Secrets of the Red Box (8 page)

She pulled out her chair and then spun around with a bright smile. “Hey girls,” she called to the
others, beckoning their attention with her hands. “What do you say we all go dancing tonight?”
“On a Thursday?” Janet asked as she fitted her headset to her ear.
“Sure. Why not?” Bonnie looked hopeful. “Why wait until the usual Friday or Saturday night?
Don’t people dance on Thursdays, too?”
“Count me out,” said one of the others. “My sister’s bringing her kids over for me to tend.”
“Can’t she find someone else?” Bonnie prodded.
“Nah, I promised her.”
Bonnie turned toward the three women who sat across from her. “What about it, girls?”
Each one had some excuse as to why they couldn’t accept Bonnie’s last-minute invitation.
Bonnie looked at her last hope, Janet. The woman’s face seemed to register Bonnie’s
disappointment. “Okay, I’ll go with you,” she said.
The corners of Bonnie’s mouth turned upward and she clapped her hands together. “That a girl,
Janet! We’ll paint the town red.”
Janet flicked her fingers through her hair. “I don’t know about painting the town red, but I do
love to dance.”
“Yeah, until some guy uses your bosom for a headrest,” one of the girls cracked.
Bonnie laughed, cocked her hip, and rested her hand on her waist. “Oh, you just have to know
how to handle that kind.”
Janet swiveled in her chair. “There are some nice soldiers who come to dance most every night
at the Chez Paree. They pretty much mind their manners.”
“It’s not too late to change your minds,” Bonnie sang out to the other women. “You know, do
your duty for the troops?”
Mrs. Kemp stepped into the center of the room and pointed at the clock. “Take your seats,
ladies. It’s time to start work.”
The door to the exchange opened a few inches and Christine poked her head inside. She waited
for Bonnie to look at her. “Lunch?”
“Sure,” Bonnie said, reaching for the back of her chair.
“Come on up when you’re ready.”
Bonnie nodded and waved as she took her seat, Mrs. Kemp’s eyes boring hot holes into her
back. She cast a sideways glance at Mrs. Kemp, then turned her attention to the glowing lamp on her
switchboard.
///////
Bonnie watched as Christine finished typing her document, scrolled it free of the platen, then
fished out the carbon paper. “I should only be a second longer,” Christine said.
Bonnie smiled. “It’s all right. Finish up.”
A man exited from his office and looked at Christine. He was tall, well dressed, with a swath of
sandy hair. He seemed too distracted to notice Bonnie.
“Miss Burgess,” he called. His voice had a hint of frustration in it.
Christine pivoted and smiled. “Yes, Mr. Warsoff?”
“Have you seen the Hadderton file? I could have sworn it was on my desk.”
Christine chuckled quietly at the man’s exasperated look. “I believe Mr. Sutter took it for
review,” she said.
Paul winced and smacked a balled fist into his open palm. “That’s right.”
“Would you like me to see if he’s finished with it?”
Paul tucked his shirt into his waistband, the pale blue Oxford having come loose. “Yes, that
would be great. I need it right away.”
Christine’s brows drew together and she gave Bonnie a quick glance. “I was about to go to
lunch—”
Paul sighed. “Oh, all right. I guess it can wait until you return.”
Bonnie stepped forward, her handbag snugged beneath her arm. Paul Warsoff’s head swiveled
instantly and scanned the length of Bonnie’s torso. He smiled and approached her. “Introduce me to
your friend,” he said to Christine without taking his eyes off Bonnie.
Christine’s hazel eyes shifted between the two of them. “Oh, of course. Mr. Warsoff, this is my
friend Bonnie Cooper.”
Paul extended his hand and bowed slightly at the waist. “Call me Paul.”
Bonnie’s lips drew into a soft smile. Her eyes locked onto his as she took his hand. “I’m happy
to meet you,” she said.
Their hands remained clasped and Christine looked away as if she’d stumbled upon a clandestine
meeting. Christine cleared her throat and Paul withdrew his hand. “Bonnie recently moved here
from New York,” she said.
Paul brows arched in pleasant surprise. “I attended school in New York, graduated from
Fordham School of Law.”
Bonnie offered a slight nod of acknowledgement and turned to Christine. “Ready?”
Christine retrieved her purse from her desk drawer and met Bonnie at the door. “I’ll be back in
an hour, Mr. Warsoff.”
Paul stuffed his hands into his pockets and smiled. “Nice to have met you, Miss Cooper.”
