by Trisha Telep
Stacey raised her eyebrows. “Seems like there have to be a lot of conversations between two people who want to live together.”
He nodded. “Yeah. If you can’t get that right, you’re already in trouble.” He glanced at her. “That’s one of the reasons I think you’re so great. I can talk to you.”
She felt her heart bound with excitement, but managed to respond coolly, even with a touch of warning. “Yeah, but I’m not a great doer. I don’t ride bikes or go hiking through the mountains or play sand volleyball.”
“Well,” he said with a little smile, “not yet.”
She smiled back, but briefly. She didn’t think they were quite done with the topic of Mandy yet. “So it’s been six months since she died—”
“Almost seven by now.”
“And you’d been separated a while before the car accident. Where do you feel like you are in the grieving cycle? You know, rage, denial, bargaining, depression, acceptance?”
As always, he seemed to give serious consideration to her question. “I think the rage and denial burned out pretty quickly, but I spent a long time bouncing between bargaining and depression,” he said. “I wish I could say I’m at acceptance, but I still keep thinking . . . if I’d had a chance to hear it from her, hear her tell me that she was going to marry this other guy, I think that would have made it more real for me, you know? I’d have found it a lot easier to let go.”
Stacey nodded. “Makes sense to me.”
They were sprawled on his fuzzy brown couch, but now he sat up with a brisk energy. “And I keep wondering, why doesn’t she call? Why doesn’t she leave somebody a message?”
For a moment, Stacey was bewildered. “Mandy? You want her to call you?” And then she realized. “You want her to call me.”
He nodded. “I never mentioned it, but she was on her cell phone when she died. She and her boyfriend were driving to a party, and Mandy was texting one of her girlfriends when he took a turn too fast and went over an embankment. They were both killed.”
He gave Stacey a look filled with such pain that she couldn’t keep herself from reaching out and taking his hand. “I’m so sorry,” she said.
“She was on her cell phone,” he repeated. “Why hasn’t she called?”
If there was ever a crucial time to give the right answer, it was now. If ever there was a way to help him get over his wife, this was it. Stacey said, “Maybe we could call her. Do you remember her number?”
He looked startled enough to dissipate some of the grief. “But would that work?”
“I don’t know. Worth a try, don’t you think?”
For a moment, his grip on her hand clamped tight enough to cause a spasm of pain, then he released her. “Worth a try.”
Stacey retrieved the phone from her purse and handed it over, absurdly glad to see he had to pull out his own cell and check the list of contacts before punching in the number. When he hit the speaker button, she said, “You don’t have to do that.”
“I want to,” he said.
They heard three rings – enough time for Stacey to wonder if the number had been reassigned – before a woman answered with a cheery greeting. Nathan’s quick, hard intake of breath was all she needed to be sure this was his wife on the other end.
His voice was a lot steadier than Stacey thought her own would have been. “Hey, Mandy,” he said. “I’ve been thinking about you.”
“Nathan!” Mandy replied with unmistakable delight. “How’ve you been? God, it’s great to hear your voice. It’s been too long.”
“It has been,” he agreed. “I’m good. Took a job in Kansas City a few months ago, working with a start-up software company—”
“You’re in the Midwest? No beaches, no mountains? That’s hard to believe!”
“I know. But I like it. Lots of friendly people.” He attempted to smile at Stacey, but she could see that his eyes were watering. She gave an encouraging nod in response.
“Well, you always were a people person,” Mandy said.
“What about you? Anything new in your life?”
“Oh, Nate – I’ve been thinking I need to call you. I want to tell you something, but I can’t bring myself to say the words.”
Stacey saw Nathan swallow hard, as if clearing an obstruction from his throat. “What is it? You can tell me anything.”
“You know I’ve been seeing someone for a while. Greg. He’s really a good guy, we get along so well. Nate, we never argue, can you believe it? And I argue with everyone.”
“That’s the truth.”
“And the other day, he said . . . he asked me to marry him. And I want to do it, Nathan. I want to marry him.”
“Then I think you should do it.”
Stacey thought Mandy might be crying, too. “Really? You’re OK with that?”
“I’m OK with it,” Nathan said. “I want you to be happy.”
Now there was no doubt that Mandy was weeping. “And you. I want you to be happy. I love you, Nathan. I just . . . we just . . . we couldn’t get it right.”
“I love you too, Mand. Maybe we’ll both get it right next time.”
“Promise me you will. Promise me you’ll start looking for a nice girl.” Mandy sniffed and attempted a laugh. “Maybe one of those corn-fed farmer’s daughters they seem to grow there in the Midwest. Maybe you could find one of those.”
Nathan reached for Stacey’s hand again, interlacing his fingers with hers. “Already working on it,” he said.
“Good,” Mandy said, her voice growing faint. “Listen, Nathan, I’ve got to go. I’m so glad you called. I feel better about everything.”
“So do I. Bye, Mandy.”
“Love you! Bye!”
