On Blue Falls Pond (11 page)

She supposed she’d been as taken with him as anyone, else she wouldn’t have given him more leeway than was right.

While he’d been married to Crystal, he’d seemed a bit more settled . . . at least for a while. ’Course they’d married at nineteen, with their firstborn arriving some five months later. Since the divorce, Charlie had been acting like a kite without a tail, dipping and jerking in useless circles, unable

to steady himself. Tula was worried that before long he was going to crash into the ground and not be able to get airborne again. That was why she never refused when he asked if his boys could spend time with her on his weekends; what kind of example would he be setting for five growing boys?

Last week, she’d begun to make . . . suggestions. Charlie had had his time to mourn his marriage. He was past thirty. He had five young’uns who needed to learn how to grow into men. It was time for Charlie to straighten up.

Tula said, “I’m proud to see you’ve made the right decision.”

Charlie leaned down and kissed her cheek. “With you asking, Granny, how could I refuse?” Then he glanced across the parking lot to where Jenni Camp, who worked at the Blue Ridge Bar, stood waiting beside his Suburban.

Tula figured Jenni was both the reason for the bloodshot eyes and the fact that he made it to church on time.

He said, “Can we give you a ride home?”

Tula shook her head. “I got a stop to make. Y’all go on.”

He gave her a quick one-armed hug and started toward Jenni. “I’ll give you a call later this week,” he said with a smile. “We can plan for next weekend.”

She just nodded and waved him on. One step at a time. She’d gotten him to church. The next step would take a little more planning—there were young’uns’ feelings at stake.

She watched Jenni’s eyes light up as Charlie walked toward her. That boy was just too doggone handsome for his own good. She shook her head and crossed the parking lot, crushed stone sharp through her thin-soled church shoes.

As she did every Sunday after services, she made her way toward the gate at the side of the church that led to the cemetery. She stopped and gave Blackwell’s bird dog a good scratch behind his ear as she passed their truck. She noticed when she looked at him dead on, his eyes looked like they weren’t lined up right. ’Course it wasn’t BJ’s eyes that were wrong, it was her own.

Please, Lord, just a little more time . . . Least ’til Glory’s sorted out
.

Few people lingered around in the heat. They’d rather get in their cars and turn on air conditioners or roll windows down and create a breeze of their own on the shady mountain road. That suited Tula fine. She preferred being alone with Sam. All too often some well-meaning friend wanted to join her in the cemetery—likely worried she’d become overwhelmed with grief if left on her own.

But her visits with Sam always brought gladness. They gave her a sense of connection, of support, of reassurance that he was with her in spirit until the day the Lord called her home, and they could once again be together.

As she moved through the cemetery, along the same path she’d traveled at least once a week for the past ten years, she stubbed her toe on the uneven ground. She hadn’t seen the little rise in the grass that caught her, and she stumbled forward a couple of steps before she regained her balance.

Normally Tula Baker would be the first to break into laughter over her own near spill; she was notorious for her inability to hold in her mirth over a fall, hers or anyone else’s. As long as there was no blood and no broken bones, laughter exploded from her without a thought. Used to make Sam so dang mad; accused her of being unfeeling. People could be hurt, he’d say. But it wasn’t that she didn’t care; she just couldn’t help herself when she saw legs sprawling this way and that or arms pinwheeling in the air.

But this time no laughter sprang forth. Her heart sped up and her mouth went dry. It shook her confidence enough that she waited several seconds before she took another step, glancing to see if anyone had seen her. Years ago, when she’d first found out about her condition, everyone had been so overly cautious, treating her like a robin’s egg, offering to do this and that for her. She’d been months convincing them she was no different than she’d ever been. One look at something like this whoopdie-do would set the worry warts and the Nosey Nellies into a tizzy again.

Luckily, the only witness appeared to be BJ the bird dog.

After a moment to settle her nerves, she moved with renewed care toward Sam’s headstone. She laid her hand on the warm granite.

“Hello, Pap. It’s Sunday again. Weeks’re going by blindin’ fast.” She sighed softly and waited—waited for the familiar feeling that he was listening. After a moment, it came. “I’m havin’ the devil’s own time keeping my nose out of Glory’s business.” She patted the stone thoughtfully.

“I know we reared our young’uns to make up their own minds and clean up their own messes if things ended poorly. The grandbabies should do the same. But this just feels too . . .
big
to let go racin’ down the road like it is.

“I’m worried that afore long I won’t be able to fool Glory into thinking my eyes ain’t no worse. Once that happens . . . well, she’ll be staying here for the wrong reasons. Cain’t have it.” Tula shook her head slowly and contemplated for a moment. “There’s a big dark hole in the middle of that girl. She’s kept herself running so fast you’d think she’d hear the wind whistlin’ through it. But she cain’t see it. And if she don’t see it, it ain’t ever gonna get filled.”

