by Jodi Thomas
No turning back now.
He raised his flashlight knowing the stick men were waiting for him with their big heads and hollow eyes.
And they were.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Carter
“WE NEED TO BE starting back,” Vern called to Jake and his voice echoed through the cave.
Carter knew his friends were at the opening of the cave waiting for him. They’d walked inside and stared at the stick men, then they’d left, giving Carter time alone.
Carter wasn’t sure if he’d stayed an hour longer or more. But he didn’t want to leave. He couldn’t stop staring at the stick figures for which he’d searched for so long.
All the years he’d thought about this place. All the summers he’d walked over the canyon looking. How could he turn away from the drawings on the walls? They were exactly as they’d been seventy years ago when he’d first stumbled upon them. Still watching him with their hollow eyes.
Carter felt his heart slow. He could die happy now. Right here in the cave where he’d finished his quest. Maybe Vern and Jake would leave him here with the stick men? That would be all right.
He let his breathing grow shallow. This was a great day to die. He’d done what he set out to do more than ten years ago. He’d found the cave. Bethie would understand if he didn’t go back to Granbury to be buried next to her.
He thought of his daughters with their own lives. They’d miss him, but it was nature’s way that they’d outlive him. When they heard he was dead, they’d hold their children tight and cry.
Slowly, he leaned back on the cool rock floor and took one last breath. As he closed his eyes, he imagined the stick men moving closer, watching over him now, knowing that he’d be joining them in the forever world where time had no meaning.
His finger twitched and turned off the flashlight. He didn’t need to see now. He knew where he was and that he was not alone.
One more breath. One more thought and then he’d let go of this world.
Only, thoughts flooded in all wanting to be the last in his brain. The war when he’d seen his friends die. The first time he made love to Bethie and neither of them knew what they were doing. The sight of her nursing their first daughter. The day he walked his youngest down the aisle. The moment he knew Bethie no longer held his hand even though her fingers were still entwined in his. Last winter when his three-year-old granddaughter asked him if she could be a monkey when she grew up.
One more breath. More memories came. The day he killed a man in battle. The night he thought of killing his middle daughter’s husband. The pain of watching his children move away on their own and the joy of realizing he and Bethie had the house to themselves.
One more breath. A hundred more memories.
Carter could hear his two friends talking somewhere beyond the blackness. He knew the stick men were watching him in the dark with their empty eyes.
“It is time to let go,” he whispered, almost expecting the painted men to answer.
Silence. Then one drop of water plunked on the floor of the cave. Far into a dark corner of the cave he heard the wind whistling. Another drop fell.
Slowly, Carter sat up, feeling near his leg for the flashlight. One tired muscle at a time he straightened. Turned on the light and stood.
He took one deep breath taking in the cold damp air as though it was pure oxygen.
One step at a time he moved toward the opening. Just as he saw the afternoon light shining at the entrance, he turned for one last look at the stick figures. He’d have all winter to remember them.
“You about ready, Carter?” Vern Wagner asked. “Looks like we got bad weather coming in. Clouds boiling like they’re about to spill over.”
Carter moved closer so he didn’t have to shout. “I thought about dying back in that cave. Figured I was ready.”
Both men were old enough to understand.
“Why didn’t you?” Jake asked.
“I almost did. Got down to my last breath a few times, then memories started pestering me. I got this son-in-law who needs straightening out now and then. I got one granddaughter who wants to be a monkey and there is no telling what the two wild ones who live under the table have torn up since I’ve been gone. I still got things that need doing. Plus, when I do lie down for good, I think I’d like it to be next to Bethie.”
The men moved out into the daylight. Vern took the lead this time as they headed up.
Carter was last, taking one more look at the entrance. He couldn’t stop smiling as he caught up with the other two. “I always thought the stick figures were waiting for me,” he told Vern and Jake as they moved one step at a time like a rusty old cog train rolling up a steep incline. “It had crossed my mind that they could have taken my soul that night when I was a boy and they were still waiting for me to come back.”
He squinted at the sky. “But it turns out, they didn’t want me.”
“I’m glad,” Jake yelled down from a few feet farther along the trail. “I wasn’t looking forward to having to drag your dead body back up.”
“Me, either,” Vern voted. “How about we climb out of this canyon and head over to the Two Step for a few beers?”
Carter grumbled. “All right, but no Mexican food. I was up half the night last Sunday after eating one tamale.”
“No salt for me,” Jake said.
Vern swore. “You guys are no fun. How about we forget the beer and pick up a few younger ladies?”
Jake nodded at the idea, then frowned. “The only two women I know younger than us and unmarried are the Franklin sisters, and I doubt all three of us could lift one of them.”
They laughed as they climbed out of the canyon.
Carter couldn’t quit smiling. Maybe the adventure in life wasn’t over for him yet.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Lauren
SUNDAY PASSED AT the lake, and no one suggested going back to school until almost dark. Lauren and Polly had a great day doing nothing. Tim worked on Polly’s homework and Pop slept in his favorite chair.
