The Way Home (17 page)

Cal saw the emotions sweep over Amy's face—first shock, followed in succession by confusion, disbelief, hurt and, finally, resistance. His gut clenched, and he suddenly found it difficult to breathe. Appar
ently his closing argument had been unconvincing, though he'd labored over it far longer than any he'd ever prepared for the courtroom. As he watched, her eyes slowly filled with tears, and his throat tightened painfully. He sensed her closing down, slipping away, and he felt powerless to stop it.

Slowly he reached over and gently touched her cheek. “I can't say this is the reaction I was praying for,” he admitted, his voice catching. “I always hoped, whenever I finally proposed to the woman I loved, that she'd be happy, not sad.”

“Oh, Cal.” Amy's voice was choked, as well. “I—I am happy. And honored. But I had no idea you were thinking about making such a radical change in your life. Why didn't you say something about this sooner? At least give me a clue about what you were considering?”

It was a valid question. And she deserved an honest answer. “For one thing, I wasn't sure myself,” he said slowly. “I've been struggling with this for a long time. Years, actually. I've never felt at home in the city, Amy. I've tried to make it work, but the only place I'm really happy is in the mountains. I put off this decision longer than I should have, because I didn't want to disappoint Dad. And then, just when I finally got to the point of deciding that I had to follow my heart, you came along. I know I should have shared this with you sooner, but I was afraid of what it would mean to us. I guess I hoped that if I waited long enough, if we fell in love, we'd find a way to make this work.”

“But how?” she asked helplessly. “What would I do? And what about
your
career?”

“I'll still practice law part-time. And I've been offered a job with the National Parks Service as a ranger. I know it doesn't have the prestige of law, but it's what I've always wanted to do. And you've said more than once that you're not altogether happy with your job, that you'd like to find a way to do more feature and issues reporting. I thought you might be open to exploring that.”

Amy stared at him incredulously. “In the mountains? My contacts are all here, Cal. In this business, the ‘out of sight, out of mind' adage really holds true.”

“I'm sure we can find a way to make this work, Amy.” There was a pleading tone in his voice, but he didn't care. “I'd stay in the city if I could, but I feel like I'm dying a little more each day in this concrete jungle. And I can't live someone else's dream any longer.”

“Yet you want me to live yours.”

Her blunt comment jolted him, and he frowned. “That's not true.”

“Yes, it is. You're asking me to give up everything and follow
your
dream.”

“No, I'm not. You're too good at what you do to stop doing it. I'm just asking for some compromises.”

“It sounds to me like all the compromises are on my side.” The hurt in her eyes had given way to anger, and her voice was taut. She rose and walked across the room, clearly agitated. When she turned to him, two bright spots of color burned in her cheeks
and she wrapped her arms around herself in an almost protective gesture. “I thought I knew you pretty well, Cal. But I was wrong. You let me fall in love with you, knowing all along how I felt about my work, knowing that you were thinking of leaving the city, knowing how difficult it would be for me to continue in my profession—in any capacity—in the middle of nowhere. You weren't honest with me, and that was wrong.”

He couldn't dispute her accusation. He'd always known that withholding that vital piece of information from Amy was a calculated risk, and now he realized just how serious a mistake he had made. Slowly he rose and walked toward her. Her body language clearly said “Back off,” and so he stopped a couple of feet away from her.

“I'm sorry,” he said quietly. “You're right. I should have shared this with you sooner. I was just so afraid of losing you.”

Amy turned away, fighting to keep her tears at bay. She didn't want to cry in front of Cal, didn't want to feel his comforting arms around her. That would make it too easy to give in, to offer to make sacrifices she'd later regret.

“What if I said I'd stay here?”

His quiet voice, touched with desperation, tore at her heart, and she choked back a sob. “After telling me you're dying a little bit more in the city every day, do you really think I could live with myself if I let you do that?”

Amy walked to the window and stared out, oblivious to the city lights twinkling below. Her world was
falling apart, and she saw no way to hold it together. Even if they found a way to accommodate each other's needs, the pain would remain. She felt betrayed and used and disillusioned. Love was built on trust, and Cal hadn't trusted her with the greatest secret of his heart. He hadn't shared his dreams. Amy wasn't sure if the outcome would have been any different if he'd opened up to her sooner, but at least they could have talked it through, maybe come to some understanding. As it was, he'd thrown the proposal and announcement on her all at once, linking them inexorably. The implication was clear: If you accept one, you must accept the other. And she couldn't do that.

Slowly she turned back to him. The pain in his eyes almost did her in, but she steeled herself to it, and when she spoke, her voice was surprisingly steady.

