Chapter 8

Argggh! NO, NO, NO!" TC seemed to be having trouble in the bathroom. Di was practicing, the Borreguita puppet still on her hand, but she was starting to get worried about all the sounds of frustration coming from behind the closed door.
 
She was about to call an offer of assistance when the door burst open and TC stomped out and glared.
 
Di stared at her fiery-eyed friend for a minute.

"Who are you and what have you done with TC?" she exclaimed. TC was wearing a straight skirt, prim white blouse, pale stockings and no shoes. Her hair was wet and uncombed and in her hand she was waving a blow dryer, the dangling cord jerking furiously. There was a faint smell of smoke coming from the direction of the dryer.
 
"I'm not 'TC' tonight," her half-demented friend informed her. "I'm a demure matron, suffering a blow dryer crisis! If I don't blow-dry my hair, it will be all limp and flop out of my bun!  Please, please, please, Di, tell me you have a spare dryer because this piece of GARBAGE just crashed and burned!"
 
TC hurled the dryer into the trash can with such force that the trash can tipped over, spilling a few candy wrappers onto the regulation MotorLodge carpet.
 
"Yes, I have one, TC, but what's the matter? You really don't look like yourself," Di tossed Borreguita on the bed and grabbed her own blow dryer from her train case, still bemused by TC's transformation. She was used to seeing TC in either ancient jeans and comfortable sweatshirts, or fun, long, flowing skirts and bright T-shirts, or, of course, the flashy costumes for her puppet shows.
 
"Oh, thank you!" TC exclaimed. "And I do look like myself, I always look like me. " She continued a little defensively if not completely comprehensibly, "Sometimes I just like to look nice, that's all. Not all sloppy. Not all Bohemian hippie. Just... normal."
 
Di frowned. TC went back to the mirror and moaned. "Stupid hair, I'm going to have to start all over again. I'll be late!"
 
"No, no, I have some super strength mousse, that will do the trick," Di was trying to reassure her, even while thinking how odd it was that the normally unflappable TC was, well, so flapped. What was the deal with her son anyway? "TC, why don't you let me do your hair. Do you really want it in a bun?"
 
"No pony tail for me tonight," TC insisted. "But yes, I would be grateful if you could make this limp birds' nest look decent!"
 
Di took the wide toothed comb from her hand and started smoothing TC's fine hair while she said, "You always look nice, you have a wonderful and unique sense of style."
 
TC's only response was a snort. Di continued combing and after a moment she asked, "Why are you so agitated? I thought you were having dinner with your son."
 
"I am, and I'd like him to not think he has a lunatic for a mother." TC informed her, looking up at Di through the mirror. Di raised her eyebrows and TC continued, "He's very successful, you know. I don't want to embarrass him."
 
"TC, you won't embarrass him! That's ridiculous!" Di was outraged. She jerked the comb through a snarl. What kind of a man was TC's son anyway? She imagined him looking a little like Trent, tall, dark, a little patronizing.
 
"Ow, Di!" TC's cry held real pain and Di apologized for pulling at the snarl too hard.
 
She turned the dryer on 'low' and gently started lifting and drying sections of TC's hair. After a moment she asked, "What is he like?"
 
TC looked down. "He's a fine young man. Brave, smart. A son any mother would be proud of." Her voice was as quiet and undramatic as Di had ever heard it. "His dad and I broke up - no, that's not right, I left them. I left them when he was just four years old. I had my reasons, but I - He’s not, he hasn’t..."  She swallowed and shook off the memories.

Di turned off the dryer and concentrated on wrapping the cord around it. Her jaw clenched with her effort to keep from asking questions TC did not seem to want to answer.

When she had put the dryer away, TC was looking at herself in the mirror, her expression no longer sad, it was pleased and relieved. "That looks great Di! I should get some of that mousse. What's it called?"
 
After a second she realized TC had asked her a question. "Oh. Well, it's called 'Lady Godiva' Hideous name, great product. I got a big supply when I did a shoot for some ads for it last year."
 
She remembered that shoot without fondness. The model had been a pain to work with. It dawned on her that she really didn't miss her job all that much. TC now gathering her hair up in a knot on the top of her head and poking bobby pins in randomly. Di gent;y took the bobby pins away and said, "Hold still. I'll put your hair up, but how about a French twist instead of a bun, it has a little more style."
 
"As long as I don't look like I escaped from a zoo," was TC's unenthusiastic reply, but when Di had finished, TC's eyes lit up. She leapt from her chair and enveloped Di in a bear hug.
 
"Di, that's perfect! Look at me I look professional! I look respectable!" She started dancing around the hotel room in her stocking feet, She laughing suddenly. "It's been a long time! If you can believe it I worked as an accountant once upon a time and dressed like this everyday!"

Di knew TC was truthful or she would not have believed it. "A bookkeeper.  Well, yes, it is hard to believe!" she ventured. "When was that?"
 
TC was putting on navy pumps, but she looked in the mirror one more time. "Ages ago! This is so cool, I love what you did, Di!" A horn sounded outside. "Oh, just in the nick of time, too. She flung open their hotel room door and waved broadly, "Be right there!" she trilled to the cabbie.  She turned, and stood up straight, her mouth serious, her eyes twinkling, "Well, do I look like a mom?"
 
Di smiled at her enthusiasm. "You look like a beautiful mom!" TC was still looking expectant and Di added, "A beautiful successful mom" and was rewarded by a brilliant smile.
 
"Thanks to you, Di! Now, you have the car keys, if you want to go out or something, take the Rambler! Get some latte, heck, go dancing! See you later!" TC picked up her raincoat "You never know when it will rain in Seattle! Bye!" and was gone.
 
Di picked up Borreguita slowly. TC had recovered her spirits quickly, but Di had sensed a sadness underneath. Amazing that she would be nervous just seeing her own son. "I hope it goes all right," she told Borreguita and then blushed that she was talking to a puppet.
 
She was getting ready to practice again, when the hotel door burst open so hard it bounced against the wall and started to close. TC pushed it open again and rushed in, stumbling a bit in her high heels.
 
"I forgot! I have a present for him! Where is it? Where is it?” She dug into an enormous canvas bag with "Books change lives" silk screened on the side and pulled out a lumpy, oddly shaped package and waved it triumphantly. "Got it! And I'm not going to be late! See you later!"
 
Chuckling, Di murmured "Bye" to the door as it banged shut again. She waited to see if TC had forgotten anything else, but when a few minutes passed, she went over to the mirror. TC wanted to look professional but Di wanted to look, what? Independent, free spirited?
 
Unfortunately, she looked like Di Lynch with a lamb puppet on her hand. Her hair, which she had cut short after she'd left Trent was growing out a little. No make up, still wearing jeans from Target. Her face looked a bit rounder, she thought critically. She had never been model-thin, but being around them had certainly caused her to eat less. It was probably her imagination, but she kind of thought she looked better now.
 
She pulled an apple from the bag they'd bought today, and sat down to watch TV. She found the Simpsons and tried to imitate some of the voices. TC did this all the time, listening to commercials, cartoons, anything.
 
When the Simpsons were over, she washed her hands of apple juice and pondered whether to go out or not. The news was on now and she was surprised that they were doing a piece on the mall opening she and TC had been to today. TC had done her puppet show, as she'd predicted, it was a tough audience, bratty kids and yakking parents.
 
They showed a full 20 seconds of the show. Tough audience or not, TC had got kids were laughing, as usual and Di had a moment of panic. TC had somehow convinced her that the show would be better if Di operated Borreguita. In a moment of madness, Di had agreed to at least practice it. "But," she soothed herself, "When TC sees how terrible I am, she'll see the potential for disaster and let me off the hook.” Still, Di meant to make a real effort at it. She wasn't really interested in being a puppeteer or anything, though hearing the applause was a great feeling; she was just showing her gratitude to TC for being a wonderful friend.
 
Having rationalized that beautifully, she picked up the puppet and tried to work out a suitably innocent, yet smart alecky voice for the little lamb. The time passed quickly and she finally yielded to hunger pangs and walked across the street to a Jack in the Box. Since coming to California, she'd gotten hooked on their flat, greasy tacos, though she felt she should take a shower after each one.

She was dozing off, wondering how things were going when TC came in softly. Di sat bolt upright, for some reason her heart pounding, hoping that TC’s son had been nice.

She struggled to find casual words and came up with, “Did you have a good time?”

TC’s smile was as bright and as false as cubic zarconia. “Yes, I did. Ate more crab, of course. You’re sleeping, let me turn out the lights.” Ignoring Di’s protests, she turned all the lights off but the small one outside the bathroom door. The darkness couldn't quite disguise TC’s next action, putting a package back in the canvas bag.

She couldn’t restrain herself, “TC, you didn’t give him his present! Why not?” Her imagination provided a number of scenarios, beginning with TC’s son rejecting it altogether and ending with him not showing up at all.

TC sighed, “I was about to. Then, well, we got interrupted. But it went well up until then, it really did. I thought we were finally connecting. I am not sure what went wrong....” her voice trailed off and pulled off her shoe and studied it as though wondering what on earth it had been doing on her foot.

“It went well until then, I have to focus on that. We are essentially strangers, but the more we see each other the better it will get.”

She sounded like she was trying to convince herself. Di placed her arm around TC’s shoulder, but her words died on her tongue. How could she comfort TC, who clearly did not want to talk about it, though she patted Di’s hand in silent gratitude.

Di’s eye fell on something white lying on her bed. She suddenly knew what she had to do, and she felt a surge of enthusiasm rather than nervousness. She picked up Borrguita and spoke in the cheeky voice she’d practiced tonight, “Oh Senora, perhaps a swim in the moonlight would make you feel better.”

TC’s eyes lit up and she exclaimed with all her old fire, “Oh my dear! That is wonderful! I knew you’d be great, I knew it! So you’ll do it? You’ll do the show with me?”

