Winter Affair (9 page)

They were on the enclosed porch that ran along the back of the duplex. The two women had decided to pool their resources and purchase one Christmas tree, to be dressed and outfitted from their mutual stock of lights and ornaments.

“I’ll get the stepladder so we can tie it to the sash, and you get the boxes of stuff from your cellar,” Leda said, and Claire nodded. When they reconvened a few minutes later, Claire was dragging two overstuffed cardboard boxes brimming with gaudy baubles.

“Just leave that by the door until we get this bush strung up,” Leda said. They concentrated on fixing the tree in place, and when that was done, Leda perched on top of the ladder to start stringing the lights from the top.

“You’ll be able to see this from the street in the back,” Claire said with satisfaction. “But I still don’t know why I let you talk me into this traditional Tannenbaum: my art deco idea would have been much better.”

“I’m not into silver-and-black Christmas trees, Claire,” Leda replied dryly.

“You’re a stick-in-the-mud,” Claire sniffed. She handed Leda an extension cord. “So you’re going to Monica’s for Christmas dinner?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“I have to leave for Wilmington tomorrow morning so we’d better finish this today.”

Claire was going home to her parents’ house in Delaware for the holiday. “Have you decided about the cast party tomorrow night?” Claire went on, watching Leda’s expression.

Leda made a face. “I don’t think I’m going to go. Anna invited me, but I just don’t feel like seeing all of them. I know that sounds terrible, but Chip will be there and...”

“You’d rather avoid him, especially when he’s high on holiday cheer.”

“Right. Monica wants me to go to my cousin’s house in Wynnewood, but I’ll be with the family at her house the next afternoon. It seems kind of pointless to drive over there for just a few hours.”

“So you’re planning to spend Christmas Eve sitting here by yourself, wondering why Kyle Reardon hasn’t called you.”

“Don’t start up about that again,” Leda answered, plugging one strand of lights into another and testing it.

“I can’t help it. When are you going to realize that the man isn’t interested in you and give up?”

“You’re wonderful for my ego,” Leda mumbled, wrapping a group of bulbs around a branch and clipping the cord into place.

“I’m sorry if that sounded harsh, but you’d better face facts. I agree that it looked very promising at the beginning, but three weeks of silence is hard to overlook. Tomorrow is Christmas Eve. What is he waiting for? New Year’s? Easter?”

“I don’t know,” Leda said irritably. “I guess he’s busy, trying to put together his case.”

“If he has a case,” Claire said darkly, pulling apart a knot in the last strand of lights.

“I believe him,” Leda said stubbornly. Ever since she’d told Claire about her conversation with Reardon at the inn, the two women had this discussion every time they met.

“Oh, Leda, you’d believe in the tooth fairy if you found a quarter under your pillow. I can see where this guy could be very charming, but the weight of the evidence is stacked heavily against him. And even if he is working night and day to prove his innocence, he could take time out for a two minute phone call.”

Leda didn’t answer, crestfallen, and Claire relented. “Look,” she said, “I’m only trying to get you to perk up and look elsewhere. You’re beautiful and intelligent, you don’t have to wait around for this ex-convict to remember you’re alive.”

“Don’t call him that,” Leda said in a small voice. “It isn’t his fault he went to prison if he was sent there by mistake.”

“All right,” Claire said, bending to plug the master cord into the socket under the tree. “But look at it this way. It’s probably a good thing that you haven’t heard from him. With the past against you, it would have been rough going, and he’s being smart. So should you.” She straightened and went to the wall next to the door, flicking the light switch. The tree burst into life with myriad multicolored stars.

“Beautiful!” she said, clapping her hands.

Leda climbed down to the floor. She went to the box of ornaments and opened one in silence.

Claire bit her lip. “Have you thought about calling him?” she asked her friend.

“I’ve thought about it,” Leda replied. “I haven’t done it. Like most people, I have no desire to look foolish. I’ve already kissed him in public and chased after him through a milling crowd at the theater. I think the next move is his.”

“And if he doesn’t make it?”

Leda hung a red glass bell on the tree. “Nothing happens, I guess.”

“Nothing is happening right now.”

“Oh, I disagree,” Leda said sarcastically. “I’m driving myself crazy. You can’t call that nothing.”

Claire sighed. “What do you think about the audition tomorrow morning?” she asked brightly, trying to lighten the mood.

Leda had a tryout for an aspirin commercial scheduled for 9:00 a.m.

“I don’t know. The way I feel right now looking pained shouldn’t be too difficult, so maybe I’ll get it.”

Claire handed her a striped candy cane and Leda hung it on a branch.

“Cheer up,” Claire said. “You’ll feel better on the holiday, when you see all your family and everyone is together.”

Leda nodded, thinking that it would take more than a turkey dinner to raise her spirits this time.

* * * *
 

Reardon threw down his screwdriver in frustration and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. This repair job was not going well, and the cylinder was needed for a flight going out at six o’clock. He took a break and squinted down at his grease stained fingers, pulling a handkerchief out of his pocket to wipe them off. A theater ticket stub, torn in half, fluttered to the floor as he did. He bent to pick it up, remembering the evening he had spent with Leda Bradshaw.

He should not have gone to see her perform in the play. He especially shouldn’t have requested a seat in the front row, where she could spot him when the house lights came up. But he knew why he had done it. He wanted to be up close to her, where he could see every gesture she made, hear every nuance in her voice. And when she asked him to wait for her, he couldn’t refuse, though every sensible bone in his body screamed at him to get away from her. And now it was too late. Just as he feared, the few hours in her company had completed the circle of his obsession, and he could hardly think about anything else but their time together at the inn. He went over every word she’d said in his mind, and could recall her facial expressions as if she were sitting right beside him.

