Winter's Daughter (11 page)

"Lisa!" Tannis had a hand over her eyes. "Please, don’t remind me!"

"And I didn’t even date until halfway through college."

"And then," Tannis said softly, "you met Richard."

"Yes." Lisa smiled. "I met Richard."

"First time out, you come up with a prince. I’ve kissed a zillion frogs, and I’m still looking. And here you are, doing what you were always meant to do, happily–ever–aftering in your beautiful house with your beautiful husband and beautiful, wonderful child. Every woman’s dream."

"Not every woman’s," Lisa reminded her. "Not yours."

"No," Tannis emphatically agreed, "not mine."

"But, Tannis, aren’t you doing what you always wanted to do?" The little lines of concern had appeared between Lisa’s eyes. "I mean, you had so many wonderful and exciting things you wanted to do. And you’ve done them. There was that year you spent in Europe, and then acting school in New York, and then U.C.L.A. and all those degrees. And pretty soon you’ll have your Ph.D., and you’ll be
Doctor
Winter."

"Yes," Tannis said slowly, "that’s true."

"You are happy, aren’t you? I mean, you never wanted any of this." She waved a hand, taking in the cheerful kitchen, the house and yard, the whole neighborhood beyond. "I remember when we were little and you used to pretend you were in jail and the pickets on the fence around our yard were the bars. Remember that? I always thought that’s the way it really felt to you."

Tannis nodded. "It did. I could hardly wait to get out into the big, wide, wonderful world."

"And then there was what you said to me when I was pregnant. You said children weren’t for you because children started with a big c–h, as in chains."

"Good Lord," Tannis said, laughing. "I’d forgotten. What a terrible thing to say."

Lisa shook her head. "Not for you. You were probably right. I know you love Josh, and you’re a wonderful aunt, but I can’t see you as a mother, Tannis, at least not for a long time yet. There’s still so much you want to do."

"Yes," Tannis said, sighing.

They sipped coffee in silence. The cuckoo clock Tannis had sent from Germany ticked loudly.

Tannis got up from the table, placed her coffee cup carefully in the sink, and ran water into it. She turned the water off, wiped her hands on a towel, took a deep breath, and faced her sister. "I met a city councilman today—the new one."

"Dillon James?" Lisa’s eyebrows shot up. "I’ve met him! A friend of mine gave a coffee for him during the campaign. Oh, Tannis—" Her voice dropped an octave. "He’s a
very
dynamic man."

"He offered me a job."

"He what? That’s wonderful! Doing what? You accepted, didn’t you?"

"I did. I could hardly refuse. He offered me a chance to work with him on this homeless thing." She paused to take a deep breath. Lisa shook her head in a confused sort of way.

"Tannis, what’s wrong with this picture? Why aren’t you crowing with delight? This sounds like a great opportunity for you, and besides, he’s very attractive."

"Too attractive," Tannis said in a low voice. "So attractive he scares me."

"Oh, Tan, I don’t believe this. You? You’re like a kid in a candy store when it comes to men. I mean, you
like
men. You’re always at ease with them. You must have dated a hundred guys, and you thought they were all wonderful, and they’re all your friends and still think the world of you. And they were all attractive. You’ve never been intimidated by an attractive man in your life. So what is this?"

"I didn’t mean it like that. I mean—" Hugging herself, she rubbed at her arms, which had suddenly acquired a rash of goose bumps. "I don’t think I’ve ever been
this
attracted to a man," she said in a low voice. "I think I could really get to like him.
Really
like him, you know?"

"So? What’s wrong with that? You were just complaining about all the frogs you’ve kissed. Maybe it’s about time you found that prince."

Tannis abruptly turned her back on her sister and gripped the edge of the sink. Facing her dim reflection in the window, she could manage to control the threatening pressure in her throat. "Lisa?" She paused, swallowed, took a deep breath, and went on. "You know that kissing thing you were talking about? Where we all counted up, and I won? Well, what I didn’t tell anyone—mainly because I didn’t think anybody would believe me—was that I was also, um, a virgin."

"Oh," Lisa said readily, "I believe it."

Tannis turned an incredulous look on her. "You do? Why?"

