Mark stared at her from his truck.
Her hands stayed on the steering wheel. He got out and approached her door.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he shouted at her through the window.
She clamped her mouth shut and looked away.
“Open the door,” he said, knocking on the glass.
“Just let me pass,” she said.
“If you don’t open this door, I’m going to wrench it open myself.”
“With your bare hands?”
“Fireman,” he said. “You’ve got a bat. I’ve got an ax.”
She looked up at him, her eyes raw from dried tears and a headache blooming. He scowled, his hands at his hips. With a sound of exasperation, she pushed her door open and got out.
“Are you okay?” he growled at her, his breath making puffs in the cold air.
“Why wouldn’t I be okay?” she answered. “Your truck didn’t even hit me.”
“My truck didn’t hit you?” he asked. “You were the one coming at me like a maniac.”
She didn’t know what to say to that, and the way he looked directly at her with such ferocity and pain made her unable to look anywhere else.
He studied her for a minute, a steely wall between them.
She desperately wanted to leave. “I’m sorry I ruined your ceremony.”
“Forget the ceremony.” He glanced up the road toward his place, breathing heavily, then back to her car. “Where were you headed?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know.”
He waited for more. She didn’t give him any.
“Fine,” he said. “I’ll pull off the road so you can get past.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“Yeah, I do. The snowplow didn’t clear it wide enough for two cars. There’s a pullout back where the road splits up to Harriman’s. I’ll back up to that point, and you can pass me and head home.” He stepped away.
“I’m leaving, Mark,” she said, staring at her feet.
“Not until I move my truck, you’re not.”
“No. I’m leaving Miracle Creek. I’ve been invited to teach at an artist residency in New Orleans.” Even as she said it, she could see it like a golden light in front of her. An exit door wide open. “I’ll leave as soon as the school can find me a replacement. I’ll need that time to get the house ready to sell.”
He’d stilled. “New Orleans.”
“Yes.”
“Sell the house.”
“Yes.”
His voice was forced. “Is this about what Dalton said?”
“No.”
“Because that was a load of—”
“That’s not it. I shouldn’t have believed him.”
“Then is it—”
“It’s an opportunity. That’s all.”
“What about—”
“I’ll finish the nativity. Don’t worry.”
He stayed put. “How long have you known about this?”
She stared at nothing. From the beginning, she thought. “It’s something I’ve kept in mind, in case I might want to leave.”
“You want to?”
She didn’t answer.
“I thought you liked it here.”
She met his gaze. “I’ve liked a lot of places.”
He searched her face, his expression stony. He backed up a bit, looking toward his house, then back down the road, his breaths of air coming harder and faster now in the cold.
“I trusted you,” he said, his voice strained. “You couldn’t trust me.”
Her gut twisted. She almost went to him. Almost wrapped her arms around him. To tell him she’d never leave.
He nodded. “I guess you’ve answered my question.”
His words jerked her back to reality.
“I make you feel like running.”
Heart stuttering, she couldn’t argue. He was right. From the beginning he’d made her feel like running.
With her silence, he strode to his truck, got in, and shut the door. He looked behind him as he drove smoothly back down the road, disappearing around the bend.
When she passed him, his truck pulled off to the side, he kept his head down, as though messing with the stereo.
During the drive back to her house, she nearly convinced herself she’d done the best thing for both of them. For him.
Mark plowed up the front steps of the house and slammed the door behind him. Inside, he took the stairs two at a time.
“Mark?” his dad called.
He didn’t answer. He shut the door to his room, leaving the light off, looking around blindly. He pulled off his tie and unbuttoned his shirt. He stripped it off and threw it across the room at his closet door.
He ran his hands through his hair and sat down on the bed.
He’d trusted her with . . . everything.
And now she was leaving. She’d be gone.
He couldn’t wrap his head around it. Before her, he was surviving. But with her? How could life be something without Riley in it?
He pictured Dalton’s smirk, and the look on Riley’s face. As if he were as despicable as Gainer.
He fell back on the bed, humiliation washing over him. Twice this had happened. First with Caylin. Now with Riley. She couldn’t even look at him. She’d just faded away, as if he wouldn’t notice her not coming around anymore. But that was nothing compared to this. Riley . . . she’d looked. She’d made him let her see, and he’d thought she could feel something for him beyond pity.
Fool.
All the frustration, all the anger and jealousy and rage he kept locked down reached up and dragged at him, tore at him until it broke free. His low growl grew into a yell. He clenched his fists, the skin on his face and hand stretching painfully. He drew another breath to yell again.
His dad opened his door, and a beam of light fell across him.
“Mark?”
“Get out!”
“Son—”
“Just get out!”
The door closed, and Mark rolled over onto his stomach, gripping the pillow to the point of almost tearing it. He yelled again, muffled in the covers, every muscle in his body tight, his head pulsing. Fear was strong. It was always strong when it had its way, and it had been boxed up for a long time. A burning sensation started up his hip like a fiery ghost, and Mark sucked in a breath. The fire burst across the side of his torso and up his arm.
