Mr. Sloan and the Crone

The crone was almost as creaky as the door she ambled through, and she dressed the part.

As she stepped over the threshold, one bony knee poked a sharp dent in the black robe that hung from her pinpoint shoulders. Now and then as she walked, an atrophied, stiff toe or two protruded from beneath the front hem.

The robe had a hood, too, and it was pulled up over her head so that only her eyes were visible. They looked like galaxies in what was otherwise a void. She stopped in front of me, the hood tilting as she raked me top to bottom and back again.

The a fold on the right side of the robe detached elevated. An old knobby, wart-covered hand protruded, and one gnarled finger uncurled from a fist. She shoved it in my direction.

“You’re Jimmy Sloan.”

I was seated with my right hip on the front corner of my desk. I got there just before the door swung open.

My left shoe was planted firmly on the floor. My right shoe dangled a foot or so above it. I hadn’t had time to grab my jacket from the coat rack when I heard the quiet conversation outside my door. At least my red tie was in fairly good order hanging down the front of my white shirt. Behind a black leather belt, the shirt was tucked into my dark grey trousers. I hadn’t sat in my chair yet today so the crease was still fresh.

“Yes, I’m James Sloan,” I said. “What can I do for you?”

She poked that finger at me again, this time right at my nose. “Nothing!” She cackled. “But there’s a great deal I can do for you, Jimbeaux. If you’ll let me.”

Somehow I was suddenly chilly. As I crossed my arms over my chest, I slipped a patented, fully amiable half-grin across my face and shook my head. “I’m sorry, Miss....”

I waited but she didn’t fill in the blank.

“The fact is, I’m not hiring right now.” I slipped my right hip off the corner of my desk and straightened to my full height, around 6’2”. I gestured past her toward the door. “But if you’d like to leave your information with Janice, I’d be happy to look it over later if—”

She cackled again. “I’m not looking for a job, child.” She cast a desultory look around my office. “And if I were, I certainly wouldn’t look here.”

“Oh?” I said, and settled on the desk again. “Then what can I do for you?”

She shook her head. “Nothing. I already told you—”

I held up one hand. “Right. Let me rephrase that. What can you do for me?”

She became very still, though I’m not sure how I could tell. The wall and open door behind her blurred, and external sounds faded into nothing. It was as if we were truly alone, floating in a void somewhere. How’d she do that?

“I can clear up the matter of Billy Perkins, for one thing.”

I felt my own jaw drop.

Billy Perkins was a childhood friend, kind of my adopted little brother. Even if he were still alive, I hadn’t seen him since I was almost 11 and he was just-turned 7, down at the river playing in an old boat that drifted into shore one day.

But Billy wasn’t still alive. He died that day. Drowned. While I was racing back along the path to town to get help.

Quietly, I said, “Get out.”

She didn’t move.

I peered at where I thought her face should be. “Are you deaf?” I said, and I pointed past her at the door. “Get out!”

I thought I heard a growl. It seemed to come from the outer edge of a distance, like maybe a dog down on the street seven stories below my open window.

The finger extended slowly toward me again. It was quivering. “Don’t toss aside this opportunity so lightly, Jimbeaux Jimmy Jim James Sloan. You’ve worried far too long over things that weren’t your fault, and you don’t even remember it all.”

“You gotta be out of your tree,” I said. I looked past her at the door again and raised my voice. “Janice?”

No response.

“You’re making a serious mistake, silly little Jimmy Jimbeaux James Sloan.”

“Janice! Come in here please!”

When the door opened, I’d tell Janice straight away to call the cops. Better to get a police report, document this nonsense right from the beginning.

“She won’t come,” the hag said. “She can’t until I release her.”

I ignored her. “Janice! Come here!”

“You really want me to go?”

“Janice!”

The old woman reached that finger back toward the door, flicked it. Then she looked at me. “Don’t give up just yet, Jimbeaux.”

Footsteps sounded on the floor outside.

