This Time Forever Read online

  “Wow! They must be rich.” Bryan had his face pressed up against the passenger side window.

  In the backseat, Jeremy shuddered. “Is that a witch house?”

  “Of course not.” Mickelle felt disturbed by the question.

  “It just looks that way ’cause of the dark,” Bryan said. “And those towers.”

  “Turrets,” Mickelle corrected, turning off the engine. “It’s a beautiful house. Look, you guys stay here and wait for me. I don’t know what kind of reception I’m going to get.” Amid their protests, she raised her voice. “I mean it. I’ll be right back.”

  She walked with determination up the flower-lined walk. Approaching the porch, she saw tiny climbing roses in many colors inching along the white-painted wooden railings. So beautiful, she thought with a little burst of envy and more than a little resentment. She couldn’t help thinking that the roses would look beautiful climbing the metal railing on her own narrow cement porch, or even trailing over her old fence in the backyard.

  The house was even larger up close, and a nervous knot formed in her stomach. The rain had lightened considerably, but it still came down strongly enough to make her feel like something dragged from a ditch. At least her hair, drawn back at the nape of her neck with a clip, couldn’t be any worse for the pelting.

  On the porch she was protected from the rain, though she still felt wet and chilled. She began to tremble, though whether with cold or nervousness she couldn’t tell. Maybe I should leave. But she knew that if Mr. Wolfe was a Mormon, Monday night would be the best time to find him at home. Of course, that was presuming he believed in family night. Holding her breath, she rang the doorbell.

  A series of low-pitched bongs sounded throughout the house. For a long time nothing happened, but then she heard footsteps approaching, followed by the turning of a series of locks. The door opened to reveal a yellow-haired man in his late thirties. He was a few inches taller than average height, and Mickelle had to look up to meet his eyes. Oh, those eyes! They were the most unusual color of amber she had ever seen, and framed by thick, feathery brows. His face was ruggedly handsome with sharp curves, angular jaws and cheeks, and a few deep lines in his cheeks and forehead that added individuality. He wore a short moustache, slightly darker than his yellow-blond hair, combed neatly above a generous mouth. In all, he was a strong-looking man with undeniable magnetism.

  This can’t be Mr. Wolfe, she thought. If he was, he didn’t look much like his son.

  “May I help you?” he asked. As he spoke, she caught the glimmer of a gold tooth far back in his mouth. He smiled at her graciously, waiting.

  Mickelle abruptly felt conscious of the black stretch pants and oversized black sweater she wore. With the added effect of the rain, she must look like a dark, wet blob. The mascara she had put on for her visit to the college was likely making black tracks down her face. She wiped at her cheek; sure enough, her hand came away with traces of mascara. Why did it have to be raining? Why did he have to be so terribly good-looking? And why on earth was she even noticing?

  “I’m here to see Mr. Wolfe,” she announced, gathering the remains of her courage.

  “You’ve found him.” He said it quickly, with the air of a man who had nothing to hide.

  Mickelle wanted to shout, “Aha, I caught you!” but refrained. “I’m Mickelle Hansen,” she said. “Your son crashed into my car last week. I’ve been trying to call you to talk about what—”

  “My son crashed into you?” His feathery eyebrows rose. “From what I heard, it was sort of a mutual thing.”

  Mickelle bristled. “I had the right of way! Your son turned right in front of me—into me!”

  “The policeman didn’t give him a ticket.”

  His matter-of-fact manner made her want to scream. “They don’t give tickets for causing accidents in American Fork,” she said through gritted teeth.

  “I’ve never heard of that.”

  “That’s what the officer said.” Mickelle was beginning to doubt that she had done the right thing in facing Mr. Wolfe alone. He was obviously accustomed to being in charge. Why hadn’t she asked Brionney or Jesse to come along? Or even Talia?

  “How much are the repairs on your car?” he asked. His fingers touched the ends of his short moustache briefly, then he rubbed his chin.

