A Warmth in Winter by Lori Copeland

vanilla bottle under the counter so no one noticed the little shot she indulged in every afternoon. There were worse things than being addicted to vanilla Cokes, but she’d just as soon keep her addiction to herself. She scribbled sugar-free vanilla syrup and sugar on the form.
    â€œVernie?”
    Startled, she looked up to see Elezar holding the receiver in his right hand.
    â€œWho is it?” Probably Cleta calling to inquire when the nutmeg would be in, or Bea wanting help with the angel mail. Land, she didn’t have time to work on mail today.
    Elezar cleared his throat. “It’s for you.”
    â€œCan’t you handle it? I’m filling out the Wagner’s order. Got to get it faxed in this afternoon.”
    The man’s face gentled as his eyes shone with compassion. “I’m afraid you’ll have to handle this one.”
    Puzzled, Vernie dropped her pencil. Elezar could handle anything having to do with the business, so who could be calling? She had no children and no siblings. Ma and Pa had been dead for years. Anybody from Heavenly Daze would just tell Elezar to holler at her.
    She lifted the phone to her ear. “Ayuh?”
    â€œVernie?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œIt’s Stanley.”
    Blood drained from Vernie’s head.
    Stanley.
    The Stanley?
    Stanley Bidderman, the rat who’d gone bowling and kept on traveling? The fellow who hadn’t called or written or sent her so much as a Christmas card in twenty years?
    â€œStanley who?” she asked, hoping against hope it wasn’t Stanley Bidderman. Surely even Stanley Bidderman wouldn’t have the gall to call out of a clear blue sky after all these years.
    â€œStanley . . . your husband. I called to wish you a happy anniversary.”
    Bitterness swelled to the back of Vernie’s throat. As blood pounded in her ears, she grasped the side of the counter and struggled to stay on her feet. The soft sounds of the Christmas carols faded into a buzz, then she heard herself saying, “I don’t have a husband.”
    â€œI expected you to say that.” The voice on the other end sounded very old, very tired. “I don’t blame you for feeling that way, but I really want to talk to you.”
    Swallowing, Vernie glanced helplessly at Elezar, who stood at a discreet distance. His eyes sent a private, supportive message, as if he understood the cyclone swirling in her head. Her hand rose to her throat.
    â€œVernie?” Stanley’s voice came over the line. “Have you fainted?”
    Stiffening, Vernie fixed her eyes on the Wagner order form. “I don’t faint, Stanley Bidderman, and if I had, I wouldn’t be talking to you now, would I?”
    A pause, then a soft chuckle. “Same old Vernie.”
    The suggestion brought heat to her cheeks. “No, Stanley,” she calmly corrected. “I’m not the same old Vernie—not by a long shot. Now, is that all you wanted? I’m busy.”
    Nervously she tapped her pencil on the order blank. Her thoughts were whirring so madly she couldn’t think straight, but Stanley couldn’t know that. She only had to hold together long enough to tell him to stay wherever he’d been all these years and leave her alone. For whatever reason he had called—and she didn’t believe he’d called to wish her a happy anniversary, not for a minute—she was going to play it as cool as if they had talked every day for the past twenty years.
    As if he hadn’t walked out on her and left her alone, bewildered, and hurt. She’d waited for weeks, jumping at every ring of the phone, starting at the sound of every cart on the gravel road. She’d called the police, fearing a car had flattened him and he was lying in the hospital unable to speak and/or suffering from amnesia. A quick check of police records on the night of his disappearance produced no accident reports and no hospitalized John