2
Kristine stared at the less-than-perfect Christmas decoration on her kitchen table, her eyes watering with the intensity of her gaze. The bright red holly berries were withered, the spiky green leaves were turning yellow and looked dry, their edges curling under. She wished she’d been more creative and taken more time with it. Last year she’d decorated the house in Germany from top to bottom. She’d started the day after Thanksgiving, finishing late in the afternoon on December 10, the day Logan chose for their annual Christmas party. Everything had been so festive and fragrant. She’d done it all and when each guest left at the end of the night, she’d handed them a gaily wrapped gift of homemade Christmas cookies.
She’d been so happy that day. Logan and the children had been in exceptional spirits, and it had been contagious. She’d even gotten a new red-velvet gown trimmed in faux ermine, an extravagance she winced over from time to time, and a new hairdo and a cosmetic makeover. Logan had leered at her all night long. Like a silly schoolgirl, her heart had fluttered and pounded all night long at the thought of what would happen after the last guest left. Logan had always been an exceptional lover, but that night he’d performed like a master.
Kristine shivered as she drew her sweater tighter across her chest. The fire was blazing in the kitchen, the heat was on full blast, and she was still cold. She looked down at the cold tea in her cup. Should she make a fresh cup? Did she even want more tea? Her movements were robotic as she filled the teakettle. The gas jet swooshed to life.
She paced from one end of the kitchen to the other, her shoes making clicking sounds on the old Virginia brick, careful to avert her eyes from the calendar hanging next to the refrigerator. She knew every printed word on the calendar issued by the Reynolds Propane Company. She’d stared at it a hundred times a day, her eyes watering as she ticked off the days until Logan’s arrival. Somewhere, somehow, something had gone awry. There were three too many Xs on the calendar, which meant Logan was four days overdue. Christmas was five short days away. One letter and one phone call in thirty-four days had to mean there was a snafu somewhere along the chain of command. She tried not to look at the red X with the big red circle she’d drawn around December 16. Maybe there would be a letter in today’s mail. Her gaze swept to the kitchen clock. Thirty more minutes until the mailman tooted his horn out by the road. One toot meant no mail. Two toots of the foggy-sounding horn meant mail. She kept the house purposely quiet around this time of day, turning off the kitchen radio and the new television set in the living room to make sure she heard the horn.
“Logan, I am going to strangle you when you get here for causing me all this worry. How much trouble is it to make one phone call, send one scribbled postcard? This is so unfair of you.” Damn, if I don’t watch it, I’ll be blubbering all over the place.
Kristine continued to pace as she waited for the water to boil. She really needed to make a new one and this time put some creative effort into it. In a rush of something she couldn’t define, she picked up the dried-out Christmas centerpiece and tossed it in the trash can under the sink. Now, all she had to contend with was the calendar. She wished she could ignore it, but the propane advertisement drew her like a magnet. She turned away as she tried to focus on the old-fashioned kitchen. Everything now looked halfhearted. The red-checkered curtains were too short and too faded. The braided rugs were skimpy and looked out of place on the expanse of brick floor. The place mats that matched the curtains were wrinkled and tacky-looking on the claw-footed monster table. Now that the centerpiece was gone, the table looked forlorn. There was no life in this kitchen the way there always had been life and energy in her other kitchens around the world. The kids always did their homework at the kitchen table with hot cups of cocoa. Now they huddled in their rooms with the doors shut.
Nothing was working out the way it was supposed to. A chill ran up Kristine’s arm just as the kettle whistled. At the same moment the kettle shot off its plume of steam, the phone rang and the mailman tooted twice. Kris burst into tears while she struggled with the gas burner. She managed to pick up the phone and to say hello in a garbled voice she didn’t recognize as her own.
“Kristine, it’s Aaron Dunwoodie. You sound strange. Is everything all right?”
“Everything is fine, Aaron,” she lied. “I think I might be coming down with a cold. What can I do for you today?”
“I’d like you to come into the bank tomorrow if possible. I’ll be free all morning.”
“Is something wrong?”
“I believe so. I don’t like to discuss business over the phone. How does ten o’clock sound?”
“It’s fine, Aaron. I’ll be there. Do I need to bring anything?”
“Bring whatever Logan sent home with you. All the account information and your bankbooks.”
“All right. I’ll see you at ten.”
“Perhaps we should make it nine instead. There’s a snow advisory tomorrow for midday. These weather people never get it right. Yes, nine is good.”
“Then nine it is.”
