Tuning the
radio back to the local station, she sat at the kitchen table hoping to get an
updated weather forecast.
The evening
news was under way, and after a few moments, she switched off the set. She had
taken an informal vow to avoid the news while here.
The events of the past several years, the seemingly
endless conflict in Southeast Asia, social and civil unrest, political
tragedies and violence had wearied her interest in what consumed so many of her
fellow students.
Political debate and
activism were as much a part of campus life as classes and labs.
She needed a break from the constant,
unsettling conversation.
Turning off the
radio was a temporary but highly effective means of tuning out the grim and
confusing reality of the world outside her valley.
Darkness came
early, and she dressed for bed, prepared to spend her evening with old friends
who resided between the covers of long-ago-read books.
Her worn copy of “Jane Eyre” fit the bill.
The gloomy weather called for something
equally Gothic.
As she read, she found
herself listening, waiting for the first sounds of the approaching storm.
It would be a
white Christmas, she realized.
So unlike
any Christmas here in years past, when there would by now have been a glowing
tree next to the window, and the scent of evergreens throughout the house.
Perhaps tomorrow she would search out the
boxes of decorations, at least find the crèche figures and spread them across
the room as she had done as a child.
There was no reason she could not celebrate Christmas this year.
In fact there was every reason
to
celebrate.
She dozed by
the fire for a time, and woke with a start.
Somewhere a window rattled sharply.
The wind had risen; the storm was moving in.
Peering out into the darkness, she could see
nothing beyond her own reflection in the glass.
The lure was irresistible.
She
opened the front door and stepped out onto the porch, drawing her robe tightly
around her.
Immediately the wind swept
her hair behind her, and she smelled the icy promise on the air.
The sky was thick and black, the clouds so
low she could sense them, just above the treetops.
This was just
the set of circumstances Jack and Angela would have cautioned her against.
Here alone, no means of communicating with
the outside world.
She should be
anxious, at the very least, for her own comfort and safety.
Instead, she found herself hoping it would
snow for days and days, burying her here where no one could interrupt her
enjoyment of this homecoming.
She craved
more time to reacquaint herself with the house, the books, the music, even the
furniture and the treasures in cupboards and closets.
The storm offered the perfect opportunity to
just be here, alone, to reestablish herself in the house away from watchful
eyes.
She turned back
inside from the frosty darkness, closing the door firmly against the wind.
Going through the house, she made sure of
candles and matches in every room, ready when needed.
She would sleep here by the fire again
tonight.
Somehow her pallet on the floor
had become the most restful place in the house.
Her own bedroom upstairs, just across the landing from the one her
parents had shared, held too many memories to be faced quite yet.
And the guest room continued to feel more
like a shrine, to be preserved for just a little longer.
Snuggling
between the quilts, she turned on her side and gazed into the flames.
Tomorrow, while the storm raged, she would
bring a little Christmas to the house and prepare herself to greet the Christ
Child.
Another day or two here alone,
and she would make her move.
By the time
the snow melted, she would be ready to go into town, talk to Jack and get on
with her life at last.
Chapter Four
When Stani
checked into his hotel, the desk clerk handed him two phone messages.
One was from Jana, letting him know that she
and Milo were taking a train ride over the mountains this evening and would be
away from a phone until tomorrow morning.
She added that she knew he would be wonderful in Washington, and to take
care of himself.
The other message was
from Betsy.
She said only that she
needed to hear from him right away, and included two numbers.
He was to keep trying until he got through to
her.
Going to his
suite, he immediately dialed room service, ordering steak and potatoes and a
pot of tea.
He was feeling a bit faint
from hunger and his head had begun to ache again.
Looking at Betsy's message, he tried the
first number.
It was busy.
The second number reached her answering
service.
He left a message that he'd
tried to call, along with the direct number to his room.
He couldn't imagine how she'd tracked him
down.
Or maybe she'd been at the party
last night and he'd told her his plans?
He couldn't remember.
And he had
no idea why she'd be so anxious to talk to him.
He didn't hear from her often anymore.
They seemed to end up at the same parties, but she was always hanging on
the arm of some fellow or other.
He had
to admit he was curious to know what sort of scrape she'd gotten herself into
now.
The year Stani
turned fourteen Milo had moved them from London to New York.
He felt it would be the best place to launch
Stani's solo career, when the time was right.
He had enrolled Stani in a performing arts high school in Manhattan
where for the first time in years he found himself among kids his own age.
He had been terrified, especially by the
girls.
Betsy Mason had
been a year or two older, and she’d taken pity on the awkward little boy who
seemed to be afraid of everyone and everything.
Betsy was a self-described Broadway Baby.