Bonnie glanced over her shoulder at him, but said nothing.
Outside the elevator, Christine stared up at the numbers as each floor lit. “He hasn’t noticed me
for weeks,” she said. “You walk in and he’s practically groveling at your feet.”
Bonnie slid her eyes toward Christine. “You sound a little jealous.”
Christine sighed and placed a hand on Bonnie’s forearm. “No. Well, maybe a little.” Then she
laughed. “But I’m waiting for Joe, although Mr. Warsoff is a good catch, that’s for sure.”
The elevator doors parted and Bonnie stepped inside. “Good catch or not, I’m not interested.”
Christine arched a penciled brow. “He makes a lot of money, I know that.”
Bonnie glanced at her, the elevator doors closing. “How do you know?”
Christine cocked a hip and crooked her hand to her waist. “Because Ifile his expense account
reports. I’m in charge of his billing hours. I know what he makes, and believe me, it’s plenty.”
Bonnie thought about that, about dating someone with money. It would be nice to eat in
expensive restaurants again, enjoy the things money could buy. If she were careful, she could handle
it, couldn’t she? She visibly shook her head as if to dismiss the crazy notion. “It doesn’t really matter.
He’s not going to ask me out.”
Christine angled her head. “Oh, he’s going to.”
Bonnie started laughing. “What makes you think that?”
Christine smirked. “I can tell. He’ll ask you out all right.” Her eyes widened and she clutched her
hands together expectantly. “What if he does? What about Dave?”
Bonnie glanced at her and frowned. “Dave?”
“You know. Dave from Union Pacific? I mean, if you and Mr. Warsoff—”
The elevator doors opened and they walked across the foyer. Bonnie tugged a glove over her left
hand as they stepped outside. “Would you stop it?”
“Well?” Christine persisted. “What would you do?”
Bonnie laughed and shook her head. “Just forget it, will you? I’m not dating Paul Warsoff.”
“If he asked you out, would you go?”
Bonnie sighed and stopped on the sidewalk. “All right .
If
Mr. Warsoff asks me out, then, yes, I’d
go out with him.”
Christine’s face spread with a self-satisfied grin. “I knew it.”
///////
In between calls, Bonnie thought about Paul Warsoff. Again, the warning went off in her head
like a police siren. She tried to ignore it, but the possibility of dating a man with money had her
stifling the cautionary voice. Despite Christine’s certainty, she wasn’t sure at all he’d ask her out. She
hadn’t been very cordial to him.
It was nearly five o’clock when a woman opened the door and looked at the operators with a
gloomy expression. “Did you hear?” she half-whispered into the room.
Bonnie swiveled toward the door in her chair. “Hear what?”
“President Roosevelt is dead.”
Janet gasped. “What?”
Now everyone’s attention was riveted. “He’s dead,” the woman said, and fresh tears filled her
eyes. “Someone just heard it on the radio and told me. He was at Warm Springs when it happened.”
The news came like an unexpected blow, sending their senses reeling. Sniffles and sobs began to
fill the room as the sadness of the announcement settled into their minds.
Bonnie’s eyes were dry as she looked at the clock and saw that it was time to leave. She took off
her headset, excited to be leaving for Chez Paree. “Come on, Janet. Let’s go.”
Janet held a tissue to her face and blotted tears from her cheeks. “Go? Go where?”
Bonnie served her an incredulous look. “Dancing. Remember?”
“Oh, Bonnie, I can’t go now. I’m too upset,” she said. “Aren’t you? He was so wonderful. I
don’t know how the country will survive without him.”
Bonnie couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Why all the tears over the death of a stupid
president? She was never one who cared much about the goings-on in the world. Such things were
boring to her, and she had no patience for them .“You can’t be serious, Janet,” Bonnie challenged.
Janet’s tears flooded her eyes even more. “I can’t go…I just can’t. I loved him like a
grandfather.”
Bonnie rolled her eyes and spun on her heel. She got her hat and purse and raced past the
sobbing women, anxious to escape their emotional over-reaction. As she entered the building’s
foyer, Paul Warsoff stepped off the elevator. He pushed his way toward her and tipped his hat.
“Miss Cooper?”
Bonnie came up short as he spoke her name. She blinked several times and then smiled. “Mr.
Warsoff—”
He raised his finger. “Uh, Paul,” he reminded her.
“Oh, yes. Have a good evening, Paul.” Bonnie made a motion to leave.
Paul swerved in front of her. “Could I buy you a drink?”
