Chapter 18

© Copyright 2005 by Elizabeth Delayne



With tinsel in her hair, Andrea twirled around, then plopped down on a the sofa. The lights were dim and the fire place crackled. They'd turned the heat up and were down to their short sleeves and bare feet. Christmas music played from the high tech stereo system in the corner.

Feeling blissfully tired from spending an afternoon snow-boarding with Joe, Amy sat curled up in the oversized easy chair and watched her friends. They were both glowing. Happy and in love, with dreams stretching before them.

It was on the tip of her tongue to tell them about Derek. She was used to them knowing or guessing what she was thinking and feeling. She'd rarely been able to hide anything from them, not since Chloe moved in with her. Now that Amy was living with Anna, and her two best friends were sharing an apartment, that had changed.

So much had changed.

But the silence of her secret felt like a cozy blanket. For once, her friends could enjoy being the center of attention.

She looked over at Chloe and winked. "Did you give Andrea her message?"

"The one from Eric?" Chloe chimed in without prompting. "He called and said they were extending the trial and he wouldn't be able to get up here before Christmas."

Andrea only rolled her eyes that shimmered with happiness even more than the tinsel in her hair. "When did he call?"

"This afternoon, while you were out shopping."

"Funny. I talked to him right before we went up for dinner. He said he would see me in the morning."

"Well, you know those lawyer types."

Andrea smiled up at the ceiling and toyed with the tinsel in her hair. "Don't I ever."

Chloe snickered. "She knows them so well she's going to give birth to a whole firm. It's going to be in the blood."

"Should I remind you that neither my brother nor I are lawyers."

"But you're marrying one," Chloe pointed out.

"I'm not marrying anyone."

"Yet."

Andrea shrugged. "Yet."

Though Amy was sure that Eric would pop the question soon, she let the conversation drop. She, for one, wasn't ready to give anyone a hard time about marriage—less they find out about her own recent venture in that direction.

She wasn't someone who believed that love was some magical power that brought two people together. It was, she was sure, part passion, part hope, and a huge amount of trust. Her own parent's marriage had been about all of that plus work and commitment—so much work with his schedule. It wasn't something that could just be lost and found.

Love was patient, kind ... punctuated by the idea of growing old together, of struggle and winning the race, of celebrating. Of promise and hopes and future.

And that was something her dad had lost. She understood that now. Maybe in understanding that, she understood him. He'd lost his heart, his secure future—not just with someone who put up with him, but who loved him. Someone who was patient and kind and beautiful.

Could she really blame him for breaking a part? They'd both lost the greatest love in their lives. Not just her mother, but their family. The bright hope, the bright idea of the future. Everything that seemed patient and kind in their lives. The money didn't really matter, but he pushed himself to make it.

Maybe, she thought, it was the only secure future he thought he could have.

Amy glanced at the fire and thought of Derek. He was, she thought, a soft warm glow in her heart. She knew she felt safe with him. She felt more. Even though she missed him, she didn't really picture this as their Christmas. They would never be able to have that picturesque ideal holiday, snuggling by the fire on Christmas Eve. He would probably always take the holiday shift. That was part of him, a part of him she couldn't help but cherish. He was a lot like Ham.

They could and would make their own traditions, find their own ideal. That was something she could give him, a way she could steady him.

If.

With her friends slipping into sleepiness, Amy let the music roll over her with bright words of cheer and pushed the rest of the thoughts away. It was something, as Derek had said, that would keep for another day. She watched the shadows pop on the wall as the fire crackled and burned. When the light rolled across the window signaling someone was turning into the drive, she only curled deeper into the cushions.

At the knock on the door, she sighed, but didn't move.

"Who could it be?" Chloe murmured, half asleep. "Mitch won't be off for another hour, at least."

"It's Amy's family cabin," Andrea pointed out. "She should get the door."

"The only person who's up here to see us is Mitch."

"He wouldn't knock."

"Someone's going to have to get the door."

"Maybe they'll go away and come back in the morning."

Amy lay back in the chair and watched as the door knob turned and the door pushed open. She smiled at the man with the dark auburn hair.

"Hey! Are you girls going to leave me standing out here?"

Andrea rolled off the sofa and stumbled toward the door in a flash. She flung her arms around Eric and pulled him inside.

"I was just wishing for you," she told him, standing on her tip toes.

"Were you, now?" he asked, and Amy thought he looked wickedly delighted; surprised some, but defiantly pleased.

"Well, I—You're here early."