Di felt not the least trace of nervousness as she answered. “I’ll do it!”

They embraced again and then more prosaically, TC asked, “OK if I turn on the news? I just want to wind down a little. I’ll keep the volume low.”

Di realized she was tired and slid into her bed. “No problem, I better get my beauty sleep.”

She gathered her pillows around her, (she loved to have three or four pillows when she slept) and watched the news sleepily as TC puttered around; washing her face, brushing her teeth, changing into comfortable sweats. Di was just drifting off, as she heard the news piece on the grand opening again and wondered if TC’s ingrate son would see it.   Well, at least TC had seemed optimistic that most of the evening had gone well, maybe she was right, maybe they just needed time. She felt oddly content, even happy as she fell asleep.

When she awoke the next morning, her happiness turned to puzzlement, then shock. TC’s bed had not been slept in, her luggage was gone, and a note addressed, “Di” was sitting on the dresser under the keys to TC’s Rambler.

“Dear Di,

I am so sorry, I have to go, I can’t explain, but I am so sorry. I would not
blame you if you went straight home to New York, but if you could possibly
drive the Rambler back home, first, I would be so grateful.

I can’t tell you how much I have enjoyed the time I spent with you. I almost
feel like you are the daughter I never had. I wish you all the happiness you
deserve.

Love,

TC”

Di stared at TC’s neat writing and her lips framed the words, “She’s gone.”

Chapter 9


Tempest eyed the flight of stairs before him and considered. The elevator still sported an "out of order" sign this morning, so it was the stairs or nothing. It didn't help that it was raining and the stairs were wet, but on the other hand, they were that textured kind with little rocks and pebbles embedded in cement, so how slippery could they be? And he made his living maneuvering on far more slippery surfaces. Ignoring a little voice that told him roundly that hopping up a flight of stairs in the rain was, well, stupid, he prepared to ascend. He propped one crutch against the wall, deciding he could manage with one for the time being. He positioned the other under his right arm and grasped the banister firmly with his left hand. And hopped.

As his sneaker hit the first step, he felt the stairway shake slightly, but otherwise all seemed well and he cheered silently. He reflected that it made no sense to be feeling this good. Why on earth did he feel so cheerful after a truly hideous night? He should still be plunged in depression and angry at Bob and his dad and himself and the whole stupid situation. Instead he felt like a kid about to open his Christmas presents. Whether it was the relief of his headache easing or his sense of achievement of getting around completely on his own, or some mysterious cosmic force, he was feeling downright happy.

 He hopped up two more steps and made his plans. He would tell Mom why he'd had to rush out of the restaurant last night and then ask her to breakfast. There was no shame in being sick, and that was all she needed to know. When he thought back on their dinner, it really had been quite fun until then.

Whoa! He clutched at the banister as he almost missed the next stair. Pay attention to what you're doing Tempest, he told himself. He paused to regain his balance and inevitably, his thoughts turned to the scene last night.

After Mom had exposed Gumshoe Bob lurking in the shadows, Tempest had angrily demanded to know why Bob was spying on them.

"Me, Spying? Do you really think I look like Mata Hari?" Bob had responded in a smart alecky falsetto.

Bob had picked the wrong moment to be funny. Emitting a sound that had sounded embarrassingly like a growl, Tempest had dropped his crutches, grabbed Bob by the collar and slammed him up against an perfectly innocent pick up truck parked at the curb.

"I said, I want to know why you were spying on me and my mother. Maybe you think it's one big joke but I don't."

Bob had looked more shocked than angry at first. He tried unsuccessfully to pull away, and the truck had rocked with his struggles, but Tempest had kept him pinned and repeated in a furious whisper, "Why were you following me?"

Bob had been trying to break his hold, when lights flashed and music blared. A car had turned the corner, headlights and radio on, driving slow, apparently looking for a parking space close to the Wooden Lady. Brought to reality, Tempest had let go so abruptly that Bob had fallen to his knees. Neither Tempest nor his mother offered to help him up.

In fact, Mom had been watching rather approvingly and now she calmly handed Tempest his crutches as she said, "I suppose we should give him a chance to explain."

Bob had risen, straightened his jacket and said with an air of wounded dignity. "It's simple, really. I'm Tempest's bodyguard!"

Tempest had looked at that cheerful face and felt his jaw drop. He groped unsuccessfully for words. Mom's face had twitched suddenly, something that looked suspiciously like a grin crossing her face briefly. Sensing an ally, Bob had turned to her.

"See, Mrs. Smith, it's the perfect solution! Tempest can't be mean to his fans, but a big old hulking bodyguard like me can! And you should see his fans!" Bob had shaken his head and actually made a "tsk tsk" sound.

"They totally love him, you know, but it gets dangerous." Mom was giving Bob far more attention than he deserved and Bob, obviously gratified, warmed to his subject. His eyes grew bigger, his gestures more animated. "Like we were at this fund raiser last week. I got Wayne Gretzky autograph while we were there, it was so cool. But all these people wanted to see Tempest and he was getting all crowded and pushed around and so I suddenly say in this really loud voice, "Wow, there's no waiting for Eric Lindros' autograph!' And the crowd dissipated. See, it takes tact and strength to be a bodyguard, that's what Honey says, and I have both!"

It had been amazing how reasonable Bob could sound while spouting nonsense. Tempest exploded, "Bob that makes no sense, how does that explain you following me tonight?"

"See, I know you don't quite remember everything...." Tempest felt himself flinch but Bob didn't seem to notice, " ...but it's like you're this national hero and that means you don't have any privacy. When you picked me up after the cruise, you had to wear sunglasses and a hat and everything. And people still were recognizing you and asking you for your autograph and all. So I'm just kind of hanging around you and make sure no one tries anything." Bob faltered as Tempest directed a baleful glare at him, but added defensively, "I'm not too young, you know, I can do it, I've had self defense training and I worked at Honey Wheeler's detective agency last summer and learned all kinds of stuff. I could have broken your grip, I just didn't want to hurt you." He'd looked proud of himself and Tempest was suddenly tired.

"Bob, I really don't need a bodyguard, I can take care of myself. You weren't protecting my privacy, you were invading it. And worse, it was an invasion of my mother's privacy, too. You..." He'd stopped as something, caution? Guilt?  flickered in Bob's eyes. What was going on here?

Before he could probe more deeply, Bob had burst out, "You're right, you're right, I need to, um, to make amends. How about I give your mother a ride home? Mrs. Smith, would you care for a lift? All bodyguards double as chauffeurs, it's part of our cover. Tempest's car is really cool, too!"

Tempest had groaned, but Mom, with expansive graciousness, accepted the ride. Bob had spent the entire trip to her MotorLodge telling her exaggerated stories of how the press had invaded the hospital and Tempest's press conference about the accident. She had encouraged him by listening gravely, much to Tempest's annoyance. They'd arrived at Mom's no frills motel only to find that the elevator was out of order and Tempest couldn't escort her to her door. Instead, Tempest had kissed her cheek, thanked her for dinner and watched Bob walk her up the stairs and along the balcony to her door. Bob had spoken in an oddly earnest manner, than seemed to shake hands with her before bounding back down the stairs. Tempest had waved to her and she frowned at him for a full minute before smiling and waving back. It had not been a happy ending to the evening. Worse was still to come.

The ride back to their opulent hotel had been quiet. Tempest's headache had doubled and he just ignored Bob's attempts at further explanation and went right to bed, an act he was soon to regret.

It had been impossible to get comfortable. His knee hurt, his head hurt and he'd suddenly been ravenous, his nausea gone for the first time since he woke up in the hospital. He was too hot, and threw off the "velvet" hotel blanket, then he was too cold. Each time he'd drifted off to sleep, he had kept having those dreams where people come in your bedroom while you're trying to sleep.

First it was Dad sitting on his bed, telling him, "It's Mom, not you." Then Mom was there, looking at him with sad, hurt eyes. Before he could tell them he was sorry to worry them and he was fine, a bunch of reporters were there shouting questions about the Olympics. He tried to get them to leave so he could sleep, but every time he turned around, more people were in his room. Before long, he saw a flash of red hair and knew Jim Frayne was there and this made him angry. Why should Jim be in his dream, anyway? Jerk. But no Trixie. Just Julie's laughter. He pushed Bob up against the pick up truck again, which for some reason was in his room. Light was just appearing behind the drapes and Bob was tapping on his door, calling his name. He was flat on his face, a few feet from his bed and his knee was throbbing viciously

His bodyguard, his baby-sitter. "I'm fine," he'd called through his clenched teeth. Naturally Bob had eased the door open without being invited to do so.

Completely out of patience, Tempest had reached back, found a pillow and threw it at "his bodyguard." Bob caught it easily and came forward as Tempest grumbled "I am too tired to pin you again, so just get out, I'm fine!"

Bob, who like Tempest, wore t shirt and sweats to bed, had ignored him. "The reason your dad wanted me to come," he said without preamble.  "Is because you sleep walk. You were walking in your sleep when you fell down the stairs. Looks like you tried to just now."

He had matter of factly slipped an arm under Tempest's shoulder and helped to sit back on the bed. "Do you want some aspirin or something?" Without waiting for an answer, he'd disappeared into Tempest's bathroom and appeared with his prescription pain killer and a glass of water. "How about this?"

He'd waited till Tempest, still speechless, swallowed a couple of tablets and had told him, "Your dad was in a real quandary if he should tell you or not. He was afraid it might make things worse if you knew."

"Sleepwalking," Tempest had said in disgust. He'd closed his eyes and had a flash of memory, a girl saying tartly, "Did you know you walk in your sleep? And talk too. So who's Trixie? Who's Julie? Your harem?"

