by Nicole Young
“March ninth,” she whispered.
Joel wrapped his arms around her.
“You two didn’t waste any time.” I glanced around. “I suppose you figured you had a lot of rooms to fill.”
Sam looked at Joel, as if begging him to make me stop.
Puppa stepped to the plate. “It’s time to go, Patricia. Put your sunglasses on and meet me in the truck.”
A final nasty glare and off I stomped. The moment the kitchen door slammed behind me, I burst into tears. It was good that Puppa stopped my downward spiral. Who knew what had been about to come out of my mouth next?
I scrunched down in the front seat of the truck. What was my problem, anyway? Joel had bent over backward for me last spring, and almost been killed in the showdown at the lodge that morning. No wonder he and Sam got married right away. Life was too short to dillydally. And what had I been thinking? Their new baby would be blood to me, a second cousin twice removed or some such thing. I’d better have an apology ready next time I saw the new parents if I wanted to watch the little sweety grow up.
My grandfather climbed into the driver’s seat and turned the key. The diesel roared to life. He backed up and started out the driveway.
The last time I’d been here, summer was just around the corner. Green grass, green leaves, a comfy seventy degrees. Now everything was white again. Snow on the ground, snow in the pines, snow in the clouds.
And last time, I’d been driving Brad’s SUV. I’d taken it right down this driveway, past the emergency vehicles, and onto the highway. I’d driven and driven and driven west, hoping to get to Del Gloria. But there’d been the pain in my arm, some blood on my sleeve, and a heavy fog in my mind. I must have been hanging on by a thread when I smashed into the back of that minivan somewhere in Minnesota.
I gave Puppa a sidelong glance. “So how’d Brad’s car do? Did it get fixed up okay?” Maybe I should have started with an apology for my earlier behavior, but I couldn’t even deal with it yet.
“Brad’s vehicle pulled through just fine.” No inflection in his voice.
“Sheesh.” I laughed in embarrassment. “Brad must have been so mad.”
“When you’re dead, the condition of the car doesn’t matter much.”
“That’s right. I supposedly died in that crash.” I met Puppa’s eyes. “Was Brad really torn up? I mean, he was sad, right? But he’s good now? He’s okay? And he doesn’t have a girlfriend or anything like that, right?”
Puppa stared at the road straight ahead. He sniffled and his words came out all scratchy. “I’m glad you’re alive, Patricia. It’s so good you’re alive.”
I left him alone the rest of the way, not wanting to see my grandfather cry.
22
Puppa’s home overlooking Silvan Bay appeared about the same in December as it had last March. It was too early for fishing shanties on the bay beyond the house, but another week or two of cold and they’d spring up like a village on the ice.
Unlike the warm aura of Christmas we’d found at my lodge, Puppa’s house looked cold and lonely. Two stories of gray shakes and white trim on the wraparound porch seemed dingy in the dull afternoon light. Not even the red steps and colorful stained-glass panels surrounding the front door could offset the home’s dismal spirit.
Puppa pulled the truck into the detached garage and turned off the engine. Neither of us moved. Perhaps we both dreaded the inevitable conversation to come. With a sigh for strength, I pushed open my door. He did the same. He closed the garage door behind us and we started toward the house.
A whinny from the barnyard stopped me in my tracks.
I faced the corral. “Goldilocks!”
In a moment I was hurdling the snowdrifts toward the horse Puppa had given me that spring. At the fence, I clung to her furry head, breathing against her soft muzzle.
“There’s my pretty pony. How are you, my Heaven Hills Gold?”
My grandfather joined me. “She recognized you. Even in that ridiculous wig.”
“You know who loves you, don’t you, girl?” I said in baby talk as I rubbed Goldie’s ear. I rested my face against hers. “It’s so good to be back. I missed my pony.” I laughed. “And Puppa. And Great-gram. And Gerard. What’s he up to these days, anyway?”
Puppa just kept looking at me like he couldn’t believe I was standing in his barnyard, cootchy-cooing my horse.
I went to him and wrapped my arms around his neck. “I love you. Wow, is it good to be home.”
