Just to See You Smile (29 page)

A distant chirrup startled Britte awake. It sounded again. Her foggy brain registered that it was a cell phone. Not hers. Abruptly, Joel was on his feet, and she was toppling onto the couch cushion where he had been sitting close beside her, his arm around her.

He loped to the kitchen. She sat up and noticed from the VCR's digital clock that it was 10:35. Considering Joel's chest probably wasn't going to be her pillow for the rest of the night, she should go home.

He returned to the living room now, cell phone to his ear. She watched him as he talked. His face was becoming increasingly familiar. A short while ago she had kissed his furrowed brow and stern jawline, his stubbled cheek damp with tears shed by them both. When she sat on the arm of the recliner, he had buried his head against her neck, his shoulders heaving.

After a time he had looked at her as if to say something, but instead stood, gathered her into his arms and wordlessly guided them to the couch. He kissed her then…passionately kissed her as she'd never been kissed before.

He raised his face a mere fraction of an inch. “Britte.” His voice was a low rumble, his eyes at half-mast. “What's a princess like you doing hanging out with an old, broken-down Marine?”

She touched his chin. Her throat was dry; her heart hammered 100 miles an hour. “I have no clue.”

He chuckled softly and lowered his head again.

After a time he sighed deeply, his arms still around her. “Mmm, those rules of engagement keep revising themselves. Not a good idea. I should take you home.” He hugged her tightly. “But can I just hold you for a while?”

Nodding, she snuggled against him, trying to catch her breath, almost frightened at the depth of her response to this man. She
should
go home. Instead, they both fell asleep.

He closed up the phone now and smiled at her. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

He slumped back onto the couch, his shoulder against hers, reached for her hand, and yawned. “That was Bruce Waverly.” The school district's superintendent. “Evidently we're in the midst of an ice storm and the phone system is down. That's why he called on the cell. Some of the districts are already canceling tomorrow's classes, but he's decided to wait. Forecast says it'll warm up through the night.” He yawned again.

“Ice storm? I'd better go home.”

“Mm-hmm.” He turned toward her. “Hey, Britte. I just found a better cure than a pill for migraines. Kissing you! Maybe we could patent it.”

They laughed like two silly teenagers. Britte knew he was spoiling his General's image, but she wasn't about to point that out.

“Joel! Ice storm!” She stood, pulling on his arm. “Let's go.”

In a slaphappy mood, they managed to put on shoes and coats. Outside in the garage, she stood by the large automatic door as it rattled open. “Uh-oh.”

He came up behind her. “What?”

“Look at this.” The streetlight shone on the blacktop road, his driveway, bare branches, and evergreens. A thick layer of ice coated everything in sight. Like falling needles,
frozen raindrops pelted the snow-covered lawn with a steady rat-a-tat-tat.

“It's beautiful.”

Surprised at his comment, she peered over her shoulder at him. “It is, but I can't believe we didn't hear it from inside.”

“No mystery to me why we didn't hear it.” He tugged at her sleeve. “Come on. I shall get you safely home, O Damsel in Distress. Piece of cake.”

“Joel, have you ever driven in this stuff? Out in the country?”

“I'm sure I have. Chicago is in the Midwest, isn't it?”

“Your armor is looking a bit smudgy, O Knight. Promise to go slow?”

They climbed into his car. He inched it in reverse down the driveway. All the while she narrated a litany of harrowing incidents that resulted from driving in this type of storm.

“See, Britte? So far, so good. Got your seat belt on? No more stories. Please!”

Half a block from his condo, they crept toward a stop sign. Joel braked and the antilock brakes went into action, but to no avail. The car didn't respond. It just continued moving, as if in slow-motion, through the intersection.

The center of the blacktop road rose slightly higher than its sides. The car, its steering nonresponsive, followed the gentle line of the slope toward the left, sliding slowly until at last coming to rest in a shallow ditch.

“Whoops,” Joel announced.

Britte sighed dramatically. “Well, Knight, your armor is completely corroded now.”

“Never fear, Princess. I shall
carry
you home.” He cut the engine and pushed his door open a few inches. “But we'll have to get out your door. Mine appears to be blocked.”

She opened hers and climbed out, her athletic shoes crunching through the snow. He followed her. “Joel, you
don't need to walk me home. Then you'll have to walk all the way back. I can go by myself—”

“Are you kidding? I wouldn't let you do that even if Hughes were still locked up. Don't you have a hat or a hood?” He was tying on his own hood, and then he held out his gloved hand. “Give me your hand. Why aren't you wearing gloves?”

“Because I was just going to ride in your car for eight blocks.” They climbed up to the road. “I can walk home. Nobody's going to be out on a night like this.”

“You think we're the only numskulls out? I'll go— Whoa!” His left foot hit the iced pavement and, like the car, kept on going.

Britte, still on the snow, steadied him. Inwardly she moaned. Things were not looking good.

