The next few weeks before Christmas were exhausting for Lauren. Between dealing with her insurance company, replenishing the wardrobes lost in the fire, and helping out with Cathy, she found scant time for rest.

Cathy moved around the house on crutches. Her face, though still swollen, was healing with only faint scars. Nothing makeup would not hide. She itched to continue making her craft items. Without being asked, Frank loaned her the money for new materials, provided his truck for transportation, and even joined in the cottage industry with Cathy and Jennifer. His entire garage became a workshop.

Cathy managed to fill the Christmas orders she took from Donald Arrington and several other customers with only days to spare.

Curiously, the four family members coexisted in relative harmony in the cramped confines of Frank’s home. Even Flo and Bobo put aside their instinctive rivalry, preferring instead an attitude of studied indifference.

Christmas dinner included Ben and Alice as guests. Gifts were exchanged at the table. Jennifer contributed fresh hothouse tomatoes for the salad, having no resources to purchase gifts. She leaned toward Ben, who sat to her right, and whispered. “Did you bring it?”

He whispered back. “Yes. It’s in my car. I hope you don’t mind, but I had a piece of glass cut for it. It’s beautiful, kiddo.” Scooting back from the table, Ben made a quick trip to his car.

When Ben returned, Jennifer tapped on her plate with a spoon. All eyes turned to her. She cleared her throat and spoke to her grandfather. “Grampa, I did something wrong. I took your favorite picture of Grandma.”

Frank’s forehead furrowed in question. So that’s where it went, he thought.

“I intended to bring it back, but it was lost in the fire,” Jennifer went on.

“Why did you take it, Jennifer?” Cathy asked, upset by her daughter’s confession.

Ben handed Frank a gaily wrapped package. “You’ll see.”

“Open it, Grampa,” Jennifer said.

Frank tore away the paper, saw the contents, and held it to his chest. “You did this?” he asked Jennifer.

She nodded, unsure of his reaction. “Is it okay?”

Frank turned the two-foot square portrait Jennifer had drawn, using the snapshot of Olivia as a model, so everyone could see. Lauren and Cathy gasped at the likeness. Perfectly enlarged and colorized in pencil and ink, Jennifer had captured Olivia’s smile perfectly.

The frame, made with her own hands, contained intricate carvings and filigree. Using stain and gold paint, she had antiqued the simple wood, transforming it into a treasure.

Frank’s fingers covered his lips. Mist appeared in his eyes. When he trusted himself to speak, he said, “There is nothing you could have given me, honey, more precious than this.”

Alice patted Frank’s arm, bearing no jealousy. She understood his feelings—felt the same about her deceased husband. She knew, regardless of where her relationship with Frank might lead, their former spouses would always be a part of them. “It’s truly beautiful,” she said.

“Oh,” Ben said, sounding surprised. “Here’s a gift I forgot to give Lauren.” He dug in his pocket, produced a small, unwrapped, blue velveteen box, and handed it to Lauren.

“You’ve already given me perfume. What’s this?”

“You won’t know if you don’t open it,” Jennifer said, looking on curiously.

Lauren lifted the hinged lid. Light sparkled from the diamond. She looked at Ben. “Will you marry me, Lauren?” he asked.

She turned off her mind and allowed her heart to answer. “Yes, Ben,” she said without the least hesitation. She pulled him toward her and kissed him long and lovingly, as everyone present applauded and offered their congratulations.

When the kiss ended, Cathy said, “Go wash your face, Sis. Your mascara is running. You look like a sad-eyed clown.”

Lauren excused herself and went to the bathroom to make herself presentable. The ring felt good on her finger. Natural. Proper. She had always imagined an engagement ring would weigh a ton. Anything so fraught with commitment and responsibility would be a burden. But this one, like her heart, seemed light as a feather.

Before leaving the bathroom she noticed the hand towel, haphazardly tossed over the rack. She reached to straighten it but stopped short. She thought of the many changes in her world over the past months: Coming to terms with Cathy. Falling in love with Ben. Losing her home. Nothing of her planning. She recalled Cathy’s words. “Life happens. You can’t always control it.”

Life then, Lauren thought, is like that towel. Slightly off-center—skewed. Imperfect in the way it drapes around us—but adequate in its chaos.

She saw her own smile in the mirror as she walked out, leaving the towel untouched.

The End

Thanks to an overabundance of beer the previous night, the man arrived later than usual to Lauren’s street. His throat grated, raw from cigarettes. He lit another.

Lauren and Cathy would already be on their way to work, he knew—never suspecting what lay ahead for Jennifer. The girl would still be preparing for school. He rethought his plan, deciding against taking her from the street as she walked to school. Instead, he pulled boldly into Lauren’s driveway, cut the smoking engine, and hurried to the front door, which he already knew had no peephole. His pulse pounded with excitement as he rang the bell. He thumped his cigarette into the shrubs and waited.

Jennifer heard the doorbell as she dried herself from her shower. She got into her robe, padded to the hallway, and opened the door an inch. She gasped. “You!”

Lloyd Radski lunged, striking the already-closing door with his shoulder, shoving Jennifer backward. He slipped inside and shut the door behind him. Before Jennifer could recover her balance, he grasped her slender wrist and pulled her close. Her long hair was damp, and the short robe she wore fell open in her struggle to escape. He devoured her nakedness with bloodshot eyes.