"So you are really here to keep me from doing further damage. Not my bodyguard, my baby sitter," he'd said bitterly. "Anything else you're hiding from me? Any other roles you've taken on?"

"Well, no, that's pretty much it...." Bob had suddenly avoided Tempest's eyes. What had he seen, a broken down, stupid guy who couldn't handle the little trials of life? A grown man who needed a kid to watch over him and make sure he didn't fall down and go boom?

"So this was my dad's idea?" he'd asked softly.

"Well, yeah, Tempest..." Bob was apparently going plead Dad's case. Must a be a lawyer too? "Tempest, you can't really blame him. He thought you'd been killed when you fell. I thought so too, it was pretty scary. When you were in the ambulance you didn't even know your name. That was only a week ago. Of course he's going to worry."

"I'm going to call him." Tempest had said abruptly.

"Now? It's barely six in the morning" Bob had pointed out, yawning widely.

"Yes, Bodyguard, I actually can read a clock by myself." Tempest had struggled to moderate his sarcasm as an idea came to him.  He changed his tactics. Sorry, Bob. I am tired, you're right. I'll doze a little longer till it's a decent hour."

Dad would have known right away that he was up to something, but Bob had taken him at his word, said good night and left him alone.

He'd kept his light on, staring at the ceiling and considering what to do first. He'd reluctantly decided Bob was right, now was not the time to talk to Dad.  But maybe he could deal with his other parent now. He'd spent an hour thinking about sleepwalking, bodyguards and talking in his sleep. When he eased his door open, he'd been pleased to see Bob sleeping on the couch. Laughing to himself, he'd found it was possible to tiptoe on crutches as he sneaked out of the suite, had a cup of tea in the all night cafe, and asked the doorman call him a cab.


The cab had delivered him to the MotorLodge on the dot of eight o'clock. Probably too early, but he hoped Mom would understand his need to talk to her. He congratulated himself as he reached the top of the stairs, then cursed as he lost hold of his remaining crutch and it slid like a toboggan down the stairs. No matter, Mom's door was just a few feet away. He was both surprised and pleased that his leg was now able to bear a bit of weight and he half hopped, half limped to Room 204.  Squinting as the wind drove needle-sharp rain against his face, he knocked softly and called reassuringly. The door was wrenched open and Tempest received the shock of his life.

The most beautiful girl he had ever seen was staring at him. With a fresh shock he recognized her. She had been at the Wheelers' Christmas party, a close friend of Trixie's. As head over heels as he had been over her best friend, he had not failed to notice Diana Lynch's beauty,but now she seemed more fragile, more delicate and yet more vibrant than at the party. Her drop-dead gorgeous eyes widened to see him. He was noticing they were a very unusual color, so blue as to be almost purple, when her beautiful lips parted and she yelled, "YOU PIG!"



Chapter 10

Di pushed the damp pillow away abruptly and rolled onto her back. The Seattle phone book fell from the bed to the floor with a soft whump. Stupid thing, it had been no help at all.

She needed a Kleenex. She needed to wash her face. She needed to get going. She had a long drive ahead of her. But she remained immobile on the rumpled bed, studying the textured ceiling above her.

She had stared at TC's note in disbelief at first, but anger quickly broke through her shock. Obviously TC's meeting with her son had gone worse than she'd let on. Di's imagination went wild, imagining TC's son embarrassed by her, refusing her gift, or maybe even walking out on her. TC's son, who still resembled Trent in her mind, must have said or done something drastic and unforgivable to chase TC away.

Fueled by fury, she'd grabbed the phone book, determined to find TC's son and make him... what? Apologize? See TC for as the beautiful woman that she was? Just giving him a piece of her mind would do Di a world of good.

Turning the pages of the Seattle phone book so furiously she ripped one, she had flipped back and forth till she found Smith, there were pages of them, but Smith-Lovelace would be at the end. She suffered her first check when she couldn't remember the name of TC's son. Fine, she would just ask if they knew TC. She'd suffered her second check when there were exactly zero Smith-Lovelaces in the book. Undaunted, she'd flipped back to Lovelace and started calling, feeling her cheeks grow hot as she tried to explain to strangers that she was looking for Tiffany Crystal's son. When finally one person, evidently thinking it was a crank call, had slammed down the receiver in her ear, she'd given up.

She’d then paced around the hotel room till she saw that TC had left the gift for her son behind and all her puppets, too.  She felt a flare of anger. TC was not a quitter, why did she run away? Why did she leave Di alone? She had taught Di how to be a puppeteer and then deserted her before she could even try it.

Somehow it had seemed there was nothing left to do but throw herself on the bed and sob like the baby that she was. So she did, clutching the pillow like a child holding a teddy bear. But eventually even tears ran out. As she was wiping her nose with her sleeve, and deciding that standing up was just too much effort, there was a soft knock on the door. It took a minute for the sound to register.

It occurred to her, much later, that it was foolish to open the door, but at the moment she was so drained, she just got up and plodded over. As she was reaching for the handle, the knock came again and a male voice said softly, "Mom? It's me."

It really was an amazing thing. One second ago she didn't have enough strength to pick up a book, but now a blazing rage supplied her with ample energy to fling the door open, and shout with all her might, "You pig! TC is gone! I hope you're satisfied!"

The man standing before her stared at her while Di froze in shock. He found his voice first.

"Ms. Lynch? Diana, what..."

"You?" Her word was little more than a high pitched squeak. Tempest Smith was staring, his eyes wide, his mouth open just a little bit. All the pieces fell together. Tempest Smith was TC's successful son. Di had assumed he was a businessman, like Trent. He could certainly be called successful. Too successful, apparently, to use his mother's own name. She vaguely remembered thinking he was cute, but she hastily revised that opinion.

Tempest Smith stood with his weight on one hip, giving him an arrogant look Di had not noticed when she'd met him last year. His hair was wet and very curly and Di noticed briefly that it was raining outside. He had circles under his eyes, and he hadn’t bothered to shave, probably he'd been off partying while his mother was in this cheap motel breaking her heart.

"You pig," Di said quietly this time, and he shut his mouth and wiped a trickle of rain away from his forehead.

"Stop calling me that," he said indignantly.

"Stop being a pig then," Di responded childishly, then tossed her head, "You're too late, TC is gone, thanks to you!"

He stared another moment and then began patronizing her. "Look, Ms. Lynch, it's, um, nice to see you again but I can see you're upset. I really don't understand what's going on. Maybe I’ve got the wrong room or something, but I thought my mother, Kris Smith, was staying here. I didn't know you were here. But you know, if your boyfriend has left you or something, I'll be glad to help you out. Do you need some money?" He reached into his back pocket and Di, enraged beyond rational thought, shoved him back and slammed the door in his face. She threw the chain lock on and screeched through the door, "Go away!"

She thought she heard a thud and then there was silence. She waited but there was no movement. She looked through the peephole in the door, but no one was there. "Tempest?" She called through the door, aware that perhaps she had slightly overreacted. There was no answer. As silently as she could, she slipped off the chain and eased the door open a crack.  She couldn't see much or hear anything and opened the door a little wider. Suddenly it was shoved toward her, bumping her nose and causing her to fall on her rear end.

Her hands over her nose, she saw Tempest crawl through the door, close it and sit on the carpet, and lean against it. He directed a brief, furious, and somewhat baffled look at her before closing his eyes and swearing under his breath. His teeth were clenched and he was pale with anger, apparently too angry to speak. Di threw him a withering look, got up to get a Kleenex tissue, sure that her nose was bleeding.

He remained propped against the door, legs outstretched, the left knee bent slightly. She approached him warily. "Get out of my room," she told him, her voiced muffled by the wad of tissue.

"Make me." was his childish answer, delivered with his eyes still shut. "If it won't be too inconvenient, I will stay here till the rain stops, then I will go find out what room my mom is in."

"This is Seattle. The rain never stops." She glanced at her Kleenex and was almost disappointed to see that her nose was not bleeding after all. "And I told you, your mother left. She ran away. She was upset after her dinner with you. She said it was a big disappointment." Di felt a pang of guilt. Maybe TC didn't exactly say that, though she certainly implied it, and she rationalized that it would do this arrogant man good to hear it.

At least her remark got him to open his eyes. He looked like he was hung over to her. Figured. Hoping to increase the headache he was undoubtedly suffering, she added bitterly, “Thanks to you, TC is gone.”

"You keep saying TC, what's that?"

Oh, this was really too much. "TC is your mother, you idiot," Di told him roundly. "Tiffany Crystal Smith-Lovelace. She wasn't kidding when she said you weren't very well acquainted, but I assumed you'd at least know what she liked to be called!"

She noted with satisfaction that he rubbed his temples as he said, "My grandmother always called her Kris. Dad calls her Annie. I didn't know she preferred TC. I'm sorry. I'm sorry about everything, Ms. Lynch, but what you're saying is scaring me. What happened to my mother? You said she left? When? Why?"

His calmness was annoying, but she recognized he had the right to know. "First of all, call me Diana. We have been introduced after all," she told him loftily, marveling that at the time, she'd thought he was nice. Shows how wrong a person could be. "Second, I have been working with your mom, who is a wonderful person," she glared fiercely, "for a few weeks now. She came in last night, very upset over what happened at dinner and when I woke she'd gone."

"You keep saying gone, what does that mean? Maybe she took a walk or went to the store or something. It's not even nine o'clock yet. Maybe you are panicking for no reason." He was patronizing her again. She shot him a dirty look and without a word, grabbed TC's note from the desk and practically threw it in his lap.

His shoulders slumped as he read it and after a moment said softly, "Oh."

An uncomfortable silence filled the room.  One last drop of rain dripped from the damp curls on his forehead and rolled slowly down his cheek to the scar just below his jaw. In a moment she could only attribute to hysteria, she felt an insane desire to run her hand through his hair and tell him it would be all right.

