Free Snowflakes on the Sea by Linda Lael Miller Page A

in the hot tub?
    Pat pressed her lips together in undisguised annoyance. “Stop with the peasantlike awe, will you, Mallory?” she snapped. “Nathan is a man, not a god. It’s high time he turned some of his energy into his marriage, and if you don’t tell him that, I will!”
    Mallory bit her lower lip, but she was already making her way to the telephone when Pat left the house. Her hands trembled a little as she dialed the number that would connect her with her husband.
    One of the band members answered in a lazy drawl. “Yeah?”
    “This is Mallory,” Mrs. McKendrick said bravely. “I would like to speak to Nathan, please.”
    “Oh—Nate. Yeah. Well, he’s not around right now.”
    Mallory felt a growing uneasiness quiver in the pit of her stomach. “Where is he?” she asked stiffly.
    There was a long, discomforting pause. “Diane was freaking out, so he took her back to Seattle.”
    Mallory drew a deep breath and let her forehead rest against the kitchen wall. “What do you mean, ‘Diane was freaking out’?”
    “I don’t know—like, she was just losing it, you know? Really coming undone.”
    “There must have been a reason,” Mallory insisted.
    Another pause. “Like, I’ll have Nate call you when he gets back, all right?”
    “Don’t bother,” Mallory snapped. And then, without pausing to give the matter further thought, she left the telephone receiver dangling, strode into the bedroom and began flinging the few things she’d unpacked back into her suitcases.
    Twenty minutes later, with Cinnamon sitting happily in the back seat, Mallory drove her sleek black-and-white Mazda onto the passenger ferry that would carry her back to Seattle.
    The huge vessel, capable of transporting both pedestrians and motorists, had always reminded Mallory of an old-time riverboat, with its railed decks and dozens of windows. Normally she loved to stand on the highest deck, watching the magnificent scenery pass and feeding chunks of snack-bar cinnamon rolls to the gulls, but today it was bitterly cold and she didn’t even bother to get out of the car and climb the metal stairs leading to the lower deck. She simply sat behind the wheel, Cinnamon patient behind her, and stared beyond the other cars parked in the bowels of the craft to the water ahead.
    The snow was still falling, and Mallory watched in aching silence as the huge, intricate flakes, so beautiful and perfect, came down to the salty waters of Puget Sound and were dissolved. The snowflakes, like the love she and Nathan shared, were at once breathtakingly beautiful and temporal.
    Mallory lowered her head to the steering wheel, and she didn’t lift it again until the great horn sounded, announcing that Seattle was just ahead. When the ferry docked, Mallory collected her scattered emotions and concentrated on the task of driving. Navigating in the storm-plagued city would require all her attention.
    Pat had certainly been right about the traffic conditions, and the next half hour was harrowing. Mallory was pale with exhaustion when she finally drew the small car to a halt in front of the expensive apartment complex in the city’s heart and climbed from behind the wheel.
    The doorman, George Roberts, rushed toward her. “Ms. O’Connor! I thought you were on the island—”
    With an effort, Mallory returned the man’s warm smile. She saw no need, the way things stood, to correct his use of her name. “Is Mr. McKendrick at home?” she asked, hoping that the vast importance of the matter didn’t show in her face.
    George shook his head, and wisps of powdery snow flew from the brim of his impeccable visored hat and shimmered on the gold epaulets stitched to the shoulders of his coat. “No, ma’am, he isn’t,” he answered, stealing an unreadable look at Cinnamon, who was whining to be let out of the car.
    Mallory turned her head to take one more look at the busy, storm-shrouded Sound. Snowflakes on the sea, she thought, aching inside.

4
    M allory