Her heart nearly skipped a beat as she ran back up the stairs, sprinting to the center table. She fumbled with the string, at last just cutting it with a scissors. The pages remained curled but she gingerly spread them out, weighting them down at the edges. Her eyes scanned the top page, coming down to the bottom corner and the name, Willy McGuiness.
*
The next week began a new adventure as Vicki Sumter had a new passion in life; she was now a detective. Knowing it would be too large of a job for just herself, she enlisted the help of her daughters and her mother-in-law. It soon became a game; who could find a clue? They poured over every list and form they could to find a clue to Willy McGuiness. After two weeks and endless internet searches, she was ready to give up until the door to the office opened, the bell a revealing tell. “Leave it to the pros,” she thought. That’s when she knew her words rang true as she turned and came face to face with the Chief of Police.
“Morning, Vicki.”
“Good morning, Chief.” Vicki laid her forms down and gave him a warm smile. “What brings you in today, Chief?”
“Just waiting for George. He’s to meet me here.”
“Well, since you’re waiting, can I ask you a question?”
“Sure, shoot.”
“Suppose I was looking for someone, someone from a long time ago.” Vicki leaned on the counter, crossing her arms on the top. “What’s the best way to find them?”
“Got a name?”
“Willy McGuiness.”
“From how long ago?”
“I don’t really know, the forties, perhaps? I found something in the house that belongs to him. I’d like to return it.”
“That’s a long time ago,” he said, “But let me see what I can find.” The Chief turned as the bell behind chimed. “I’ll let you know.”
The next two days were near agony for her. Every time she walked by the phone she stared at it, willing it to ring, yet it stayed silent. The dreariness of New England weather started to take its toll as well. The pretty winter scenes on mugs and tapestries now hung only on calendars as the dark skies covered her world. She lifted a warm mug of coffee to her lips as the bell rang at noon and she watched the Chief step into her office.
“Got a name for me?”
“You don’t mince words, do you?” That quickly brought a smile. “Willy McGuiness fought in the war. He purchased that house you live in when he got married. He was killed in France.”
“Oh, that war.”
“Yes, that war. It was a long, long time ago.”
“What happened to his wife? I’m sure she married and changed her name.” Vicki’s posture said it all as she slumped onto the counter.
“His wife remarried, yes, but it was never the same. Her second husband died a few years ago.”
“How did you find all this out in just two days?” Again, her body language said it all as did the smile on her face.
“My uncle was a priest back in those days for the army. One of his duties stateside was to deliver the unfortunate news to families about their loved ones.”
“Oh my.” Vicki raised her hand to her lips. “That must have been terrible.”
“It is a burden he lives with to this day. He remembers every one of the families; has kept in touch with many of them over the years, as a matter of fact.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”
“Nothing to be sorry about. That was his life.”
“Where can I find her?”
“She lives in the retirement home at St. Stephen’s. All I know is, she is very old and frail.”
“Do you think she accepts visitors?”
“Couldn’t rightly say. I’d call the place and see what they say.”
“Thanks, I’ll do that,” Vicki said with a playful smile as she turned back to her work.
“My pleasure, Vicki”, the Chief said as he tipped his cap and headed out the door.
Chapter Four: Home Again
She sat nervously in her car as the light snow built up on her windshield, the defroster having little effect. The call she made the day before to St. Stephen’s was met with polite acknowledgment. The lady she had come to know as Kathleen McGuiness was now Kathleen Asner, a very old woman at the end of her life. She had outlived two husbands and one child. Something no mother and wife should have to live through. Vicki opened the door and stood, letting the soft snow fall onto her shoulders. The building before her looked austere, as drab and unfriendly as the city building she worked in. She closed the door and sighed. The short walk to the front door covered her shoes with a layer of fresh white. The door handle was about as cold as the greeting she received inside from the receptionist.
“Down the hall to the right, room 141.”
Vicki only nodded in return, pulled off her gloves and tucked them into her coat. Her hand felt the bulk of the small package against her stomach. St. Stephen’s was silent as she walked, the only sound the clicking of her heels against the wet tile floor. She could smell the age of the place, the tell-tale odor of a place where people go to... She stopped as the number before her caught her attention. 141. The heavy brown door was ajar and swung slightly as she knocked.
“Hello?” Her inquiry was returned with a feeble moan. She stepped inside, her eyes struggling to adjust to the low light. “Kathleen?”
“Yes?”
Vicki stepped forward looking around the curtain that hung from the ceiling like those in a hospital room. Not much of a retirement home, she thought. What she found nearly brought her to tears, a feeble old woman sitting in the dark in a wheelchair. Vicki stooped, lowering her eyes to Kathleen’s level.
“Kathleen?” The old woman lifted her eyes, the look a blank stare. “Are you Kathleen Asner?” The woman nodded slowly. “I mean,” Vicki cleared her throat to say the next words. “Are you Kathleen McGuiness?”
“Yes?” The sound of her name brought a spark of recognition. Her eyes lit and a faint smile caught her lips. “Who are you?” The words stumbled out of her mouth.