“What do you want?” Jennifer asked shakily. She drew the robe together with her free hand.

Her father exhaled his fetid breath into her face. “I want you, baby . . . now you’re all growed up and ready to be treated like a woman. I bet you’ll be the sweetest little piece I ever had.”

Jennifer pulled and kicked out at his legs frantically. Before she could scream, he yanked her close, turning her back to him, and clamped his hand over her mouth. His other hand snaked inside her robe. He pushed himself hard against her bottom as he fondled her. “After I break you in, I’m takin’ you back to Louisiana . . . where your bitch mother will never find you. You’ll make me a fine little wife,” he breathed, his lips touching her ear. “Keep my blood-line going.”

He seemed impervious to pain. No matter how hard Jennifer banged her bare heels against his shins, or how deeply her fingernails raked his hand, he held her in a vise-like grip.

Suddenly, he dropped to his knees, dragging Jennifer to the floor. He ripped open the robe and lifted her as though she were weightless. He flipped her onto her back and parted her legs, his forearm pressed against her throat. She struggled to draw a breath. “Simmer down!” he growled angrily. “It’ll be over in a minute.”

She clamped her eyes shut tightly when she heard the alarmingly loud rrriippp as he unzipped his dirty trousers. This can’t be happening, she thought. Please, God . . . let me wake up!

Cathy rolled over restlessly, her sleep disturbed by some sound. Her work in the garage had kept her up until nearly three A.M. and, now, her head swam dizzily. She listened for a moment—and heard a voice. A man’s voice. Something thudded against the floor.

She tossed off the covers and ran from her bedroom. As she reached the end of the hallway, her brain would not comprehend the scene before her. Jennifer, her damp hair splayed out on the carpet. A man atop her, unzipping his pants, his arm crushing her throat. “No!” Cathy screamed.

The man looked up in surprise, his broken teeth exposed by his curled lips. Lloyd!

Cathy kicked him in the face with all her might. She screamed again—in rage and pain—as something cracked in her foot.

Lloyd’s head snapped back. He fell away from Jennifer, stunned. Cathy leaped on him like a lioness protecting her cub. She used her knees, her elbows, and buried her nails in his cheeks, clawing for his eyes.

But Lloyd was strong—and mean. He pushed her away and scrambled to his feet. Blood ran down his cheeks. “I’m kinda glad you’re here,” he said, wrapping his fingers in Cathy’s hair and hauling her to her feet. “You shoulda kept your fat ass where I left it. I came back the day after you run off. You I didn’t care about . . . but you took away my girl. And she was just gettin’ ripe.”

Cathy saw the blow coming but could not avoid it. Lloyd’s fist chunked against her cheekbone. She fell backward, arms flailing, and crashed heavily to the floor.

Jennifer sprang to her feet and ran past Lloyd, into the living room. Distracted, he left Cathy in a dazed heap and ran after the girl.

She sped through the kitchen, her robe billowing around her, yanked open the door to the garage, and disappeared into the darkness. Lloyd followed, fearful she would escape through the outside garage door. He stepped into the shadowy room, waiting for his eyes to adjust.

Jennifer swung the three-foot-long section of 2×4 stud in a wide arc, baseball bat style, hoping to send her father’s head flying for a home run. She dropped the wood upon impact as a lightning shock of pain vibrated through her wrists and up her arms.

Outside, Lloyd’s discarded cigarette smoldered amidst the finely shaved pine bark mulch around the shrubbery. Though cold, the winter had been extremely dry. A thin piece of bark began to blacken on the edge. A tiny puff of white smoke wafted upward as the bark ignited. In minutes the burning mulch flared higher, curling the paint on the wooden window shutters. The fire raced up the shutters, its flaming fingers licking at the plywood out-cropping of the roof over-hang. Then into the attic.

Jennifer could not believe her eyes. Lloyd remained on his feet. Hunched over, he held his left shoulder with his right hand. His arm dangled limply. “You’ll wish you hadn’t missed my head when I catch you, Jennifer. You won’t be goin’ to Louisiana after all. But I’ll get what I come for—even if you’re gettin’ cold while I do it.” He reached into his pocket.

Jennifer heard a click, then the dim light from the kitchen glinted off the blade of the knife. He stepped toward her.

Cathy pushed herself to a sitting position. Pain flashed and flared in her cheek and the foot she had used to kick Lloyd. Holding onto the wall, she managed to get her good foot beneath her and stand. The other foot blazed in agony when she touched it to the floor. “Jennifer!” she cried out. No answer. Her heart filled with dread. She knew Lloyd to be capable of anything.

Hopping on one foot, she got to the telephone and dialed 9-1-1. She coughed and her eyes burned. Then she saw the thick black smoke curling in around the front window pane.

“9-1-1 operator. What is the nature of your emergency?” Cathy heard from the telephone.

“My husband is trying to kill us! And the house is on fire! Help us!”

Before she could say another word, Lloyd smashed his knife-filled fist down onto her forearm. The telephone fell from her grasp, clattering against the coffee table, then falling with a muffled thump to the carpet. Lloyd whipped his arm back up. He held the blade against Jennifer’s pale throat.

“Lead me to a bedroom, Cathy. I’m gonna do this kid and make you watch. You move, and I’ll cut her throat. Like stickin’ pigs back home.”

“The house is on fire! Look!” Cathy said, pointing to the window. “We have to get out of here!”

