Celebration (14 page)

“I'm sorry,” Woodie said.

“I know. I'm sorry, too.”

Woodie fished in his pocket for his keys, tossing them to her.

Kristine clutched at the keys. She struggled to find her voice as she licked at her dry lips. “Where . . . where does this leave us, Woodie?”

“You're the only one who knows the answer to that question. I won't be hard to find. Don't hit any jackrabbits on your way home,” he said lightly.

“I ... I'll try not to. I'll call you.” Woodie nodded.

Woodie stood by the bedroom window, his hands jammed into his pockets as he watched the only woman he had ever truly loved drive away. He watched until the taillights were pin pricks of red in the dark night. “I hate your fucking guts, Logan Kelly,” he seethed.

 

 

“If you don't mind my asking, Kristine, what got your panties in a wad these past three weeks?”

“I do mind, Pete,” Kristine snapped. “What time are the Olsens coming for their dog?”

“They should have been here by now. I gave them good directions, but they might have gotten lost. I think I hear a car. That must be them.”

Kristine turned.
Please let it be Woodie
, she thought. Three long weeks and she hadn't heard a word from him. Twenty-one days. Five hundred and four hours. Thirty thousand two hundred and forty minutes. Almost a lifetime if you were counting, and she was counting. Every single day. She wished she knew how many times she'd walked to the phone, picked it up, only to replace it. Woodie was the one who had given her the ultimatum. God how she missed him.

“It's not the Olsens. It's some guy,” Pete said. “Doesn't look like a dog man to me. He's probably selling something. Do you want me to get rid of him?”

“Yes, but be polite. I'm going to give Victoria one last brushing for her new owners. Where's Gracie?”

“Sleeping under your desk. Slick is in his crate with his baby.” It brought the desired smile to Kristine's face. She loved the two little dogs, and he knew for a fact that both of them slept on the empty pillow on her bed. He also knew she fed them white-meat chicken when she thought he wasn't looking.

The man at the door was young, perhaps a little older than the twins, with a head of curly black hair and incredible blue eyes. “I'd like to see Mrs. Kelly please.”

“Why,” Pete asked briskly.

“Jackson Valarian. I'm a reporter for the
Washington
Post. I'm doing a series of articles on old Civil War houses and the families that aided runaway slaves. My research led me here.” He handed over a business card, which Pete in turn handed to Kristine.

“How exactly can I help you?” Kristine asked.

“By talking to me. By letting me poke around. If you have any journals or books in your attic, I'd like to look at them. I'd like to try and find the underground tunnels that led from this house to the Kelly farm.”

Kristine stared at the card in her hand. “I didn't know there were any tunnels. My parents never talked about them. I don't know if we have any books in the attic or not. I really don't have the time to help you.”

“You don't have to help me. I'll do everything myself. Would you mind if I started with the Kelly farm? I was out there yesterday. It was wide-open, and there weren't any
NO TRESPASSING
signs anywhere. I didn't go inside the house or anything. I just walked around trying to figure out where the tunnels were.”

Kristine eyed the dust on the road as a car made its way to the barn.
Please let it be Woodie.
“You'll have to wait a few minutes. You can go up to the house and wait for me in the kitchen. There's some lemonade in the refrigerator. I'll be up as soon as I finish with Mrs. Olsen.”

“Thanks, Mrs. Kelly. I'll wait all day if I have to.”

“Mrs. Olsen, hello. Here she is. Isn't she gorgeous? I hate to part with her. Pete has all the papers and your starter bag. Victoria loves to be held as you can see. She's a good little eater, and she does like to snuggle. She's big on kisses, too. This little toy is what she sleeps with.”

“Oh, I love her already. You won't have to worry about me holding her. Her feet will probably never touch the floor. My husband is going to love her to death. How much notice do I need to give you if we want to get a boy for her to play with?”

“At least six months. Don't be in too big a hurry. Bond with her, enjoy her together before you bring another dog into the house. If you do decide to get another dog, you may want to do it before she turns a year old. She'll take to it then and have enough mother instinct to coddle it. If there are any problems, call us, day or night. She's had all her shots, and she's been wormed. Bring her back in a month.