Tula knelt beside the stone, her knees complaining. She pulled away the long sprigs of grass that the church superintendent left at the monument’s base when he zipped around the cemetery with his power mower. Honest to goodness, nobody had any pride in their work anymore. She decided not to grumble to Sam about it, though; he’d heard it enough.

In the heat, her face was breaking out in a fine sheen of sweat. The Oakleys slid down her nose, and she pushed them back up with an index finger to the bridge. “Eric got me these new sunglasses.” She paused in her grass pulling and looked at the granite stone. “Who’d a’ thought I’d have sunglasses worth more than two weeks’ groceries? But, I gotta admit, they do help.”

She busied her hands again. “Now there’s another problem . . . Eric. I’m afraid my eyes won’t hold out long enough to get his boy through whatever is ailing him. Eric says it might be something that he won’t ever get over.” She bit her lip to keep it from quivering with frustration. “Ahh, criminy, I don’t want to complain—really I don’t. You of all people know I ain’t a complainer. I know I’ve been luckier than most—it’s just . . . well, right when ever’body needs me, things are going to pot.”

She pulled a dandelion and tossed it toward the woods. After brushing the dirt off her fingers, she braced one hand on the headstone and got to her feet.

“You’re mighty quiet today, Pap.” So often the answers to her questions and the solutions to her problems fell softly on her consciousness as she talked things over with Sam. But today there was no gentle realization, no whisper of resolution.

Apparently, Sam was as perplexed as she was.

Chapter Nine

G
LORY KEPT UP
an unrelenting pace—and it was nearly killing her. Almost two years of walking on flat ground had taken a surprising toll on her conditioning. Had she been alone, she might just have reconsidered and turned around. But she wasn’t. So she gritted her teeth and forced her quivering legs to carry her over the increasing incline of the narrow trail, batting laurel branches and lush ferns out of her way, never pausing to look back and see if Eric was following.

Of course, she knew he was; she heard his quick, assured footfalls and his irritatingly unlabored breathing behind her.

They were nearing a place where it would take both hands and feet to scrabble over a jumble of tumbled boulders. Glory wasn’t looking forward to the challenge.

Eric called, “Why don’t we take a breather.”

Glory’s mouth overrode her tired muscles. “I don’t need a breather,” she said as she trudged forward with sweat trickling down her spine.

“I do,” he said. “I didn’t dress for an all-out assault on the mountain in this heat.”

She pulled up and looked over her shoulder at him. She didn’t see a red-faced, sweat-drenched, ready-to-drop hiker; she saw a fine specimen of a firefighter who was barely perspiring in spite of the fact that he wore full-length jeans with his white T-shirt. He needed a breather about as much as she needed a jock strap.

“Guess you’re out of luck then,” she said, cursing the waste of breath. “I warned you that I’d leave you if you couldn’t keep up.” She would have laughed out loud at the absurdity of that statement, but she didn’t have the wind for laughter. Without pausing, she found her first handhold on the rock. “See you at the falls.”

She heaved herself up and prayed her sweaty hands wouldn’t slip and her protesting muscles would hold out. It wasn’t a difficult or long climb, not much higher than the top of her head. A couple of handholds and stepping in the right place and she’d be over. Granny had just done it with Charlie’s boys, for heaven’s sake. But Glory was sore and out of shape and short of breath; smarting off to Eric had wasted precious oxygen.

She was ready to shift her weight over the top when a small rock shifted beneath her foot. She made a grab at a woody shrub to pull herself the rest of the way up, but managed to grab the only dead branch on the damned thing. It snapped, and she pitched backward, belatedly realizing that she’d have been better off not to have tried to continue her forward movement by grabbing the bush and just given some ground and steadied herself instead.

The breaking branch acted like a catapult, and she lost all contact with the rocks. She was in a free fall.

The next thing she felt was Eric’s arms wrapped around her. But she kept falling—now
they
were falling. As he landed between her and the stony ground, she heard the air leave his lungs in a huff.

For a second she held very still, hoping she hadn’t killed him. When she heard him take a groaning breath, she stayed where she was, frozen by embarrassment and stubborn pride.

She’d just about gathered her dignity enough to get up and face him when he started to shake. At first she thought he had been hurt. But then he broke into a belly laugh that shook her as she lay on top of him.

She rolled off quickly and jerked herself to her feet. “Since you think it’s so funny, I won’t apologize for squashing you this time.”

He was laughing so hard that he rolled onto his side trying to catch his breath. His pristine, blindingly white T-shirt was no longer. Ground-in mountain dirt covered the back from shoulder to waist.