He squeezed me to him like he wouldn’t let me go. “I thought I’d lost you. I thought I’d lost you.”
The pain in his voice triggered more tears from my eyes. I’d driven out of the driveway in Brad’s SUV seven months ago to avoid my own personal pain… what pain? Nothing could have hurt back then as bad as the pain of seeing my grandfather crying today.
His shoulders heaved in silent misery. I held on to him, not sure who was comforting whom. My socks were wet with melted snow and my bare hands were turning numb. I pulled away.
“Come on. Let’s get inside. I’ll make you and Grandma Olivia a cup of tea.”
He followed me into the mudroom. We hung our coats and stacked our shoes in a neat row. I couldn’t help but notice ours were the only two pair. Joel must have taken the overload of coats and boots with him to my lodge.
I walked up the steps to the kitchen. The house felt abandoned. A pile of dirty dishes sat to one side of the sink, waiting for attention. I scurried to fill the teapot with water. I set it on the stove and turned the burner to high. Blue flames shot out from beneath the silver container.
“There. Let’s go visit with Great-gram while that’s brewing.” I walked the length of the dining area to the living room. Water spots smudged the view of the lake, the film lending a haze to the already monotone landscape. Great-gram’s knitting basket sat by her rocking chair, the yarn neatly balled. Needles poked like chopsticks from the host of colors. I wondered what she was working on this month. Probably a blanket for her new great-great-grandbaby-to-be. At the thought of the new generation, my hand went to my stomach. Why couldn’t I be the one having the child?
I ran down the list of why-nots as I headed to Greatgram’s room to track her down. First, I wasn’t married. Second, I was on the run from the backwoods mob, and that was no time to start a family. Third, I was just starting to creep out of emotional adolescence. Fourth…
I turned the corner to Grandma Olivia’s room. I gave a quiet knock at the half-closed door. When there was no answer, I pushed it open. The resulting breeze twisted the mobile that hung from the ceiling’s center, sending the perpetually hungry lion chasing after the giraffes.
I smiled and looked toward the other end of the room, expecting to see Great-gram. But the hospital-style bed was neatly made, covered with her favorite afghan. The straight-back chair I’d once sat in to hold her hand as she slept was tucked against the wall.
My hands gripped the doorway. With Puppa standing a mere six feet away, watching my reaction, I couldn’t pretend I didn’t understand what the empty bed meant. My fingers pressed against my mouth, sealing in the moan that would have gushed out.
I blinked and hot tears squeezed out. “When did she die?”
“August.”
I nodded, sniffling. I’d left this place so that I could be safe in Del Gloria. And while I’d been hiding out, my ninety-three-year-old great-grandmother had died. Such a high price I’d paid for serenity. Only to discover now that there was no such thing. The pain I’d hoped to avoid had multiplied… and multiplied. How could I survive this news? And what else happened while I was gone? Puppa took me in his arms and cried with me.
“I thought… I thought I’d get to know her better before… she died.” My voice shook with emotion.
Puppa shook his head. “She was so glad for the time you had together. You brought her hope she’d never had. You loved her even though she acted unlovable. That’s what she said about you at your funeral.”
; A huge sniffle. “I can’t believe she spoke at my funeral. And now she’s gone…” A shuddering sigh.
“She’d be thrilled to know you’re still alive.” Puppa wiped tears from his face.
“I only wish I’d been here for her in August. What happened? She was so healthy.”
From the kitchen, the teapot announced its boiling point.
I followed Puppa through the swinging door.
“Heart, lungs, kidneys. Everything gave way at once.” Puppa poured hot water into two mugs.
“I wish I could have been here. I feel terrible.”
“She was ninety-three years old. She was ready.”
I nodded, dipping a tea bag. “Still, I had so much I wanted to ask her. Things about her life, her childhood.”
We took our hot drinks into the living room and settled into the comfy, mismatched furniture.
“Be content with the time you had with her. There’s no going back now. And you don’t want to beat yourself up over something you can’t change.”
Hot tea soothed my throat. “I missed a lot while I was gone. But I learned a few things too. Not trying to change the past is one of them.”