Stacey barely waited until he’d snapped the phone shut before she flung herself across the short distance separating them. She kissed him, she wrapped her arms around his head; she kissed him again. She didn’t know if she was comforting him or claiming him, chasing away his ghosts or asking to be let in. Maybe all of those things. It didn’t really matter. The only thing that mattered was that his arms curled around her, too; he was kissing her back. He was holding on to her as tightly as she was holding on to him.
She only got one more call on the old cell phone. It came the morning after the first night she and Nathan made love.
“You say you’re not much of a doer, but you do that pretty well,” had been his judicious assessment, and she had giggled so long that she’d thought she might never fall asleep. She was still feeling pretty upbeat when she was back in her own apartment the next day, and she answered the phone with a breezy hello.
“Well, you sound happy,” her dad said.
“I am. I had a wonderful date last night – with Nathan, thank you very much – and I’m feeling really optimistic about the long-term chances for this relationship.”
“So you love him?”
“It’s early days, so it’s hard to be sure, but I think I do.”
“That’s awfully good to hear,” he said. “That’s all I wanted to know.”
“So how are you doing?” she asked, but there was only empty static on the line. “Dad? Dad?”
Feeling a little unnerved, she shut the phone, and set it on the end table so she’d be sure to hear it if it rang again. But it never did. Not that day, not that week, not that month.
Not ever. Stacey imagined her father hanging up on his end of the line, satisfied and smiling. It seemed that once his spirit stopped animating the phone, all the magic was gone from that enchanted artefact; no other calls could come through.
Or maybe it wasn’t magic. Maybe it was longing, pure and primal, that had opened and sustained this mystic portal for the past few weeks. It was love, after all, that powered so many miracles, and that made possible superhuman feats of strength and will. Stacey knew her father’s love was what had caused him to cling to her, worry over her, haunt her, long after he should have moved on. She thought that knowing she had found another kind of love must hav
e given him the strength to let her go.
The Storm
Linda Wisdom
One
Storms always put Zoe on edge. She ignored the rain pouring down, and tried not to trip over the three dark-grey fluffy kittens that were stubbornly underfoot.
“OK, girls, off to your kitty cave,” she ordered them, as she filled her tumbler with coffee and grabbed an apple on her way out of the kitchen.
Tic, Tac and Toe refused to be dismissed, though, as they followed her into her office. A necessary sanctuary for a computer geek, it was filled with up-to-date computer equipment, a small flat-panel TV on the wall, and the kind of comfy chair she could sleep in if she felt like it.
Zoe loved designing offbeat websites. It helped that her clients liked the odd and unusual. She considered her work perfect for goths, with their love of the colors black and red, who want something that will stand out on the World Wide Web. It never mattered that the right design might take days and nights to create. It wasn’t as if she had anything better to do.
Too bad today wasn’t going to be one of her more productive days. Not when she had to tune out the major storm that she swore had been going on for days. She tensed when she saw flashes of lightning in the distance and heard the faint rumble of thunder on its heels.
She ignored the weather enemies who wanted to tear her house apart, left the half-designed “Dating the Dead” site behind and moved around the house, pulling drapes closed and making sure the doors were locked up tight. Not that anyone would show up on her doorstep. The house was pretty much out in the middle of nowhere with only the woods for company. Zoe’s closest neighbor was five miles away and he wasn’t all that friendly to begin with. Her parents had desired their privacy and she was only too happy to continue the tradition.
Wanting sounds other than the thunder that was growing closer, Zoe set up her iPod and cranked the speakers. The idea of holing up in the family room with books and candles, well prepared for a power outage, was a good idea. Even the kittens showed up, acting subdued – not normal behavior for the playful felines. They climbed up the couch and clambered all over her.
“We’ll be fine,” she assured them, as she stretched out on the couch with her book and coffee. “It’s not the first storm we’ve endured.”
She regretted her reassurances when a burst of lightning lit up the house even with the drapes tightly closed and thunder shook the building like it was constructed of paper.
“Damn!” Zoe rolled off the couch and just missed crushing Tac before the kitty slid under the sofa to join the dust bunnies. Zoe covered her ears with her hands, but it didn’t help. The thunder kept rolling on. She felt as if the storm were centered over the house, complete with light and sound effects – and now an even heavier downpour, judging from the dripping sound against the windows.
She got to her feet and peeked through the drapes. The rainfall was so heavy she couldn’t see anything beyond the glass. “I might need to build us a boat,” she told the kittens, who had each now found their own sanctuary. Zoe was ready to do the same.
Once upon a time she hadn’t minded storms. She’d even run outside and danced in the rain. Then something happened to change her mind. Now they left her unsettled, and this one scared the hell out of her.
Zoe moved from one window to the next, double-checking to make sure they were secure. The addition of a sweatshirt kept her warmer, but she still felt cold inside.
“I know just how you feel,” she told the kittens that cowered on the couch. “It’s the season for storms, so why is this one bothering me? Maybe once it would be nice to have someone to hang on to when I feel scared. Not that I am.” She didn’t think it was odd to talk to the cats as if they could understand her. She figured it was better than talking to herself.
When the power cut out, she lit the candles and dug out her iPod to help drown out the sounds of the storm while she made another walkthrough to make sure the roof wasn’t leaking.