He’d been up the past two nights trying to find the guy who had hurt Polly and probably broken into Angie’s cabin. A man with a tire-iron mark across his face shouldn’t be that hard to find, but the guy seemed to have vanished.
Lauren knew her father. He wouldn’t stop looking until he found him.
Polly took a morning nap. They all took afternoon naps. Now she knew if she didn’t start the gang moving toward the Jeep they’d all be asleep by sundown.
Pop hugged everyone, including Tim. Lauren didn’t miss the fact that Tim hugged Polly goodbye as if she wasn’t riding back with them to Tech.
A few hours and several stops later, they made it back to the dorm.
Tim waved good-night and walked away saying, “Thanks for the restful weekend, L. Remind me next time not to go if you’ve got something planned. I don’t think my heart could take any more excitement.”
She laughed.
After tucking Polly into bed she decided to go for a walk. Lauren loved the campus on cold nights. Fog was in the air and all the lights that outlined the buildings seemed fuzzy. The campus was a bubble all on its own. She had the feeling that no matter where she lived in her life, she’d always miss this magic world. Beautiful. Alive. Haunting. College was like a spaceship slowly drifting, constantly moving you from one world to another.
The fear she’d felt when she’d seen Polly being beaten was still with her. The knowledge of seeing violence and fearing she couldn’t help, still lingered. The need to find some way to make the world safer grew inside her.
Her father must have seen far more. That might explain why he couldn’t leave his job. Lauren remembered hearing her mother say once that if Pop had just quit his job he could have moved to Dallas
and done something where he didn’t have to carry a gun. Margaret didn’t understand him at all, but after seeing Polly being beaten, Lauren thought she did. His job wasn’t just fighting the bad guys, it was helping those who couldn’t protect themselves.
She’d done it again, she realized. She’d grown all at once. She wasn’t the same person she’d been Friday when they’d left the dorm.
Lauren realized she was changing in the two months she’d been in this world, in this bubble. She knew she could never go back to looking at things as she had before.
Walking along the lighted paths through the campus, Lauren wished she could talk to Lucas. He must have known she’d change and grow. Maybe he was simply waiting to see how she turned out.
As she circled back toward the dorm, she saw him standing outside the main door. His collar was up and his hands were shoved deep in his pockets. He looked as though he’d been waiting for a while.
“Lucas,” she said. “How’d you know I was here?”
Lucas studied her. “I went by your dad’s house. He said you’d left an hour earlier.” He couldn’t seem to stop staring at her. “I should have called earlier today. I thought we might ride back together.”
“I rode back with Tim and Polly.”
“I figured that. You all right?”
She wasn’t surprised he knew about the trouble at the lake. “You probably know more about what happened than I do.”
“You want to go somewhere and talk about it?”
She hesitated. “No.”
They just stood looking at each other. The night he’d kissed her seemed a million years ago. “I don’t want to talk about the trouble at the lake, but I’ll go somewhere if you’re offering food.”
Lucas smiled. “I’m offering.”
She laced her arm in his and they walked to his pickup. For three hours they talked of nothing and everything.
When he walked her back to the spot where he’d picked her up, he said, “Lauren, you’ve changed.”
“I know and I’ll probably change again and again and again. I can’t stay that frightened high school girl you saved in the old Gypsy House almost three years ago. If you’re going to be my friend, you have to be in through the changes, Lucas.”
“I think I’d like that.”
She realized she was stronger than she ever thought she was. “If you’re my friend, you won’t run just because we kiss.” This was it, the moment where he made up his mind. He was no longer in control. He’d take her as an equal or nothing.
“Fair enough.” He faced her as he always did, straight on. “But, Lauren, someday I’m going to have to admit that I don’t want to be just your friend. I want to be more, a great deal more.”
“Fair enough,” she said as she kissed his cheek, then turned and walked to the dorm.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Angie
THREE WEEKS PASSED without any hint of the man who’d broken into her cabin and later kidnapped Polly. He seemed to have disappeared completely. Angie went back to work and cleaned up the cabin on her lunch breaks, but after dark every night, she always decided to spend just one more night with Wilkes, vowing it would be the last one.
Every morning she’d plan to go home after work and not spend another night at his place, but something always seemed to come up. First she had to wait until she had time to buy new dishes, then Vern came down with a bad cold and she felt she should stay on and watch over him. Then there were dinners with friends and Wilkes wanting to teach her to ride.
She became aware of how hard Wilkes worked. Since he had to watch over her, she knew he was working late into the night. Angie hadn’t really given it much thought, but there was a great deal of computer work involved in running a ranch.
Each night, they built a fire in the six-foot-high fireplace in what he called the game room. They’d plan to play pool or watch a movie, but before the fire burned low they always decided to cuddle on the couch and talk. Slowly, piece by piece, they learned each other’s lives. Tenderly, one caress at a time, they learned each other’s body.
