times before.
“I’m sorry if you were scared.” Mr. Luray held out a hand and helped me to my feet. “It’s just Eloise’s way of dealing with things she doesn’t want to think about.” He looked at her affectionately. “She’s very delicate, very sensitive, you know.”
I looked at Mrs. Luray. I wasn’t certain delicate and sensitive were the words I’d have used.
She began to stir. “What happened? Where am I? Alvin?”
Mr. Luray sat on the edge of the sofa and opened the pill bottle. He slid a flat, white disk into his hand. “Shh, Eloise. I’m right here. Put this pill under your tongue, and you’ll be fine in no time.”
Jolene leaned toward me. “It’s a Tums,” she whispered.
I stared at Mrs. Luray. “Does this happen often?”
She shrugged. “Depends on how you define often. She was passing out several times a day when Arnie and I first separated. Now she can talk about it without any trouble. You saw that.”
“Oh!” Mrs. Luray said suddenly and in great distress.
I spun around, expecting her to black out again as she recalled the terrible news about Arnie.
“Smell that!” she said. “Jolene, your dinner’s burning!” She struggled to her feet and moved quickly to the kitchen. “I’ll save it!”
Jolene watched her mother leave the room, then went to her father. “Are you all right, Dad?”
“Not really.” He put his arm around her waist and they leaned into each other, sorrow etched on both faces.
I collected Jolene’s coat and let myself out as Eloise Luray called, “Everything’s all right, Jolene Marie. I saved your dinner for you.”
Bone-weary, I wanted to go home and climb into a hot tub and soak away the traumas of the day. Instead, dutiful employee that I was, I drove to the Community Center.
I was over an hour late, and I hadn’t had time or opportunity to do anything about cleaning myself up. I raced into the AAC-FOP meeting room, hoping the blood on my coat didn’t show and that no one noticed my fingernails and knees. At least the blood on my shoes was long dried or worn off.
I found the committee huddled around a table, faces focused in concentration, papers strewn in organized chaos. A barrel-chested man with a mane of white hair and a slight limp was prowling the floor, talking and gesticulating, but I hardly noticed him.
All I could see was Curt whom I hadn’t realized would be here. He looked so strong and sane and normal. All I wanted was his embrace to wash away the past few hours.
When he saw me, he lost his polite, I-wish-I-were-somewhere-else expression and smiled broadly.
“We can do it, folks!” the white-haired man was saying, and I pulled my attention reluctantly from Curt. “I know we can do it. We can feed not only the needy of Amhearst but of the surrounding communities, too. Why, we’re almost past last year’s total, and we have another week to go. And the local grocers have yet to make their contributions. With the coverage The News is going to give us, the Amhearst Annual Christmas Food Project will make history!”
He was so good at pep talks that even I, weary as I was, felt a slight urge to cheer with the other wildly clapping people around the table. Instead I concentrated on dragging my camera out of my purse.
“And here, I presume, is our photographer now!” The white-haired man said and everyone turned.
I smiled weakly in apology for being so late.
“Come on, everyone,” the man said. “It’s free PR time. Let’s get ourselves set for our picture.” And he began telling everyone where to stand. He finished with, “Curt, stand right there in the middle. You’re our celebrity and honorary chairman, and we want to take advantage of that.”
I felt Curt’s eyes on me and became unexpectedly shy. I studied my camera intently, adjusting this and manipulating that. My problem was that I could never quite figure out how to react to him in public.
Back when I’d gone with Jack, he ignored me most of the time, sort of expecting I’d follow along, which like an idiot I did, so public response wasn’t an issue. Now I worried about Curt. I couldn’t rush to his side because we weren’t really going together or anything—though I suspected that was more my fault than his. I also couldn’t ignore him. Basic manners aside, I didn’t want to. I mean, maybe someday he and I would be going together. I hope, I hope. I think. Maybe.
So I stood there flat-footed and thought about how gorgeous he looked and how worn I must look and how shallow I was not to be thinking of the tragedy of Arnie.
Curt ignored his orders to stand in the middle and walked over to me. “Hi.”
Sudden tears sprang to my eyes. “Hi.” It came out as a whisper. I realized for the first time how close I was to losing control.
Curt took my arm, concern leaping to his face. “Are you all right?”
“Barely.”
He began to lead me to a chair. “Sit down.”
I pulled my arm free and shook my head. “If I sit, I’ll start to cry and ruin my professional image. If I have one left after my lateness.”
He started to protest, but I cut in. “I’ll tell you all about it later.” I saw over Curt’s shoulder that the white-haired man was bearing down on us. “And you’d better go stand in the middle before you’re dragged there.”
He went to stand where he’d been told as the white-haired man came up to me.
“Hello, there, darlin’,” he said, smiling with great charm. “I’m Harry Allen Bushay.”
I looked at him with interest. Was this the Bushay of Bushay Environmental where Jack was working on his audit?
“How do you do, Mr. Bushay.” I extended my hand, blood encrusted nails and all. He took it and held it a moment or two too long. He leaned close.
“Just call me Harry Allen, darlin’.”
“Thank you,” I said noncommittally.
With a cozy, just-between-you-and-me grin, Harry Allen turned and took his place next to Curt. I snapped several pictures, hoping that everyone looked decent in at least one of them. I had pulled out my spiral tablet to get everyone’s name when Harry Allen handed me a sheet of paper.
“Here are our names,” he said helpfully. “They are in order and all spelled correctly.”
“Thank you,” I said as I flipped my tablet closed. “How thoughtful of you.”
“I’m a thoughtful kind of guy, darlin’.”
I smiled weakly. The last thing I felt like dealing with tonight was a flirt with white hair, no matter how premature the white or how charming the manner.
I needn’t have worried. Harry Allen turned and with a clap of
