The morning sun seeped through the clouds but failed to warm the misty air. Cora pulled her jacket tighter around her frame and sped up. By the time she arrived at Broadcasting House, her cheeks and hands tingled from the chilly breeze. She shivered as she yanked open the door and hurried inside.
Would Van be upstairs?
Cora pressed her fingers to her lips, remembering the feel of his mouth on hers. Soft, yet firm. She’d lost herself in the moment, Brian a distant memory. As a widow, she certainly wasn’t innocent in the ways of men and women, but somehow her relationship with Van felt young and fresh and…exciting. If what they had could even be called a relationship.
What did they have?
She’d played along when he seemed distraught over what he deemed to be a mistake. His embarrassment was palpable, and he apologized six ways from Sunday as her sister Emily would say. She didn’t want to embarrass him further by letting on that the kiss had affected her.
Conversation filled the entryway as she headed toward the stairs. More time to think about what happened than if she rode the elevator. She gripped the railing and trudged up the steps.
Only weeks ago, Van’s presence set her teeth on edge. He’d been arrogant and condescending. And then he wasn’t. He’d apologized. Again. And again. Slowly, his behavior changed to one of acceptance then friendship. His teasing was brotherly, almost as if they were schoolkids, and he was dipping her pigtails in the inkwell.
His intelligence was alluring. He challenged her with his questions and ideas, making her think hard to come up with answers and rebuttals. She relished the opportunities to spar with the handsome reporter.
Brian had been good looking, but Van was movie-star gorgeous. Standing just over six feet, his broad shoulders made him seem taller. He walked with assurance, and his dark-blue eyes missed nothing. He should have been a detective. Criminals would give up as soon as they saw him coming.
Cora chuckled to herself as her imagination ran away with itself. Since when did she act the part of the simpering fan? Was her behavior a result of being far from family in a foreign country where no one knew her? She could do or be whatever she wanted to be. Totally reinvent herself. Had she already transformed herself?
Maybe the war was changing her. She certainly wasn’t the first woman to be impacted by the conflict. She shook her head. The war was blamed for everything, good and bad. Sure, she was different. Brian’s death. Moving back home. Taking the job overseas. Meeting Van.
Her palms moistened. Her thoughts had come full circle.
“Don’t be daft, girl. Get a move on. You’ve got work to do.” She hurried up the stairs, the soles of her shoes slapped against the treads. “Enough introspection. One kiss. No big deal.”
She pushed open the door, her breath coming in ragged bursts. “A little more exercise would do you well. Winded after three flights. For shame.”
“Talking to yourself, Strealer? That doesn’t bode well.” Van’s voice brought her up short.
Heart thudding in her chest, she pinned a smile on her face and turned. The resident hummingbirds had taken flight in her stomach, so she pressed her hand against her middle to quiet the buzz. No good. The pesky birds continue to fly. So much for no big deal, but she could act the sophisticate. She had to. “Hey, I’m the smartest person I know.”
His head tipped back, and he laughed. Long and hard.
Drawn in by his response, her smile widened into genuine amusement, then she giggled. Then joined him in laughter.
The other reporters stared at them, some in confusion, others in obvious delight.
Van’s laughter finally slowed then ceased altogether. He mopped his eyes with his handkerchief then returned the hanky to his pocket. A grin still on his lips, he said, “I do admire your pluck, young lady. And you’re right. You are the smartest person you know, me included.”
Cora ducked her head. She might try to play the worldly wise woman, and maybe she wasn’t a total yokel, but deep down, she was a small-town girl at heart. Community events, family dinners, and school football games were her cup of tea. She had never learned how to handle the machinations of others, which is probably why she fell prey to Myrtle’s deception.
Could she trust Van not to trifle with her heart? Thus far, he’d proven himself trustworthy, but her sweating palms and skittering pulse combined with the memory of their kiss challenged her ability to think when he was around. To discern what he was about.
“Are you okay, Cora?” Concern creased Van’s forehead. “You seem to be having an argument with yourself. Anything I can do?”
Her face warmed. Now, he’d really wonder about her sanity. “Yeah. Fine. Shouldn’t we get started? We need to talk about possibilities for our next story.”
His eyes shuttered, and he gestured to a small table in the corner, away from the typewriters. “Sure. We’ve already talked about a couple, but I’ve got some additional ideas.”
She pulled her pocketbook close. Had he really expected her to share what she’d been thinking? He’d seen her at her worst. Perhaps she had nothing to lose. “Uh, I was bickering with myself. Embarrassed to be caught at it.”
The clouds cleared from his gaze, and he chuckled. “Nothing to be ashamed of. I do it all the time.” He pulled out a chair for her. “Okay, let the creativity begin.”
Dropping into the seat, she pulled out her steno pad. “I jotted down some thoughts, too. Maybe we’ll get more than one feasible story.” She sent him a smug look. “As smart as we both are…”
He grinned.
Her heart flip-flopped. She might as well give up now. His kindness and gentle teasing, along with his steadfast faith and breathtaking good looks were like nothing she’d ever experienced. Even with Brian. Van had worked his way into her heart and would take a piece with him when they separated. She pressed her lips together to stem the trembling.
a
Van settled in the chair next to Cora, the heady scent of her shampoo filling his nose. He blinked and spread his pages on the table. If he couldn’t school his emotions, they’d never get anything done. She was alternately staid and sassy, and he enjoyed both sides of her personality. Whether he liked it or not, he was beginning to care a great deal about his spunky partner. Were his feelings as strong as he’d insinuated to Miss O’Malley?
