Chapter 13

After work the next day Josie changed clothes and carried her supplies next door. She’d thought enough about the found piece of fabric. Maybe whoever placed the envelope with her name under the door at This ’n That had placed it in the mailbox. Maybe that scrap had been in the mailbox a long time. Possible even, its resemblance to the missing scarf could be a coincidence. The thing was, she decided, a tiny piece of fabric in the mailbox posed no threat. She needed to get on with more pressing concerns.

LauraLee Allen guided her out to the pool deck where they sat with posters and paints.

“What a great job,” Josie said, watching LauraLee complete a poster. She had drawn one barrel holding only a little water. The other barrel held water up to its brim.

“Thanks.” With quick strokes, LauraLee drew bold words: FILL SOMEONE’S LIFE. DONATE YOUR ORGANS.

With a pleased smile, Josie began using markers to color in the letters. “I can’t believe how good you are at this.” Josie really had been surprised to learn of her neighbor’s talent in this area. She’d been more than pleased with LauraLee’s offer to help.

“Art,” LauraLee said. “One of my many classes. There was also bonsai, graphics, bread making, ceramics, and other things.”

“You make bread?” Josie had never seen a woman do that.

“No, but I recently learned how. I’ve learned many frivolous things. Smocking is all I really enjoy. The other classes just filled in time.”

“But you are so talented.”

LauraLee admired her handiwork. “And you are making me feel so worthwhile.”

“I can draw,” Josie said, “but only clothes. I’d love to be half as talented as you are.”

LauraLee clucked her tongue to brush off the tribute. She grabbed a new poster and sketched.

“You and your husband have helped so much.” Josie filled her paintbrush with blue letters. “Most of the business people Mr. Allen suggested told me they’d make a donation. They also said I could put posters up in their stores.”

“You see now.” LauraLee placed a hand on Josie’s. “So now you hit my husband up for a TV spot.”

“I couldn’t. He’s been so generous, but televisions costs so much.”

LauraLee’s blond waves flopped on her forehead with her nod. “Do it. He can afford it. And contributing will be good for him.” She squeezed Josie’s hand.

Television. The radio spots Josie had considered would only be reminders to people, short statements that might make a few individuals in their area consider donating their organs. But this? How many more people might television reach?

The idea filled her head. Josie dabbed a brush in the paint bucket and wiped extra blue inside its rim, imagining thousands of people seated in front of their TV sets watching…what?

Like a burst bubble, her imaginings halted. She couldn’t envision what those ads might display.

“But you’re so talented,” Josie’s earlier statement repeated. It was her voice, but she had said the words moments before, and she wasn’t speaking now.

LauraLee’s reply sounded again although her lips remained closed. “And you are making me feel so worthwhile.”

From behind nearby folded lawn chairs, children giggled.

Josie grinned. “When did you two come out here?”

Colin and Annie chuckled, squatting in their hiding place and playing more of their recorded conversation.

LauraLee shook her head. “Annie sure loves that recorder. I’m glad we finally found something she didn’t tire of after two days.”

Like a true artist, she held her poster at arm’s length. “You have to also see the blank space. In art, you don’t only see what you’re painting. You also look at what’s left.”

Colin scurried behind Annie, saying, “Now let’s go get your daddy.”

“Yeah.” Annie carried the recorder and a cola. Her cat darted away from them.

“Colin,” Josie called, “don’t drink any of those.”

LauraLee was drawing a young girl with her mother. “The kids play so well together.”

Josie watched the kids dart inside. Again she felt sorry to be the bearer of don’ts. “There are so many foods Colin can’t have. It’s hard to make him believe how dangerous they could be for him, even a cola.” Why did he have to be limited? Today he seemed so healthy and normal, exactly like every other child his age.

But he was the only one who needed a body part replaced if he was to live long enough to graduate with them.

“Did you hear about that man?” LauraLee asked, oblivious to Josie’s considerations.

