They stopped and knelt by its side, saying nothing, just watching the bubbling play and listening to the flow.
When they stood, Hope said, “It’s loudest this time of year. By fall, it’s only a trickle.” She led him across a rough-planked bridge and on through a fragrant eucalyptus grove to open meadow, and the temperature jumped. “See Duncan’s sheep?” she asked.
They grazed in random clusters in the sun. It was a bucolic bouquet of color, with the deep green of live oaks in the distance blanching to the newer green of the spring grass, interspersed with patches of red poppy and yellow iris and the sheep, with their gray-white coats and their brown eyes and muzzles, paying them scant heed as they crossed the top of the meadow.
They continued on through oak and madrone on no path Jack could see, but Hope seemed to know where to go, and she went at a clip. By the time the land tipped and chaparral took over, a path emerged. It was even warmer here. As they walked, Jack pulled off his sweatshirt and tied it around his waist. They moved higher, into a stand of pines, and beyond those, the world suddenly gaped open.
They came on it so quickly that he wasn’t prepared. “Wow!”
Hope slanted him a knowing smile. “Isn’t it neat?”
“I’ll say.” They were higher than he had thought, looking into the belly of the canyon over the tops of pines and firs. Just as spectacular was the succession of ridges beyond. Those more distant, near the ocean, were dusted with fog.
Jack had taken his daughters to Muir Woods more than once, and those woods were beautiful. But this was something else. Rachel knew what breathtaking meant.
They sat on the ground looking out, legs crossed, drinking bottled water and munching granola. “Do you come here often with your mom?” he asked.
She chomped on a nut. “Uh-huh. We both love it. You look out and the world just keeps going.”
Jack looked out, and the world did just keep going. The ocean did that. But there was also the sense of endless fingers of granite, patchy with pine, cedar, or fir, stretching for miles down the coast.
Muir Woods didn’t have that. You could close your eyes and pretend, but it wasn’t the same. The city was too close. Here, it was easier to breathe, in every sense of the word.
He glanced at Hope, about to say that, then stopped. She, too, was looking out, but her brows were drawn. “What’s wrong?”
Her eyes flew to his, then returned to the view. It was a minute before, quietly, she said, “Do you think Mom will ever come here again?”
His insides shifted. It wasn’t the knotting he used to feel; that was better. This was something higher, something more closely tied to his heart. “I want to think so.”
“But you don’t know.”
“None of us do.”
“What if she dies?”
“She’s not about to do that.”
“What if she stays in a coma for years?”
Ten days before, he would have denied the possibility. Five days before, he would have denied it. But the doctors had taken Rachel out of Intensive Care and settled her into a regular room. She was nearing the end of her second comatose week. Everything else seemed to be healing but her head. Her GCS score hadn’t budged.
Still, in a coma for years? They were just words. He couldn’t grasp their meaning.
Hope picked raisins from the granola and put them one by one into her mouth. She took a drink of water and gazed out over the trees, frowning again. “Daddy?”
“Hmm?”
“Remember the other morning when you were telling Sam about loyalty?”
“Um-hmm.”
“I feel bad for Lydia. But I can’t say anything to Sam.”
“Why not?”
“Because she’s my sister. I owe the same loyalty to her that she owes to Lydia. So I have to support what she’s doing. Don’t I?”
“Not if you think what she’s doing is wrong.”
Hope swiveled on her bottom and faced him. Her eyes were large and expectant. “I do.”
He wasn’t sure what she wanted. “Maybe you should tell her.”
“She’ll kill me. You’re going to meet her date tonight, aren’t you?”
“That’s the plan.”
“What if you don’t like him? Will you tell her not to go?”
He heard an urgency. “Do you not like the guy?”
“Would you make her stay home?”
“From her prom? I don’t know, Hope. That might be going too far.”
Her eyes teared up. “I have a bad feeling, like I did before Guinevere died.”
