Chapter 17

© Copyright 2004 by Elizabeth Delayne



"It looks like you can take the girls from the beach, but not the beach from the girls."

Amy smiled and opened her eyes to look up at her uncle. She was lounging on plush chaise lounge on the glass-enclosed back porch. In the center was a stone fireplace, the flames licking jubilantly at the wooden logs. Through the long windows was a view of the snow capped mountains and lush green trees, their arms frosted with snow and ice.

At first she had been talking with Andrea and Chloe, enjoying the view of the mountains, but eventually she'd slipped into sleep with the sun streaming through the windows. Across the room Andrea was lounging herself, a book in hand. Chloe must have already slipped off to join Mitch.

The room as lightly decorated in natural wreathes and garlands, depending mostly on the mountains for ascetics. It had snowed the night before, a white curtain that looked so picturesque that she and Chloe and Andrea had stayed dup half the night with the floodlights on so they could watch out of the big picture window.

"I could get used to it—the peace, the quiet, the view," she told him as she gazed out the window at the snow topped peaks that underlined the blue sky. "It's been a long semester."

"So I heard."

"From Mitch."

"From your dad."

Amy turned at stared at him as he sat down on the ottoman at her side. Her uncle was older, with a full head of grey hair that contrasted sharply with her father's shinny bald top. One wouldn't notice the family resemblance unless they looked close. It was as if their nose fit the same way between their eyes. And their smiles, when they smiled in the sneakiest way.

And for two so drastically different now, they had shared a deep bond, long, long ago. Nearly before Amy could remember.

"Did he call you?"

"We've traded calls," Uncle Pete reached over and tousled her hair as he had done years ago when she was just a kid. "I've been worried about you. He's been worried about you. We've got something in common."

She rolled her eyes. "Everyone is worried about me."

"And are you worried about yourself?"

She thought of the tickling fear she'd felt at the base of her neck since coming to the mountains. "More than is probably necessary."

"You could move up here. I'll always have a job for you, a place for you."

She thought of the beach, the sand under her feet, the waves rolling on the beach. She thought of her friends, and the last few months they had together before things really changed. She thought of walking side by side with Derek as the sun set out beyond the horizon.

No—she couldn't leave. Not now. Not when she was so close to something. Surely she was finally close to something solid.

"At this rate, Uncle Pete, I'm barely on a track to finish college. I can't quit now."

She wasn't ready to mention Derek. Funny, a few weeks before she'd asked him to marry her, but now she couldn't even tell her uncle about him.

Her feelings were suddenly so new.

"What is it now? Business or criminal justice or psychology? Or something new this time?" There was no doubt or derision in his voice. Her uncle probably understood her lack of sure plans better than anyone. It was her father that was the planner, the goal keeper, the financial strategist.

"A little of it all."

"There are Internet classes and some distance learning classes down the mountain." He held up his hands. "I know. You've got enough determination to stay. You would have already run to safety if you were going to do it."

"Who's to say it wouldn't happen up here?"

"Fewer people around, easier to spot trouble, in my way of thinking."

"Fewer places to go, fewer people to hang out with."

"Still the same old arguments," he murmured with a smile. He had asked her to join him before. "You wouldn't be a Carpenter if you left your place by the shore."

"Come on, you're a Carpenter and you're in the mountains."

"Holding my own ground. Staging my own battles."

"Against what?"

"Business, ruthlessness, neglect," he waved a hand to point to the mountains outside. "Nothing's better for the soul then having a place to slow down and look for God."

"I wish you could get my dad up here. I wish you would come see him."

Her uncle shrugged. "We all have our own battles, sweetheart. Not all of them are mine-at least, not at the moment."

He stood, stretched his arms out just as her father would. And she smiled. For two men who spoke as little to each other as her father and his brother, they were sure alike.



Being in Upper Springs wasn't like coming home or returning to her roots, but Chloe was learning to accept them better. The old shops looked more appealing then they had in her youth. Rustic and charming, under a soft blanket of snow, instead of dilapidated buildings to snicker at.

