by Mimi Barbour
“I kinda promised someone else they could name him. I’m just waiting on their decision. What would you name him if he were yours?”
“I always wanted a dog called Buddy. Do you think your friend would like that for a name?”
“She’s not here right now, but I promise I’ll ask her, and I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if she agrees with you. It’s a great name.”
Troy had to admit, even with the ending, “Buddy” did suit the amiable canine. And by the animal’s reaction, the way his ears lifted as she spoke, it seemed obvious that for him the name struck a chord, also.
Amy’s ponytailed ringlets bobbed up and down as she nodded solemnly in agreement. “You know it means a best friend?”
Troy nodded along with her. “Yep, and this little guy is as friendly as they come.” His tenderness earned him another adorable smile. Framed by wisps of shorter curls that blew into her eyes and the corner of her mouth, her face was a tiny replica of Ellie Ward’s.
“Sweetheart, is your mommy home?”
“Not now. She’s working, but my grandma’s here. Do you want to talk with her?” Her polite, smiling glance elevated to one of affection as she swung her gaze to include someone standing behind him.
“Yes, do you want to talk with me, young man, rather than bothering my granddaughter?”
Troy turned quickly, and there stood the older woman who, along with her husband, had met up with Ellie Ward yesterday. Her arms were crossed, and the steely look she focused on him curbed his relaxed manner and had him instantly assuming a polite, businesslike attitude. He stood up quickly, stuck his hand out and spoke.
“Ma’am. My name is Troy Brennan. I’m an American, and I’ve come all the way from Chicago.”
Acting as a lady should in front of her granddaughter, politeness forced her to lift her hand and grasp his, but only for a few seconds. The minute he released it, she used her other hand to brush off her palm as if he’d left a stain. Or were her hands rubbing together in nervousness? Not likely, if her icy behaviour counted for anything.
“What can I do for you, Mr. Brennan?”
“He wants to talk with Mum, Grandma, and this treasure belongs to him.” Amy looked down at the pup that returned her gaze, adulation clear on both their faces. Her childish delight broke into the absorption of two controlling personalities gauging each other’s inner strength and caused her grandmother’s attention to refocus from appraisal of the cocky man hovering over her to the animal nestled in Amy’s arms.
“Give that dog back to Mr. Brennan at once, dear, and then go in and get your lunch.” Her tone froze the pleasure apparent earlier, and sorrow turned Amy’s light green orbs cloudy grey. Tears hovered, were rapidly blinked away, and then were lost to sight as her face lowered and her lips kissed the whining pup’s head.
Small hands tenderly handed the reluctant, defiant, struggling animal to Troy’s waiting ones. Replaced by despondency, her earlier exuberance disappeared as she silently implored him to be good to her new friend.
“I’ll take care of him, sweetheart, I promise. I’ll find him a good home, don’t you worry.”
“He loves you,” she implored, with emphasis on the last word. “You’re his friend, and he wants to stay with you.” Like a spiritual teacher, she spoke her lesson from the heart.
“Amy, say goodbye now. I would like to speak with Mr. Brennan alone. And, young lady, be sure to wash those hands and your face before eating.”
Together the adults watched as the little girl, in her pretty pink ruffled blouse and matching skirt, skipped towards the patio and disappeared.
Both stiffened as they resumed their character analysis of each other.
She spoke first. “Mr. Brennan, how the devil you found my daughter, I’ll never know, but I find it unforgivably offensive that you’ve approached her residence and even gone so far as to play up to Amy in your ploy to get a story. And don’t try to tell me that you’re not a reporter. I know different.”
“Yes, ma’am, I am. I only want a few minutes of her time. I’ve come a long way, and I truly believe that her story is one of great importance to the folks back in the States. Everyone involved, including the general public, is interested. They’ve questioned her motives over and over again for acting in the brave way she did—”
“She is not here, nor would she talk with any journalist if she were. It’s people like you who forced her to leave her home in Chicago and flee to England. Bothering her day and night! The poor girl has deadlines to meet on her latest novel, and the media’s manic manipulation hasn’t given her any respite whatsoever. It’s—it’s—well, it’s despicable. And why she behaved so idiotically, like a one-woman SWAT team, is beyond me.”