“I’m glad to hear you’re learning to let go. That’s a hard task. Some people never master it, and their days are filled with regrets.” Puppa leaned back in his recliner.
“Exactly. And that’s something I’m determined not to suffer from anymore.” I raised my tea in emphasis.
“Go easy on yourself. Nobody’s perfect. Expect an occasional relapse.”
“Pshaw. Who me?” I smiled. “At least I’m aware of my thought patterns now.” I reached out and touched his arm playfully. “I’m not perfect yet, but I’m making progress.”
He held on to my hand. “You’re perfect to me.”
“Thanks. I like hearing it.”
We sipped in silence, enjoying our close proximity.
I twirled my tea, watching a stray flake twist in the tiny whirlpool in the center. I couldn’t put off the question forever. I had to ask at some point. It might as well be now. My arms crossed my chest, as if to protect me from the answer.
“How’s Brad?” The words, husky and raw, sounded as if they came from some other throat.
Puppa stared at the braided rug like it could help him weave the right answer. His head moved slowly from side to side. “He didn’t make out good that day. I’d say it pretty much killed him.”
I gasped, sucking tea down the wrong pipe. Brad- dead?
In a flash I was back in the lodge, cowering as Candice LeJeune hauled Frank Majestic out of the room. But before she left, she had a final message for me: “Remember, Tish. I’ll always love you.”
Then her gun swung from her captive’s head toward… not me, but Brad standing across the room. The sound of the explosion…
“No!…” Breath sputtered out of me. My lungs froze in an exhale. An electric jolt blazed across my brain. After a moment, the synapses connected and I watched in horror as the scene replayed in my mind. Candice aims her gun at Brad. Then those horrible words. A blast cuts through the air. Screams and chaos, but all I can do is stare as Brad sways and then drops to the floor. I go to him, close enough to hear him whisper my name. There’s a salty smell. Hot, sticky blood everywhere on his chest.
Then paramedics, endless CPR, a stretcher… and the back of the ambulance driving away from the lodge.
Air raked down my throat. “She shot him, didn’t she?” Grandfather raised a brow. “I assumed you knew. You were there.”
I let out a moan. “I was there, but… I didn’t know… I couldn’t remember.” I pounded knuckles against my temples, wishing I could put the knowledge back into that dark space in my brain, or rip it out of my head altogether.
Denton had known Brad was dead, hadn’t he? He’d avoided talking about Brad. I’d assumed that was because he hoped I’d forget about Brad, me being an unsuitable match for his favorite protégé.
Perhaps deep down I’d known the truth and couldn’t face it. Look at me now, I was a blubbering mess, runoff dripping down my face and onto Puppa’s sweater. Yeah. I couldn’t handle it. I wanted to go back to Del Gloria, back in time, when, if only in my mind, Brad was still alive and well and watching out for me, waiting until the coast was clear to call me home.
I wiped my face and took a breath. Portia was right. There would never have been a phone call. I’d been dead to these people. And Brad, the only person who knew where to find me, was dead too. Only Denton had known what was really happening. He knew the phone call would never come.
Squeaks and hiccups lingered. Everything I’d wanted, everything I’d hoped for, everything that was good and happy and right was dead. It all died with Brad. The man who loved me, the one I loved. No wonder I’d driven off and never looked back. My life, my future, was over. And I’d known it, I just couldn’t face it.
The facts kept seeping through some protective barrier in my brain, forcing me to ask questions to which I didn’t want to know the answers.
Anger shot through my chest, but I pushed it back. Denton’s job was to keep me safe. What better way than convince the people after me that I was dead? The unfortunate side effect was that the people who loved me also believed I was dead.
No wonder Denton was so angry with me for being careless with my identity. I’d been utterly safe until someone had figured out I wasn’t Alisha Braddock. I smoothed the wig on my head. It wouldn’t be long before others saw through my Tasha Stewart disguise. And I’d be back in the crosshairs.
But I was home now. I didn’t want to keep running.
