Free In the Teeth of the Wind by Charlotte Boyett-Compo Page B

him, I was to give it to you."
    Rhianna drew in a long, shuddery breath before taking the envelope from Trevor's hand. "Do you
    know what's in it?" she asked in a tight voice.
    "No." He paused, pushed up from the chair, then picked up the file. "I'll give you some privacy."
    "No," she said, getting to her feet. "I can't read it here."
    Stephen Trevor came around the desk and reached out to pat her shoulder. "If you need any help, will
    you call me?"
    Rhianna nodded.
    "If you need to talk about what's in there, I'm here for you."
    "I appreciate that."
    "What are your plans now?" he asked as he walked with her to the door.
    "My lease is up at the end of next month. I'm looking for another apartment." She looked up, searching
    his face. "Do you think he'd be angry if he came home to find me living in his house?"
    Opening the door, Steve answered, "The house is paid for and it's just sitting vacant. Conor didn't like
    that complex where you live. He always said it wasn't safe enough. No, I think he'd want you to move
    in." He held her gaze. "You'll be there when he comes home."
    Rhianna smiled. "I don't know if I can stay there." She stopped as the tears flooded her eyes, but she
    held up a restraining hand when he would have taken her in his arms.
    "You didn't drive over here, did you?" he asked, unnerved by her pallor and the overwhelming tragedy
    etched around her beautiful eyes. When she shook her head, he walked past her and told his secretary he
    was going to drive her home.
    "No, Steve. I need to be alone."
    At the curb, standing beside Rhianna Marek, watching the late November sunlight glinting on her
    blue-black hair as they waited for the cab, Stephen Trevor ached to take the grieving woman into his
    arms. He'd envied Conor Rhianna's affection and often wondered if the man even knew he was loved so
    deeply, so unconditionally. He hoped so, for such a love was rare and Conor had been so much in need
    of it.
    "There's my cab," Rhianna said, drawing him back from his reverie. "Thank you, Steve," she said,
    giving his cheek a sweet little kiss.
    "You'll let me hear from you, now?"
    "I will."
    Long after the yellow cab pulled away from the curb, Stephen Trevor stood watching until it was no
    longer visible. With a long sigh of resignation, he turned away and walked back into the lobby of the
    office building.
    ****
    The taxi dropped her off at St. Patrick's, the church in the neighborhood where she lived. She lit a
    candle for Conor Nolan and said a prayer for his soul. Quietly, she slipped into a pew and sat holding the
    letter, staring at the Crucifix above the ornate Byzantine altar.
    Rose-colored light filtered in from the stained glass panels to either side of the nave and cast the
    chancel in mauve shadows. The occasional pop and creak of the redwood buttresses made her edgy, but
    the silence between the sounds had a calming effect. A hint of sandalwood lingered from the morning
    celebration of the Eucharist and that, too, added to the feeling of peace that had begun to enfold her the
    moment she entered the church. This had always been her sanctuary, her haven in the storm, and it was
    always to a place such as St. Patrick's that she had gone when life became so ragged around the edges
    that it had to be mended.
    Or when, like now, the material of her existence was so frayed, it could not be repaired by ordinary
    hands.
    She sat in the pew, alternating her attention between the Christ figure on the cross and the flickering
    blue votive candles, for more than an hour. It took a long, long time to gather the courage to open
    Conor's letter. When at last she looked down at the envelope and made the decision to read it, she
    thought she heard his voice, calling to her. He sounded so lost and alone, so far, far away, and so utterly
    miserable. She closed her eyes briefly, took a deep breath, then slid her index finger beneath the flap.
    The sound of the paper tearing intruded on the quiet. The crackle as she slowly unfolded