As the door knob began to turn, I said, “Janice, I need you to call the police. Tell them—”

The crone disappeared. One moment she was there, and the next she simply wasn’t.

The door swung open, Janice still holding the door knob. “You called?”

I nodded, staring at her directly through the space formerly occupied by the robed intruder.

Janice frowned. “What is it, Mr. Sloan?”

“I—” I looked left, then right, then at Janice again. “Nothing... Nothing, I guess. That woman, did she give you her name?”

Janice’s frown deepened. “Woman?”

“Yes, the old woman in the black robe, hood over her head, all that. Did you get her name?”

“I’m sorry, sir. There’s nobody here but you and me.”

“I know that now. I mean a minute ago, when she—” But I stopped. A minute ago she had disappeared. If she came in, she’d have to go out again, right?

Only she hadn’t. She just disappeared. Vaporized. Whatever. She didn’t leave by the door. So apparently she hadn’t come in through the door.

“Mr. Sloan, are you all right?”

I slid off the desk and tried to grin. “What? Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. Hey, don’t worry about it. Just a little joke.” I paused.

Janice stared at me, concern on her face.

I forced a laughed. “Nobody’s been in all morning, right?”

Janice nodded. Quietly, she said, “That’s right.” She paused as if uneasy, then jerked a thumb over her shoulder. “So if there’s nothing else, I guess I should....”

“Yeah.” I wagged one hand at her. “Yeah, go ahead. Hey, nobody here but us chickens, right?”

She nodded again, her gaze lingering as she turned away, the worry lines still on her forehead. She reached for the door to pull it closed behind her.

“You can leave that open,” I said.

She didn’t look back, but nodded slightly as she walked through and went to her desk.

I rounded my desk and pulled out my chair. As I settled into it, something like a thought but louder and clearer, came to mind.

It was the crone, her voice as plain as if she was in the room with me again. You did well, Jimbeaux. For now, try to remember. We’ll talk again.

*

Try to remember? How could I not remember? I think I’ll never forget that day. It was four days before my 11th birthday, and it was a Saturday.

Billy Perkins came to the house that morning. He was young, but it was like having a built-in little brother. We spent a little time gabbing. I showed him in catalogues the presents I hoped to get from my parents and Aunt Margaret. Well, Margaret wasn’t really an aunt, not by blood. She was an old woman who used to work for Alan Trent, the local doctor. At 75 she took retirement, but according to the rumors around town, she was well on her way out mentally a few years before that. Trent kept her around so she’d get her full social security, but—

Trent. The name hit me like a bolt of lightning.

The doc’s kid, Carl Trent. He was with Billy that day on my porch.

That’s weird. Why hadn’t I remembered that before? All these years.

I’d heard some of the adults around town say Carl Trent was cruel, that there was something “just not right” about him. But none of the kids talked about him like that. I was sure the adults had it in for him for one reason or another.

I mean, I’d seen him be a little mean with bugs. Focusing the sun on an ant bed through a magnifying glass, things like that. And I caught him cutting up a dead cat one time. He said if he was going to be a doctor someday, he needed to practice. He didn’t say how long the cat had been dead or how it had died. I assumed it was hit by a car or something. He asked me to touch it, and I remember it was still warm.

Anyway, isn’t that odd? It wasn’t just me and Billy up in my room talking and laughing and cutting up. I wasn’t showing my wish list to just Billy. Carl Trent was there too. Even later, eating pancakes and drinking milk at the kitchen table.

In fact, Carl Trent was the reason we decided to go down to the river that day.

Of course, that was all hush-hush. Our parents didn’t allow us to go to the river without some adult tagging along. But Carl was 13.

I interrupted the memory to think about that. Did Mama let us go because Carl was with us?

No. I remember. I wasn’t sure Carl would count as an adult, so I didn’t ask. When you’re a kid, it’s always better to ask forgiveness than permission.

