3

HUNCHED OVER THE steering wheel, Carena tried to see through the windshield as the wipers struggled courageously against the rain. When she pulled into the dark garage, she relaxed and turned off the headlights and motor. She rattled down the overhead garage door and, head bent, sloshed through the driving rain toward the house. From the corner of her eye, she caught movement inside the lighted screened porch but before she could gather her wits, the screen door opened and a man in a ski jacket trotted, loose-jointed, down the steps. In the dark, he looked huge.

“Michael?” She was taken by surprise that this large person was her son. When had he gotten so adult?

“Where have you been? I’m going to have to speak to you about staying out so late. Irresponsible parent. Now you listen to me. There’s no reason why you can’t let me know—”

She hugged him and he squeezed her tightly, lifting her off her feet.

“And furthermore—”

Vigorously, she rubbed the top of his blond curls with her knuckles. He released her and, one arm over her shoulder, shepherded her inside.

“When did you get here?”

“An hour ago.” Shrugging off his jacket, he tossed it over the back of a chair.

She picked it up and hung it along with her own on hangers over the bathtub, then replaced her wet shoes with down booties and went back to the kitchen. “How’s everything in Boulder? Classes okay?”

“Great.” Michael, in white sweatshirt with University of Colorado printed on it, sprawled in a chair, stretched his long blue-jean-clad legs halfway under the table. “Anything to eat? I’m starving.”

Of course, starving; some things never change. “That could be a problem.” Opening the refrigerator door, she peered at almost bare shelves; block of cheese, half a loaf of stale bread, several limp carrots, eggs, orange juice, a jar with one dill pickle, a carton of milk.

She lifted the carton and shook it to judge how much was left. “Scrambled eggs?”

“Yeah.” He chose an apple from the bowl on the table and bit into it with a juicy crunch. “Where you been?”

“Driving around.” She turned the burner on under the skillet and cracked eggs into a bowl.

“It’s after midnight.”

“I had some thinking to do.” With a fork, she whipped the eggs, crumbled in some cheese and added a dash of milk.

“Want to tell me about it? Now that I’ve had Psych One I know all about that stuff.”

“Thanks, but I’ll just muddle through on my own. What are you doing here?” She got out toaster and bread and poured eggs into the hot skillet.

“My roommate—Rich, you remember Rich? He has this girl in Kansas City and he was overcome with love and longing. Since he doesn’t have a car, he offered to pay for gas if I’d drive.”

“Why didn’t you let me know you were coming?”

“Spur of the moment. When love strikes, you can’t wait around. Besides, I thought I’d surprise you.”

“It’s a lovely surprise.” She set a steaming mound of scrambled eggs in front of him and kissed his forehead, this large blond son, then sat across from him and sipped reheated peppermint tea. “So, tell me what you’ve been up to.”

He bit off a corner of toast, chewed and swallowed. “Well, I met this weird chick.”

“Michael! Young women are not chicks.”

He grinned. “Just checking to see if you’re paying attention. Anyway, this young woman is weird. Kind of intense. She asked all these questions.”

“What about?”

“Me. You. The family.” He waved his fork. “Just questions.”

“Maybe she likes you.”

“Natch.” He gave her a cocky look from under lowered lashes, and chased the last of the eggs around on the plate and scooped them up. “She has an attitude.” He chewed and swallowed. “Like she knows something I don’t. You know, the way you might if you knew what somebody was getting for a birthday present and he didn’t.”

Oh no. No. Couldn’t be. Carena sipped tea. “What’s her name?”

“Lynnelle.”

Carena choked and coughed.

He whacked her, almost fatally, on the back. “You all right?”

“Fine,” she wheezed. “Where did you meet her?”

He shrugged. “Around. You know, on campus. In the book store. Once at a party. In the Union. Seemed like everywhere I went, there she was.”

He pushed himself upright and ambled to the refrigerator, refilled his glass with orange juice and stuck bread in the toaster. “After a while she disappeared and then I got letters. I mean, I barely know her and there’s these letters. Can you believe it?” He flopped into the chair and hooked an elbow over the back. “Turns out she’s living here. Isn’t that weird?”

Not weird. It explained how Lynnelle had found her. How had she found Michael?

“You ever meet her?” The toast popped and he leaped up to snatch it and slather on butter, giving her a moment of reprieve.

Even though she didn’t believe in keeping secrets from her child, always felt he had a right to know what was happening in his world, she’d kept this one. Her own parents had operated under the attitude the less the children knew, the better; that way led to confusion, anxiety and unwarranted guilt. For a moment, she was tempted to explain, then put the thought out of her mind. Too soon, too many random variables. “What did the letters say?”

“Oh, you know. Stuff.” He brought the plate back to the table and sat down. “About this job. Boring, but it’s money. About this place. Small town, different. Finding out stuff about people.” He washed down toast with a slug of orange juice. “I think she likes knowing things about people. Makes her feel important or something. And something about somebody she was scared of.”

“Who?”

He shrugged. “Who knows. Like I said, she’s kinda weird and— I don’t know, something about her interests me.”

Oh dear Lord. “You plan to look her up?”

“I already tried. Since you weren’t home.” He eyed her with mock reproach. “Thought I’d never find the place. It’s way out somewhere. Shacky house. Woods. Hansel and Gretel stuff.”

“You saw her?”

“Nah. A car was there, yellow VW, and a big dog I thought would probably tear my leg off, but she wasn’t. At least, she didn’t answer the door.” He pushed empty plates aside and leaned back.

“You plan to see her tomorrow?” Today really, it was already Sunday.

“No time. We have to head back for Boulder pretty early. I got a German exam on Monday. Next time I come.”

Oh thank you, God, a little time anyway.

*   *   *

After too few hours of sleep, she was again scrambling eggs and, with a brief thought for cholesterol, feeding her ravenous child. When he finished, he stuck two apples in his jacket pocket and she walked with him out to his car. Only youth would drive over five hundred and fifty miles from Boulder, Colorado, to Hampstead, Kansas, to spend a few hours with a girl. The rain had stopped, the clouds had thinned and it looked as though sunshine might be a possibility.

“Michael—” She was trying to think of some way to tell him he shouldn’t necessarily believe everything Lynnelle had said.

He looked at her, waited and grinned. “Again with the advice, Mom?”

She scowled at him. “You’re setting off on a journey. This is when mothers are supposed to give advice.”

“You already did that. When I left for school.” He drew himself up and spoke pompously. “‘Study hard, my son. Virtue is its own reward. Beware the dangers of bad companions and loose women, and don’t take any wooden nickels.’”

She smiled and patted his cheek rather sharply. “You know, I’d like you a lot better if you weren’t such a smartass. Wooden nickels, indeed.”

“You might as well forget it, Mom. Advice isn’t really your style.”

Probably not. She hugged him. “Take care of yourself, love.”

Drive carefully, she added to herself as she watched the car pull away. And don’t take any wooden nickels.

In the kitchen, she poured herself a fresh cup of coffee and sat down to drink it. Maybe the caffeine would help her figure out what to do when she went out to the Creighton place.