He was past this. He thought he was past this.
He knew what would come next if he didn’t get a grip: the very real memory of piercing-cold knives carving waves of searing heat through his body. The side of his head. His face.
Sweat beaded along his brow.
Get out, Mark.
Go.
He drew in deep breaths, pushing beyond the haunting memory.
With his eyes squeezed tight, he saw Jay. Just Jay. He saw him smile.
Get yourself out, Mark.
He pressed himself into the pillow, calm pushing against the fire.
“Mark.” He felt his dad’s arms lift him, a cold sheet pressed around the right side of his body. A cool wet cloth on his forehead. “It’s out. The fire’s out, son. It’s gone,” his dad said quietly, holding him as best he could.
Mark drew in a ragged breath, his face damp from the cloth and sweat. “Didn’t get me this time.”
“Good. Hold on.”
Mark nodded.
“Been a while. But you made it. Proud of you.” His dad rubbed Mark’s shoulder.
“She’s leaving, Dad.” The words were sharp in his throat. He swallowed, as if that would get rid of the hurt.
“We’ll figure it out, son.” He pulled him into a hug, and Mark didn’t fight it. “We’ll figure this out.”
A week
had passed since the memorial ceremony. Riley’s parents had approved of the renovations she’d made to her house and agreed that just a few more key updates would make for a great investment return when the house sold.
She’d explained that Mark was a good friend helping her with the house, and she’d let him down on an important day. They’d wanted to make it up to him somehow, but she’d convinced them to leave it alone. The last thing Mark needed was her mom’s well-intentioned pity.
Her parents mentioned Jeremy the orthodontist again, but when Riley brought up the artist residency, her mom changed gears and talked about New Orleans for an hour. Before her parents returned to California, her mom bought Riley a set of Sennelier oils and a wreath for the front door. Both reminded her of her time with Mark and tore at her heart.
In the meantime, Riley finished painting Mary for the nativity.
She’d managed a nearly exact likeness from Mary’s image in Mark’s photos. As she looked over the virgin’s face, she wondered what Leah Dolan would think. It couldn’t be anything good. Riley had let the entire Rivers family down. Yet Mary appeared perfectly content.
Her phone buzzed, and she picked up. “Hi, Yvette.”
“Have you changed your mind about the firemen’s ball tomorrow?”
“I can’t. You know why.”
Yvette sighed. “I know. I actually called to ask you a favor. I’m heading to Yakima for my nephew’s birthday, and I wondered if you could pick up the cookies I ordered for the ball. Lette Mae needs them picked up at ten tomorrow morning, and I won’t be back until four.”
Riley put her hand to her forehead and grimaced. “Sure. I can do that.” Going out meant seeing people, and after Eyes on Hollywood and the scene she’d made last week, she hadn’t been too keen on going anywhere but her classroom. Even those who hadn’t witnessed things firsthand knew the story. She couldn’t tell if the looks from the residents of Miracle Creek were of pity or derision. Probably both. School was hard enough, but at least Dalton slunk away quickly whenever their paths crossed. He’d received plenty of backlash for his despicable behavior, but she hadn’t behaved much better. She’d believed him—on the day of the hometown hero’s memorial of his best friend’s life. She couldn’t call Dalton a coward without calling herself one, too.
Yvette’s voice pulled her thoughts back. “Thank you, Riley.” She paused, and then said carefully, “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”
Riley heard the same worry in her voice that had been there when they’d first discussed her move. Only Yvette, Mark, and likely Cal knew she was leaving. She’d give the school her notice after Christmas break.
“No, I don’t. I never have.”
“And how far has that gotten you?”
Her belief that she knew what she was doing, that she held the reins, had gotten her in trouble. Lesson learned. “I won’t hurt Mark anymore.”
“Is that what you think you’re doing by leaving? Not hurting him?”
Yvette’s question sat like sharp rocks in Riley’s stomach for the rest of the day. Her advanced art students were tackling the final project she’d assigned, so now wherever she turned, depictions of Miracle Creek Bridge in negative-space snow filled her vision.
Brilliant idea, Madigan.
She’d just stepped into her house when her phone rang.
“Hello?”
“Hello, this is Sheila from West Wenatchee Dialysis Center. Is this Riley?”
Unease settled over her. “Yes. How can I help you?”
“Today is Mark’s day to come in for Carmen, but the time has changed. I’ve tried contacting Mark, but he’s not answering his phone. I’ve left a message, but Carmen will be coming in soon, and we have a full house today. She’ll need help getting off the machine and getting home. I could call a taxi, but I thought I’d check with you first, since you were here before and she seemed to like you.”
Riley turned in a slow circle, her phone to her ear, looking for some reason she couldn’t go. But it was useless, because she could picture Carmen and the way she smiled.
“I’m sorry for asking,” Sheila said. “I know it’s last minute.”
“No, that’s all right,” she said. “I’ll be there.” She got the address of the clinic and the approximate time Carmen would be coming off the machine. She skipped changing out of her clothes, piled her hair on top of her head, then threw her coat back on. She opened her front door, keys in hand, and stopped short.