Jack picked a strand of blond hair from her sweaty cheek. “Oh, sweetie.”
“Don’t you?”
The truth was that he hadn’t thought much about Samantha’s date, largely because there wasn’t a hell of a lot he could do about it. He had made his best argument on Lydia’s behalf, but he couldn’t force Samantha to be with people she didn’t want to be with. He knew. He had been there. His parents had said one thing; that was incentive enough to do the other.
Yes, it scared him where Samantha was concerned. And yes, he had lots of bad feelings, but they were more worry than omen, and had to do as much with Rachel and with Sung and McGill as with Samantha.
He caught Hope’s hand. It was small, not yet womanly, but with promise. “At some point,” he said, thinking it out as he spoke, “a parent has to trust that upbringing will guide a child when he isn’t around. You’ve both been close to your mother. She raised you well. She may not be here to send Samantha off to the prom, but I want to think that Samantha will know what her mother expects.”
Hope stared at him. “She knows. That doesn’t mean she’ll do.”
Which was exactly what Jack thought seconds earlier. “Do you know something I don’t?”
She said a quick “no.”
“What’s she planning?”
Both shoulders came up. “I don’t know.”
“Are you sure?”
She nodded vigorously.
He didn’t believe her, but he couldn’t force the issue. There was that thing about loyalty, thank you, Jack. If he wanted to know what Samantha was planning, he was going to have to ask Samantha.
chapter sixteen
THE SMARTEST THING Samantha did was to start getting ready very early. She ended up taking two showers when her hair didn’t blow right the first time. Her deodorant took forever to dry; she botched her eyeliner and had to start all over with that; and though she had decided that sheer black stockings looked more sophisticated than none, she still hadn’t made up her mind on the bra issue when it was time to put on the dress.
She owned two black bras. Each had straps. If she reached a certain way, which she was bound to do when she danced with Teague, who was at least six-two, the straps showed.
She rummaged through Rachel’s drawers for a strapless bra. The only things of interest she found were her father’s boxer shorts and some framed photographs. She didn’t know why her mother kept them. Rachel hated Jack. He might talk a blue streak about loyalty, but talk was all it was. They were divorced. That said it all.
She shoved the drawers closed and turned to leave.
“Everything all right?” Jack asked from the door. He looked sweaty and relaxed, like he’d had a good time in the woods with his favorite daughter.
Everything is not all right, she wanted to cry. My mother is in a coma, my father is a jerk, and I don’t have a strapless bra. “Just fine,” she ground out and brushed past him.
“Doesn’t sound it,” he said, following her down the hall.
She whirled on him. “I’m nervous. All right? This is a big night. Just leave me alone.”
He held up a hand and backed off—and even that angered her. She wanted to argue. She wanted to scream and shout and let off the steam that was building inside. A part of her even wanted to cry, but she’d be damned if she would do that in front of him. Hope cried. Samantha didn’t.
Beside, she didn’t have time to do her
eyes again.
BY SIX, Jack was freshly showered and in the kitchen, spooning chip dip into a bowl. Having spent most of the hike back through the woods thinking that Rachel’s coma couldn’t possibly be psychological since she wouldn’t have missed Samantha’s prom for the world, and wondering what she would have done for a send-off, he had mixed up her favorite dip recipe, while Hope arranged crackers on a dish around the bowl. They had barely put it in the living room when the doorbell rang.
“Oh God,” Samantha wailed from her room. “Talk to him. I’m not ready.”
Jack opened the door to a young man who was just his height, but dark-haired, dark-eyed, dark-jawed. He was wearing a tux … barely. Where a pleated shirt should have been was a white T-shirt; where a cummerbund should have been was a wide leather belt; and the scuffed black shoes sticking out from his pants looked to Jack to be boots.
O-kay, Jack thought. Times have changed. Go with the flow. He extended a hand. “I’m Samantha’s dad.”
The returning handshake was firm, perhaps cocky, even defiant. “Teague Runyan.”