Every night, when he kissed her one last time outside her room, she knew she fell a little more in love with Wilkes Wagner.
Finally, they stopped thinking up reasons for her not going back to her cabin and just enjoyed being together. The talks and dinners and rides across the land at sunset were nice, but Wilkes’s good-night kisses were addictive.
They might have gone further, but Uncle Vern’s cold dragged on until both Angie and Wilkes figured out that he thought he was acting as chaperone. His bedroom, in the main house, was in the middle of the long hall and his door tended to swing open if he heard a sound.
Angie thought it was cute. Wilkes mumbled that maybe it was time for Uncle Vern to move to the retirement home or at least back to his place.
Thanksgiving was only a week away and Wilkes had decided, since Angie could cook, they should invite all their friends who didn’t have families. They spent the weekend planning and reorganizing his house.
Angie walked into her office at the museum the Monday morning before Thanksgiving thinking about the groceries she needed to buy. The moment she saw the message light blinking on her phone, she paused.
Probably nothing, she almost said aloud. But the old fear crawled up her spine. She must have told Wilkes a hundred times she was all right. She told herself that the reason she stayed with Wilkes was because she loved being with him, but deep down she knew she was also a coward. She was afraid to go back to her little cabin on the lake.
Slowly, she sat down and lifted the phone. When she pushed the message button, a familiar voice from the county clerk’s office made her let out a long-held breath.
“Call me back as soon as you can” was all Carol said.
Angie returned the call.
“I’ve got the paperwork, Angie. You want me to run it over to you?” Carol had a twang in her voice that was pure West Texas. “Yancy is going to be excited.”
“No, I’ll pick it up on my way to the café. I’m meeting him and Wilkes for lunch.”
Three hours later Angie rushed down the stairs of the museum. As she knew he would be, Vern Wagner sat at the front desk entertaining the volunteers. He came to work with her a few days a week, acting as bodyguard, he said, but in truth she knew he just loved visiting.
“Hi, little darling.” He grinned. The ladies had made him an official badge. “How can I help you?”
She smiled. “Can I borrow your pickup so I can meet Wilkes for lunch? I’d ask you to go with me, but someone needs to be on guard while I’m gone.”
Vern handed her his keys. “Since I’ve had two of Millie’s rolls this morning and one of Sandy’s scones, I’m thinking I might go take a nap in your office while you’re gone. I might need to build up my strength before the afternoon goodies arrive.”
“The door is open now, but you might want to close it if you nap. I think a group of O’Gradys are coming in to work on their family tree. A band of their children think the upstairs is a playground.”
“I’ll do that.” He winked at her.
Angie pulled on her coat and started out. Before she closed the front door she heard Vern telling the ladies how Angie fussed over him.
As she hurried down the steps, she saw several carloads of O’Gradys climbing out of their cars. It should be an interesting afternoon. They’d brought the preschool kids along.
Angie maneuvered around the children and climbed into Vern’s old truck. It started on the first try and purred as she drove to the county office, picked up an envelope and rushed into Dorothy’s café.
Wilkes and Yancy both stood as she blew in. She loved the way Wilkes’s face lit up when he saw her. His arm moved around her as if he couldn’t wait to touch her. It seemed impossible to her, but she’d b
ecome his addiction, too.
“I’ve got something for Yancy,” she said as she slipped into the booth.
They waited until the waitress took the order, then Angie passed Yancy the envelope. “It took a little digging but we found this.”
Yancy looked interested, but not excited. He pulled an old black-and-white picture and held it up. At the bottom someone had written: Home of Adam Stanley.
“That’s what the old house you say calls to you looked like in 1944.”
Yancy studied it. “Place looks nice. Must have been white at one time with shutters and a long porch. Look, the trees were once all in a line, not overgrown like they are now.”
“I think that’s a garden out back and, look, they had a chicken coop.” Angie leaned over the table pointing out details. “It was just a normal house then, nothing evil.”
Yancy reached for the other piece of paper in the envelope. “What’s this?”
“It’s your birth certificate.” Angie fought to keep her excitement from exploding.
Yancy stared at the paper, his eyes wide. “This couldn’t be right. It’s got my birthday, but my mom always said I didn’t have a middle name. It says here I’m Yancy Adam Grey.”
Wilkes looked at the certificate. “Footprint is way too small, too.”
Angie hit his arm and they all laughed.
“Yancy, look down and read who the mother was.”
“Jewel Ann Grey.”
“And the father,” Angie said.
“Galen Yancy Stanley.”
No one at the table moved. Finally, Angie whispered, “Your grandmother Stanley lived in that house for twenty years before she died. She left what money she had in the bank to pay the taxes.” Angie let him digest her words, then she added, “She left the house to you, Yancy.”
“Mom said she lived in Crossroads when she was just a kid. I thought she meant little kid, but it must have been until the year I was born. She said she hated it. She never mentioned that she lived with my father’s mother.”