“What man?”

“That killer. He used nylon rope to strange his victims.”

Josie shuddered. She peered at her neighbor. “Do you know Maurice very well?”

LauraLee held the marker beside her cheekbone. If she moved half an inch without thinking, her ruddy cheek would get blackened. “Not really.” She drew high heels on the woman. “His grandmother died right after we moved here. I only met her once, a real friendly lady.”

She glanced at Josie. “He was visiting you yesterday afternoon?”

“He returned Colin’s football.”

“Now you see? He’s probably as nice as his grandma.” LauraLee painted the woman’s purse.

Beyond her, motion from the sheer white curtains in their breakfast room garnered Josie’s attention. From inside the double glass doors, two men stared. Josie raised a hand in greeting. Randall Allen waved back. Otis Babineaux did not.

“How about your husband’s partner?” Josie didn’t turn her eyes from the doors.

LauraLee’s gaze followed Josie’s. “Now that is one strange person.” Still watching the pair, she whispered, “I wish Randall hadn’t felt the need for him. My husband has good business sense and makes good money, but he thought Otis’s experience with bridal stores would help him accomplish bigger goals. Now they’re always talking business.”

“His car still isn’t fixed?” Josie asked. “I didn’t see his car outside.”

LauraLee drew again. “His wife has it.”

Josie watched the sheer curtains drop.

Uneasy, she started to ask what kind of car Babineaux owned, but LauraLee cut off her question. She started talking nonstop about articles she’d read and what experts had to say about every topic.

Later in the evening, Andrew came to Josie’s house for dinner. He and Colin tossed a football. They played with plastic heroes and bad guys. Colin protested when Josie told him it was time to bathe.

Once he was finally asleep, she took the blue square of fabric from the drawer where she’d put it and showed Andrew. She told him about the scarf.

“Josie, you need to call the police.”

“I considered going to them,” she said. “But what’s my complaint? A missing scarf that might have slid out of my car when Colin got in or out of it?”

She clasped the light square of blue. “And this piece of material? Remember last year when some teenagers went joyriding and most of the mailboxes in our neighborhood were pulled down? A child might have put this in the box. I haven’t found Sylvie’s scarf, so it might not really be that similar.”

“You should check with the police anyway.”

Josie waved away the idea and turned the conversation to Johan and his loves. Content and secure at Andrew’s side, she didn’t want to entertain her fears about the piece of fabric any longer.

* * *

From the dark paneled office, Dr. Hanover’s client stared out the window at shifting ponderous gray clouds.

Like a punctuation mark between their strained silence, the man at the window spoke. “Might rain.”

“We aren’t here to speak of the weather, remember? And not for you to stare out there.” The doctor’s voice hinted at exasperation. “You know the conditions of your parole.”

The client smiled. He clasped a chair near the wall, turned it to face the window, and sat.

Hanover’s pipe tapped against his desktop. “The other day you asked if it’s possible for a person’s urges to change.”

His visitor grew extremely still, his hearing now as highly attuned as if he were listening for the air to begin stirring.

“Of course it is,” the psychiatrist said. “With age. And other circumstances.” Hanover cleared his throat. “We also spoke about emotions. Some emotions do become great turn-ons.”

“Emotions,” the client whispered, watching the clouds building.

“Emotions,” Hanover said, “like love and hate.”

“Fear.”

“And fear.” Hanover released a loud exhale. “Fear normally brings out what we call the Nurturing Instinct. When a baby hears a loud noise, it cries. The mother sees the child’s fear and coddles her little one to show she’ll be there to protect it.”

The client rose. No woman protected him. One hurt him—much too often. “Women show fear.” He reached a hand out to feel a pane, wishing that instead of touching the window’s cool hardness, he could be feeling the weather gathering and closing in. The ashen clouds grew heavier. Behind them, fury gathered.

As though to appease him, thunder grumbled.

