You Can Run... (11 page)

“I’ve missed you so much!” she exclaimed rapturously, hugging the felines. Christabel uttered a soft, sweet trill. Romeo followed suit by emitting his usual greeting that sounded remarkably like a duck’s unusually loud quack. Clarice, who had obviously not heard the cat’s robust, bizarre vocals, looked at him in shock.

“See, Clarice, I told you he quacks!” Willow giggled.

“Yes, you did, but I believed . . . Well, I thought—”

“You thought she was exaggerating.” Simon laughed, delighted. “I was stunned the first time I heard his dulcet tones, too. I thought he’d just eaten a very large duck.”

“Romeo wouldn’t hurt a duck!” Willow defended the cat passionately. “Romeo loves ducks.”

“Actually, I don’t think he knows any ducks.” Simon looked at Clarice. “Several years ago Diana was here one weekend when he turned up. In his past, his hind leg had been professionally amputated and the wound neatly healed—someone had once taken good care of him. That day, though, his fur was tangled and he obviously hadn’t eaten much for a while. He was flea-ridden, starving, and meowing—or rather, quacking—his head off.

“Diana rushed outside and had him in the kitchen, gobbling everything she put in front of him, before I knew what was happening,” Simon continued. “She was married
then and her husband claimed to be allergic to cats, so she couldn’t keep him. I placed an ad in the newspaper and attached a few fliers to trees, but no one claimed him. A week later, I called Diana to tell her the cat had a permanent home with me.
She
named him Romeo.”

“That’s because I knew you would give him an impossible-to-pronounce name of some Egyptian pharaoh,” Diana said defensively.

“So I would have, but considering that he’s fallen head over paws in love with Christabel, I think you chose the perfect name for him.”

Nan walked into the room carrying a tray with coffee, apple juice, and pastries. Her flat stare locked onto the cats.

“What’s the matter, Nan?” Simon asked pleasantly. Diana stifled a smile. Simon knew Nan couldn’t stand the cats.

Nan jerked her head at Romeo. “That gray one gets fur all over the rugs the way he drags himself around.”

“Then it’s a good thing we have an excellent vacuum cleaner,” Simon returned equably, reaching for the coffeemaker’s glass carafe, not the elegant silver coffee pot that he preferred when coffee was being served. “I don’t see any sugar here, Nan. I already told you Mrs. Hanson takes sugar in her coffee. Also, you brought only one blueberry Danish.”

“That’s because you ate all the Danishes except for that one,” Nan returned snippily.

Simon’s color heightened. Clarice, clearly sensing the contentious atmosphere in the room, said quickly, “I know I ate at least three.”

“You had
one,
” Nan maintained. “
He
ate most of them.”

Simon’s face was growing red. “Nan, I did
not
—”

“Yes, you did,” Nan interrupted firmly.

“It doesn’t matter. I don’t even like them,” Diana lied—she could have eaten her weight in them. “Thank you, Nan.”

As soon as Nan had cleared the doorway, Simon snarled, “I don’t think I can take one more day with that girl!”

“You have to,” Diana said, trying to sound pleasantly calm. “Her mother is spending the last two weeks of her sick leave in Portland with her sister, and you can’t call her back to work. She’ll resume her duties in exactly sixteen days. You can stand just about anything for sixteen days, even Nan Murphy.”

“Mommy says Nan doesn’t got charm,” Willow offered.

“Your mother is absolutely right.” The red in Simon’s face began to fade as he looked at the beautiful little girl sitting on the rug gently stroking the two madly purring cats. “Ready for some apple juice, Willow?”

After Willow drank her juice and ate the lone blueberry Danish, her eyelids began to droop.

“You didn’t get much sleep last night,” Diana said. “I think you need a nap.”

“I don’t take naps so early,” Willow informed her in a voice blurred by exhaustion.

“You can at least rest your eyes.” Diana pretended to study the matter, although she and Simon had already talked over sleeping arrangements. “Would you like to sleep in the room next to mine?”

Willow looked at her, troubled. “Isn’t your room upstairs?”

“Yes. You’re not afraid to sleep upstairs, are you?”

“Well, no, but before we got here you said the cats could sleep with me but Romeo can’t go up the stairs.”

“Romeo usually sleeps in Uncle Simon’s room and it’s upstairs. Simon carries him up.”