Bonnie’s mind shifted into gear. She wanted to go with him more than anything. He had money,
lots of it. But money had gotten her into trouble before, or at least how she’d acquired it. Hadn’t she
learned her lesson? She could avoid so much trouble if she’d just stay away from men. And there
was the fact that he had gone to school in New York. She was afraid he might trip her up on details.
Her knowledge of New York came from movies and magazines. He was more sophisticated than
Christine or Dave. It was too important that she appear to know what she was talking about.
She opened her purse and took out a handkerchief, raising it to her eyes. “Oh, Paul, haven’t you
heard? President Roosevelt is dead. I’m just too upset to think, or do anything…”
Paul’s expression fell. “I hadn’t heard. What happened?”
Bonnie sniffed into the white linen. “All I know is that he died at Warm Springs today. I was just
going to hurry home to the radio.”
Paul seemed genuinely affected by the news. “Sure, that’s what you need to do…what we all
need to do. I guess Truman is in charge now.”
Bonnie blotted her eyes and sniffed. “Thank you for understanding, Paul.”
Paul nodded and returned his hat to his head. “Another time?”
Bonnie smiled. “Yes, I’d like that very much.”
Paul stepped aside and Bonnie left the building. All the way home she debated whether she was
insane or just stupid.
///////
Bonnie stared at the ceiling, her sleep restless and intermittent. She’d thought that leaving
California, putting distance between her and her past, would be easy, as if a broad sweep of miles
would erase everything. But that was proving to be more difficult than she’s expected. She might
have put distance between her and the law, but not her memories.
Bonnie found it increasingly difficult to suppress her thoughts of California, what she’d done
there the past four years, how many lives she’d hurt or destroyed. Keeping her mind busy with other
things—that was her saving grace. It was as if she was a hummingbird in need of constant
nourishment or else she would perish. She pressed her needle-like beak into cafes, clubs, movie
theaters, work, anything that kept her occupied, kept her memories at bay. But at night, it was a
blank screen where her deeds played over and over in her mind, her dreams robbing her of sleep,
held hostage by her ugly acts.
I shouldn’t get involved…with anyone…not now. It’s dangerous, or could be. I mean, I’ve done this to myself.
What I did there can’t be undone. I can’t go back and make it right.
Bonnie heard herself laugh out loud.
This
is no time to grow a conscience, you idiot. You just need to be careful. Just have a little fun, don’t get too carried away.
You can’t afford to get caught, and that means you’d better be cautious, keep things simple.
Bonnie turned on her side and pulled her pillow beneath her neck. She closed her eyes, but that
didn’t blot out the visions in her head. She knotted her fist and punched the pillow as if it were the
pillow’s fault she couldn’t sleep. With a heavy sigh of resignation, Bonnie threw back the covers and
got to her feet. She plodded into the kitchen without turning on a light.
She wasn’t much of a drinker. She could nurse one drink for several hours. But tonight, alcohol
seemed the most reliable answer to her insomnia, her haunted dreams, and the relentless drill of
memories. Her fingers reached inside the open cupboard and found the bottle of Scotch. She wasn’t
fond of taking a straight shot, but tonight she didn’t care. Tonight she poured the heavily scented
amber liquid into a glass and sat on her new chair.
Bonnie turned her face toward the curtained window. The moon was bright, illuminating the
apartment in varying shades of gray. She raised the glass to her lips and swallowed a large gulp. It
stung and burned her throat, hit her stomach with a burst of flames. And then the warmth spread
through her gut, radiated into her limbs and her brain until she felt her body begin to relax.
Already her mind let loose of the nagging thoughts that kept her awake. She tossed down the
rest and felt herself drifting into a welcome relaxation, a sense of nothing, a state of languid ease.
Her eyelids grew heavy and she let them close over her tired eyes. She rested her head on the back
of the comfortable chair, grateful for the numbness that accompanied her to sleep.

A lamp lit on Bonnie’s switchboard. She plugged in the jack and flipped the switch. “How may I
direct your call?”
The voice on the other end hesitated a moment. “Is this Miss Cooper?”
“Yes. May I help you?”
“Hi. It’s Paul.”
Bonnie felt herself smile. “Yes, Mr. Warsoff?”
Paul’s voice sounded as if he was smiling, too. “I get it. You’re working.”
“Yes, Mr. Warsoff.”
“Are you free Saturday?”
“I believe so, Mr. Warsoff.”
“Great. Do you like to dance?”