“You've made your decision, Cal. Without consulting me. You have your life set up exactly the way you want it, and I'm happy for you. But it's not the life I want. You're asking me to give up my dreams, just like your father did with you. I thought you understood how important my work is to me. You may be able to be a part-time lawyer in the mountains, but I can't be a part-time journalist, at least not doing the kind of stories I want to do. Sure, maybe I could get hired to read the news on a local station. But that's not good enough, Cal. I have more to offer than that.”

Cal wanted to pull her into his arms, into a world where only they existed, unencumbered by conflicts and complications. But love didn't happen in a vacuum. And the real world wasn't going to go away.
He'd hoped their love would be strong enough to overcome their differences. But he'd been wrong. Wrong to think love could solve all problems, and wrong to expect Amy to so easily accommodate his dreams. Somehow, somewhere along the way, he realized he'd discounted her dreams. He hadn't meant to do that, and her resentment was valid. But one of them had to give, and much as he loved her, he couldn't give any more. He needed to go back to the mountains as badly as he needed air to breathe. The trouble was, he needed Amy, too.

Cal raked his fingers through his hair, silently berating himself for how badly he'd handled the whole situation. When his gaze met hers once again, it was filled with love and apology. “I know I've hurt you, Amy. I should have brought all this up a long time ago. But I was so afraid of losing you. Can we at least talk about it?”

She shook her head. “I don't think we have anything to talk about. There's no way to make this work, Cal.”

He looked at her for a moment in silence, and when he spoke, his voice rang with quiet sincerity and an intensity that came right from the soul. “I love you, Amy.”

At the simple, heartfelt statement, she drew a ragged breath and turned away, blinking back her tears. “Trust is part of love, Cal. So is understanding. And respect.”

Cal looked at Amy's rigid back, realized just how deeply he'd hurt her and knew that there was nothing else he could do at the moment. He walked back to
the coffee table and picked up the ring box, weighing it in his hand before slipping it into his pocket.

“I'll call you,” he said.

“It might be better if you don't.”

The finality in her tone made his stomach clench painfully. He didn't want to leave, not like this, but she was giving him no choice. Slowly he walked toward the door, hoping that she would stop him. But when he looked back, she was still turned away, her posture stiff and unyielding. It was clear to him that this was one problem he couldn't solve by himself. And so, as he let himself out, he turned to a greater power.

Lord, please help me,
he prayed silently.
I love Amy. I thought her priorities were changing, that she could be happy in the mountains, but obviously I was wrong. Maybe she can only be happy here, in the city, working in that dog-eat-dog business. But I can't. And I've sacrificed my own needs for so long. Do I have to continue to do that in order to have the woman I love? And wouldn't I eventually resent her if I did? Lord, I don't want to be selfish. Please help us find a way to make this work that doesn't require either of us to give up our dreams. I know that's a large order, but I also believe that nothing is impossible with You. So please, Lord, help me find a solution. Because I don't want to lose this once-in-a-lifetime woman.

A
my stared at the photo of the mountain meadow, as she did most mornings while she sipped her tea. It would be pretty there this time of year, she reflected wistfully, with the leaves touched by the russet tones of autumn and the sky most likely a clear, cobalt blue. Almost three months had elapsed since she'd last seen Cal. Three long, lonely months filled with questions and doubts. Over and over she had asked herself if she'd been wrong to turn down his proposal. And always her heart said yes. Called her a fool. Berated her for throwing away the gift of such a special man's love. But the yearnings of her heart were overridden by the strident voice of pride, which wouldn't let her forget his seemingly cavalier dismissal of her dreams. And by logic, which told her that after investing so much time and energy in her career, she couldn't change course midstream. And by hurt. Cal's unwillingness to trust her with his own dreams still stung.
And finally by fear. Fear that kept her clinging tightly to the lifeline of her job, which, as she knew, played far too large a role in helping define her life and give it value.

Amy fingered the photo, then picked up the only other physical evidence of Cal's presence in her life—the card that had been attached to the flowers he'd sent after their first date. Four photos and a tiny florist card. That was it. There were no other lingering reminders of Cal in her life.

Except for the memories.

Ah, the memories. Of their initial, unfriendly meeting on the courthouse steps. Of their first “date,” strained in the beginning, then cordial. Of their warm and friendly encounter at Saint Vincent's. Of her emergency room visit, and Cal's touching care and concern. Of their trip to the mountains, when they had at last acknowledged their growing feelings for each other. Of the subsequent development of their romance and the glow it had added to her life. And finally, of their painful and heart-wrenching breakup.

Amy sighed and glanced at the phone, knowing that she had only to pick up the receiver and dial Cal's number to bridge the impasse between them. He'd told her that on one of the many messages he'd left, his mellow voice playing havoc with her tattered emotions. “I'm here if you ever change your mind, Amy,” he'd said. “I still love you. I always will. But I won't force the issue. I only want you to come if it's what you want.”