He cleared his throat. Focus, man.
“Yes?” Cora looked up from her notes, eyes wide. “Did I miss something?”
“No. The cigarette smoke is…uh…getting to me. My throat is dry.” He gestured to her pages. “Whatcha got?”
“I wrote down the ideas we mentioned while researching our other pieces: how crime has changed during wartime and the impact of schools being closed for lack of teachers. I also thought of exploring stories of neighbors helping neighbors during the war, in big ways and small. Sort of a home-front version of Ernie Pyle’s columns.”
“People like seeing their names in the paper. Now that the end of the war is in sight we could ask people what their plans are. Could be tricky depending on who we ask. Widows and parents who’ve lost their kids may not have considered the future.”
Cora frowned and picked at the edge of the paper. “Most haven’t. The focus is on getting through each day, one step at a time. An hour is as much future as some people can handle.” Her eyes moistened, and she blinked rapidly. “For the first six months after Brian passed, rising and getting dressed were my only goals each day.”
Her eyes took on the distant gaze of nostalgia. “My folks must have contacted my former boss because he showed up at the house one day and offered me a job. Pushed me into it, really. I turned him down, but he wouldn’t take no for an answer. In fact, he came armed with an assignment.” A dry laugh punctuated her words. “A four-hundred-word piece on the town manager’s wedding. Not exactly Pulitzer Prize-winning material, but doing the article reminded me that I loved to write. Anyway, the piece must have been halfway decent because he gave me two more assignments, and I slowly crawled back into the land of the living.”
Van touched the back of her hand. “I’m sure your work was much better than you’re giving yourself credit for.” He gave himself a mental slap. He’d brought up widows, ripping the bandage off her grief. How callous. She didn’t seem offended that he’d reminded her of her loss, but he’d made her sad.
“Possibly.” She shrugged. “Enough about me. What ideas did you bring?”
The look of dejection on her face clawed at his heart. “Women. We could do an entire series of articles on women. You’ve been a testament to the tenacity, strength, and perseverance of your gender. Until you came into my life, I hadn’t given thought to what it would be like to live in a society that treated me like a second-class citizen. To have to push to be heard and valued. Yet since the beginning of this war, women have leapt into every nook and cranny to support the effort. And proven themselves every bit as capable as men.”
With a dismissive wave, she shook her head. “How gallant of you to say, but to focus on only half the population doesn’t make for good press. Besides, for generations men have been raised to provide and protect us. We can’t expect that belief system to change overnight, or even in a handful of years. As men are exposed to our abilities, attitudes will change.”
“But will you and I live to see it?” He leaned forward, inches from her face. “How long will women be stuck having to live with daddy or marry someone they don’t love to be taken care of? Doesn’t seem fair.”
An errant strand of hair fell across her cheek, and she tucked it behind her ear while giving him a wry smile. “Since when is life fair?”
“Rarely.” With a deep breath, he reached for her hand and cradled her warm palm in his. “You returned home, but wouldn’t you rather marry again? Or will you try to make it on your own, you know, since you do have a career?”
For a long moment, neither of them said anything.
He repressed the urge to withdraw his hand. She didn’t seem upset by his questions, but she hadn’t responded either. His stomach clenched. How would she answer?
Finally, when he could stand it no longer, she looked up, mouth set in a slash. “Honestly? The thought of marrying again terrifies me. I barely remember what being married was like. We spent more time apart than together. I’m not convinced I have what it takes for a successful marriage.”
“Why would you say that? You’re intelligent, loving, and kind. You would be a wonderful wife. But what specifically scares you?”
Her mouth worked, but no words came out. She tried to pull away, but he clung to her hand. “Not so fast, Strealer. We’ve started down this road. Let’s finish the journey. You’re safe with me.”
“I am, aren’t I, Toppel?” Relief swept over her expression. “Okay, I know I’m young, and countless friends and relatives who meant well said I should find someone and settle down, but I wonder if I’m being disloyal to Brian. To his memory. He died in service to his country. Should I honor that?”
“By remaining single?” Van cocked his head. “I’m not following your logic.”
“We would still be married if it weren’t for the war, and he gave up our lives together so he could serve.”
“Millions of guys did that. Are still doing it. Do you think all widows should remain unmarried for the sake of loyalty?”
“I guess not, but when I think of dating, my heart freezes up, and Brian’s face comes to mind, like he’s watching me. Is his presence telling me something? Maybe he’s saying I need to remember him.”
“Whew. Those are some heavy thoughts.” Van raked his fingers through his hair and slumped against the chair. “I can’t tell you what to do, but you need to think about what you would tell Brian if you had died first. Would you expect him to stay single? Consider that, and you’ll have the answer for yourself.”
Myriad emotions played through her eyes. Wonder. Confusion. Regret. Then a glimmer of hope followed by doubt.
He sighed. What would she decide? Could he be content as her friend if she chose to eschew marriage in honor of her husband’s memory?