"The other attorneys brought forth a postponement until after the holidays," he set down his luggage and had his arms around her. Somehow they managed to get the front door shut.

"But I talked to you just two hours ago—"

"On my cell phone. I told you I would see you soon."

"You said you would see me in the morning."

"And I will—won't I? We can still have a late breakfast together. After this week I, for one, want to sleep in." He picked at the tinsel in her hair. "What's this?"

"We were decorating the tree earlier."

Eric closed his eyes and rested his forehead against Andrea's, as if he was savoring her, Amy thought.

Across the room, Chloe sighed. "This is better than the Christmas movies we've been watching."

"Comedy at it's best," Amy teased when Eric looked over at her. "I'd offer for you to come in, sit down and warm yourself by the fire, but you warm enough to me."

Eric laughed. "The last thing I want to do is sit down after that drive."

Andrea took his hand. "We were supposed to meet Mitch up at the lodge for the evening activities. You want to go ahead and head up there?"

"Does it involve riding in a car?"

Andrea laughed then. "Not if you can manage an uphill climb."



Derek watched the serf roll in. The beach was empty, the night was quiet. He could remember a time when the holidays weren't a time to relax. The shifts had been understaffed, the cells full from DUI and drug trafficking.

Not in Basin Springs. The night was quiet. Even the life away from the beach, over the police radio, was relatively calm. The patrols were for the most part uneventful. He'd brought someone in himself—but one, walking barefoot in the sand and singing off key was nothing compared to the back allies and the potential to see a gun.

He was prepared. He just hadn't had to use it.

Yet.

Basin Springs was changing. Who could only guess what it would be like in a few years. He didn't know where he'd be in a few years. Who he'd be ... who he'd be with.

He watched the surf surge and let his mind wonder.

The buzz of his cell phone startled him. "Johnson."

"Carpenter."

He smiled. He could hear the strains of Christmas music over the line, the mumbled chatter of a crowded room, but it was her voice he centered on. He'd missed Amy—missed her going out on the patrol boat with him, missed their easy banter at the station house.

And most of all, he'd missed the easy companionship that their dates had become.

"How are the mountains?"

"Beautiful, peaceful ... how is the beach?"

"Beautiful, peaceful."

She laughed and the sound trickled over the line right into his heart. "Are you on duty?"

He looked out into the blackness of the ocean, heard the soothing sound of the surf. "Officially I am. Are you at a party?"

"We just came up to the lodge." She must have moved away as the sounds of voices dimmed and suddenly it was only her voice he heard on the line. "My uncle offered me a job."

Amy had told him he would and that she always turned him down. Still, he felt the hairs on the back of his neck twitch. "Are you going to take it?"

"No—I've found something in the lower Springs I like more."

"A new restaurant?"

She laughed and if he hadn't of known her better he might have thought it was a giggle. His Amy—giggling?

His Amy?

"No."

"Oh—because we would definitely have to try it. We're running out of new places to go."

"Are we settling into a grove now?"

"I don't know. Will you stick around if we do?"

Her retort didn't come quickly—which satisfied him. There was part of him that still feared that she'd turned to him because the moment had called for it. He glanced back through the glass to the inside of the station, then turned and headed down to the sand.

"I think I've always wanted to be in a grove," she said at last as he stepped out onto the sand. "As long as we find our own, make it our own."

When we're married.

He thought it, but he didn't say it. Neither of them did—or had since the night she'd proposed to him.

"You'll always have to work Christmas."

"Probably."

"Maybe I will, too ..."

Derek stepped up to where the wave hit it's furthest point. He was standing in the place she'd wanted—Ham's place. "Doing what?"

"I don't know."

"Has there ever been anything you've ever wanted to do? For you? Not just a job, but a plan or a goal?"

"Sure ... all girls have dreams, right?"

"Some, I suppose—but I'm only interested in yours."

"The first, the biggest ... I wanted to go to the Olympics ... I think that was my earliest dream. No ... the first dream I had was to go to the World Series-but Ryan told me I couldn't. I wanted to be just like my dad, but I was too young to join a real baseball team."

He could almost picture her in pigtails, watching her dad with those big brown eyes ... full of trust ... a bat in hand and a baseball cap on backwards.

"My mom would take me swimming-it was easy to pretend in the water ... and pretending led me to try harder. She used to say she gave birth to me in the water. Then she died ..." She let out a breath, as if the words had been hard to say, and he could almost see her—her eyes serious, her fingers restless.

