On Blue Falls Pond

by Susan Crandall

  “Oh, I see, sort of like a we-haven’t-slept-together-yet do-over?” she said. “Really, Eric, that bridge has already been crossed. There is no uncrossing it.” She turned in his arms and kissed him on the mouth. “And I want you to come to bed with me.”

  A weak moan came from deep in his throat. His hands framed her face, and his mouth sought hers. The passion that burned in his kiss confirmed that he wanted what she wanted. She pressed herself against him, opening her mouth to his, and began to feel herself slide into the place where nothing mattered except the sensation of Eric’s body next to hers.

  She said against his lips, “Come on.” She attempted to get up off the couch and pull him with her.

  He pulled back, drawing her onto his lap. Looking steadily into her eyes in a way that caused a hitch in her breath, he said, “When we make love again, I want it to be a pledge toward the future, a beginning.”

  She wanted him to make love to her, needed it. And maybe that’s just what he was afraid of . . . that she needed the comfort of the moment; that she wasn’t making a conscious decision to commit herself fully to this relationship.

  “I don’t believe either of us will know with any certainty until we actually travel that road. I’m not asking you to rescue me, Eric. You’re not responsible for my choices. And right now, I’m choosing to be with you. If we decide there are things that we can’t overcome, I won’t break.”

  For a long while he studied her face, as if memorizing her features before a long separation. “But I might.”

  His unguarded confession tightened the bond that, she now could see, had been forming since the day he’d pulled her from the fire. The thickness in her throat told her she was close to tears—and the last thing she wanted to do was cry. All of the tears she’d ever shed in front of him had been tears of loss, pain, and fear. What threatened to fall now were tears of hope, trust, and affection. But he might not be able to tell the difference.

  Instead of crying, she concentrated on showing him just how much she cared for him. She turned herself on his lap until she was straddling him. His eyes were filled with anticipation, with passion restrained, but he held completely still.

  Sliding gentle hands behind his neck, resting her thumbs against his jaw, she began to kiss him—not fierce, ardent kisses, but soft kisses of reverence, of promise. From the corner of his lips, along his jaw, on his beard-stubbled cheek, across his brow, and finally coming full circle to his mouth.

  She could feel his entire body trembling, as her own did in response.

  Leaning only slightly away from his face, she whispered, “I’ve never trusted anyone like I trust you.”

  He finally moved. A slight tremor shook his hand as he trailed the back of his fingers along the side of her neck. They came to rest against the crest of her collarbone. “I don’t want to abuse that trust.”

  Glory’s body was electrified, every sensation heightened. She knew there was no going back for her; she’d been his since the stormy night he’d held her bruised body and asked nothing in return.

  She put her hand on his and moved it between her breasts, over her heart. Flattening his palm against her chest, she held it firmly against her. “I trust you with my heart. Can you trust me with yours?”

  With his other hand, he took hers and pressed it on his own chest. “I do. I trust you with my heart. But—”

  She kissed him quickly. “No buts, not tonight. I understand your life—your responsibilities. But tonight, it’s just about us. You and me and what our hearts want.”

  This time when she pulled him off the couch, he followed her. He closed and locked the front door on their way to the stairs.

  At the base of the steps, his passion finally broke through his restraint. He grabbed her and spun her around, drawing her into his arms. His lips took hers with a rough force that sent a thrill through her entire body. She’d never wanted a man like she wanted him. She wanted to draw him inside her, completely envelop his soul with her own.

  His hands cupped her backside, drawing her more firmly against him.

  She needed no more invitation.

  They didn’t make it upstairs. They were both too impatient, too desperate in their need. He took her right there against the wall next to his front door.

  Leaving their clothes where they landed on the floor, Eric carried her to his bed. As he laid her down, he smiled. “Now I’m going to do this right.”

  More than once throughout the night, Glory saw just what a perfectionist he was.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  AFTER CHANGING THE TIRE on Glory’s Volvo, Eric followed her to the sheriff’s office. She rather reluctantly filled out a report and gave a detailed accounting of when and where she’d received the notes.