Jennifer’s blue eyes were frenzied—wild. Her breath came in chest-racking gulps. Lloyd pressed the blade more firmly against her skin. A thin line of red appeared. “We got time for what I’m gonna do. Move!” Lloyd barked.

The 9-1-1 operator overheard portions of the conversation after the telephone fell to the floor. The computer in front of her flashed the address from which the call was placed. Within seconds, she had dispatched both police and fire department units.

Cathy hobbled to Jennifer’s bedroom. Lloyd swung his leg and swept her feet from beneath her. The impact with the floor sent sharp streaks of agony screaming through her cheek. Nausea waved through her, but she fought it back.

Lloyd shoved Jennifer onto her bed and ripped open her torn robe. He was ready. The pain in his broken left arm was dulled by the excitement of violence—by the promise of forbidden sex. “Open your legs,” he told Jennifer. She complied, knowing deep within her this man would not hesitate to kill her, then her mother. He probably intended to anyway, now that his plan was ruined. The charges against him already would put him behind bars for years. Perhaps, she thought, if he enjoyed himself with her, she might be able to talk him into letting them live.

Lloyd smiled down at her with a nasty curl to his lips and crawled between her knees. Having never rezipped his pants, Lloyd fumbled to free himself with his one useable hand, while maintaining a grip on the knife. Jennifer looked away as his dead-white penis came into view.

What she saw on the night table sent a rush of adrenaline coursing through her. Several of the colored pencils Lauren had given her lay side by side. The points were well sharpened.

Lloyd inched up between her thighs and took himself between his fingers. At the first touch of him against her, Jennifer snatched up the pencils and jabbed them at his eyes. He screamed as one pencil glanced off his nose and pierced the orb of his right eye. Jennifer raised her right leg high and kicked inward with her heel, catching him high on his broken arm, then shoved him away as he rolled off her. The knife lay forgotten on the bed.

“Come on, Mom, come on,” Jennifer urged, helping Cathy to her feet. She looped Cathy’s arm over her shoulders to help her walk.

A dense, rolling wall of smoke filled the hallway. The living room flamed, the front wall shrouded in flames. Behind her, Jennifer saw Lauren’s bedroom fully afire. The terrifying crackle and spit of wood burning overhead gave her new energy. She all but dragged her mother to, and out, the front door. Flo streaked out between their feet.

Jennifer did not stop until they were safely in the street.     Cold and shivering, they huddled together, watching tongues of flame lick upward from Lauren’s roof as night turned to dawn.

Lloyd staggered from the house, his hand covering his ruptured eye, and collapsed on the dry, brown lawn as a police car, siren screaming, pulled to a tire-burning stop at the curb. Two officers piled out. One went to Lloyd. The other came to Cathy and Jennifer. “You all right?” he asked. Then, seeing Cathy’s darkening face and swelling eye, he said, “I’ll call an ambulance. The fire unit is on the way.”

“Arrest that man,” Cathy said, raising a shaking finger to point at Lloyd. “He broke in and tried to rape his own daughter. He . . . he was going to kill us.”

The young officer looked down at Jennifer. His lips set in a thin line. “I’ll take care of it, ma’am.” He hurried to the other officer, and together they hoisted Lloyd to his feet and dragged him to the patrol car.

Jennifer saw the young officer lift his microphone to his lips for a moment. Then he returned to them, carrying two thick blankets. He draped them over the women’s shoulders. “I called for two ambulances,” he said with an admiring grin. “It looks like you cleaned his clock pretty good.”

The fire truck sirens wailed in the near distance.

Jennifer suddenly got to her feet and ran toward the house. “Jennifer!” Cathy cried out.

But the girl darted through the smoldering doorway and disappeared into the roiling smoke.

Jennifer held her breath as long as she could, then inhaled smoke. She coughed, feeling her way along the hot wall until she found the door to her room then fell to her knees and crawled toward her bed. Tears poured from her eyes as the smoke blinded her, but she crawled forward.

Finally, she felt the bed. She stuck her hand beneath it and waved back and forth along the carpet. There! Her fingers found what she sought. With the object clasped tightly to her breast, she began her retreat. The smoke burned her throat—clogged her gasping lungs.

She almost made it to the hallway before the heat and deadly smoke overcame her.

As Ben made rounds, checking patient charts, ordering new tests and medications, or signing release forms for those well enough to go home, he found himself preoccupied with Lauren. On the surface, her rebuff for lunch could be, as she said, because she was tired. But on a deeper level, he felt her old fears and defenses drawing a frosty curtain between them. He blamed her relapse on the visit to his parents’ home, and their reaction to her. She had backed into her shell, apparently frightened by the prospect of a closer relationship—a committed relationship—marriage.

Ben knew he was ready for such a step. Almost from their first date he knew—and thought Lauren shared his feelings. Now he would have to start over, chipping his way bit by bit through her fear.

If she would let him.

•

During the day, Lauren’s drowsiness evolved into a splitting headache and a foul disposition. Finding her driveway cluttered with Cathy’s handicrafts did nothing to improve her mood.

She parked at the curb, slammed the door hard, and walked to where Cathy and Jennifer sat, bundled against the chill, on two of her kitchen chairs. Cathy stood up, grinning broadly, obviously about to speak. Lauren cut her off. “Please get this junk out of the way so I can park in my garage.”