Silent laughter soothed his rib cage. Thunder and lightning always made him think of the woman’s voice and her rage. But now he was getting even.

Rain started to fall, and he slid his hand into his coat’s inner pocket. His fingers massaged the curled silken tip of a scarf.

* * *

The downpour left blackened sand on the beach. Still, some undaunted souls ventured out once the rain passed. Two children protested when their daddy called them from the water’s edge and took them away. A couple holding hands finally strolled to their car. The young woman who had not feared the night closing in stretched on a beach towel on her stomach. Some things could frighten her. She could know fear.

And she would.

The man whose shoes kicked a patch of wet sand knew that with certainty. Her face would twist and contort.

He hadn’t stalked this female and didn’t know what she looked like. But he knew the expression. That first look when they saw him, when they finally realized his menace.

Their screams were the same, freezing deep in their throats.

The pulse beat stronger in his neck as he watched the young couple disappear beyond a wet sand dune. He would need to wait longer while they got farther away, out of hearing range.

The woman who stretched in her swimsuit remained still. Surely she enjoyed the sound of rushing waved and the feel of the gentle wind sweeping shoreward.

The man stilled himself, eager, not wanting to wait.

Watching her motionless figure, he slid a gloved hand into the pocket of his slacks. The nylon rope felt especially thin. “Are you going to be hanging something, or maybe using this on a boat?” the nosy hardware saleswoman had asked.

“Yes,” he’d answered.

His other hand drew out the scarf. He brought the scarf under his nose.

Her scent lingered. He could still smell her terror.

Envisioning the girl on the beach towel turning over, he knew she would have Josie’s firm body, her fine chiseled face, all those curls. She would have Josie’s eyes under finely carved brows, and when those eyes spotted him, they would enlarge even more.

Through perfect lips, her breaths would quicken.

Josie’s fear was perfect. Not like these others. This one would be his and he would do all those wonderful things to her. But just like the others, she would not really be Josie.

Very soon, though.

He had been foiled at their house by her mother’s arrival, but Josie had surely planned that. She kept teasing him.

The man smiled, pleased that she would make such plans for him.

But now he was selecting another time and place. He would surprise her.

Soon Josie would be his. Then she would reveal that most exquisite look of dread, showing it only to him, as he had revealed his childish fear to his elder.

She had been waiting, just like he had. But those other people kept surrounding her and getting in their way.

Trembling in anticipation, the man stepped down from the sand hill. Don’t worry, Josie. This one is only for practice, to keep me from rushing out after you in front of all the others. But I have plans. Very shortly, I will grab you.

* * *

The grass remained damp the next afternoon. Morning showers had sprinkled across before moving toward Pensacola. Josie noticed moisture when she sat, but the seat of her jeans had already gotten wet, and the grass smelled sweet. She remained on the ground with the poster she worked on propped against a sheet of plywood.

Having Andrew near made her confidant of being able to accomplish what she’d started. His support and lighthearted spirit bolstered her courage to locate more donors.

“Hey,” he called, “no loafing allowed. How about getting me a wrench?”

She smiled and looked up, but he was hidden with his head sunken somewhere behind her car. “Loafing is good for the soul,” she said. “Haven’t you heard? It’s food for the gods.”

A greasy hand reached out. “I know one little goddess who might have food, but no car. Unless she gets me a wrench.”

Josie hopped up. At his open toolbox, she grinned. She purposely grabbed a crowbar and placed it in his outstretched hand.

“Uh uh.” Andrew shoved the tool out again.

“Let’s see.” Josie rummaged through his toolbox. “Here you go.” She couldn’t stop from laughing. She gave him a screwdriver.

“Ah, this.” His head emerged from its hiding place, motioning the screwdriver toward her.

She smirked and handed him the wrench.

“Thanks.” He grinned and attacked the problem.

Josie wanted to continue playing. She enjoyed the diversion from the concerns of the last days. She also knew her car had developed more problems and needed his attention or she would not be able to get anywhere.