  “Really,” she said for the hundredth time, “I’m sure this is all just a prank. I feel a little silly making such a big deal about it. I really don’t think the slashed tire is related.”

  This time Eric stood behind the chair where Glory was sitting and kept his mouth shut. He let the sheriff, a laid-back father figure, do the convincing.

  With a tap of his pen on the report form, Sheriff Cooper said, “Could be. Could be more. Never hurts to have something on file, just in case. And we’ll increase patrols past the Baker property. No harm in showing a presence—usually that’s enough to stop pranksters.”

  Glory stood up. “Thank you, Sheriff.”

  Sheriff Cooper stood, too. “Now you call me right away if you get any more of these.”

  “I will.”

  “And bring those other notes by next time you’re in town. I’d like to have them on file, too.”

  Glory nodded, looking embarrassed and uncomfortable.

  Eric walked her to her car, kissed her good-bye, and watched her drive away. Then he went back inside.

  He knocked on the open door of the sheriff’s private office as he stepped in. “Could you check with city police to see if they’ve had any reports of property damage last night?”

  “Just hung up from there.” He nodded toward the phone on his desk. “And so far, no reports. But it’s early; some folks might not have discovered that they were victims of mischief makers just yet.”

  “What do you think of this?” Eric asked.

  The sheriff rolled in his lips and shook his head. “Not sure. First reaction, I’d say prankster—but it seems too personal. It’s for sure someone who wants the lady upset. You did the right thing in making her report it.” He seemed to think for a moment, then asked, “Was there something suspicious about that fire that didn’t find its way into your report?”

  “What makes you ask that?”

  The sheriff rubbed his chin. “All the notes make it pretty clear someone thinks Ms. Harrison is guilty of arson—and murder. Any possibility they’re right? You know, inconclusive evidence and the like.”

  “No. It was the furnace . . . conclusively. No evidence to the contrary.”

  Sheriff Cooper gave a nod of acceptance. “Well, probably just someone out to get Ms. Harrison riled up. There are some sick and twisted minds out there. Never know what some people will do for entertainment.”

  Eric left the sheriff’s office as convinced as ever that this was a personal attack; it went after Glory’s most vulnerable point. For what purpose? Was it meant to frighten Glory into . . . what? Breaking down and admitting guilt? Leaving town again? There had to be a motive; until he figured out the why, he’d be hard-pressed to discover the who.

  When Glory got home, Granny was doing laundry, her usual Monday chore.

  “’Mornin’, Glory,” she called from the utility room. “Got some sweet tea in the fridge. Why don’t you pour us a glass? I’ll be out in a minute.”

  “All right.” Glory poured the tea over ice and set the glasses on the kitchen table. “Did Charlie come and stay last night?”

  “Oh, yes. We played cards—then he played guard dog, lockin’ doors, sleepin’ on the couch so’s he could hear better if’n someon
e was up to mischief.”

  Glory wondered exactly what Eric had said to Charlie to induce such uncharacteristic diligence.

  Granny stepped into the kitchen, wiping her brow with a paper towel. “It’s hotter’n Hades today. Let’s take this out to the front porch.”

  “Sounds good.” Glory picked up both glasses and headed toward the front of the house.

  “I just need to grab something, and I’ll be right along,” Granny said.

  When Granny stepped out onto the porch, she held her sewing basket in one hand. “Might as well work while we talk.” She set the basket next to Glory’s chair.

  Glory eyed it suspiciously while Granny opened it and pulled out Scott’s quilt. When she handed it to Glory, Glory said, “You know I can’t sew.”

  “That’s why I’m gonna teach you.” She spread the quilt neatly over Glory’s lap, then pulled out a long, narrow strip of fabric that matched one of those in the quilt pattern. It had been folded lengthwise and pressed crisply. “This here will be the new binding. Now for a child’s quilt, such as this, it won’t take no time ’tall. First take off the old binding—those little scissors with the blue handle will be just right for ripping out the stitches.”

