Red Midnight Read Free

spring—”
    “Mary,” Erin murmured, shaking her head with a smiling determination, “I’ve been to all the above—”
    “Jeez. Hard life!” Mary interrupted dryly, but immediately regretted her outburst. She might be the one person in the world who was fully aware that Erin McCabe had endured a hard life. No, not for all the beauty and glamor and travel could Mary really envy her childhood friend. She had watched Erin bury both her father and mother and then her beloved fiancé, a victim of a cerebral hemorrhage at twenty-two. She had seen Erin leave college to support her aging parents until their deaths, and give up her simple dream of becoming a teacher of social sciences and government.
    Mary had also watched Erin rise to the top of the modeling field, work she had chosen when she was desperate for income, work which had become habit. And then Mary had shared her friend’s happiness when she had fallen in love with Marc Helmsly, the handsome, charming, world-renowned photographer. She had laughed and cried at the wedding that had made front-page headlines, so pleased that Erin had finally found happiness.
    She had also been the one to receive Erin on her doorstep in the dead of night three months after the fabulous wedding, an Erin in shock, so profoundly hurt and disillusioned that to this day Mary didn’t really understand fully all that had happened.
    Marc Helmsly had spoken to the papers; he had labeled Erin a beautiful and charming woman unable to accept the commitments and responsibilities of marriage.
    Erin had made little comment. She had pursed trembling lips that would never falter again; her silver-blue gaze had become opaque, forever hiding her secrets and emotions. Her words to the press had been simple and noncommittal: she and Mr. Helmsly had made a terrible mistake—their differences were irreconcilable.
    That had been six months ago. Erin had gone back to work, more beautiful than before, her unique and stunning eyes touched by a new, haunting enigma. Those eyes of deep, seductive silver seemed on camera to hold all the intoxicating mystique of the ages.
    And of course, there were always the gold bracelets. No matter what the product or costume, Erin wore the bracelets that had come from the one person who had come to mean the world to her. But it had been only since the breakup with Marc that she had nervously played with the bracelets. When agitated, she absently slid them in circles around her wrists.
    Mary knew why Erin had become so attached to the bracelets in the first place, and she shrewdly assumed she now knew why Erin—unknowingly—used the bracelets like another woman might chew her nails. She wished she could help, but she really couldn’t. Certain things had to take time to work themselves out.
    Erin was ready for a vacation: Mary was well aware of that fact, and certainly agreeable. She knew that the glamor of Erin’s work was only the finished product. Erin spent hours and hours doing the same thing over and over to perfection in the photographer’s eye. She silently endured the elements and grueling hours. It had been good for her, it had kept her from thinking.
    But the divorce was final now, and Erin had firmly cleared her schedule. A change of scenery was needed.
    “Think of it, Mary,” Erin was laughing. “If I ever do get to teach, I’ll actually know what I’m talking about! The history fascinates me—everything about the U.S.S.R. is so relevant and vital to the times we live in! And Mary, you’ve been there! I remember when Ye Journey Shoppe first became a qualified Intourist office. You and Ted went, and you told me what a wonderful time you had.”
    “Erin,” Mary protested with a frown, “Ted and I went with a tour. We had a Russian-speaking American guide—as well as the government Intourist guides—with us all the way. You’re going all alone, by train! I’ve warned you that you’re not going to find the majority of the citizens on the streets