Monkey Wrench (26 page)

Joe stopped pouring. “Gina's here?”

“Yes, she just arrived with a young man. Susannah's chatting with them in the sitting room.”

Rose appealed to Joe. “Should we join them?”

Joe finished pouring some of the eggnog potion into a fluted glass, and shook his head. “Gina has a few things to tell Susannah in private. We'll let them hash it out, okay?”

Roger looked alarmed. “What's going on? Maybe I'd better...”

Before he could leave the kitchen, Rose seized his arm and drew him to the table. “It's nothing to worry about, Roger. Have a drink. Loosen up, for heaven's sake.”

“I'm sufficiently loose,” Roger said, casting a worried glance at the door, but taking the cocktail automatically. “I don't think Susannah should have to cope with the problems of a teenager who—”

“Oh, there's no problem,” Rose sang, exchanging merry glances with Joe. “No problem at all, in fact. Drink up, Roger, dear.”

Roger sipped the cocktail suspiciously, then choked as the liquor in it stung his throat.

Lars chose that moment to peep into the kitchen. “Uh, Mrs. Atkins?”

“Lars! Don't you look handsome tonight! Step into the light and let me have a good look at you!”

The lanky teen edged nervously into the kitchen, looking like a cross between a penguin and a well-dressed stork in his evening clothes. His long hair had been painstakingly combed back from his face and was held in place by some concoction that smelled suspiciously like strawberries. Lars played nervously with his hands and couldn't seem to decide if he wanted to look in any direction but the floor. Finding himself in the presence of his date's father seemed too much for him.

“Very handsome indeed, Lars,” Rose pronounced. “Joe, find the boy a soda pop from the refrigerator.”

Joe casually grabbed a bottle from the fridge and passed it to the teenager. In an obvious effort to ease Lars's nerves, Joe asked, “So, what do you think about the playoffs, Lars? Who's gonna win this year?”

The boy's face brightened. “Oh, Oakland looks as good as ever, sir,” he said eagerly. “But Dallas isn't bad.”

“Dallas?” Joe snorted. “They can't play on anything but their home turf! What do you think, Selby? Got an opinion on the playoffs?”

“Uh,” said Roger, “I don't feel team sports are politically correct.”

Lars and Joe looked at each other and burst into laughter. Rose tried to smother her own giggle, but she failed miserably and began to laugh, which was how Susannah and Gina found them a moment later. Susannah had her arm around the girl's shoulders, and Gina, looking shy for once, was obviously happy to have made her peace over the Angelica issue.

Susannah had eyes only for Joe. It was impossible to miss the electric glance that passed between them, Rose thought. The kitchen nearly sizzled with it. Susannah's face was shining, and Joe seemed to freeze for a long moment, his face wreathed in a grin.

But Rose and Lars were still laughing. Seeing their hilarity, Gina asked, “What's so funny?'

“Never mind,” said Rose, still amused but hating to see anyone made a fool of. “Gina, darling, you're so pretty tonight! You'll be the belle of the ball.”

Gina's shy smile of pleasure—along with a sharp push from the toe of Joe's boot—prodded Lars into crossing the kitchen to Gina's side and saying, “Maybe we'd better get going, Gina.”

“Sure,” said Gina. “But one thing before we go. We, uh, we want to thank everybody for all your help. Susannah, and Daddy, and Mrs. Atkins—thanks a lot for everything.”

Rose found herself enfolded in Gina's arms, and she clung to the girl for a moment longer than she needed to, just to enjoy the hug of a grateful teenager on her way to one of the
most memorable nights of her life. How many times had Rose seen the young Susannah off on dates like this one? A funny wave of déjà vu swept over Rose.

Next, Gina kissed her father, who squeezed her back with a fond grin. Susannah had moved to his side, and Rose suddenly noticed what a handsome family group they made.

When Lars cleared his throat and again said they'd better be going, Roger looked relieved, and muttered something about a dinner reservation. Everyone decided to leave at the same time, so the gathering of coats, boots and car keys was noisy and full of laughter. Joe waited in the doorway with Rose, and they watched adults and teenagers sort out their belongings.

