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  Chapter Eighteen

  “Get in!” Shel called over the steadily pouring rain. It was difficult to see Kathleen’s expression in the whiteout, but she sensed her hesitation. It really wasn’t the time or place for gentle coaxing. Shel charged toward her neighbor and clutched the handlebars of her bike. She called to her over the storm, “Get her! I’ll get this!”

  Kathleen unfastened the child from the seat and with some difficulty, lugged her to the car. Shel pushed the bike toward the hatchback, but immediately realized her Addison James painting was there, faceup for the world to see. She hurriedly unlatched the floor cover and was grateful to discover the spare tire was missing. Utilizing the extra space, she hastily crammed the painting beneath the floorboard, covered it and gently placed the bike on top of it all. She jogged to the driver’s side and got in.

  She brushed the rainwater and bangs out of her eyes and killed the hazards. She took the car out of park and slowly started for home. After a few blocks, she broke the silence. “You bike everywhere?”

  “I don’t drive.” Kathleen’s answer could barely be heard over the sound of the wipers.

  “How come?”

  She shrugged, said, “I don’t have a car.”

  Of course she did not. Cars meant registration which meant information and insurance, both requiring ID and background and credit checks, none of which the woman would have living under an assumed name. Shel nodded. She turned the corner onto their street and pulled into Kathleen’s driveway. Without a word, Kathleen jumped out of the car and rushed the child inside.

  “You’re welcome,” Shel said to the empty car. She opened the door and stepped back into the pouring rain to retrieve the bike from her hatchback. Blinking against the rain, she rolled it onto the woman’s front porch and turned to go when she heard the door open behind her.

  “Here,” Kathleen said, handing her a towel. Soaked as she was, it was a pointless, but kind gesture. Shel stood staring at her a moment before accepting the towel. She blotted her face and neck, handed it back. Kathleen raised her voice to be heard. “I appreciate the ride.”

  “Sorry I didn’t get to you sooner.”

  Kathleen seemed fixated more on the weather than Shel’s words. Though quiet, her haunted tone sliced right through the sound of the rain when she said, “I don’t like storms.”

  That would make sense if Kathleen’s parents truly died during the ultimate storm. Shel felt herself inevitably softening toward her, while at the same time remembering that the Hurricane Katrina story could also be a lie.

  “This is normal. Not much to worry about.” Shel’s answer was interrupted by thunder that started with a low rumble, then escalated. She looked through the curtain of rain over her house that was turning gray with nightfall. She had to yell over the steady cadence of rain pounding against the tin roof. “I’m sure this old neighborhood has seen a lot of these storms. We probably won’t even lose power.”

  As if on cue, lightning branched across the dark sky followed immediately by a thunderous crash. Every streetlight, as well as the lights in Kathleen’s house, went black. Shel was zero for two.

  “Then again…” Shel muttered practically to herself. She heard Harper’s worried cry from inside the house.

  “It’s okay, I promise. I’ll be right there.” Kathleen tossed the wavering comment over her shoulder and looked more than nervous herself when she again turned to Shel. “Looks like it’s going to be a long night. Well, thank you again.”

  “Wait.” Shel put a hand out, stopped her from closing the door, much as she had the first night they’d met. “Do you girls have candles, flashlights—anything?”

  Kathleen hesitated a moment before shaking her head. Shel did an about-face and ducked back into the awful weather. Minutes later, she returned with her haul and was ushered in by a surprised-looking Kathleen. Sopping wet as she was, Shel didn’t budge off the inside front doormat. She handed over a dripping brown paper sack and again turned to go.

  “What’s in here?” Kathleen asked, surprised at the weight. She began to poke through it guided only by the dim light coming in from the windows.

  “Emergency flashlight and candles from a kit the owner of my rental house left behind in a closet. The batteries look okay. I hope the matches are the camping kind because they’re wet by now.” She wiped the beads of water off her forehead. “Also, there’s some cheese and crackers—the kid’s got to eat and there’s no power.”

  “What will you use for light?”

  “I don’t mind the dark. I’m comfortable there.”