“She’s a hero, someone to admire.”
“No, she is not. She is a mother, responsible for a small girl, and with no business getting embroiled in such foolishness. I’ve said all I wish to say on the matter. Now, I must go in for my lunch. Goodbye, Mr. Brennan.” Her tone brooked no comeback, no loophole, nothing open for discussion.
Troy stood rooted to the spot as he watched Ellie’s mother stomp up the same path her granddaughter had taken earlier. Aggravation, evident to anyone watching his face, showed clearly, while unkind words resonated inside his head. He forgot he had a listener.
“Old bat! How could such a lovely woman as Ellie have grown up to be the brave person she obviously is, and raise the incredibly sweet child she did, with a mother like that?”
“Troy! She’s not an old bat, just an anxious mum trying to protect her family.”
“Back again, are you? What happened? Why did you get so upset?”
He waited.
She didn’t answer. He felt a wave of emotion wash through him, feelings he couldn’t understand but with a residue that left him aching.
“I get the hint—change the subject. Fine! What makes you think you know so much about Mama Godzilla anyway? She scares me silly.”
“Does this mean you’ll give up on the story?”
“Not a chance! I’ll have to try and catch Ellie on her own—away from the old battle-axe. Bury’s a small place. I’m sure if I keep my eyes open I’ll get my chance. By the way, little Amy wants to name this monster Buddy. I told her I’d check it with you.” So saying, he lowered the dog to the ground and replaced his collar.
“I think it’s a perfect name. Do you like it?”
“Sure. It’s fine by me.”
“Come on, Buddy. Guess we’d better tighten your collar a little. If I have to drag you around with me, might as well make sure you can’t escape again and get into mischief.”
“You like him. I can hear it in your voice, and I feel it from inside. God love ya, Troy, if you ask me, you’re a proper softie.”
“For your eyes only, sweetheart. Don’t let it get out, or I’m in big trouble.”
“Mum’s the word, Tough Guy.”
Chapter Ten
“Nurse Joye! You’ve arrived. Thank God! I do appreciate your speaking with me, since my brother hasn’t returned my numerous calls. I’ve left message after message, all to no avail.” With her voice breaking, the mother’s tension filtered over the wire directly into the young nurse’s soft heart.
“Mrs. Howard, the doctor feels terrible about his negligence, but he’s under extreme pressure right now. He will update you as soon as possible. All I can say is there is no change since you last called. Your daughter is resting comfortably, and all necessary tests have been taken. She’s sedated and has twenty-four-hour care.”
Mrs. Dorn, leaning against the wall opposite the telephone table, nodded her head in agreement with the words she heard from Nurse Joye’s side of the conversation.
The red silk scarf tied around the housekeeper’s tightly permed hair had slipped a bit to one side, covering a portion of her forehead, and her flowered, smock-like dress fitted snugly—so snugly that an astute observer might consider she needed to get a larger size or she’d soon burst from the one she w
ore. Her chubby fingers, interlocked under her gigantic bosom, fidgeted—as if in nervous anticipation of being forced to take the receiver.
Nurse Joye, carefully keeping the unsightly blemish on the left side of her face hidden, smiled in the housekeeper’s direction while listening to the fretful voice on the other end of the line. She waved away Mrs. Dorn’s anxiety and watched as the heavy woman rolled her eyes.
“Yes, Mrs. Howard. I will ask him to call. Dani’s lovely. It’s my pleasure. Ta Ra!”
The housekeeper’s sigh of relief was obvious as the young woman in white hung up the phone. “Nurse, if the doctor don’t speak with her soon, I’ll be going off me rocker. Iffen you ask me, the poor dear’s got a right to know her daughter’s in a coma. I’d want to be told, wouldn’t you?”