While Stani was enrolled in string and
orchestra classes, along with music history and composition, Betsy was studying
voice, dance and acting.
She had already
appeared in a Broadway musical, when she'd been only seven.
Now she was preparing for ingénue roles,
spending grueling hours in tap and jazz classes, learning to sing in the style
of the latest sensations currently starring on the New York stages.
Her mother was acting as her agent and life
at home was far from peaceful.
Betsy had taken
Stani under her wing, letting him know that the girls all thought he was super
cute, with his amazing red hair and his cool British accent.
He was pretty sure she was teasing him, but
he took to meeting her in the canteen at lunchtime anyway.
There she told him the latest gossip and
shared her anguish at being dragged to auditions by her mother.
They were just friends.
Stani knew she didn't expect him to hold her
hand or try to kiss her.
He was actually
at ease with Betsy, and secretly hoped that the other girls would see that he
could at least talk to a girl without making an idiot of himself.
They remained
friends for the two years he was at the school.
At sixteen, Stani passed his equivalency tests and began preparing in
earnest for his first concert tour.
He
heard from Betsy off and on for a while, but lost touch after the tour
began.
They met up again when he started
making the rounds of the clubs in New York after his return.
They'd dated
briefly, gotten their picture in the gossip rags, dancing and snuggling in the
hottest night spots.
She said it was
good for her career to be seen with such a big celebrity, even if he was a
classical musician and not a rock star.
They had even tried to become lovers, but in the end decided they were
more comfortable just being friends.
Stani wondered again what sort of crisis she was in now, that she had
tracked him all the way to Washington just to talk on the phone.
After devouring
his lunch, he stretched out on the couch, watching the rapidly moving clouds
beyond the windows.
Maybe there would be
a white Christmas.
That could be nice,
as long as he wasn't required to drive on snowy streets.
He would have Robert for that, so he could
just sit back and enjoy the view.
Betsy's call
came at around four o'clock.
She sounded
excited, even breathless.
She needed a
huge favor, she said.
Stani braced
himself.
The crisis, it
turned out, was not of such grave proportions.
She just needed him to go to a party with her.
Tonight.
“You know I'm
in DC, Bets.
How's that going to work?”
“I'm in DC too,
in the lobby of your hotel.
I've come to
pick you up.
We're going to this big
bash somewhere in the mountains.
Given
by a certain rock star who chooses to remain anonymous.”
She giggled at the gossip column paraphrase.
“I really
can't, love.
I have to stay here and get
some rest.
I got thoroughly wasted last
night.”
“Tell me about
it!
But Stani really, you
have
to
go with me.”
“Why me?
What's so important about this particular
party?
Sounds like a long drive just to
get your name in the paper.”
“I might be
hooking up with someone there, but I don't want it to look like I came just to
see him.
If you're with me, I won't get
left flat if things don't work out.
Come
on Stani, you owe me one.”
“How's that?”
“I pulled you
out of the ladies room last night.
Don't
you remember?
You were throwing up in
the sink.”
He
groaned.
Oh God, what else had he done
that he couldn't remember?
“How long
will this take?
I have a rehearsal
tomorrow at one.
I can't miss it.”
“We'll be back
before noon, I promise.
And you can
sleep there.
This guy's rented a whole
ski lodge.
I promise, Stani, I'll have
you back in plenty of time.
Just get
your stuff and come to the lobby.
I'll
be waiting in the bar.”
She was gone
before he could offer any further argument.
He grimaced as
he hung up the phone.
When would he ever
learn to say no?
It wasn't as if making
Betsy mad would have meant the end of the world.
But since she was already downstairs, he
couldn't very well disappoint her.
He'd
go, not drink much, sleep and be back tomorrow before anyone knew he was
gone.
Milo was out of touch, so no
danger of his checking in tonight.
There
was really no harm.
It might even be
fun.
And it would make Betsy happy.
As they drove
out of town in Betsy's car, a four-door sedan of undistinguished pedigree she’d
borrowed from a friend, she told him about her latest audition.
She thought she really had a shot at this
chorus role.
There might even be a solo
number.
As always, Betsy was dressed to
impress, this time in a red jumpsuit that zipped up the front and shiny white
boots.
Stani was pretty sure she wasn't
wearing anything else.
She was evasive
about exactly who she was hoping to meet at the party.
He was someone she'd been seeing, but it was
complicated.
With Betsy, it usually
was.
But this time it sounded
particularly so.
This guy had been in
some serious trouble recently, she explained, and his father had really put his
foot down.
If he made it to the party,
he'd have to be careful it didn't get back to his old man.
Hopeless at keeping track of gossip, Stani
hadn't a clue who she might be talking about.
It really didn't matter to him what she did tonight, as long as she got
him back to town in the morning.