Kristine hung up the phone, a frown building on her face. What exactly did Aaron mean when he said bring everything Logan gave her? Logan hadn’t given her anything. She shrugged. Right now she had more important things on her mind. She beelined for the door, shrugging into her jacket as she raced out to the mailbox. She wanted to howl her misery as she withdrew two catalogs and a bill from Reynolds Propane. She slammed the door of the mailbox so hard it flopped open again. She gave the post a kick as she clicked the metal door to the fastener. “Well, I’ve had enough of this!” she stormed as she raced to the house to get out of the cold. Aaron was right about the snow. It felt like snow right now. She looked upward at the gray scudding clouds. She didn’t need a weatherman to tell her it would snow before the day was over. If she was going to go into town tomorrow, she had to find her father’s old set of chains in case the roads weren’t plowed. She also needed to gather some evergreen branches to make a new centerpiece. Later. Everything these days was always later. She also needed to think about making something for dinner, something that didn’t come out of a box.
Back in the kitchen, Kristine sat down on the raised hearth, the searing heat warming her back and neck. She hated crying like this, but she couldn’t seem to help herself. Something was wrong. Logan should have been here by now. Morbid thoughts ricocheted inside her head as she sought for reasons why her husband was four days late in returning to the States. Did he have an accident? Was there one last mission? The thought was so stupid she bit down on her lower lip. Logan had never gone on a mission in his entire military career. Amnesia was a possibility. A plane crash. There had been nothing on the news. He stayed longer than intended to party with some of his fellow officers, most of whom he would never see again. That must be it. Maybe he simply lost track of time, missed his flight, and had to wait for a reservation to open up. He would pop in anytime now shouting, “Surprise!” at the top of his lungs.
It wasn’t going to happen. She didn’t know how she knew, she just knew. Woman’s intuition along with good old gut instinct.
“I’ve had enough of this,” she muttered. Within minutes she had what she called her global address book in hand. Upstairs she had three more just like it, each page filled with names, addresses, and little notes about the people she’d met during twenty years in the military. She flipped the pages to the section marked Germany, running her fingers down the list until she located the names she wanted. As she dialed the country code, she calculated the time difference in her mind. Not that she cared one way or the other.
The chaplain’s voice was somber-sounding to her ears. Did she interrupt his prayers? “Tom, it’s Kristine Kelly. How are you? Shivering! It’s very cold here in Virginia, too. It is December. I understand the weatherman has predicted snow for tomorrow. Get on with it, Kristine, ask him. Stop with the small talk. Tom, Logan is three days late. Do you happen to know if he was detained for some reason? Mail is so slow at this time of year and our phone system is not the best way out here in the country.”
“As far as I know Logan left on schedule, Kristine. There was the usual round of parties, gag gifts, hoots, and hollers. It was my understanding that Captain Dellwood drove him to the airport. Logan did come by the night before he left to say good-bye. We had a beer and talked for about an hour. It was my impression he was flying straight into Dulles. I wish I could be of more help. I can call around to see if there was a change in plans and call you if I find out anything.”
“I would appreciate it, Tom. I’m worried. This is not like Logan. He’s only called once and sent one letter. The kids are as jittery as I am. Logan is not a thoughtless, inconsiderate person. I think you know that, Tom.”
“Yes, I do know that. Like I said, I’ll check around and get back to you. I’m sure there was a glitch along the way. It’s possible he’s stranded somewhere. The weather here has not been good.”
Kristine’s voice was tortured when she said, “Tom, you don’t think anything happened to him, do you?”
“Kristine, you would have heard by now if something had happened. I’m sure it’s nothing more than a mixup somewhere along the line. I’ll call when I know something. Say hello to the children for me.”
“I will. Thanks, Tom. You’ve been a wonderful friend to this family. Don’t eat too much plum pudding this year. Merry Christmas.”
“I need to do something with this kitchen before Logan gets home,” Kristine muttered. Somewhere in the storage room there were boxes and boxes of fabric she’d purchased over the years in all the foreign ports they’d stopped at. If she hauled out her sewing machine, she could whip up a new set of curtains, make cushion covers for the chairs and the rocker that sat by the fire, and even make some new holiday place mats. If she really wanted to be creative, she could glue some fabric on the pull-down shades on both kitchen doors. If she wanted to, she could go outside and gather armfuls of evergreens to put in clay pots. A colorful ribbon around the crock would add a festive touch. If she hurried, she could have it all done by the time the kids got home from school at four o’clock. If she wanted to. The only problem was, she didn’t want to. She wanted to sit here at the table sucking her thumb while she pretended nothing was wrong.
