A Place to Be

tears

CHAPTER ONE

A medium-built pleasing-to-the-eye man picked his way through the piles of drifting snow on the streets of Old Montreal. He turned the collar of his tan overcoat up around his reddening ears and lowered his head against the wind. He had found a pay phone and called in, but had been informed it was Christmas Eve, and he should hang loose for the next few days. After years of working in the field, of being alone, he had forgotten it was Christmas, not that it mattered to him.

Walking past a bright neon sign above a door, PETE’S BAR OPEN, he suddenly stopped in his tracks, turned and walked in. He hung his coat on a wooden wall peg, stamped the snow from his shoes, and sat down beside an attractive woman sitting alone on one of the barstools.

After ordering a dark beer, he said, You're an American, aren't you?

She nodded. A lucky guess, I think.

What is a pretty American doing sitting in a Montreal bar all by herself on Christmas Eve? he asked, glancing around the almost empty room. A middle aged couple sat in one corner, and two young men were at another table.

She looked at him out of wide, sky-blue eyes. I could ask you the same thing.

I'm supposed to be here on business, but at the last minute it was postponed until after Christmas. He ordered another beer for himself and asked the bartender to serve the lady.

Thanks, she said, sipping the Chardonnay.

The narrow room had a dance floor at the far end, and someone had started the canned music. Turning completely toward her where he could cast both of his penetrating blue eyes on her pretty oval face, he asked, Would you like to dance?

I don't think I have ever danced on Christmas Eve, she said as she rose and extended her hand to him. The music was soft but had a good dance beat. She fit nicely in his arms. He had always been a good dancer, and she followed him expertly. Her very fair skin felt satiny against his cheek, and her long blond hair smelled like flowers. When he commented on the scent of her hair, she laughed and said it must be the shampoo. Being almost as tall as he was, she was able to focus on his square jawline and high cheekbones. She noticed he had a small scar above his left eyebrow. She felt an overwhelming desire to reach up and touch it, but she didn't.

The music continued to play, but feeling a rush of emotions they didn‘t expect, they separated and returned to the barstools, and he ordered another round of drinks.

So, why are you in Montreal? he asked, looking serious.

Fiddling with her wine glass, she answered, I'm a freelance journalist. I came here following a story.

You mean you're in business for yourself.

Something like that. Sometimes, I take assignments from the various wire services.

Where are you staying?

She turned and pointed to her bags sitting by the door. Nowhere. I checked out of my hotel room. I guess I intended to return to the States for Christmas. And then averting her eyes from his, she added, But one place at Christmastime is as good as another.

Yeah, I know what you mean, he said and ordered another round.

Still looking away, she continued to talk. Last month my brother was killed in Bosnia. My only living relative is my grandmother. She lives on St. Simons in Georgia. I don't know why, but I haven't been able to go see her since the funeral.

He gently put his hand on her shoulder but then quickly removed it. Christmas isn't so great for me either. I lost both my parents last year a few days before the holidays, not that I saw them all that much but knowing they were there, somehow helped.

I'm sorry, she replied sympathetically. They continued to sit, almost touching, and to talk.

Folks, it's 2:00 a. m. and besides it’s Christmas Day. I have to close, said the bartender. They quickly looked around and realized they were the only two left in the bar. He asked her to come with him. He had a hotel room, large enough for the two of them. After paying the bartender, he picked up her bags, and they went out into the snowy night.

He placed her luggage on the rack at the foot of one of the beds, called room service and ordered an insulated pot of coffee and two cups. In answer to her quizzical look, he said, I like my coffee as soon as I wake up. He then reached for her and kissed her. Although startled, she kissed him back.

After a long kiss, he backed away, declaring, I've been wanting to do that for hours.

She slowly removed her long black wool coat and walked over and hung it in the small closet. She slipped off her boots. With both her hands behind her on the doorknob and leaning against the closet door, she confessed. I have never -- you know -- done it. I have come close a few times, but never actually done it.

You mean at twenty-nine years old you have never made love? he asked incredulously, sitting down on the edge of the other bed.

As I said, I came close a few times, but I never wanted it to be a one night stand. I guess I’m old-fashioned. She walked over and stood in front of the windows.

In my day I think you would be called a tease, he answered somewhat puzzled but quickly added, I don't think that way.

Looking at him through mellow eyes, she said, I guess I've been lucky. All the guys I have known understood I wanted it to be because I was in love. They never pushed me. Tonight -- somehow I feel different.

He stood up and walked over to her. Maybe it's because we're two lonely Americans stranded away from home.

All I know right now is that I want to feel your arms around me, she said.

He slowly, tenderly undressed her and at the same time pulled off his pants. She helped by unbuttoning his shirt. Somehow they found the bed. Starting at her mouth, and then her throat, he gradually caressed and kissed her until they melted into each other. He gently told her he didn't want to hurt her. Are you sure? He whispered.