Going out the door, Roger said, “We'd invite you along, Santori, but Susannah and I have business to discuss.”

“That's a shame,” Joe said, feigning solemnity. “Is that the only way you can have dinner with such a pretty lady, Selby?”

Roger managed a weak smile. “Hmm. Good night, Mrs. Atkins. We'll be back early.”

Susannah was next, studiously avoiding Joe's eye and hugging Rose quickly. “I hate leaving you alone again, Granny Rose....”

“Don't start that again, Suzie!”

Joe slipped his arm around Rose. “I'll stay with her, Miss Suzie. We're going to drink eggnog and play poker. What do you say, Mrs. A.?”

“I say I hope you cleaned out your bank account today, buster, because I'm a crack poker player.”

Susannah looked reassured. She touched Joe's arm, glanced up into his eyes and said softly, “Thank you.”

“Good night, Mrs. Atkins!” Gina called, leading everyone down the snow-dusted porch steps.

“Call the restaurant if you need me,” Susannah said over her shoulder as Roger propelled her out into the evening air.

They left, piling into their vehicles, and Rose found herself
alone with the crestfallen Joe, who watched the cars depart through the window.

“You look like a kid who didn't get the red bicycle for Christmas,” she said to him.

Joe grinned sheepishly and admitted, “I hate like hell seeing her go off with him tonight.”

“Well, do something about it.”

“Like what?”

“We'll think of something,” Rose said firmly.

And they did. Maybe two heads were better than one, for between the two of them, they came up with a plan that sounded foolproof.

Joe laughed and agreed to try, though not without expressing worry about leaving Rose alone for the evening. She brushed him off and sent him on his way, wishing him good luck and happy hunting. He gave her a hearty kiss and rushed out the door with coattails flying.

Rose waved to him from the doorway. Then she closed the door and was alone in her cozy home.

Maybe I'll just go to bed early,
she told herself, sagging wearily against the doorjamb.

But at that moment, her gaze fell on a small handbag left on the hallway chair. It was Gina's, no doubt, and full of lipstick and hairspray and all those vital necessities a girl needed for her first formal ball. Rose snatched up the purse and hurried to the door. If she was quick enough, she could catch Joe before the truck pulled away. He could take the purse to Gina.

She yanked open the door just as Joe's truck began to pull away from the curb.

“Wait!” Rose shouted, but her voice was carried away on the wind.

The porch steps were slippery, but she hurried down them and dashed out onto the sidewalk. Her thick sweater was not warm enough to protect her from the biting winter wind, but she kept going and held the purse over her head, waving frantically. “Wait! Joe! Gina's purse!”

The truck reached the corner and paused for the stop sign. Rose ran after him, but Joe pulled away without noticing the old woman in hot pursuit. Disappointed, she faltered to a stop beside the Morgan family Christmas display. A lighted reindeer stood attentively in the yard. Rose leaned on an antler to catch her breath.

And that was when the pain hit her like a freight train. She cried out as a weight slammed into her chest, knocking her to the snowy ground. The reindeer toppled with her, and she fell over the stiff plastic legs. Her knees cracked through the crust of snow, then Rose sprawled in the snow, unable to draw a breath for the agony in her chest. The pain felt like fire, and it spread quickly to her neck and left arm.

“Oh, dear,” she gasped, clutching the reindeer and trying to right herself.

Not now. Not like this.
She fought to take in enough breath to call for help.
Not at Christmas,
she thought.
Don't let me be sick for Christmas.

The reindeer slipped from her grasp and Rose crumpled into the snow. Very quickly, the fiery pain swelled up again and engulfed her.

* * *

S
USANNAH SAW
the pretty white lights of the Heidelberg glowing as they approached the restaurant. Roger pulled under the decorated canopy to drop off Susannah before parking his fancy car.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked, seeing her hesitate with her hand on the door handle.

She managed a smile. “Joe will look after Granny Rose.”

“She'll be fine,” Roger assured her. “And since we didn't get our trip to the beach, I really need to discuss those program segments with you, Susannah. We can get some of that out of the way over dinner.”

“Roger,” Susannah said on impulse, “can't we just have a pleasant dinner together?”