Dellwood. Kristine squeezed her eyes shut to try and get a mental picture of the captain. When the captain’s likeness failed to materialize, she opened her eyes. Maybe the captain was new to the base. Was he in the directory?
Stapled to the last page of her address book was the latest list of new as well as old officers living on base. Her friend Sadie Meyers had handed her the list the day before she left, saying, “In case you want to get in touch with any of us.” A smile tugged at the corners of Kristine’s mouth. Trust Sadie to put the list in alphabetical order. She ran her finger down the list and there he was, Captain Laurence Dellwood.
Kristine didn’t stop to think. She dialed the number opposite the captain’s name. The words hurtled from her mouth, the moment the captain identified himself. She ended with a rush saying, “I’m sure you understand how worried we are. Can you tell me anything, Captain? Was there a mixup? Did Logan’s flight get canceled?”
“Ma’am, as far as I know, Colonel Kelly boarded his flight with ten minutes to spare. I saw him checking his ticket en route to the airport, and he said he had a straight through flight to Dulles. He said he couldn’t wait to get home, and this was going to be the best Christmas ever. Did you check with Dulles, Mrs. Kelly?”
“No. No, I didn’t, but I will when I hang up. I don’t suppose you know his flight number.”
“The colonel said he was flying Lufthansa, with one stop somewhere, but I can’t remember where it was, ma‘am. I’m sorry. The colonel’s flight left at 0600 hours December 15. He said he would probably be drinking coffee while he stared at his Christmas tree on December 16, all the while marveling at the fact that he was a civilian again. He wished me luck with my tour, shook my hand, said ‘Merry Christmas, Captain,’ and then he was gone. That’s all I know, ma’am.”
Kristine felt a wave of dizziness wash over her. “What about his luggage, Captain?”
“Luggage?”
“Yes, what happened to it?”
“The colonel didn’t have any luggage, ma’am, just a small flight bag. I assumed everything else had been shipped.”
“I see.” Damn, she didn’t see at all. “Thank you, Captain. Have a nice holiday.”
In a near trance, Kristine paced the kitchen. Logan had left Germany on schedule. Where in the name of God was he? Something was wrong? “My God!” she cried, Logan could be buried in a ditch somewhere, and I’ll never know. Oh, God, Oh, God! She was going to do something. What? Make coffee? Tea? A centerpiece for the kitchen table? Even a new wreath for the front door? She was going to do some sewing. The middle of the huge bare table made her flinch. No, no, no, she wasn’t going to do any of those things. She was going to call Dulles Airport.
Fifteen minutes later, Kristine slammed the phone down in disgust. Civilian passenger information was sacrosanct. Maybe she could call the airline in Germany. She placed the call and switched to German when she spoke. The result was the same. Lufthansa did not divulge passenger information. Now what was she supposed to do? Make coffee, create a new centerpiece for the kitchen table like a good little wife, write another letter she would never get to mail.
All of the above if she wanted to keep her sanity. Like hell! The phone found its way back to her hand. Her first call was to her friend Sadie in Germany. When she heard her friend’s cheerful voice on the other end of the phone the tenseness between her shoulder blades lessened. The moment she wound down from her spiel, she asked, “Do you know anything, Sadie? Did you and Jim go to Logan’s going-away party?”
“It was one of those guy only things. Don’t get riled up now. It was held in the Officers’ Club and aside from some risque entertainment, everyone left alone. Logan stayed here that night in the spare bedroom. I think you’re overreacting, Kris. He could have missed his stopover flight.
“Just wait, he’ll waltz in like nothing happened, his arms full of presents. That’s Logan, Mr. Showman himself. Stop worrying. When did you become so neurotic and paranoid?”
“Four days ago, that’s when. I’m going to call the American Consulate and have them check it out. Maybe the airline will give them the information. Four days is a long time, Sadie.”
“I think you’re worrying needlessly. And you’re running up your phone bill at the same time. Kick back, relax, and get the house ready for the holidays. You are Mrs. Christmas herself. You need to go by the book, Kristine. Military wives do not buckle under pressure. We measure up!”
“I’m not in the military anymore, Sadie. My measuring-up days are long gone. I did decorate,” she said, her voice sounding defensive.
“An old Virginia farmhouse. It must have tons of character. Did you bake cookies and streusel?”