His calls had tapered off lately, and she couldn't
blame him for cutting back, especially given her total lack of response. He'd made his position clear, laid his feelings on the table for her to accept or reject, and now the ball was in her court.

Trouble was, she didn't know what to do with it.

What she
did
know was that she'd changed over the past few months. She'd begun to find the hustle and noise and impersonal nature of the city less and less appealing. She'd begun to look at her job with an increasingly jaded eye, her earlier disillusionment fed by several less-than-plum assignments that made her realize what a fickle business the daily news game was. More than a few times, she'd found herself wishing for the quiet, serene beauty of the mountains. And always she found herself longing for Cal—for his gentle touch, his caring ways, his ability to make her laugh one moment and send her pulse skyrocketing the next.

Amy had always known that a proposal from Cal would require her to modify her lifestyle. And she'd been prepared to do that. Had, in fact, found that idea more and more appealing. She'd also been more than willing to cut back on work, even if that meant it would take her a little longer to reach her goals. What she
hadn't
been prepared to do was pack up her entire life, move to the mountains and strike out in an entirely new career direction. That kind of change seemed far too abrupt and permanent—and it scared her.

And yet…she missed Cal. Desperately. It was as if the sun had dimmed since he'd left, casting a dark shadow on her world. She'd tried praying about the
situation, but so far, no guidance had been offered. She felt in limbo, alone and confused. Even Kate hadn't been much help. Her sister had been sympathetic, of course, and supportive, but Amy knew that Kate didn't really understand. For her, love always came first, no matter the sacrifice. And maybe she was right. Maybe if love didn't come first, it wasn't strong enough to survive the test of time.

Yet she
did
love Cal, Amy cried silently. With all her heart. But couldn't she also love her work? Why did it have to be either/or? She didn't want to give up doing broadcast work that made a difference, that touched and improved people's lives. Like the Appalachia piece. Good, solid reporting that combined feature and issues work in a seamless way that increased awareness about a serious economic problem under the guise of an entertaining personality profile. In fact, that piece had been nominated for a local Emmy. It was a career coup, one she'd always yearned for, and yet she hadn't been able to work up much enthusiasm about it, even with the awards dinner now only hours away. Somehow, without Cal to share it with, the honor lost some of its luster.

With a sigh, Amy rose and emptied the dregs of her tea into the sink. Unfortunately, her doubts and confusion couldn't be so easily washed away, she thought resignedly. Why did life always present such difficult choices? Cal had suggested that the choice didn't have to be that difficult, that she could have both, but she'd denied it. Told him that a move to the mountains would require tremendous compromises on her part. But was that really true? she suddenly won
dered. Certainly, it would require
changes.
But a change was only a compromise if it was done to make someone else happy. If freely chosen, it was no longer a compromise.

Amy frowned as she considered that new insight, which put a different slant on the whole situation. Maybe, if she approached it from that perspective, she might be able to find a way to work things out.

It was certainly worth some deliberation, she resolved, as she slung her purse over her shoulder and headed out the door. Because the thought of spending the rest of her life without Cal was even more scary than making a major career change.

 

“And the winner is…Amy Winters, for ‘Appalachia: A World Apart.'”

The ballroom erupted in applause, and Amy let her breath out slowly. She'd done it! She'd actually done it! The coveted Emmy was hers. Okay, so the presenter had said her name wrong, adding an
s
to Winter. What did he know? She was just one more name on a long list to him. As she was to most of the people in the room, she thought, as she rose and made her way to the front.

Amy took the statuette, stepped to the microphone and looked out on the sea of mostly unfamiliar faces. The room was filled with strangers who didn't really care about how much this honor meant to her, she realized, who wouldn't care, in fact, if she got hit by a car while going home tonight. The people who did and would care, and the one face that meant the most to her, were absent. And without those people to share
this moment with, the victory was less sweet, she acknowledged with a poignant pang.

As these realizations swept over her, she took a deep breath and forced herself to concentrate on remembering the short speech she'd prepared in case she won.

“As all of you know, the Emmy is one of the highest honors in our profession. So I'm deeply grateful to have been chosen for this award. At the same time, I'm also grateful to have the opportunity to work on stories like this, which have the potential to make life better for so many people. That's the real reward in this business. I think we often get so involved in the day-to-day reporting that we lose sight of the bigger picture, of the tremendous potential for good that our medium offers. And I think it's our responsibility to exploit that potential whenever possible.”

Amy paused. The presenter was fidgeting with a piece of paper, clearly eager to move on to the next award. The audience members looked slightly bored, their eyes glazed by too many speeches and too much wine. At least the bigwigs from her station were smiling at her politely from their table in front. But only because the Emmy would generate more viewers for their station and thereby increase commercial revenues, she concluded cynically.

