CHAPTER 35
After going over everything, we all decided to take a break and Evelyn and Mr. Kirkland informed us they were going to go to dinner that night with Evelyn’s close friend. I had a notion that they wanted to give Finn and me some time alone. They quickly changed and began to head out for the evening.
Right before they left, I pulled Aunt Evelyn aside. I took her by the shoulders and looked right into her eyes. “Aunt Evelyn, thank you for coming to rescue me.” Her hand came up and clasped my hand on her shoulder. I continued, smiling, “I recently learned from a friend, that there are just some battles we were not meant to fight alone. You have always been there for me. I want you to know, you have been the best mom I could have ever asked for.”
Her eyes brimmed with tears as she smiled. “Oh, Lane . . .” was all she could manage.
I hugged her tightly. “But next time . . . let Mr. Kirkland drive.”
“Bah!” she laughed in her funny way. “Hold on. Next time?”
* * *
For a long while, Finn and I sat on the couch near the fireplace in silence and peace, sipping wine. His long, strong legs stretched out, I fit perfectly next to him, my head up against his chest, my hand on his thigh. The snow was falling softly outside in large chunky flakes against the dark nighttime sky. I had an idea from a memory that came flooding back to me from when I must have been six or seven.
I turned to Finn and said, “Come on, let’s go outside.”
He looked out the window a little dubiously, but then turned his eyes to mine and smiled. “Okay. Let’s go.”
We bundled up and went to the door. We stepped out the side door onto the porch and I took a gulp of the crystal-clear air, feeling the large flakes alight on my face, my eyelashes, my lips. “Come on, I have to do something,” I declared to Finn, taking his gloved hand in mine.
I walked over to the side of our house where the drifts were especially deep. I still had on my knee-high New York boots, not quite snow-worthy, but we wouldn’t be long.
“I remember doing this right here when I was a little girl. It was a night exactly like this one,” I said, hunting for the precise place.
I took us over to where the canopy of the trees opened up and we could see the sky, feeling the full force of the gently falling snow. I stood up tall, made sure nothing was behind me, and fell straight back, landing smack in the middle of a deep drift of snow. I wiggled and shifted around making a trench in the thick snow, my face eventually even with the top layer. Then I turned my eyes over to Finn. “What are you waiting for?”
He laughed and even at the odd angle from within my trench, I could see the crinkles at the sides of his eyes as he smiled and it flooded me with a thrill of warmth. He clomped over in his big boots, putting his feet right next to where my boots were. “Like this?” he asked with his arms out just a bit.
“Yeah! Great. Now fall backward.”
“Hmm . . .” he murmured uncertainly. He fell with a poof.
“Now . . . listen,” I whispered.
In the heavy, thick silence the snow softly fell to the ground with a muffling, otherworldly sound. It was a powerful and sweet sensation to know I had done this, at this exact spot, a long, long time ago.
We stayed that way for quite a while. Then I rolled over and propped myself up on my elbow and looked down at him.
“What do you think?” I asked softly.
He smiled with deep thoughtfulness in his eyes and leaned up on his elbow so that we were face-to-face. “It’s wonderful.” I smiled at him.
“Lane, I . . . I thought I might have lost you.”
“My telegram?” I asked.
He nodded with his brow furrowing. “I could tell your heart had been broken somehow. I knew something was very wrong. And I had just learned the truth about Tucker, just a moment before I read your telegram. I thought I might have a heart attack right then and there.”
“Finn, I’m sorry. And I’m sorry I mentioned . . .”
“Gwen?”
“Yeeeesssssss, Gwen,” I softly whined, which momentarily eased away the creases in his worried brow as he chuckled.
“Were you jealous, Lane?” he asked, with a slightly pleased edge to his voice.
I put my face in my gloves and said a muffled, “Yes.”
He pulled my hands away from my face, smiling, and said, “I’ve known for a long time that there never really was anything between Gwen and me. I’m sorry. I never should have mentioned her in a telegram, it was thoughtless. Especially with everything you were going through back here.” In the moonlit glow of the night, his eyes looked intense and kind. He leaned over and slowly, softly kissed my lips. He pulled away and opened his eyes.