Cathy’s smile slipped from her face. “Sure, Sis. Jennifer . . . help me, please. Your aunt is having PMS or something.”

Lauren fought the urge to slap Cathy, though she knew such an act would be immensely satisfying. “Why are you home? Or do I even have to ask?” Lauren said.

Cathy began moving her wares to one side of the driveway. “I quit my job.”

“Wonderful! Then you turn my house into a . . . a salvage yard! You’ll be here forever at this rate.”

Cathy dropped the baskets she held in her arms and turned on Lauren. Her eyes glinted. “Make up your mind, Lauren! One day you want me to stay, the next you want me out. What’s with you?”

The two women stood a foot apart. The muscles in their jaws and their fists clenched, like schoolboys eager to fight. Jennifer slipped between them. Her blue eyes pleaded with Lauren. “Hey, guys . . . stop it.”

“This is between your mother and me, Jennifer.”

“Then it’s between all of us. I’m not going to let the two people I love most in the world have a fist-fight. No matter who won, I’d lose,” Jennifer said, her lips trembling with emotion.

Lauren took a step back, reached, and stroked Jennifer’s hair. “I’m sorry, Jen. I’m tired . . . and confused. And your mother is an easy target.” She caught Cathy’s eyes. “She’s my sister, and I love her. But we’ll never get along.” Lauren walked toward the open garage door. “Just leave your stuff where it is. I’ll put my car up later.”

Once inside, Lauren went to her bedroom, closed the door, and fell onto her bed. She clutched a pillow to her chest and cried. Depressed, and sad beyond comprehension, she soon fell asleep.

When Lauren awoke, in complete darkness, the digitized numerals on the clock beside her bed read 8:15. She changed into slacks and a sweater, splashed water on her puffy face, and followed Cathy’s excited voice to the kitchen. Cathy quieted when Lauren walked in.

“I kept your dinner warm,” Jennifer said, standing beside the oven.

Lauren pulled a chair out and sat down. “Thanks, honey. I’ll eat later.” Unable to meet Cathy’s eyes, Lauren asked, “What’s all the exuberance about?”

“Sure you want to know?” Cathy asked, obviously wanting to tell her.

The headache persisted. Lauren massaged her temples and nodded.

Cathy tossed a handful of money on the table. It spread before Lauren in a flood of green. “I made $600 today, Lauren. Everything I had to sell was bought, and I have orders for a lot more.”

Lauren looked up in amazement, her mouth hanging open.

“I figure I can replenish my stock and sell that much about twice a week. Not bad money for a lazy, dumb person,” Cathy said.

“There’s taxes . . . and your labor to consider,” Lauren reminded her sister, thinking of the practical side of Cathy’s enterprise.

“I know. But I’ll still be making at least triple what I was working for someone else.”

“And I’ll help,” Jennifer interjected.

Cathy gathered up the thick sheaf of currency. “I can start looking for a place—”

Lauren moaned loudly. “You don’t have to. I’m . . . hell . . . nuts or something. I’m sorry I was such a bitch earlier.”

Cathy scooted her chair close to Lauren’s and hugged her sister. “Well, you were a bit testy . . . but honest. We don’t get along very well for extended periods. We’re too different, Sis. You plan things, Lauren. Want to know what’s going to happen before it happens. I’m a scatterbrain. I take things as they come. I wish I could be more like you . . . in control.”

“Control?” Lauren said, taking the cash from Cathy’s hand and squaring it into a neat stack on the table. “Me? Right now I don’t have a clue about anything.”

“This mood . . . it’s about Ben, isn’t it?”

Lauren nodded. “I treated him terribly today. I don’t want to, but I’m afraid to let him get closer to me. I don’t want to be hurt. Look at your experience with men.”

“Good God, girl! How can you compare the losers I’ve had in my life with Ben! Not all guys are wife-beating slime balls. Especially not Ben.”

“He probably won’t even talk to me again,” Lauren moped.

Jennifer joined them in a three-way hug. “Not until you call him. He phoned while you were sleeping,” she said.

“What did he say?” Lauren asked.

“He wanted to know if you were okay. Said not to wake you. He sounded real concerned about you,” Jennifer said.

Lauren straightened in her chair. “Really?”

“Yes . . . really!”

Lauren rubbed her eyes, sniffed, and smiled shyly. “I’ll call him as soon as you feed me. What’s for supper?”

“Chicken-fried steak, red beans and rice, and French fries,” Jennifer told her.

“Lord, so much fat and calories,” Lauren said. “But pile it on.”

•

“Is your shrimp okay?” Frank Miles asked.

Alice Carlson nodded. “Perfect. This is a nice place, Frank. Come here often?”

“Used to,” he said, looking down at his plate.

“Before your wife died?” Alice guessed.

“Yes. Does that make me morbid?”

“No. It makes you full. The food is excellent. But I know what you mean. After my husband passed away, I stopped going places we went together. It just wasn’t the same without him.”

“Exactly. I’ve cooked for myself until recently. Then I took a leap and started coming to your place.”

Alice laughed. “That’s a heck of a downgrade from here.” Then, her voice softening, “Thank you for bringing me, Frank . . . for sharing it with me.”

“It . . . it feels good to be with you, Alice.”

“What took you so long to ask? Am I losing my feminine wiles?”

Frank patted her hand. “No ma’am. They’re intact. I’m just slow.”