Jack drew him into the house with the kind of firm hand that said he had no choice in the matter. “Samantha says you live here in Big Sur?”
“Up the street a little,” he said, tossing his head in a direction that could have been north or south. “How’s Samantha’s mom?”
“She’s the same. Thank you for asking. Does she know your folks?”
“She may. They run the gas station right outside the center.”
Jack nodded. He knew of two gas stations there. Both gouged.
Hope approached with the dip and crackers, staring smilelessly at Teague.
“Hey, Hope,” Teague said. “Did you make this?” He topped a cracker with dip and popped it whole into his mouth. “Mm. Good.”
Jack waited until he had swallowed. “So, what’s the plan?”
“Plan?” Teague asked, brushing cracker salt off his hands.
“For tonight.”
“I don’t know. It’s Samantha’s prom. She made the arrangements.”
“When can I expect her back?”
Teague looked mystified.
“When do your folks expect you back?”
“Sometime tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow, as in the wee hours of the morning?”
He thought about that. “Nah.”
“Later tomorrow morning?”
“Maybe. Maybe afternoon. It depends how late we sleep.”
That wasn’t what Jack wanted to hear. “Where will this sleeping be?”
Teague shrugged. “It’s Samantha’s prom.”
“Hi, Teague,” Samantha said. She stood at the edge of the living room, looking gorgeous enough to take Jack’s breath. He was suddenly terrified.
“Hey,” said Teague by way of greeting. “Ready to go?”
There was no You look great, no Here’s a corsage, no Have some of this dip, it’s great; thanks, Hope. Jack didn’t like those boots, or that wide leather belt. There was something on the T-shirt that was too faded to make out. No matter. He didn’t like the T-shirt, either.
He crossed to Samantha, pointing her back into the hall, and kept going until he was in her bedroom, glancing behind only to make sure she followed.
Oh, she did that, but she wasn’t happy. “I have to go,” she hissed.
“You look beautiful,” he said, taking her off guard. He could have sworn he saw a look of disbelief on her face, before she grew cautious.
“I do?”
“I wish your mother could see.” He had an idea. “Wait. I’ll get a camera … ”
She grabbed his arm. “No, Daddy, please. He’s waiting.”
He should have had the camera ready, should have thought ahead. “You really do look spectacular,” he said and felt another kick of terror. She was growing up too fast. “Can we talk about curfews?”
She looked at him like he had horns. “Curfews? This is an all-nighter. You knew that.”
“I knew you were sleeping at Lydia’s, but that’s changed. So tell me the plans. I want to know where you’ll be.”
“The prom is at school.”
“That’s not the part that worries me.” He rummaged through the refuse on her desk for a pen and tore a scrap of paper from the nearest notebook. “There are parties before and after. I need phone numbers.”
“You do not,” she cried. “You can’t check up on me. If you call, I’ll die.”
“What if your mother wakes up?”
That got her. She stood with her eyes wide and her mouth half open.
He compromised. “Give me names, then. Just names.” He could always call directory assistance. “The party before is at Jake’s—is it Jake Drummer?”
“Drumble.”
“Where’s the party after?”
“Pam’s, I think, but I’m not sure. It depends on who leaves the prom when, whether we want something to eat, and what we feel like after that, so I don’t know.”
Jack wouldn’t run his business that way. “Would your mother be satisfied with that answer?”
“Yes. She trusts me.”
“So do I. It’s the other kids I don’t trust.” He had another idea. “Take my cell phone.”
Again, that where-are-you-from look. “Why?”
“So we can be in touch.”
She looked horrified. “Kids don’t take cell phones to proms. Besides, where would I put it? This dress does not have pockets.”
“A purse?”
She held up a thin thing on even thinner straps.
He sighed. “Okay. No phone. What’s Pam’s last name?”
She gave it grudgingly. He had barely begun scribbling it down when she started out of the room. “Wait,” he said, because he was uneasy still.
