Baby Kisses (6 page)

—Beatrice Shipley

Tooty swallowed the lump in her throat. How she wished she'd met Beatrice sooner. They could have shared precious hours together. She had a feeling they would have been soul sisters; the gap in their ages making nary a difference.

She read the heading on the first page in the diary written in the same neat print.
The Year my Life Truly Began.
Since Harris was still asleep, she turned the fragile page to the first entry and began a journey.

Sunday, March 5, 1865

I write this entry late at night by candlelight in the tiny room I share with my two sisters. Lorrie wants me to blow out the candle, but I must write these words so I do not forget anything. I have had this diary since Pa gave it to me last Christmas, but I have not felt the need to write until now. This has been a most memorable day. It started out like any other. We went to church, me, Lorrie, Maddie, and Pa. I sure miss Ma. It's been a year since she died of consumption and my sister Lorrie has taken her place as school teacher.

The preacher talked about all the casualties in the war and it made me sad. He said there was a young man in a bad way that had been left at the makeshift shelter in town. He asked for a volunteer to take him in. He said the soldier would probably die because he'd lost both his legs and they'd festered. He wanted us to imagine dying alone without the love of a family. He had me crying. I knew Pa would volunteer because he was in the war and has a good heart. His blue coat still hangs on a peg in his room.

After Pa dropped us off at home, he went to town to get the ailing man. Me, Lorrie, and Maddie moved our best bed, the rag one, to the main room by the fire so the man could be warm in his last days and enjoy a cheery hearth. He was wrapped in a dirty blanket and groaning when Pa carried him in. He was a pitiful sight.

Tooty sighed and turned the page.

Harris opened her door. "Mommy, I'm hungry." Quickly, she slipped the diary in her drawer.

"I got some sandwiches already made, honey pie."

Miles' mood didn't improve the next day. He couldn't even stand being around himself. He rolled his chair to his bedroom window and watched Tooty playing with Harris in the plastic blow-up pool she'd bought. The only bright spot in this new situation was that now Tooty got to spend time with Harris and didn't look tired and overworked anymore. Maybe his mood was crappy, but it still made him feel good to have helped them. He'd already contacted his attorney to set up two trust funds. He hadn't told Tooty, however, because he knew her pride would make her object. He intended to convince her that his latest novel wouldn't be as exciting without her input. He'd make her feel like she'd earned the trust fund money; which she damn well had.

Miles watched Tooty jump up from sitting in the pool with Harris and his breath caught. Her body was beautiful. No longer a teenager's body, she had the curves of a woman after putting on weight now that she wasn't working day and night. Her unbound hair, wet and darkened by the water, stuck to her face and graceful neck. Harris grabbed one of her shapely legs and she pretended to fall back in the pool. Miles smiled and imagined himself whole and playing with them, lifting Tooty into his arms and then plopping her in the water; then doing the same with Harris. His dream only lasted a second before he shoved away from the window, feeling a soul pain worse than physical pain.

Rolling to his bed, he hoisted out of his chair and tumbled across it. Slapping his arm over his eyes, he allowed his thoughts to turn morose—dark night, curving road, laughing friends, car on the wrong side of the road, horrible sounds of metal against metal, blackness, screams, pain, and then no pain. After that, dead friends, months of rehab, more pain, football career forever lost, aching loneliness and solitude. After the second year, he'd even gone so far as to lift enough pills to his mouth to forever release his emotional pain. With the glass to his lips, he hadn't been able to follow through. After spitting out the pills, he'd gone into a three day crying jag. After that, he'd asked his sister to take him for a walk in Central Park. When they'd returned, he'd dusted off his computer, fired it up, and started writing. If he couldn't play football, he could write. Writing had been his other passion.

Just as he drifted to sleep his cell phone rang, jerking him back to reality. Rubbing his eyes, he looked at the caller ID. "Hello Mighty Agent, what's up?"

"I'm calling to see how the final chapter is coming along. I read the rewrite of the escape scene…totally scintillating. You're going to have women hounding you to make love to them."

"Lucky them," Miles replied sarcastically.

"The other reason I'm calling is because the publisher and the movie team want to have a joint powwow over several days. Hash out who the screenwriter will be and go over loose ends. Your presence is mandatory; mine is too."

"When is all this supposed to happen?"

"The sooner the better. The dates are in your ballpark. Think you might be able to come in the next two weeks?"

Miles puffed air, "Yeah, sure. I'll call you tomorrow with specific dates."

"Okay, sounds good. Hey, you okay? You sound a little down in the dumps."

"I'm fine. Just want to get the book finished and take a vacation. Maybe spend time at my villa in France."

"I can relate to that. Janet's going to divorce me if we don't go on vacation soon. Well, okay, I'll wait for your call tomorrow. Oh, by the way, it was a great idea you had to finish the book in Colorado. Must be peaceful and quiet because you've been sending in some terrific stuff."