"Well, I've got to find her. I have to explain, I meant to last night..." he looked at the note and swallowed. "When did she leave?"

Di supposed she should tell him, "Sometime last night. Or maybe early this morning." She  was glad her voice still sounded accusing.

Tempest read the note again and the only sound in the motel room was the rain lashing at the windows. Di looked at him and again suppressed a weird impulse to comfort him. To distract herself she looked again around the room and felt tears prick her eyes to see TC had left Borreguita on the vanity. There was no way she would cry in front of this guy and she pinched the back of her hand viciously. As the she felt the pain, a violent thumping on the door made both her jump. Tempest, who was still leaning on it started and swore loudly.

"Tempest! Mrs. Smith, are you in there? Are you OK?" The pounding continued as the healthy young and strangely familiar voice continued to call for TC and Tempest...

Tempest shifted awkwardly from his bottom to his knees and gripped the doorknob. He pulled himself up as the door was pummeled. He directed an apologetic look at Di and said wryly, "That must be my bodyguard. May I?"

Di knew her mouth was hanging open and even as she registered that the conceited jerk felt he needed a "bodyguard" she nodded.

Tempest jerked open the door. Another familiar bedraggled figure was standing there, another shock ran through her and Di sat limply on the bed. Bob Belden, holding a pair of crutches, was standing in the doorway.

“Bob!”

“Di!”

“What are YOU doing here?” Each demanded at the same time. Tempest suddenly looked amused, which would have infuriated her anew if she weren’t wondering in bafflement how her best friend’s little brother had materialized in the form of Tempest Smith’s “bodyguard.”

“She’s been traveling with my mother,” Tempest told Bob, as if Di were not capable of answering herself. “For some unknown reason,” he added looking her over from head to toe, reminding her that of her short hair was probably a mess and her eyes probably red and swollen.

Di had known Bob Belden since he was born. Her twin brothers were his age and she had often baby-sat him when he was growing up. She had never know him to be at a loss for words. Until now.

He looked around the room, from Tempest, who was still standing at the door, to Di who lifted her chin at his scrutiny, to the rumpled bed and then back to Tempest. In a tight voice, he demanded, “What the heck is going on here?”

His blue gaze was bright with disapproval and she was about to call him a pig too, for his nasty mind, when he continued almost without pause, “How did you get up the stairs? Are you all right? I can’t believe you gave the slip.” He handed the crutches to Tempest and Di had a terrible thought.

“I’m fine,” Tempest said through his teeth. He took the crutches with every appearance of reluctance and Di felt a blush slowly move from her hairline to her jaw.

“How did you get up the stairs?” Bob asked again.

“It was really no problem,” Tempest said quietly but fiercely.

“But, it’s raining outside, how did you...? That was...”

“Shut up, Bob, and listen. We have a problem here. My mother is gone.” Di was torn between mortification that she had pushed a guy who needed crutches and satisfaction at the worry in Tempest’s voice.

He quickly explained to Bob that TC had, as he explained it, apparently already checked out.”

“But, but, but, Di, why are you here? I thought you were living in San Francisco with...” Bob had a way of getting to the heart of a matter.

With as much dignity as she could muster, she interrupted quickly, “TC and I have been traveling together, working on a number of projects.” She could tell he was going to bring up Trent, and added hastily, “Now if you will both excuse me, I have to get some work done. She strode to the door and held it open. Neither of them took the hint.

Bob was picking up the note TC had written and Tempest, eyes narrowed, was saying to her, “Tell me where she went,” in a soft menacing voice.

“I don’t know, but if I did I wouldn’t tell you. She obviously doesn’t want to see you!” Di’s defiant pose was wasted as Bob yelped, “This isn't the note I gave her last night? Where is the note from Tempest’s dad?”

Chapter 11

Trixie pushed open the swinging kitchen door and poked her head in. When she saw her brother's activity, she gasped in mock surprise "Hamburgers!  No escargots? No goat cheese or fennel? Where's the radiccio? Where's the mango salsa? What kind of party is this?"

Mart gave the raw hamburger he was forming a vigorous slap. "This is a Retro-Classic-Diner party," he told her loftily. "All the traditional Bob White goodies with just a few splashes of contemporary cuisine. You did say you wanted nostalgia, I could have made hot dogs from cans," he grumbled as he sprinkled a mysterious seasoning blend on the fat burger, covered it with wax paper and scooped up another handful of ground beef.

"Ugh," Trixie laughed, "Like we planned for Di's Halloween party that time? Thanks, but no thanks! Whatever you make will be great."

"Hmmm. That compliment merely intensifies my suspicions of this mysterious, albeit auspicious, occasion."

He looked her with one eyebrow raised in an unspoken challenge and she tried an enigmatic smile in return. They had always been close and she was surprised he hadn't read her mind. Certainly her smile had not left her face for a week. The only time it almost slipped was when meeting Jim's parents for the first time. Of course she had met them zillions of times over the years and long since lost her adolescent awe of their wealth.

So it had been a bit of a shock to find that informing the Wheelers that she was going to be their daughter was not the same as having dinner with them or taking a gallop on their horses or enjoying a trip to St. Louis with them. That night her smile had been week and trembly, she could actually see it quivering in the gilt framed mirror of Mr. Wheeler's study, her eyes locked unaccountably on her reflection, while Jim talked. When Jim, stuttering a bit himself, finally blurted out their news, Madeleine Wheeler, usually composed and even rather shy, had squealed, (there really was no other way to describe the noise) leapt to her elegant feet, and thrown her arms around Trixie and Jim both. 

Matthew Wheeler had hardly been less restrained. He began by wishing them happiness in a dignified boardroom voice, until it had cracked and he had contented himself with speechlessly thumping Jim on the back. When his wife released the happy couple, he then proceeded to wrap Trixie and then Jim in gigantic hugs. Though they were too kind to say it, Trixie and Jim had the distinct feeling that their overwhelming reaction was along the lines of "It's about time."

Moms and Dad had been no less thrilled, though they had not seemed terribly surprised either. Trixie had a catch in her throat when Moms said that they had thought of Jim as a son for many years and they were so happy that he would be an "official" Belden now. When Trixie had seen Jim to the door at the end of the evening, he had held her for a long precious moment as he whispered how much he loved her parents.

Trixie's stupid smile grew broader as she wondered what the reaction of the Bob Whites would be. Well, Honey knew, of course. Jim confessed that she had been his courting advisory and had actually screeched at him to march right over to Crabapple Farm and open his heart last week. Trixie laughed suddenly. She always knew Honey was a true friend! And naturally Honey had told Brian the news and sworn him to absolute secrecy. When he got back from Michigan two days ago and taken Trixie aside secretly to wish her happiness. It was patently obvious that he too had only been surprised at how long it had taken for Jim to, as he had described it, "screw up his nerve."

The Bob White party today was ostensibly to welcome Brian back and to kick off Brian's and Honey's "Nuptial Festivities" as Mart dubbed the month coming up leading to their June wedding, but Jim and Trixie were looking forward to at least astounding Mart, Dan, and Jennifer with their news.  Trixie slid another assessing look at Mart who was whistling "Tiptoe Through the Tulips" as he finished the last hamburger and began rapidly cutting beautifully uniform slices of red onion. Without really thinking she asked, "Is Sheila coming to the party?" His knife hesitated almost imperceptibly then the slice, just fractionally thicker than its compatriots, slid smoothly off the blade. "Nah, we broke up. I'm a free man!" Something in his posture stopped Trixie from offering sympathy and she settled for a casual, "Oh, that's too bad, but I always thought you liked playing the field, Don Juan Belden."

Mart looked cheerful enough, but she thought there was a tiny element of sadness in his grin. Back when they had paired off as kids, Mart had always been Di's escort, just as Brian and Honey had been together and Trixie and Jim had enjoyed what they had lamely called a "special relationship." But it was Di and Mart who had been the first Bob Whites to officially date. When they broke up, they'd remained friends, but Trixie realized with surprise, that since she was in love, she wanted everyone around her to be in love, too. She found herself wondering if the time was right for Mart and Di to, um, rekindle their relationship. Trixie scowled suddenly. No matter what, it was high time Di came home!

But Di Lynch would not be at the party. She was traveling on the West coast and her post cards had been brief and sporadic. Even in the information age, there was no way to reach her. Like Honey, Trixie was worried about Di's engagement ending almost at the same time as Trixie and Jim announced theirs, but if Mart could take her in hand, well, who knows what could happen.

She was deep enough in thought that she didn't notice Mart's sudden smirk or feel air stirring as the swinging door to the kitchen opened behind her, but her sixth sense woke her just before Jim's hands covered her eyes and his laughing voice challenged her "to solve the mystery of the covered eyes!" Trixie wanted to fling her arms around him, but decided to wait till they were alone. Instead they joked around in the kitchen, picking olives and pickles from the relish plate Mart was assembling until he shooed them out to the orchard, insisting he needed solitude to commune with his culinary muse.

Hidden from the kitchen by a crabapple tree in full blossom, Trixie stood on tiptoe to demonstrate how much she'd missed Jim since they'd parted (last night) She smiled up at him and saw he was satisfied indeed at her demonstration. After a lengthy and heavenly interlude, Trixie and Jim settled on the fortunately dry ground under the tree and murmured plans for the future, a home, children.

"Our kids and Honey's will be double first cousins." Jim remarked, his lips pleasantly close her to left ear. "Let's have a dozen or so. Even when Mom and Dad were alive I hated being an only child."

"What would we name them all?" Trixie found herself imagining a crowd of redheads with sparkling green eyes.

"What about naming our first child after her mother?" Jim whispered provocatively in her ear. Amazing how she could listen to fightin' words like that and shiver with delight at the same time. Still, she should remonstrate. In fact, she should punish Jim, so she forced herself to pull away from him and waved her fists in his face. "I dare you to say that again, Jim Frayne!" she challenged him, "No child of mine will ever suffer the pain of being called Beatrix!"