  “Don’t you want to talk about last night?” Glory picked up the scissors and began picking out Granny’s perfect, even stitches.

  “Rather not hear the p’ticulars. Thought I made that clear yesterday.”

  Glory rolled her eyes. “I was talking about the tire slashing and the T-shirt with the . . . message on it.”

  “Oh, that. I figured we’d get round to it.”

  “Eric seems to think it’s serious; made me file a report with the sheriff. But I’m still not convinced the tire was associated with the notes.”

  The look on Granny’s face said she had an opinion about that but wouldn’t offer it unless asked. She was a stickler for standing behind her bargains; she’d said if they were to continue living together, she’d stay out of Glory’s business, and Glory should stay out of hers.

  “Really, Gran, I think you’re taking this privacy thing too far. Just tell me what you’re thinking.”

  Gran gave a half nod, as if to acquiesce now that Glory had made the request. “Well, seems that if somebody wanted to really put you in a pickle, they’d cut all four tires—or at least two. Maybe whoever did it wanted you to be able to drive away—not be stuck at Eric’s overnight.”

  Glory shook her head. “I still think it was just a random thing. You’re right; if someone wanted to punish me, they’d take out more than one tire.” She thought for a moment. “Whoever sent those notes just wants me upset; probably not someone willing to do something illegal like vandalizing property.

  “I can’t figure who would be so nasty.”

  Granny picked up her tea glass and leaned back in the chair across from Glory. “Who indeed?”

  “You say that like it’s obvious.”

  “No. Not obvious. Just gotta ask the question to get to the answer.”

  “Who would want to hurt me like that?”

  “What makes one person strike out at ’nother? Love. Hate. Jealousy. Greed.”

  “Well, at least we know it can’t be greed.” Glory gave a half chuckle. “I don’t have anything.”

  “You might have something someone wants—don’t have to be money,” Granny said.

  “I don’t have—” Glory stopped midsentence. “Eric? I’m not at all sure our relationship is going anywhere.”

  “Prob’ly won’t if some folks have their way.”

  “You’re suggesting Jill?” Glory set the sewing in her lap. “I had that thought already. Eric’s convinced otherwise; I guess he should know her better than we do.”

  Granny pursed her lips for a moment before she said, “Could be Jill. Or someone who wants Jill to have him. Or could be somethin’ else entirely. Don’t reckon we’ll know until they make a mistake and get caught. ’Course maybe they’ll just stop, and we’ll never know. Be fine by me. Don’t like all this ugliness.”

  Glory picked up the quilt and began working again. She didn’t want to tell her grandmother what she was really thinking; if it meant she’d never know who was sending those notes, she’d just as soon have them keep coming until they had it figured out.

  “I know I can undo stitches,” Glory said finally. “It’s the putting back in I’m not so sure about.”

  “It’ll be a fine thing when you get done. Best way to show you care is by doin’ something special like this.” Granny touched the quilt, and there was a look of longing on her face.

  Glory knew how much it had meant to Granny to give the labor of her hands to those she loved.

  Laying her hand on top of Granny’s, Glory noticed the similarities in them. But Granny’s showed the years. How could such work-worn hands create such fine and delicate stitches?

  Granny sighed roughly. “Now that you got them stitches out, let’s get this binding on, and you can take it to Scott.”

  Glory’s head snapped up. “I’m not taking it to him. He’ll be here on Thursday.”

  “He’ll miss it. ’Sides, it’ll be nice for him to know you were the one who fixed it.”

  Glory sat in silence.

  “It’s no disrespect toward your little Clarice if you do a kindness for Scott.” Granny’s voice was soft, so soft Glory nearly missed what she said.

  Quietly stated, those words nevertheless echoed in her mind. But unlike a dwindling echo, they gained strength with each repetition.

  Glory closed her eyes and thought of Eric’s question; could she accept Scott as he was?