“Of course,” Kristine fibbed. She didn’t even have any flour. How could she bake?
“How are the kids?”
“Testy. They don’t like it here. They haven’t made really good friends yet. Their educations are too advanced for the school system here. The twins could really have skipped this last year and gone straight to their sophomore year at college. The paperwork was mind-boggling. Logan did some of it back in August. but I can’t find it. The kids are upset over that, too. I think they all sleep through their classes. There is a possibility Logan can get them registered for the next semester if he can come up with the paperwork.”
Sadie asked, her voice sharp and blunt, “Why are you waiting for Logan? That’s a mother’s job.”
“Goddamn it, Sadie, I’ve been waiting for Logan. I unpacked everything, and there is no box with college papers or anything else. I can’t pull it out of thin air, can I?”
“You always said your family was your top priority, Kris. I’m trying to figure out what’s wrong here. You sound to me like you’re teetering on the edge. The Kristine Kelly I’ve known for fifteen years is not an insecure twit. The kids must know what Logan did on their behalf. You said Mike was going to VMI and Cala was going to Georgetown. Start there. Call the damn schools, for God’s sake.”
“It’s Christmas recess right now. I’ll do it the first of the year.” It wasn’t an admission that Logan wasn’t coming back. It truly wasn’t.
“I’ve never heard you like this,” Sadie said. “What’s really bothering you?”
Kristine sighed. “The not knowing. If Logan called and said he couldn’t make it home until Easter, that would be fine. I could handle that. It’s the not knowing, the worry. What it something did happen, Sadie?”
“If something happened, you would have heard by now. When he does get home, I’d kick his butt all the way to the state line. That’s if he was my husband. My suggestion to you is shift into neutral, have some intense dialogue with the kids, call the colleges. At least leave your name. I’m sure there’s a skeleton staff in Admissions to take down your information. Then go Christmas shopping. You need to be a good little soldier and . . .”
“I’m going to hang up now, Sadie, before I say something I’ll regret later on. It was nice talking to you. Say hello to Jim. Have a wonderful holiday.”
Kristine broke the connection so she wouldn’t have to hear her friend’s reply. What did Sadie know? Everyone in the whole world knew Sadie Meyers never had a serious thought in her entire life.
Kick back, shift into neutral, relax. Easy to say. Not easy to do. It was just that she loved Logan so much. Sometimes in her secret thoughts she realized her love was sickly obsessive. If something happened to Logan, she wouldn’t be able to go on. She would want to die, too. Life without Logan was unthinkable.
She needed to do something, and she needed to do it now before she fell apart. She was a whirlwind then as she raced about the old farmhouse, dragging out her sewing machine, rummaging in the packing boxes for material. The old treadle Almost smoking, she whipped up new curtains, seat cushions, and place mats. She used up another thirty minutes ironing everything and hanging the curtains, then carried bundles of evergreens into the house to make arrangements, wreaths, and, finally, the centerpiece for the kitchen table. Her hands covered with the pungent resin, Kris stood back to survey her efforts. Next she carried the huge clay pots with their bright red bows and fragrant evergreens all over the house. In a matter of minutes the scent from the greens filled the house. She inhaled deeply. Two jobs down. Energy seemed to ooze from her pores as she nestled a fat red bayberry candle in the middle of the new centerpiece she’d created.
Kris turned on the oven. A pie was in order. The kids wouldn’t care if it was a Mrs. Smith’s deep dish apple pie or not. She slapped a rump roast into a baking pan, seasoned it, peeled potatoes and carrots. The house was going to smell heavenly when the kids came in from school. She dusted her hands dramatically as she walked from room to room. The corner of the living room had been cleared earlier to allow for the Christmas tree. The boxes of decorations waited next to the tree stand. There would be an hour of daylight when the kids got home, just enough time to cut down a tree from the back of the property. Tomorrow after her meeting with Aaron Dunwoodie, she would go Christmas shopping and do some extensive grocery shopping. She also needed to plan a Christmas dinner and do some baking. She’d bring home Chinese and it would be almost like old times. The key to everything was keeping busy.
Now it was time for a cup of coffee, coffee she would actually drink while it was hot. She needed to think about Aaron Dunwoodie and what it was he expected her to bring to the bank. Later this evening, after the tree was up and decorated and the kids were settled, she would go to the storage room and look through the boxes again to make sure she hadn’t missed whatever it was Dunwoodie wanted.
