Guessing Game

Guessing Game

Zelma Orr

Smashwords Edition

Guessing Game

Copyright © 2013 Zelma Orr

All rights reserved

Cover Design & Interior Layout by Laura Shinn

License Notes:

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only.

This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this ebook with other people, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you are reading this ebook without purchasing it and it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of the author.

Guessing Game is a work of fiction.

Though actual locations may be mentioned, they are used in a fictitious manner and the events and occurrences were invented in the mind and imagination of the author. Similarities of characters or names used within to any person – past, present, or future – are coincidental except where actual historical characters are purposely interwoven.

Chapter One

January

Colby Bowman read the two inch headlines across the front page of the tabloid paper Dana picked up at the grocery store every week: Well-Known Psychics Issue Predictions for New Year. He stood in the kitchen of the house where he and Dana had lived for eight years until their divorce a few months before and waited for the girls to finish dressing for their bi-monthly weekend with him.

A tolerant smile crossed his face as he thought of his ex-wife. She read psychic stuff religiously year in and year out and kept the paper to see if any of the forecasts came close to being true. Most of the time, she never looked at the paper again and threw it out without checking if any predictions actually came to pass.

This year, the group was sponsoring a contest for amateur psychics to make predictions, send them in and have the professionals judge them. Dana had filled out the entry form and left it on the table.

He studied the rather mundane psychic predictions in the headlines. Hell, Dana was as good as anyone coming up with stuff like that. Better. They used to play cards with other couples, and Dana entertained them with forecasts of severe weather, or things that might happen to them, or in the neighborhood.

Naturally, it will snow in Rochester before Christmas, Dana said. Oh, I’d say we’ll have at least fifteen inches by Thanksgiving.

Ah, come on, Dana. Edie Scot, one of Dana’s closest friends was one who couldn’t wait for the first snow. In the spring she couldn’t wait for the first crocus. It was a long wait for spring sometimes in Rochester. Last year, we didn’t get measurable snow until almost Christmas.

This year will be different. She spread her cards. Full house.

As it happened that one time, a blizzard swept down out of Canada the week before Thanksgiving and dumped two feet of snow. The meteorologists had forecast a warming trend for that weekend. Edie Scot and Marie Cardona, friends of Dana’s since kindergarten, hooted as snowflakes the size of Dana’s small fist blew in a ten mile per hour wind and continued all day and all night.

Colby thought of that prediction as Edie came in from the kitchen where she’d been putting away the girls’ snack leftovers. Edie and her husband, Rex, had been a couple of their closest friends during his and Dana’s marriage, and Edie remained close to Dana after the recent divorce. She often cared for Mitzi and Kayci between the time Dana was expected home and the time Colby picked them up.

Dana was seldom home when he came by, and he was never sure if she planned to be gone or if it just turned out that way. He couldn’t really blame her if she avoided him. The divorce hadn’t been bitter, but there was hurt for both of them.

What time’s Dana expected, Edie? He made his question as casual as possible.

She went to the school to catch one of the English instructors to talk about a student. Edie glanced at her wrist, turned the diamond-studded band with her right hand. She might stop off at the grocers if she isn’t running too late.

He nodded and held up the completed entry form. You know if she intends to send this in?

I doubt it. She never does, and it’s probably past the date for submission. You know Dana. She just loves to play with ideas.

"The contest is new, isn’t it? It says submit five events you think could happen. If you come close, you get certain prizes, and if you hit a couple on the head, there are even bigger prizes, including cash."

Is Dana entering? What did she predict?

He laughed.

Listen. Just as he started reading the list of predictions Dana had penciled into the contest blank, seven-year-old Mitzi and five-year-old Kayci tumbled down the stairs and into his arms.

He was as amazed at their energy almost as much as he was surprised at their beauty. Mitzi was a miniature of Dana, blue-eyed, pixie faced, pale freckles dusted across a tiny nose, blonde pigtails swinging over narrow shoulders.

Kayci resembled him. Dark brown eyes, rich brown hair just reached her shoulders, and a completely irresistible, cocky grin. She and Mitzi hadn’t yet realized the full meaning of their parents’ recent divorce, but were adjusting well. So far. He and Dana tried hard not to make the girls victims of their own shortcomings. Thank God. He’d seen so many of their friends use the children as pawns while they fought over rights and promises.

Got everything you need, girls? It’s supposed to snow and get lots colder.

Sure, Dad. Now can we get pizza?