“For some strange reason, Dr. Andrews is pretty sure that by Saturday Dani will become conscious again and will be fine after that. He’s asked us to put Mrs. Howard off until then. How can we say no?”
“Perish the thought. I’d no more go against hisself’s wishes than dance naked in Piccadilly Circus.”
The picture her words made brought a smile to the face of Nurse Joye. Seconds later a giggle followed, and then a look of surprise. She didn’t laugh very often.
“I doubt there’ll be any reason to go that far, Mrs. Dorn.”
“Yer right, but there’s one thing I do know for sure. There’ll be the mother of all rows if she ever finds out he’s been fibbing her.”
“I have no doubt the doctor knows what he’s about, Mrs. Dorn. We’re merely here to support him and to look after Dani.”
“Yes, miss. By the way, the test results have arrived from hospital, and he told me I should pass them on to you as soon as ever they came.”
A large brown envelope, previously propped up on the side of the table, changed hands.
Nurse Joye slipped out the pile of forms and looked them over as she walked towards the room housing her patient.
With a sudden muffled exclamation, her slender form stopped dead.
Flipping the pages back to the beginning to check the name on the envelope, she squeaked, coughed to cover it up, then much more slowly continued on her way.
Chapter Eleven
The local establishment pulsed that night, brimful of customers mingling, drinking, and carousing. Situated at the back of the room, the bar area, bordered on one side by stools full of half-sodden adults, was reflected in the mirrored wall behind. It looked to be very busy.
Upon his arrival, Troy spotted a man clumsily packing away his cigarettes and sweeping his money from the counter to his pocket in preparation to leave. Troy wasted no time in weaving his way through the packed tables to grab the empty chair.
Beatles music started up and blasted the eardrums; its discordant sounds intermingled with those of the noisy patrons. A jolt of pleasure struck his midsection, and the homesickness he’d battled since his arrival in Bury faded. When the initial smell of beer gave over to the stench of cigarette smoke, Troy relaxed, comfortable and at peace with the world.
His finger flicked, pointing at the glass in front of the bloke next to him, sufficient information for the blonde working the taps. She nodded, poured him a mug, and passed it over with a naughty wink. The first sip fulfilled his expectation. He groaned from pure pleasure.
“So this is what the inside of the pub looks like. I’ve wondered.”
“Why would you care?”
“Being it’s a sanctified adult area, all kids want to know what goes on here. Some of my mates got phony cards and tried to get in, but they were I.D.ed and thrown out.”
“And so they should be. It’s no place for youngsters.”
“I’m a youngster. I’m here.”
“Yeah! But you’re with me, and if there’s any nonsense going on you shouldn’t see, I’ll close my eyes.”
Erupting giggles tickled him. He lowered his head and stared at the beer-foamed glass in his hand so no one could see the silly grin fighting to appear on his face.
Dani, the bane of his existence, made him laugh more than anyone else he’d ever known. And she was only sixteen years old.
“I’m not a child, you know. And I’m almost seventeen.”
“So tell me, Miss Methuselah, how did you get inside me? Are you ever going to explain? I’m thinking to take out a long-term lease if you’re planning to homestead.”
She teased right back. “You’ll have to co-sign for me, ‘cause I’m underage.”
“Whoa! I’ve never met anyone who can play the age game better than you. You’re an adult when it suits you. On the other hand, reverting back to childhood when you feel the need doesn’t bother you at all.”
He loved hearing her cheeky laughter, but not nearly as much as he liked the warmth flooding over his internal self. Exuberance filled him, and he had to admit to getting hooked on the high.
“You are so easy, Troy. I’m gonna hate to leave you. But I guess I’ll have to, since tomorrow’s Saturday, and that’s the day we’ll be able to undo the switch. Right. Here goes—and don’t interrupt, no matter how silly it seems. The fact is—well, it really is the rose bush.”
“You’re still trying to feed me that baloney. The rose bush! I thought we settled that subject. Next you’ll be saying it’s magical.”
