Passing Through Midnight (21 page)

"You have a gift, Dorie. One that needs to be used. I
understand that. I admire that," he said. Then after a short pause, he
went on. "Do you know what I've liked best about being with you?"

"What?"

"We never lied to each other. We knew all along that
whatever we felt for each other couldn't last forever. We went into it
with our eyes open, knowing it was a temporary thing. No pretending. No
promises. No regrets."

No regrets. The stress on her heart split it wide open.

"I regret…" she started.

"What?"

"That it's not going to last longer. I'm… I'm
going to miss you."

"Good. I'm going to miss you too," he said, pulling her
close, tucking her head beneath his chin. He closed his eyes and
savored the moment. "I'll probably waste away to nothing without any
cookies to eat."

She chuckled. The smile on his face faded slowly away to a
grim line of bitter acceptance. He wasn't, never had been, any good
with women. He'd finally found one that made sense to him, and for that
exact same reason, he had to let her go.

She would never be happy on a farm. She'd get bored with
the farm machines eventually. Breeding cows wouldn't hold her interest
long either. Dorie had an identity of her own, above and beyond the
land that was so much a part of who he was. They'd filled so many empty
spaces in each other, it had been easy to lose sight of the fact that
she'd come there in a vacuum in the first place. They were happy
together, but there was a hole in Dorie that he alone couldn't fill.

Eventually, they went back inside to make sure the boys
had gone to bed before he took her home, but they were still up.

"Pa-lease, Dad. Let me beat Dorie again, and then I'll go
to bed. No fuss, no muss," Baxter begged, his hands pressed together in
front of him as if he were in church. She was the only person in the
house he could cream regularly at pool. It was one of the best things
about her.

"She's had a big day, Bax. She's tired," Gil said. "Maybe
tomorrow night."

"Actually, if it's okay with you, I'm feeling lucky
tonight," she said, unable to withstand Baxter's sad. puppy face. "I
don't think it'll take me long to beat the pants off this kid."

Matthew looked up and smiled. He put his glasses and
TV
Guide
down and got up from his easy chair to watch the match.

"I want bets this time," Baxter said smugly. "Big ones.
You haven't won me yet, Dorie."

"There's always a first time, sport. Just don't cry in
your beer when it happens," she said, teasing him. She started chalking
the end of her stick. "What's your bet?"

"Can it be real big?"

"As big as you like. Sucker."

"Even if I'm not supposed to ask for it?"

"Well, then it would depend on your dad's okay," she
cautioned him.

"He'd say okay. I'm just not supposed to ask you for
stuff."

"Oh. I see. Well, this time you can ask for anything you
want."

"I want you to be my mom."

"What?"

"When I win, you have to be my mom."

"Bax…" Gil started.

"No," she said, stopping him. "That sounds like a fair bet
to me… on one condition."

"What?" Baxter asked.

"Well, the thing is," she said, going down on one knee to
look into his bright, happy eyes, "I'm going to have to leave pretty
soon, Bax. I'm going back to Chicago where I belong, but—"

"You could belong here," he said, the light in his eyes
dimming. "You don't have to go back."

"I do. But—"

"You don't. You could be a doctor here. You were
yesterday. You have new friends here so you won't miss the ones you
have there, and you don't have any little boys there, like you do here."

"That's all true, but—"

"So if I win, you'll stay."

"Okay. But if you lose, you have to make me two
unbreakable promises."

"What?"

"First, you have to give me a big, gigantic hug and
promise me you'll always remember that I love you, even if I can't stay
to be your mom. Promise?"

"Okay."

"And the second promise is," she said, holding up her
index finger, "the next time you name an animal on this farm, you have
to name it anything but Emily."

He gave a small laugh and grinned, seeming to forget the
other promise and all it entailed for the moment.

Her games with Baxter were always longer than the others
because she needed time to moan and groan and die a thousand deaths
when she missed her pockets. This game was no different, except that
she had several glorious victories as well—which took even
more time. In the end, they were down to three balls. A solid, a
stripe, and the eight ball. She shot her solid ball in and went after
the eight ball two more times before it finally fell, in what looked
like a magnificent accident.