“My name is Vicki. I have something for you.” Vicki leaned away from Kathleen as she steadied herself on the wheelchair. She reached inside her coat and pulled the package into the dim light. “I live in your old house. I found this and I thought you might like to have it back.” Vicki brought the package up so she could better see it. “Do you remember it?”
Kathleen’s eyes lit, her mouth opening in wonder. She lifted her arms from the chair, her hands trembling beneath their own weight. Vicki moved it toward her and helped to lay it in her lap. Kathleen lifted the faded paper, turning the tag over with her wrinkled fingers. Tears immediately streamed down her cheeks. She ran her hands over the thin ribbon, placing the package back in her lap.
“Can I open it for you?” A wide-eyed nod was all the encouragement Vicki needed.
The paper tore easily leaving only the box behind. A gentle tug separated the top from the bottom, revealing white tissue paper. Kathleen placed her hands within the box and peeled back the layers. Her fingers slipped beneath the contents as the box fell away to the floor, her hands holding firm to the frame Vicki could only see from behind.
Kathleen simply stared at what the frame held before lifting it to her lips, a gentle breath, a kiss long lost as her hands fell back to her lap. Vicki reached out, stroking Kathleen’s white hair as she turned to see the photo in the golden frame, a photo of a young soldier in his dress uniform kissing his bride for the first time in a ravenous embrace.
A slight sigh escaped from Kathleen’s lips as the frame slipped from her hands and fell to the hard floor. Vicki leaned forward and holding Kathleen’s face in her hand, kissed her on the cheek as she reached up, and gently closed Kathleen’s eyes for the final time.
* * *
Robert currently resides in the United States’ Midwest and is an author of fantasy and epic fantasy books, including The Crystal Point Legacy trilogy, and a new series, The Last Elf Prophecy.
Visit http://robertthomasbooks.com to
see all of Robert’s books.
*
Songs From the Heart
Mona Ingram
Chapter One
“Pete?”
“Yes, Miss Malone?”
“Pull over here, would you?” Mandy edged forward on her seat as the limo approached her old high school. The schoolyard was empty now, in the middle of the summer. The grass was already making its annual comeback; it would be lush and green by the time September rolled around, and the cycle would start all over again.
Her gaze drifted to the trees at the far end of the yard. Noticeably taller now, they’d spread until their branches interlocked. She and her friends had spent many an hour under those trees, discussing whatever they’d decided was the vitally important topic of the day. She smiled at the memory.
“A bit farther along, Pete.”
The limousine inched along and Mandy lowered the tinted windows.
“Now what are you doing?” Simon had been silent thus far, which was surprising. But his need for control won out. “We have to get out to the Sage Bowl and do a sound check.”
Mandy ignored him. They had plenty of time and he knew it. “I’ll get out up here, Pete.”
“Christ, Mandy. If anyone recognizes you, we’ll be mobbed.”
It was all she could do to keep silent. Her manager loved any type of mob scene. As a matter of fact, she was fairly sure that he instigated them from time to time to drum up interest in her performances. Foolish, really, as her concerts consistently sold out within a day of the tickets going on sale. She still pinched herself every time one of her songs raced to the top of the charts, and more than once she’d wondered if she really deserved the adoration of her fans, or the accolades for her work. But having the best songwriter in the business didn’t hurt...
A low stone fence rimmed this end of the playground. Every fifty feet or so there was a break to walk through and she did that now, admiring the craftsmanship of the stonemason. The School Board had wisely decided to preserve the fence, which had been built in the first half of the twentieth century by a family of Italian craftsmen who had settled in this part of the Okanagan Valley. She wandered along toward the swing set and then sat down on the fence, lost in memories of those days spent here in Gold Creek.
Stirred by a gentle breeze, the trees whispered in welcome, and for a moment she drifted back in time. She was sitting on a swing, pushing listlessly against the ground with the toe of her sneaker, listening as the other side presented the final argument on the topic du jour. The memory was so real, she could feel the sturdy chain links of the swing support under her palms, hot from the sun.
It had been her turn to lead the team arguing the ‘pro’ side. She couldn’t even remember what the discussion had been about, but she’d lost the argument, and her friends applauded the winning side, then turned to her.
“Matthew wins!” chirped her best friend Sunny. “You have to forfeit.”
“Thanks a lot.” Mandy pretended to be angry, but she’d known from the outset that she was arguing a lost cause. She turned to Matthew. “So, what’s it to be?”
“I think a kiss would be appropriate.” He shoved up his glasses, but not before she saw something bloom in the depths of his eyes.
“A kiss?” It was all she could do to get the words out. Matt Williamson had come to Gold Creek in mid-year, and she hardly knew him. Tall and lanky, he seemed uncoordinated, and yet there was something about him that made her think a kiss from him might not be such a hardship.
“Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” The crowd supported Matt’s choice.
Her hands tightened around the chain of the swing as he approached. She imagined herself to be a bug trapped in amber, and yet she was a willing bug.
“Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” Her schoolmates weren’t letting up.
Matt grasped the chains of the swing, covering her hands with his. This close, she saw the flecks of gold floating in the chocolate of his eyes, and her breath caught in her throat as he leaned closer.