He gasped out, “You . . . you . . . looked . . . l . . . like . . .” Laughter gobbled up his breath.

“What?” she demanded as she looked down at him.

He shook his head and waved her off, as if it was too much effort to explain around his guffaws. Breathlessly, he squeaked out, “Never mind.”

“You might as well tell me. I’ll get it out of you eventually.” She fought the smile that threatened to break her stern countenance. She could only imagine what she’d looked like as she’d taken to the air.

He rolled onto his back again and wiped the tears from his cheeks. “A g-giant fl-flying squirrel.” He chuckled again. “You were launched off there with your arms and legs flung out like you thought you might fly.” He held up his hands, fingers splayed, and whipped them through the air.

She could just see it. She’d felt as if she’d been an insect flicked from the end of a long stick, must have looked that way too. Her own laughter joined his. “You’re lucky you didn’t see my face.” She made a comical re-creation: wide, shocked eyes with raised brows and lips gaping with surprise and fright around clenched teeth.

He covered his eyes and turned his head away. “No. No. Don’t show me! It’s too horrible for a mortal man to witness.”

With laughter bubbling inside her like soda and vinegar, she pulled his hands away and mimed right in his face.

“Aargh!” He grabbed her and pulled her face against his chest so she couldn’t torment him anymore.

His T-shirt still smelled of laundry detergent.

He said with a rumble of laughter, “Now that image is gonna stick with me, and I’ll never have the courage to catch another falling woman.” Then he groaned and added in a serious tone, “I’ll have to leave the department. You’ve ended my career.”

His humor made it easier on her pride. She pulled her head free and sat up, her hand lingering on the center of his chest. “Well, serves you right. I did want to come alone.”

He rested his hand on his chest over hers. She liked the solid way his heartbeat felt under her palm, the way his chest vibrated with suppressed laughter.

Shaking his head, he said, “I’d rather face the loss of my career than Tula Baker after I allowed her granddaughter to collapse alone in the wilderness.”

Glory cocked her head and pressed her lips together as if considering. Reluctantly, she pulled her hand away from his. “Can’t say that I blame you.” She got to her feet, offering a hand to pull him up.

Once standing, he swiped the dust from his bare elbows.

“Here, turn around,” Glory said. She brushed the worst of the dirt off his back. There was a scrape on his left elbow where the blood was gathering just under the skin. She cringed. “Does that hurt?”

“What?” He lifted the arm she was touching and glanced at his elbow. “Didn’t even notice it.”

Glory said, with an incredulous shake of the head, “
Heroes
.”

He ignored her, stepped past, and started to climb the rocks. Having learned her lesson, she let him lead. Once at the top, he motioned for her to follow. She did, carefully. When she was ready to lever her weight over the ledge, he reached down and grabbed her hand with one of his and her forearm with his other, lifting her easily to stand beside him.

He gave her a cocky look and said, “That’s probably how Tula does it . . . asks for a little help when she needs it.”

Glory shot him a dubious look. “And I thought you knew my grandmother.” She pushed past him and continued upward toward Blue Falls.

The little scene at the first rock climb had sufficiently broken her pride, at least temporarily. Even though the next climb was easier, she let Eric take the lead.

As they rounded the last curve and entered the draw, although Blue Falls was still out of sight, Glory could hear the shimmering whisper of the water. It struck her senses like a fair tropical breeze might soothe a freezing woman. She halted in midstep, closed her eyes, and let it wash over her.

“Something wrong?” Eric asked from behind.

She drew in a deep breath that smelled of clean water and lush vegetation. “This is the first thing that’s seemed right since I got back.”

He took another step, until he was standing right at her back.

“Hear it?” she whispered.

He held himself still for a long moment. “The falls?” he asked quietly.

A relaxed smile came to her face. “The magic.”

His hand came to rest on her shoulder. His voice was very close to her ear when he whispered, “Now I understand why you wanted to come alone.”

She opened her eyes and turned to face him, surprised. She didn’t have words to explain what this place meant to her, but apparently she didn’t need them with Eric. He knew, understood fully; she could see it in the depths of his eyes.

For a long moment, she stood there, listening to the distant falls, looking into his eyes and she felt . . . calm. For the first time in nearly two years, she felt calm. It startled her to realize it. She didn’t know which was more disturbing—the fact that he evoked such a feeling, or that she had gone this long and fooled herself into thinking her insides were no longer a buzzing knot of tension.

His hand left her shoulder and cupped her cheek. “Do you want me to wait here for you?”

Tenderness washed over her. For all of her initial resentment at his intrusion, it suddenly seemed right that he be here. She shook her head. “Somehow, I think you need this place as much as I do.”