  “I wish I could say the same thing.” Kathleen’s eyes flitted about. “I just think it’s silly to give us all your candles and stuff, especially when you’ve just moved in.”

  She presumed the statement masked a truer one, which was that Kathleen hated to be alone in a storm. She looked down at her own rain-soaked clothes once again and then back to Harper who was teetering on a stool, flashlight already in hand, aiming the beam of light into the soggy paper sack. The heaviness of the metal casing made for awkward handling for such a small girl, but the child was persistent, and she wore a curious expression as she removed a particular item and held it up for her audience. In the tiniest possible voice, she asked, “What is this?”

  Intrigued by the first words she’d heard out of the child’s mouth, Shel gently answered her. “That’s, uh, basically it’s spray cheese, the best, purest form of junk food on the planet.” Shel’s lips tipped up into a half smile at the child’s inquisitiveness. She then glanced at Kathleen and attempted to defend her junk food in advance. “Probably not the building blocks of nutrition, but the kid will dig it. Maybe it’ll be a nice diversion.” She glanced at the window, indicating the storm.

  “Spray cheese?” The child was suddenly extremely interested in the concept. Her normally dull eyes seemed alive as she considered the possibilities. Diversion accomplished.

  “You spray it on a cracker,” her mother told her, eclipsing any childish ideas she may be conjuring about covering walls—or even people—with cheese.

  “Or…your fingers,” Shel put in. She gave half a shrug, quietly admitted, “I mean, a cracker is just the middle man, right?”

  And though she probably had no idea what that meant, Harper eagerly nodded.

  Kathleen swung the tot off the stool and safely delivered her to the floor. She handed her the flashlight. “First, why don’t you go dry off and put on some pajamas.”

  The child tugged her mother’s sleeve until she bent to allow Harper to whisper something in her ear. In return, Kathleen shook her head, told her. “No honey, no bath tonight. We’ve already had a shower.”

  The child seemed more than pleased at this news.

  “Go get dressed, then you can have the…the spray cheese,” Kathleen gently assured her. She held out the flashlight for her. “Take this with you so you can see.”

  The child accepted the flashlight, struggling to hold it in front of her as she hurried toward the hallway.

  The gray sky provided minimal light as Kathleen walked around to the other side of the counter and began rummaging through drawers. She nervously addressed her company as she did so.

  “I might have dry matches.” She glanced at Shel still standing in front of the door in dripping clothes. “Oh—you could hang your shirt on that kitchen chair and have a seat, if you want.”

  Kathleen was solidifying her previous unspoken request that Shel stay. Her guest slowly removed the flannel shirt she’d worn as a jacket, appropriate for the southern Florida climate. Still she didn’t budge from the mat, fearing she’d leave a trail of water. She feared many things.

  Kathleen noticed her standing like a statue and gave her a quizzical look. Shel explained, “I don’t want to get your stuff wet.”

  Kathleen suddenly looked foolish at the realization that she was asking the woman to make herself comfortable in a most uncomfortable state of dress. Matches in hand, she lit one candle and pulled a j
elly jar out of the cabinet and put together a makeshift candleholder. She lit a second candle off the first. Then, shielding the flickering flame with her hand, she gracefully moved toward the hallway. “Just a second.”

  She returned in seconds minus the candle, carrying a bathrobe that she handed to Shel. It was the same one Kathleen had worn the first night they’d met. Shel nervously accepted the robe, squeezing the soft material between her fingers. Her hesitation was obviously making her hostess uncomfortable.

  “Will this do? The bathroom is down the hall. You can’t miss it in this small house.”

  Shel was unsure what to make of the sudden bout of hospitality her neighbor was displaying, if only prompted by the storm. Helpless to her own curiosity, Shel slipped out of her drenched canvas tennis shoes. “I’m afraid even my socks will leave prints.”

  “It’s okay. We all are.”

  Shel took wide, careful steps in the direction Kathleen had indicated, feigning naiveté about the layout of the house. Once there, she saw that Kathleen had wedged the candle in the wall-mounted toothbrush holder. Its flicker softly illuminated the tiny room. Shel quietly closed the door and looked around. She couldn’t resist nudging the shower curtain back to get another look at the height of the window through which she’d made her stunt-move escape.