Jim pretended to duck. "Whoa, sorry! It was a compliment, don't beat me to a pulp! I just wanted to name our beautiful child after the most beautiful, intelligent, incredible woman the world has ever known, so sue me!"

Suddenly it wasn't funny, it was scary. "Don't!' she exclaimed involuntarily. "It's too much, I'm not all that, Jim, of all people you know my faults, my bad temper, my impulsiveness! I... I'm glad you feel that way, I think, but I just get scared thinking I'll disappoint you!"

She got up and walked away from him, suddenly not feeling like herself at all. Trixie Belden wasn't the kind of girl that handsome men made love to in an orchard, she was the kind who could make free throws, but who could never find her lipstick.

He  was following her and she suddenly worried that she had hurt him. His hand was gentle on her shoulder and he turned her and with his hand under her chin, guided her head upwards. When she met his eyes, suddenly all was right. He wasn't hurt, he was smiling. "Trix, maybe you do have a few faults, and I love them too, because they are a part of you. I hope you believe me when I say that. But I also think you don't always appreciate yourself and I warn you right now, I see effusive, yet accurate compliments as part of my conversation for the foreseeable future."

She bit her lip. Would she ever get used to this?

Apparently he could see her doubts because he held up his hand solemnly and said in a deep voice, "I swear I will also be accurate in assessing your faults and foibles, Trixie Belden. In fact we'll put it in our vows!"

She felt a smile tugging at her lips, "OK, but I get the same privileges too," she was able to manage before he silenced her.

After another pleasant interlude, she felt herself relax. Silly to be worried, she told herself roundly as they strolled back to the house. She was ready to speak of more practical things and they walked slowly as she told him about her day, that the case she'd thought was going to be such a pain had unraveled easily once she got the video she'd requested.

"Of course it took him two weeks to send the thing," she grumbled, "But as soon as I saw a clear copy, I could see the writing on her shopping bag, and then it just took a few phone calls to figure out where she'd been earlier. The bookstore owner remembered her, I guess she is quite a character. The only thing that worries me is that it seems unlikely that she stole the bracelet. But I told the client my opinion and he said he would still like to talk to her and see if she observed anything."

"You did all you could. It's a tricky business you're in now" Jim commented. "I know Honey has faced some real dilemmas. But you both have good judgment, and you work together like a well oiled machine."

There seemed to be some significance to his latter remark, but Trixie dismissed it as a thought struck her. "Oh!" she exclaimed suddenly, "I forgot to tell you, I had great news today! Honey said she was going to get Jeff Johnson out of my hair forever! Can you believe that? I'm engaged to the greatest man in the world AND I don't have to listen to that jerk ever again!"

Jim had an odd expression a mixture of amusement and something that looked like, but couldn't possibly be, guilt. "Now who's using hyperbole?" he asked as he reached for the front door. "Anyway," he continued as he opened the door for her, "that definitely calls for a celebration!"

Still wondering in the back of her mind at Jim's funny expression, Trixie entered the comfortable living room of the farm house and jumped out of her skin.

"SURPRISE!"

Confused, Trixie stood shock still for a moment as the shouts echoed off the ceiling. She had a fleeting impressing of a small crowd of beaming people shouting "Congratulations!" before Honey rushed forward and threw her arms around Trixie. Next to her Brian and Mart were shaking Jim's hand with vigor. It was Jim's befuddled expression that snapped Trixie out of her own shock.

Returning Honey's embrace, she saw Mart wearing his most smug expression. "You did know!" she accused, "You knew all along! How did you know?"

He hugged her but that didn't stop him from talking, very little did. "Elementary, my dear twin. Doppler Radar is not requisite to observe my sister and my friend perambulating on Nimbus Nine."

He ruffled her hair before passing her on to Dan and Jennifer. It took a long time for the group to settle down but finally, all the Bob Whites were seated, munching on Mart's old fashioned goodies, music playing in the background, and all talking and laughing with the comfort and joy of long time friends.

"How did you get the decorations up so fast?" Trixie barely swallowed her mouthful of spinach dip before she asked, looking at the crepe wedding bells, the streamers, the white and silver balloons. "We were only out of the house a couple of minutes!"

Mart smirked, "It was longer than that, not that the lovebirds would notice, but believe me, the Bob Whites are always prepared. I think I speak for all of us when I say, It's abou- I mean, we did kind of see this coming."

Brian rolled his eyes and said, "Now that's tact."

"So you weren't surprised at all," Jim laughed ruefully and he held Trixie a little closer.(They were pretty close already, sharing the ottoman in front of Dad's chair)

Dan, looking slim and handsome in a black t-shirt, Jennifer smiling at his side, shook his head. "How many times did Trixie keep secrets from us anyway? Jennifer I swear to you, every time we turned around she was sneaking off to solve a mystery. In ten years, we've learned to be suspicious. So when she suggests a 'casual get together' with that certain look in her eye, we unroll the banner we'd been saving for a couple of years!" He gestured to the "Congratulations, Jim and Trixie" banner hanging over the fireplace. Apparently everyone knew they'd get married someday except her and Jim! Trixie felt color rise in her face, but knowing her friends supported their engagement so, so, well so thoroughly helped erase the inevitable qualms about marriage.

Mart added, "Yeah, it was pretty obvious what Jim's destiny was," as he popped the cork from a champagne bottle and started filling glasses. As Trixie accept a glass, she noticed Honey direct a questioning look at Jim. She tipped her hack back to see his response and he looked a bit nervous, but was nodding. Her suspicions were aroused, but before she could find out what was going on, Brian stood up. "Well, as the oldest Bob White, I'd like to say on behalf of all of us, well, best wishes to the happy couple! Here's to Jim and Trixie!"

Jim kissed her as the others toasted them. Trixie first felt a little self conscious, but felt a sudden giggle rising up, kissing her boyfriend, correction: her fiancé in front of her brothers was a very weird experience. She opened her eyes and saw Jim was amused too, and they both laughed out loud when the Bob Whites applauded. Mart, still the clown, yelled out, "Speech, speech!" Trixie was a little surprised when Jim actually rose and cleared his throat.

"Thank you, thank you. Well, maybe Trixie and I can't surprise you guys, but I have a little surprise for Trixie that, well you were all in on it from the beginning, and this is a moment I think she, well, we would like to share with you."

Trixie sat up straight and glanced around the room. Honey, leaning in the crook of Brian's arm raised her eyebrows at Jim as if to say, "Go for it!" and a sudden suspicion sparked two conflicting, but equally intense emotions deep within her. Shocked that she had never considered this, she could only wait helplessly as Jim pulled a rectangular, tissue paper-wrapped package from under the ottoman and handed it too her. Trixie's hands were ice cold as she unwrapped a brass sign that read, "Belden Wheeler Detective Agency, est. 2002."


James James
Morrison Morrison  
(Commonly known as Jim)
Told his
Other relations
Not to go blaming him.
James James
Said to his Mother,
Mother," he said, said he,
"You must never go down to the end of the town with-out consulting me."




Chapter 12

The air in room 204 of the Seattle MotorLodge seemed oddly heavy. The rain had stopped but dripping eaves and gurgling drainpipes filled the silence left by the three occupants.

Then Tempest found his voice. "What's this about a note from my dad?"

Bob looked conscience-stricken and was starting to mutter something about how being a "courier" was part of his "duties."

Completely out of patience with Bob, whose company he'd genuinely enjoyed this last week, Tempest exclaimed, "Oh for crying out loud! What else are you hiding from me, dammit?" He cursed his stupid knee and his stupid crutches that were preventing him from throttling Bob, but he must have had enough fire in his eye to scare the younger man.

"That's all, that's all, I swear! There was no mistaking the sincerity in Bob's squawk, nor ignoring the protest his knee sent up his leg as he tried to move forward. Obviously he wasn't ready to take Bob down again quite yet. Anyway the important thing was to sort this mess out. He said more calmly, "OK, Bob, just explain to me what you are talking about."

Bob took a step back and answered on one long breath, as if to get it over with. "OK. Before we left, your dad asked me to give an envelope to your mom without you knowing, and I told him I thought that would be difficult. He said to try but it wouldn't be the end of the world if you saw it, it was only about warning her that you still weren't feeling that good and to take it easy. So when I walked her to her door last night, I gave it to her. She said thanks, and read it. There was a clipping from a newspaper, too. She read them both and then told me to keep an eye on you and that I would be a great detective and then she said good night. It was dark, but she did have kind of a funny look on her face." Bob looked anxiously at Tempest as he ran out of words.

Tempest was struggling with his emotions. He was both touched and angered by Dad's overprotectiveness, furious at Bob's duplicity and but oddly enough he felt more   enraged at the beauteous Diana Lynch for calling him a pig.

Tempest, looked them both over, trying to decided who should be the target of his anger. Electing Bob Belden, Super Spy, who had some nerve to be pouring over Mom's note to Di, Tempest grabbed the note from him, saying, "That's not yours, I told you, you are invading people's privacy and it's going to get you in trouble!" That spurred the disdainful Ms. Lynch into action. Di, disregarding Bob's shamed mumbles, stomped up to Tempest and snatched the note, telling him roundly, "Talk about invading someone's privacy! It's not your note either, it's mine, Mr. Pot Kettle Black!"

Astounded at her gall, he burst out, "You gave it to me to read!" and you meant it to hurt my feelings, he thought, but did not say out loud. Was this really the one girl who had once turned his head, no matter how briefly, from Trixie?

Bob took the well traveled note back from Di while she and Tempest were exchanging glares, and said importantly, "I think Mrs. Smith's note could be a good clue. What's a Rambler?"

