Passing Through Midnight Read Free

the wide cobbled street
downtown in front of the drugstore and limped her way along the
sidewalk to a cafe. A middle-aged woman smiled and said hello. Dorie
stopped to see if she'd turn back and stare—she didn't.
    Her entrance at the cafe didn't go unnoticed, but it was
amazingly short-lived considering that she was dressed in a trench
coat, scarf, and dark glasses, as if she were traveling incognito in a
forties film. She heard no whispering, caught no furtive glances in her
direction. One man nodded a greeting as she hobbled over to an empty
booth, and that was it. It was as if the people of Colby were
inherently open and friendly but well mannered enough to mind their own
business. She liked that.
    She liked the way they looked too. Clean, healthy, and
solid. No designer suits, no gang colors, no spiked heels…
or hair. Salt-of-the-earth types who didn't feel the need to carry guns
in their pockets; who weren't looking for potential victims to fleece.
They were hardworking types who looked comfortable and satisfied with
their lives.
    That afternoon she'd sat in a room full of strangers, and
her hands didn't shake. For the first time in weeks she'd felt safe and
relaxed. She was a big fish getting smaller all the time, hidden away
in a little pond.
    Now, she shivered in the wind and pulled her coat tight
about her as she recalled that first wintery afternoon. Her emergency
run into Warren's IGA for cookie mix that morning had been a quick
in-and-out affair that no one seemed to notice—she was
practically invisible already. She was still nodding approval of her
decision to stay in Colby when she became alert to the sound of a
vehicle on the county road in front of the house.
    The big black and silver truck turned into the gravel
drive, and her heart began to race. She pushed the dark glasses tight
against her face and pulled the scarf close to her cheeks as she stood
to greet the Howletts.
    When out-of-doors she usually took the precaution of using
a cane to help her walk, but this was sort of a special occasion and
she'd opted to go without it—hoping one less oddity in her
appearance would be less frightening to the little boy. However, as she
stepped to the end of the porch, she discovered that limping and
balancing a plate of cookies in one hand could be a little tricky.
    Instead of turning to park between the house and the barn,
the truck came directly toward her and stopped short a few feet from
the bottom step.
    "Dorothy Devries?" The man cut the engine and was out of
the truck before she could adjust to how much taller he was on ground
level than from a second-story window. It startled her.
    "Yes. Mr. Howlett, right?"
    "I'm Gil," he said, coming up the steps with a disarming
smile.
    "I'm Dorie." She swallowed the panicky feeling she'd
recently acquired in the presence of strangers, and tried to smile
back. Her lips felt stiff and awkward.
    "I'm mighty glad you decided to come out of the house on
your own. We were getting worried about you."
    "Well, I…" She'd been hoping to play the old
my-behavior-isn't-too-strange-if-no-one-comments-on-it game, but
obviously he didn't know the rules. "I've been ill."
    "You should have hollered out the window. We might have
been able to help."
    "No," she said quickly, realizing that the nervousness
inside and the tingling in her fingers weren't all panic. He was a
stranger to her, yes, but he was also a very attractive and appealing
stranger. "I wasn't that kind of ill. I'm recuperating from an
accident. I'm fine. I… it's just hard to get around
sometimes, and I don't look…"
    He nodded, lowering his eyes for a moment, then he smiled
at her with understanding.
    "You don't have to explain anything. We wanted you to know
that we're around if you need anything, is all." He shrugged at the
simplicity of it. He was watching her closely, as if trying to figure
out what she might look like without the dark glasses and scarf.
    "Thank you," she said, feeling relieved and