Lisa shrugged. "It makes all kinds of sense. Unless you have some sort of emotional problem, you’re not going to sleep with a guy until you get to know him pretty well, right? At least, I know
you
wouldn’t, because that’s the way you are. So, since you never dated anybody long enough to get to know him well—except for Dan, of course—" She paused. "Not even with
Dan?"

Tannis turned back to the sink just in time to hide an involuntary spasm of pain. "Nope," she said neutrally. "Not even Dan." Not then. Not until much, much later—but that was something too painful to tell anybody, even Lisa. No one would ever know about Dan.

"That’s funny," Lisa mused. "I always had an idea you really did love Dan."

"I did," Tannis said, still keeping her voice smooth and light. "But the timing was wrong. I was too young, and there were so many things I wanted to do. I just couldn’t let myself get serious with anybody, you know?" She tossed her head determinedly. "I still have too much to do—exciting things, important things. I’ve got to finish my research and get busy writing my paper so I can get my degree and get a real job."

"And then?" Lisa asked, coming to put her cup in the sink. "Will it be time for a serious relationship then?"

Tannis shrugged. "Maybe."

Her sister put her arms around her and hugged her. "Don’t wait too long, Tan," she whispered huskily. "The longer you keep people at a distance, the more it gets to be a habit. If you’ve never let yourself be intimate, really close to someone, the idea can be pretty scary."

Or if the one time you do let someone get close, you get burned.
But Tannis didn’t say that out loud; that was one thing she’d never tell a living soul.

She had everything she needed, she told herself. Her life was rich, full, exciting, challenging. She had a million friends and a terrific family who gave her all the love in the world. She didn’t need, or have time, to fall in love. Not now.

The headline in the morning edition of the Los Padres Daily Bulletin read:

MAYOR’S PANEL TO TACKLE HOMELESS PROBLEMS.

Well, Dillon thought, I wasn’t
too
far off.

"Mornin’, Councilman. That be all for you?"

Dillon looked appraisingly at the man on the other side of the newsstand’s counter. A big man, balding but somehow ageless. Massive shoulders and bulging muscles strained the seams of the olive drab long–sleeved shirt he wore half buttoned over a white cotton T–shirt. His neck rose from the collar of his shirt like the trunk of a tree. From the waist up, Dillon thought, the man looked like he could bench–press a Mack truck. And in spite of the fact that the lower half of his body ended at mid–thigh, his eyes had the serenity of a quiet pond.

"How’d you know who I was?" Dillon asked curiously as he dug in his pocket for a dollar.

The man’s chuckle was soft, a warm, rich sound. "Oh, I have my ways, Councilman. I have my ways." He tapped a stack of newspapers. Dillon grinned. The man held out his hand. "Gunner," he said as Dillon shook it. "Good to meet you, Mr. James."

"Dillon. Actually, I believe I know a friend of yours."

"Yeah?" Gunner glanced toward the other end of the counter, where a man in a herringbone tweed jacket was helping himself to a paper. "Mornin’, your honor, how’s it goin’?"

"Not bad, Gunner, not bad." The man flipped Gunner a quarter, which he caught with an effortless flick of the wrist.

"Thank you, sir, you take care now." He turned back to Dillon. "Friend of mine, you said?"

"Yeah," Dillon said. "Tannis Winter."

"Oh, yeah," Gunner said neutrally. "I know Tannis."

"I offered her a job," Dillon said, tapping the newspaper headline. "She’s going to be working on this committee with me."

"Well, now," Gunner said, "that’s nice. She’ll like that. Right up her alley."

"Yeah," Dillon said, then turned his back to the counter. Leaning against the stand, he watched the passing traffic while Gunner took care of a couple of customers. He thought about Tannis, and the way he was beginning to feel about her, and when there was a lull, he dropped words into it without turning around.

"How long have you known her, Gunner?"

He heard the wheelchair’s purr. "Awhile."

"She says you told her it’s dangerous, what she’s doing."

"I told her."

"To tell you the truth. Gunner, I’m worried about her. That’s one reason I offered her the job. She still hasn’t got a clue how dangerous it is out there."

"No."