Without unlocking her eyes from Tempest's, Di answered, "The Rambler is her car."

 This gave Tempest a fresh stab of concern. "Wait a minute. She left without her car? Why? Where could she go without a car?" He watched Di bit her lip and frown.

Bob sounded worried too. "Are you sure this was written by Mrs. Smith? It's not a forgery, is it? Maybe there was some foul play!"

Still scrutinizing Di, Tempest groaned. "Bob, knock it off. Ms. Lynch knows where Mom is, she just doesn't want to tell me." He wasn't sure of that, actually, but he figured the accusation would get a reaction, and it did. A blaze of purple fire shot from her eyes and he raised his eyebrows, impressed, but not sure why.

She spoke slowly through her perfectly white, albeit tightly clenched, teeth. "I don't know where she went. Now if you will both excuse me, I have to pack and check out." She turned, pulled a ruinously expensive suitcase from the closet and plunked it on the rumpled bed.

Tempest wasn't about to take her hint. "Ms. Lynch," he said stiffly, "I will be glad to..."

She interrupted what was going to be a very dignified speech that would show her that he was just a good son worried about his mother. "I told you, don't call me Ms. Lynch," she snapped, "My name is Diana and my friends call me 'Di.'" I also said I don't know where she is."

The temptation was too strong to resist. "In that case, Di....ANA," he drew out her name mockingly and was pleased to see more purple flames, "can you at least tell me where she might have gone, why she left, anything? I am concerned, she left so suddenly and I can assure you nothing untoward happened last night that would explain it." Now THAT was dignity, he nodded in satisfaction.

She was still boiling, that was clear, but something stopped her from making it a quarrel. She visibly gathered her thoughts as she gathered an armload of white undergarments from a drawer and hurled them in the suitcase. Then she drew in a deep breath and with an effort, said quietly, "I told you, TC said... Well, she indicated that she was disappointed. Then she told me it was all right, but I could see she was upset. I gave her some space, hoped she would talk about it in the morning, but I guess after I fell asleep, she decided she just needed to get away. She is a free spirit, you know. Oh. No, you don't know, you don't even know her name." Diana's sarcasm filled the room.

He felt himself flush, but decided to rise above her well targeted barb. Even in his mixture of guilt, worry and anger, he couldn't help noticing how beautiful Diana Lynch was, magnificent even, in her rage. She was wearing cheap jeans and a loose, rather wrinkled sweater. He noticed inconsequentially that one sleeve was pushed up, but the other had fallen to cover her wrist and hand. What was she doing here with Mom anyway? It was strange that he remembered her very clearly from the Christmas party, he remembered her father speaking of her with pride, when so much of the last year was still a jumble or completely wiped out. But he even remembered that she was a free lance fashion photographer. Maybe she was doing some kind of layout for Mom. And she was a good friend of Trixie's.He was searching for the words that would change the scorn in her eyes to guilt when Bob, (whose existence he'd totally forgotten) spoke up.

"Maybe she was upset by your dad's note. Nothing really upsetting happened at dinner that I could tell."

Di started at Bob's voice. She blinked her incredibly long lashes a few times and said in a more moderate voice, "Bobby, she didn't leave because of any note. She left because she needed some space."

"Don't call me Bobby, I'm not a kid any more!" Bob was now the one with fire in his eyes, "And listen Di, I know what I'm talking about, when we drove Mrs. Smith here last night, she was fine, she was even laughing. But I give her that note, and then she leaves in the dead of night, the connection is obvious."

"At this point, nothing is obvious." Tempest said thinking hard. "Di-ANA, what exactly makes you think Mom left because of what happened at dinner?"

Her eyes narrowed at his use of her full name and she said almost spitefully, "Before she even went, she was nervous, she didn't sleep well, I have never seen her like that. She said you were very successful and she didn't want to embarrass you." Tempest's heart dropped and Di-ANA continued to fire words at him, "When she came in last night, she said it would take time and that you were a stranger to her. She even had a present she had planned to give you, but she changed her mind. She said the timing wasn't right."

Tempest ignored a rush of hurt and shame and concentrated only on getting this sorted out. Di-ANA obviously wanted to make him look as bad as possible, but truth still rang in her voice. Damn, why hadn't Tempest just told Mom last night that he was sick? It was just cowardice, he hadn't wanted to explain how small phrases and stuff could bring the nightmare back. It had been selfish. He should find her and tell her the whole story, he would look the like weak baby he was, but Mom was nice, she would understand it wasn't anything she had done.

"I think we should go after her," Bob was saying. "She could be in some kind of trouble."

"Honestly!" Di-ANA burst out. "TC is a grown woman, she can take care of herself! I think she made it clear she doesn't want to see Tem... anyone for a while. Just give her the courtesy of leaving her alone."

"If she left her car here, how did she travel? Maybe she hasn't gone far."   Tempest was finding it hard to concentrate through the guilt trip Di-ANA was intent on booking him on.

His question made her pause and she suddenly looked more like a sweetly puzzled girl than an avenging angel. "I don't know. I guess she took a cab." Suddenly her voice was soft with worry. "Why would she do that? She knows I have plenty of funds for transportation."

"See, Tempest, something's wrong, why wouldn't she drive? We've got to get to the bottom of this!" Bob chipped in.

"We will," Tempest said grimly, "I'm going to call Dad." He pulled his cell phone out, remembering briefly how Mom had brandished hers at Bob last night. He got Dad's machine, swore softly, and left a message, feeling frustrated and unsure if he should let Mom lead her life or try to find her. If he could get a look at the note from Dad, it might clear things up.

Di-ANA had been watching him with unconcealed irritation and now she spoke, "I am not sure how tactfully I can put this... but MIND YOU OWN BEESWAX! Stop prying into your mother's life and get out of my room! TC is a grown woman, she can take... what are you doing?" Her voice got shrill as she watched Tempest lower himself to the floor and pull the almost full trash can onto his lap.

"Bob, check the desk." Tempest rummaged through some crumpled up fast food bags and apple cores.

Di had her hands on her hips and she was glaring at Tempest. This outraged pose displayed an excellent figure, Tempest couldn't help noting, as she demanded, "Am I invisible? Stop going through my garbage!"

Tempest saw a flush on her high cheekbones and realized she was embarrassed, but he hardened his heart and peered at a couple of chocolate wrappers and some lipstick stained Kleenex. He tossed them aside and kept digging till he found what he was looking for. "Here's the clipping, but I don't see Dad's note. Maybe she took it with her," he remarked as he skimmed it. Bob was looming over him, asking, "What does it say?"

"There's nothing here to upset her," Tempest was embarrassed to how hear thin his voice was, but it looked like Di-ANA was right, Mom left because she was upset with him. And the only decent thing to do was to let her go. She would contact him again, he knew that and he would just have to tell her then. He felt self pity threatening; he had to say good bye to Trixie, and now Mom. Of course he had said good bye to Trixie a long time ago even if it only seemed like a few weeks ago.

He looked down at the clipping again. It was the interview with Terry Judson. When Judson had interviewed him in his hospital room, it had been the first time he had to face questions about the Olympics. In a flash, he'd decided he didn't want the whole world knowing he had some slight memory loss, before you knew it they'd be calling it amnesia or even brain damage. So he'd spent some time avoiding the questions, talking instead about his plans; having to miss the US Tour, but being able to do some of the clinics and personal appearance type stuff. And he mentioned getting together with his mom and maybe taking a vacation and so forth. Pretty nothing article really. Why did Dad send it to her?

Di-ANA, her color heightened, had gone back to her packing and was now cramming what looked like a stuffed rabbit into her suitcase.  Bob was playing with one of his crutches, trying to spin it like a top. The drainpipe had stopped dripping. He sighed.

"It's obvious that Mom plans on going home sometime, since she asked Di-ANA to drive her car there. I think the best plan is for me to go there and wait for her." He looked at her directly and found he could still appreciate her beauty even as she gazed at him in disdain. "Bob can get you to the airport. I'm sure you'll be glad to see the last of us. We'll drive her car to her home, so that frees you up to go back to New York."

He figured this sensible plan would satisfy both Bob's sense of adventure and Di-ANA's obvious desire to escape his presence. He was surprised when Bob said uneasily, "I don't think I can do that, Tempest..." his voice trailing away uncertainly. And he was astounded when Di-ANA slammed her suitcase shut and said icily, "Not so fast, Buster. I am going to TC's house and no one, least of all YOU, is going to stop me!"

Chapter 13

Tempest Smith was talking in his sleep.

Di glanced over at him. He was facing the window, muttering quietly, but incoherently. He turned toward her and was silent. He was partly in shadow, but she could see a triangular scar just under his jaw. She looked away hastily, remembering the day he'd got that scar, almost two years ago. Before she knew what a jerk he was. She glanced back again. He sure seemed to have long eyelashes. TC had long lashes too.

A honk blared long and loud. She gasped and quickly jerked her eyes and the car back to the road. She and Tempest were driving south in TC's car while Bob Belden was driving Tempest's car back to Vancouver. She let out her breath slowly. She had let the car stray awfully close to the shoulder while she was gazing at her unwanted passenger's eyelashes.

It figured. Seemed like Tempest Smith had been causing her trouble all day. She concentrated on the road. The sooner they got to California, the sooner she could get rid of Tempest Smith.

She took a sip of her coffee and winced. Cold. Well, she would start looking for a McDonalds; she planned to drive through the night and that required frequent infusions of fresh hot coffee.  As Tempest mumbled again, she asked herself again why she had ever agreed to this. She shook her head ruefully. Who would have thought it would be so hard to say no to little Bobby Belden? She laughed shortly. Little? Six foot tall Bob Belden, the self-proclaimed private detective, could be very persuasive, with his enthusiasm and his innocent blue eyes.