So after our pancakes and milk, after Carl and Billy and I talked, I told Mama we were going to the woods for awhile. It wasn’t exactly a lie. The river ran through the woods, albeit about two miles distant. But two miles was nothing to kids who had all day Saturday to wander as they wanted.

Still, on our way out the door, Mama shouted from the kitchen, “You boys stay away from that river. It’s running high this time of year.”

We heard her plainly.

When I think back about that day with 28 years of 20-20 hindsight, I hear her even more plainly in my mind. And I wonder how I ever could have disobeyed her.

But that day, the day when it really mattered, I looked over my shoulder on my way out and said, “Sure, Ma.” I know it didn’t sound as sarcastic as I meant it or she would have been out the door and calling us back to reinforce her instructions.

But the door slammed behind me and there we were. Billy Perkins standing on the front porch, a big grin plastered on his face. He was looking back and waiting for me to come through the door. When I did, he gazed up at me with massive brown eyes filled with joy. The big brother little brother thing.

And Carl Trent, the doctor’s own kid. He was already off the porch, standing on the lawn with his hands on his hips. Even if he wasn’t 13 he should have known better than to go to the river. He was the doctor’s kid, after all.

In my mind, I heard, But it was his idea.

But Billy and I didn’t have to listen to him, did we?

Probably not, if he just handed out instructions but didn’t go with us. Like the adults.

But he was practically an adult, and he not only went with us, but he had invited us.

In fact, he even confirmed it. As Billy turned and he and I hopped down the five stair steps to the lawn, Carl said, “So the river, right?”

“Right,” I said.

And Billy said, “We got something to show you.”

But no, that wasn’t right.

As I recalled the memory in my office, I frowned. It wasn’t Billy. Billy isn’t the one who said that. Billy wouldn’t have said that, ever. He was strictly a go-along kid, a follower.

And I’d never seen the boat before. I’d been to the river a few times, both alone and with Billy Perkins tagging along, but I’d never seen the boat.

No, that was Carl Trent.

I saw Billy turning, saw him on my right, me on the left, hopping down the stairs.

And Carl Trent said, “So the river, right?”

“Right,” I said, a big grin on my face.

“Good,” Carl said. “I got something to show you.” He put one hand on Billy’s right shoulder and one on my left, then leaned forward. In a conspiratorial voice, he said, “It’s a boat.” 

My eyebrows arched. “A boat?” My birthday was coming up. Only four days. Billy’s next birthday, his eighth, was still eight months away. Carl’s had passed almost six months earlier, so mine was closest.

We were at that adventurous age, where if we were out exploring and happened across something really cool, we could claim it. At least that seemed fair to us. Finders keepers, losers weepers.

If Carl had found a boat, no doubt it was damaged. But what said three enterprising young adventurers couldn’t repair it, make it seaworthy again, and use it to expand their exploratory reach?

Nothing. Nothing and nobody, since we wouldn’t tell anyone else about it.

The next thing I saw in my memory was the three of us entering the woods. That was new too.

For the past thirty years, I don’t think I recalled that part even one time. Always before, the memory began with me yelling to Billy to be careful. Then Billy was falling backward into the river, his right shoe caught in a hole in the boat. The boat snapping loose from whatever had snagged it and flipping up over him. The boat covering him, keeping him safe, giving him an air pocket.

Only that last part was wishful thinking. It isn’t what happened. The boat carried him away.

But today I remembered us going into the woods, and I remembered it clearly.

Whenever we went into the woods to explore, we always entered across the street and about three blocks up from my house. “Up” being toward town, and “down” being toward the river. It was a diversionary tactic, and we were certain it was genius. Surely no adult would consider that we might curl back south and head for the river. After all, if we were going to the river, we would have turned south right there on my street, run off the end of it, and plunged into the woods there.

We were just lucky nobody had followed us.

Well, that day we’d have been lucky if someone had.

Once we were in the woods, Billy and I walked at a slower than usual pace. We were looking for Morel mushrooms. We’d stuff them into our pockets and eventually make a lunch of them. It was a big deal, providing our own lunch from the wild.