With monumental self discipline he had managed not to contact her, but he was perpetually exhausted, as if the effort of refraining from doing what he most wanted to do was wearing him out. He got through each day—going to work and coming home, eating and trying to sleep, writing letters and making phone calls to get a hearing on his license—feeling only half alive. Life was where Leda was, and he wasn’t with her. But for once in his screwed up, miserable existence, he was going to be unselfish and think of someone else first. She was better off without him and he was determined to leave her alone.

Reardon looked up as Jim Kendall approached, carrying a yellow pay envelope.

“Here’s your overtime check,” the plant manager said. “I thought you would want it before the holiday.”

“Thanks a lot,” Reardon said, accepting the envelope and smiling at Kendall. Reardon liked him. He had taken a chance on hiring a man with a prison record, and unlike some of the other employees, Kendall always treated him fairly.

“How’s it coming?” Kendall asked, gesturing to the dismantled cylinder.

“Oh, I’ll get it,” Reardon replied, shrugging. “It may take awhile but I’ll put it together.”

“You usually do,” Kendall said, nodding. He studied the younger man while Reardon picked up the screwdriver again and went back to his labors.

“Have you seen anything of the Bradshaw girl lately?” Kendall asked mildly, his tone belying his keen interest.

He saw Reardon stiffen, but he didn’t look up. He shook his head silently.

“Too bad,” Kendall went on. “That was a nice thing she did for you, breaking up the sideshow like that. You were heading straight for a brawl.”

“You saw that?” Reardon asked, raising his head, his gray eyes intent.

“Yeah, I was in back and got wind of what was going on. And even if I hadn’t, I would have heard about it. It was all the talk around here, but I’m sure you know that.”

Reardon didn’t answer, looking back at the work he was doing.

“She’s a nice girl, Kyle,” Kendall said gently.

Reardon’s mouth tightened. “I know she’s a nice girl. That’s why I’m doing her the biggest favor of her life and staying away from her.” He turned to the side slightly, and it was a dismissal. He didn’t want to talk about it.

Kendall strolled back to his office, rubbing the back of his neck thoughtfully.

Reardon was a strange one. With his background, Kendall had expected him to be a problem, surly, possibly belligerent. But he was quiet to the point of reticence, and went out of his way to avoid trouble, doing his job and keeping to himself. And he was exhibiting an uncommon sensitivity in avoiding Leda Bradshaw. He obviously thought he would be bad news for the daughter of his former employer, and Kendall could hardly disagree with him. But Kendall thought it would take more fortitude than he himself possessed to resist the invitation implicit in the girl’s gesture that evening at the hangar. She had wanted Reardon, and everyone who witnessed them together knew it.

Kendall sighed. It was a tough situation. Those two were obviously drawn to each other, but Reardon didn’t feel he should do anything about it. Poor guy. Kendall had seen enough of him to tell that he was very lonely, the type who’d been alone so long he barely knew what it was to interact with other people beyond the level of necessary conversation. And he’d been shaken by the encounter with Bradshaw’s daughter; he’d walked around for the rest of the night in a daze. Yet he chose to pursue his solitary path, working so much overtime that he wasn’t away from the job long enough to sleep, much less establish a relationship with Leda Bradshaw or anyone else.

Kendall shook his head. It was none of his business if the man wanted to work himself to death. He doubtless needed the money, and the long hours probably kept his mind off the things he wanted to forget.

Kendall opened the door to his office and hurried to answer his ringing phone, his thoughts shifting back to the business at hand. Out on the floor of the hangar, Reardon worked on the defective cylinder while the other employees walked a wide circle around him, leaving him, as always, by himself.

* * * *

When Leda got up in the dark the next morning to get ready for her audition, it was snowing. She turned on the radio to get the local weather and the news was not good. The snow was expected to continue for several hours, with an accumulation of three to four inches and hazardous driving conditions.

She briefly debated whether or not to go out at all, but the debilitated condition of her checking account convinced her to make the trip into New York. The trains would be running, and she had spent too much on Christmas gifts, as usual. When the bills came in next month she would be having her customary January nervous breakdown, and the thought impelled her into her waterproof boots and out the door.

Claire, the rat, was still sleeping. Her teacher’s vacation had already begun, and she would be nice and rested for her trip to Wilmington later in the day. Leda propped Claire’s gift, an illustrated volume on impressionist painters, inside her storm door where it would be protected from the weather. Then she trudged down to the street and set about the task of clearing off her car for the drive to the station.

Fifteen minutes later she was on her way and convinced that she should have stayed home. The roads were treacherous, as smooth as glass, and she groaned aloud when she approached the slope down to the Yardley depot and saw that it was blocked by a stalled truck. Other drivers were turning around and crawling back up the hill. Leda reversed direction and headed for the river road, which was bound to be less trafficked and consequently more covered with snow. But there was no alternative; if she wanted to keep her appointment she had to try.

Leda had almost made it to the train station, creeping along and peering through the curtain of falling snow, when she hit a patch of ice and lost control of the car. The wheel spun out of her hands and the car shot across the road, careering madly into the bushes on the other side. She was alone on the road or she would surely have been hit. The car plunged down the slope toward the river, and came to rest against the trunk of a large oak at the water’s edge. It bumped to a stop, the rear wheels still turning, and Leda slumped in relief, her heart pounding.

It was several minutes before she could bring herself to open her eyes and shut off the engine. She knew there was no hope of jockeying the car out of the ditch; the rear fender pointed into the air at a 45 degree angle, and the whole slope was as slick as buttered corn. She glanced at her watch and sighed. There was no way to make her audition. It would take her hours to get out of this mess, and it would cost plenty to get towed back onto the road. Great idea you had about making some extra money, Leda, she congratulated herself. She gingerly pushed at her door and discovered that it was stuck.