Whirlwind

By Margot Vesel Rising

Ann Winslow, a sixty-five year old widow of five years, has lost interest in life. She is no longer able to express her emotions through her music and has been unable to compose since her husband's death. Ann's son-in-law asks her to be the dinner partner of his client who recently lost his wife. She reluctantly accepts the invitation because she was sure she could help to keep the conversation flowing, knowing they both had experienced the loss of a spouse. Todd Remington is not the middle aged businessman she had assumed he was. Instead, he is an attractive, gentle man her own age. Their instant interest in each other soon evolves into a whirlwind romance. As in every life, roadblocks challenge their plans for a future together.

Can they overcome the obstacles and find their way to the road that leads to happiness?

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Nov 30, 2001
• ISBN: 9781469709673

Margot Vesel Rising

Margot Rising followed in her musical parents' footsteps. She taught music privately and high school chorus and band before she started to compose under the name of Margot Vesel. She enjoys writing romance and striving for happy endings.

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All Rights Reserved © 2001 by Margot Rising

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information storage retrieval system, without the permission in writing from the publisher.

Writers Club Press

an imprint of iUniverse, Inc.

For information address:

iUniverse, Inc.

5220 S. 16th St., Suite 200

Lincoln, NE 68512

www.iuniverse.com

All places except named cities like Minneapolis, Duluth and Moorhead are

purely fictional, as well as places described within the cities. All reference to

a prison does in no way describe any of the existing prisons in the state of

Minnesota. Any resemblance to characters is purely coincidental.

ISBN: 0-595-20677-8

ISBN: 978-1-4697-0967-3 (eBook)

Printed in the United States of America

Contents

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Dedicated to my daughter, Marcia who motivates and encourages my writing.

CHAPTER 1

Ann sat in her chair on a beautiful June day, staring out at the lake that seemed so calm, so serene, and yet, left her so cold, so unemotional. Her life had been uneventful since Larry died. Twenty years of marriage had been the most wonderful years of her life. Twenty years of contentment that she thought she could never again experience. She, as many other widows, had no purpose in life, she thought. That was natural enough, she guessed, but when would this lethargic feeling leave her? When would she feel like a whole person again? Maybe never. Maybe she needed Larry to make her whole, complete. No women’s lib for me, she said out loud as she sipped her morning coffee.

It had been a second marriage for both of them. Both previous marriages had ended in divorce. Larry had often said, If we had only met years ago. Yet had they met all those years ago, they wouldn’t have had their children, each from their first marriage. Sure, they would have had children together, and that would have been wonderful, but she couldn’t imagine life without her precious Laura and Linda. Nor, she imagined, would she have dared to wish that Larry’s children had never been born. Greg was the oldest, the sweetest, the wisest, the most caring. Jenny and Dale were younger, and always blamed their father for ruining their family lives. Even Greg was bitter at first, but seemed to understand as the years passed.

The phone jarred her out of her dazed thoughts. Hello, her tone almost scolding the caller for interrupting her thoughts.

Am I interrupting something? asked her daughter.

Oh. Hi, Laura. She tried to perk up her mood for the conversation that would surely follow. Is everything all right? She wasn’t sure that she really wanted to know.

Fine. Are you doing anything tomorrow night?

Thursday? No.Ann’s answer sounded a little cautious. She assumed that she would have her granddaughter with her for the evening. Laura often called to ask if she could babysit. When do you need me?

Well, we could pick you up at about six-thirty. We—

Pick me up? interrupted Ann. Why would they pick her up? They always brought Emily to her place. She preferred it that way.

You’re not babysitting this time, Laura’s voice was sweet. Dean wanted me to call you. He’s entertaining a client, and he would really like you to come with us. Conversation won’t be easy for us. The man lost his wife two years ago, and he’s still feeling the loss. Dean just thought that you would know exactly how to steer the conversation.

I’m not sure I want to—

Please don’t say no, begged her daughter. He really needs you, Mom. I’ve never seen him so unsure of himself.

And you suggested your mother, who just happens to be a widow. Ann was usually kind and generous, but she wasn’t sure how she felt about this.

No, Mom. Dean asked me to ask you. It was his idea. Honest.

Ann sighed. Of course, she didn’t want to go, but it sounded like they really needed her, or at least wanted her. I don’t know, Laura.

Please.

Where will you be going? How do I dress? Suddenly she felt panic overtaking her. She thought about her clothes and her unwanted extra pounds, and she didn’t feel that she could deal with it. I can’t. I just can’t, honey.

Laura was afraid she’d respond this way. We’re going to Sampson’s. I will wear a pant suit, if it will make you feel more comfortable.

And just what will Dean say if you wear a pant suit to Sampson’s? Her voice sounded a bit sarcastic. You know how he wants you to dress.