Then Carl was coming back toward us.

“What’s the matter?” I said.

“What are you guys doing? We don’t have all day. Don’t you want to see the boat?”

“We’re looking for Morels,” I said. “We always find Morels in this part. Then later—”

“Well, I’m going to see the boat.” He stopped, put his hands on his hips again. “You guys coming or what? I mean, we get that boat going,” and he shrugged. “You know.”

I didn’t know. If we got the boat going, we could find more mushrooms? But Carl Trent was 13. His unfinished sentence made perfect sense to me. That it did made me feel practically 13 myself. “C’mon, Billy, hurry.”

Carl turned away again and took the lead.

Billy and I did our best to keep up.

*

After almost a half-hour of making our way through all kinds of dense brush, low-hanging limbs, and those tall, skinny weeds with the little sticky flowers that cling to your pants, we came out in a clearing. We couldn’t see the river yet, but we could hear it. The sound reminded me of what Mama had said. The river’s running high this time of year.

Carl was waiting for us again, his hands on his hips. He seemed both excited and agitated. “You guys wanna see it, or what?”

“Sure,” I said. The river was obviously just beyond the next long thicket of woods. There were places, too, where the bank was several feet high. You could be going through the woods one second and plummeting into the river the next. And the river was running high. Mama said, and my own ears confirmed it.

“Carl,” I said, “we probably ought’a go slow from here. The river’s up and—”

Carl grinned. “Well, a’course the river’s up.” He clapped me on the shoulder, dubbing me his equal. “If it wasn’t, a boat wouldn’t’ve broke loose upstream and it wouldn’t be lodged up against a stump about fifty yards from this very spot.”

“Only fifty yards?”

Quietly, Billy said, “That’s almost half a football field.”

Carl put his hand on the kid’s shoulder. “It’s exactly half a football field, and that’s not very far, is it?” Then he looked at me. “Fifty yards to your boat, Jimbeaux. So you wanna see it?”

Jimbeaux. Carl Trent is the only person on Earth who called me Jimbeaux. It was like his private nickname for me. All the cool kids had nicknames. His use of it, especially combined with that clap on the shoulder —I was definitely being invited into his circle.

And he said Fifty yards to your boat. My boat! He’d found it, but he was giving it to me!

I swelled my chest out a little and put on my best approximation of a deeper voice. “A’course we wanna see it.” I glanced at my friend. “Don’t we, Billy?”

As almost always, Billy nodded. “Okay.”

“This way,” Carl said. Some of the agitation had drained away, and he seemed more excited than at any other part of the trip. He was practically hopping as he walked. At the time, I remember thinking that was probably because we were getting closer to the boat.

After another few minutes hacking our way through dense brush, as I had feared we came out at a place where the roiling surface of the river was probably twelve feet below us.

Clinging to a stout-looking limb, Carl leaned out over the river and pointed. “Look! It’s down there.”

I surged up next to him, grasped another branch, and leaned out.

Sure enough, there was a boat. Wooden, about eight feet long and a few feet wide at the broadest point about halfway back. It was probably two feet wide at the stern, and the bow was pointed.

It was partially submerged, the stern rising and slapping down on the water as the current changed beneath it.

Almost shouting to make myself heard over the roar of the river, I said, “But we can’t get down there. There’s no way back up.”

“Sure there is,” Carl said. He pointed to the right. “Look over there.”

He was right. Around fifty feet to the right, a steeply sloped, deeply grooved pathway led a little over halfway straight down the bank. From there it turned left and led down to the edge of the river. The lower part was still steep, but not as much.

Probably a game trail. It was mostly mud with some thin green grass growing up through it. The surface was mottled as if with hoof prints.

“So whaddya say? Ready to go get your boat?”

“How we gonna do it? It isn’t like we can carry it back up that slope.”

He moved back from the edge and motioned me to follow.