“God, I hate to part with them,” Kristine said, dabbing at the corners of her eyes.

“Kristine, that little dog is going to get so much love from the Olsens it would be a shame to deny them the pleasure of Miss Victoria's company. Victoria is the winner here.” Pete waved the generous check under her nose.

“I know, I know. It's still hard to see them leave. C'mon, Gracie. Slick, let's go to the house.”

The two fur balls yipped and raced to Kristine. She scooped them up, aware of Pete's speculative gaze. “Let's get some Fig Newtons. Let's also not tell Pete.” Both dogs yipped at the words
Fig Newtons
, their special treat.

In the kitchen, Kristine introduced the young reporter to the dogs, who immediately hopped onto his lap. He reminded her of Tyler when he threw back his head and laughed.

A glass of lemonade in her hand, Kristine sat down opposite the young man. “Now tell me what exactly it is you hope to accomplish by searching my house and the tunnels. Like I told you, I am not aware of any tunnels. I think my parents would have said something.”

Kristine listened as the reporter droned on and on about his career and the hundreds of people who had helped him. Her eyes grew thoughtful. “You must have an incredible network to rely on.”

“Oh, we do. So, will you help me?”

“This network, how extensive is it? I realize you're young, but do you have sources like the reporters do on television?”

Jackson's eyes as well as his voice grew suspicious. “Why are you asking, Mrs. Kelly?”

“You know that old saying. One hand washes the other. You help me, and I'll help you. Just how important to you is this series of articles?”

“It could make me in the newspaper business. I like doing human-interest things. One day I hope to be an investigative reporter, but for now I have to pay my dues. I like what I'm doing, so I don't mind. People around here love to read stuff like that. It might even get picked up by the AP. Stranger things have happened, but I'm not going to count on it. My editor is very encouraging. I need your help, though.”

Kristine pretended to think. “You
were
trespassing on private land. The Kelly farm is posted. I saw the signs myself. The truth is, I have no personal interest in the tunnels, if there are any, and I have no interest in reading about the Civil War. I find the past to be very depressing. One needs to live in the present and look toward the future.”

“But it was your . . . I don't know how many ‘greats' it goes back, but it was your grandparents, some of your ancestors who helped the slaves to freedom. Don't you want to know about that?”

“No.”

“Is it because you think I might find out something that wouldn't be favorable to your family?”

“If you did, I hardly think it would matter to me at this point in time. That was then, this is now.” Kristine leaned back into the soft cushion of the kitchen chair. She fired up one of the few cigarettes she smoked during the day. She watched the desperation build in the reporter's eyes. For one brief moment, she felt ashamed of herself for what she was about to do. “Unless ...”

The desperation on the young reporter's face was suddenly replaced with hope. “Unless what, Mrs. Kelly?”

“Unless you help me.”

“How can I help you? I don't know anything about the dog business. The truth is I don't much care for dogs. I'm a cat person. We always had cats in our house growing up. I hope that doesn't offend you.”

“I'm not offended. To each his own. I'm interested in your network and your sources. Are they local, state, nationwide, or global?”

“Mine are pretty much statewide. Some of the older reporters are global. Why?”

“I'd like to avail myself of those sources and, of course, your network. Perhaps we could strike a bargain here.”

Jackson followed Kristine's lead and leaned back in his chair but not before he reached for one of her cigarettes. “Tell me what you want.”

“I want to find someone. Someone who dropped off the face of the earth. In Germany. That was the last place he was seen.”

“I don't want to commit to anything. Personally, I do not have those kinds of sources. I can, however, talk to some of the others to see if they can help. Why don't you meet me tomorrow for lunch? I'll bring along two of our seasoned guys. Maybe even our editor. How does that sound?”

“It sounds good.”

“If they won't help you, will you still let me do the search?”

“No.”

“I guess I better get going then. I might have a lot of arm-twisting to do. By the way, who is it you want to find?”

“My husband.”

“Oh.”