Without waiting for his answer, each one caught an arm and hustled him towards the door.

He waved the clipping at Edie. I’ll make copies and mail this. You can check them out next year.

* * * * *

The following January

Dana stacked the music books neatly on the floor by the piano and arranged the piece for her next student on the stand. Karen Baxter, one of her best students, was due, and she wanted her to try the more complicated arrangements of Chopin. It would be a sin to choose conventional music for Karen. She wanted her to reach out for the involved compositions way beyond most of her pupils. Together, they’d been going over suitable preludes and recital pieces for the April concert. She was grooming Karen for stardom.

Dana glanced at the calendar and squeezed her eyes shut. Another year gone. And where had it gone? A year without Colby. Well, it hadn’t been too bad. At least, she saw him twice a month when he picked up Mitzi and Kayci for a long weekend. She wished she could add she no longer loved him, but since she was stubbornly truthful to herself, she refused to deny the obvious.

For a while after the divorce, she’d been numb, stunned beyond belief, really. She’d gone about her daily routine of seeing after the girls, the house, and making sure Colby had everything he needed. She’d forgotten he didn’t need anything from her anymore. She hadn’t gone back to work after Mitzi and Kayci were born because she loved being home with them, and she was always busy, never bored. Sometimes, she missed mixing with the professional world, discussing new trends with the excellent music instructors the university where she’d taught music since her graduation from college.

She had never actually understood their breakup although Colby had haltingly tried to explain his feelings. They weren’t making the same music they had during their courtship and just after their marriage. Things between them had changed drastically, and they might as well go their separate ways. Colby wasn’t sure what the trouble was, but he’d been firm about leaving. The pain for her had been so deep that she didn’t allow herself to understand. Colby said . . . she hadn’t really listened past his request for his freedom, she admitted to herself.

There were no financial problems. He held a prestigious position with Worldwide Theoretic Consultants (WTC), which commanded a substantial salary. He was generous with child support and always on time with payments. She got the house and the four-wheel Jeep they used to drive in rugged terrain when they camped out. But she was empty.

The thought of going back to work and turning the little girls into latchkey kids made her cringe, but she needed something to occupy herself, to keep from sinking into self-pity. The baby grand piano her parents gave her when she graduated from college sat there in the living room, beautiful but not used much. Music was all she knew, really, so she might as well see what she could do with it and still stay at home. It took her a month to work out schedules she could teach, to make up a list of possible clients, and then she went the rounds to sell herself as a private musical instructor. Her idea was well received and she found herself packing as many pupils as she could into the long, empty days.

Colby asked for the girls two weekends a month. He picked them up from school on Friday and delivered them to school on Monday morning.

At first, she dreaded the weekends without the two little girls and their shenanigans, but gradually, more music students and extra tutoring classes for English students filled in her time. It not only helped her bank account, it kept her from biting her nails to the knuckle.

She hated the word ‘divorce.’ She’d looked it up when Colby told her he wanted one. ‘To shed one’s spouse by legal means.’ To shed. Like a dog’s fur. ‘A complete or radical separation.’ For Dana, it had been radical. Extreme, like major surgery. The scars were still tender.

She supposed she should have seen the trouble in their marriage coming, but she’d been happy and thought the same of Colby. Maybe it was because she was two years older than he, and they’d married too young. Colby had been only twenty-one, not even out of college. Maybe she’d accepted the role of housewife and mother too eagerly and not kept up with Colby’s growth in the business world. Maybe . . . maybe lots of things.

After eight years and two little girls, Colby wanted a divorce.

She sighed over her subdued thoughts and turned towards the window to look out into the snowy evening. Next month, I’ll be thirty-two, and where do I go from here? Colby seems happy, so I should accept the finality of the divorce and look for a boyfriend. Somehow, she’d believed Colby would come back if just because of the girls, and she waited . . . and waited.

Colby dated some, she knew. Edie and Marie, her closest friends, made sure she heard when he invited a woman out to dinner, or whatever, because they wanted her to go out with eligible men they introduced her to. Marie worked in the firm where Colby was a high-ranking consultant and had a bird’s eye view of what went on. Edie’s husband worked in the same building though not the same company. They’d been friends when they were three couples. Now, only Edie remained married to Rex. Marie had shed her ne’er-do-well husband after six months and had never regretted it.