"But Di," he'd protested, "I can't drive Tempest, I have to go home, Moms wants me home to help get ready for the wedding! I've got to be in Vancouver tomorrow to catch my flight. But if you're going to TC's home anyway..."  They'd gone to Denny's, the three of them, eating breakfast and trying to have, as Tempest had put it, "a reasonable conversation." Di had recognized that this shot was unfairly aimed at her, but she'd clamped her jaws tightly together, vowing that she would never drive Tempest to TC's lighthouse.

But it really hadn't been Bobby that had worn her down. He'd tried. Between bites of an Ultimate Ultra Mega Slam, which was composed of bacon, sausage, eggs, cheese and potatoes, with a side of fresh fruit, he'd tried every bit of logic he possessed. Tempest was much quieter. He'd eaten a bowl of oatmeal, (yuck) while she and Bobby talked.

"Look, there's just no reason for you to go to California," she'd finally told Tempest flat out. "TC just wants her car there when she gets back. I bet she has no plans for returning any time soon." She'd poked angrily at her grapefruit.

"Di's probably right, Tempest," Bob had said thoughtfully, "I mean, what are you going to do, just hang around till she decides to come home?"  Being presented with irrefutable logic had not seemed to faze Tempest, nor had it changed his mind. He'd sounded downright tranquil as he said something about needing rest and sun and that a California vacation was just the ticket. "You said she lives on the coast, that's perfect. But I can drive myself," he'd added idiotically. "You fly back home with Bob and I'll drive Mom's car down."

Bob had almost choked on his orange juice. "You can't drive with that bad knee." Even though Tempest had insisted he could already put weight on it and a car trip was not exactly strenuous, he was quickly overruled. Then he had said calmly that he would take the train south. Or the bus. No doubt he would have threatened to hitchhike if Di hadn't given in. There was more than a touch of stubbornness in those dark eyes of his, so much like TC's.

Di braked as a slow moving truck loomed ahead. Tempest jerked his shoulders suddenly.

"Yes... I believe you..." he murmured and his cane slid sideways off his lap and poked her in the rear end.

She scowled and pushed it away. It reminded her of why she'd given in.  Guilt. And it wasn't fair. She didn't know he had a sprained knee when he came sniffing around her motel door this morning making nasty insinuations. Obviously he figured some guy had dumped her at a cheap motel. Di still felt rage burn through her. She tossed her head. Tempest had been asking for a slap across the face, and since he hadn't left when she'd politely told him to, a little push was just, um, self defense.

But, even if Trent, er, Tempest had deserved it, she had knocked an injured man to the ground and she felt darn guilty, embarrassed, too. It was only fair to try to make it up to him. A quick drive to California would even things up and then she never had to see him again. Thank goodness.

Tempest Smith (what a stupid name) had ruined everything. He was the reason Di's fun with TC had ended so abruptly. Now she wouldn't debut as Borreguita. Now she had to face going back home. Now she would have to explain to her parents why she and Trent weren't getting married. Now she had to think about what went wrong.

A sign with the Golden Arches flashed by. Three miles till the exit. She supposed she should wake Tempest and ask if he was hungry.  His cane slid across the seats again and the car swerved slightly as she shoved the ugly thing back. She couldn't help a smiling, though. She and Bob been standing in the hotel lobby waiting for Tempest to check out of their ritzy hotel when Bob had suddenly told her to "Hold on a sec!"

Ignoring the fact that he should have been on the road five minutes ago, Bob had dashed down the hotel "mall," a series of expensive designer stores that seemed to specialize in hideous clumpy jewelry and sequined handbags. He'd been back in a flash, carrying a cane which he presented to Tempest with a flourish.

"You'll get around better with this! It's awesome!"  Tempest hadn't even blinked as he accepted the ebony cane adorned with an enormous brass duck head. Bob, all eagerness, showed him a button under the duck's chin and when he pressed it, the duck actually quacked. Tempest burst out laughing, looking rather surprisingly attractive. But then he'd thanked Bob with so much sincerity, Di suspected he was being sarcastic. If so, Bob didn't notice.

To give Tempest a little credit, he'd used it immediately, dragging his crutches to the Rambler and tossing them in the back. The three had stood awkwardly in the parking garage a few minutes.

"Well, Bob, thanks for everything." Tempest had finally said. "I mean I know what you did for me and I really do appreciate it." he added vaguely and a little mysteriously. "But don't let Dad worry, OK? Tell him I'm OK. That I don't need, um, your services, as excellent as they are?"

Bob had frowned at Tempest a moment as if assessing his words, and then grinned suddenly and shook hands. "Yeah, I will tell him, I promise. But take care, OK? You know what I mean."

It had been a struggle not to roll her eyes, but Di had just given Bob a hug and told him she'd be back for the wedding for sure. She heard Tempest give a tiny sigh, no more than a quick exhalation, and she'd glared at him and snapped, "Sorry to keep you waiting, let's get going." as she'd stalked past him to the Rambler.

She'd barely waited for Tempest to climb in before she threw the car into reverse. Bob had been trying to say something to them, but she just couldn't stand any more health tips over a simple sprained ankle and so she gunned the engine, waved cheerfully, and roared off.  That had been about three hours ago. She yawned and knew a cup of coffee was a necessity and some food and a bathroom would actually be nice too. She poked Tempest ungently.

"Hey, I'm going to stop soon. Are you hungry?"

The long eyelashes lifted. Half asleep, he was not so objectionable, in fact his sleepy smile could have been endearing to a more susceptible female. "Huh? Sure, I mean thanks. If you're ready, that is." Di found herself smiling back at him.

Two hours later, Di was feeling less charitable toward Tempest and the whole world. Fate was obviously conspiring against her. The Rambler had started to overheat. Yes, it had been lucky that they'd found a place that could fix it, and yes, it had been lucky that there was a decent place for them to stay so close. But staying overnight in the same hotel with Tempest Smith was just something she was going to feel cheerful about.

And Tempest's apparent decision to be patient and reasonable was not helping her frustration.  "Come on, it's just the thermostat, that's inexpensive and easy to fix, the guy said he could get the part by noon and we'll be out of here!"   Tempest leaned his duck head cane against the back of the car, opened the tailgate, and pulled out his black Tumi duffle then her Vitton suitcase. Was this guy for real? She rolled her eyes at his optimism and snatched the bags from him.

"I better carry them," she said shortly, hoping to make him feel bad. Judging by his sudden stillness, she'd succeeded and she tried to feel glad.

"OK, thanks," was all he said.  In fact, there was no further conversation between them until they were checked in. (Separate rooms, no need to be on the same floor, she'd told the bored desk clerk, though he'd put them on the same floor anyway)

At her door, Tempest took his bag from her and said, "I can take it from here, honest. Tell you what, how 'bout we each get our stuff to our rooms and then meet for dinner, my treat?"  Di felt guilty again. He was trying and she was being a spoiled baby. Not only that, she was hungry.

She agreed magnanimously to meet him in the restaurant and unlocked her door while he limped down the hall to his room.  Her spirits sank when she saw her room.

It was charming, utterly charming. This "hotel" was really more like a big bed and breakfast and it reminded her of a place on the Marina in San Francisco. Where she'd stayed with Trent on Valentine's Day. A big ruffled four poster bed, a romantic white brick fireplace, even a hot tub. It was not a room for a woman alone.

She looked at herself on the mirror. She looked OK, better than she expected actually. She considered putting on some make up, but decided, it was unnecessary for dinner with Mr. Optimism.

Dinner with a guy. She sighed. One of the great things about traveling with TC had been that the woman knew how to eat. She ate whatever she wanted: burgers, tacos, ice cream, and if she had a salad it always had cheese, dressing, bacon bits, avocado....

When she and Trent went out, it was always to somewhere trendy and he always "ate healthy." He never said or did anything if she ordered a burger, but somehow she just knew he was adding up the calories for her. By the time they were engaged, Di was automatically ordering soup or salad with no dressing.

"Shut up," she told her reflection. "Not all things come back to Trent." She obviously needed some food.  No reason to put on make up for Tempest, or any other man, ever again. She washed her hands hastily with the lavender soap at the basin, ran a comb through her hair and went downstairs to the dining room.   Tempest kept her waiting a good ten minutes and she barely managed to greet him with any courtesy.

Seated, she stared moodily at the six page menu, working hard at not caring that Tempest looked tired and he had moved more slowly coming into the dining room.

"Hi! I'm Paula, I'll be your server tonight!" Their waitress rattled off a series of specials in a voice was as perky and false as the breasts that were threatening to burst from her tight T-shirt.  Tempest didn't seem to mind the view, but he looked past it to ask Di politely, "Are you ready to order or do you need more time?"

Pauline flicked a glance at Di and then dedicated her full energy to Tempest. Funny, in a way, because Tempest was not all that good looking. He was, well, cute, but not movie star handsome. Not like Trent. Except for those dark eyes.

But Paulette obviously was going for him for his fame. She was flattering him about his gold medal right now. As the waitress chattered on, Di found herself wishing she'd at least put on some lipstick.

Tempest ordered the artichoke, spinach and garlic pizza and Paulina cooed her approval of his choice, her bosom thrusting even further out.

Di smirked. Maybe she wasn't wearing make up, but she was all real. She raised her chin, tossed her hair and pulled her shoulders back slightly as she ordered (somewhat to her surprise) the fried chicken basket.  Polly registered disapproval, especially when Di added the she wanted the fries, not the salad and Di felt smug. Pauletta probably only ate lettuce and drank water. Di felt liberated and she accidentally smiled at Tempest, who brightened.  Maybe the evening wouldn't be so bad.

Chapter 14

Tempest collapsed on the bed in relief. He'd barely made it to his room, but aware of Di-ANA's critical stare, he'd even tried to swagger a bit, not easy with cane and a throbbing knee. He looked blankly at the fireplace (one of those where you push a button in the wall to start it) feeling strangely disoriented.

