8

            Don was roused by the sound of the shower, and realised Susan had already awakened. He pulled the thick, soft, down comforter closer around his chin to help retain the warmth it afforded. Sometime in the early hours of the morning after the heavy snowfall had ceased, Don figured Susan must have opened one of the bedroom windows so that the room was now quite cold. It was a quirky habit of hers he indulged, although he wasn't too sure of what was so appealing waking to a freezing cold room.

Cracking open one eye, he quickly scanned the room, and noted all the windows were securely shut. She must have closed it when she got up, Don thought, glad he didn't have to abandon the comfort of the bed to do so himself. Shutting his eye, he decided it was still too early to get up. The unwritten rule between them was that the first one to rise fixed breakfast and coffee, so Don knew he could afford to rest a little longer.

The sound of the shower ceased, and in the stillness, Don's mind wandered, and he suddenly recalled an early morning dream he had. He had been sitting in the back of a taxicab, horns blaring all around him. He somehow sensed that Susan was in danger and that he was trying to reach her. But he was trapped in a traffic jam, and the cab driver told him there was nothing he could do but wait until everything cleared. Then Don had known in the dream why he felt Susan was in danger: Alex Wright was killing her. She would suffocate if he didn't somehow make it through the wall of traffic and get to her in time. Don remembered in the dream he had jumped out of the cab and tried to run past the multitude of vehicles that were lined up as far as the eye could see. It seemed the harder he ran, the more the gridlocked cars prevented him from getting to Susan. He had wanted to cry angry tears of frustration when all the cars suddenly surged forward, as if what had been causing the congestion had instantly been removed. The taxi Don had originally been in sped past him then, and did not stop when he madly waved his arms in the air and cried out for it to halt. The dream had faded after that.

The dream was obviously inspired by the actual events that had happened, and Don was grateful that in real life, he had indeed reached Susan in time. Thank God it was only a dream, he sighed.

Stepping from the shower, Susan wrapped her hair in a towel and slipped into a terry-cloth robe. She padded quietly through the bedroom and into the hall to turn up the thermostat, which she had lowered during the night when she opened the bedroom window. She knew Don would be appreciative. Continuing on to the large kitchen, Susan set the coffee brewing, placing two coffee cups on the counter. Although she loved to cook, Susan usually had a light breakfast, but Don was more accustomed to a hearty morning meal.

 "Rena's spoiled you," Susan joked when they were first married. So while she would often have a bagel or English muffin and juice during the week, on most weekends if she was the first to rise, Susan would prepare something more substantial for breakfast for the two of them. Don had once confided to her that when Kathy was still alive, he had enjoyed playing chef sometimes for breakfast on Sundays. After her death, he had lost heart in that practice, and relied on Rena's excellent cooking skills. Opening the refrigerator, she decided on omelettes, and removed eggs, green onions, cheese, bread, and a tomato.

Hot pot, cold oil, if you don't want the omelette to stick, Susan recalled hearing somewhere as she placed a large skillet on the gas burner. It sounded to her like the kind of advice Gran Susie would give.

As the pan heated, Susan beat the eggs, chopped the green onions, and grated the cheese, which she would sprinkle liberally when the omelettes were almost done. That way, the cheese would melt then and not be overcooked. She tried slicing the tomato, but realised with the blunt knife she was using, she was only making a pulpy mess of it. Oh well, she thought, it gets all mushed-up in our mouths, anyway.

She poured some of the egg mixture into the skillet and monitored it as the yellow mixture bubbled up into a more solid, fluffy mass.

"Mmm, something smells good," Susan felt Don's arms around her waist and his chin on her shoulder. "Two things, actually," he continued, "you and the omelette."

"Wait 'til I tell my friends my husband loves me for my cooking and my shampoo," Susan replied with a grin. "They'll all be begging for culinary lessons and the name of my brand."