"I think, for a time ... I wanted to do something with her name on it. I haven't really thought about that in years, but there was a time ... right after I became friends with Mitch, that I used to lie awake at night and think about it."

"About what?"

"Oh—a center—for teens to go, for me to go, with a half pipe—for me to use, close enough to the beach to include surfing and swimming, again—"

"For you."

"For me. It was ... not very practical."

"Why not?" He could see it—had thought about it. He saw enough on the beach to know there was a need.

"For one ... it's a big issue for the town council. They would never agree ... not for me to front it anyway. And the logical thing for me to do would be to ask my father for advice. Financial planning, getting a loan."

"You're dad would help."

"Probably. And we would argue and fight through the entire process. I didn't use to have the energy or the desire. Lately—things have been better, so maybe it would be easier now. There's too many other problems, anyway.

"Like?"

"Location," she said as if he should have known. "A place in Basin Springs next to the beach? In the center of the strip? It's just a dream."

"You'd have a lot to offer a bunch of troubled teens ..." They'd talked about it before, so he knew it was something she was coming to grasp.

"Maybe."

She feared failure, not the setbacks themselves, but the all out end of it all. He knew that about her. She'd tasted it, in the worst of ways. She lived in a town that had seen her fall.

And he thought he understood that she wouldn't want to fail again with something that had her mother's name and memory attached.

"For someone with degrees in criminal justice and management, tooling around with psychology—"

"That someone knows how near impossible it would be for me. And I don't have any degree yet."

"You will. One might say you've been moving toward this all your life. You could have a big sign with your mom's name on it."

She sighed. "That's not fair. Don't use it against me, Derek. I've never told anyone."

"Then when you come home, we'll dream some big dreams together. All our own."

"I miss you," she told him. "You've opened up big things inside of me. I don't know if I'm ready for that."

He didn't worry. She'd thought she was ready for him a few weeks ago. It might have been an impulse, but the stirring was still there. She would be ready for more eventually.



Amy turned off her cell phone and jumped when she realized that Chloe and Andrea were standing at the end of the sofa. They sat down on either side of her.

"So," Andrea began, "who were you talking to?"

"Ah—don't you both have men to entertain?"

"They're entertaining themselves."

"Do you trust those two together?" Amy diverted. "What kind of secrets can Mitch tell Eric?"

"There's nothing he could tell him that would matter. And that has nothing whatsoever to do with your conversation."

"She said she missed him—or whoever it was," Chloe pointed out.

"And that he ... or whoever it was opened up big things inside of her."

Amy grimaced and curled her hands into the throw she'd pulled over her lap while she talked to Derek. "You heard that?"

"Honey, you've been in your own world." Andrea lifted an eyebrow. "And you've been keeping secrets."

"It's not a secret, really. I—" Amy slumped back into the cushions. "Derek and I have been seeing each other."

Andrea glanced across at Chloe. "For how long?"

"A couple of weeks."

"I knew it!" Chloe crowed. "I should have bet you."

"You just said that you thought they would date, not that they were dating. And I agreed with you."

"I asked him to marry me," Amy blurted and felt herself relax even as the emotions whirled around in her mind. This was Andrea and Chloe, after all.

They stared at her, then at each other.

"He said no—" Amy said quickly, "or to ask again later. We hadn't even been on a date yet—not a real one. Out, kind of, doing stuff, but not a date. And only that one kiss—though I don't suppose that matters."

"You asked him to marry you?"

"Derek?" Chloe asked. "Our Derek?"

"It seemed like the thing to do at the time," Amy muttered. She told them about the night, how she had gone to the ocean, then run to Derek. "It was like he was the one steadying point."

"He's not Ham, Amy," Andrea pointed out.

"He said the same thing. And I know he's not. Ham wanted me to be steady. He did his best and gave his best, but he only knew one way for me. His way. Derek ..." she thought of their conversation, of the knot she still felt in her stomach. She glanced across the room, toward the popping fireplace and remembered her own thoughts from that afternoon. "He wants me to do more ... and I can do more for him."

"You haven't said you love him."

"I'm attracted. I miss him. I feel safe when I'm with him and when I talk to him. I trust him." She watched the fire flicker, concentrated on it's warmth. "I feel like he's someone I could be patient with, someone who could inspire me to be kind, to see the best in myself and other people. He thinks he sees the best in me—and I know he's seen the worst. Or knows the worst."

Chloe squeezed her hand. "If that's not a definition of love, I don't know what it is I have with Mitch."