Forcing herself to leave him alone, she returned to the ground. “Wait until you see the wad of money I’ll be sending with you tomorrow,” she told him. “The donor account is really filling up.”

When he didn’t reply, she continued. “I still can’t believe it. Mrs. Allen, suggesting I ask her husband. And he and those others gave all that money for TV advertisement.” The idea overwhelmed her. “Andrew, it’s great.”

He slammed her car’s trunk. Stepping toward her, he held out arms covered with grime. “I know something else that’s great, too. So I’ll take my payment now. In trade.”

She laughed. “Not until your armor gets cleaned.”

He took menacing steps. “I’m good enough for your car, but not for you? We’ll see about that.” He reached for her, and Josie darted to the steps and ran into the kitchen.

He came inside and eyed Josie standing on the opposite side of the table. “No table is too big for me to get around,” he said, going toward her.

She pulled a chair out to block his path.

“I fixed your motor and the lock on your door. Now I’m going to fix you.” He leaned to the right and then shifted toward the left.

She released a little shriek and let him chase her to the den.

“Gotcha!” Andrew grabbed her from behind when she put on the brakes.

Josie pushed his hand aside.

Seated at her sewing machine, Colin grinned at them. With his favorite red jersey on his lap, he used a needle and black thread to whip stitches around the outside of a shoulder seam.

She took the shirt from him.

Colin frowned. “Hey, I’m fixing a hole.”

“Not with black thread, and not on the outside. I’ll fix it on my machine.”

“I was doing all right.”

Andrew touched the shirt, which had black threads dripping in loose loops from atop the red knit fabric. “Great job, dude.”

He ignored Josie’s harsh look and gave Colin the jersey. “Mr. Allen might want to hire you, and that would give your sister competition.” Andrew winked. “I’ll bet that’s her problem.”

Josie felt her face flush with heat.

With a hand on the rear of her waist, Andrew guided her through the kitchen and outside, calling back to Colin, “Some sisters are just jealous, right?”

“Right!” Colin yelled.

Outside, Josie pulled away. “What was that?”

“You need to let the kid do for himself, Josie. It’s time to back off.”

“But everybody’s backed off. Our dad. Our mom, who keeps returning to some place in her head. And did you notice Colin’s arms? They’ve started pocking. We can’t get all the uric acid off anymore.” She folded her hands across her face and pressed her fingertips against her dampening closed eyes.

Andrew clasped her shoulders. “What’s wrong with black thread?”

His hands had a slight calming effect. “Maybe I’m asking for too much, just like Sylvie with her appearance and our house. And our dad.”

Andrew let her go while she continued. “Daddy wanted perfection. When things weren’t, he went away. He always came back, until this last time, when he discovered his son would never be flawless.”

Andrew lowered his face to hers. “So now Josie is the parent. And her dreams seem gone, too.”

Guilt and selfishness washed through her. She hadn’t meant to complain.

Andrew’s eyes looked almost navy. “Josie, yes, you’re the one who has to hook that child to a machine three times every week and take care of most of his needs.” When Andrew’s head pulled back, the sun’s glint gave his irises an aqua hue. “But couldn’t you cut Colin some slack?”

“Slack? Yes, I want to. More than anything, I want to let him be a child. I want him to run and jump and roughhouse with other children.” She could always bring up a picture of Colin scrambling with other kids and eating and drinking anything he wanted.

But would slack help him survive?

“Andrew.” Colin came hopping down the stairs. He wore his jersey with the black threads loose and hanging. “What y’all doing?”

“Just talking. Hey, good job with the shirt.”

“Thanks.” Colin went to the motorcycle. “Anybody feel like taking me for a ride?”

“Sure, hop on.”

