THE TOWNSFOLK OF Langley, Washington, referred to Ida Wren by a plethora of names — miscreant, malefactor, eccentric; a right goddamned pain in the ass, coined by the local tailor after she'd swiped some lacy ribbons. But if she had to choose, her favorite was hurricane. The word, in her young mind that considered herself above everyone she knew, imbued her with a sense of sovereignty. She fancied that with a flick of her fingers, and a single silky word from her wry tongue, she could upend this archaic town, leaving a trail of bedlam in her wake.
Or maybe that was her rip-roaring imagination that acted up more often than not, constructing elaborate but chaotic plots that she entertained herself with. Ever since she was a child, the idea of leaving a mark had appealed to her — her very own notch in the infinite bedpost that was reality. It was just that nobody said it had to be a necessarily good mark. That was what had her scrawling her initials onto the red-topped table she sat at, with just her chipped fingernails and a frown of concentration on her face; I.W. in neat, block letters.
"Are you going to order or freeload, Wren?"
The voice is gratingly familiar. Clicking her tongue at being disturbed, she glanced up from her masterpiece, tucking stray strands of dark hair behind an ear. Randy Howard's petite face was screwed tight like a bottle cap, her lips curled like she had encountered something unpleasant. Ida stifled a smile when she remembered how she'd snarled at her about stealing her beau —really, the pig had just thrown himself at her. Not that Randy believed it. Robert, that numbskull, wasn't hanging around today, denying Ida the pleasure of socking him in the face once again.
"Might as well have some of that travesty you call coffee," she chirped, enjoying as redness bloomed in Randy's carefully powdered cheeks. On second thought, she added, "I'll also have some hot cocoa, lots of sugar."
Randy's embarrassment evaporated; replaced by a scoff as she readjusted her already straight white collar. "You've been coming here long enough that I know how your pal likes his drink. You should be thankful I don't run this place, or you would have to find some other unfortunate soul to bother."
"Yes well, I wish you the best in climbing up the ranks of this magnificent establishment. Now, chop chop! I'm dying of thirst here."
A snort was Randy's only answer as she stalked over to the counter, her russet curls bouncing as she moved. Ida grinned, her gaze moving to the window, fingers tapping impatiently on the table. A tinny song was playing on the radio — an upbeat, cheery tune that didn't match the chill that had breezed in with the fall season. However, the music was a refreshing break from news about the war, which she would be plunged back into the once faded door to the diner opened, and Elliot walked in with news that had the potential to change both their lives.
The anticipation she harboured only grew at the thought of him. It was a day of reckoning for not just him, but also her. If Elliot came back bearing good news from his doctor about the state of his heart murmur, they would both be out of this town in the blink of an eye, heading towards a bloody future, together. If he didn't...well, she didn't want to think about that.
Randy brought her order along and set it down with a bit too much aggression, and Ida spent a couple of minutes sipping her steaming coffee and observing a group of men that were making grand statements about what they'd do once they joined the war effort. One was banging his fist on a table and offering to kill krauts with his bare hands — which didn't look all that muscular. This was when Elliot strolled inside like her thoughts had willed him to appear.
He made a beeline towards her table, thick black coat dangling from his narrow shoulders to fight the cold she knew permeated outside. Windswept brown hair stuck up in every different angle, and the top buttons of his shirt were done the wrong way. She might have laughed if not for the hard line of his mouth and the telltale tick of his jaw. Her heart sunk when he avoided her eyes as he slid into the seat beside her.