He’s actually fine with it. I bought a lovely, grey outfit last week, and he even suggested I wear it.

I suppose he knew what I’d wear. Dean had quit smoking a year after Ann had. They both added more than a few pounds and inches. Dean had learned to live with it easier than Ann had. Dean had actually lost a little of his, but Ann couldn’t.

How about your velour suit with the brocade pants? Laura’s voice was encouraging. You look so nice in that.

I don’t look nice in anything. Besides, Dean doesn’t like the brocade. I showed it to him, remember? He said the top was fine, but he didn’t like the brocade.

Well, he didn’t see you in it. I think it’s beautiful, and he will too when he sees it on you. Laura’s voice made Ann feel more comfortable.

Are you sure?

I’m sure, Mom. We’ll pick you up at six.

I thought you said six-thirty? Ann wondered why her daughters thought SHE was forgetful.

You’re right. Six-thirty it is. Right now, I have to run. I’ll see you tomorrow. And, Mom, thanks. You’re really special.

Good bye. Ann hung up the phone thinking that the word special had taken a consistent place in Laura’s vocabulary. She so often called Emily special, as well as her mother, her sister, the pastor and his wife and some very close friends. She knew it was a term that expressed love or admiration, maybe even pride at times. Sometimes, maybe Laura used the word to bolster someone’s ego, like the time she tried to convince Emily that she was just as good as the six-year-old big bully who tried to demean her.

Ann picked up her coffee cup and went into the kitchen without looking back at the lake. Her melancholy mood had been broken, and she was almost glad of it. Of course she was. Who wanted to wallow in self pity? She’d had enough of that the past few years. After Larry died, her world came crashing down around her. Nothing seemed the same. Nothing was right. The girls had tried to get her interested in various things, and they worked for a while. At least they kept her occupied for a time, but she wasn’t satisfied with simply occupying her time. First, there were the card parties in which they tried to involve her, the casino that Linda and Matt had introduced to Larry and her when Larry was able to travel. There was the computer that Matt taught her to use, first for E-mail, and later, for her taxes and games, lots of games. It seemed like each year, they gave her something that introduced her to another aspect of the computer.

Matt showed her how to use a music program to compose, or just record the music she had written, or would write in the future. On her sixty-third birthday, they had given her a keyboard to go with the music program, and she found it very helpful. She knew they wanted her to start composing again, but she couldn’t. She had lost both of her parents within a year of each other, followed by Larry’s death five months later. She seemed to deny her emotions, or felt they were too dark, too devastating to portray with the music that would express what she was feeling. Later, there were the books, the many romance novels that Linda brought her every few weeks. They were carefully hand picked so Ann would not be exposed to too much sex or romance. That, too, must have been with purpose, she thought. Linda knew how happy Ann had been when she was writing. Nothing ever came from the plays, musicals, or the novel she had written. Maybe they weren’t good enough, or maybe she didn’t try hard enough to find out, or didn’t know enough about what to do with the manuscripts. Linda only knew that Ann was in a world of her own when she was writing, in spite of the fact that she had only a typewriter at the time.

Ann knew she’d have to do something, not only to keep her time occupied, but she had turned sixty-five last month, and she was now responsible for paying her own health insurance and her own medications. Larry had been too ill for the past twenty years to have any life insurance. They asked their agent, but he agreed that they could never afford the premiums. Since Larry’s retirement checks stopped when he died, she had nothing to fall back on except a few IRA certificates, and they wouldn’t last for very long. She needed a job, but she was in no way ready to go on interviews. How could she be? She didn’t know what she wanted to do.

The phone rang. Hello. She tried to sound more friendly than she had when Laura called.

Ann Winslow, please, requested the woman’s voice.

This is Ann.

This is Jane Thomas from Grace church. The Pastor wanted me to call and ask if you might be able to play for services on Sunday. Our organist was called away on a family emergency.

Ann was silent, thinking what excuse she might give. She had told the pastor that she wasn’t interested in a job at the church. She didn’t explain why. Is the choir singing?

I don’t believe so, replied the woman. They didn’t have rehearsal last night. More than likely, the pastor’s wife will sing a solo. I’m sure she’ll contact you.

I guess I can do it just this once, Ann decided. Her financial problems would certainly benefit from the work, but merely playing one Sunday was a drop in the bucket. Even so, every little bit helped. She wondered why she refused a church job when music was so much a part of her. Her music always came first, above anything else. She was interested in many things, but music was the expression of all that was within her soul. Maybe she was just getting old. Maybe it would just bring back memories of the time she had spent as organist at a church. They were good memories, happy ones, but maybe that was why they hurt. Those days were gone forever from her life. No matter what she did, she couldn’t bring them back. They were in the past.

We’d be ever so grateful. The woman’s voice was convincing. Pastor’s wife will be calling you for a time to practice her solo.