When we got to a quieter place where the sound of the river wasn’t overpowering, he said, “There’s a rope in it. What we do, we go down to it. Then we get it to break loose and we walk it downriver until we come to a place where we can pull it up on the bank. Can’t be very far.”

That sounded okay to me. “Okay,” I said. “But let’s leave Billy up here until we figure out where we’re gonna pull it up.”

Carl frowned and suddenly seemed agitated again. “No,” he said. “After all, Billy’s the guest of honor. If he isn’t coming, forget it.”

Forget it? I didn’t want to forget it. And Billy’s the guest of honor? What’s that mean? It’s my boat. My birthday was closest, and besides, he’d already said it was my boat. I felt a twinge of anticipation, or maybe misgiving.

But the boat was right there. It was practically mine. A fifty-foot walk to a path, another fifty or sixty feet back, and the boat was mine.

Well, I could figure it all out later. I looked at Billy. “You okay to go down there with us?”

He shrugged and smiled up at me. “Sure. I trust you, Jimmy. You’re my friend.”

Again I felt the slightest tingle of anticipation, like something wasn’t quite right. But it was easy enough to ignore, given that in ten or fifteen minutes, I would be the only almost 11 year old in town who owned his own boat.

*

Carl led us through heavy brush to where the game trail cut through the woods. He stepped out onto the trail and waited. Again, he was almost hopping. “You guys ready?”

“Yeah, we’re—”

“Well, c’mon! C’mon!” and he turned away, took a few steps, then dropped off the side of the bank and slid down the game trail.

We followed.

I went slower than I could have. I wanted to make sure if Billy slipped, he’d bump into me instead of shooting off into the river.

As I watched, Carl caught himself where the game trail turned. For an instant, he hovered as if he was going to fall off the end of the game trail. Then he caught himself, turned left and started down the lesser slope.

Again I felt that twinge of worry.

I snapped my fingers. Quietly, I said, “That’s what it was. Worry. Not anticipation.”

But worry about what?

I wasn’t worried about Carl. He could take care of himself. Besides, he liked taking chances.

And Billy was safely tucked in behind me. If he went off into the river, he’d land on top of me.

No, what I was worried about was Carl himself. His attitude. His seeming rush to get to the boat. His insistence that Billy was the “guest of honor,” whatever that meant. And I was worried about what that meant. I’d ask him at the bottom. After we all got safely to the boat.

When we got there, the boat was a thing of beauty. It was broken, yes, but the wood was polished to a yellowish-reddish sheen. Some kind of varnish, probably. Open top, a seat on the bow side of the middle and another seat near the stern, both of the same polished wood.

Carl was pointing. “Look! That’s the only flaw in the whole boat.”

I looked. One piece of board had a gash cut out of it, almost halfway back near the waterline on the right side. It was a misshapen square the width of a board, so about three inches by three inches. Even a kid could patch something like that. I was sure of it.

There was a question I wanted to ask Carl, but I forgot what it was.

Carl held his arms in my direction and talked past me. “C’mon, Billy. Time for you to shine.”

That was it. I wanted to ask Carl what he meant when he said Billy was the guest of honor.

But Billy was already moving past me.

Then Carl was picking him up, his hands locked under the little guy’s arms.

He set him in the boat. “You’re gonna rock the boat back and forth for us. Rock it loose.”

“Carl, why’s Billy got to—”

Carl wheeled on me. “He’s the lightest, don’t you see that? He’s the lightest, that’s all. It’ll be easier for us to pull him and the boat ashore.” Then he turned away. “Don’t be afraid, Billy. Just put one foot over here and one over there and rock it back and forth.”

“Where’s the rope? Grab the rope before he starts rocking—”

Then there was a splash.

Billy yelled, “Hey!”

I turned to look. His right foot had gone through the little three-inch hole.

Billy said, “Jimmy?” and reached his arms for me to pull him out.

But as I reached for him, the river surged. The boat rocked side to side and he lost his balance.