"I think I do ... love him—I don't guess I'm ready to say it again. Yet."

"So you have said it before?"

Amy shrugged, feeling sheepish under Andrea's direct gaze. "I asked him to marry me. It just came out."

"And Derek?" Chloe asked.

"I think he feels the same way." Again she looked to the fire and curled her hands into the blanket, searching, she thought, for Derek's hand. "I think he's giving me time to accept ... to understand what I feel for him first."

"How did we miss this?" Andrea wondered. "You're head over your surfboard about him."

"Off her surfboard. Caught in a riptide."

"Going under—"

Rolling her eyes, Amy waved Eric in when he paused in the doorway. "Pardon the continuance of a bad analogy, but you've had your own waves to catch."

"We'll talk about this later," Andrea muttered and Amy smiled. She felt better now. Somehow.

"I'm sure we will."



Amy parked her truck outside Mitch's house the next morning and jumped from the cab as Mitch came outside. A light snow was falling and the temperature was dropping. Chloe curled deeper into her coat as the cold air entered through the open door.

She was cold and she was dreading what they were about to do. They were going to the place her father had lived.

What she didn't tell him, what she couldn't find the words to tell him, was that she'd seen the house before. Her mother had never shielded her or her sister from her father's alcoholism. In fact she'd used them to try and draw him back to her.

Not to the family—not to keep them together as a family.

Just to remind him who he owed.

Chloe looked through his front window and focused on his Christmas tree. She'd helped him decorate it while she was up for Thanksgiving. It was the first tree—real tree—that she had decorated since she was a little girl. There was a wreath on the door that she had trimmed for him one of those days while he was at the station. In his garage she saw his skis, snowshoes and his surf board propped up casually against the back wall. She smiled. That was Mitch.

His SUV sat in his garage. He glanced back at it and frowned, then pulled a stocking cap over his blond hair.

"Morning all," Mitch said as he settled in on the driver's side, making adjustments to the seat and mirrors.

"Do you know who did it?" Amy asked as she climbed in on the passenger's side.

As they drove away from the curb, Chloe glanced at his truck, noted the odd tilt, the slashed tires.

"I have my guess. I hauled in a couple of guys for roughhousing the other night. They threatened to do something like this."

"If it's not a good time, Mitch, we can do this later."

Mitch pulled to a stop at the stop sign and turned to Chloe. He used his knuckle to trace a line on her cheek. "There's nothing I can do about it right now. The station's sending someone out to tow it back, then they're going to check it for fingerprints, evidence. Besides," he added as he made the turn down the mountain, "it's my day off and my girl's in town. Nothing more serious to me then that."

"I'll remind you of that in twenty years."

He smiled, but kept his eyes on the road. "You do that, sweetness."

"You could drop me back at the lodge and you guys could do this yourself," Amy suggested.

"We could—" Chloe agreed, then turned in her seat to face Amy—Amy who would understand what she felt as well as, if not better than Mitch. "But I want you there too."

They drove for a few minutes in silence. If she'd hated the mountains, it was because of their tilt, because of the downward tilt, the turning, rolling roads. Because of these back roads, that traversed through forest, that led to that cabin.

The years between merged and for a moment she was huddled in the back seat of her mother's car, huddled with her sister, sick to her stomach ... wishing, praying, that her mother would turn the car around, go back to town.

But she wasn't with her mother anymore. She couldn't be. She was older now and her father was gone.

She took a deep breath and leaned slightly against Mitch. He was warm and solid, she reminded herself as he drove down and turned on the familiar roads. The essence of time slowly faded and she let herself bask in the joy that Mitch was with her. She concentrated on the trees, on the light falling snow, and eventually on the pristine white of the old dirt road covered in a layer of snow.

It was a steep drive, rocky. Almost immediately, they dropped—hitting a deep pothole that had been covered in snow.

And then it was as if the truck picked up speed. The truck bounced over rocks, dangerously slid over the snow and ice.

"Mitch?"

His knuckles turned white on the steering wheel. He muttered a prayer and slowly pushed down the emergency break. The truck went into a skid, even as he turned into it.

"We've lost the breaks."

Chloe gripped Amy's hand. Oh, God. Please.

The truck crashed, rear-end first then whirled.

Chloe felt her heat skip a beat. The impact propelled the truck again, spinning it. The edge of the forest came in quick. The truck crashed again, into a tree.

This time on Mitch's side.

Seconds later, the truck stopped. The thud against the third tree sounded odd and distant.



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