She reared back in her chair. “Slow! You? You were flirting like crazy the first time I met you.”

“You noticed?”

“Of course. Why do you think I flirted back, sport?”

Frank grinned. Jennifer had been right after all.

•

After Lauren ate, she and Cathy went for an abbreviated version of their usual run. The cold pricked their faces and hands. “So, you think you can make a living selling your crafts,” Lauren puffed.

“I do. There’s always some holiday coming up. Business should be pretty steady,” Cathy answered.

Still unconvinced, Lauren decided to bring some reality into Cathy’s plan. “You’ll need a vehicle to carry your materials from the hardware store and lumberyard. They aren’t cheap. And you don’t know how to drive on top of that.”

Cathy crossed her arms over her breast and buried her hands beneath her armpits to warm them. “I thought you might teach me.”

Lauren shuddered at the idea.

“But first things first,” Cathy continued. “My top priority is to file for divorce. I don’t want to start a business and have Lloyd show up wanting half of everything someday.”

Lauren was impressed with Cathy’s foresight. “It shouldn’t be too difficult . . . or too expensive. He deserted you and Jen. You don’t even know where he is.”

“Probably in Louisiana with his kin. He has a sister and dozens of cousins living there,” Cathy said.

They turned the corner for home, not noticing the man hunched down behind the steering wheel of a parked car—watching.

When they arrived home, Lauren moved her car into the relative warmth of the garage, then took a hot shower. She realized she was stalling—putting off her call to Ben. At last she ran out of things to do. She knew exactly what she would say to him. She closed her door, curled up in bed, and dialed Ben’s number.

•

Always on call, Ben snatched up the telephone on the first ring. “Dr. Tolson,” he said.

“It’s me, Ben.”

“How are you, Lauren? Cathy said you went directly to bed when you got home.”

“I’m fine. A little sleep and a lot of food fixed me right up.”

Ben did not speak for several seconds, wanting to make certain he said the right thing. “Listen . . . I’m sorry if my parents and I upset you with our talk of children and such. I’ve been going too fast. I’ll cool it, Lauren. Just don’t stop seeing me.”

“I’ve made my decision—”

“Lauren—” Ben said pleadingly.

“Let me finish, please. This isn’t easy for me.”

“Okay,” Ben said, steeling himself for the words he dreaded.

He heard Lauren sigh. “I love you, Ben Tolson. I’m going to take a chance you won’t hurt me. For the first time since I was a little girl I’m going to depend on someone besides myself.”

Ben felt a heavy weight lift from his chest. He knew the superhuman effort it required for Lauren to drop her defenses; to admit she wanted a closer relationship with him—one with a bright future. “God . . . I love you, too, Lauren. I was so afraid I’d lost you.”

A new Lauren spoke to him. A Lauren unafraid of sharing her feelings. A Lauren finally ready to take a chance. “Too late, Ben . . . you’re stuck with me now.”

Ten minutes into their drive, Lauren sighed heavily, wondering what favor Cathy wanted now.

“Something bothering you, Lauren?” Ben asked.

“No. I’m fine.” Another sigh.

“Ouch. I’ve found that when women say they’re ‘fine’, it usually means they aren’t.”

“Really, I’m—”

Ben interrupted her. “There are walls of stone and steel, walls of wood and brick, there are also walls of silence, just as real, and just as thick.”

She shot him a wry smile. “How long have you been waiting to use that on me?”

“Since the first day we had lunch together. Unless you want to hear more, ’fess up. What’s wrong?”

“Okay. It’s Cathy . . . that ‘favor’ she mentioned when we were leaving the house. She’s been doing better, trying to take charge of her life. Now . . .”

“What a worry-wart,” Ben chided. “It may be nothing.”

“You don’t know my sister.” Lauren physically shook off her trepidations, like a dog shaking off water. “Change of subject. Where are you taking me, Doctor?”

“Dinner at The Mansion on Turtle Creek. Very ‘in’. Very expensive. Very small portions. Even the sauces have special sauces. Then drinks and dancing at an intimate little place I know. You do like country and western music, don’t you?”

Lauren cupped her hand and held it to her ear. “Say what?”

Ben chuckled. “Just checking to see if you’re paying attention.”

The trip took the better part of an hour. Slowly, Lauren relaxed, putting everything from her mind except having a pleasant evening with Ben.

Ben Tolson found himself glancing repeatedly at Lauren as they talked. Granted, he knew she was attractive in her hospital whites, but tonight she radiated a beauty that, he admitted to himself, knocked him out. Away from the workplace she also seemed younger, not as staid and businesslike. The black dress she wore rode inches above her knees. Her legs were trim and shapely. Even her knees were sexy.

He made a mental note to ease into the date. Knowing something of her previous limited experience with men, and the deep-rooted animosity she harbored toward them thanks to Cathy’s poor choices, he intended to do as Lauren
suggested—go slowly. But he intended to change her perception of the male gender. More specifically, of himself.

The grueling years in medical school and his internship had left him little time for dating. Not many women could stand the competition of his work. His infrequent relationships were short-lived. With more free time now, he hoped the lovely, intelligent woman sitting stiffly beside him would share that time. Slowly. But well worth the wait.

The tony restaurant could only be described as resplendent. From its sixth floor perch, the lights of Dallas offered an exquisite view. Tuxedoed waiters catered to the patrons with the same seriousness Ben maintained while performing surgery.