Miles heard Harris slam through the front door yelling for his mother to catch him.

"Yeah, it's a great place to write," he responded, and winced when Tooty yelled, "I'm comin' ta get ya and throw ya back in the pool!"

* * *

Tooty picked up Annabelle's diary. It was late and Harris was sleeping with his new Happy Horse hugged to his chest. She guessed Miles was asleep, but maybe he was writing. He'd turned into a recluse, only coming out of his room to go to the bathroom or eat, and occasionally get some air on the front porch. He had retreated into a shell, unlike the man who had directed and helped with repairs on her house. She wanted to help him break out of his funk, but she didn't know how.

Sighing sadly, she opened the fragile book to where she had left off reading.

Pa laid the man on the bed and we girls set about cleaning him up. He was burning with fever and the smell of his wounds made us gag. His black hair was all knotted and had grown shaggy below his shoulders. Lorrie found an old nightshirt of Pa's and we did what had to be done in undressing and cleaning him. He was skinny like a starving person. Maddie heated water and we washed him with the special soap Pa had bought for Ma one Christmas. I had to remove his nasty bandages and he whimpered in pain. It broke my heart. We put a special salve on the wounds that we use on humans and animals when there is infection. Afterward, we wrapped his stumps, covered him in newly washed blankets, and stoked the fire. He seemed to rest better after that. No one knew his name when Pa picked him up.

Tooty swiped her eyes and sniffed.

Monday, March 6, 1865

I sat in the rocker by the fire most of the night watching the soldier. I had to keep wetting rags to cool his raging fever. While I was lifting his head off the pillow to change the pillowcase because it was soaked from his sweat, he opened his eyes and looked into mine. In the firelight, his eyes were blue flames. Never have I seen such a beautiful shade. He just looked at me and whispered, "You must be an angel." I'll never forget his look.

The next few pages detailed daily care of "blue eyes" as Annabelle now referred to him. Tooty set the diary back in her nightstand drawer. As hard as it was, she'd determined that she needed to follow Beatrice's instructions and not read too much in one sitting. She intended to respect her wishes.

The next day, while Harris was down for his nap, Miles rolled into the living room. She was so happy to see him she smiled brilliantly and jumped away from her desk. "Let me get you a cup of coffee, Miles."

"Okay."

"Have you been getting lots of work done? You've sure been in your room a lot. Would you like to sit on the porch and drink your coffee? I'll join you if you want."

"You know, that sounds nice."

He rolled toward the front door, opened it, and pushed onto the porch while Tooty poured coffee for them. He liked a little real cream in his and she made it to perfection. She poured lots of cream in hers. On the porch, she sat in the swing and pushed back and forth with her foot. Sipping their coffees, they gazed at tall pines, fluffy clouds, a soaring hawk, and enjoyed a tender breeze. Miles broke the silence. "I have to return to New York for awhile."

Tooty's heart sank. "How long will you be gone?"

"I'm not sure. My publisher and the movie moguls want to have a joint meeting and work out all the unresolved issues. Heck, we're still fighting over the name of the book."

"Goodness. What do you want the title to be?"

"I'm not exactly sure. I've been thinking
Escape at Midnight
might work. It's actually the last book I'm writing in this series. After six, I'm tired of it. I want to try something totally different. Believe it or not, I'd like to write a comedy."

"Oh wow. That never would have crossed my mind. Umm…I hope that didn't sound rude. It's just that you're so good at writing suspense thrillers I'd never have guessed you'd want to write a comedy. Of course, whatever you write will be wonderful," she added in a rush.

Miles chuckled, "Tooty, you have a very nice way of being diplomatic. Thank you. It may or may not be wonderful, but I'll never know unless I give it a shot. But getting back to the title of my book, what do you think would be appropriate?"

Tooty responded immediately,
"Anja."

"You think I should give it the name of Mac's romantic interest?"

"Actually, she's not his romantic interest. The way you're going with the storyline, she's his soul mate, counterpart, other half."

"Tooty, you are an incorrigible romantic. Okay, I'll consider naming the book
Anja."

"Really?"

"Yes, really."

Tooty grinned and then asked, "So, when do you think you'll leave?"

"In about a week."

"Harris and I will miss you," she said shyly.

Miles lifted his cup to his lips and then brought it back to his knee, tapping the side of it with his index finger. He seemed lost in thought.

Tooty watched a second hawk soar into sight and now the two birds flew together in a lovely arc.

"Have you ever been to New York, Tooty?"

"Goodness, no. The furthest I've been is Los Angeles when I was a kid. Mostly, all I remember is freeways and my mother yelling at my father to watch out for all the crazy California drivers."

Miles didn't respond and Tooty glanced at him.

Unexpectedly, he asked, "Would you and Harris like to come to New York with me? I still need a personal assistant."

"I thought you already had an assistant in New York."

"I do, but she has family issues at the moment and needs time off."