Feeling a joy beyond words, she answered him by kissing him.

Pausing to catch their breaths, she murmured to him, I never dreamed it would be like this.

*     *     *

She lay feeling she was under a waterfall. The cool water felt so good. She heard the water running. Finally, she opened her eyes. She was hearing water. The bathroom door was closed. He must be taking a shower. It gradually came to her that she had spent the night with a stranger. She didn't even know his name. The reporter in her wanted to get up and look through his wallet. No, she thought, I can't do that. This feels right. I'll have to trust my feelings. He emerged from the bathroom wrapped in a towel.

The sight of him aroused so much passion that she felt overpowered, but she still managed to smile at him and said, I don't even know your name. I'm Kate Dorsey.

He smiled back. My parents named me Rodney Shaw, but I would rather be called Rod. He decided not to tell her that while she was asleep, he had already checked her name in her wallet. He mentally noted that for the first time he had broken protocol and given someone his real name. He extended his hand and took hers. After kissing hers, he said, Glad to make your acquaintance, Kate Dorsey. I went ahead and ordered breakfast for us. I hope that‘s okay?

It is if I have time to take a shower before it comes.

Sure.

After her shower, she wrapped herself in a white terrycloth hotel robe, walked out of the bathroom, and Rod escorted her to a table in front of the windows. In the center of the table covered with a white tablecloth was a vase with a single red rose. At each end of the table were cups of steaming hot coffee and plates containing French toast, Canadian bacon and strawberries.

This looks wonderful. I'm famished, she said as she sat down.

Do you want to go out later for a Christmas dinner? he asked her.

Not really, she replied.

Good. I was hoping you would feel that way. I'm going to order us a dinner from room service.

While he was shaving in the bathroom, she absent-mindedly picked up his shirt, trousers, and sports coat that he had left on the floor. Strange, she thought as she folded them and laid them on a chair, all the labels have been cut out.

They decided to go for a walk. It had not occurred to either one of them that they did not have any presents to exchange. On the quiet deserted sidewalks flanked by old buildings, they chased each other, laughed, and threw snowballs. It was cold, but the sun was out and glistening on the snow. Breathing hard, they found a stone bench in front of a tall fir tree watching over a small park. He brushed away the snow with his gloved hand, and they sat down.

I don't know where you're from. I want to know everything about you, he told her.

I'm from nowhere, she said. I was born somewhere, Fort Benning in Columbus, Georgia to be exact, but we moved when I was six months old and never returned there. I was an Army brat. We constantly moved. I often went to three different schools in a single year. My mom was a pretty petite woman who could twist my tall ramrod straight father around her little finger. But she died of ovarian cancer when I was eight and my brother Tom was ten.

Rod took both of Kate's gloved hands into his. That must have been rough.

Yes, it was. My dad was devastated. We continued to travel with him from post to post. He ran our household in the military manner. The only way he knew, I think. My brother who had my mom's dark hair and easy smile became a miniature of him. My dad was killed in the Gulf War. That was to have been his last campaign. He was scheduled for retirement. I was supposed to go to my grandmother’s house for Christmas, but as I said, I can't. I think I became a reporter to keep moving. It's all I know.

He put his arm around her shoulder and squeezed lovingly. Let's go back. I'm getting cold. They returned to the hotel arm in arm.

They feasted that night on champagne, roast turkey with chestnut stuffing, green beans, fancy rolls, and assorted French pastries.

They spent the night making love. The floodgates opened and years of loneliness poured through. Through their touching, they explored the edges of their spirits.

When morning arrived, he had dressed, gone out to make some phone calls, and returned as she was waking up. A bellhop delivered the coffee and sweet rolls he had ordered.

He looked into her eyes but couldn't read them. My plans have changed. I'm renting a car and driving to Florida. I could give you a lift to St. Simons. It would give us more time to spend together.

Her eyes filled with tears as she answered, That's a good idea; I know I need to visit my grandmother. Struggling with her emotions, she said it wouldn't take her very long to dress and pack her bags.

Returning in exactly a half hour, he found her ready. He did a quick search of the room. They gathered their bags, and he quietly closed the door behind them as they left.

Downstairs, they checked out, walked through the giant lobby door held open by the doorman, and climbed into a hunter-green Ford Taurus. He gave her a reassuring wink and then turned his eyes to the road ahead.

CHAPTER TWO

Which way are we going? she asked.

The most direct route, he answered. Down the Northway through the Adirondack Mountains and on to the Jersey Pike.

They finally pulled into a hotel for the night south of Washington. Tired and sleepy, they both went to bed and quickly dropped off to sleep.

Two hours later, Kate jerked awake. Rod was screaming and flailing the air with his arms, Fire, on the left -- look out -- pull back!