  The tightness in her stomach eased. “Five hundred dollars. That’s my deductible. My uninsured motorist coverage will pay the other hundred.”

  “That much, huh? My son said there was hardly any damage.” He peered over her shoulder at the Snail, barely discernible in the increasing darkness. “On the other hand, the front end of my son’s car was completely ruined.”

  She wanted to say, “Good!” but she didn’t really rejoice in the boy’s loss, not when he had been so devastated about it. At the same time, she needed her car repaired. She simply didn’t have five hundred dollars—unless she borrowed it from her parents or siblings.

  Fighting tears of frustration, she glared at him. “So are you going to pay or not?” She pushed back a stray piece of hair that had escaped from her comb. “He’s responsible for the accident, and I won’t give up until he takes care of the damage!”

  For a long moment, Mr. Wolfe watched her. Mickelle felt uncomfortable under his stare—why was he looking at her so intently? Then, “My son says that you hit him. The police didn’t even give him a ticket. So it looks like it’s his word against yours.”

  “He’s fifteen years old! And driving without a license!”

  “He had a reason.”

  Was that a smirk on his face? For a moment, he looked just like his namesake—a shaggy, yellow-eyed wolf who grinned at his prey before he attacked.

  Fury raged through Mickelle’s heart. How could a man be so black-hearted and so completely blind? “I don’t know what your son told you,” she said tightly, “but driving without a license is against the law. No fifteen-year-old has the competence to drive without training. If he hadn’t broken the law, there wouldn’t have been an accident at all, and my car wouldn’t have been damaged.” Mickelle abruptly stopped her tirade, afraid that if she didn’t, she would burst into tears in front of this pompous, arrogant idiot! Good-looking pompous, arrogant idiot, her mind corrected.

  Before he could reply, she added, “If you won’t take responsibility for your son’s actions, I guess I’ll see you in court.” Without another word, she turned and marched down the porch and into the rain. She didn’t look back for fear he’d see the tears and desperation in her eyes. The familiar symptoms of a panic attack washed over her, but she held her chin up, her shoulders straight as she walked, almost blindly, to the station wagon. Gratefully, she reached for the door handle, but remembered too late that the latch was broken. Feeling utterly humiliated, she went around to the passenger side and climbed over Bryan to get to her seat. She laid her head against the steering wheel, praying that her shaking would stop.

  “How’d it go, Mom?” Bryan asked quietly, his voice worried.

  The panic faded, and within the confines of the Snail she felt safe enough to glance up at the mansion. That awful man should be gone now, after having witnessed her complete humiliation with that mocking smirk on his face. To her surprise, he was still on the porch, staring in their direction.

  In one motion, Mickelle started the Snail, thankful the rain had abated. She backed down the long drive a little faster than she would have ordinarily, barely missing their elaborate brick mailbox. Serve them right if I knocked it down. She was so angry that if she’d had a carton of eggs, she would have thrown them at the mansion’s windows. Stupid, dumb, jerk of a man. I hope he falls down in a ditch and dies!

  She didn’t really hope that but thinking it made her feel better. Had she been alone in the car, she might have put her head in her hands and cried.

  “Well, Mom?” Jeremy stared curiously at her from the backseat.

  Mickelle let her intense frustration and anger seep out of her before she replied. Her childre
n had enough to deal with, and she wasn’t about to add to their problems.

  To think she had pitied Tanner Wolfe as a child practically abandoned! Ha! He was little more than a liar. His mother was probably alive and well, sitting in a hot tub somewhere with the members of her bridge club.

  Calm down, she told herself. “Mr. Wolfe doesn’t seem to think his son is at fault,” she said evenly

  Bryan’s face grew angry. “So he’s not going to pay?”

  “He’ll have to. There has to be a way. I’ll take him to court if I have to.”

  Jeremy’s mouth rounded in an O, but he didn’t say anything.