I’ll be waiting for her call. Ann hung up the phone, not sure that she was happy to be needed, or bothered that she was asked. Mixed emotions were part ofher life since Larry’s death. Decisions came hard, and she never was sure that she had made the right ones. Maybe she had lost some ofher faith. Maybe she had expected God to keep Larry alive, but she knew that his quality of life had deteriorated considerably since his last illness. Poor dear! Not many people had gone through as much as he did, and still, he remained cheerful and seemed happy to be alive, even after the amputation, even after his prostate surgery. He was, however, different after the heart attack. It took too much out of him. He was never the same cheerful Larry that so many people loved. He brightened up a room when everyone seemed filled with doom and gloom. He was the darling of the CCU, where he spent many weeks of his last three months. What did I get myself into? she said under her breath. She didn’t really know if she had made the right decision, but she had made it, and would carry it through. At least she hadn’t committed herself to a year. This was just for one Sunday.

Laura hung up the phone with a smile on her pretty face. I talked her into it, she told her husband. For a minute, I didn’t think she’d do it.

Did you tell her that I really wanted her?

Not only wanted, but needed. You know she can’t refuse when she knows she’s needed. Laura thought of her mother, and the many times the girls had wanted her to do one thing or another, often foolish, needless things, but it wasn’t until she knew they needed her that she willingly gave of herself.

You’re too thoughtful. What’s wrong? Dean looked skeptical. She won’t back out in the last minute, will she?

No. Laura shook her head. "I was just thinking what a nice person Mom is. I mean, there were so many things that were asked of her that she really didn’t want to do. Once she knew nobody else could do it for them, she knew she was needed, and she couldn’t say no."

Like when Emily needs a babysitter last minute. She’s great about that. Dean went over to the sink where Laura was washing a few dishes. He pushed her long dark hair aside and kissed the back of her neck.

Is that my reward?

Ya done good, Hon. He patted her on the bottom before sitting at the table. When’s dinner?

Laura watched his manly face take on a boyish expression. Ah, a woman’s work is never done, she sighed. I suppose I’d better feed my family. Give me half an hour.

Dean frowned. What could she make in half an hour? I could take you down to the Malt Shop. Emily would like that.

I think Emily would like to have a family dinner at home. It won’t take me long.

Good. I’m starved. I’ll visit with my daughter, if you don’t mind.

I don’t, and I think she’d love it. She doesn’t see much of you, you know. She misses you.

I miss her too, honey, but we gotta live. He went to Emily’s bedroom where he stood in the doorway admiring her concentration on her project. Five year olds usually didn’t have that determination to succeed at everything they tried. Emily always did. She demanded perfection of herself, and the expression on her face was absolutely angelic, but why not? She was truly Dean’s little angel. What’s my favorite girl doing? His voice was soft and tender.

Emily looked up. Happiness suddenly filled her face as she jumped up and into his arms. Daddy. After she gave him a big hug and kiss, she quickly pushed him back out of the door into the hallway. You can’t come in here. I’m making a surprise for your anniversary.

Okay. There was a hint of a smile on his lips. Then why don’t you come into the living room and talk to me?

In a minute, Daddy. I have to hide my surprise. She went back into her room.

So what’s for dinner? he called to Laura.

What do you think you can expect in half an hour’s time? Laura peeked into the living room. I thought you were with Emily.

She’ll be here in a minute. She’s hiding our surprise.

Laura nodded as she disappeared to the kitchen. I suppose you had your heart set on roast with potatoes and all.

Not really, he called back. I had a steak for lunch. Something a lot lighter would be healthier. Besides, I don’t want to gain any more weight. He hoped that he put her at ease no matter what she had made. It would probably be cold cuts and a salad. That was healthy, but he wanted something warm. It had been a hard day, and a salad just wouldn’t do it.

Laura had put the angel hair pasta into the serving dish onto which she was spooning the mixture of summer squash, broccoli, mushrooms, and chicken in a light sauce with only a hint of tomato. Are you two ready to eat? She called.

Dean’s eyes lit up when he saw the dish. Did the deli just deliver this?

Laura swatted his arm. Sit down. She turned to Emily. Did you wash your hands?

Emily nodded and sat down. "I had to, Mommy. I had paint on my fingers.

Can I say grace?"

Of course you can. Should we hold hands? Laura had carried that tradition with her from her childhood.

Thank you, Lord for our food and for my mom being a good cook. Mmmm. Amen.

Amen, echoed her parents

I love it, Mom, Emily said while still chewing.

Dean cautiously tried the new creation. His eyes brightened. It’s good, honey, really good!

You don’t have to sound so surprised. Her eyes were teasing, but turned serious. I guess my new recipes aren’t always good, huh?

"You’re very