Bonnie looked for Mrs. Kemp. She was supposed to make connections between calls as quickly
as possible. “Of course, Mr. Warsoff.”
“Tommy Dorsey is playing at Ak-Sar-Ben. I thought we’d go there and out to dinner.”
Bonnie’s head began to swim. She’d seen both Dorsey brothers perform in San Diego and had
loved it. “Yes, I can make that connection,” she said, restraining her enthusiasm.
“Great,” Paul said. “I’ll pick you up at five o’clock on Saturday. What’s your address?”
Bonnie cupped her hand over the mouthpiece of her headset and quickly whispered her address
into it. “…Thank you, Mr. Warsoff. I’ll connect you.”
“No, thank
you,
Miss Cooper. I look forward to us making a connection.”
The line went dead and Bonnie’s fingers trembled slightly from anticipation as she pulled the
cord free from the jack. She couldn’t seem to stop smiling.
Mrs. Kemp tapped her foot behind Bonnie’s chair. “Was there a problem, Miss Cooper? Your
call seemed a bit long,” she said with a sharp, accusatory tone.
Bonnie flinched for a second, and then spun in her chair. “No, no, he just couldn’t locate the
number he wanted to call.”
Mrs. Kemp walked past Bonnie and sniffed. “Hmmm.”
Bonnie waited until Mrs. Kemp went back to her office, then swiveled toward Janet. “What’s
exsarben?” she whispered.
“Ak-Sar-Ben? It’s Nebraska spelled backwards,” Janet whispered. She plugged in a jack and
threw the switch. “Yes, sir, I’ll connect you.” She yanked the plug and shot a glance back at Bonnie.
“Why?”
Bonnie gave her a perplexed look. “Is it a place?”
“Yeah. It’s a racetrack.”
Bonnie scowled at the thought of going to a racetrack and answered another call. “I’m supposed
to go dancing there,” she said when she’d finished. “But at a racetrack?”
“Oh, there’s a ballroom there, too,” Janet whispered. “Who’s taking you?”
Another lamp lit on the switchboard and Bonnie ignored Janet’s question. She wasn’t entirely
sure she wanted Janet to know. Bonnie took another call and didn’t bother to pick up their
conversation.
When it came time for lunch, Bonnie met Christine in the foyer. “I need to cancel our lunch
date,” she said.
Christine arched an eyebrow at the gleam in Bonnie’s eye. “Why is that?”
Bonnie couldn’t help the brief giggle that escaped. “Because Paul is taking me out this Saturday,
and I want to buy a new dress.”
Christine pursed her lips and gave Bonnie an up-and-down look. “I told you he’d ask you out.”
Bonnie grinned. “So you did. So, tomorrow for lunch?”
“Oh, no.” She laughed. “I’m coming with you.”
“Are you sure?”
Christine linked her arm through Bonnie’s and tugged her toward the door. “You’d better
believe it. I want to know what I’m missing out on.”
“You might not be missing out on anything,” Bonnie teased.
“Have you been to McClure’s?” Christine asked. Bonnie shook her head. “It’s the most darling
dress shop. It’s a little pricey, but worth it. I know you’ll just love it.”
///////
Bonnie and Christine crossed the street where a Zingleman’s Plumbing truck was parked in
front of the little dress shop. Christine opened the door and motioned Bonnie inside. “Come on,”
she breathed. “Mrs. McClure is just wonderful.”
Bonnie surveyed the small shop, her eyes scanning the racks. She spied a royal blue dress on the
closet rack, but before she could make her way to it, Christine grabbed her by the arm. She pulled
her toward an older woman, fixed with a look of consternation. “Mrs. McClure? Is everything all
right?”
The woman turned and her mouth curved upward with a brief smile of recognition. “Oh, hi,
Christine. Yes, everything’s fine,” she said, then leaned closer and began to whisper. “I let a woman
and her little boy use the restroom. I didn’t want to at first,” she said, her hand clutched to her
throat, “but the little boy was trying to be good, and she told me she’d had a devil of a time getting
him toilet trained—anyway, he did something to back up the, uh, facility.”
Bonnie turned her attention to the blue dress that had caught her eye and left Christine and Mrs.
McClure to their discussion. She fingered the shimmering fabric and pulled it from the rack, rotating
it from front to back, then checked for the size. She noticed the dressing room toward the corner
and headed for it, the lovely dress accompanying her. When she’d disrobed, Bonnie stood in front of
the three-way mirror. She stared at her image, peering at herself as though she were a stranger.