  “Whew,” she whispered, letting the curtain go again. She took off her jeans, T-shirt and socks. She stared at her reflection in the mirror at her soaking underwear.

  “No,” she softly said. It was a compromise she refused to make, no matter how uncomfortable they were. She pulled the robe over her shoulders, enjoying the soft sensation of its fabric against her skin. It smelled fresh, like clean sheets or baby powder. She wondered if it was fresh out of the laundry or if Kathleen had recently worn it. The latter thought ignited a quiver in her stomach. She tightened the sash, ran her hands through wet hair until it looked reasonable. She stared at her near-gaunt form and haunted expression in the mirror.

  Gathering her clothes and the candle, she quietly headed back into the front room. Kathleen had changed into some kind of casual sundress—the woman seemed born to be clothed in airy dresses—and she was patiently waiting next to her tot who was seated at the counter. The can of spray cheese was squarely in front of them, and Harper wore a serious expression that Shel thought seemed uncharacteristic of a child her age.

  Shel laid her wet clothes on the doormat and somewhat embarrassedly glanced down at the robe. She pulled the pink lapels closer together and crossed her arms in front of her.

  “We figured maybe you’d want to do the honors.” Kathleen motioned for her to join them in the tiny galley kitchen.

  Shel’s hesitation had little to do with her standing in a robe in her mark’s house, but spoke more to her social awkwardness acquired after so many years of working and being alone. She moved toward mother and daughter, feeling the weight of their very different gazes, one reflecting a mixture of concern and apprehension, the other, diminishing leeriness coupled with new curiosity.

  Shel picked up the can, flicked the cap off and tore off the safety ring. Shooting little sideways glances at the toddler, she internally marveled at the kid’s intensity. It was a familiar brand of distrust on the child’s face. The last time she’d seen it was on a same-aged child, those years ago, right before…

  “Are you okay?” Kathleen quietly asked her.

  Shel realized she’d clenched her eyes shut in an effort to block out the awful memory. She felt her cheeks warm and nodded.

  “I sometimes get headaches during a storm. I’m fine.” It was a lie, but she hoped she’d managed to shift the attention off her. Still, the dreadfully serious mood remained in the house. She attempted to work on that next. She gave the kid her best smile and ceremoniously raised the can. “You ready for this?”

  “I am,” Harper whispered.

  “Hold out your pointer finger. Keep it steady.”

  With some hesitation, the little girl did as she was told. Careful not to actually make physical contact with the child, Shel pressed the tab and ran it above the little finger, forming a fat, squiggly worm of bright yellow processed cheese. By the time she finished, Harper was wiggling around on her stool with the closest thing to delight she’d seen out of the tot.

  “That’s all there is to it,” Shel told her. “Now you can eat it.”

  Harper promptly stuck the pudgy, cheesy finger into her mouth and her eyes went wide. When she’d finished licking every last drop, her mouth was outlined in yellow and she was wagging her finger for more. Her antics caused both women to chuckle.

  “Sure,” Shel easily caved, painted another cheese line on Harper’s finger.

  “Well, congratulations,” Kathleen quietly said. “You’ve successfully introduced her to the wonderful world of preservatives.”

  “Awesome, right?” Shel glanced her way, whispered, “It’s like crack for kids.”

  “You eat this stuff? I mean you bought it, right?” Kathleen took the can from her, studied it in the candlelight a moment before spraying a bit on her own finger and licking it off. It was an innocent, yet erotic move. She nodded approvingly. “I can see the attraction.”

  Shel took the can back and sprayed another orange line on Harper’s finger. She held it out to Kathleen. “Another hit?”

  “I’m good, thanks.” Kathleen bit her lip, and licked little bits of remaining cheesy residue off her fingertip.

  Shel forced herself to look away. Whether she was licking her lips, fingertips, batting her too long eyelashes—even the smallest things Kathleen did were sexy. Particularly given the candlelight, the clingy dress, the raging storm…

  They avoided exchanging looks for a few more minutes until Kathleen at last proclaimed snack time to be over. Only when her smile disappeared did the women truly realize how much the kid had been enjoying the simple fun. Shel quickly capped the cheese can and handed it off to her mother.