He looked surprised. “Of course. And we can talk business at the same time.”

Susannah withheld a sigh. For Roger, business
was
pleasant. With a thrill of surprise, she realized that until lately, she had felt the same way. But now, at least, she could differentiate between work and play. That was a start, she supposed.

She got out of the car and went into the restaurant while Roger found a parking slot. She gave her coat to the attendant, who made a fuss about “Oh, Susannah!” until Roger arrived. Then he took her arm and spoke persuasively to the hostess, who led them into the crowded restaurant. The room, attractively decorated for the holidays with garlands of greens draped around the fireplace and windows, looked even more dramatic at night than it had at lunchtime, Susannah noted. Each table was lighted by a beribboned candle. A graceful tree glowed in the middle of the room, decked with ornaments that had obviously been made by elementary school students out of construction paper, glue and glitter. Beside the tree was a large, impressive, red-cushioned chair, obviously the seat saved for Santa Claus. Susannah ran her fingertips over the carved back of the imposing chair as she passed by.

Roger always insisted on a prominent table. It was his way, Susannah realized, of showing her off to the public. The hostess took them to a table close to the Christmas tree. Susannah was aware of the stir her appearance aroused, because many Tyler citizens murmured as she sat down. A few waved to her from across the room.

“See?” Roger asked, sitting down across from her. “Isn't it nice to be recognized by the public?”

“Yes and no,” Susannah replied, burying her nose in the menu. For some reason, she didn't want to be Oh, Susannah tonight. It was nearly Christmas, after all.

Roger must have sensed her mood, because he snapped his menu closed and said, “Let's celebrate, shall we? I'll order some champagne and we'll toast another year of ‘Oh, Susannah!”'

Susannah knew her smile was weak. “That sounds nice, Roger.”

Even before the champagne arrived, Roger plunged into his
planned discussion. He had decided to expand the horizons of the “Oh, Susannah!” program and wondered if Susannah would like to try conducting segments on family health matters twice a week.

“We'll get a local doctor for you to interview in the studio,” Roger said, enthusiasm glowing in his face. “Each week you can talk about a different topic—childhood illnesses, women's health problems, the sort of things our audience will find informative.”

“Sounds fine,” Susannah said distractedly. She frowned at the menu and wondered if it was written in hieroglyphics. It made no sense. Her head was swimming.

“Do you like the idea? I've been interviewing doctors all week. I think I've found one who'll be just great. She's got a lot of pep and will look fine on camera. Besides, she can turn a good phrase and—”

“So you've already made the decision?” Susannah asked.

“Well...no. Your opinion counts, too, Susannah.”

“Why do I need to interview the doctor? If she's so great, why can't she do her segment by herself?”

“Because the show is ‘Oh, Susannah!,' that's why. We need you on camera all the time, Susannah.”

She sighed and listened to Roger with only half an ear while he explained the rest of his ideas.

“We've also found a veterinarian who could come in and talk about pets. He says he can bring in puppies or kittens—even snakes, if we want. He'll talk about training and feeding and all that kind of thing.”

“I won't hold snakes, Roger. I hate snakes.”

He nodded. “We'll get around that, I promise. Then we've been interviewing a guy who is an expert in gadgets.”

“Gadgets?”

Roger leaned forward, his eyes alight. “Right. He's a little weird, but he knows all the latest developments in technology. Computers that run your household, gizmos that make life easier... Why, he showed me the television of the future! It's
got three screens and a modem hookup so you can do your banking or shopping simply by—”

“Roger, I don't know anything about computers.”

“You don't have to! The computer weirdo can do all the talking!”

Susannah put down her menu. “Then why do you need me?”

“I told you,” he said patiently. “Because the show is ‘Oh, Susannah!,' not—”

“But what you're describing
isn't
‘Oh, Susannah!,' Roger. I do cooking and crafts and entertaining. I'm not Regis Philbin or Kathy Lee Gifford. I'm not Geraldo or Sally Jessy Raphael, either. I'm me.”

“But to get a broader audience—”

“I'm unique the way I am now. You want to turn the program into something that everyone else does.”