Authors: Rachel Ann Nunes
“I’ll get it!” Jeremy shouted at the top of his lungs. Mickelle followed him to the door, wondering who would come to visit on a Monday evening. She almost hoped it was her mother or one of her sisters. If she could talk it out, her course of action might become clear.
“Officer Lowder,” she said in surprise, recognizing him even in civilian clothes.
“Hi.” His blue eyes met hers briefly. “May I come in for a moment?”
“Sure.” Mickelle took a few steps back so he could enter, her mind racing to understand why he had come. Could there be more bad news about Riley’s death? What could be worse than suicide?
“Boys, go on into your rooms,” she said, wanting to protect them. “I’ll be in to say prayers in a little while.” Jeremy looked as though he would protest, but Bryan caught his arm and pulled him down the hall.
Mickelle led Officer Lowder into the living room. She had rarely come in here in the past few months, and was embarrassed at the covering of dust on the TV and piano. Her eyes went instinctively to her curio cabinet, where the cracks and gouges still marred the surface of the wood. A heavy sadness filled her heart.
“I guess you’re wondering why I’m here.”
Mickelle tore her gaze away from the curio cabinet, having almost forgotten the officer’s presence. “Is it . . .?” She couldn’t bear to say her husband’s name.
“It’s personal.”
That surprised her. “What do you mean, Officer Lowder?”
“Jim. Please call me Jim.”
“Okay . . . Jim. And you can call me Mickelle. But what do you mean?”
“It’s just that I . . . well . . .”
This was a whole new side of the self-assured young officer. Mickelle smiled at him gently, hoping to put him at ease.
“I wanted to know if you’d like to go out to dinner. With me.”
Mickelle stared. Had she heard right? Did Officer Lowder—Jim— actually want her to go out with him? “I don’t know what to say.”
“How about yes?”
“Well, I . . .” She could think of a hundred reasons to turn him down. She still felt married, she didn’t want to date a police officer, he was at least five or six years too young for her, Riley wouldn’t like it, she didn’t want to date. The list went on. But she couldn’t help remembering how ugly and awkward she had felt on Mr. Wolfe’s porch. A wet, black blob. Yet here she was, looking exactly the same, minus a little of the mascara she had wiped off in the bathroom, and now she felt attractive and vitally alive. This young police officer wanted her—
her!
—to go out with him.
She found herself wanting to say yes.
It wouldn’t be like a real date,
she thought.
He’s so young. We’ll just be friends.
There was no chance of anything else. But then why was she even considering accepting his invitation?
“I’d love to,” she said, wondering where the words had come from.
He looked immensely relieved. “How about Friday?”
“Okay.”
“Thanks,” he said. “I’m looking forward to it.”
“So am I.” She walked with him to the door.
“See you Friday. About seven?”
She nodded her acceptance, then watched him drive away in a small, new-looking truck. Brionney would be proud of her.
If
Mickelle told her. This would be her first date since Riley’s death. What a long way she had come in the week since she had told Brionney she had no interest in men!
Butterflies began in her stomach. Why on earth would Jim Lowder want to date her? Probably an overactive sense of duty. Still, there was nothing like having a cop on your side when you went to court. Smiling to herself, Mickelle thought of the infuriating Mr. Wolfe. She wished she could tell him about this ace up her sleeve. He would certainly treat her more respectfully! So what if he was handsome and rich? She had the law on her side, in more ways than just one.
In her mind, she began to plan what she would say to the judge, and what she would wear for the occasion. The next time Mr. Wolfe saw her, she wouldn’t be a wet, black blob, but a confident woman determined to obtain justice!
And she would win.
* * * * *
Damon watched the ancient gold station wagon disappear into the rain.
Why did she get in the passenger side? Did someone drive her here? Is there a Mr. Hansen?
It was too dark to be certain. If there was a Mr. Hansen, Damon wasn’t too impressed that he had allowed his wife to face him alone, though perhaps Mr. Hansen didn’t agree with her efforts to elicit money from a mostly innocent child.
