Dreams for Stones Read Free

opinion. He hadn’t
stopped to think, but once he did, he’d apologized. Sincerely.
    Sitting next to him, listening to his
reasons, seeing how much he wanted to go to San Francisco, she’d
been unable to deny him.
    Compromise. Essential to any relationship.
This time, his turn to get what he wanted, next time, hers.
Sacrificing for someone you loved was noble. And since that
afternoon, they’d worked things out. Everything was fine again.
Would be fine. The bright glow had dimmed only a little. After all,
his dedication to his career was one of the things she loved about
him.
    She’d dated enough to know a man who treated
her with such care and thoughtfulness—well, most of the time—wasn’t
as rare as hens’ teeth. But men like that sure weren’t thick on the
ground either.
    With a sigh, she opened the bottom drawer of
the dresser, lifted out a pile of sweaters, and plopped them
willy-nilly into one of the cartons Greg had dropped off.
    San Francisco. It was, as he’d pointed out,
only two years. She could manage two years. Except. . .
    She froze in the act of adding a pair of
jeans to the sweaters and sat back on her heels. How could she have
overlooked that one, casual line. “My pick of positions when I
finish.”
    She’d been so focused on the main issue of
the move, she’d let him slip right by her the hint that after his
residency he might accept a position someplace he considered more
prestigious than Denver.
    But would he, really?
    Before he announced his plan to go to San
Francisco, she would have said, no way.
    And now?
    She narrowed her eyes, staring at the photo
of Greg on the small table to her right.
    Darn right he would.
    So, was this how she planned to handle it?
Pack and meekly tag along? As if everything she wanted, needed, was unimportant when stacked up against Greg’s
“career.”
    Startled, she stared at the shreds of
cardboard in her hands and realized she was halfway through tearing
apart a box.
    Listen to
your heart, Kathleen. It’s telling you what to do .
    This was certainly a fine time for her Emily
tape to start.
    Except, it was really. The exact right
time.
    Because whenever she was confused or
worried, all she needed to do was tap into an Emily memory or dig
out one of Emily’s diaries, the way some people did the Bible . She’d pick up one of the small, leather books, open
it at random and read. It always calmed her and, from that calm,
her answer would come.
    “Kathy dear, how is the packing coming?”
    Kathy’s tiny landlady stood in the doorway,
her halo of white hair backlit by light from the hallway.
    Kathy shifted her gaze from Mrs. Costello to
the shreds of cardboard she was still holding. “Oh, just
peachy.”
    “That’s good to hear.” Mrs. C raised her
eyebrows a notch, eyeing the demolished box. “You know, dear, we’re
going to miss you something fierce when you leave.”
    “Oh, and I’m going to miss you, Mrs. C.”
Kathy scrambled to her feet to give her landlady, who smelled of
warm bread and cinnamon, a hug. Mrs. C’s foundation garment made
her feel stiff, but Kathy felt the returned affection in the pats
the older woman gave her.
    Mrs. C stepped back and used her apron to
wipe moisture from her eyes. “What a couple of sillies we are.” She
patted Kathy’s arm. “You go on with your packing, dear. You don’t
want to hold up that young man of yours. I just wanted to tell you,
dinner will be ready in fifteen minutes.”
    Kathy leaned on the doorjamb after Mrs. C
left, looking at her room: the floral carpet with its pattern of
pink cabbage roses, the four-poster bed with its white chenille
spread, the vanity with its stiffly starched doily centered on
top.
    Chances were good it had looked exactly the
same for at least fifty years. But maybe that was why she was so
attached to it.
    When she’d rented the room, she’d planned on
staying only a week or two, until she found someone to share the
expense of an apartment, but five years had now