  “You should have let me come with you,” Bryan said. “I would have taught him a thing or two!”

  Mickelle smiled at his endearing display of protectiveness. “I know you would. But everything’s going to be all right. You’ll see.” Turning onto the main street, she picked up speed. “But now we have to get home and in bed. We need to be up early tomorrow.”

  For once, the boys didn’t grumble. As they readied for bed, Mickelle put away the dishes she had washed after dinner. She felt so drained by her anger that it was almost too much effort to stack the plates in the cupboard. When the doorbell rang, she nearly dropped a dish onto the floor. Likely, it wouldn’t have broken on the inexpensive vinyl tile, but the near miss made her feel shaky. Please not a panic attack, she thought.

  “I’ll get it!” Jeremy shouted at the top of his lungs. Mickelle followed him to the door, wondering who would come to visit on a Monday evening. She almost hoped it was her mother or one of her sisters. If she could talk it out, her course of action might become clear.

  “Officer Lowder,” she said in surprise, recognizing him even in civilian clothes.

  “Hi.” His blue eyes met hers briefly. “May I come in for a moment?”

  “Sure.” Mickelle took a few steps back so he could enter, her mind racing to understand why he had come. Could there be more bad news about Riley’s death? What could be worse than suicide?

  “Boys, go on into your rooms,” she said, wanting to protect them. “I’ll be in to say prayers in a little while.” Jeremy looked as though he would protest, but Bryan caught his arm and pulled him down the hall.

  Mickelle led Officer Lowder into the living room. She had rarely come in here in the past few months, and was embarrassed at the covering of dust on the TV and piano. Her eyes went instinctively to her curio cabinet, where the cracks and gouges still marred the surface of the wood. A heavy sadness filled her heart.

  “I guess you’re wondering why I’m here.”

  Mickelle tore her gaze away from the curio cabinet, having almost forgotten the officer’s presence. “Is it . . .?” She couldn’t bear to say her husband’s name.

  “It’s personal.”

  That surprised her. “What do you mean, Officer Lowder?”

  “Jim. Please call me Jim.”

  “Okay . . . Jim. And you can call me Mickelle. But what do you mean?”

  “It’s just that I . . . well . . .”

  This was a whole new side of the self-assured young officer. Mickelle smiled at him gently, hoping to put him at ease.

  “I wanted to know if you’d like to go out to dinner. With me.”

  Mickelle stared. Had she heard right? Did Officer Lowder—Jim— actually want her to go out with him? “I don’t know what to say.”

  “How about yes?”

  “Well, I . . .” She could think of a hundred reasons to turn him down. She still felt married, she didn’t want to date a police officer, he was at least five or six years too young for her, Riley wouldn’t like it, she didn’t want to date. The list went on. But she couldn’t help remembering how ugly and awkward she had felt on Mr. Wolfe’s porch. A wet, black blob. Yet here she was, looking exactly the same, minus a little of the mascara she had wiped off in the bathroom, and now she felt attractive and vitally alive. This young police officer wanted her—her!—to go out with him.

  She found herself wanting to say yes. It wouldn’t be like a real date, she thought. He’s so young. We’ll just be friends. There was no chance of anything else. But then why was she even considering accepting his invitation?

  “I’d love to,” she said, wondering where the words had come from.

  He looked immensely relieved. “How about Friday?”

  “Okay.”

  “Thanks,” he said. “I’m looking forward to it.”

  “So am I.” She walked with him to the door.

  “See you Friday. About seven?”

  She nodded her acceptance, then watched him drive away in a small, new-looking truck. Brionney would be proud of her. If Mickelle told her. This would be her first date since Riley’s death. What a long way she had come in the week since she had told Brionney she had no interest in men!