“We don’t have to do this, you know.” His gaze held hers, then moved slowly down to her lips. “Although I can’t think of a forfeit I’d rather have.”
“Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” The words echoed across the schoolyard.
“Okay, what’s going on here?”
Mandy was vaguely aware of the Vice-Principal’s voice as he strode toward the group. How could she be expected to hear when her heart was pounding so hard? She and Matt looked at each other for several long seconds and then he pulled away to face ‘Adolph.’
Steve Manley was the Vice Principal from hell. Pumped up by his imagined self-importance, he marched as he patrolled the halls of the small school, and had adopted a silly-looking moustache that resembled the one worn by Hitler. The nickname was inevitable.
Mandy stood, surprised that her legs would hold her. “Nothing, Mr. Manley.”
He glared at Mandy, then Matt, as though trying to make up his mind. Waving a hand in the air, he dismissed them. “That’s enough for today. You kids go home now.”
Matt opened his mouth to argue. After all, school was over for the day. But Mandy had given him a subtle shake of her head, which he acknowledged with an imperceptible nod.
She hadn’t thought about that day for years.
Chapter Two
“Are you all right, Miss Malone?”
Startled, Mandy looked up and acknowledged the limo driver. “Yes, Pete. I was remembering when I went to high school here.” She rose. “Doesn’t seem like seven years ago.”
His glance took in the entire area in one sweep. “I’ll bet it was nice, going to a small school like this.”
“It was.” She stretched, and they started walking side by side back to the limo. “We used to hang out right here, by the swings, and discuss the problems of the world.”
She didn’t know why she was being so forthcoming. She’d found over the years that it was better not to share personal stories. There were too many tabloids willing to pay for snippets of conversation, which by the time they were printed, rarely resembled any conversation she recalled.
Simon was fuming by the time she crawled back into the limo.
“What was that? A walk down memory lane?”
His caustic tone, coming on the heels of such a gentle memory, was too much for her. She rolled up the glass partition between the back and the driver and turned to Simon.
“Simon, let me remind you. You are my manager. You work for me, and if you weren’t damned good at what you do, I would have fired you long ago.”
He tried to look offended, but he was wise enough to remain silent.
“I made the mistake of getting personally involved with you, only to discover that you can’t keep your pants zipped. That part of our relationship is over, thank goodness, so all that’s left is a business arrangement. And that does not include me putting up with snide remarks.” She reached for a bottle of water and took a long drink. “If you can’t handle that, then I can and will get another manager.”
“You need me,” he blustered.
“No, Simon, I do not.” She held his gaze until he backed down. “And in case you’ve forgotten, my friend Sandy is stopping by the sound check this afternoon, and I don’t want any theatrics from you while she’s there.”
He mumbled something unintelligible.
“What’s that?”
He stared out the window for a few moments. “I was going to tell you later, but since you’re in such a pissy mood, I’d better fill you in.”
She opened her mouth to object to his comment, but he’d piqued her curiosity. “Tell me what?”
“Well.” His shoulders went back and he gave her a triumphant look. “You’re finally going to get to meet the songwriter.”
Was this one of Simon’s distractions, or the truth? If what he said was true, it was something she’d wanted for several years now, ever since that first song that had skyrocketed her to stardom.
Back then, when she and Simon still liked each o
ther, she’d tried to explain how Close Enough To Care had affected her. That, and every song which followed spoke to something deep inside her. It was as if the songwriter had written those first songs specifically for her, that he understood what moved her in a way no other songwriter could hope to equal.
When she’d asked to meet the elusive songwriter, Simon had acted strange, informing her that he desired to remain anonymous.
“But that’s ridiculous,” she’d argued. “What if one of his songs gets nominated for a Grammy?”
He frowned, and from what she could tell, he was genuinely puzzled. “He’s let it be known that he doesn’t want to be nominated.”
“You’re making this up, right?” She gave a nervous laugh. “Nobody would do that.”
“I agree, and I can’t explain it.” He spread his hands in defeat. “But that’s the way it is.”
No wonder Simon was uncomfortable discussing the songwriter. He’d finally come up against someone he couldn’t manipulate.
As Mandy’s star grew brighter, she became less comfortable with the situation. Finally, at the beginning of the year, she’d managed to get a few minutes alone with her producer in his studio. Simon might be a jerk in his personal life, but he’d surrounded her with the best professionals in the business.
The legendary producer shook his head. “I swear, Mandy. I don’t know who he is.” His fingers drifted over the soundboard as he spoke. “His agent acts as go-between, and as you know, we rarely if ever need to ask for re-writes.” He shook his head. “I don’t understand it, either.”
“But how can he keep his name a secret? I mean, what about getting paid?”
“That’s easily enough arranged. He uses his company name.” He tapped a score. “You must have noticed his company name. SwingTime Sound.”
Mandy made a sound of disgust. “Sounds like a name from the forties. Glenn Miller or something.” She gave the producer a look of mock horror. “What if he’s some old geezer? Maybe I don’t want to meet him after all.”
The Kiss: An Anthology About Love and Other Close Encounters Page 19
