Winter Winds

by Gayle Roper

  Dori shrugged. “That’s what impulsive gets you. We’ll have to go away later.”

  Angie and Judy just looked at her, and Dori realized with a start that they didn’t believe she and Trev were married. She frowned at them. Did they think that Trev, their pastor, would fake a marriage to cover an affair? And that she would cooperate? Sure, pastors fell into sexual sin all too frequently, but she doubted that even the most brazen brought their girlfriends home to masquerade as their wives.

  Resentment washed through her. Dori knew she needed to move on and quickly before she said something she’d regret or that Trev would regret.

  She smiled, imagining pointed shark teeth ready to take a bite out of Angie or Judy. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to get on with my shopping so I’m there when Trev gets home. We hate being apart for even a single minute.” She pushed gently on her cart, still blocked by Angle’s, as she heard the lie she’d just told. Somehow it would come back on her; she just knew it. Getting caught was the story of her life.

  “Paul,” Angie said as she pulled her cart back to her side of the aisle. “His name is Paul.”

  Dori tried to feel sorry for Angie, but there was something nasty about the girl’s manner that wiped out her usual compassion. “To those of us who love him, it’s always been Trev.” With a breezy wave, Dori moved on down the aisle.

  In frozen foods she grabbed a pair of pizzas, the vegetables she wanted, and a bag of frozen chopped onions. You could never have too many onions. As she picked up a package of precut boiled ham and another of American cheese, she replayed the conversation with the Warringtons. She grabbed an African violet and two planters of flowing ivy from the flower department and wondered how she should have handled things. As she checked out and drove home, she began to realize just how difficult a position Pop had put Trev in.

  She pulled up to the curb in her red Taurus and climbed out. She opened the trunk and was reaching for the grocery bags when Trev appeared beside her.

  “I didn’t think you were home yet,” she said, giving him an automatic smile. “I didn’t see your car.”

  “It’s in the garage off the alley.” He waved that away as of no importance as he glared at her. “Where have you been? I thought—” He stopped himself and cleared his throat.

  She felt a chill as she realized what he had thought. “You thought I’d left again.”

  He colored but made himself look her in the eyes. “Yes.”

  “I wish I could,” she said and watched him turn pale. He grabbed two grocery bags and stalked up the walk, but not before she saw the hurt in his eyes.

  “Trev.” She grabbed a pair of bags, slammed the trunk shut, and hurried after him, her bags bumping against her. “That didn’t come out the way I meant it.”

  He kept walking. She followed him up the stairs and into the house. “I just meant that I wish Pop hadn’t done this to us, locking us in this untenable situation. It’s so unfair to you.”

  He dumped the bags on the kitchen counter. “I know what you meant.” His voice was chill.

  She set her bags down, grabbed his arm, and turned him to her. “No, you don’t. I met Angie and Judy Warrington at the store, and they began asking questions. As I skated about, trying to be truthful but careful—” except for that one little misstatement about never wanting to be apart—“I realized how much is at stake for you, and how complicated things are. When I said I wished I could leave, it had no bearing on you personally, just the hard situation. I don’t like having to try to explain every little move.”

  He looked at her without expression for a moment, and she held her breath. A couple of hours ago she had wanted to boil him in oil, and now she couldn’t stand the fact that she’d inadvertently hurt him. These fluctuating emotions were going to make her crazy.

  When he nodded understanding, she sagged with relief. He looked toward the front door. “Where’d the car come from?”

  “I rented it.”

  “Really?” He looked impressed. “You sure move fast.”

  “Self-preservation. I opened the refrigerator.” She began unloading the bags while Trev watched with interest. “By the way, you’re allowed to help.”

  Trev rolled his eyes as he reached in a bag and began dragging items out.

  “So how was Barry?” Dori asked.

  Trev sighed. “He’s in deep trouble this time. They’re going to make it as hard as possible for him to get out. There’s a bail hearing Tuesday, but I don’t think the judge will allow bail.”

  “Maybe that’s good.”