“But Uncle Simon doesn’t want to go up and down the stairs all day for naps and playing and all the stuff I do in my bedroom. And Romeo’s kinda heavy. I’m afraid I’ll drop him if I try to carry him to my room upstairs.”

Diana smiled. “I’ll carry him up for now, but you’ve
forgotten this house has an elevator my great-grandfather had installed because he was in a wheelchair the last few years of his life. Romeo can take the elevator up and down.”

The fact that Romeo did not operate the elevator didn’t seem to cross Willow’s increasingly tired five-year-old mind. Satisfied that the cat could ride to the second floor in the elevator whenever he chose, Willow followed Diana, who carried the fifteen-pound cat up the stairs. Christabel zipped up and down the staircase twice before she calmed enough to lead the way, her long, fluffy black tail waving like a banner.

Diana ushered Willow into a bedroom near the end of the hall. Sunlight shone brightly on the soft pink, pale green, and powder blue chintz decor that Diana’s grandmother had chosen. “Do you like the room?” Diana asked.

Willow’s eyes had widened as they swept over the room. “I sure do like it! I love beds with a lid on top.”

“That’s called a canopy.”

“Oh yeah. I forgot. Mommy said someday I could have a bed with a can’py.”

Mommy again. The child’s smile faded again. Then she looked around sheepishly. “My room at home is lots littler than this one. I might get scared in here all by myself.”

“Do you know what’s really special about this room?” Diana asked exuberantly. She put Romeo down and walked to a side door that opened into a large yellow-and-white bathroom. “This bathroom adjoins my bedroom!” Willow frowned over “adjoins.”

Diana took Willow’s hand, crossed the bathroom, and opened the opposite door leading into her own tan-and-amber bedroom. “Wow. This room is pretty, too.”

“I made it the color of the desert—tan for sand, amber for the sun. But the nice thing is that we can leave the bathroom doors open at night and it’ll be like we’re sleeping in the same room. You’ll have a night light and the cats, and we can see each other from our beds. You won’t be scared then, will you?”

“Well . . .” Willow frowned in thought for a moment then said decisively, “No. I won’t be one bit scared.”

“That’s great!” Diana beamed. “It’ll be fun, Willow, you wait and see!”

The child smiled, and the tightness in Diana’s stomach eased a bit. She’d feared Willow would be totally withdrawn or nearly hysterical. She knew the little girl hadn’t completely absorbed the enormity of the fire’s destruction—that would come later, especially if Penny died—but at least for now Willow was coping better than Diana had expected. She appeared to be as strong as her mother, who’d seemingly been so alone in the world yet managed to give her child a good and happy home full of love, security, and also, most important, fun.

The doorbell rang, and within five minutes Simon appeared in the bedroom. “Glen is here to see you, Diana.” He looked at Willow. “How about climbing into bed, young lady, and letting me tell you a story? I know dozens of them. When Diana was young, they always put her right to sleep.”

Willow curled up on the bed, and Diana placed Romeo beside her while Christabel leaped up to claim Willow’s other side. Simon sat down on the bed and began one of his interminable tales about ancient Egypt—tales that
had
always put a young Diana to sleep because they sounded like university lectures rather than children’s bedtime stories. She still didn’t have the heart to tell him. Besides, they were surefire sleep-inducers.

Willow will be snoring in less than five minutes,
Diana thought as she descended the stairs. Glen Austen, the man Diana had been dating since March, sat in the library talking with Clarice. He was slender with ash-brown hair and even features. Most women would probably not have rememberd him unless they’d encountered his considerable quiet charm. Although usually restrained, as soon as he saw Diana, he jumped up and strode to her, taking her forcefully into his arms.

“My God, Diana, I turned off my phone and went to
bed early last night. I didn’t hear the news about Penny until this morning. People say she’s not going to live!”

Diana saw distress in his large brown eyes and the crease that always appeared between his eyebrows when he was worried. He’d met Penny when he’d dropped by to see either Diana or Simon during the day, and the two of them had formed a casual friendship. Diana and Glen had invited her to have dinner with them at the country club in May, a night that had been fun for all of them. They’d asked her to come with them to the dance at the club tonight, but Penny had declined, saying she’d be a third wheel.

“Glen, she is so terribly burned. When I left the hospital this morning with Willow, they told me there’s been no change in her condition from last night.” Diana’s voice shook, and she felt tears threatening. “She’s still unconscious and . . .”