As I watched, little Billy Perkins screamed and sat down hard on the edge of the boat, then flopped backward into the river, his foot still caught in the hole.

I yelled, “Carl!” and looked left, but he wasn’t there. I looked right.

He was standing almost halfway up the lower slope of the game trail, his hands on his hips. And he was laughing. “Is that the dumbest thing you ever saw?” He laughed again. It sounded a little maniacal.

“Help me get him out!”

The river surged again. The boat rocked, then rose and fell. Then the near side of it snapped loose and rolled over on top of Billy.

I yelled, “Help me!” and turned to Carl, but he was halfway up the steeper part of the game trail, still laughing. “Carl! Come back! Help me!”

If he heard me, he didn’t show any signs of it.

I looked at the boat again. The way it was turned over, Billy should be able to sit up, get his head above the surface of the water. If the boat stayed there, he would be all right.

I yelled, “Billy! Just relax! I’m going to get help!”

I thought I heard a knock on the wood.

The river was so loud. I couldn’t be sure, but I thought Billy was telling me it was all right.

I scrambled up the lower part of the slope, turned and raced to the top of the steeper part as quickly as I could. It seems like I slid back two steps for every step forward I took, but eventually I made the top.

Carl Trent was nowhere to be seen, not that I spent a lot of time looking. He just disappeared.

I raced through the woods, hard as I could run. I ran to my house, the house nearest the river on my street. I burst through the door. “Mama! Billy’s in the river! Help!”

Mama was thinking more clearly than I was.

She called the sheriff’s department and told them what happened. The sheriff himself picked us up in a  dispatched a four-wheel drive vehicle a few minutes later. They also dispatched a helicopter with a couple of guys suited up in dive gear.

Following my directions, the sheriff drove us straight to the head of the game trail I’d scrambled up.

I jumped out of the truck before it was stopped all the way and stumbled to the slope, then ran down it. At the corner, I turned and looked and—

The boat was gone.

The boat was gone, and Billy was gone.

I sat down and cried.

Sometime later, I woke up in my bed at home.

Mama never mentioned the river again. She seemed to know I’d never go back there.

*

I became aware my elbows were on my desk, my forehead resting in the palms of my hands.

The voice was quiet. “Are you all right now, James?”

I looked up.

The old woman in the black robe was standing in front of my desk. Behind her, my office door was closed.

“It was Carl. Carl Trent. Wasn’t it?”

She nodded, once. “Yes. It was Carl Trent. So it came back to you?”

“It came back.” I was exhausted. I felt as if I’d just raced up the two muddy slopes and two miles through the woods, the brush and tree limbs and weeds tugging at my every step.

“Your mother should have let you attend the funeral, you know. Closure.”

I only nodded. Another memory came back and I bowed my head. “They—they found him. Three miles downriver. Snagged on a fallen tree. His little foot—” My voice broke. “His foot was still caught. In the hole in the damn boat.”

She moved silently around the desk. “I know. I know, dear.” Then I felt her left hand pass over my back, grip my left shoulder, squeeze lightly. “But it’s all right now, isn’t it?”

I looked up at her, my eyes still clouded with tears. “How is it all right?”

“Billy knew it wasn’t you. He knew you tried to help. You were his big brother. He knew.”

I blinked my eyes to clear them.

The black robe was gone. She was wearing a dress. A complicated blue print over soft white fabric. The belt, even the buckle, was covered with the same cloth, the same print.

I’d seen it a hundred times if I’d seen it once. “Aunt Margaret?”

She smiled, gently, as she continued to stand beside me, holding me. “Oh, I’m considerably more lucent than they gave me credit for, dear.” She paused. “Especially now.”

“But you’ve been—” I stopped. Aunt Margaret had been dead for what, 20 years? But did I really want to argue the point? Finally I said, “Why the black robe? The hood?”

“If you’d seen me like this, you’d have recognized me and you wouldn’t believe. Or you would believe yourself mad. I couldn’t help you if I couldn’t get close, dear.”

