Firefly Nights

Almost as if he owed Kitty some consideration, Campbell forced himself to eat the cheese and bologna sandwich and, of all things, chicken soup.

When he finished eating, Campbell took his pills and watched a few minutes of the baseball game before shutting off the TV. He picked up his book, slammed it closed and set it down again. He glared at the useless leg, which prevented him from going outside in the cleansing mountain air and walking off the restlessness.

And then he opened the end table drawer and took out the half dozen postcards from Diana that for some stupid reason he’d saved over the past few months. He flipped through them, staring at the typical tourist photos again. The Piazza San Marco in Venice. The Place Royale in Bordeaux. The Grote Markt in Antwerp. Beautiful places that, at one time, he could have imagined visiting with Diana.

Once he finished reading, Campbell ripped the cards into shreds before realizing he’d have to pick up all the pieces from the floor.

He blamed Kitty Watley for this infuriating and completely uncharacteristic emotional outburst. Before this darn accident, when work occupied his days, he’d convinced himself that he was finally over Diana Matheson. Cool, sophisticated, boarding school–bred Diana, who’d knocked him for a loop the first time he saw her. He had adored her since the night she showed up at her father’s estate, home from her European trip.

The day she agreed to become his wife had been the happiest of his life. He’d given her a ring and urged her to set a date. He was anxious to settle down with her, have a family. She kept putting him off, and she did it so cleverly he hardly noticed. Or maybe he just wasn’t smart enough to read the signs.

Eventually Campbell realized that Diana would never be his. She’d never commit to a simple ex-military type like him, who worked for her father. To preserve what was left of his dignity, he told Diana goodbye. And then, weeks later, the postcards started to arrive, and Campbell resented the heck out of the fact that Diana didn’t want him but wouldn’t let him go.

It wasn’t Kitty’s fault that her very femaleness sent Campbell spiraling down to that dark period after he’d packed his bags and left the Matheson estate. When he settled back in Sorrel Gap, he gave himself time and permission to think of Diana. He missed what he’d hoped they would have together with a deep ache that stole peace from his daylight hours and sleep from his nights. But he didn’t regret his decision, any more than he regretted tearing up those postcards today. In Sorrel Gap he’d hoped to start over. But he wasn’t doing such a bang-up job of it so far.

Kitty and Diana were nothing alike except that they were both women. Diana had everything she’d ever wanted. Kitty obviously survived on the barest essentials. Campbell had sworn off all women for now, but especially rich, spoiled ones who would choose money and possessions over everything else.

The phone rang again, jolting Campbell from his pathetic self-pity. He picked it up. “Hello.”

“It’s Virgil. Just wanted you to know I got the phone turned on in unit six so you can reach Kitty when you need her. Here’s the number...”

Campbell scribbled it down on a pad, though he wasn’t likely to use it. He was a long way from admitting that he needed anyone.

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