Don smiled and let her go, and walked over to the coffee pot. He poured the hot liquid into the coffee cups and brought them to the dining table. Susan had just flipped the last omelette onto a serving plate with the misshapen blobs of tomato as a garnish as he finished setting the table. As if on cue, the slices of bread popped from the toaster.

"If you ever wanted to moonlight as a cook, you have my blessings," Don said as he ate the last of the eggs and toast.

"No, I think I'm busy enough as it is," Susan responded, "but thanks for the compliment."

Don smiled inwardly. For so long, he had recognized an almost automatic and unconsciously reserved reaction from Susan when someone paid her a sincere compliment. He suspected such a reaction had had a lot to do with what happened between her and Jack Harriman.

Jack had no doubt showered Susan with words of affection and flattery. And she no doubt had probably received such attention from him very positively. But then came the bombshell - the one that probably killed or at least numbed a part of Susan that trusted the words of the one she loved most – the revelation that Jack was no longer interested in her, but with her own sister. Susan was a naturally modest person, but Don was certain that after Jack's painful betrayal, she had found it especially hard to accept praise from anyone. But not anymore, Don thought, not anymore!

Saturdays were often quiet days that Don and Susan usually dedicated to reviewing patient files, doing research for various projects, and taking care of general housekeeping chores.

After breakfast, Susan retired to the study to go over notes she planned to use for Monday's Ask Dr. Susan program. She wanted to give her listeners a clear picture of the seriousness of the crimes committed by con artists. She also planned to put out a description of Anton Riley, in the hopes that someone in her listening audience might be able to identify him. Susan knew her mother was not the first person he had tried to defraud, and even though authorities knew of his actions, Emily was most certainly not going to be his last – unless he was apprehended with help from her description on the radio.

Don poked his head into the study. He was sporting a jacket, hat and scarf. "I'm going to shovel the walk, okay?"

"Have fun," she quipped, looking up at him, "there must be a foot of that stuff out there."

"I know," he muttered, pulling on some gloves, "but someone's got to do it. See you in a bit." Susan heard the front door slam, and then returned her attention to her notes. It was then she recalled that Dee had wanted her to return her call since the afternoon before. Picking up the phone, she dialled her sister's number.

"Hi, Susie!" came Dee's cheerful greeting when she answered.

"You sound upbeat," said Susan.

"Try to guess why!"

"I can't begin to imagine."

"No, really try," Dee pressed. Susan suppressed a sigh.

"Honestly, Dee, I can't guess," she said after considering for a few moments. There was a beat of silence from the other end.

"Russ asked me to marry him night before last!" Dee blurted, barely able to contain her excitement.

"Dee, that's wonderful!" Susan found herself smiling. "You sure have a thing for photographers, don't you?" Russ Schuster was a fashion photographer Dee had met soon after she took a consulting job with a modelling agency some time after her return to New York.

"I guess so," Dee said happily. Susan reflected that such an exchange between them would have been impossible three years ago.

"So, have you thought of a date yet?" Susan inquired.

"We're shooting for sometime in January," Dee responded, still unable to quell her excitement.

"That's just great, Dee, I'm so happy for the both of you!"

"You know, I didn't think I'd ever find someone I could love as much as I loved Jack," Dee said blithely.

Neither did I, Susan thought to herself, again pleased to note she felt no bitterness at the mention of Jack. The two of us really are over him.

"Russ has been so wonderful to me. I can't imagine life without him. And to think I didn't even want to work anymore after moving back here. Taking that consulting job is one of the best moves I've ever made. If I hadn't, I'd have never met Russ."

"Well, I look forward to having him for a brother-in-law," Susan said honestly, thinking of the pleasant and good-looking man her big sister was now engaged to marry.

"Thanks Susie! I'll tell him you said that!"

After a few more minutes of chit-chat, the sisters hung up, promising to remain in touch. Settling back into concentrating on her notes, Susan began to think about how much she actually knew about the man who was to become her new brother-in-law.