Free Year of the Monsoon by Caren J. Werlinger Page B

ready to tell her.
    Finally, on Thursday, unable to stand it any longer, she’d gone to Maddie. “I need to speak with you if you have a minute.”
    “Sure,” Maddie said. “Come on in.”
    Leisa closed the door and sat, clamping her hands between her knees to control her fidgeting.
    “I’m sorry to bring personal things to work,” she began.
    Maddie leaned forward. “What is it?”
    “I don’t know exactly,” Leisa admitted. “Nan… something is wrong and she can’t tell me what it is. I thought maybe you might know what’s going on.”
    Maddie frowned. “What makes you think something’s wrong?”
    Leisa shrugged. “Everything. She’s been distant for months. She was working like seventy hours a week until Mom died. But even when she was home more, she wasn’t there with me.”
    She blinked back the tears she could feel stinging her eyes. “We had an argument the night before she left. She said there was something she needed to tell me when she got back, but…” The tears spilled over. “I’m really scared,” she said as she swiped her sleeve across her eyes.
    “Hey,” Maddie said, getting up and coming around her desk to sit next to Leisa. She laid her large hand gently on Leisa’s shoulder.
    “You’re her oldest friend,” Leisa said, sniffing. “Do you have any idea what’s bothering her?”
    Maddie shook her head. “I honestly don’t. I’ve talked to her about working so much, but she hasn’t said anything about any other problems.”
    “Why didn’t Nan tell her years ago? When they first met?” Lyn asked incredulously when they finally knew the whole story. “And why didn’t you tell me?”
    “It wasn’t my story to tell,” Maddie mused. “I’m not really sure why Nan didn’t tell her. I think it had a lot to do with the garbage Leisa’s old girlfriend had pulled on her. Nan was afraid Leisa would walk if she told her the truth.”
    Lyn shook her head sadly. “And now Leisa may walk because she didn’t.”

    By six-thirty, Leisa was getting off I-64 at Williamsburg. Nan was staying in the hotel where the conference was being held. Scanning the hotel signs cropping up amidst all the pancake houses offering cheap breakfasts, she spied the one she sought. She pulled into the parking lot and found Nan’s Mini. She parked next to it and entered the hotel lobby, her heart pounding. She tried Nan’s cell phone, but, as she expected, got her voice mail immediately. Leisa walked over to the registration desk.
    “May I help you?” asked the young woman behind the desk.
    “Yes, could you tell me what room Dr. Nan Mathison is in, please?”
    The young woman stared at Leisa through smudged glasses, which she repeatedly pushed back up the bridge of her nose, only to have them slide down again. “I’m sorry, but we’re not allowed to give out that information.”
    “No, you don’t understand,” Leisa explained. “I’m her partner.”
    She waited for this revelation to change the desk clerk’s mind about giving her the room number. After several seconds and three more pushes of the glasses, the clerk said, “So, she should have given you her room number.”
    Trying not to lose her patience, Leisa said, “She would have, but her cell phone is turned off for the conference. Perhaps you could call her room and tell her I’m here,” she suggested with exaggerated politeness.
    The clerk blinked a couple of times. “I could do that.” She started to reach for the telephone and stopped. “What’s your name, please?”
    “Leisa.”
    The clerk scanned a computer monitor and punched some buttons on the telephone. After several seconds, she hung up. “I’m sorry, but she’s not answering her room phone.” She pointed to the far end of the lobby. “You could wait for her at the bar if you want.”
    On her way to the bar, Leisa passed a couple of people sitting in chairs in the lobby. She quickly scanned the hotel’s dining room as she went by, looking for any sign of