Recognizing what she called the Nam syndrome, she hurriedly climbed into the other bed and pretended to be asleep. She had heard too many horror stories about what vets had done to their sleeping companions while dreaming of being in Vietnam. The dream woke him up. He noticed her asleep in the other bed, as he went to the bathroom to wipe the sweat off his face, poured himself a drink of water, and returned to bed.

The next morning he apologized for having frightened her. He told her that nightmares seem to be his reward for having fought in Nam. They continued their journey. With a reporter's curiosity, she asked him about posttraumatic stress among Nam vets.

Glancing toward her with a kind of painful expression, he explained, I think it's because this war was part of the sixties. She noticed that his knuckles were tightening their grip on the steering wheel. Vietnam was like no other war, he continued. The country was being pulled in every direction -- war protesters, the love generation, riots, and perhaps the biggest factor of all, drugs. How could you fight a war when so many of the men were high?

Trying to change the subject, she quickly said,   I've told you about my childhood, but you haven't told me a thing about yours.

He turned to her and grinned, relaxing his grip on the wheel, I grew up in a small town on the Ohio River. My childhood lay somewhere between Huckleberry Finn and Tom Sawyer. I had many narrow escapes on that river.

And then what? she asked.

Well, he said, with a serious expression, college was not part of my parents' dream. After graduating from high school at seventeen, I was told to get a job in the local mill. I joined the Army instead, was recruited into the Special Forces, and sent to Nam. But enough about me. He reached for her left hand, brought it to his lips and kissed it. Kate, do you believe in fate?

What do you mean?

I think you and I were fated to meet. he replied. They rode on in silence, smiling at each other now and then.

They picked up some food at a fast-food restaurant and kept driving. At last they exited I-95 and found the St. Simons Causeway. They had called ahead to Kate's grandmother, who had said she would alert the building security and wait up for them. Kate introduced them. The sandy-haired, muscular, forty-six-year-old shook hands with a statuesque, eighty-year-old female wearing her thick gray hair in a short bob.

I now know where Kate's good looks and her beautiful name come from, exclaimed Rod.

Kathryn smiled and said, Compliments entitle you to a drink, young man. What would you like?

Please, a gin and tonic, ma'am, answered Rod.

Going to the closet bar off her living room, with its walls painted a soft yellow, Kathryn made drinks for the three of them, but after a few sips on hers, she told them she was going to bed, and they could work out their own sleeping arrangements.

It was a warm night with a full moon; and although tired, Kate and Rod stood on her grandmother's balcony, gazing at the sparkling ocean. Rod told her he had never in his whole life felt for anyone the way he felt about her. He wanted it to never end. He gathered her in his arms, kissing her lips, and the hollow of her neck. After unbuttoning her blouse and opening it up, he kissed her shoulders. Kate took him by the hand and led him to the room her grandmother maintained for her. Kate moved around so much her grandmother's condo was her permanent address, even though she wasn't there too often. He gave her an inquiring look. But Kate only smiled and started unbuttoning his shirt.

*     *     *

By the time the women had risen, Rod had washed their drink glasses from last night and had found the coffeepot and made coffee. Kathryn told him if he would promise to do that each morning he could stay forever, but next time he could put the dirty dishes in the dishwasher.

Rod did just that for his entire stay. He always insisted upon loading the dishwasher and washing the dishes. Even though Kate had fallen hopelessly in love, her reporter brain kept trying to tell her that was odd. Maybe his mother had trained him.

They spent much of the day together walking on the beach and playing in the surf. She was afraid to ask him when he had to leave.

By late afternoon they returned indoors to take showers and recoup. Rod said to Kathryn and Kate. I remember years ago stopping by a restaurant on St. Simons called Veronica's Courtyard. I really liked it. Does it still exist? They both answered that it did. Good. I would like to take you there for dinner.

While they went to change clothes, Kathryn called and made reservations.

Rod went into the bathroom first. Standing in front of her opened closet looking for something to wear, Kate glanced down at Rod's suitcase sitting on the floor to the right of the closet. He had left the lid up. Partially sticking out from underneath some shirts was a gun and holster. Why would he have a gun? Whom had she so unknowingly given her heart to? A bad feeling was developing in the pit of her stomach, and she knew she would have to confront him.

Veronica's Courtyard proved to be as enjoyable as ever. They inhaled the food, along with the live music. After dinner Rod told them. I have to leave tonight. Heavy silence filled the car as they drove back to the condo.

Thanks for a lovely evening, but it's my bedtime, announced Kathryn. I hope I'll see you again, Rod. She then excused herself.

Rod and Kate walked out on the balcony and stood side by side, watching the waves rolling in. It had turned into a cool southern winter night with a soft breeze floating around them. I hate leaving you, Kate, Rod said tenderly, putting his arm around her. "I'd like to wake up each morning the rest of