She let go, then walked back around to the front of my desk. Her white leather purse was clutched in her hands at her waist. She looked as if she was on her way to church.

“Now then,” she said. “It’s pretty close to five o’clock. Don’t you think maybe you should lock this place up and take that pretty secretary somewhere special for supper? Maybe some dancing?”

“Janice? But she’d never—”

She laughed quietly. “Oh, James. Of course she would. The woman’s been dropping hints ever since I’ve known her. And even if you don’t recognize those, when will you learn to listen to your elders? Besides, shouldn’t you at least offer her the option? Shouldn’t her answer be up to her? If you never ask, you’ll never know.”

She stood still then, and looked at me for a long moment. Finally she shook her head, laughed again, then held her hands out to her sides. “Enjoy your life, James.”

And just like that, she was gone.

*

So I should invite Janice to supper? Is that what she was saying?

All these years, all of my adult life, I’d reconciled with the fact that I would live alone. After all, until a few moments ago, I’d always believed myself a coward, even a borderline murderer.

As a result, I’d felt considerably less than worthy of taking a personal interest in anyone as wonderful as Janice. And she was wonderful. I was more than fortunate just being able to see her every day—well, every weekday at least—on a professional level.

I can’t say she never crossed my mind on a very personal level. She did so often. Janice is intelligent, witty, and strikingly beautiful. I often wondered why she stayed with me even in her professional capacity.

And had she put off signals as Aunt Margaret seemed to believe?

I didn’t remember even one. Then again, maybe I was so certain she was above my station that I was never receptive to even the idea that she might be interested in me on a personal level.

My father once said I think too much. Finally, maybe, I understood what he meant. Certainly at the moment, all my thoughts were running in circles. But Aunt Margaret was right. The decision to ask was mine, but I owed it to Janice to be honest with her. To let her know how I felt and leave the decision about whether to become involved with me up to her.

I looked at my phone. She was right there on the other end of the intercom. I took a long moment to gather myself, then picked up the phone and pressed the intercom button.

I started to dial, but stopped. If this was going to be personal, I probably shouldn’t begin by summoning her as her employer. I placed the receiver gently back in the cradle, got up and crossed to the door. I took a moment to clear my throat, then opened the door.

“Janice?”

She looked up from behind her desk. “Yes sir?”

Sir. “Please call me James. Or Jim.” I paused, uncertain how to continue.

She frowned.

I cleared my throat again. “We’ve been together a while, haven’t we?”

“Oh, yes sir. James. Several years, in fact.”

“And yet I just realized I’ve never asked you to supper. As a kind of date, I mean.”

A smile spread across her face and color began to rise in her throat.

Her beautiful, smooth alabaster throat.

“A date? No sir. I mean, James. No, you haven’t.”

“I mean on a personal level, of course. Not business.”

Still smiling, she said nothing.

He nodded, then cleared his throat. “So—I was thinking—I mean, if you aren’t otherwise engaged, I was just wondering... Is there any chance at all that maybe you might—”

She laughed and stood up. “Mr. Sloan, James, I would love to go out to supper with you.”

“Really?”

She laughed again, and her eyes twinkled. “Really.”

I’d heard of such things, but I’d never seen it myself before. They actually twinkled.

For some reason, a slight tremor raced through my body. I gripped the door jamb, hoping she hadn’t noticed. Then I was talking again, and it all came out in a rush. “I was thinking maybe we could close the office and go directly from here. And I thought we might go dancing afterward. I mean, if you like to dance. Do you like to dance, Janice?”

She laughed again and nodded. Two tears broke free, one from each eye, and traced their way down her cheeks. “Now? Of course, you know it takes a little while for a woman to get ready.”

“Of course,” I said, mortified. I’d pushed too hard. “Perhaps another time then.”

But even as that blather was coming out of my mouth, she picked up her purse and pushed her chair under her desk. “Okay, I’m ready.”

Her smile was luminous. How had I never noticed?

* * * * * * *