Grandfather touched my cheek, but the tears kept flowing. If I couldn’t have Brad back, and I couldn’t have the future children and the love and the laughter that disappeared with him, then I at least wanted my bed and my bedroom and my house back. I wanted what was left of Patricia Amble back.
I sighed with exhaustion. My brain ceased to function. Puppa must have noticed. “Come on. Let’s get you in a hot bath. There’s nothing a pair of warm pajamas, a hot meal, and a good night’s rest can’t cure.”
He seemed oblivious to the sound of my heart breaking.
23
“Feeling better this morning?” Puppa asked, slathering cream cheese on a bagel.
I gave a shrug and sifted through the fridge, not really sure what I was looking for. I squinted to see through my dark sunglasses. It would take more than ice to bring down the swelling around my eyes. Especially since I hadn’t really even stopped crying yet. I’d even cried in my sleep. At this rate, I’d have to wear sunglasses the rest of my life.
“I talked to Sam this morning and we decided it wouldn’t be a good idea for you to see him yet,” Puppa said between bites.
I shut the fridge door. “See who?”
“Brad.”
I crossed my arms and pursed my lips. Tears squeezed out from behind my glasses. I didn’t feel like tromping through six inches of snow to see a headstone. That would make it too real. “I agree.”
“We’ll have to bring the idea up slowly. Let him get used to the possibility that his Tish is still alive. Otherwise it could be too much of a shock.”
I’d been going for the coffeepot, but my arm hung in mid-reach as his words sunk in. I swung around. “What are you saying? Brad’s not dead?”
He got a startled look on his face. “No. Brad’s… alive. Did you think he was…” He stopped and shook his head. “I’m sorry. I thought you realized. But, of course. You must have left before they revived him.”
“Brad’s alive.” I repeated the words. “Brad’s alive.” My heart launched into wild thumping. Black prickles danced before my eyes.
“Sit down.” Puppa led me to the dining room and into a chair. “Take it easy. Just breathe.”
I cast the sunglasses away and cradled my head in my arms. Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh. Could I take any more of this emotional turmoil? First he was dead, then he’s alive. Brad was alive!
The room swam when I li
fted my head. “Take me to him. I want to see Brad.”
Puppa patted my back. “Let’s give it more time. Sam can drop by there today and see how he’s doing. It could be awhile before he gets used to the idea and agrees to see you.”
“What?” I laughed in disbelief. “Of course he wants to see me. He’ll be so happy. He’ll be ecstatic. Come on, let’s go.” I ignored the ringing in my ears and pulled Puppa toward the back door.
He dragged behind, then grabbed my arm and stopped me. “Patricia. Wait. Things are… different for Brad now.”
“You’re right. We’re not dead, either one of us. We’re both still alive.” My voice was giddy. I was breathless with joy.
“Brad’s body is still alive, yes. And his mind. But his spirit…” Grandfather squeezed my hands. “He’s given up on life. He has no will to live. He’s dying, Patricia.”
“What do you mean, he’s dying?” I blinked in confusion. “His injuries… your supposed death… it was all too much for him. He’s barely hanging on.”
“Then I’m here just in time. When he sees me, sees that I’m still alive, he’ll want to live again. He’ll want to live so we can be together.”
Puppa gave a weary sigh. “No. It’s not that simple. Having you see him in his condition may just set off a downward spiral he’ll never pull out of. Physically, emotionally, he’s not the Brad you remember. I don’t know how else to put it.”
I batted his arm. “Not my Brad? Of course he is. And knowing that he’s not well makes me want to see him more.”
A swift shake of his head. “Things didn’t look good for Brad the day he got shot. But they managed to revive him on the way to the hospital. Thank God for modern medicine. Surgery saved him, but his spinal cord was nicked by the bullet. He should have experienced paralysis only to the lower half of his body. That would have been enough of a hurdle to overcome. But once he found out you were dead, he was adamant there was feeling only from the neck up. Tests showed everything should have worked down to his hips, but you can’t make a man want to live. We tried for a while. Samantha tried, Joel tried, I tried. The hospital finally discharged him, suggesting we provide hospice care. So there he lies at River’s Edge, wasting away. Waiting to die.”