Their waiter recited the day’s specialties and took their order without writing it down. While waiting to be served, Ben and Lauren picked celebrities out of the crowd. A highly recognizable female recording star shared a table with a dignified, silver-haired man twice her age. Her toothy white smile gleamed in contrast to her cocoa-colored flesh.

An actor, once known for his action hero roles, now showing his age and a spreading waistline, dined alone. His recent roles had been bit parts in low-budget productions that went directly to rental and cable distribution.

Lauren played with her pearl necklace. “This place reminds me of Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous.”

“We’ll have to add beautiful to that title, for you,” Ben said sincerely. The admiring looks Lauren received from the other men present made him proud to be her escort.

“And handsome for you,” Lauren said, lifting one perfect eyebrow. “Our singing star keeps looking at you like she’s diabetic and you’re the last shot of insulin on the planet.”

During their haute cuisine dinner (smoked salmon for her, and medallions of beef for him), they slipped comfortably into shop talk. Ben cursed HMOs. Lauren lamented the shortage of nurses at the hospital. He loved the way her eyes flashed when she spoke of matters dear to her. He caught himself watching her lips as she talked, and the auburn highlights in her hair as she tucked it over her shoulder. Slowly, he thought. I don’t want her to get away.

The line of people waiting to be allowed into the Caveman’s Club glared when Ben stepped up and whispered in the doorman’s ear. Several actually snarled when the burly doorman lifted the thick gold rope and ushered Ben and Lauren inside.

After the sedate elegance of the restaurant, the club came as an ear-splitting shock. Lauren could feel the music vibrate up through her legs. The bass was so heavy her chest tightened. Fifty couples jumped and jerked on the dance floor. Strobe lights, black lights, and laser lights blinked and flashed through the darkness, imprinting surrealistic images on her retinas. She leaned close to Ben and shouted, “YOU COME HERE OFTEN?”

He winced, shaking his head, and yelled back. “NEVER! A FRIEND TOLD ME IT WAS COOL! I’LL HAVE TO REMEMBER TO KILL HIM! COME ON!” He put his hand on her waist and led her outside. Half deaf and blind, they made their way through the crowd and leaned together against Ben’s car. “Bad idea, huh?” Ben said, wiggling his index finger in his right ear.

“Your intentions were good.”

“I don’t get out much. I know a quiet place where Michael Bolton, Harry Connick, Jr., and Ray Charles are high on the playlist . . . and the white wine is chilled to perfection.”

Lauren looked up at him until he hesitantly returned her gaze. “This place wouldn’t happen to be your apartment, would it?”

Damn, damn, damn! He’d blown it. She was about to tell him to take a hike, Ben fretted, amazed at his own stupidity. He dug at the knot in his tie. “Uh, yes,” he confessed.

She studied him, her eyes reading his face. “Okay. Under one condition,” she said.

Ben exhaled. “Name it.”

“We have to stop for burgers and fries on the way. You were right about the small portions.”

Ben’s spacious first floor apartment was simply furnished, clean, and functional. “Hardly a swinging bachelor pad,” Lauren said, wondering again why she was there—why she did not at least protest a little.

“I’m hardly a swinging bachelor. Have a seat,” Ben said, motioning her to the sofa. “I only have white wine . . . does that go with burgers?”

Lauren sat down. “In Texas it does.”

They covered the coffee table with napkins and spread their meal out picnic style. They ate hungrily. “Hey,” Ben said. “I thought you were a vegetarian . . . a health food freak.”

Lauren dabbed mayonnaise from her lips with a paper napkin. “My niece’s bad influence. She makes great pork chops.”

“She’s a beautiful girl. Tall.”

“She’s a sweet girl, too. And smart. I’ve grown really fond of her.”

When they finished eating, Ben cleaned up the paper and Styrofoam debris and removed his coat. “What would you like to hear?” he asked, standing at his elaborate stereo center.

Lauren went to his side and picked through a tall rack of compact disks. She selected one by k.d. lang and another by Blues Traveler. “These okay?” she asked, turning toward him, accidentally brushing his arm lightly with her breast. Heat rose to her cheeks. Her breath caught in her throat at the intimacy of the contact. Fortunately, Ben had not seemed to notice.

“Those are good. And an ‘oldie’ to round it out,” he said, putting the CDs in the player and selecting individual cuts from each.

Methodically, Lauren closed each CD case and stacked them neatly, corners even all around. “More wine?” Ben asked, as the first k.d. lang song, a romantic ballad, began.

“Please,” Lauren said, still shaking.

Ben went to the kitchen for the wine. His heart thumped in his chest like a teenager sneaking his first peek at a Playboy magazine. He touched his arm where Lauren’s breast had brushed him, still feeling the warmth of her. He took a deep breath, then puffed air between his lips. Slowly, he thought.

When he rejoined Lauren, she had slipped her shoes off and was sitting on her feet in that uncomfortable-looking position women seem to favor. She took the wine glass from him in both hands and sipped slowly, head bowed, her face partially concealed by the cascade of her soft brown hair. Had she been nude, Ben could not imagine a more erotic pose. He suddenly wished he had a camera—to capture this image of her forever. He thought of many things he wanted to say but discarded them as too forward. He resorted to another fragment of poetry. “She sits, her legs tucked under her, and dreams, of places far away she longs to see. Her mind is filled with plans and girlish schemes—a woman-child—as yet to be set free.”