Of course, Amy's Uncle Pete and his thriving resort had funded a great deal of rehab across the small community. Life was not booming by any means, but it was sweet.

And still quiet.

As she had at Thanksgiving, Chloe reveled in the quiet. It gave her time to appreciate life, time to wish and pray. For so long she hadn't wished, not those secret heartfelt little girl plans. Now, in the quiet, she could turn each and every one of them over to God.

The police station now housed three or four deputies on staff, where before, when she had lived there, it had been just Joe and a handful of volunteers. Today Mitch was at the head of a team.

She pulled open the glass front door of the station at smiled when she heard Hope's bark. The giant German Shepherd charged over and stopped expectantly at Chloe's feet. She was still enough a puppy to wiggle with glee while waiting for the attention to be bestowed.

Chloe stooped down and hugged the young dog, laughing when she received a wet kiss of hello.

"You're such a good girl," Chloe purred as she curled her fingers in Hope's thick coat of fur. They had taken to each other almost immediately, much to Mitch's chagrin.

"You're supposed to make her keep her commands," Mitch had reprimanded without heat.

"Chloe!"

"Hey, Nancy." Chloe stood and brushed off her jeans. Hope pressed to her side.

"If you're looking for Mitch, you just missed him. I think he just went over to the resort to fetch you."

"Fetch," Chloe murmured and looked down at Hope. "This dog lingoes going over the top, don't you think?"

Nancy laughed. "He left a bit ago, so he should have figured it out by now and be on his way back."

"Thanks."

"Listen, I was sorry to hear about your dad. I didn't realize the connection when you were here last," Nancy murmured, flipping through her files. Her back was turned or she might have seen the sudden shock in Chloe's eyes. "It's a shame. He was starting to get his life back together and then the accident. Joe was so sure ... and then ..."

Chloe stared at the woman's back, as the words slowly assimilated in her mind. "Yeah."

Her hands were shaking she thought and looked down at them, willed them to stop. She spotted Hope staring up at her, watching as if she knew Chloe had just been dealt a blow.

Her father ... whom she had just begun to think about, to pray for, to wish for ...

An accident. Did that mean her father was dead? Did that mean that Mitch knew?

Of course he did. Nancy had said that Joe had been aware of his situation.

Then why hadn't Mitch told her? Why had he waited?

She suddenly wanted to issue an attack command—not for Hope, but to herself. To attack something, someone, but there was nothing, nothing but the sudden shock.

No one ... no longer her father to deal with.

And why hadn't her mother told her? Surely she would have been notified. Surely her mother knew...

"I'll see if I ... can catch him."

And she turned, escaped, before Nancy could turn around. Behind her, behind the glass, she heard Hope's warning bark.

As if the dog knew she was intentionally heading the wrong way.



Mitch followed Amy out the front doors as he pulled on his gloves. It was starting to snow, a light drift. Nothing that had brought on the white blanket that already covered the ground.

He looked up at the dark clouds. They were in for another round of snowfall tonight. It would be another reason to be on call, another reason to be away from Chloe.

He'd really been looking forward to a quiet lunch with her.

"She's probably waiting for me back at the station."

Again, Mitch thought and sighed. He'd been there and come back, not having passed her on the way. He didn't think much normally about the short trek from the resort, but this was Chloe he was thinking about ... and with all that had happened in the last few months ... all that this town meant to her ...

He didn't like it. Not one bit.

Still, it wasn't Basin Springs and there were a few shops Chloe had discovered to be to her liking during her Thanksgiving stay.

"I'll have her call you if she comes back."

"If I don't see her on the way. Tell her to go ahead and eat—I've run out of lunch time."

"I'll—" Amy stopped and stared. He turned and felt the relief fall through him.

Then he saw the look—the grief—on her face.

"Chloe—"

"Just don't talk to me—" she spat, her eyes red-rimmed from tears. "Don't say a word to me. You knew he was dead. He was my father. I had the right, the duty to know. You knew and you didn't tell me."

"I—"

She'd found out about her father, he realized. It didn't matter how.

She slapped at his hand as he reached to touch her. "Don't—I'm not a weakling. I don't need to be shielded. I thought you would have understood that. Just leave me alone."