  Suddenly she realized Granny had hit the bull’s-eye; opening her heart to Scott did feel like a betrayal to Clarice.

  But it went deeper. Much deeper. The thing that caused fear to clutch Glory’s gut and made her want to run in the opposite direction wasn’t Scott’s disability—it was his need, his great, cavernous need, his total vulnerability. She’d failed her own child, how could she give to someone else’s? Worse yet, what if she failed again?

  She clutched the quilt to her breast and felt the tears well in her eyes.

  Granny stood in front of her, her figure blurred in Glory’s vision.

  “I knowed you’d understand, in your own time.” She kissed Glory’s forehead, then knelt before her. “It’s time for your heart to move on. Little Clarice is with Jesus and happy as a spring lamb, safe and secure in his embrace.”

  Glory leaned forward and threw her arms around her grandmother. She still clutched Scott’s quilt tightly in one fist. As she slid to the porch floor, Granny’s arms encircled her.

  With her head on Granny’s shoulder, Glory wept; at last the cleansing tears of letting go.

  “Glory! Eric’s on the phone!” Granny called out the back door.

  Glory set the garden hoe aside and went in, hoping he wasn’t going to rag her about taking those notes to the sheriff. It hadn’t even been a full day yet, for Pete’s sake.

  “Hello.”

  “Hey, Glory. Listen, I hate to leave you alone right now, but the clinic at Duke University called and they have a cancellation for Scott. If we don’t take it, it’ll be weeks before they can get him in. We’re on our way right now.”

  We, as in he and Jill. Jealousy nearly edged out concern. “That’s great. I’ll be thinking good thoughts. And don’t worry about me, I’m not alone.”

  She heard him exhale. “I know. But I’d feel better if I was there.”

  “Just look after your son. How long do you think you’ll be gone?” She hoped her voice didn’t sound too needy.

  “A couple of days. Our appointment is in the morning. They said to plan on a day and a half of testing.”

  Glory wanted to ask if they were sharing a hotel room, but managed to squelch the urge. She heard Jill say something in the background.

  Eric’s muffled voice responded, “We’ll discuss it later.”

  Glory didn’t like the fact that Jill was listening to Er
ic’s conversation with her. “Call me when you get back. And be careful.”

  “You, too.”

  “Okay.”

  “I mean it, Glory. Keep your eyes open—in fact, why don’t you just stay home until I get back.” His tone said he knew what her reception to that would be.

  “Watch it, hero. I’m a big girl.”

  He laughed.

  She said, “Good luck. See you in a few days.”

  When she set the phone back in its cradle, Glory wondered, when exactly had a couple of days begun to feel like an eternity?

  To pass the time and try to keep her mind from playing scenes of Eric and Jill living like a family for two days, Glory attacked the garden with renewed vigor. Once it was weed-free, she washed all of Granny’s windows. Then she tore into repairing Scott’s quilt.

  By the next afternoon, she’d taken out nearly as many stitches as she’d put in, striving to match the fine needlework of her grandmother. Finally, Granny told her just to get it finished, or she was going to have the dang thing worn threadbare before Scott got it back.

  But Glory wasn’t ready to be finished. She was improving as she went. Something about the near-endless repetition of stitches and the steady motion of her hands was soothing. Plus, she used the time to analyze her feelings about becoming a part of Scott’s life as well as Eric’s. And for the first time, she didn’t experience an overwhelming sense of disloyalty.

  She’d come to accept the past enough that she no longer felt the urge to run, to hide from everything that had happened here. The new memories she’d begun to build with Granny and Eric now acted as a counterbalance to tragedy.

  She would stay in Dawson. The rest—Eric and Scott—she still didn’t know. She supposed the ball wasn’t really in her court anymore. So much of what Eric would do hinged upon Scott’s diagnosis. She could only make choices for herself and her new life. And that’s what it finally felt like; a new life, one of promise and possibility.

  She tied off the last thread. Scott’s quilt was done. She held it up in front of her for inspection. Not bad. Maybe she’d try her hand at another quilting project.