The tears came and Glen again pulled her close to him. “I know it must have been awful, and this sounds cold, but try not to think about Penny right now. There’s nothing you can do for her, and you need to stay strong for Willow.” He leaned back and looked into her eyes. “But you’re all right?” he asked anxiously. “When I talked with you on the phone early yesterday, you said you were going to stop by Penny’s on your way home. When I heard about the explosion this morning, I thought you’d been in it!”

“I almost was. I was late and I’d just pulled up in front of Penny’s house when it simply blew up. I’ve never been so shocked, Glen. I have
never
seen anything so terrible in my life. And poor Penny . . .”

Glen winced and handed her a tissue that Clarice had been waving in his direction for at least two minutes. Clarice skittered out of the room, and Diana mopped at her wet face.

“Please, no more about Penny, honey.” Glen pulled Diana toward the middle of the room to the comfortable loveseat on which he’d been sitting with Clarice. “You’re
so pale and your eyes are sunken. You look like you might collapse. Try to concentrate on something positive.” He paused. “Mrs. Hanson told me Willow is all right.”

“Yes. She was back in the woods when it . . . happened.”

“Why was she in the woods after just having surgery?”

“Something about catching lightning bugs.”

“I’m glad she’s okay.” Glen took the damp tissue from her, and stroked her wet face. “I’m even happier
you
weren’t hurt.”

“Oh, Glen, I told her I’d be there around eight o’clock. If I’d been on time . . .” She shuddered. “I know I’m lucky but I feel so guilty saying it.”

“You
are
lucky. Penny seemed like a nice woman, and I know she was a good friend. We’re all sorry about what happened to her, but you have no reason to feel guilty because
you
are alive and well, sweetheart,” Glen said, kissing her forehead.

Nan walked into the library and Diana realized the girl had been standing in the doorway for the last couple of minutes. Nan fixed her expressionless gaze on Glen. “Do you want coffee or anything?” she asked tonelessly.

Glen shook his head and Diana said, “None for me either, Nan, but thank you for asking.”

“It’s my
job
to ask,” Nan snapped. She turned quickly and strode from the room, her back straight, her head held high, resentment emanating from every line of her body.

“I think this will be her last housekeeping job,” Diana said drolly. “She hates it.”

“Maybe that’s a good thing. She’ll probably come back to the university and try harder than she did her first year, knowing this might be the only kind of job available to her without a college degree. She was in my European History class. She’s smarter than she seems.”

Diana doubted his last statement, but she didn’t argue when Glen smiled at her, shallow lines forming around his brown eyes. Puppy dog eyes, she always thought but never told him. Diana knew Glen wished he were the elegant,
edgy ladies’ man. That type definitely didn’t have puppy dog eyes—eyes begging for affection, eyes so often betraying hurt and rejection.

She reached up, touched his light-brown hair, and looked fleetingly at the short stubble on his pleasant face. He must have noticed Diana’s glance, because his hand immediately flew to his chin and cheeks. “I showered but I didn’t take time to shave after I heard about the fire. I was so shaken up I would have given myself a few fairly bad nicks.”

“You don’t always have to be perfectly groomed, Glen. It’s Saturday.”

“We were supposed to go to the country club dance tonight.”

Diana sighed. “Oh well, I don’t think either one of us was looking forward to the dance all that much.”

“I was. I thought it would be a nice change from the usual dinner and a movie. I even sent my best suit to the cleaners.” Diana didn’t meet his gaze. She hadn’t given a thought as to what she would wear. “Should I send flowers to Penny?” Glen asked suddenly.

“No. She’s in the burn unit. I’m sure they don’t allow flowers.” Diana paused. “I saw her briefly last night before they took her away in the ambulance. Mercifully, she was unconscious. She looked so awful. I didn’t even try to see her this morning, although I did ask about her. She’s still unconscious and her condition hasn’t improved.” Diana drew a long, ragged breath. “I’m certain she’ll die.”

“My God, what a shame.” Glen’s voice shook slightly, and Diana knew he was appalled. He’d been acquainted with Penny, but he hadn’t known her well. Nevertheless, he clearly felt dreadful for the lovely young woman and her child. “Does anybody know what happened at her house?” he asked. “It couldn’t have been faulty wiring. That doesn’t cause a house to explode.”