  Butterflies began in her stomach. Why on earth would Jim Lowder want to date her? Probably an overactive sense of duty. Still, there was nothing like having a cop on your side when you went to court. Smiling to herself, Mickelle thought of the infuriating Mr. Wolfe. She wished she could tell him about this ace up her sleeve. He would certainly treat her more respectfully! So what if he was handsome and rich? She had the law on her side, in more ways than just one.

  In her mind, she began to plan what she would say to the judge, and what she would wear for the occasion. The next time Mr. Wolfe saw her, she wouldn’t be a wet, black blob, but a confident woman determined to obtain justice!

  And she would win.

  * * * * *

  Damon watched the ancient gold station wagon disappear into the rain. Why did she get in the passenger side? Did someone drive her here? Is there a Mr. Hansen? It was too dark to be certain. If there was a Mr. Hansen, Damon wasn’t too impressed that he had allowed his wife to face him alone, though perhaps Mr. Hansen didn’t agree with her efforts to elicit money from a mostly innocent child.

  He recalled her face, with its anger and determination, as clearly as though she still stood before him. She had glared at him as though he was mocking her, which he wasn’t. He had simply wanted to understand where she was coming from.

  What was it about her that affected him so?

  His hand brushed the doorknob. The children were waiting in the game room. He had promised them a quick indoor swim at the end of family night, as long as there was no lightning, and they would be anxious. Still, he didn’t move, replaying the scene that had just occurred.

  The woman had confronted him on the porch, her chin lifted slightly, looking oddly like she belonged there. She was dressed in black stretch pants that were neither too loose nor too tight, a classic sweater that reached nearly to her hips, and comfortable black loafers. It wasn’t an elaborate outfit by any means, but she wore the clothes with dignity and ease, though he imagined such a feat was difficult, as the clothes were obviously damp from the rain.

  What little makeup she wore was evidenced by the black trails down her cheeks, as though the rain had tried to uncover the real woman beneath, though he could see she hadn’t worn much makeup to begin with. The slight streaks of black were like delicately colored tears that seemed to accentuate the large blue eyes as they stared at him, leaving him feeling unsettled and uncertain. Her honey-blond hair, swept back from her finely boned cheeks, was held in place by some sort of a comb. She looked regal and at the same time very human, as though she would be at home living in a tent or a castle, waited upon by servants.

  A classic beauty.

  In all, she reminded him of something from a dream or a movie. Then she spoke, and the dream shattered. It wasn’t her voice, but what she said. Her view of the accident utterly contradicted Tanner’s, and Damon had to believe in his son.

  Even as he defended Tanner, he was intrigued by her. A piece of loose hair danced along her forehead and into her eyes, and he had a sudden urge to tear out the comb and watch the rest of the hair fall around her face.

  What was he thinking?

  Fascinated, he watc
hed her sweep the hair back into place. Her blue eyes seemed to capture his, delving for things he didn’t want to reveal. In order to retrieve his train of thought, he had to remind himself that this woman was a cold, hard person who was deliberately trying to take advantage of his son.

  Their conversation did not go well, he admitted to himself as she left the porch. He didn’t seem to have as much control over the situation as he would have liked. He should have been able to convince her that she was in the wrong, and it was useless to pursue him or Tanner for money to pay for her mistakes. His game was definitely off.

  Damon sighed. The station wagon had long since disappeared, but he continued to stand on the porch, enjoying the quiet fall of the rain and the fresh, clean scent emanating from the lawns and trees.

  I really love Utah, he thought. He was glad he had come. His heart had healed much more quickly than he had anticipated, the business was going well, and the air smelled clean. What more can a man ask for?

  A lot more. He stared wistfully down the drive. Was her car really damaged, or was she using the accident for her own ends?

  He finally gave up his deliberation and went inside. The children were waiting, and they wouldn’t understand the delay—especially when he couldn’t explain it himself.

  Rebekka was descending the front staircase that curved in an artistic arc along one wall of the entryway. She moved with such grace that she appeared to be gliding. “I was just going to play your piano,” she said with an enchanting smile.