Suddenly Amy thought of Tony Jackson in Knoxville. There was a man she could admire. His Christian station was in business for the message, not the money. He was committed to doing good work that made a difference in people's lives. The kind of
work she liked to do. To him, the money was secondary.

As Amy quickly wrapped up her comments and returned to her table, she felt as if a burden had been lifted from her shoulders. In an instant her doubts and confusion were resolved, and the solution to her dilemma had become clear.

She looked at the statuette in her hand. It was a career milestone, certainly. But more importantly, it was a turning point. Because now she knew exactly what she was going to do.

 

Cal propped one shoulder against the porch railing and took a sip of his coffee. Autumn was one of his favorite times in the mountains, and he breathed deeply of the fresh, clean scent. There was a nip in the early-November air, and the morning mist still hung over the field in front of the cabin, giving the scene an ethereal beauty. The leaves were a blaze of color on the hillsides, scarlets and oranges and yellows intermingled on a green background, creating a colorful tapestry.

He turned his gaze to the cabin and let it move slowly over the golden logs, still fresh and raw. He'd only moved in a few days ago, but already it felt like home. His part-time law practice was going well, and his job as a ranger was everything he'd hoped it would be. Best of all, he had plenty of opportunity to enjoy the mountains he loved.

Cal knew he was blessed. True, he'd spent a lot of years away from this place, but he'd done good, worthwhile work and, in the end, his time in the city
had bought him his dream. He'd invested just about every penny he'd saved in this land and the cabin, but it had been worth it. His needs were simple. And he already had everything he wanted.

Almost.

Cal sighed. His separation from Amy hadn't dimmed his love for her, nor had it eased the ache in his heart. He longed for her with an intensity that produced an almost physical pain. He'd replayed their last conversation over and over in his mind, and each time he felt a renewed pang of regret. She had been right to be deeply hurt by his error of omission. He
should
have told her about his dreams much sooner, just as she'd pointed out. And he
had
discounted
her
dreams. He'd placed her in a position of choosing him or her career, assuming that if she loved him enough, she'd be willing to follow him to the mountains. But he now realized just what a sacrifice he'd asked of her. He didn't doubt her love. She'd demonstrated it to him on every level. And she'd been honest in her feelings and about her priorities. He'd simply chosen to overlook a few key things.

Such as her talent. And her independence. And all the hard work she'd put into her career. And just how difficult it would be for her to continue doing the work she loved in such a remote location.

Bottom line, he'd made some bad mistakes.

He'd also realized something else during these past three months. Much as he loved the mountains, much as they filled a real need in his soul, they couldn't take the place of Amy's love. And so he'd reached a decision. It wasn't the ideal solution from his stand
point, but at least it might be a way around the impasse they seemed to have reached.

Cal took another sip of coffee as he listened to the sound of the nearby stream. It always reminded him of the day he and Amy had hiked to the waterfall, when they'd first acknowledged their feelings for one another. In his mind he could see her just as she'd looked on that day, her eyes tender and filled with longing. He recalled the breathless excitement of their first kiss and remembered the feel of her soft, yielding body in his arms. A surge of desire shot through him, and he steadied his cup with both hands as he drew a deep breath. He'd thought by now that the intensity of his feelings would subside, that the attraction would wane, but just the opposite had occurred. She filled every waking thought, not to mention his dreams, and his need for her grew day by day.

Cal stared out over the meadow, and for just a moment he could almost see her walking up the gravel road to his house, out of the mist, her hair caressed by the gentle breeze, striding with that long, loose-limbed grace that was so much a part of her. It was a scene he imagined every day. Except…

Cal frowned and straightened up. He
wasn't
imagining it! Amy
was
walking up his drive! His heart stopped, then raced on, and he reached out to the support beam, grasping it with a white-knuckled grip. Dear Lord, was he going crazy? Or could this be real?

She didn't seem to be aware of his presence, half-hidden as he was by the morning shadows under the
porch, until she was less than twenty feet away. When their gazes did connect, her step faltered and she stopped.

“Amy?” The word came out hoarsely, half question, half incredulous statement.

Slowly she moved forward again, until she was only a few feet away. “Hello, Cal. I hope you don't mind an early-morning visitor.” Her words were choppy, and there was a touch of uncertainty in her voice.

His first instinct was to reach out and pull her into his arms, but he hadn't heard from her in three months and he wasn't about to make another mistake by jumping to conclusions. So, with great effort, he restrained himself. “What are you doing here?” he asked cautiously.

Amy tried to smile, but couldn't quite pull it off. “Applying for a job.”

He gave her blank look. “What?”

Amy hadn't been sure what reaction to expect from Cal after all this time, but she'd hoped at least for warmth. Maybe more. Instead, he seemed distant. But she wasn't turning around now, even if her stomach was tied in knots and her legs were shaking so badly she was afraid they wouldn't support her weight.