She looked up, one eye hidden by her hair. “Do you have a verse for all occasions?”

He shrugged. “When inspired.”

“I suppose you’re a terrific dancer, too?”

God! If she keeps looking at me that way, I’ll melt, Ben mused. He removed his loafers with his heels. “You decide.” He held his hand out to Lauren, helped her off the sofa, and led her to the center of the carpeted floor. She moved into his arms as the first strains of the “oldie” filled the room. “Unchained Melody” by the Righteous Brothers, re-popularized by the movie Ghost.

They danced, swaying in time to the music. The soft swish of her nylons brushing together made him crazy. The sweet scent of her hair filled his nostrils. He held her at a respectable distance, eyes closed, drinking in the sounds and smells of her and the tactile sensation of her back against his palm.

Lauren cleared her throat nervously. “You don’t have a potter’s wheel in the other room do you?” she asked, recalling the seductive scene from the movie, as Ben realized.

“Unh-unh. And the only clay around here is me. Feel free to mold me.” Lauren’s fingers tickled the hairs at the back of his neck. She inched closer. Fighting the urge to press himself against her, Ben kissed the top of her head. She tilted her head to one side, offering her slim neck. He touched his lips to the flesh below her ear, trailed downward to her bare shoulder. Slowly, he reminded himself, content with having her so near.

Lauren shivered as Ben kissed her neck. Unfamiliar feelings coursed through her. Her breasts mashed against his chest, and she turned her face to meet his lips. Their mouths locked fiercely. She had daydreamed about his kisses. Now she knew her fantasies could not hold a candle to reality. She whimpered softly—felt herself losing control. She wanted to push him away—deny them both the pleasure of what would surely happen if she acquiesced. Instead, she became the aggressor, regaining the control so important in her life.

She strained against the hardness of him and snaked her tongue between his lips. Ben stepped back and put his hands on her shoulders. His eyes searched hers. “You said you wanted me to go slowly.”

Lauren hooked her fingers in his belt and tugged him along behind her. “I changed my mind. Women do that, you know,” she breathed, as they fell upon the sofa.

Later, though Ben pleaded with her to stay the night, Lauren insisted he take her home. She caressed his cheek and kissed him as they stood on her doorstep. “I would have loved to stay, Ben. But you know . . . Cathy and Jennifer . . . appearances.”

“I understand. I don’t like it, but I understand. Can I see you tomorrow? I’m on call, but we can spend some time together.”

“I’d like that. Come over whenever you want.” Another long, passionate kiss and he headed for his car. Lauren heard him whistling happily to himself. She felt like whistling, too. Shoot, she thought. I feel like turning cartwheels!

She entered the house quietly, so as not to wake Cathy or Jennifer, scooped the obviously annoyed and highly critical Flo into her arms, and went to bed. She fell into a deep, boneless sleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.

Cathy nudged Jennifer. “Wake up, honey. We have another transfer.”

Jennifer groaned. “How much longer before we get to Weatherly?”

“Another nine hours. Tired?”

The girl nodded sleepily.

“There’s an hour layover here. We’ll get some breakfast and you can stretch your legs.”

“Mom, do you think Cathy will like me?” Jennifer asked out of the blue.

Cathy brushed her daughter’s hair aside with her fingers. “I’m sure she will. You’re a neat kid.”

Wrinkling her nose, Jennifer lamented, “I don’t smell so neat. It’s been three days since I’ve had a bath.”

“She’ll understand. I just hope her place is big enough that we don’t get in her way—in case I don’t find a job right away.” The bus pulled to a stop beneath the station awning, and the passengers stood, rolling their necks and stretching. “I wonder if she has cable?”

Jennifer cringed, not liking the way her mother sounded—as if looking for a job did not dominate her list of priorities.

After a breakfast of pancakes and orange juice, Cathy lit a cigarette and blew a cloud of smoke toward the ceiling. “Maybe you can find a book to read the rest of the trip, Jen. I see a rack of paperbacks over there.”

“Shouldn’t we spend as little of Lauren’s money as we can?”

“Worrywart! Go find a book.”

“That’s okay. I get motion sickness when I read and ride,” Jennifer lied. Part of the reason we are always broke, Jennifer thought, is Mom’s habit of spending money unwisely. Cathy’s smoking annoyed Jennifer. Money up in smoke. And her mother bought lipsticks and other cosmetics, or totally useless items, from any mail-order catalog that appeared in their mailbox. Looking down at her worn-thin sweatshirt and wrinkled jeans, Jennifer figured a month’s worth of cigarettes could buy her a new wardrobe at Goodwill or the Salvation Army store. The happiness she had felt the previous day began to wane. Cathy’s lackadaisical approach to life seemed to have returned.

•

The cafeteria teemed with people. A hundred conversations melted into a single loud drone. Lauren looked out over the crowd. From across the room she spotted Dr. Tolson, waving his arms above his head. She took a deep breath and made her way through the maze of tables.

Tolson smiled broadly. He pulled her chair out for her and, when she was seated, he regained his chair across from her. “I’m glad you decided to come,” he said.

“The tuna casserole threat couldn’t go unheeded. I didn’t want your life on my conscience.” An awkward silence filled the next moment, during which Lauren tried not to meet Tolson’s eyes.

“Let’s get in line. The lasagna didn’t look too toxic. I’ve watched several people eat it and they appear unaffected.”

