Bent slightly under the weight of his duffel bag, Luke walked through the darkness toward downtown. “I should've known.” He didn't bother to avoid puddles. The snow had stopped, but the night air was cold, and a sharp breeze carried the chill off the waters of Puget Sound.
He passed a hotel. The interior was lit up and looked warm. Luke stopped. “I suppose this is as good as any.” Opening the door, he stepped into a small, carpeted lobby and walked to a reception desk.
“May I help you?” a tall, thin man with a mustache asked as he emerged from a back room.
“I need a place to stay.”
“Yes, sir.” He turned a ledger so it faced Luke. “Sign here.” He pointed at a line about midway down the page. Luke signed. “How many nights will that be?”
“Just one.” Luke had decided to leave the next morning. Nothing was holding him here. Maybe he could get a flight to Anchorage. It would be good to see his family. If only Ray Townsend wasn't there.
Taking an offered key, he walked down the hallway and up one flight of stairs. Why doesn't she care about me anymore? She did, once.
By the time Luke reached his room, he'd decided he had to know. He pushed the key into the lock and turned it. Stepping into a tiny room, he flipped on a light and closed the door. He wouldn't leave without trying just once more.
He dropped backward onto the bed and lay staring at the ceiling. I'll go to her place first thing in the morning. If she still feels the same, at least I can say I tried.
Chapter 10
HIS HEART HEAVY, LUKE THREW BACK HIS BLANKETS, THEN SAT UP AND swung his legs over the side of the bed. He stared at the floor a moment, then stood and walked to the window. The first faint light of morning dropped a touch of gray on the surrounding buildings. Snow, illuminated in streetlights, still fell, and a couple of inches of powder smothered the street. The outside world looked dull, befitting Luke's mood.
After showering and dressing, Luke headed for the lobby. Treading softly, he walked down a dimly lit corridor, the flowered carpet muffling his steps. The foyer was empty except for a clerk sitting behind the counter, a cup of cold coffee waiting on a table beside him. His eyes were closed, and his chin rested on his chest. Luke waited for him to open his eyes, but he didn't stir, and his breathing remained deep and rhythmic. Luke cleared his throat. The clerk slept. Finally Luke punched a bell sitting on the counter.
With a snort, the man lifted his head and opened his eyes. He blinked and tried to focus on Luke. A crooked smile broke out on his long, narrow face and he swayed to his feet. “Guess you caught me. Sorry.” He hitched up his pants. “Worked the late shift all week and I'm not used to it.” He leaned on the counter. “What can I do you for?”
“I was wondering if you would tell me where I could get some breakfast.”
The clerk glanced at the clock—6:05. He scratched his head. “It's kind of early, but I think Irene's Café opens with the birds. It's only two blocks down. They serve biscuits as good as my mother's. Only don't tell my mother that.” He grinned.
“Thanks.” Luke headed for the door and stepped into the chilly morning air. Huddling inside his pea coat, he trudged down the street, white flakes collecting on his coat and hat. The street was mostly empty except for a rare taxi or bus sloshing through the snow.
Lights from inside the café emanated warmth and invited him inside. The cozy-looking diner felt like a friendly beacon. He stepped inside, and the aroma of perked coffee and freshly baked donuts made his mouth water in spite of his wretched disposition. He considered sitting at the bar, but that might mean he'd have to converse with the waitress. Instead he chose a table sitting against the back wall of the empty restaurant.
Immediately a stocky woman in her forties carrying a coffeepot approached. “You're up and about early.” She smiled. “How about some coffee? It's fresh and it's the real thing, none of that imitation stuff.”
“Sounds good. Thanks.”
After filling his cup with dark brew, she asked, “So what'll you have?”
“I heard you make good biscuits.”
“The best.”
“I'll take a couple of them and some eggs and bacon.”
“Comin' right up.” The waitress turned and sauntered toward the kitchen.
When Luke finished eating, it was still too early to go to Mattie's. He grabbed yesterday's newspaper, which had been left on the table beside him, ordered another cup of coffee, and settled down to read.
The United States wins and losses in recent battles were listed, along with a picture of a Japanese Zero spiraling into the sea, plus another one of a burning U.S. ship. There was also an editorial about Japanese Americans, which raised the question of whether they could be trusted or not. The writer had suggestions about what he thought ought to be done with them. Luke read on, stunned when he read that Japanese American citizens might be placed in relocation camps. He considered the idea but wasn't sure just how he felt. He guessed it was possible that some of them could be spies.
He folded the paper, and his mind shifted to Mattie. What was he going to say to her? What might change her mind? He thought through possible scenarios, but each one brought him back to the same unacceptable conclusion—him going his way and not looking back.
“Can I top that off for you?” the waitress asked.
Luke glanced at his nearly empty cup, then back at the woman. She looked as if she'd climbed out of bed late and had forgotten to comb her hair. “No thanks. I'm fine.”
She gazed at the war headlines in the paper. “Hard to believe, ain't it?” She shook her head, then leveled teary eyes on Luke. “I pray for you boys every day.”
“We need all the prayers we can get. Thanks.”
Wearing a sad smile, she moved on to a new customer.
Leaving a nickel on the table, Luke pulled on his coat and headed for the door. He needed to see Mattie. Hopefully she was up by now.
He intended to go straight to Mattie's place, but instead walked the streets, stopping to stare at window displays. At the Bon Marche he studied a too-thin mannequin draped in a silky lavender gown, then glanced at his watch. It was only 8:30. If Mattie got in late she was probably still sleeping.
He moved on. At ‘I’ Magnum, he stopped to gaze at a sterling silver set glistening beneath display lights. A set of china with a delicate floral pattern sat beside the flatware. They reminded him of the ones his grandmother had given to his mother. She'd had to leave them when they'd left Wisconsin. Before that they'd been set out on the table for every Sunday dinner. Maybe one day he'd buy her another set. Or maybe if things worked out with Mattie, he could get her some nice china.
Unable to wait longer to see Mattie, he headed for her place. Once at the apartments, he took the front steps two at a time, swung open the door, and quickly climbed the stairs. He half expected to meet Roseline Talbot. He figured she probably got around to visiting folks in the building regularly.
Finally he stood in front of Mattie's door. He stared at it a long while, unable to generate enough courage to knock. What if she told him to leave and never come back? What if she was angry with him for being here at all? He almost turned and left, but his longing for her was more powerful than his fears.
He knocked.