I looked up at the sky for a moment, collecting my thoughts. “Remember when I wrote to you about that first visit here? And how I had that strong reaction? It felt like it was a powerful force outside myself that made me want to put up a kind of wall, something to keep everyone out and my emotions at bay. When I came back this time, it was different. I felt good and I thought I had gotten over that wall, or whatever it was. But then . . . later, I had found that letter from my father. And my birth certificate.”
I breathed out, resolutely. “Nothing was as it seemed. It felt like everything had shifted and I couldn’t count on anything. Or anyone. And that was when I read your telegram.”
“Oh, bloody hell.”
I rolled my eyes. “I know. Perfect timing,” I replied. “But that was just the setup. See, I hadn’t been out the front door yet. We arrived at the side door and I had spent the day inside searching around. But then, I stepped out the front and I saw my tree.
“Here, I’ll show you,” I said with resignation, getting up and brushing some of the snow off my coat. He had been quiet, listening carefully. He put his arm around my shoulders as we walked around the house and over to my tree. He knew all about how I grew up climbing that tree, knowing every branch, every foothold, loving it like a friend.
I heard him take a quick breath of surprise when we got close enough to see the cut limb. The scar was massive and bright against the deep, dark bark. I was finally able to walk over to it. And this time, I put my hand right on the place where the limb had been. And I patted the large scar, just like I would have patted Ripley’s head.
“I’m sure the Baxters were just maintaining the landscaping like Kirkland hired them to do, but damn it’s hard. I know it’s just a tree . . .” I said, with a self-deprecating smile.
“Oh, Lane, it’s more than just a tree,” he said as he came over and wrapped his arms around me, hugging me and making the red fur of my collar tickle my face.
We stood there for a few moments and then I walked a couple of steps back, and I sat on a large rock, leaning my elbows on my knees. “When I came to Michigan the first time, I climbed right up the tree and it felt just like it used to. My hands were bigger, but the branch, the trunk, the footholds . . . it was like I could have climbed it blindfolded. It was so sweet that something tangible, real, and alive hadn’t changed.” I smiled at that first memory, remembering the sweetness of it.
“I sat up there,” I said, pointing about halfway up the tree. “I looked all around. The flower planters were there, the big pine, the funny little black fountain. But then it hit me. There was no mother looking out the window. There was no father standing at the bottom of the tree smiling up at me telling me to be careful. And it wasn’t right,” I whispered.
I doggedly pressed on. “And then this time, when I came out and saw what had been done to my tree . . . It was one more loss. The thing that symbolized my childhood had been cut off. And I was so angry. And my damn birth certificate! I’m not even Lane Sanders. My real name is Lane Lorian. This time I put up the wall stronger, harder. Every single goddamn stone, I put there because I wanted it. I wanted the anger. I wanted the darkness.”
He let that sink in and walked a couple steps closer, sinking down to my eye level on his haunches. He asked in a low
voice, “Is that where Tucker comes in?”
I sighed and looked him full in the face. I had to be honest with him, I needed to have him see me as I was, faults and all. “The anger was overwhelming and dark. I wanted to dive into it and run away from everything. And I knew I was capable of it. But I . . . hesitated. And then there was music,” I said, with a little mischief in my voice.
He tilted his head. “What do you mean?”
“It was kind of magical. There were two times that I was faced with turning to darkness, or not. And right there late into the evening, someone far away started to play the bagpipes. Turns out it was Father MacQueen.”
“Of course it was,” he said as he shook his head with a smile.
“He played ‘The First Noël.’ This is the thing, it helped me see what my choice really was.”
“What was it?” he asked.
“The choice was never Tucker or you, Finn. The choice was anger, or you. That real choice came to me in bits, and then in full today, right on Main Street: I love you more than I love my anger, and the unfairness of all this. And I couldn’t hold on to both. I had to let go of something . . . and there’s no way I could let go of you. I wouldn’t.” His face slowly cleared. He gradually smiled, starting in his eyes and going all through him. It was contagious. Our eyes locked, sharing our delicious secret.