The muscles in his throat worked, as if he was choking down his own emotions. His gaze held hers as he leaned closer and his hand left her cheek and slid behind her neck.

He’s going to kiss me.
Her breath caught in her chest as she realized how much she wanted him to.

At the last second, as she readied her lips to meet his, he dipped his head to the side and brushed the lightest of kisses on her cheek, near the corner of her mouth. Then he rested his forehead against hers and closed his eyes. His whispered “Thank you” was barely audible.

Glory took his hand and led him toward her sacred place, to the healing magic of Blue Falls Pond.

The dew of the mists reached her just before the falls came into view. Glory was tempted to close her eyes and have Eric lead her the last few yards, so she could be standing beside the rippling pond when her gaze first fell on the waterfall. But she kept walking.

When the falls came into view, it seemed as if there was a shaft of light from heaven shining directly on it. Even as magical as this place was, Glory knew it was simply the luck of timing. The sun was at the perfect angle, sending a bright ray through a small opening in the heavy green canopy overhead. The water looked like millions of diamonds cascading over the twenty-foot drop. An arc of rainbow colors showed in the halo mist surrounding the falls.

As waterfalls go, Blue Falls wasn’t large. Although the drop was significant, the cataract was only about four feet wide where it spilled over the top and tumbled to Blue Falls Pond below. And the pond itself was an anomaly, an unusually deep bowl in the rocks and gravel that formed a perfect swimming hole before the water hurried on down the mountain. As with most mountain water, it was crystal clear and very cool.

Glory stood in a near trance watching the play of light on moving water.

Eric moved quietly away from her. She sensed his movement, but she didn’t stir; grateful for his consideration of her privacy in this moment.

Before long, she felt his absence, a sensation both surprising and satisfying. She’d wanted to come here for comfort, solitude. But she’d also known the potential for a slide into depression, a reluctance to return to the hollow and reality. Eric saved her from that. She was able to draw comfort from this place, yet she yearned to have him close, too.

As these feelings settled into a sort of order, she looked around and saw him sitting on a large boulder at the water’s edge. He had his feet planted with his knees drawn up and his arms resting on them. He looked as if he was deep in thought.

She went to sit beside him.

When he looked at her, his serious gaze told her he’d been buried in his own problems, using the calm here to help him find his way through them. For a moment she felt rude in her intrusion, not nearly as considerate of him as he’d been of her. But he didn’t seem disturbed by her nearness. He gave her a ghost of a smile before he looked back at the falls.

His voice was hollow when he said, “There’s something broken inside my son.”

Glory was surprised to realize that for the past hour she’d forgotten that he was a father. And as unsuspecting as she’d been about his topic of consideration, it should not have surprised her. This was a place to draw out your most troubling thoughts for examination. What could be more worrisome than a problem with a child? Even so, Glory wasn’t sure she was comfortable talking about Scott. Her own need to steer clear of the child still baffled her. But there was something in Eric’s voice that touched her in a place she’d thought was dead.

“Sometimes I think the same thing about me,” she said. Maybe that was the explanation for her avoidance of Scott; he mirrored her own detachment.

Suddenly she was sorry she’d said anything. Eric wanted to talk about his son; she didn’t need to turn the focus on herself.

Eric gave her a sideways glance. His lids remained lowered, as if he worried he might scare her away if he looked at her too directly. “How so?”

Damn
. She drew a deep breath. “I see how Scott seems so . . . disconnected. I can understand that.” She folded her hands together. “That’s how I felt those first weeks after the fire. I’d go through the day, do normal things, yet not feel like I actually
belonged
to what was happening.” She paused, trying to decide how deeply she wanted to wade in these waters. “Has he always been like this?”

He rubbed his forehead. “It’s hard for me to tell, exactly. I don’t remember thinking there was anything out of the ordinary about him as an infant. But I can’t tell you exactly when I noticed a change.” He blew out a long breath. “It’s like once something glaring happens, I can look back and see lots of little things that probably were clues. Like, hindsight, you know?”

In that instant his words teased her memory. She felt as if there was something she wanted to say, wanted to recall. But it remained just out of reach, like a word you just can’t find, no matter how hard you try to recall it.
Clues and hindsight. It had to do with hindsight.

But Eric went on, and she let it go. “Scott started saying words when he should have—maybe even earlier. Jill’s mother said he was talking early, anyway. But one day I realized I hadn’t heard any new words for a long while, but couldn’t tell you when they stopped coming.” He chewed his lip for a moment, as if debating how much to confide. “It’s hard . . . with Jill and I divorced . . . I see him every week, but I don’t see him every day. I don’t know if that would make a difference.”