Zoe stood in the upstairs hallway, her face uplifted as if she could sense something. She winced at the tiny pricks of Toe’s claws digging into her bare foot as the kitten tried to climb up her jean-clad leg.
“Don’t you feel it?” Zoe whispered. “It’s like something’s going to happen.”
Two
Zoe shouldn’t have been able to sleep during the storm. The thunder and lightning had continued to the point where she wondered if it would ever stop.
But working three days nonstop on a site design had worn her out enough that she finally crawled into bed and pulled the covers over her head while the kittens curled up around her.
Even after the strange stormy evening, she dreamed of sunshine, fluffy clouds and having something new in her life – something insubstantial in the distance that grew closer to her while she eagerly waited for it.
And bells ringing in the distance.
Zoe finally pushed her covers off and listened. The bells weren’t in her dream, but downstairs. She could still see lightning flashing into the room, heard thunder booming overhead and rain pummeling the house.
How could she hear the doorbell over all that?
And who could be out there?
“Do serial killers come out in rainstorms?” she asked the kittens as she wrapped a robe around her pajamas.
Zoe ignored the flashbacks from every horror movie she’d ever seen and crept downstairs. Maybe it was her surly neighbor. He was in his eighties and might need some help.
“Who is it?” she called through the door.
“Please, my truck’s stuck in a ditch down the road. It’s impossible to go anywhere. Lady, I’m feeling like a drowned rat out here.”
Telling herself that maniacal killers wouldn’t come out in a storm like this, Zoe unlocked the door and pulled it open, losing her grip as the wind pushed it out of her hands.
A tall figure staggered inside her house and helped her push the front door shut against the wind.
“Sorry for waking you up,” the man apologized, falling against the door. “This storm is a real bitch. I wouldn’t even have found your house if it hadn’t been for the light.”
She shook her head, not able to make out his features in the gloom. “What light? The electricity has been off since this morning.” She frowned. “I don’t even know how the doorbell worked without power.”
“I’m just glad it did.” He peeled off a heavy rain slicker and looked around. “Um, I hate to drip all over your floor.”
Zoe looked up at a sudden flash of lightning and felt her heart stop.
Handsome strangers weren’t known for coming to her door. Come to think of it, neither were ugly ones.
Not that she’d call her visitor handsome. His features were too rough-hewn for that, but he had that strong masculinity that called out to her on an elemental level.
She was suddenly aware of her major case of bedhead, and her ratty – but warm – robe covering her pajamas.
“Come into the kitchen,” Zoe said. “My stove is gas, so I can offer coffee. I couldn’t get my generator to work.” She gestured him to a chair and picked up the old-fashioned coffee pot on the stove.
“I’d be glad to take a look at it,” he offered.
“Get warm first. I’m Zoe Daniels. You can put your slicker out there.” She pointed toward the small mudroom by the back door.
“Jon Reynolds.” He draped his slicker on a hook and returned to the table. “I appreciate you letting me in. I can assure you I’m safe. Not even a parking ticket to my name.” He flashed a grin as he sat down and released a deep breath. “I feel like I’ve been wandering around out there in the rain for weeks.” He started to comb his fingers through his hair then realized all he was doing was shaking water off onto the table.
“The storm only came up this morning,” she said, pulling mugs out of a cabinet. She glanced at the wall clock and decided 4 a.m. wasn’t too early for breakfast. Luckily, she had eggs in the refrigerator and she also found peppers, mushrooms an
d onions to add to the omelet fixings. When the omelet was almost ready, she dropped some bread in the toaster.
Jon grimaced at his soaked shirt. “Sure feels longer than that. How long have you lived out here?” He looked around the kitchen.
“All my life. It was my parents’ house and I inherited it when they died.” Zoe filled a bowl with dry cat food that brought her frisky felines running.
“You’ve got a regular herd of cats there.” Jon laughed, watching them wrestle their way to the bowl.
“They’re good company.” She regretted the words the moment she said them. The last thing she wanted to do was admit she lived alone. Oh wait, she’d already done that.
“Tic has a white dot on her forehead, Tac has one on her tummy, and Toe—” she chuckled “—on her right paw. They’re such kittens at heart that I don’t think they’ll ever grow up.”
Jon leaned down and laughed as Toe tackled his fingers. When he straightened up, Zoe set a full coffee mug, alongside his omelet and toast on the table in front of him. She added a jam jar to the feast before fixing her own plate.
“This looks great, thanks.” He dove into his food.
Zoe ate while covertly studying her company. Thanks to the stove, the kitchen was warm and cosy. She wondered if she could find something large enough for Jon to wear while his shirt dried. She knew she couldn’t do anything with his jeans. At least the water heater was also gas, so she could offer him a hot shower.
She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had someone over for a meal. Or even just for a visit. Or the last time she’d gone out with friends for an evening.
When was the last time a friend had called her wanting to talk? All her conversations lately were via email.
As Zoe looked at Jon and felt his presence she suddenly understood what the word “lonely” meant. It wasn’t pleasant.