"This has been one weird day," he told himself. Too many surprises. He liked order and discipline but ever since he woke up in the hospital, there'd been nothing but confusion.

Well, there was one way to clear things up. "Please be home, Dad," he muttered as he dragged himself to a sitting position and dialed. He felt immeasurably relieved when he heard Dad's voice.

"Hi Dad!" His cheery greeting was met with silence, his first inkling that a talk with Dad would not provide peace and perspective, the next hint was a piercing yell.

"Tempest!" Tempest held the phone away from his ear while Dad roared, "Where are you? Are you all right? I have been worried sick!"

Caught completely off guard, Tempest stammered, "I, I'm fine, I'm in Oregon. Oh my gosh, didn't Bob get there? He should have got there hours ago!"

Dad's response dripped with sarcasm. "Oh he's here all right. Yes, my son's friend is here, my son's car is here, but for some unknown reason my son is not here, he's in Oregon, of all places!"

"Didn't he explain? Listen, Dad, I wanted to see Mom, she - "

Bill Smith was not in a listening mood. "I have been worried sick about you," he bellowed over the line, "You just got out of the hospital! Where is your common sense? You have a concussion, for crying out loud! Didn't it occur to you that I would be worried? You've got no business running around the States with some stranger, maybe this girl is an ax murderer, what were you thinking?"

Tempest had felt his own anger starting to rise, but the thought of the beautiful Di-ANA as an ax murderer made him laugh and he set about calming his parent.

"Dad, come on, I'm fine and, I think you're way overreacting." Ooops, that wasn't smartest way to calm his father down. The stream of profanity that came down the line made Tempest wince.

He waited for a pause and said quietly, deliberately. "Dad, please, don't do this. I'm fine. You know I'm fine. I'm sorry you were worried, but I tried to get a hold of you. I left a message."

A long sigh came over the wires and Tempest relaxed slightly and decided to deflect Dad's worry. "Dad, it's not me, it's Mom, she's gone. All of the sudden. She just left a note and disappeared. I mean, is this normal for her? Di seemed to think she just wanted to be alone, but it was so sudden. I'm just... it seems odd."

Dad sighed again. "No it's not unusual for Annie to take off suddenly, but she always does it for a good reason." Like being angry with her son? Or hurt? Dancing around the subject a bit, he asked about the article and note Bob had "couriered" to her.

"Oh, you know about that, eh?" Dad grunted. "Yes, I wrote her a little note, you know we correspond, don't you? It was just a little newsy letter about what's been happening and an old neighbor dropping by and..." Dad interrupted himself. "What the heck am I talking about? Stop deflecting from the real issue, Tempest. The real issue is, you just got out of the hospital, you need rest." Dad's voice softened. "Bob said you, well, you had a rough night. Don't you see, you are risking your health? You can't take chances..."

This time Tempest cut his father off and a short but vigorous discussion about body guards, baby sitters, with holding vital information about sleep walking, being old enough to take care of oneself, and the foolishness of doing too much too soon ensued.

When they'd hashed it all out, Tempest felt better and he could tell that Dad did too.

"But Dad, I do need to talk to Mom. I can rest just as easily in California as at home. Better in fact, no one knows me here. No media." Tempest wasn't about to give in to Dad's now moderated request for his return to Canada.

Dad was obviously feeling more reasonable and he responded, "Believe me, Tempest I do understand, but you don't know Annie, she's, she's like a butterfly, she stops for a while, spreads a lot of joy and beauty, and then moves on. It could be months before she comes back."

What an intimate statement. Tempest was stunned. Dad had never remarried. He'd ever really even dated that much, though Tempest suspected he got around a bit more while Tempest was on the road. They kept in touch, Tempest knew that. There didn't to seem to be any of the bitterness that other divorced couples felt between them. Why did they break up anyway?

He swallowed. "I didn't know she was like that. I barely know her at all. I should have made the effort a long time ago, but it's not too late. And I am going to wait for her and I am going get to know her. I can't skate right now," he was embarrassed to hear the note of pain in his own voice, and forged on defiantly. "So I am going to look at this as an opportunity. I'm not coming home till I see her again."

A silence stretched between them, but it was not an uncomfortable one. Tempest knew his father was balancing his fatherly worry (overprotectiveness) with his trust in Tempest's common sense. He decided to apply a little gentle pressure.

"I promise Dad, I am fine, I feel good. In fact I am even hungry!" Hungry? Oh for gosh sakes, he was supposed to be meeting Di right now. The Ax Murderer, would be sharpening her blade if he kept her waiting. "Dad I gotta go, I promise I'll be careful. I had a good sleep in the car."

Of course he had to listen to more admonitions. He assured Dad that Diana Lynch was a friend of Trixie's, er, Bob's, and that almost set him off again.

"Diana Lynch? Isn't she a journalist? Are you crazy? Hasn't the media treated you badly enough?" 

"Dad, she's a photographer, you know, modeling and all that. Besides she's, I mean her father's really nice, she's fine. I promise. And I promise to call tomorrow but I really gotta go." He concluded the call, glanced at the clock and at lightning speed, washed up, shaved, and limped to the dining room.

He ignored Di-ANA's regal displeasure at being his late. When they were seated, he thought back on his conversation with Dad. He was glad he'd got Dad to calm down and to stop treating Tempest like an infant, but there was a half finished thought lingering at the edge of him mind. He slipped his water and tried in vain to capture it.

The waitress's rather shrill voice cut into his thoughts. She was leaning forward, telling them the daily specials. Dang. He thought the fried chicken sounded good, but he just couldn't eat that when he was going to be off the ice for so long. He settled for the pizza and looked guardedly past the waitress, (who was coming on to him big time) at Di-ANA who went for the chicken. If they were friends he could have bummed a bite, but he doubted Di-ANA felt much like sharing.

The waitress said something about him doing 8 triple axels and he couldn't hide a smile. Di caught his eye and smiled back. Wow. The evening looked like it might not be a complete waste of time after all....

And it was actually quite nice, till the end. He asked her about Mom, and was surprised to find that the treasure chest and stuff in the Rambler were not props for photographs, as he'd assumed.

"Puppets? My Mom? Are you kidding me?" he regretted not hiding his surprise, and waited for some more sarcastic comments about how he knew nothing about his own mother, but she just daintily dipped a french fry in ketchup before answering with enthusiasm.

"She is incredible, Tempest! She sets the room on fire. The kids who watch her scream and yell and laugh, and then they hush to hear her every whisper." He could hardly believe it. Mom had always seemed so shy and quiet when she was with him. And in real life, she was like a troubadour or a minstrel. It seemed so, so, free spirited, even romantic.

"Think you can handle some dessert?" The waitress was trying a softer sexier voice.  He sighed. He had learned long ago that girls who just cared about medals or champions or whatever were neither interesting nor flattering, and besides, he wanted to hear more about his mother.

"We have Chocolate Indulgence," the waitress persisted. "Don't you like indulging?"

"I like chocolate," he told her flatly. Her carefully made up face fell slightly. He felt a guilty for hurting her feelings, but even if she had been his type, the last thing he needed right now was romance. Look what happened with Trixie. He pushed away his pizza, appetite gone. Bob and Di had both mentioned the wedding. Trixie's wedding.

How long did it take to stop being in love with someone anyway? It had been well over a year since he'd even seen Trixie. Even with his messed up memory, it seemed like a long distance away, like looking through the wrong end of a telescope. But still very clear and sharp.

The waitress set down his tea, and coffee for Di. He shook himself, he was not being a very polite companion. "So how did you hook up with Mom, anyway?" he asked, crumbling the foil wrapper of his tea bag.

The black fringed eyes darkened slightly. She sipped her coffee. Before she could answer, the waitress came back with a towering structure of layers of dark chocolate torte, whipped cream, shaved chocolate topped with what looked like raspberry puree and mint leaves.  It was enough to feed a family of four for a week.

"This is on the house for all gold medalists. Are you sure you don't want to indulge," the waitress coaxed.

Di said breezily, "Maybe we should indulge, after all, sweetheart. I think the reason you talk in your sleep, is because of chocolate deficiency."

His jaw dropped. The waitress looked like she was considering dumping the huge confection of Di's head. No doubt steadied by the thought of her tip, she set it down in the middle of the table, tossed two forks on the table and left hurriedly.

Di-ANA tossed her hair, tasted the dessert, and smiled smugly at him. "It's good," she almost purred.

"Why did you say that?" he asked abruptly.

"Oh, come on Tempest, lighten up. It was obvious you weren't interested in her, um, in her daily specials. I got her off your back, that's all. No need to thank me."

She took another bite of the chocolate mass. "Try some."

He ignored her holding the second fork out to him. "Why did you say that about me talking in my sleep?"

She put the fork down. "Cause you do. You talked all the way from Seattle."

This was a nightmare. Did he say something about Trixie in his sleep? He'd been dreaming about her. Humiliation flooded through him and he said meaning to hurt her, "Well, what are you going to do, tell the National Inquirer? Supply some pictures? You could tell some gossip rag that I am shacking up with, with..." he stopped, his vocabulary wasn't big enough to come up with a word to describe her smug, spoiled self.

She was completely white, her eyes more purple than blue against her pale face. "How dare you," she hissed. "You conceited...." She was having trouble finding words herself, "Well, don't worry, I'll have to protect your virtue and your reputation, Tempest Smith! No one will think you are slumming with the likes of me! I will see to that."

She rose, and, knowing she was prone to violence (his back was bruised from the fall he took this morning) he tried to back away, but couldn't reach his cane.

 Her eyes were filled with scorn and with some other strong emotion and she reached across the table.  A split second later, the melting Chocolate Indulgence flipped neatly into his lap.

To Be Continued

Trixie Belden Fan Fiction