“Yes!” Colin grabbed the extra helmet and strapped it on. Andrew pulled on his and flipped a leg over his seat. Shimmying up behind, Colin cast a smirk at Josie. He turned his face forward. Andrew gunned the motor, and they spun a short loop around in the side yard. They tore down the driveway to the street.

“Be careful!” Josie called and saw Andrew glance back, probably frowning.

Anger swelled inside her. Andrew made her seem such a cad. She was enraged with herself since the idea occurred that maybe she had become just that.

Colin had full-time needs, but he didn’t want them to be. He only wanted to be a kid like the others. He wasn’t. And he might never be.

Josie threw up her hands. “And I have to be concerned about black thread!”

Plumes from bushes swayed in the back yard, Josie noticed when she turned to go up the steps to her house. But she didn’t care or look closely, for she was wiping away tears.

* * *

On Monday, Ye Bridal Shoppe bustled with enthusiasm. A future bride with her parents and four friends all tried to make selections. The din of their voices filtered into Josie’s cubbyhole but did not deter her attention from her client. Up on the circular stand she had Tabatha Dirkson keeping herself erect so that her hem could be marked.

“How’s it look?” Tabatha asked Josie’s image in the mirrors.

“You are absolutely gorgeous. I love Victorian. This is the ultimate gown for you.” Josie stared at Tabatha’s reflection. The young woman stood five ten, and with her russet hair swept high on the back of her head, she could have belonged to British royalty.

“I love these high necklines.” Tabatha ran a finger along hers. “This makes me look pure, don’t you think?”

Josie stuck the last pin in her hem and backed up to admire. “You are the picture of innocence.”

Tabatha stepped down, turning for Josie to unzip her. “Yeah, I ought to fool my mom, huh?” Snickering, she went to the room where she’d left her jeans.

Josie returned her pins and cushion to the machine. “Leave your gown with Eve, okay?”

“Sure will,” Tabatha called from behind a mint green curtain.

“I should have it finished by Thursday.” On her way out, Josie saw Eve busy with customers. Josie pointed to the clock when Eve glanced at her, and the older woman nodded.

Josie strode out the door. She bumped into Otis Babineaux. “Oh, I’m sorry,” she said.

He gripped her arm. “Is someone chasing you, Josie?”

His voice held a gravelly quality, and Josie realized she hadn’t heard it often. She also realized his gaze slipped along her knit dress. “No, I’ve, I have an appointment.”

Releasing her arm, he stepped back. “I see.” Otis Babineaux’s thick brows knitted toward each other, and Josie smelled cologne tinged with citrus. As always, he wore a suit of the highest quality. His hand went to his bow tie, and she noticed his manicured nails. He wore a wide wedding band. His hair had its weekly cut. He looked like the perfect businessman.

Still, Josie felt caught in the space near him. She took steps back, shifted her eyes to see other people parking and then looked toward his face. With a nod, she strode away to her car.

By the time she had Colin at Dr. Hagger’s office and he’d been examined, all thoughts of apprehension had been replaced. Josie clapped her hands together. “I can’t believe it. He’ll be like all the other boys again!”

The doctor raised a hand. “But that only means if. If a donor becomes available. And if he doesn’t reject it. Now that Colin’s lungs are clear, a transplant becomes a possibility, that’s all.”

“Doc, it will happen!” She smacked a kiss on Colin’s cheek. He wiped it off and attempted a frown, but Josie’s excitement was contagious. Colin knew what being on “the list” meant. His dimples deepened with his spreading smile.

He tugged his jersey down over his head, and Josie grinned at the black threads.

“Sometimes people have to wait for years,” Dr. Hagger reminded, “and then even if they get one, there can be problems.”

Ignoring the caution, Josie gripped Colin’s shoulders. “How about that, buddy? Football, all of it. And swimming.”

“And junk food! Yeah!” Colin’s fists flailed the air.

When they strode out the room, Josie didn’t miss the concerned look on Dr. Hagger’s face. But this was a winning moment. She chose to ignore his caution.