  “So, that cheese is yours and you can finish it tomorrow or something. What do you say?”

  The child appeared to consider this and was seemingly satisfied with that idea. Kathleen helped her down from the stool and steered the sleepy—and sticky—child toward the hallway. “I’m going to wash her up for bed.”

  The rain was creating a surprisingly refreshing draft that was pushing right through the screen of the window Kathleen had opened. It easily cooled the tiny house. Still, the nasty weather was noisier than any kind of air-conditioning. She tossed a look toward the front door, then down at her unusual attire, feeling antsy all over again. “I should probably get going anyway.”

  “Hold on a minute,” Kathleen called to her. Shel heard her laying out directives to Harper about washing her hands and face. Then Kathleen popped back into the kitchen and wiped her hands on a towel. Clearly stalling, she said, “You don’t have to rush off. I mean, you can stay, if you’d like.”

  Though it would be a splendid opportunity for Shel to get to know the woman better, she was nearly naked, wearing a highly fragrant bathrobe, standing in the house belonging to her sexy, and quite possibly nutty, neighbor. She prepared to make her excuses rather than continue to tinker with already flimsy boundaries that divided her personal and professional objectives.

  Her moment of indecision must have made Kathleen uncomfortable. “I’ve got drinks that aren’t juice boxes.” As if to prove it, Kathleen walked into the kitchen and unfastened the childproof lock with far more ease than Shel previously had the day before. Kathleen lugged an oversize jug of wine out of the low cabinet and Shel pretended to be surprised. Kathleen set it on the countertop and brushed her thumb across the lightly dusted handwritten label, squinting to read it in the darkness. “I’ve never opened it. A customer brought it to me at work. He makes it himself.”

  “Really? A barter system?”

  “Sort of, yeah.” Kathleen raised the bottle and held it against the dim candlelight, swirling it for inspection. “It could have floaters.”

  Agai
nst her better judgment, a decision was made. Shel nodded. “I’m good with adventurous cocktails. You get her ready for bed and I’ll find some glasses.”

  Kathleen looked somewhat embarrassed. “They aren’t so much glasses as they are, uh, little jelly jars.”

  Shel also knew that, said, “I’m on it.”

  Kathleen started out, but stopped quickly. “You mind if I let her take that flashlight to bed?” She pointed toward the hallway, looking concerned. “She won’t sleep without a nightlight and I can’t leave her a candle. She’s just had her first experience with spray cheese—she might think she’s invincible.”

  Shel cracked a genuine grin. “Good idea.”

  “I just have to read her a little story.”

  “Go. Do what you have to do.” Shel turned toward the cabinets and opened a few doors until she found the “wineglasses.”

  She glanced behind her, but Kathleen had already gone to attend to her daughter. Scrunching her nose a bit, she raised one of the glasses to the candlelight to examine the curious design.

  “Tweety Bird,” she mumbled. The other was Sylvester. She arched an eyebrow, continued talking to herself. “Of course.”

  Shel pried the lid off the wine and poured even amounts into the tiny glasses. She gave hers a whiff, swirled it, cautiously sipped it and deemed it somewhat tolerable despite evident floaters. She dipped her finger into the purplish mix and fished out one of the questionable particles, and upon closer examination concluded that it was just grape skins that had escaped the sieve. She downed the rest of the short glass and set it aside, shivered as the sour flavor caught up to her. She poured another glassful, leaned against the countertop and looked around.

  Kathleen Fortier didn’t appear to be a millionaire any more than she appeared to be a monster. She was a bit standoffish, but there was no law against that. The child appeared to be well cared for and well dressed. Her seemingly timid behavior hinted that she may have been traumatized, but the way she’d clung to her mother that morning at the preschool spoke to separation anxiety from the woman. She’d seen it before in classic cases of kids who’d been victimized. But who’d made her a victim? She recognized Harper’s behavior from somewhere else, too. The overly-cautious demeanor and those haunted, distant eyes also belonged to Kathleen.