Ain’t Misbehaving

been crabby for two weeks. On top of that, you made a date for lunch with me last week, called an hour later to make the same date again and then forgot to show at all. I haven’t seen you in such bad shape since high school. So what’s his name?” Susan’s eyes danced over the rim of her mug.

“My car’s name is Bertha. And if I’ve been distracted, it’s only because she needs a new transmission,” Kay said wryly.

“That would explain the crabbiness,” Susan agreed, and added demurely, “Stix says that the man could be a lethal weapon in the wrong hands. He seems to have the terrible feeling you could get burned. Why do you have all the luck?”

“Is there nothing sacred in this town?” Kay wondered aloud, and took a small sip of the steaming brew. The coffee felt scalding on her tongue, but she welcomed it. After two hours of shopping on a frigid Saturday afternoon, she wasn’t absolutely certain her toes still existed. They were certainly numb.

“We’re waiting to hear a name,” Susan probed.

“So was Rumpelstiltskin,” Kay returned cheerfully. “How’s the new job going, anyway?”

“Kay.”

“If I really decide to redecorate my living room, do you think I should have the couch reupholstered?”

Susan, bless her, was diverted. Kay leaned back against the booth, savoring her hot drink. After a moment, she let her coat slide behind her. Her white angora sweater was tucked into maroon cords; both were new. Her hair had a center part, a style equally simple but otherwise different from the one she usually wore.

The white hat and white mittens were also new, and she’d sprayed a mist of expensive perfume between her breasts and in other places where no one would notice it on a Saturday spent shopping in a heavy coat.

Occasionally, a woman had to work herself out of a little depression. Change helped. Usually. But then, Kay wasn’t usually depressed.

“Well…” Susan set down her mug and reached for her coat. “I’m broke-I guess I’ll have to go home. Unless you want to do some more shopping?”

Kay shook her head. “I’ll probably hit the bookstore, but that’s it.”

Susan grimaced. “You’re going to buy more books for the kids at the hospital, aren’t you?”

“It’s almost Christmas,” Kay said defensively as she counted out change for the waitress.

“It’s only a week after Thanksgiving, and you spend half your salary on stuff for those kids. If you’d save a little, I could really do that living room up right for you.”

“Next year,” Kay promised.

“Bull.”

They both chuckled, and at the entrance to the little cafe parted ways. Kay started walking toward the bookstore, tugging the collar of her coat around her chin, jamming her mittened hands into her pockets. Shoppers milled around her, laden with packages. Moscow had put up its Christmas lights, and everyone seemed infected with the holiday spirit. As the small town’s main street had been closed to cars, people were free to wander to and fro, crisscrossing streets, hats bobbing, coats pulled tight against the whip of cold wind. Laughter and red cheeks seemed to surround her. She loved it. As much as she’d loved anything these past few weeks.

Ducking her head against a sudden burst of wind, Kay surged forward. There was no real reason for her to be depressed. She was never depressed. So he hadn’t called. So he’d grabbed a few kisses and split. She’d handed out a few kisses of her own and split more than once.

She’d thought they had something, that was all. Something she’d never had before, something she couldn’t quite define. Something that left her feeling ridiculously breathless when he was around, like a schoolgirl with a crush. Silly.

She pushed open the door to Bookpeople and felt an instant rush of warm air caress her freezing cheeks. She pulled off her mittens and sat cross-legged in the children’s section. The Little Engine That Could was a must. So was The Giving Tree. And she’d need a book for Robert, the new boy she’d met at the hospital that morning; she could tell at a glance he wasn’t the best of readers. Tugging The Rainbow Goblins off the shelf, she checked it for easy words. The pile of books next to her kept growing.

There were plenty of other fish in the sea. She didn’t need a mystery man with sad eyes who was stingy with his last name, who had to be coaxed into laughter, who played poker like a Las Vegas dealer and climbed fire towers.

Her book pile kept growing.

If he called tonight, she’d turn him down. She didn’t like games and never had. There were enough men who did call that she didn’t have to sit around waiting for Mitch whatever-his-name-is to be in touch.

“Kay, you have to be joking. Even for you,” said the cashier.

Kay raised her eyes above the pile of books, smiling faintly. “Um. You won’t cash my check before Monday, will you?”

“Monday night,” the cashier answered wryly.

“That’ll do.” Enough time to transfer some savings into checking, although the Lord knew what she was going to buy groceries with. She swung her purse strap to her shoulder and picked up the overstuffed plastic bag and held it in both arms. It was too heavy to carry in one hand.

“Hey. Want some help?” the cashier asked.

“Believe me, I’ve managed worse,” she called after him, tucking her chin on top of the pile to balance it. Her arms ached instantly from the weight of the books. Somehow a few choice children’s stories had multiplied into a couple dozen. Well, not somehow. Rampant enthusiasm was definitely the weak point in her character, and in the meantime there was a full mile to walk home.

A stranger held open the door for her; she tried to nod a thank-you and failed, offering him a smile instead. Snowflakes pelted her cheeks as she maneuvered carefully outside; the air had turned colder, the sky darker. People were hurrying suddenly, bustling all around her, as if shopping no longer took precedence over getting home to hot cocoa and a crackling fire.

She bumped into someone, apologized. The top book shifted; she righted it with her chin. She’d forgotten to button her coat, and the wind stole around and in like a bandit, sneaking a chill under her sweater.

Someone else brushed her arm and she nearly stumbled. She had to stop and readjust the entire bundle. A mile? She was going to make it a mile this way? Kay, this is really it. as of this instant you are going to turn into a rational, sensible person, she informed herself.

***

Mitch saw her from across the street and three stores down. First a glimpse of swinging soft hair, almost lost in the bustle of people. Then he saw that her arms were full. Her lips, so red, were parted in embarrassed apology to someone she’d collided with, and then she was lost in the crowd again.

He frowned. Swinging his bulky package under his arm, he gave in to a full-blown scowl and kept on walking.

For another very long minute.

Waiting at a crosswalk, flanked by a group of kids and harried mothers, Kay closed her eyes as she waited for traffic to pass, mentally counting to ten. You will hold up, arms. If you go another quarter-mile, I’ll give you a rest. That really doesn’t sound so far, now does it?

The cars passed; the kids surged forward and around her, bumping her left elbow, then her right thigh. Her aching arms had been just looking for an excuse. Almost in slow motion, the books shifted in a long, undulating wave; she knew in one glum moment that it was all over. The flimsy plastic bag had already split; now a book surged out through the hole, flying for the street.

She grabbed for it, which freed the rest of the books to tumble in a skittering mess all across the street. If she hadn’t been so exasperated, she would have cried.

Frantically, she glanced back for approaching cars, and found a lazy, disarming grin bearing down on her instead. “You never do anything halfway, do you?” Mitch shoved his odd-shaped package at her and bent to retrieve the scattered books. “Button your coat,” he ordered.

She buttoned, silently eyeing him with all the bristling awareness of a porcupine. If he thought he was going to