
“I’m glad I caught you home. Mind if I come in?”
“Ah … I was just on my way out.”
Sadie pushed past him, brushing her body against his. “I just came to pick up my stuff. It won’t take long.”
“What stuff?” Reluctantly, Cutter closed the door and directed her toward the den.
“My black lace nightie and my best compact.” Without waiting to be invited, Sadie made herself comfortable on the brown Italian-leather couch. She kicked off her high-heeled slingbacks and curled up. “I could use a drink. I’m dry as toast. A beer, maybe, if you have one.”
Cutter grunted and headed toward the kitchen, resenting Sadie’s intrusion. But he’d be polite. It was the least he could do. He hadn’t exactly treated her well. He rummaged through the refrigerator until he found a Corona, opened it, and without pouring it into a glass, carried it to the den. After the beer, Sadie would have to collect her things and get out. He wanted her long gone before Gloria got here.
“I see you still stock my favorite,” Sadie said, obvious pleasure scrolled across her face.
Cutter didn’t bother telling her it was a leftover from their last dinner together at the house. He took a seat in one of the leather chairs facing her and waited.
“I hear you have a real dog working for you. They say she’s a cross between the Hunchback of Notre Dame and Cloris Leachman when she does her Nazi Fraulein thing.”
C
utter gave her a dirty look.
“I’m only telling you what I heard.”
“Mabel’s a good assistant. I’m happy with her.”
Sadie gulped her beer like a truck driver, draining a quarter of the bottle, then put it on the coffee table. “We didn’t part on the best of terms. I guess that’s my fault as much as yours.” She rose to her feet and walked over to Cutter. Then she eased herself down on his lap, pinning him in the chair, and put her face close to his. “I’d like to make it up to you.”
“Sadie, it’s no use.” Cutter pushed against her arms, trying to get up. “It’s over.”
“Don’t you remember how good it was with us?” She brushed her lips against his.
“Sadie, stop.” Cutter reached up and pushed hard against her shoulders, making Sadie almost fall backward.
But she recovered gracefully and scrambled to her feet, then looked down at him with a sad smile. “Just thought I’d give it one last shot.”
Cutter glanced at his watch. Gloria would be here in twenty minutes. If Sadie didn’t get out soon … “Just get your things, Sadie, and go. Let’s make it a clean break.”
“A clean break? You think it’s that easy? You think it’s easy piecing what’s left of my heart back together? No, that’s not clean. It’s messy. And it’s painful.”
Cutter checked his Seiko again and felt he was watching the ticking of a time bomb. He rose to his feet and walked toward the bedroom. “Where did you leave your stuff?” He would gather her things up and bring them and Sadie to the front door, and out. He rummaged through his closet but found nothing. “Where are they?” he yelled between clenched teeth, fuming that Sadie hadn’t joined in the search. When he turned, he found her behind him, her eyes awash with tears.
“You know the thing that bothers me most? It’s that you never gave me any warning. One day we were an item; the next day we’re … nothing? How can that be? You think that’s fair? You think that’s right?”
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