There was a ragged fear in her voice that Mitch didn't understand. She stomped past and headed down the hill toward the family cabin instead of into the resort. Stricken, Mitch turned to follow.

"She's not ready for you right now," Amy told him and held a hand to him. "She's going to have to work through some of the shock. What was that all about?"

"Her father," he murmured, watching Chloe disappear into the woods. "He died last year. It took some tracing down to find out for sure. I was going to tell her ..."

"She knows." Amy started toward the trail, then turned back toward Mitch. "It's not you she's mad at, Mitch. It's not you she feels betrayed by. It's herself. Let me talk to her."

"Amy—" Mitch called as she started down the trail. "Be careful."



It wasn't far from the resort to the family cabin. The trail was a little steep, narrow, and not necessarily quicker going down then up. Ice patches tended to take one unawares.

Amy caught up with Chloe halfway down the trail. Chloe was walking at a brisk pace, a sure sign of angst. Amy fell in line just behind her and stuck her hands in the pockets of her leather coat.

"I don't need you to shield me either," Chloe muttered without looking around.

"Good—because that's the last thing I would do. I've had enough of it myself," Amy reminded her. "I'm just here as your friend."

"Are you?" Chloe stopped and spun to face Amy in a brisk, angry move. "Or are you here on Mitch's behalf?"

"You're both my friends. I can't divide myself from that. You're the one that's more upset."

"He should have told me."

"He would have."

"But he hadn't."

"How long had he known?" Amy asked. "We were out, talking, de-stressing from finals last night. Would that have been a good time for him to pull you aside and tell you? This morning, before he went to work should he have just stopped by and taken you aside?"

"There are phones. I've had the same number for weeks."

"And you know Mitch. I know Mitch. He's not going to let you go through something that will upset you, put you in the position to be upset, without being there for you. He didn't tell me. He's been waiting on you to get here."

Chloe sighed. "I know. I just thought ... I wanted ..."

She buried her face in her hands and let out a groan. "I don't even know what I thought, what I wanted. My dad was already dead to me. I had only just begun to dream, to think of him. Letting Mitch into my life opened a door for me to deal with that. And he was already gone. Already dead. None of my prayers made a difference."

"How do you know?" Amy asked. "Maybe they made a difference in you. Or will."

"It's too late."

"You don't know that. God isn't limited by time, Chloe. You know Joe and Ryan were friends."

"Yeah."

"Joe came to me a few years ago, without even knowing that I was struggling with the same thing—or close to what you're dealing with now. He and Ryan had begun surfing together by way of Cage, had fallen into some pretty heavy conversations about life. It's odd that even though I never saw my brother sitting out on the beach talking about deep things, serious things, it's so easy for me to see, to understand what it would have been like for him."

"Maybe because it was much the way Mitch talked with me. How Joe later talked with me. He told me that Ryan had begun to question him, to talk to him, with him about God. He can't say that Ryan ever accepted. He couldn't say that Ryan ever believed. However, God's bigger then either Joe or I. It's possible that in all the car rides my mom and Ryan had together they talked about it as well. They were together so often on long car trips that summer. It's possible. I won't know until I get to heaven."

A tear slid down Chloe's cheeks. "I just wanted to see him. I don't know what else I wanted. I can't see him again. He's my dad and I haven't seen him in a long time. I've only recently started to pray for him. And he's gone. None of it mattered."

Amy reached out, wiped the tear from Chloe's cheek. "Now who would you rather have had wipe your tears away? Me or Mitch?"

Chloe smiled and rolled her watery eyes. Amy laughed.

"That's what I thought. Next time, don't run from him. It rips his heart out when he doesn't know how to reach you."

"It was all just boiling inside me. It was silly—I know. Most of what's upsetting me is I have so many questions and no answers. I ran away from him because he has the answers."

"And you're not sure if you want to know."

"Maybe. Amy you don't know how lucky you are. You've got your dad to pray for, to see, to hope for."