He suddenly dove at me, grabbed me around the hips and hoisted me into the air, “My God, I love you, Lane!” We were both laughing as he set me down, then he put his hands on either side of my face. “And you will always be Lane Sanders. It doesn’t matter what a piece of paper says.” I smiled up at him. He was right. “Actually, that gives me an idea,” he said, with a sudden stroke of inspiration. He walked around the tree, stroking his chin and thinking, muttering things like mm hm, uh huh, let’s see ...
I cocked my eyebrow at him and said, “What are you doing?”
“All right, this is it, come here.”
I walked over and looked up at the branches that he was staring at, my eyebrow still skeptical.
“Ready?”
I replied slowly, “Sssssssure.”
He held out his clasped hands in the universal hoist up pose. “You, love, need a new way to climb up. This is it.”
A new way.
I put my hands on his shoulders, my foot into his hands, and he lifted me up so that I could easily grasp the two branches he’d been looking at. My foot found a natural hold and I was there, in my tree once again. I still had my skirt suit on, making me wish I’d changed into trousers. I hiked the skirt up a little and grinned at Finn watching me from below as I was certain my garters were showing, then climbed up higher. As I looked around, the view was indeed different. The house was the same, all the things I loved about it still remained. But now, inside, I saw the wine bottle and glasses from when Finn, Evelyn, Kirkland, and I all shared our stories. I saw the fireplace warm and inviting, glittering off the glasses. I looked down and there was Finn, smiling up at me.
“Is it good?” he asked.
I smiled and nodded.
“Any sightings of your wall, love?”
“No. No walls.”
I stayed up there for a few more moments. Having taken off my gloves, I touched the cold, familiar bark of the trunk of the tree. I said very softly, low enough for Finn not to hear, “Hey, buddy, I’m back. Thanks for waiting for me.”
I enjoyed the moment and eventually climbed downward to the lowest branch and sat on it, dangling my legs, holding another branch with my right hand to keep my balance. I looked at Finn, with his hands on his hips, looking back at me with a smile on his face. Our eyes locked and my heart gave a thud. “Help me down?” I whispered.
He walked over, keeping his eyes on mine. I reached down to him, he reached up and I slipped off the branch into his arms. He slowly, slowly lowered me down. My lips brushed his forehead, his eyelids. And finally, his lips.
I kissed his lips with a hunger, a heat that was overwhelming. Somehow my feet reached the ground. He opened the top of my coat and his mouth went to that incredible spot where your neck meets your shoulder and slowly kissed his way up to my lips, making my knees buckle. He brought his arm around my lower back. I slightly pulled away, panting just a bit. I took his hand and whispered, “Come here.”
He slowly walked me backward toward the door. I managed to open it, grasping the handle behind me as he swept in for another long, deep kiss. Inside, he didn’t stop kissing me, he brushed the hat from his head and ditched his boots like magic. My hat had already come off outside somewhere and I shrugged off my coat as he started to unbutton my deep red blouse.
As his kisses grew hotter and deeper, my hands easily undid his buttons one, two, three . . . I unbuttoned his pants and opened them as he nibbled on my ear. He quickly took off his shirt as I slunk out of my blouse. I really liked his muscled chest and arms, with his dark chest hair nicely accenting those muscles and his enticing flat stomach. I still had my pearl dagger in the waist of my skirt. As I took it out of my belt I heard his deep chuckle. “Honest to God, Lane . . .”
“Luck favors the prepared, Finn.”
I unzipped my skirt and slipped it off to the ground. He groaned as he looked appreciatively at my black lingerie and garters holding up my nude stockings. Finn was instantly up against me, the feel of his hot chest making me gasp. As we kissed, he gently walked me back to the chaise longue. He went to the foot of the chaise and slowly took one booted leg into his hands. He slowly, slowly unzipped the boot and pulled it off.