Plump, lacy snowflakes dotted the windshield of the Chevy station wagon as Kristine pulled into a wide parking space outside the Virginia National Bank. It didn’t look the way it had when she was a child going to the bank with her parents on Friday mornings. The huge columns were now pristine white, complementing the pale pink of the brick building. She decided she liked the crisscross-paned doors with the huge evergreen wreath. Long ago the building was smaller, dingier, and the columns were a dirty beige color. “Progress,” she murmured as she opened the door that led into a luxurious lobby. She had an immediate impression of wealth with all the polished brass, thick carpeting, and elegant window treatments. The furniture was heavy but comfortable-looking, the desks polished cherry wood. Even the staff looked affluent. A floor-to-ceiling Douglas fir sat in the center of the lobby, silver gift-wrapped packages with huge red bows underneath. Everywhere she looked there were bright red poinsettias in silver and gold pots. It all looked and smelled wonderful. She untied the thick wool scarf around her neck as she made her way to the first desk across from the elegant-looking Christmas tree. “I have an appointment with Aaron Dunwoodie at nine o’clock,” she said to the woman behind the desk.
“Mr. Dunwoodie is expecting you, Mrs. Kelly. Go around the corner, and he’s the last office on the right side.”
He was a pleasant, good-looking man, Kristine decided as she shook hands with the banker before slipping out of her coat. She didn’t remember him at all. He must be two or three years older than I, she thought. Obviously, he’d stepped into the banking business when his parents retired. She suspected he looked older than his age. Possibly because of the stress of taking care of other people’s money.
“Did you bring your records, Kristine?”
“I didn’t have any records to bring, Mr. Dunwoodie. Logan always kept everything in a big brown accordion-pleated envelope. I remember seeing it at one point, but moving was so hectic. I just assumed Logan had it because it wasn’t sent with our belongings. The only thing I can think of is he’s bringing it with him because he didn’t trust it with the movers.”
The banker leaned back in his burgundy chair, a frown on his face. “When do you expect your husband, Kristine?”
“He’s four days late, five if you count today. Something must have gone awry with his plane reservation. You look... you look like something is wrong.”
“Something is wrong. Your account here is carrying a debit balance. How do you plan to clear that up?” While his tone was conversational, it scared Kristine.
“I don’t understand. Logan opened a checking account here months ago, back in the summer if I remember correctly. I signed the papers in July to the best of my recollection. Logan sent enough money to cover the cost of the car and enough to carry us for six months. He said it would take a while to transfer everything back to the States and to do all the paperwork for his pension. Are you telling me the monies never arrived?”
“Some monies arrived, but you’ve used them all up. It was my understanding the trust monies from your parents would be relayed back here. I had a long conversation with your husband in the early part of October. He said that in November a portion of the trust would be wired here. He even gave me the routing numbers. The remainder of the trust would then automatically go into that new account in December. The November amount was never wired. I checked with the Swiss bank, and no wire transfer was ever executed. There are no monies in that account nor have there been since February of last year. Your husband led me to believe the trust account was quite robust.”
Kristine’s heart thumped in her chest. “Mr. Dunwoodie, at last count, Logan told me we had close to eight million dollars in the trust account. Where is it?” The panic in her voice was palpable.
“I don’t know, Mrs. Kelly. I was hoping you could shed some light on the matter. It is never wise to have just one name on an account.” Mrs. Kelly. First it was Kristine and now it’s Mrs. Kelly. Kristine’s heart continued to thump.
“My name was on the account, Mr. Dunwoodie. I’ve seen the statements. Perhaps Logan changed banks for better interest rates. I suppose it’s possible, but unlikely, that he would have put it in a Swiss numbered account. I don’t even know why I’m saying that.”
“Did you see any bank statements since last February?”
“The last one I saw was in January, when we filed our taxes. Logan commented on how nicely the account had grown over the years. We rarely touched it. I was frugal, and we lived on Logan’s pay and my monthly checks. I was even able to save from my budget. It was a small account, seven or eight thousand dollars. It was in a separate account that we called our excess money. So you see, I don’t understand why you’re telling me I’m carrying a debit, or are you saying that account didn’t make it to this bank either?”
“That’s what I’m saying, Mrs. Kelly.”
Mrs. kelly again. Kristine thought she would black out any second. “Is it lost?” Any minute now she was going to burst into tears.
“Banks do not lose money, Mrs. Kelly. In order to lose something, you have to have it in hand first. We never had it in hand. Therefore, we did not lose it. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“No, Mr. Dunwoodie, I do not understand. What I do understand is that you are implying something here that isn’t sitting well with me. When is the next trust payment due?”