It was Edie who volunteered to stay with the girls when Dana had errands, and it wasn’t Colby’s weekend to have them. She sometimes thought Edie remained a young-looking thirty-two because she kept up with Mitzi and Kayci when she stayed with them. No matter what they suggested, she was game.

Small, not even five feet tall, she might weigh ninety pounds. Black hair looked as though Jack Frost himself dusted the thick curls just on the ends. In contrast, green eyes looked out on the world with an innocence no one married to Rex Scot had any business pretending to have.

Dana shook her head as she thought about the couple. Edie was a peach. Now Rex . . . he wasn’t exactly Dana’s idea of a model husband, but she’d never let Edie know her opinion. They were good friends, and Dana wanted it to remain that way.

She and Marie lunched together occasionally. Dana didn’t want to see either of them too often. It hurt to hear gossip about Colby and another woman. They were divorced. He was free to have friends just as she was, but she didn’t want to know about it.

From the bay window, she watched Colby’s company car skid a little as he turned into the driveway. The layer of wet snow was already making traffic hazardous and she was glad he lived fairly close without having to travel on a main highway.

He stepped outside the car, waved at one of their neighbors he’d known for years, and moved carefully along the walkway bordering the shrubbery he’d planted. There were so many things around the house that showed his handiwork. The steps he’d bricked so regular painting wouldn’t be necessary. The mailbox built into the brick flowerbox where each year he put pansies of all colors. The bicycle rack for the girls at the side of the garage. So much of Colby remained long after he left them.

She left the window and at the foot of the stairs, called, Daddy’s here, girls. Take your mittens in case you get to build a snowman.

There was an excited babble of voices and scrambling from one closet to another as they searched for misplaced mittens.

Dana turned to answer the doorbell.

A light powder of snow dusted Colby’s dark brown hair, uncovered as always, no matter the weather. He grinned the easy grin that always turned her heart upside down, and then he stepped past her into the house.

He was tall, over six feet, deep-set brown eyes in a slim face. They went well together, she’d always thought. She was the perfect blonde foil for his darkness. Their children evened it out. Mitzi with her blonde hair and light blue eyes like Dana. Kayci with dark eyes and hair like Colby.

Looks like we’ll get the heavy snow they’ve forecast, he said. Shoulda been here weeks ago.

She nodded. White Christmases didn’t mean as much as they once did except for the children.

Maybe the girls will be able to use the sleds you got them.

By tomorrow anyway. He removed the dark gray topcoat and dropped it over the big club chair where he used to sit on their evenings together.

She looked away from him and the chair. Mitzi? Kayci? Dad’s here.

There was a muffled shout she took to mean they were on their way. They never made Colby wait long because they knew on his nights they stopped for pizza and games before they went on to Colby’s townhouse. Somehow, Colby never seemed at a loss as to how to entertain the two little girls, giving them his undivided attention for the entire weekend. Mitzi and Kayci were always full of tales about their daddy when they came home on Monday evenings.

Want some coffee, Colby?

He shook his head. I’ll have some at the pizza shop. They make pretty good. He glanced around the neat living room. The big piano took up most of the corner. All Christmas decorations had been removed, but occasionally she’d find a particle of silver tinsel as she vacuumed.

She looked up to find Colby’s dark eyes sliding over her figure, more or less disguised under a gray and white warm-up suit. She was barefoot. Her hair was loose, a pale gold float lying on her shoulders, framing her rather long face, cheeks barely touched with light blush. Her straight nose had a permanent dusting of freckles, lighter than they would be next summer when she spent a lot of time outdoors with the girls.

Colby’s hands were jammed in his pockets. Are you losing weight?

No.

His eyes went over her slowly. You seem thinner to me.

I weigh the same as always.

He rocked back on his heels, continued to stare.

What do you do on these long weekends when you’re alone? Work? He indicated the open baby grand with music scores nearby.

I shack up. How about you?

Her answer stunned him. Hit him solidly in the solar plexus like the unexpected fist from a mugger who once attacked him down on the docks. He stared at the woman who’d been his wife for eight years, the woman he thought he knew better than anyone else except maybe himself. He’d never thought of her with another man.

Hell, I’ve had my share of women. Why shouldn’t she do the same? But this is different. Dana is the mother of the two precious girls who tumbled down the stairs right at that moment. She isn’t supposed to . . .

He grunted as Mitzi and Kayci hit him with low tackles at the same time.

Can we sled, daddy?

"Can we go see 101 Dalmatians?"

He laughed, but it was a hollow sound.

"Sure.