Miss Julia Weathers the Storm
Page 28
“So,” I said, “you really mean to leave Leonard?”
“You better believe it! He wanted solace? I’ll give him solace and have some myself! Just think of it, no more cooking three meals a day if I don’t want to, and I hope to goodness I never see another blueberry pancake. Because now, thanks to Helen or maybe to Thurlow’s fall off the roof, I have an affordable place to live. I tell you, all the signs are right and I know it’s what I’m supposed to do. So I have to thank you, Julia, for opening my eyes.”
“Well,” I said, trying for humility, “I’m glad to’ve been of help.”
“You were. Although,” she said, rising and going toward the door, “you could’ve been a little nicer doing it.”
—
That evening after Sam and I had exhausted all we knew about the Thurlow-Helen arrangement, as well as the LuAnne-Leonard pending dis-arrangement, Sam went up to his study in the sunroom to check in again with Coleman. The two still-missing stalkers were weighing on his mind, especially since Lillian and Latisha were no longer under our roof. Coleman had been good about keeping us abreast of the investigation, and had, in fact, called us early the day before to let us know that the Coast Guard was on the case. They had been so eager to get their hands on the sand dollar and the other little device that they had flown two officers to Abbotsville to get them. And to get Rob, too.
As for the other two stalkers, they seemed to have disappeared. The black Suburban had been located in the lot of the Quality Inn with no corresponding guests. As it was a rental car, the thinking was that they’d abandoned it and rented another. Which would’ve made for an easy trace had anyone known their names, but nobody did except Rob and, so far, he wasn’t talking.
I thought to myself that I knew a way to loosen his tongue, but nobody asked me. The problem of Rob and company was now in the hands of the Coast Guard, and, since we no longer had anything of value to smugglers or stalkers, we were told to rest easy. But I intended to learn how to wield a hot-glue gun as soon as Latisha could teach me—just in case.
—
And, speaking of Latisha . . . Lloyd came bouncing in after school one afternoon a few days later to tell us about his classes and about Latisha. According to him, she’d finally presented her surprise—the fairly evenly shell-covered frame—to Binkie because Binkie had given her the little red pocketbook that now accompanied Latisha every day to second grade.
And the shell design—the one that Sam had encouraged her to create on poster paper, and which turned out to be that of a huge foot to commemorate a recent surgery—went to Lillian because she’d missed the beach trip.
Then, Lloyd continued, Mr. Pickens had heard Latisha mention a scooter, so he’d bought her one as a reward for uncommon bravery in the face of danger in a kitchen.
“And like it was no more than what anybody would’ve done,” Lloyd went on, “she said, ‘Well, he was tryin’ to get my pocketbook.’”
Lloyd couldn’t help but laugh as he went on to tell us of Latisha’s reaction when she saw the scooter. “She tried to be excited when J.D. gave it to her,” he said, “but her face gave it away. See, all along she was thinking scooter meant motor scooter—like a moped. She was planning to ride it to and from school.”
“Oh, no,” I said, “surely she didn’t think she could ride it on the street.”
“Well, she did. So when she saw it didn’t have a motor and she’d have to push it with her foot, she was pretty disappointed. But I told her it was the prototype of a skateboard—a kind of Early American model—and she perked up at that. And now she loves it. I kinda do, too, whenever she lets me have a turn.”
—
“Good morning, ladies.” Sam, rubbing his hands together, strode into the kitchen a few mornings later. Beaming with anticipation, he pulled out a chair and took a seat at the table.
He’d had another bright idea and couldn’t wait to spring it on me.
“Mornin’, Mr. Sam,” Lillian said, turning from the stove. “Scrambled, over light, or hard fried?”
“Anything, any way, Lillian,” Sam said, holding out his cup as I picked up the coffeepot—a new one since the old one had been put to another use. “I’m easy to please this morning. Julia, I’ve been thinking—we ought to be making some Christmas plans.”
I smiled, almost laughed, and reached over to take his darling hand. “I’m not surprised. You’re always thinking of something. But let’s not worry about Christmas until we’ve gotten over summer. Why, Sam, the school year’s just started. Let’s at least get through Labor Day before we start thinking of Christmas.”
“Can’t start too early, especially if we want to go somewhere popular, like, maybe Williamsburg? Or, think of this, Julia.” He leaned forward, eager to tell me. “What about renting a lodge at Greenbriar or Wolf Laurel or somewhere like that for a week of skiing?”
“Skiing?” I couldn’t believe he thought I’d risk life and limb on a ski slope. Or that he would, either.
“Wel-l-l,” he conceded, “the children would enjoy it. And so would everybody younger than us.” He grinned. “Which is all of them. You and I could sit by the fire, drink hot cider, and people watch.”
“We can do that here,” I said. “I’ll even wear a fur hat and a pair of tights if it would help.”
Lillian’s shoulders began to shake as she listened to us. She knew what a homebody I was, and what a gadabout Sam was. But I smiled, too, for I knew what Sam was up to. He’d proposed a ski holiday, knowing it wouldn’t suit me, but hoping I would agree to Williamsburg instead, which was probably his first choice.
“That,” Sam said, squeezing my hand, “could make me want to stay home. But let’s be thinking about Christmas.”
—
To tell the truth, I didn’t give Christmas another thought for the rest of the day—too happy to be home, too glad that the sun was shining, and too grateful that we’d survived unharmed, being the focus of a seafaring crime syndicate.
Sam, on the other hand, must’ve been thinking about it all day. We’d just crawled into bed that night when he turned on his side and said, “I’ve had another idea.”
Speaking up into the dark room, I said, “Sam, I am not flying anywhere.”
He laughed softly. “I know, but how about New York to see some shows—just you and me? We can have a big Christmas here, ask them all over for dinner, play Santa Claus for the children, then take off for the big city.” Then, to really tempt me, he added, “We’d take in some museums, too.”
“I’ll think about it.” And for a few minutes, I did, along with all the things that could go wrong. “But what if we ran into another storm? At that time of year, we could have a blizzard.”
“Ah, honey,” he said, turning and wrapping his arm around me, “we’ve weathered a hurricane with no ill effects. What’s a little blizzard to us? You can’t not do something for fear that the worst could happen—chances are that it’ll happen, anyway.”
“I know,” I said again, whispering against his neck. Then I began laughing. “Remember what we used to say as children—‘Let it rain, let it snow, ain’t nobody out in it’? Or maybe it was ‘Let it rain, let it pour,’ I don’t remember. But I don’t want to be in any kind of storm, be it hurricane, blizzard, or LuAnne’s anger at Leonard. And, on that note,” I went on with sudden recall, “let me suggest that if you ever have the urge to bring home some black lace step-ins, find a better hiding place than a shaving kit.”
Sam started laughing. “I can do without black lace, but a pair of tights and a fur hat? That’s another matter entirely.”
“Oh, you,” I said, laughing as I slid closer to him. “I’m going to stop worrying about storms. As you said, they’re coming whether we like it or not. But as long as you’re around, I can weather them all.”
“Oh,” he said, running his hand down my back, “I’ll be around all right.”
And he was.
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