“The first of January.”
“And where will that go?”
“Right here, into an account at this bank. I have a form for you to sign. However, you cannot write any more checks on the account until that time.”
Kristine took a deep breath. “If I’m overdrawn, how can I get through the holidays? I need to do some Christmas shopping and buy some groceries. Can’t the bank lend me some money until January first? Ten or eleven days isn’t much time if you know you can debit the account on the first day of January. Logan will be home any day now and will straighten things out. I know my husband, Mr. Dunwoodie. He’s going to be very angry when he hears about this. He won’t want to bank here any longer if you don’t help me.”
“I didn’t say I wouldn’t help you, Mrs. Kelly. I’m more than willing to give you an advance to get you through the holidays. I am simply looking at the broad picture here. I want to know, as you should want to know, where the eight million dollars in your trust account is. If I didn’t ask these questions, I would not be respecting your parents’ last wishes. That money was entrusted to you, Kristine. Which brings up another point. Why did you give your husband your power of attorney?”
“I gave my husband my power of attorney because he is my husband. He managed the account very well. The money almost doubled.”
“What good is that going to do you if you don’t have it?”
Kristine threw her hands up in the air. “I can’t tell you something I don’t know. All I can do is go through the unpacked boxes again and wait for Logan to get home. Do you . . . do you think . . . think Logan ran away with the money? My God! That is what you think, isn’t it?”
“I said no such thing, Mrs. Kelly. Put yourself in my place. Your parents placed their trust in this bank and in my father, who, when he retired, placed that same trust in my hands. I have obeyed the letter of the banking laws we are forced to live by. How well do you know your husband?” he asked coolly.
“God in heaven! We’ve been married for twenty years! I know him as well as I know myself. I hope that satisfies you. I do not like your tone or what you’re trying to imply. Now, I’d like five hundred dollars, please.”
“I’ll call out to the head teller. I assume you want cash.”
“Cash will be just fine.”
“Mrs. Kelly, what will you do if the eight million dollars never arrives?”
She was starting to hate the sound of her own name. “I don’t have one damn clue as to what I’ll do. And from here on in you would be wise to keep your insinuations to yourself, or I’ll be banking somewhere else.”
“Your father told my father he didn’t like Logan Kelly. My father thought I should know that when he passed your account over to me.”
“That’s a bald-faced lie if I ever heard one,” Kristine said, her voice rising dangerously. “Both my parents adored Logan. How dare you say something like that to me! How dare you!”
“It’s not a lie. Here, read this. It’s a letter your father gave to my father at the time the trust was set up twenty-five years ago. You can apologize to me later. I have a meeting, and I’m late. Good-bye, Mrs. Kelly. Have a nice holiday.”
Kristine recognized her father’s handwriting. She also recognized both parents’ signatures at the bottom of the letter. It was a photocopy, but readable. No doubt the original was locked up in the bank vault somewhere. She read the letter twice before she crumpled it into a ball to toss across the room. Tears streaming down her cheeks, she fled the office. It wasn’t until she was in the car with the engine running that she remembered she hadn’t gone to the teller for the five hundred dollars. She blew her nose lustily as she cursed under her breath. Ten minutes later she was back in the car. Until that moment she hadn’t noticed how much snow was on the ground. Damn. Now what was she supposed to do? If she spent a few more hours in town shopping, would she be able to make it home without chains or should she make a stop at the first gas station she came to and buy new ones? She opted for new chains. She was back on the road in thirty minutes. Her second stop was at a shoe store, where she bought a pair of rubber boots. There was no way she was going to give any credence to what Aaron Dunwoodie said or implied. She was never, ever, going to think about the letter her parents wrote either. She had groceries and Christmas presents to buy, and that’s what she was going to do. When she got home, she was going to make a big pot of stew and bake an angel food cake. One-pot meals were perfect for eating off trays in front of the television. The extra plus would be the twinkling lights on the Christmas tree. The kids would love it. Then again, maybe they wouldn’t. Lately it seemed like she knew nothing about her three children.
“I hate your guts, Aaron Dunwoodie,” Kristine snarled as she parked the car outside the department store. “I will never forgive you for your ugly thoughts about my husband.”
Kristine continued to mutter to herself as she walked up and down the aisles of the department store until she saw people staring at her. She clamped her lips shut as she squared her shoulders. She was here to buy Christmas presents, and that was exactly what she was going to do.