"Aw jeez, Bax, I'm sorry about that," she said, after a
short display of stunned amazement at her achievement. "If I were going
to be any little boy's mom, I'd want to be yours." She bent to receive
his hug and a kiss. "Are you going to keep your promises now?"

"Sure. A deal's a deal, you know."

"I know."

"Sack time, Bax," Gil said, watching them from his leaning
position against the wall, his arms folded across his chest, his
expression unreadable. "Tell everyone good night."

"Will you come up and read to me, Dorie?"

"Not tonight, sweetie. I'm gonna beat Fletch while I'm
still hot." She wagged her brows at him deviously.

"Can I watch?"

"Bed," Gil said, his voice deeper and firmer than before.
"And don't forget your teeth. I'll read to you tonight. I don't think I
can stand to watch a woman beat both my sons in one night."

"Thanks a lot, Dad. I haven't even said I'd play her yet,"
Fletcher pointed out.

"Will you?" she asked.

He looked at her for a moment, studied her intensely, then
looked away, shaking his head. "I don't think so. I'm not in the mood."

"If I lose, I'll give you the pink slip to my Porsche."

"Are you kidding me?" he asked, turning back to her.

"Whoa. Hold it," Gil said.

"Gil. I'm hot. I just beat Baxter. I'm not going to lose."

"It doesn't matter," Fletcher said sadly. "I don't feel
like playing anyway."

It wasn't his interest in
America's Most Wanted
that was holding him back, as much as it was his sudden
disinterest
in Dorie. She could see it in his eyes and his mannerisms. He was angry
and feeling betrayed. To him, she was now America's Most Unwanted.

She sighed and bit her lower lip as she walked to the back
of the couch. She knelt down behind him to speak softly into his ear.

"Fletcher, I'm sorry. Try to remember that I couldn't make
you any promises. I didn't know it would turn out like this." He turned
his head then to look at her. "I don't want to go. I have to."

Maybe he could see the truth in her eyes, or maybe he
cared for her enough to give her the benefit of the doubt or maybe he
just wanted the Porsche—she couldn't tell from his
expression. He finally sighed and asked, "Were you serious about the
Porsche?"

"As a heart attack."

"You're gonna get creamed," he warned her.

"Creamed?" She came alert. "I think not. I just beat
Baxter. I'm hot."

"Like you'd have to be hotter than ice cream to beat him
in the first place," he said, leaving his seat in front of the TV to
put her in her place once and for all. "What do you want on the slim
chance that you win?"

"Hmmm… A promise. An unbreakable promise."

"What?"

"You have to remember that I think you're a really special
young man and that I care what happens to you."

Their eyes met and held for a long second before he looked
away. Then to hide his uneasiness, he said, "I'll have your car to
remind me of that."

"Dorie, are you sure about this?" Gil asked.

She grinned and waved him off. "Go read to that other
loser while I fix this one's cocky little clock."

No one was surprised when Dorie lost—not even
Matthew. He watched as she put up a good fight, which was more of a
talented defeat, and shook his head at her generosity.

"You don't really have to give up your car," Fletcher was
saying after a great deal of gloating and strutting about. "I know what
it means to you. I knew you were only joking."

"No, no. A deal is a deal. It's yours. You mean more to me
than it ever could."

Fletcher's face was indescribable.

"Dad won't let me keep it."

"You leave that to me," she said.

"Really?"

"Really. If you keep that promise."

He was thoughtful for a minute, then he laughed and
shrugged. "Like I said, I'll have your car to remind me."

Gil returned and tried to argue with an elated Fletcher
about the car, but the boy was so far off the ground, he wasn't hearing
a word of it. He turned to Dorie.

"Maybe you should go off to bed now, Fletch. Your dad and
I have some discussing to do."

"Oh, this should be great. I think I'll stay," he said.

"Bed," his father and Dorie said at once, their eyes glued
to each other.

"Okay. Okay. Good night," he said. He stopped in the
doorway. "Thanks, Dorie," he added.

"You're welcome, Fletch." Out of the corner of her eye she
saw him leave. "Double or nothin'," she said hastily, before Gil could
protest.