“Where shall I meet you tomorrow?”

“I'm staying in town at the Fairmont. How about the Golden Dragon? Your other choice is fast food. My expense account is limited. I can't even promise the other guys will drive down here. If they don't, I'll at least have answers for you. Is it a deal?”

“It's a deal, Mr. Valarian. I'll meet you at say twelve o'clock.”

“Noon is fine. You can call me Jack. What shall I call you?”

“Mrs. Kelly will do nicely.” She held out her hand. His handshake was so firm, Kristine fought the urge to squeal. “Tonight I'll go up to the attic to see if there are any books or journals. If there are, they're probably rotted by now.”

“Not if they're packed in trunks. You'd be surprised at some of the stuff I've found. If I find something that isn't too flattering to your ancestors, assuming we work together, I'll come to you with it first. That doesn't mean I won't print it. Is that understood?”

“Perfectly. I expect the same thing from your sources and that global network of yours.”

“Understood. I hope this works out, Mrs. Kelly. I can see myself out.”

Kristine sat at the table for a long time sipping her lemonade and smoking. More than once she ran the conversation with the reporter over and over in her mind. She squeezed her eyes shut with pain as she recalled her words.
One needs to live in the present and look toward the future
. Too bad she didn't practice what she preached.

Kristine opened her eyes and closed them again so she could conjure up Woodie's face behind her closed lids. Her heart thumped in her chest. Why hadn't he called her? Why hadn't she called him? “This is so stupid, it's ridiculous,” she mumbled as she bent down to pick up both little dogs. “You two are the best thing that ever happened to me. You wouldn't like Logan at all, and, you know something, he wouldn't like you. He doesn't like animals in the house.” Slick growled at her strange tone as he nipped her lightly on the ear. Gracie swatted him with one little paw. “Guess that tells us who is the boss. Right, Slick? Maybe I'll call him after dinner. Then again, maybe I won't. I think I'll go up to the attic now to see what I can find. You know, sweeten the pot for Mr. Valarian. You have to stay down here, though. It's probably three hundred degrees up there right now.”

She was right about the heat in the old attic. Sweat dripped down Kristine's face as she went through the trunks and boxes that were neatly labeled. She finally found what she was looking for at the far end of the attic of the rambling old house. Each generation seemed to have its own corner of the attic. Obviously, her mother hadn't disturbed anything. She had a bad moment when she saw her old sled and first tricycle. Her roller skates and ice skates hung from nails hammered into the ceiling. Her skis leaned drunkenly against a stack of boxes that said, KRISTINE'S BOOKS. She rubbed at the sweat dripping down her face. She had none of these things for her own children. When you moved around the world, you traveled light. Logan had seen to that. “Guess what, Logan, someday I'm going to have grandchildren, and their things are going to be put up here. So there, Logan, so there.”

Kristine pushed a wicker doll buggy out of the way in her scramble to get to the alcove where the last boxes and trunks were stored. She didn't know if it was the heat or thoughts of Logan, but she thought if she didn't get out of the attic she was going to pass out. She clawed at one of the trunks and finally managed to lift the lid. Books and journals were stacked to the brim. She reached for one and ran to the steps, taking great gulps of the cooler air as she raced down the steps. She ran to the bathroom, where she stepped into the tub to douse herself, clothes and all, with cool water. It was a full hour later before she felt able to step from the tub to change her clothes.

Another hour passed before Kristine padded over to the window seat. She moved the stuffed cushions to the floor before propping open the top of the seat. Staring up at her was her favorite picture of Logan in his dress uniform.
One needs to live in the present and look toward the future, Logan.
The words seemed seared into her brain. She repeated them over and over in her mind. She continued with her low-voiced monologue. “Woodie's right, I need to lay you to rest. I can't see into the future. The reason I can't see into the future, Logan, is because there is no future for us. I feel like such a fool. Woodie loves me, and I walked away from him. Because of you. I allowed you to do all this to me. I wish I could put all the blame on you, but I can't. All I can do now is live in the present and look toward the future with Woodie. If it isn't too late.”