Who
are you? I don’t even know anymore…
A knock startled her from her thoughts. “Yes?”
“What did you find?” Christine asked.
“Just a sec.” Bonnie slipped into the dress and opened the door. “Zip me, will you?”
Christine sucked in a breath. “Oh, Bonnie, I
love
it.” Bonnie spun so that Christine could work
the zipper. “It looks great on you. It really brings out the blue in your eyes.”
Bonnie stepped out of the dressing room and twirled in front of the mirror, pleased at how well
the dress fit. A movement behind her reflected in the mirror, catching her attention. She felt her
pulse quicken as she saw Dave Miller staring at her.
He pulled himself up short, his mouth slightly open. “Bonnie…”
She turned from the mirror, observed the matching shirt and pants he wore with the name
Zingleman’s Plumbing embroidered on the chest pocket. “Hello, Dave.”
He shifted the tool box in his hand and tightened his jaw. “How have you been?”
His voice sounded cool and perfunctory. She couldn’t blame him. She’d been almost cruel to
him, and for a second she wished she could apologize. But what would be the point in that? An
apology might only encourage him. “Fine, thanks.”
Christine sidled up toward Bonnie. “Introduce me to your friend,” she said, nudging Bonnie
with her elbow.
Bonnie noticed the way he was looking at Christine now, as if she were no longer in the room.
His eyes had settled on Christine’s pleasant face, travelled down the length of her and back to her
smile. And Christine—she was grinning from ear to ear, obviously taken by Dave’s good looks.
“This is Dave Miller,” Bonnie said casually, trying to ignore her suddenly dry throat. “Dave, this is
my friend, Christine Burgess.”
Dave extended his hand to the pretty brunette. “I just washed it,” he said with a laugh. “I’m glad
to meet you.”
Christine laughed and shook his hand. “You too, Dave.”
Dave glanced at Bonnie. “You never mentioned you had such an attractive friend. ”Bonnie
swung back to the mirror without a response.
Dave turned his attention back to Christine and smiled. “I have to get back to work, Christine,
but could I buy you a cup of coffee, or perhaps a drink after work?”
Christine’s face seemed to light up with the invitation. “Yes, I’d like that.”
Bonnie leaned close and whispered in her ear. “What about Joe?”
Christine gave her a dismissive look and smiled at Dave. “Call me at Johnson, Peck, and Sutter.
It’s in the book.”
Dave smiled at her. “Johnson, Peck, and Sutter. I’ll remember that, Christine.”
Christine blushed and nodded. Dave touched the brim of his cap. “Good to see you, Bonnie.”
He looked at Christine. “I’ll be in touch.”
Bonnie felt her stomach knot. She couldn’t have Christine and Dave getting together. Dave
knew her as Bonnie Denton from North Dakota. Christine knew her as Bonnie Cooper from New
York. They were bound to compare notes. Maybe Dave didn’t mean to call Christine at all—maybe
he was just trying to get back at her by feigning interest in her friend. Either way, she couldn’t risk it.
Bonnie waited until Dave was gone. She spun toward Christine and took hold of her arm.
“Don’t get involved with him, Christine,” she hissed. “Believe me, it would be a mistake.”
Christine’s eyes grew large. “What? Why? He seemed like a perfectly nice guy to me.”
Bonnie narrowed her eyes and homed in on Christine. “He came home from the war with more
than just physical injuries, Christine. You noticed his limp, didn’t you?” She nodded and Bonnie
continued. “He’s not right…not right in the head. His wife left him because of it. I figured it out
soon enough. I could see why she left him. Stay away from him. I’m telling you, it’s for your own
good.”
“Wait—” Christine pressed her fingers to her forehead. “You said Dave worked for Union
Pacific, that he was deferred—”
Bonnie waved her hand. “That’s a different Dave.”
Christine arched her brows. “Wow, you sure get around for someone so new to town.”
Bonnie pursed her lips. “Never mind that. Will you do what I ask? If he calls you, say you’re not
interested in seeing him.”
Christine held up her hands in surrender. “Okay, okay.”
Bonnie took hold of Christine’s arm again. “Promise me.”
Christine’s eyes grew large. “Okay, I promise.” She looked at Bonnie’s fingers pressed into her
flesh.
Bonnie let go and stepped back. “Sorry. It’s just that he unstable—”
“What did he do exactly?”
Bonnie let out a breath and reached for her ear. “We’d gone out to dinner. When we walked
outside he grabbed my arm, twisted it and pushed me into an alley. He said something about me
being a Nazi spy. He sounded crazy.”