"She thinks she does."

Gunner nodded in agreement. "Her heart’s in the right place."

"
You
know," Dillon said, finally turning to look at Gunner and finding that quiet gaze resting on him in thoughtful appraisal.

"Yeah," Gunner said, "I know. And so do you."

There was a long silence, and then a smile ruffled the stillness of Gunner’s eyes like a breeze stirring across calm waters. "She’s tough though. Handles herself pretty well out there. Couple days ago I heard she banked a wino off a trash can and sank him right there in the gutter. Smack in front of a cruising black–and–white. Sure wish I’d seen it."

Dillon grunted.

Gunner made change for an attractive woman in navy blue pinstripes who was buying copies of Vogue and Computer World. Together he and Dillon watched in appreciation as the woman stowed the magazines in her briefcase and went clicking off down the sidewalk, and then, still gazing at the passing crowd, Gunner said, "A wino’s one thing. There’s sharks and wolves out there, Councilman. You do me a favor, my friend. Keep an eye on her."

"I’ll do that," Dillon said. He looked into Gunner’s eyes and reached across the counter to take his hand in a hard grip. "Thanks
—friend."

Tannis found Binnie sitting on a bus stop bench a block down from the Clifton Hotel, eating a sandwich. She almost didn’t recognize her at first because she had on a new hat. This one was navy blue straw with some red and white flowers and berries on it. Tannis had seen hats just like it in department stores recently, though this one had obviously met with a major catastrophe before falling into Binnie’s hands.

"Hi," she said, sitting down beside Binnie on the bench.

Binnie gave a startled jerk, smiled when she saw it was Tannis, then looked scared when she saw Tannis wasn’t alone.

"It’s okay," Tannis said, laying a reassuring hand on Binnie’s arm. "This is my friend—"

"Dillon," he offered, shuffling forward. Binnie eyed him warily. Dillon took off his baseball cap and nodded at her. "That’s a lovely hat you’re wearing, ma’am."

Binnie’s face broke into a smile. "Found it in the parking lot over at the shopping mall," she said gruffly. "Musta fell out of somebody’s car. I think it got run over, but I don’t know, I think it’s still got style. Of course," she added, looking doubtful for a moment, "it is a
spring
hat."

"Spring’s on its way," Tannis assured her, looking up at Dillon, grateful and obscurely touched by the way he’d put Binnie at ease. The smile he gave her in return caused a funny little kick right under her ribs. She coughed and nudged Binnie. "Hey, we movin’ uptown or something?"

Binnie made a face over her sandwich. "Hah—lost my spot. The cops came and made everybody leave."

"Yeah, I know." Tannis sighed.

Binnie looked at her, then craned up at Dillon. "You go to the shelter?" Dillon shook his head. "Nah," Binnie said, looking disgusted, "me, neither. I won’t go to those shelters. Person can get mugged there. You know Crazy Frankie? Got beat up in a shelter last winter." She nodded sagely at Dillon. "Those shelters, they’re worse than jail, you know that? I know. Oh, yeah, I been in jail. Shoplifting." She shrugged philosophically. "Well, shoot, it was a real bad week, and I was hungry. But the shelters? Same as jail—they spray you for bugs. That stuff causes cancer, you know that? And the worst of it is, they won’t let you keep your stuff." She leaned close to Tannis and whispered, "They tell you it’s because there’s not enough room, but if you ask me, they keep it. Yeah, that’s right. I
know.
Well, they ain’t gonna get my things! I’m staying where I can keep an eye on ’em—it’s the only way."

"You got a new place?" Tannis asked quickly to cover the strangled sound Dillon made.

Binnie shrugged. "Bunch of us been living down in the Ninth Street culvert. Know where that is? Clarence is there—he don’t stay in the culvert, but he’s down there. And Crazy Frankie, and The Showman. Hey, the cops cleaned out The Alley, you know that? Tore down all the boxes and tents and threw ’em in the Dumpster. Good thing too—good riddance." Binnie shivered. "There was a lot of trash in The Alley—drugs. A lot of crazy, mean people. I was scared to go anywheres near that place. Hey, you guys want some of my sandwich?"