The Way You Look Tonight by Carlene Thompson Page B

snow, houses, and tiny animals and trees stood in disarray around the tree, Steve still had not appeared. Angry and worried, Deborah put another album of Christmas carols on the stereo. ‘God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen’ reverberated through the living room.
    â€˜I hate that song,’ Kim said. ‘I want “Jingle Bells”.’
    â€˜We’ve listened to that a hundred times,’ Brian complained. ‘I want MTV.’
    Steve didn’t like the children watching the often sexually graphic videos on MTV, but tonight she was certain they were too engrossed with the train to really watch. They’d just listen to the rock music. Besides, she thought she’d scream if she heard another Christmas carol.
    She turned off the stereo and flipped on the television. Steven Tyler of Aerosmith was singing ‘Janie’s Got a Gun’. Images of blood and a body being covered by a sheet flashed across the screen. She cringed, but as she’d expected, the children weren’t really watching. Brian was pretending to play the guitar while Kim danced around him, her long, fine blonde hair flying. They were so wound up tonight, the activity would probably be good for them, Deborah thought. But what about her? Pretend guitar-playing and dancing weren’t going to help. What should her next move be?
    Impulsively, she called Mrs Dillman. The old woman’s voice sounded feeble at the other end. ‘I hope I didn’t wake you,’ Deborah said.
    â€˜I was taking a cat-nap.’
    â€˜I see. I’m sorry I disturbed you, Mrs Dillman, but I wondered if you’d seen my husband leave the house this afternoon.’
    â€˜Two-thirty.’ The woman’s voice turned crisp. ‘I just happened to be looking out that way and I saw your husband’s car leave.’ Mrs Dillman was always looking out their way when she wasn’t asleep.
    â€˜Two-thirty. Are you sure?’
    â€˜Certainly. I’m not beyond telling the time.’ Deborah wasn’t sure about that, although Mrs Dillman had bouts when she was as alert and observant as Sherlock Holmes.
    â€˜Was my husband alone?’
    â€˜Yes. You and the children were gone. Left a good hour ahead of him.’
    â€˜We went Christmas shopping.’
    â€˜That’s what I thought.’ Mrs Dillman paused, then asked sympathetically, ‘My dear, you don’t think your husband has abandoned you, do you?’
    Deborah blinked. ‘You mean left me? Oh, Mrs Dillman, I don’t think so.’
    â€˜I only ask because my husband abandoned me. Said he was going out for bread and never came back. That was forty years ago.’
    Deborah knew this wasn’t true. Alfred Dillman had died eight years previously in a car wreck.
    â€˜It caused a terrible scandal,’ Mrs Dillman continued, warming to her fantasy. ‘Everyone felt so sorry for me. What a foolish man, they all said, leaving a fine woman like you. I tell you, my dear, I don’t know how I lived through it, but I have backbone. That’s what my mama always said.’ She sighed. ‘Well, that’s men for you. They’re all alike.’
    Deborah wanted to argue the point, but it was useless. Acquiescence was the key to keeping the woman calm and amiable. ‘I suppose you’re right.’
    â€˜Your husband could be in Las Vegas,’ Mrs Dillman added helpfully. ‘He could be with my Alfred drinking and gambling and cavorting with tarts.’
    In spite of her alarm, Deborah almost laughed at the thought of either the aged Alfred Dillman, a former Presbyterian minister, or Steve slipping into Mrs Dillman’s picture of debauchery. ‘That’s a possibility,’ she said kindly. ‘I’ll certainly check into it.’
    â€˜All right. But if you find Alfred, tell him not to come home. I will not have him back, no matter how repentant he is!’
    â€˜I’ll tell him. And thank you again, Mrs