She turned back with an impatient “What?”
“Call me if there’s a problem.”
“Are you expecting one?”
“No.” He approached her. “I just wanted to say it. I won’t tell you when to be home. I’ll trust you know what you’re doing. But I’d like a call by ten tomorrow morning, please.”
“Ten? Dad.”
“Samantha, you’re only fifteen. All I’m asking for is a phone call.”
“Fine,” she said and disappeared into the hall.
He followed her back to the living room, arriving just as she swept Teague to the door.
“Bye,” she said with a wave to no one in particular, and before Jack could say that they needed something solid in their stomachs and why didn’t they have crackers and dip, before he could open his mouth to warn Teague that if anything went wrong there would be hell to pay, they were gone.
JAKE DRUMBLE’S house was a zoo. Samantha had never seen so many kids in such a small place in her life, and they weren’t all from her school. She would have recognized faces. The boys were huge, with the kinds of big necks and wide shoulders that went with playing football. The girls were perky and bright and talking in tight little clumps.
“Do you know these people?” Teague asked, snapping up two beers from the bar and putting one in her hand.
“I think they’re football buddies of Jake’s,” she said and, for a split second, feeling alone and lost, would have given anything for the sight of Lydia or Shelly.
“Talk about slabs,” Teague said under his breath.
She forced a laugh. “Hey. There’s Pam. Pam!” She led Teague through the crowd, stopping now and again when she felt resistance against her hand to look back and find him talking to one girl or another. She couldn’t blame those girls. He was the coolest guy in the place. She hooked an elbow through his when they reached Pam, so that no one would doubt that he was Sam’s for the night.
They talked and laughed with Pam and Jake, then moved on to talk and laugh with Heather and Drew. They munched on nachos and drank beer, ate popcorn and drank beer. Teague was the perfect date, always knowing when she needed a refill, always knowing where to find it.
“How’re
you doing?” he said with a grin as he backed her into a corner.
She was feeling light-headed and free. “I’m doing fine. This is a great party.”
Putting his hands on either side of the wall, he gave her the weight of his body. His mouth was inches from hers. “I could do with fewer people. You’re sweet.” He erased those inches with a kiss that was so soft and gentle that all of her earlier worries seemed absurd. His mouth moved, showing hers what to do, and was gone before she wanted it to be.
“Nice?” he asked.
She grinned. “Mmmm.”
“More?”
“Um-hm.”
It was a deeper kiss this time, more mobile and open. Samantha had read about breathlessness. She had read about feeling a fire inside, but she hadn’t experienced either in response to a kiss until then.
Rachel would not be pleased. She believed in restraint, in saving it for someone special, but who was to say Teague wasn’t? There was such a thing as instant attraction, not to mention love at first sight. And was Rachel a virgin when she married Jack? Samantha thought not. So who were either of them to criticize her? Besides, if Rachel was so worried, she would have woken up from the damn coma. She would have been there to give orders and warnings, instead of leaving it to Jack. She would have demanded a detailed itinerary as a condition for leaving the house, would have phoned some of the other parents, and Samantha would have been docked for sure. If her mother were well, she wouldn’t be here right now.
That thought made her head buzz in a grating way. To still it, she poured herself into Teague’s kiss, not a very hard thing to do, for at that minute he took her hands, put them behind him, and pressed his hips to hers, and oh, what she felt! When she caught her breath, his tongue entered her mouth. Startled then, she would have pulled back if there had been anywhere to go, but the wall was behind her, his hands were framing her face, and he was saying into her mouth, “Don’t stop. It’s cool. Take my tongue.” And he was right, it was cool, unbelievably grown-up and sexy, the feel of that tongue sliding in and out against hers, and his body, anchoring hers when it started to tremble. “Ride the feeling,” he whispered, and she did. Her mouth fell open a little, then a little more, then even more, and suddenly her tongue caught the wave.
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