He managed to reel in his left foot. “Careful. We'll cross here and then just stay in the snow as much as possible. But first we'll go back inside and get you some gloves and a hat.”

He was beginning to sound persnickety like Brady, which annoyed her. “Mr. Kingsley, I already have a mother and a father.” Hands locked, they walked by millimeters. “And a big brother and a big sister.”

Britte's foot slipped. Joel lost his balance. They rocked back and forth, exclaiming “Ohhhh” in unison with increasing volume. And then they fell.

“Ouch!” she cried. Her hip and elbow took the brunt of the fall. She gave up resisting it and lay back on the street.

Sprawled beside her, Joel asked, “Are you okay?”

“Sure. Falling flat on the pavement is a favorite pastime of mine. Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Assuming we can make it across the street to my place, will you spend the night with me?”

“No! Of course not! Don't be ridiculous!”

“Tough. I was only asking to be polite because I don't think you have a choice.” His chuckle was low. Infectious.

She joined in. The whole scene was so absurd. Soon they were howling contentedly while ice accumulated on their coats and in her hair.

Again with the phone! The ring shrilled near Britte's head, rousing her from a deep sleep. She reached toward the noise, her arm floundering, her vision hampered by sleep and the fuzzy light of the predawn hour.

“H'lo?”

“Uh, may I speak to Joel?”

Joel?
The mere sound of his name even in dream zone ignited sparks somewhere deep in her being, diffusing heat, liquifying her bones. But he wasn't with her now. “Mmm,” she replied sleepily, “not here.”

“I'm terribly sorry.” The voice was familiar.

“Mmm,” she said again and fumbled to replace the phone. She clunked it against the nightstand. The cradle wasn't in its usual spot.

It wasn't in its usual spot because there was no nightstand. She wasn't at home!

And she had just talked to the school superintendent on the phone. She shot straight up and yelled, “Joel! Joel!”

“What?” A large shadow came barreling around the hall corner into the living room.

“Waverly just called.”

“Huh?”

“Bruce Waverly! I told him you weren't here. I think that's what I said anyway.”

“What!” He sounded awake now.

The phone rang again, and he stepped over to answer it.

In the hazy light she could tell he wore long pajama pants without a shirt. She peered at his left upper arm, searching for the tattoo the kids talked about. It was too dark to see anything. Curious that she would be drawn to a military guy. Not that she'd ever known one before. At least the tattoo didn't have some other woman's name on it. Now that would really be bizarre.

“Thank you, sir. Goodbye.” He hung up the phone. “Temperature's up. School's a go. Coffee.” He headed toward the kitchen. “Call a tow truck…”

“Joel.”

He turned.

“Did Waverly say anything? About a woman answering your phone?”

“Huh? Oh. No.”

“He probably thought he had a wrong number. Of course, when word gets out that I spent the night here, you'll probably have to tell him the truth.” She noticed Joel shuffling away and called out to him, “I thought you were a morning person?”

“It's not morning yet. I was still awake at 3 A.M.”

Britte snuggled back down on the couch, under the covers. It didn't feel like morning to her either. What time was it? The VCR clock was flashing, signaling a power failure.

Last night, after laughing like hyenas in the deserted street, they had inched their way back to the condo, wet and freezing. His laundry room adjoined a bathroom. She took a hot shower while her warm-up suit tossed in the dryer. They drank hot chocolate, gently fussing over sleeping arrangements. She opted for the couch, refusing to take his room. He finally seemed to catch on that for her, that would be too…intimate. He had smiled in an odd way, and she knew he thought her old-fashioned and naïve. Well, he was
right. She had tossed and turned on the couch. The last thing she remembered was peering at her watch sometime after two.

Innocent as the situation was inside the walls of his home, outside them somebody was going to believe they had this time indeed broken a rule. And they would pay for it.

Alec dozed fitfully, lying atop the bedspread fully clothed. Every few minutes he checked the cell phone on the night-stand. Plugged into an outlet, it was recharging, taking forever and a day… And then the power went off.

What was Anne doing? Was she sleeping on a couch? In a guest room? Could she hear
him
snoring?

It wasn't that he didn't trust her. Of course he trusted her. Implicitly. He even trusted Manning. He seemed a decent sort; he paid his employees well. A believer, Anne said.

Kevin was a believer.

Kevin. Kevin and his much younger girlfriend. Women were attracted to older men. Even men with beards and graying hair? But Annie wouldn't feel that.

Would she?

At last, emotionally spent, he slept. A tiny ding woke him. Voice mail message alert! He reached for the phone. Beside it, the clock's red digital dial flashed 12:23, which didn't mean anything except that the power had clicked back on 23 minutes ago. He turned on the lamp. The tiny digits on the cell phone read 2:40.

He fumbled with the correct sequence on the number pad. At last succeeding, he found six new messages.

Alec rubbed sleep from his eyes. He listened to three messages from the office, cutting them off immediately after hearing the first utterance. The next
two
messages were a girl's voice, talking to
Drew
. The kid was grounded. Heart throbbing in his throat, he waited for the last message.