He knelt and started with the second boot, this time bringing his lips to my thigh and slowly kissing his way down as he unzipped the boot, then carefully brought it up over my heel and off my foot. He stood for a moment, looking at me. The warm light of the fire glimmered off his chest and arms.
“Come here,” he whispered as he pulled me up to standing. Both of his arms enveloped me, coming completely around me and we melted into each other. He lifted me off my feet and carried me to the couch.
After lying in each other’s arms by the firelight, and a second round of enjoying each other at a slower, lingering pace, we fell asleep peaceful, content and happy.
* * *
I awoke to the harsh sound of the phone ringing. We both jolted upright. I quickly made my way to the phone. After I hung up, I said, “Well, that’s helpful.”
“Who was it?”
“Evelyn. The snow is keeping them at their friend’s overnight.”
“Oh, thank God,” said Finn in a rush.
I casually leaned my shoulder up against the bookcase, my heels crossed, completely naked except for a small blanket barely covering me. “Why? What’s the problem?” I smirked.
Finn laughed. “Well, I’d like to keep Evelyn and Kirkland liking me and he does carry a gun, so . . .”
“Very true,” I laughed.
“You’re so beautiful, Lane.”
I smiled in appreciation. “And hungry.”
CHAPTER 36
After they had a snack and Finn stoked up the fire to carry them through the night, Lane had fallen asleep quickly, utterly exhausted and spent. And not just from their rollicking good time, he thought as he smiled happily to himself. They lay entwined together on the couch, Lane preferring this room to any other. He let her fall asleep, then moved to the floor where he’d set up a padding of blankets and pillows.
He lay on his back with his arms behind his head, watching the flames sway against the creamy ceiling with its warm, deep golden brown beams. He thought through all that transpired that day: of his great fear of a loss more substantial and crippling than he could conceive . . . Of his fierce rage in seeing Tucker put his hands on Lane, and his equally fierce joy at their escape . . . Of their reunion and satisfying sense of completion. Their funny, new-found friends. Especially that Father MacQueen; he was a special character indeed. And finally, of being together with Lane. Finn smiled in the semidarkness. His eyes grew heavy and he soon fell asleep.
> Later, in the middle of the night Lane didn’t make a sound, but suddenly, she sat bolt upright, looking wildly around her. He awakened immediately, touching her arm, saying softly, “It’s okay. Are you all right, Lane?”
Her eyes focused on him in the dim firelight. She sighed deeply and whispered, “Yeah. I’m all right.”
“Come here,” he whispered.
She came down off the couch and lay down facing him, her head just below his chin, her hand on his chest, his arms around her. Her fingers softly stroked his chest.
He looked down at her, appreciating her dark hair falling back from her face, the curve of her brow and her long eyelashes, the way the firelight made her glow with warm colors. His desire for her was great, and she murmured, “Finn.” He knew her desire was just as great, but the poor thing could hardly keep her eyes open. The things she had been through these past weeks . . . and yet she seemed whole again. There wasn’t a strain showing through her beautiful eyes like he had expected. She had dark smudges of fatigue under her eyes, but her spirit was untouched and luminous. He couldn’t fathom all the thoughts, struggles, and demons she had faced.
Now there was a calm stillness in her. She had made peace with her past, accepting the imperfections, finding the strength within to see the real question before her: to accept the past and move on—or not to.
She said softly, “I want you.”
“I know. I want you, too,” he whispered.
He gently kissed her forehead, her cheek, her chin; his hand coming up along her waist, slowly caressing her soft breast, up her throat, cupping her face.
She sighed and made a small, contented sound.
“It’s all right, close your eyes,” he whispered.
“I don’t want to close my eyes,” she said with the ghost of a smile, as she slowly closed her eyes.
“We’re together, you’re safe, I’m here.” He slowly stroked her hair and let his quiet, steady whisper lull her to sleep. “Just rest. Fall asleep. I love you. I’ll be here.”
“I love you,” she whispered as she fell asleep with a smile that lingered on her lips and a soft sigh as her body relaxed fully, snug against him.
The Gold Pawn Page 21