  “Maybe. Obviously he can’t control his compulsions, and he can’t be allowed to continue to scare women so badly. It’s especially hard on the younger victims. They expect to be attacked. So far there seems to have been some inner control that’s never let him go farther than flashing or streaking, but who knows if and when that might change.” Trev slid the pizzas in the freezer. “Such a waste of a life.”

  “And Mary with the kidney stones?”

  “She’s uncomfortable to put it mildly. They’ll probably shoot the stones with ultrasound on Monday. Knowing Mary, I wouldn’t be surprised if she tried to tell the doctors how they should do it.”

  They laughed softly together, and she became aware of him staring at her.

  “What?”

  “I’ve always loved to watch you laugh,” he said. “You have such a wonderful smile.”

  She looked at him, totally surprised, not knowing how to respond.

  “But what I really need to say to you is that I’m sorry.” He crumpled a plastic grocery bag in his hand. “I should never have spoken in such anger earlier. I said some things I’m ashamed of. Please say you forgive me.”

  Dori nodded as she put the milk and juice in the refrigerator. “I know. Me too.” She put the twelve-pack of Coke on the bottom shelf. “Do you realize we’ve never spoken to each other in anger before in our whole lives?”

  He opened the freezer and slid in the chicken and the roast. “Now that you mention it, I think you’re right.”

  “I know I’m right.” She picked a cupboard at random for the cookies.

  He folded the bag. “Anyway, as an apology, I’d like to take you out to dinner tonight.”

  Dori stilled. “Yeah?” She pulled a dead leaf off the ivy plant, then set it in the middle of the kitchen table. She turned to him with a smile. “Sounds very nice. I’d love to go.”

  “Good.” He opened the refrigerator door and dumped the potatoes and carrots in the crisper drawer. He grinned at her over his shoulder. “Good.”

  She cleared her throat. “That’s the first time you’ve ever asked me for something that could even loosely be termed a date.”

  He was quiet for a minute, but she could feel his eyes on her as she put the African violet on the windowsill. Then he came to her and turned her to him. His arms encircled her and hers automatically slid around his waist. He studied her with eyes full of regret and something else she couldn’t quite define.

  “I’ll see if I can do better this time around,” he said softly. He bent and kissed her forehead. “Now go put on the best thing you’ve got with you.”

  With an unsettling mix of regret and relief, she stepped out of his embrace and hurried upstairs. As she thought over the clothes she had with her, she realized that she hadn’t packed anything particularly dressy. She’d expected to be at the hospital or at Pop and Honey’s. Neither place called for anything but slacks and tops.

  Her navy slacks and white T would look nice with her chenille jacket, but it was a long way from elegant. She hoped Trev wouldn’t be disappointed because he wanted to take her somewhere fancy. After Tuesday when Randy brought her things, she could go anywhere Trev wanted to take her. Tonight he’d just have to make do with her as she was.

  She stood at the side of the bed and smiled. Trev had asked her out. On a real date. How long had she dreamed he’d do so? Feeling somewhat giddy she lifted her big suitcase onto the bed. It didn’t matter t
o her what she wore or where they ate. Anywhere with him would do.

  She threw open the lid of her larger suitcase and stared in disbelief.

  “Trev!” she shouted. “I’ve got the wrong suitcase!”

  Fourteen

  JOANNE PULLED THE BLACK SUITCASE behind her as she went through the automatic doors back into the Philadelphia airport. She shuddered. Even being close to the huge planes filled her with dread.

  As if Vinnie’s attitude wasn’t enough to fry her circuits. She could practically see the anger rising off him in waves, like heat from the sand in high summer. He had never been so abusive before. Even thinking of the names he’d called her and the way he’d wrenched her arm made tears come to her eyes. Sure, he got angry sometimes, but never like today. Not like when he realized the paintings weren’t there because she had taken the wrong bag.

  Well, the whole mess would be over soon. She’d get the right suitcase, and Vinnie would forgive her. Even more important, Mr. J would never know.

  Oh, please, God, please, God, please, God, let it be so.