“Hey, mister.” His bones felt like rubber. It was Annie. “I can't get through…”

He replayed the message three times, his grin broadening with each repeated sentence. She was at a motel. She loved him.

Should he call her? No, she needed to rest. But…he'd be there when she woke up.

“Who is it?” Anne peered through the peephole of the motel room door but saw only a white paper bag.

“Breakfast-in-bed delivery man.”

“Alec!” She hurriedly undid the locks and opened the door. “Alec!”

Grinning, he held his arms wide, a bag in each hand. “Coffee and bagels. Cream cheese with pecans.”

She laughed and tugged on his coat lapel, guiding him inside the room. Bagels and cream cheese?
That
coffee shop was nowhere on the route between home and the motel. He had gone out of his way. “You've been busy.”

“I got an early start. Nice room.” He set the bags on the desk and removed his coat while she took out the styrofoam containers. “Thanks.” He accepted a cup from her; then he set it back down. “But first things first.” He took the other cup from her hand and set it aside.

“What?”

He smiled, wrapped his arms around her shoulders, and looked into her eyes. “Annie, you are so beautiful.”

She slipped her arms around his waist. With those cinnamon eyes so focused on her, she thought she was still dreaming. When he kissed her, she hoped she'd never wake up.

“Good morning, sweetheart.”

“Morning, mister.”

He kissed her again, and she began to lose interest in drinking hot coffee.

“Did I wake you?”

“Mm-hmm.” She nodded, her forehead against his. It wasn't even six o'clock.

“I couldn't sleep,” he murmured. “I wanted to make sure you were all right. Did you sleep well?”

“Mm-hmm, but not until late. I think it was after one. Are the kids okay?”

“I woke up Drew and put him in charge of the morning.” He kissed her eyelids. “He's working off some jail time. He promised to get the girls to school.”

She smiled. “Really?”

“Yep. You don't have to go anywhere. I brought clothes for you.”

“
Really?
”

He grinned. “Really. And shampoo and that hair mousse stuff and some lotion I think you put on your face. Oh, and some bubble bath.”

She laughed. “What's gotten into you?”

His face sobered, and he kissed the tip of her nose. “I don't want to lose you. I don't want Charlie Manning to know you better than I do. I don't want to lose track of us. Annie, I did break something. I broke our vows. I am so sorry, sweetheart.”

Her chest felt as if her heart skidded to a halt. Suspended, life crumbled within her. She withdrew from his embrace and sat on the bed.

Alec knelt before her. “I'm sorry. I never should have made you go to work full-time. It's dividing our family.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The vows. You know. I promised we would always live on my income. That you could be a full-time mom and keep painting. You gave up school for me. I never wanted you to quit your art altogether.”

“The vows!” Her breath flung itself back into her body, jolting her senses. “The ones we wrote! Oh, Alec! I thought—” She covered her mouth with her hands.

“What is it? What did you think?”

“I thought you did what Kevin did!”

“What Kevin—? Oh, no, Annie.” He sat beside her and held her tightly. “Never. I could never do that to you. No, I'm talking about what we wrote. I'm sorry. I let you down.”

They sat quietly holding each other. Anne silently thanked God. If he had—but she didn't have to think what if. The working situation, the financial situation…that could be remedied. “Alec, something good is coming from it. Look.” She pointed across the room toward the easel.

“You painted!” He went over to it and studied it. “Annie, it's beautiful.”

“You think so?”

“It's our house.” His voice caught.

It was their house in springtime. Lilacs bloomed at the corner of the front porch, multicolored tulips and yellow daffodils surrounded its base, the peonies along the drive were full of buds, the flowering pear blossomed, and bright green leaves emerged from the maple's branches. The upstairs windows reflected the morning sun's rays.

She went and stood beside him, slipping a hand into the crook of his elbow. “Well, technically it's rough. It was so hard to begin, but I did it. And it feels— Oh, Alec, it feels like I've come home.”

He kissed the top of her head. “Then you should keep painting.”

“I agree. If I keep working, I can keep myself in supplies.”

He stiffened.

“You know the woman who took time off to have the baby?”

He nodded.

“She's not coming back. Charlie needs me full-time. If I want.”

“Do you want?”

She touched his cheek. “I don't know. Do you want?”

“I don't want to tell you what to do or coerce you into something because of my anxieties.”

She smiled. “We know God brought us this far. He won't let us down. Can we leave it for now?”

“Okay.” Though his tone was strong, his facial expression remained tentative. He wanted the issue settled now.

Well, she wasn't ready. “Are you wearing jeans to work or are you going home?”

He shook his head. “Neither. I brought my work clothes, too.”

“Really?”

He gave her a half smile. “Really.”

“Then I do know what I want.”

“What?”

“Bagels, bubbles, and you.” She slid her arms around his waist. “And not necessarily in that order.”