“It is.” Her voice strongly emphasised the last word.
He filtered through his senses systematically. And was forced to accept one thing. She was telling the truth. A magic rose bush? “Holy cow!”
“According to my uncle’s notes, if I understood them correctly, and I think I did, I read them twice and—”
“Dani…”
“Right! He’ll have my body near his rose bush—the one I pricked my finger on, at precisely twelve noon each Saturday until the changeover occurs to get me back there. He’ll prick my finger in hopes that you will also prick yours at the same time. He knows I’m aware of the magic and how it works, because he’ll know I read all his notes about a similar case he investigated last year. I accidentally knocked them off his table, the notes that is, and probably didn’t get them back in their correct order. It’s what started this whole thing.”
“And you’re sure it’ll happen?”
“No. But it’s what I gathered from going through his papers, and it worked for two other women who had the same experience.”
“Great! Tomorrow! We’ll be there early.”
****
He had hurt her feelings.
She shut herself off, hiding away so he couldn’t feel the devastating ache that clutched at her and made her gasp. Tears, a physical reaction to release overwhelming pain, weren’t available to her. Emotions too advanced for a young girl tore away rose-coloured glasses, wounding, maturing. Her almost seventeen-year-old psyche had started connecting to him in a way that confused her. Every moment she’d shared his life, little bits of her soul had shifted to him until there wasn’t much left he didn’t own.
She’d seen the flirty invitations in the eyes of other women, the smiles in response to his winking. Awareness of his good-looking exterior satisfied her superficial shallowness. The triviality of that upset her, but only a little.
His loving nature, the person inside, had watered the seeds of affection she’d begun to feel. And his gentleness had nurtured those sentiments into a full-blown infatuation.
The fact that their time together was limited and becoming shorter with every passing moment obviously bothered him not at all.
It was a blow to realize that. While she suffered at the thought of leaving him, her imminent vacating of the premises pleased him—the simple-minded jerk. For her, the looming separation tore at her heartstrings, leaving it wide open, exposing a ghastly emptiness that terrified.
His chuckle caught her attention.
The blonde bartender, in her too-tight, too-low, peasant-styled blouse, had leaned over the counter, providing an eyeful to anyone who watched. Jiggles of flesh accompanied each movement, dragging
the eyes exactly where she intended for them to go. Fluttering her overly made-up, gooey-blues at Troy and studiously wiping the wet surface, she pointed her red-tipped finger at the empty mug in front of him. Troy, no different from every other male in the vicinity, tore his gaze from the public display of her bosoms, lifted it to her face, then grinned and nodded.
“You fancy her?” The words poured from Dani before she could close off the spout.
“What’s wrong with her? She’s very attractive.”
“Don’t be daft! She’s a mite too sluttish for my liking, she is.”
“What’s with the strong accent all of a sudden?”
“You caught me unaware. I wasn’t paying attention for a few minutes, and you go and get into…oh, never mind.”
“I go and get into what?”
“Mischief! That’s what! Does every woman you meet give you the green light, encourage you, fawn over you?”
“Pretty much. I like women. Nothing wrong with that. You’re a woman. Don’t you think I should respond positively to the overtures of friendship these ladies dispense so flatteringly?”
For a short time his using the term “woman” in describing her stopped her tirade, but not for long. “Flatter-… They bloody drool over you. It’s sickening, is what it is. You should be ashamed.”
“Aw, sweetheart. I’m only teasing you. Look, I’m a friendly kinda guy. Nothing wrong with that, is there? But I’m pretty choosey when it comes to whom I date and when.”
A sickening sensation hit her all at once. “Is there someone in your life now, at home, in Chicago?”
“Nope, just me hanging with a lot of good buddies. I’ve been more than friends with a few great gals, but with me being away so often, they get bored and find someone who sticks around. Lately, I’ve been spending most of my time with the newspaper crowd in Chicago. I guess it’s why I want a desk job in the industry. I’ve been freelancing for too many years.”