"I know. From now on I'll consider it a blessing," she laughed. "Or try. You know, sometimes I go out to our old house, the one we lived in with my mom. Sometimes I just sit there and stare at the windows and remember and dream. Sometimes I can feel close to him, remembering him as he was, our family as it was. Maybe we could get Mitch to go with us tomorrow so we could see your old house."

"I don't know if I want to remember who he was—I want to know who he became. Nancy said he was turning his life around again."

"Then we'll find out as much as we can. We'll—"

Suddenly, she heard the quiet. She looked around, stared through the depths of the trees and into the woods—into the dark hidden spaces. She felt the hair prickle on the back of her neck.

"What is it?"

Amy shook her head. All she could see was the woods around her, the snow coating the branches in a thin layer. "Nothing."

"It doesn't look like nothing. You lost all your color."

"You didn't hear anything, feel anything?"

"No."

Amy shook her head, now more upset that she had put fear back in Chloe's eyes. "I don't know. I'm just not used to the ... quiet."

"You have reason to be." Chloe looked around, shivered. "I don't like this. Let's go."

Amy nodded and they started down the trail together. They were both girls that had spent a good deal of time alone, out in nature. Both had spent plenty of time in the mountains. It was a shame that someone out there, somewhere, could so easily take away their peace.



Anna stopped in the doorway leading in from her kitchen and studied the man who sat on her sofa. His face was lit only by the twinkle of lights from the Christmas tree. Here he was, alone, lonely, all over again. At her house. How often over the last few years had he come to her in this way, seeking her out when he was down?

When Vince was out of town without him. She rolled her eyes. One would think a man his age could deal with being without his best friend.

Yet he had a choice of all the women in the area. He still chose her. It perplexed her.

He'd gone home after work, obviously, and changed from his immaculate suit into jeans and a T-shirt. He looked a little disheveled, which to her opinion, only made him more appealing.

And that only made him more dangerous.

"You know, you could go up, join Amy, your brother. You have family, Lance, if you would just accept them."

Lance didn't say anything. She sighed and sat down beside him.

He glanced over, set aside his soda. "How come you're that far over there?"

She lifted an eyebrow and ignored the flirtatious tone. "You know why Lance. In a week, this is where you'll push me all over again. I'm not coming back toward you until you give me a reason to stay."

"You're the one who walked away the last time."

"If you're here to get into an argument with me in my house you might as well leave now. You're not doing this to me again."

He stared at her for a moment, then turned his head, his eyes focused on nothing.

"I don't know what to do with you."

"Yet you want me to hold on?"

"I don't know. I can't be like you."

She smiled gently and curled her fingers around her glass instead of reaching over to comfort as she wanted to do, as she had done before—too many times. "You don't have to be like me. You just have to accept me."

"And accept what you believe."

"That all depends on you. I will always be your friend—you'll never have to question that. Your friendship, Lance, means something to me. It has since we were kids."

"But it's not enough for marriage?"

"You know its not."

He turned and looked at her, looked her over, his eyes sad and lost and ... searching. "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. For so many things. For disappointing you, for disappointing Amy. For relying on Vince more than I rely on myself. I'd forgotten ... I have forgotten how to reach out from my own heart. With you, sometimes, I've been able to do that."

"And with Amy?"

"Sometimes. Not enough. I know its not enough."

Anna moved then and leaned her head against his shoulder, leaned against him, into him.

"I miss her. I miss her so much."

He wasn't talking about Amy anymore, but Mallory. "I know."

"When I'm with you, it's like I miss her more."

She closed her eyes and silently grieved over his words.

"I don't know how to open myself up to you ... to Amy, to anyone without missing her."

"You open yourself up with Vince."

"I'm not sure I have. In all this time, I don't know if I have. It's easy with him, too easy. He made plans at Thanksgiving, I went along. He thought calling to decline Amy's offer was what I wanted."

"Was it not?"

"No. I haven't been a good father to her in a long time. I don't know what to do, Anna. Amy hates me."

"No, you haven't ... but she's unwilling to settle for a father who won't open up to her." Anna sat up, turned around and faced him. For once, her eyes met his and were steady. "Neither will I."



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