Christine gasped, her hazel eyes fixed on Bonnie’s. “How did you get away?”
“I kicked him as hard as I could. He let go and I ran back into the restaurant. He didn’t try to
follow me, so I waited inside and had one of the waiters check to make sure that he’d gone. I called
a cab and hoped I’d never have to see him again.”
Christine clasped her hands in front of her and gave Bonnie a worried look. “Does he know
where to reach you? I mean, are you afraid he might try to find you now?”
“I was still at the Rome. He can’t find me so long as he doesn’t show up at the Rose Building.”
Christine crossed in front of the mirror and placed her hand on Bonnie’s arm. “Don’t worry
about it, Bonnie. I’ll make sure he doesn’t find you. Thank you for being such a good friend. And
you’re right. I need to stay true to Joe.”
Bonnie smiled and laid her hand over Christine’s. “What are friends for? I just don’t want to see
you get hurt. Now, what do you think of this dress?”
///////
Bonnie opened her bedroom window a couple of inches. It was warm inside, and the April
breeze felt good against her skin. She walked around the bed and clicked off the light, then lay down
and stared up at the ceiling. Sleep wouldn’t come, she knew—too many thoughts, too many bits of
unfinished business whirring through her mind.
She cursed herself, angry that she hadn’t made up one story and stuck to it. But hadn’t that been
what she’d been doing for the past four years? Living a lie? Lying had become second nature to her
now. It took more effort to speak the truth than to lie. Maybe she couldn’t change that now—maybe
it was a habit and one she couldn’t, or wouldn’t, break. It had always been easier to pretend to be
someone else, someone better than her real self, someone more exciting, more accomplished. No
one would want to know the real Bonnie, she thought. No one would want such damaged goods,
such a worthless human being.
The night air filled the room, cool and clean, washing over her like a lover’s hand. She slipped
beneath the covers, rolled onto her side, and watched the curtains ruffle beneath the window. She
thought about her date with Paul the following evening, wondered how she would handle him. It
wasn’t too late to back out, she thought, back out before she got caught in a trap. Wouldn’t it be
better if she just went to Chez Peree and danced with strangers? With men she didn’t know, didn’t
have to know? But then, if she could just be content with an uneventful life, she wouldn’t be looking
for something that always seemed to elude her. It was as if her hands were always outstretched,
reaching for something she couldn’t quite touch, wanting more than she was allowed to have. Never
satisfied, she thought, never happy with what is.
Bonnie let out a long sigh, pulled the covers to her chin, and closed her eyes. Her lids flicked
open again and her gaze fixed on the window. It was pointless, she knew. Her chest tightened as if a
band of steel had been forged around her, squeezing, slowly squeezing the breath from her lungs. A
sudden sense of dread drove Bonnie to a sitting position, her hand clutched at her throat. She
stiffened her arms and braced them against the bed, took in long, deep breaths.
She felt tears pool in her eyes. They welled and overflowed, streaming down her face, hot and
unwanted. For all her independence, her self-determination, Bonnie unexpectedly felt needy, felt
alone and comfortless. She leaned back, pulled the pillow to her face, and cried into it to muffle her
heart-felt sobs. There was no accounting for the tears, other than a sense of loneliness that she
managed to quell most of the time. She pushed back those feelings of being alone, kept them
repressed and subdued with great success. Yet somehow, tonight, alone in her bed, they swelled
within her like an uncontrollable tidal wave of emotion rising in her throat and into the pillow.
She fought to gain control, smashing her fists against her eyes, demanding that the tears stop.
She bolted from the bed, went to the closet, and found the red leather box. Bonnie hurled it onto
the bed, her heart now pounding in her ears. “Damn you!” she shouted at it.
Grabbing the box, she stormed into the kitchen, pulled out the trash bin, and slammed the box
into it, pushing it down hard. She stood over it, her fists clenched at her sides. “Damn you,” she
cursed at it again.
Opening the cupboard, Bonnie took down the bottle of Scotch, hesitated, put it back, and
banged the cupboard shut. She took in a deep breath and held it. Closing her eyes, she let out her
breath in a slow, steady stream. She had to regain control, had to reposition herself behind the sea
wall that stemmed her tide of emotions.
Bonnie peered into the trash bin, reached down, and retrieved the red leather box. She held it in
her trembling hands, stared at it, and sighed. “Damn you,” she whispered, impotent against the hold
it had on her. She returned to the bedroom and put the box back on the closet shelf.