“I’ll just have a salad. There isn’t much they can do to lettuce and tomatoes.”

They inched their way through the serving line. The scent of Tolson’s cologne filled her nostrils, subdued, masculine. Tolson filled his tray with a plate of greasy lasagna, a bowl of limp green beans, and a slice of petrified pecan pie. Lauren chose only the green salad, with no dressing, and a diet cola. Back at the table, Tolson dug into his food with apparent relish. “You on a diet?” he asked. “You’re so petite, I can’t imagine why.”

Lauren felt him looking her over. “I try to eat sensibly, and exercise.”

“Well, whatever you’re doing, it works,” Tolson said admiringly. He patted his lips with a paper napkin. “Why don’t you like me, Lauren?”

Taken off guard, she looked into his green eyes. “Did I say I didn’t like you, Dr. Tolson?”

“Call me Ben . . . please.”

“Did I say I didn’t like you, Ben?”

“No. But I’ve been throwing myself at you for months now, and you haven’t given me the time of day.”

Lauren glanced at the large, round clock on the wall. “It’s twelve-twenty, Ben.”

His lips curled into a boyish grin. “Progress! Now . . . will you go out with me?”

Lauren’s heart beat faster. She wanted to break the fear she’d carried for so long—wanted to trust her luck with a man. “Yes,” she heard herself say. “if you will let me get to know you at my own pace.”

Tolson tugged at his earlobe. “Getting over a bad relationship?”

“Getting over an old neurosis,” Lauren said, looking down at her plate.

She did not jerk her hand away when Tolson touched her fingertips with his own. “Your pace is fine. I just want to see more of you.”

She nodded almost imperceptibly. “I . . . I’d like that.”

“Saturday good for you?”

“Not this Saturday. My sister and niece are coming to stay with me. It’ll take a few days to get them settled in.”

“Okay. The following Saturday? Dinner and a movie?”

She met his gaze again. “Yes. That sounds nice.”

The public address system came to life, loud even above the din of clanking utensils and conversation. “Doctor Tolson, Code Blue in the ER. Doctor Tolson, Code Blue in the ER.”

Tolson pushed his chair back and stood up hastily. “Duty calls. Saturday week—right?”

“Right,” Lauren said, surprised to find she missed the touch of his hand on hers.

When Lauren stepped off the elevator onto the third floor, she heard the screaming. She hurried down the hall, her crepe soles squeaking like soprano mice, toward the source of the clamor. Room 316. Mr. Oliphant, she realized as she drew nearer. Even the morphine, attached to a timer that allowed him to press a button and inject measured amounts of the narcotic into his bloodstream, no longer served to ease the man’s pain.
Olga Herrera, a young Hispanic nurse, stood at Mr. Oliphant’s bedside, patting his blue-veined hand. The man’s screams descended to tortured moans. A look of relief spread across Herrera’s face when she saw Lauren. “He’s been like this for the past hour.”

“Has his doctor been called about increasing the dose?” Lauren, asked, pushing a wisp of dull gray hair off the patient’s forehead. He tossed from side to side in misery.

Herrera nodded. “He said the dosage is as high as it can get without,” she leaned close to Lauren and whispered, “stopping Mr. Oliphant’s heart.”

Though accustomed to sickness and death, Lauren could not tolerate seeing a patient in pain. She had seen too much of it in her mother’s eyes before her death. “Call his doctor again and see if he’ll prescribe a sedative to help Mr. Oliphant. Sometimes the two medications together will take the edge off the pain.”

“Okay. You stay with him?”

“Sure,” Lauren said.

Ten minutes ticked by before Olga Herrera returned with a syringe on a tray. She injected the sedative into the rubber port provided in the plastic liter bag of five-percent dextrose and sterile water, which was on a continuous drip, flowing into the vein in Mr. Oliphant’s bruised, wasted arm.

Slowly, his pain-tensed form relaxed. He breathed heavily through his wide-open mouth. Faded blue eyes stared up at Lauren. He managed a weak smile. “Thank you,” he muttered hoarsely.

Lauren checked the thirty milliliter vial of morphine in the regulator. “He’ll need a fresh vial in an hour, Olga. This one is about empty.”

“I’ll make sure he gets it, Lauren,” the girl said.

Lauren rushed across the parking lot to her car, holding a section of newspaper over her head to ward off the pounding rain. Once at home, she fidgeted, filled with nervous energy. The rain continued, forcing her to forgo her evening run. She fed Flo, then prepared a light dinner for herself and ate it rapidly.

Dressed in flannel pajamas, she turned the television on, sank into her comfortable easy chair, and tried to pay attention to a brainless sitcom. Flo staked a claim to Lauren’s lap and curled into a tight ball. They both fell into a deep sleep.

Lauren awoke at five-thirty a.m. as she always did, thanks to some internal clock. Though cramped, she felt rested. And if she had dreamed, she did not remember. She ruffled the fur on top of Flo’s head, knowing how it enraged the quirky animal. Flo cursed her in cat language but made no effort to give up her roost.

“I hope Cathy and Lauren like cats,” Lauren said aloud, realizing how very little she did know about her sister and niece.

Flo meowed and made a furry face as if to say, “If they don’t like cats, they can stay somewhere else.”

Lauren shook her head ruefully. “Now I’m listening to a cat. I’ve got to get out more.”