"Double or nothing what?"

"One game of pool. Double—I get two unbreakable
promises from you if I win. Nothing—I keep my car and explain
it to Fletcher so you don't look like the bad guy."

"Are you sure you want to give him your car?"

"You don't really mind if I give it to him, do you?"

"Not if that's what you really want to do."

"Oh, for crying out loud," Matthew grumbled. "Are you
going to play this game or not?"

"Now wait a second," Gil said, holding up his hand. This
was pool after all. It was time to get serious. "What do I get if I win
again?"

"I take the car back and you stay a good guy."

"And if I lose—due to some freak act of cosmic
proportions?"

"Two unbreakable promises."

"
And
Fletcher keeps the car?"

"No. Letting him keep the car is one of the promises."

"What's the other one?"

"You have to dedicate a novel to me." His eyes narrowed,
and he looked annoyed. "Afraid you'll lose and have to do something you
should have done fifteen years ago?" Matthew was chuckling none too
quietly. "It can read,
To Dorie, for her exceptional wisdom
and unique brand of common sense and
—"

"Chalk your stick, toots. I'm going to put an end to this
here and now."

"Toots? Did you call me, toots? Toots is a fighting word,
you know."

"Well, I'm not here looking for kisses,
toots
.
And don't for another second think that I've spent the last five months
with my head in the clouds. I know you're a shark."

"Too much English," Matthew said, amused. "I told you he'd
see it."

"Well, that's okay," she said with a shrug. "Patsy's are
entertaining, but a real game is more fun… and more
satisfying to win. You rack."

Gil racked and played a brilliant game. Unfortunately,
Grampa Devries once played against George Slosson and later Willie
Hoppe—he didn't win, but he'd been good enough to challenge
them—years before he gave lessons to his granddaughter.

Gil lost with two balls on the table.

They played best two out of three and three out of five
before he finally admitted defeat.

"Well, that was something to see, yes sir," Matthew
declared, chuckling at Gil's glowering face. "I think you've met your
match here, son. I'll sleep well tonight knowing that when I go,
there'll be at least one other person left behind who can whip you
regular and keep you humble." He walked off to bed returning their good
nights, and as he walked down the hall they heard him say, "Looking
forward to reading that book, Gil."

Gil and Dorie's eyes met above red felt, and they laughed
together softly, intimately. She slid her stick onto the table and
walked into his embrace. For many long moments they held each other,
rocking gently, happy—until they recalled that it wasn't
going to last.

"What are you thinking?" she asked, sounding drowsy, her
cheek pressed against his chest, the thurump of his heart beating
steady and sure.

"I was wondering if you were any good at arm wrestling."

She giggled. "You can't stand losing, can you?"

"Nope." A pause. "I've never been any good at it."

Neither of them were, and yet they stood together heart to
heart and felt like the biggest losers ever born.

"I better get you home," he said, not moving.

She gave a small nod, but didn't move either.

"Gil?" Her voice seemed small and frightened. "Will you
stay with me?"

"For as long as I can."

She stayed another week.

She wanted to give the boys time to get used to the idea
of her leaving—to start thinking of her as a Great-Aunt
Tilly, who came for a visit, a really long visit, and had to go home.

It was hard picking a date. Fletcher's birthday was coming
up. He and his friend, that Molly Lundgren, were going to the movies
after a small family party— provided of course that he passed
his driver's exam that afternoon. The Thomas County Fair was scheduled
for the first week in August, and she didn't want to miss that either.
Baxter was going to enter the Emilys, and she felt she had a vested
interest in them.

But when she started looking ahead, which she was doing
quite often, she discovered that she'd invested more than she'd
realized in the town and the people of Colby… and in the
Howletts, naturally.

After the fair was Threshing Day and the barn dance in
September. School would start. Fletcher would grumble, and Baxter would
be thrilled with his new teacher, his new pencils and crayons, and his
new school shoes. They'd plant the wheat fields and harvest the corn
and sorghum. They'd sell some of the cows. Then
Thanksgiving—a time for family. And Christmas…