  The only trouble with her prayer was that she wasn’t certain God listened to people like her. Didn’t you have to go to church and stuff to be on His good side? Still, He was her best bet, and sad to say, her only bet.

  It was all the fault of that lady.

  “This is my bag,” she’d said and pulled it right out of Joanne’s hands. Talk about rude!

  Joanne stopped inside the airport doors and looked around, not certain what to do. Since Vinnie’s car heater wasn’t working well, she could barely feel her feet in their stiletto-heeled boots. As she wiggled her toes, trying to get some sensation back, she hoped she looked cool and smart. She was afraid she just looked lost and dumb.

  For want of a better plan, she went back to where she’d gotten the suitcase. The room with the three baggage carousels was empty except for a man working in a glass booth on the street side of the big room. Several suitcases stood beside his little office, and three stood inside it. She squinted and tried to see if any of them had a red tie on the handle. It didn’t look like it. But maybe the tie had come off and the suitcase was here, just waiting for her. She brightened for a moment.

  But if the tie had come off, how would she be able to tell it was hers? The little black cloud that had begun raining on her the moment she got the wrong case dropped another bucketful of water.

  “How do you know that’s yours?” the man in the booth would ask her. “There’s no name and no red tie.”

  “It’s got stolen paintings in it.”

  Right.

  She hesitantly went into the office. “Hello.”

  The harried-looking man glanced up from his work. “Yes?”

  “I got the wrong suitcase.”

  The man didn’t move. He just let his eyes slide shut. Joanne could just imagine what he was thinking: another dumb blonde.

  “Bad day?” she asked, hoping to make him not be angry at her.

  He opened his eyes and gave her a slight smile. “You wouldn’t believe.”

  Joanne thought that she would because she knew all about bad days. Lots of her days were bad days. And just look at what today had been like. The baddest of the bad. “I took the wrong suitcase,” she told him again.

  “Name?”

  “Joanne Pilotti.”

  The man consulted some papers, then shook his head. “No one by that name has called about a missing suitcase.”

  “Oh, no.” Joanne leaned on his high counter. “I’m Joanne Pilotti.”

  “Ah.” He went back to his papers. “No suitcase belonging to a Joanne Pilotti has been turned in. Where did you come from?”

  Joanne blinked. “Seaside.” Why did that matter?

  The man looked at her without saying anything for a minute. “No, I mean where did you fly in from.”

  “Oh.” Joanne felt herself turn scarlet. Definitely a dumb blonde. “Chicago.”

  The man consulted his magic list once more. Then he pointed. “I have two unclaimed suitcases from O’Hare.”

  Joanne felt hope like when the sunshine slips out from behind a rain cloud.

  The man pointed. “That olive green one and that fake leather one.”

  Feeling her hope collapse as surely as big hair in the damp sea air, she shook her head. Vinnie was going to kill her.

  “You got a name and an address on that case?” the man asked, indicating the one she pulled.

  Joanne nodded. “Dori MacAllister. But she lives in San Diego.”

  “Maybe if you call, someone at that address can tell you where she’s staying while she’s here. Maybe she can meet you, and you can trade.”

  Joanne stared at the man. What a good idea! Why hadn’t she or Vinnie thought of that? “Thanks!” Rushing away to find Vinnie and tell him about this good idea, she ignored the man as he called, “Hey, give me your address and phone number in case that other woman calls.”

  Pulling the wretched suitcase behind her, she hurried to the curb where Vinnie waited in the car. She opened the passenger door and sat, the suitcase still on the sidewalk.

  “You make the exchange?” he asked. She could tell by his manner that he was still furious with a little bit of scared thrown in. It was the scared part that worried her. If he was scared—and he hadn’t even made the big mistake of losing the suitcase, though asking for her help might be seen as his big mistake—how should she be feeling?

  “The other one’s not here.” She flinched, waiting for his reaction. She half expected him to hit her.

  When nothing happened, she opened her eyes. He had both hands wrapped around the steering wheel, probably wishing it was her neck, and he was very, very pale.