“My paintings,” she said aloud. She’d promised Carmen she’d bring her paintings the next time she came.
She grabbed a large tote bag from the closet and hurried back to the art room. She selected the only finished canvases she hadn’t taken to her classroom and nestled them into the bag between pieces of cardboard. Then she grabbed her portfolio and a few of her favorite art books. Anything to make Carmen smile.
Then Riley dashed out to the car.
Mark had parked among a few other vehicles and hiked up the groomed trail. The volunteers for the Washington State Trails Association didn’t clear it much beyond the bridge this time of year, so he’d gone as far as he could and brushed snow off a boulder. Taking a seat, he looked back down at the bridge through the trees, squinting as the sun reflected off the snow. He was grateful to have this spot to himself.
The creek rushed by as he stared at the red beams. Last time he’d been here was with Riley. The thought of that day pulled at him, and he felt the warmth in his face even as his gut knotted.
This is so stupid.
He’d done his best to keep his head down and work. No more episodes. He’d left the numbers for a plumber and a window guy on Riley’s kitchen table, along with her house key. Wasn’t much more he could help her with until the weather warmed up. He didn’t even know how much more work she wanted done on the house before she planned to put it up for sale.
He pulled in a deep breath, thinking of the time they’d spent on that house together. The time they’d spent in it together. But this had been her plan all along. To fix it up and leave. She’d warned him over and over. He just hadn’t wanted to see it.
That morning he’d made the mistake of wandering up to his mom’s attic studio. The bright winter sun had lit up the workspace. Taking in his mom’s easel and desk and unused art tools, he couldn’t help thinking of how dark and cramped Riley’s art room was at her place, and how easy it was to picture her up there in her element. He’d almost offered the attic to her the first time he’d taken her up there. But he’d stopped himself, because he’d barely known her, and it wasn’t his to offer.
When he’d gone back downstairs, he’d paused in the dining room, staring at the painting of Miracle Creek Bridge, hit with the overwhelming need to come up here. To make his wish.
His dad had caught him staring at the painting. “Thinking about doing something crazy?”
“I tried to get her to stay, Dad. I don’t know what else to do.”
“Sounds to me like you’ve got no other choice.”
Mark looked at him. “I’m not going to make a wish.”
His dad patted his arm. “You’ve got a couple hours before you go see Carmen. Couldn’t hurt to get up there and think awhile. Let that mountain air clear your head.”
So here he was, head as clear as October fog.
Mom, tell me this is stupid. I’ll go home right now.
He waited. Nothing.
What was he supposed to wish for? For Riley to change her mind? For her to stay when New Orleans had so much to offer her? And what then? She’d changed her mind about him. And the way her parents had looked at him? He’d nearly forgotten those kinds of looks.
You could wish for sunsets for the rest of your life and you’d have them. But what if I wished we were stuck here forever?
He tried to lose himself in the surrounding beauty, the snow-brushed evergr
eens and the sound of the icy creek, the view descending toward town. It was all home to him. And he hated that he couldn’t make it Riley’s. She’d seen him, but no future with him.
After a while the sound of cars pulling out of the gravel lot drew his attention. The tourists had left, and he’d have the bridge to himself if no one else showed up.
He stood and willed his boots to take him back down the trail. Too soon they made a hollow thump as he walked over the bridge beneath the red-beamed roof. He stopped at the railing, watching the water gurgle toward him before it headed under the bridge and down the mountain. Snow still mounded boulders here and there in the water and along the edges, but the sun had melted most of the snow on the bridge.
With the way things had ended, the last thing he wanted was to be stuck here forever with Riley Madigan.
So why are you here?
He shook his head. If he was honest with himself, he knew exactly what he’d wish for. He’d wish for Riley to want him.
To love him.
But everything about that seemed wrong. To wish her to bend to his wants—his needs? No. All he’d wanted from the start was to make her smile. To bring light to her moss-green eyes. To hear her laugh even during her worst time of the year.
I wish for Riley to find peace at Christmas.
The wish broke out of his thoughts like a fortune out of a cookie.
Really? Peace at Christmas? It was like he’d sent up a generic Christmas card to the powers that be. Happy Holidays, from Mark.
Mark turned away from the railing and walked to the opposite side as if watching the water flow away from him would bring him some sense of reality. Would empty him of this nonsense. Because really, what was the worst that could happen?
He knew exactly what could happen. His mom had spelled it out for him all those years ago.
Endless torment.
Like he wasn’t already there.
But at the same time, no other wish came to mind. No other idea tried to replace his one wish.
God, if you can hear me, just let her find peace.
Riley tied the front of her gown and hoisted her bag over her shoulder. She signed in at the clinic’s front desk. Nobody greeted her. Like Sheila said, almost every station was occupied. A handful of nurses moved purposefully among the chairs. Riley pulled on her gloves and headed to station number ten, where Carmen rested with her eyes closed, her blood coursing through tubes, into the machine, then back out. Cycling her life-source so she could live.
Miracle Creek Christmas Page 30