He recalled her face, with its anger and determination, as clearly as though she still stood before him. She had glared at him as though he was mocking her, which he wasn’t. He had simply wanted to understand where she was coming from.
What was it about her that affected him so?
His hand brushed the doorknob. The children were waiting in the game room. He had promised them a quick indoor swim at the end of family night, as long as there was no lightning, and they would be anxious. Still, he didn’t move, replaying the scene that had just occurred.
The woman had confronted him on the porch, her chin lifted slightly, looking oddly like she belonged there. She was dressed in black stretch pants that were neither too loose nor too tight, a classic sweater that reached nearly to her hips, and comfortable black loafers. It wasn’t an elaborate outfit by any means, but she wore the clothes with dignity and ease, though he imagined such a feat was difficult, as the clothes were obviously damp from the rain.
What little makeup she wore was evidenced by the black trails down her cheeks, as though the rain had tried to uncover the real woman beneath, though he could see she hadn’t worn much makeup to begin with. The slight streaks of black were like delicately colored tears that seemed to accentuate the large blue eyes as they stared at him, leaving him feeling unsettled and uncertain. Her honey-blond hair, swept back from her finely boned cheeks, was held in place by some sort of a comb. She looked regal and at the same time very human, as though she would be at home living in a tent or a castle, waited upon by servants.
A classic beauty.
In all, she reminded him of something from a dream or a movie. Then she spoke, and the dream shattered. It wasn’t her voice, but what she said. Her view of the accident utterly contradicted Tanner’s, and Damon had to believe in his son.
Even as he defended Tanner, he was intrigued by her. A piece of loose hair danced along her forehead and into her eyes, and he had a sudden urge to tear out the comb and watch the rest of the hair fall around her face.
What was he thinking?
Fascinated, he watched her sweep the hair back into place. Her blue eyes seemed to capture his, delving for things he didn’t want to reveal. In order to retrieve his train of thought, he had to remind himself that this woman was a cold, hard person who was deliberately trying to take advantage of his son.
Their conversation did not go well, he admitted to himself as she left the porch. He didn’t seem to have as much control over the situation as he would have liked. He should have been able to convince her that she was in the wrong, and it was useless to pursue him or Tanner for money to pay for her mistakes. His game was definitely off.
Damon sighed. The station wagon had long since disappeared, but he continued to stand on the porch, enjoying the quiet fall of the rain and the fresh, clean scent emanating from the lawns and trees.
I really love Utah,
he thought. He was glad he had come. His heart had healed much more quickly than he had anticipated, the business was going well, and the air smelled clean.
What more can a man ask for?
A lot more.
He stared wistfully down the drive. Was her car really damaged, or was she using the accident for her own ends?
He finally gave up his deliberation and went inside. The children were waiting, and they wouldn’t understand the delay—especially when he couldn’t explain it himself.
Rebekka was descending the front staircase that curved in an artistic arc along one wall of the entryway. She moved with such grace that she appeared to be gliding. “I was just going to play your piano,” she said with an enchanting smile.
Rebekka was gorgeous, as usual, but tonight Damon barely noticed. He thought,
She is so young.
Not like the furious Mrs. Hansen, who had to be nearer his own age. “I’m going swimming,” he said, shaking away the thoughts. “Want to come?”
“What about Belle?” Rebekka’s beautifully shaped brows rose expressively.
He shrugged. “If we’re going to date, she’s going to have to get used to it sooner or later. Besides, it’s family night, and at least for now you’re part of the family, aren’t you? I think it’ll be okay.”
In the end, no one went swimming that night except Damon. Belle had fallen asleep, and Tanner was on the phone with a girl in one of his classes. “Can’t we do it tomorrow?” he mouthed with one hand over the receiver.
“At least we got in the lesson part,” Damon said with a laugh. He bent to pick up the sleeping Belle. In her arms she hugged not the brown teddy bear that often accompanied her around the house, but a plastic, cream-colored horse that resembled the real horse she wanted him to buy her. “I’d better get her to bed.”
Rebekka touched Belle’s cheek. “Good idea. I guess I’ll go play the piano.”