  She hurried to tell him about the great suggestion from the luggage man. “So we call this lady’s house,” she finished. “We get them to tell us where she’s staying, and we go there and make the exchange.”

  Slowly Vinnie turned to look at her. “I don’t believe it. You actually have a good idea here.”

  Joanne preened under his praise, her cheeks flushing. “Thanks.”

  They drove away from the airport, following the signs for 1-95. Just before the ramp to 1-95 north, Vinnie pulled over on the shoulder of the road. He pulled out his cell phone and punched up information. “I need the phone number of Dori MacAllister,” and he read her address off the suitcase label.

  Joanne pulled out a pen and a receipt from her last trip to Wal-Mart. “Repeat it and I’ll write it down.”

  “858-555-2394,” he said and punched out. Immediately he punched in the new number. Joanne watched him, thinking how handsome he was with the three studs in his one ear and the snake tattoo that wound around his wrist, across the back of his hand and up his middle finger.

  “858-555-5627,” he said, pointing at her. “You got that?”

  She wrote furiously. She was pretty sure she had it right. If she had known he was going to throw another number at her like that, she wouldn’t have been daydreaming. “What’s this number?”

  “Something called Small Treasures. If you don’t get an answer at the first number, you’re supposed to call Small Treasures.”

  “Are they the guys who sent the picture for Mr. J?” Joanne asked.

  “You and the picture came from Chicago.” He gave her that you-are-so-stupid look.

  “Yeah, but this Dori person was on my plane, and she came from California. Maybe the picture did too.”

  Vinnie looked at her with something very like surprise mixed with admiration, “Maybe you’re right.” He hit his hand against the side of his head. “Twice in less than ten minutes. I can’t stand it.” And he grinned at her for the first time since she’d opened the suitcase.

  She sighed. Things were going to work out. She just knew it. And she had another idea. “And the pictures are like small treasures, aren’t they?” she asked again. “Maybe they came from the Small Treasures place.”

  Vinnie lifted his hand, and Joanne willed herself not to f
linch. She’d thought she had such a good idea. Instead of the slap she expected, Vinnie patted her gently on the shoulder. “Not bad, Joanne. Not bad at all.”

  She glowed.

  Fifteen

  TREV COULD HEAR Dori yelling, but he couldn’t make out her words. He took the steps two at a time, Jack thundering beside him. “Dori! What’s wrong?”

  He stopped in the doorway of the master bedroom. She stood at the bedside, hands on hips, staring at the open suitcase in front of her. Jack stopped beside her, sniffing the contents of the case, curious about what had upset her so.

  “What in the—?” Trev walked over to the bed and stared.

  The contents of the case looked like a collection of very worn clothes just dropped off at Goodwill without the prerequisite washing. Shabby T-shirts, torn pajamas, kids’ jeans with holes in the knees. All were neatly folded and carefully packed.

  “I took the wrong bag.” Dori said unnecessarily. Her voice was laced with frustration and thick with unshed tears. It was obvious to him that the last two days had brought her close to the breaking point.

  He slid an arm around her shoulders to offer comfort just as he had countless other times as they grew up. Interesting how he still saw himself as her protector, her guardian and defender. This time, however, she didn’t lean into him and accept his support.

  Sighing inwardly, he let his arm drop. Marriage had a way of interfering with friendship; at least their marriage did.

  “So whose is it?” he asked.

  “Oh.” She slammed the lid shut and began searching for a name tag. “There’s no name.” She threw her hands up in aggravation.

  He leaned quickly to the side, just missing an inadvertent swat in the head. “Well, let’s call the airport and see if your suitcase is there. If it is, we’ll go get it.”

  She sank down on the bed. “I don’t have any clothes.” Jack laid his head on her knee, his dark eyes watching her in commiseration.

  “Don’t worry. We’ll get your stuff back.”

  “I don’t have any shoes. Just these.” She held out a sneaker-shod foot.

  She looked so forlorn that his heart turned over. Poor Dori. “I’m going to go call. You just sit tight.”