Dotty's Port in the Storm

By Tamara Shaffer

Dotty lifted one-year-old Patrick out of his stroller and carried them both up the stairs of the diner. It had been sunny when she headed out for his checkup, but now a storm was threatening. She took refuge in the restaurant, which was occupied only by five plainclothes policemen talking quietly at one of the tables.

A cheery waitress helped her get the toddler settled in a highchair and took her scant order. ‘Tea for you and Cheerios for Patrick, coming right up.”

Dotty watched the weather drama, happy to be inside. While Patrick picked up the little O’s in his chubby fingers and devoured them, the rain slapped at the windows in torrents, then subsided, giving her the impetus to head home. She was cleaning his hands when she noticed one of the cops walking toward her. He was tall and lanky with black hair showing gray at the temples and strong looking arms. He was dressed in jeans, his gun resting against his side.

She was concerned. “Is something wrong?”

He smiled. “No, I just think I know you from somewhere. It was about a year ago. A bunch of us had breakfast in a restaurant downtown, and you bought takeout coffee.” When she looked puzzled, he added, “Chloe, our waitress, was always cracking jokes.”

With that it came back. “I’m surprised you remember me.”

“I wanted to meet you. Chloe promised to get your name, but you disappeared.”

“I changed jobs,” she explained. She’d wanted to meet him, too, but hadn’t known how to go about it.

He extended his hand. “I’m Jack.”

“Dotty,” she said, noticing that his touch made her heart beat faster. “I was just avoiding the storm. It might be safe now.”

“Let me help you with your little boy.”

“My grandson Patrick. His mother died, and my son’s in the service.”

“So you and your husband took him?”

“Just me. I’ve been divorced since my son was little.”

His colleagues were gathering at the door. “I’ll bring the car around,” one of them said. Jack picked up the stroller and followed Dotty outside. She felt flattered that he remembered her and blushed with pleasure when he continued their conversation.

“Imagine running into you again,” he said. “Must mean we’re supposed to have breakfast or something.”

She pretended to ponder the idea. “I think it does.”

He grinned. “How about I take you and Patrick out for breakfast tomorrow? I don’t start work until three.” He handed her a card from his pocket. “You can put your number on here.”

She dug a pen from her purse, then peered up at him. “You’re not married, are you? I wouldn’t want my pancakes dumped on my head by some enraged woman.”

He laughed. “I assure you that won’t happen.” He took the card just as his partner drove up. “I’ll pick you up at eight. I’ll call you tonight to make sure you haven’t changed your mind – or that this number isn’t to Dial-a-Prayer.”

Dotty found that amusing. “Neither will happen,” she assured him.

He called at seven. “I just wanted to say I’m glad I ran into you. Are we still on for breakfast?”

She confirmed that they were. She found herself excited at the prospect of seeing him again. Her previous boyfriend hadn’t wanted the encumbrance of a child, as many middle-aged men didn’t. She hadn’t realized how lonely she was for that special promise of romance.

The brightness of that promise grew dim, as she waited the next morning, no knock on the door, no phone call. She’d had her share of disappointments but, given the strength of her attraction to this man, this one was brutal.

At noon, while Patrick ate lunch, she turned on the news. She was paying scant attention to the report of a disturbance with a huge police presence when the phone rang.

“I’m sorry.” Jack’s words were barely discernible over the background noise matching that on the screen. “I got the call as I was leaving for your place. I hope we can try again.”

Her mind raced. Being stood up was usually inexcusable, but she’d never before dated a policeman. She knew cops had to put service before personal plans.

She’d decided to accept his apology just as the click in her ear took him away. Did he hang up because duty called, she wondered, or did he think it was useless to ask for another date? Perhaps women were discouraged by the demands of his work, just as men were by her parental responsibilities.

At seven, following an afternoon of gloom, the doorbell rang. “Poseys, Incorporated,” came the voice. Who would be sending me flowers? she wondered.

They were blue cornflowers, representing forgiveness, devotion to the recipient, and hope, according to the print on one side of the card. The other side was handwritten. “I hope we can start again. Jack.”

The phone rang, and she had her answer ready. “Yes, we can start again.”

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