Damon tucked Belle into bed, who then awoke and demanded a story. By the time she was asleep and he had gone to bid Tanner good night, Rebekka had retired to her room. Damon found that while he was exhausted, he had no desire for sleep.
He went to the pool house, which was connected to the main house by a covered walkway. There, he changed into his suit and dove into the warm water. He began to swim laps. Swimming was one of his favorite pastimes and the primary way he stayed in shape.
Pretty good shape, too,
he thought, although he doubted that Mrs. Hansen had noticed.
Where did that come from?
What did he care what she thought? She was a greedy, no-good, lying— He stopped himself. No need to call her names.
Mrs. Hansen had said she was going to take him to court. Many times in his life he’d been faced with that possibility, and it certainly didn’t bother him now. He had nothing to hide, nothing at all. He would do whatever was necessary to protect his son.
It could be a spirited fight. There had been sparks in her eyes, he remembered. Sparks of anger, defiance, and indignation. Well, no matter, he had justice on his side . . . didn’t he?
Taking a deep breath, he swam underwater to the far side of the pool. When he touched the wall, he did a half-somersault under the water to position himself to swim again to the other side. Without taking a breath, he continued on. This time he made it only halfway across the pool before he had to come up for air.
Abruptly, he wondered what it would be like to see Mrs. Hansen laugh.
CHAPTER TWENTY
On Tuesday morning, Mickelle had planned to go outside and work in the garden. But by the time the boys were off to school and she had the kitchen straightened, she had replayed the confrontation with Mr. Wolfe in her head so many times that her fury and sense of helplessness had returned in full force. She wished she could simply forget it and move on, but she had to get her car fixed before the metal grinding against the rubber ruined her tire.
She picked up the phone and dialed quickly. Maybe if she shared her feelings with someone who loved her, she could get on with her life.
“Hello?” Brionney’s voice was a welcome sound. How grateful she was that her sister and Jesse had settled in American Fork, so close by.
“It’s me, Mickelle. Got a minute?”
“Sure. The kids just left for school, and the boys and Rosalie are playing in the toy room—peacefully for now. Forest hasn’t found anything to scream about yet.”
“I’m just frustrated,” Mickelle blurted out. “And angry. It’s eating me up inside.”
“What happened?” Brionney sounded genuinely interested.
“Last night I went to see the father of that boy who crashed into me, and he didn’t listen to anything I said. He refused to take responsibility in the matter.” Mickelle described the confrontation in detail, including the smirking. “I was completely humiliated, and so angry I couldn’t see straight! I mean there he was, defending his son and practically calling me a liar! Who’s the liar here, anyway—a boy who drives without a license and insurance, or a woman who happens to be driving straight through an intersection? With the right of way, I might add.”
“What a jerk!” Brionney exclaimed sympathetically. “I mean, I believe in defending my children, but this is utterly ridiculous! Can’t the guy see what a mess his son has caused? How is he going to teach him a lesson if he doesn’t allow him to suffer the consequences? Boy, this makes me so angry, I’ve half a mind to go out there myself!”
Mickelle felt vindicated at her sister’s support. “It won’t do any good. He’ll just treat you the way he did me. He’s so arrogant. And you know, I felt he didn’t give a darn what happened to me, so long as he saved his precious son from any inconvenience. It’s not like he couldn’t afford to pay for my car repairs, from the looks of the mansion they live in.”
“So what now?”
Mickelle sighed. “I don’t know. The car is terrible the way it is. Because of the damage, the handle wouldn’t open and I broke it. Now I have to get in from the passenger side. I can still get out of the driver’s side, but it’s so embarrassing. That car was embarrassing anyway, but now it’s worse.”
“Why didn’t you tell us yesterday at dinner?” Brionney’s voice grew a little sharp. “Or sooner? The accident was a week ago. You’ve been driving like that for a whole week?”
“That’s not the worst part. Whenever I turn left, the metal scrapes into the wheel and makes this terrible grinding noise. I’ve straightened it the best I can, but it really needs something more. I tell you, I’ve been driving myself crazy trying to figure out how to get everywhere without turning left.”