82. George
George
“Ho, Georgie.” Buddy waved me over, and I sank into the leather club chair facing him. “No one has seen you. Word is you ran off with Goldilocks. Or should I say Sarah, right?”
“Can’t begin to say how much I wish that were the reason.” But I shouldn’t think of her like that. If I pushed for anything more than friendship, I was bound to mess it up and lose her entirely. I swallowed. She deserved a blasted Knightley.
“Just as I suspected.” Buddy smirked. “You do want to run off with her. Macy thinks?—”
I coughed. “Tough times, my friend. Viola’s beau, the fellow who writes Tales from the Rails, was in that train wreck in Kansas, and I’ve been scrambling for any word. Been busy coordinating the whole newsroom in the effort.”
“Good Lord. I hope he’s all right.”
“Lots of reports about how he helped folks out of the wreckage.” The bartender handed me a glass of scotch.
“He saved a whole family. A real hero.” Envy tangled with admiration.
Sarah had said that Jacob was like a hero out of a story.
She’d called me a hero once—for finding Viola.
But that was luck and persistence, not scaling a burning train wreck.
“Didn’t realize Viola had a beau.” Buddy reached over to clink glasses with me. “To heroes.”
I stared into the fire. “Don’t know if I could do it. Sure, I’d run into a burning building for Viola, Father… or Sarah.” I would risk fire for her.
Buddy cleared his throat.
“Or you, of course, old friend. But strangers?” I emptied half my glass. “He’s a braver man than I am.”
“You got your good points, Georgie. Can think of one or two.”
I couldn’t charm anyone to safety. I probably couldn’t even hold myself together without Sarah to steady me.
Buddy clapped my shoulder. “Don’t get all pouty. You’re just more of a general than a front-line man. And it’s the generals who win the war.”
I swirled the amber liquid. “Enough about me. Did you finish your swooping and wowing?”
He gave me a smug smile. “Asked her two days ago.” Another man with more courage than I could muster. “She said yes.”
“Of course she did.” I sprang up and raised my glass. In a voice that carried throughout the room, I said, “A toast to the future happiness of my excellent and newly engaged friend.”
“Hear, hear.” The other members raised glasses in our direction.
I clapped Buddy on the shoulder. “Marriage. Taking the plunge. That’s great.” I downed the rest of my drink, then stepped to the hearth, propping a forearm on the mantel. After so long with minimal sleep, I was fuzzy. The scotch warmed my insides but did nothing to clear my thoughts.
“Georgie, Georgie. Bit of advice regarding marriage.”
I grasped the pennies in my pocket before turning to face him.
Buddy gave me a wicked grin. “Come on in, the water is fine.”
I gave what I hoped was a casual laugh. But I couldn’t bring myself to jump. Couldn’t risk the wrong move. Because I wasn’t brave. Wasn’t made for plunges.
Yet I wouldn’t walk away either. Because one day… maybe I’d be brave enough to step off the edge and try my luck.
Istacked my pennies on the edge of my desk face up, one atop the other.
Over and over. A tiny tower of luck. If only it were enough.
A hint of terror hounded me, like a half-remembered nightmare.
I dragged my fingers through my hair, tugging as if I could dislodge the worry that throbbed in my mind.
It had been too long. Seven days since the accident.
Jacob hadn’t arrived. Not in Minnesota. Not in Chicago. Not anywhere.
A light tap sounded on my door, and Lenny came in. He shut the door behind him. He didn’t meet my eyes. What was in his hand? He pinched the paper between his fingers, squeezed it hard enough to bend.
“Len?”
He sucked in his lips. Slid the paper toward me on the desk with one finger. A telegram from Mr. Muntz.
In a daze, I made my way home but couldn’t force myself to walk through the door. Unable to face Viola, unable to be the one to break her. I stood at the base of the front steps, frozen. The chill December wind sliced me raw, but the telegram burned in my pocket.
A light touch on my arm. Then my cheek. “George?” Sarah stood directly in front of me. She drew me up the steps and into our parlor. Before the fire, I dropped to my knees, wrapped my arms about her waist, and buried my face in her middle. My shoulders shook and my muffled breaths filled the room.
Gentle fingers ran through my hair, curving up from my temple around my ear and down to the nape of my neck, again and again, until I stopped shaking. She helped me to stand, but didn’t speak. I wrapped my arms around her and tilted my cheek into her soft hair as her arms slid around me.
“I am poison.”
“No.” Her hands dug into the backs of my shoulders. She raised her chin, and our cheeks brushed together.
“Tell me,” she whispered.
“I… here.” I pulled the telegram from my pocket and handed it to her, keeping one arm around her shoulders as she held the paper between unsteady fingers.
Am getting conflicting reports. One person is sure Jacob was inside the first car when it crashed down from where it had been propped on top of another car.
There were no survivors. Another saw him jump free, only to be crushed under the collapsing car.
Later today am interviewing the wrecking crane crew who cleared the site and several witnesses. Will know more by mid-afternoon.
She shook her head. “Until there is not a shred of doubt, I will hold onto hope.”
“Wish I had some hope left.”
“Viola’s worried,” Sarah said. “She’s spent the day lying on the floor of her room. I stopped by to see her, but she didn’t want company. That was when I found you out front.”
“Father should be home now. I’ll tell him.” But I didn’t move. “I don’t know what else I could’ve done… I wanted nothing more than to watch over her and him and… and I failed. And they were so close to happiness.”
Sarah squeezed my hand.
“After I talk to Father, will you wait with me… please? I… need you.”
“Of course,” she said. “But you’ll be waiting with me, too.”