Touching Stars (48 page)

In the distance, he saw the bridge swaying over the river. Once the lightning got closer and the worst of the storm closed in on him, the suspension bridge wouldn’t be safe, either. He had to get there and cross, and he had to do it now.

He didn’t move; he was paralyzed. He stood motionless in the rain and remembered a night in Afghanistan, a night when he had hovered on a ledge above an endless chasm and tried to make peace with his impending death. That night he had imagined many things, but never this. He wondered if the universe felt cheated and wanted another crack at him. Or perhaps this was a test. Face his greatest fear, conquer it, and he would be ready for almost anything again.

He told himself that he could change his mind, but he had to at least give the footbridge a chance. He forced himself to put one foot in front of the other, taking care to watch where he was stepping, until he reached the base of the bridge. He looked up and immediately suffered an attack of vertigo. He gripped the bottom of the railing and closed his eyes.

He reminded himself that no matter how he felt, he wasn’t falling. He was standing on the riverbank, a bank that would soon be completely underwater. But he was not falling.

He opened his eyes and counted steps. There were twelve up to the bridge, and the railing was wide and sturdy. Twelve steps, his own personal recovery program. Then he would be on the bridge, putting one foot in front of the other. When he and Gayle had first moved to the Valley, he had crossed this bridge a dozen times for the sheer novelty of it. Once, when he and Gayle were crossing together, he had stood in the middle and rattled the sides to make it swing. She had squealed and threatened him. Laughing, he had chased her back to the other side.

Now he couldn’t even climb the steps.

The sky blazed with another streak of lightning. He had no time to gather courage. This had to be done and done now. He took the first step, then the second. He thought he was swaying; he knew his knees were shaking. He took the next step, then the next. He didn’t look any farther down than his feet. He forced the right one onto the next step, the left to the step above that. He gripped the railing and told himself that even if his knees gave way, his hands would keep him safe.

He was halfway up. If he could get this far, he could manage the same number again. Then, of course, he would be on the bridge. Not only was the structure swinging in the wind, but he remembered too well the way it had once felt under his feet. The walkway moved and dipped even without the wind. Nothing about the bridge was fixed.

But even if he fell, he would not go over the side. The bridge was encased in wire. He could pick himself up and try again. Hell, he could crawl if he had to, although somehow that seemed more dangerous.

He took two more steps, rested, then two more. He had two more to go and he would be as high as he needed to be.

Then he looked down. Below him, the river was white with foam, a turbulent, angry ribbon carrying everything it touched along with it. This was not the same body of water Dillon had jumped in to save little Reese. Even the strongest swimmer would risk drowning in this.

He swayed and closed his eyes. “You can do this, Fortman.” In a moment he opened them again just as lightning split the sky. The storm was coming right at him. He had to cross and cross now.

“Dad!”

For a moment he thought he’d imagined Dillon’s voice. Dillon was back at the inn with Travis and his mother. But even as he told himself Dillon was home safe, his son materialized on the other end of the bridge.

“Come on, Dad! You’ve got to get out of here!”

Eric gripped the railing. “What are you doing here?”

Dillon started toward him. “Come on, Dad. You can do it.”

Eric didn’t waste more time on questions. “Go home. Get off this bridge right now.”

“Not until you get across!” Dillon was in the middle now. Eric couldn’t see anybody behind him. He realized Gayle didn’t know their son had come back for him. Gayle and probably Travis were seeing to Noah’s arm. And while they were safely busy, Dillon had simply vanished back into the storm.

Dillon was three-quarters of the way across now. The bridge was not that long. The river was not that wide. Dillon stretched out his hand. “Come on, Dad. You can do it, I’ll help you. Just like you helped me.”

Eric’s eyes filled with tears. Two more steps, then he would be on the bridge. Dillon’s hand was almost in reach. Eric glanced down and saw water lapping at the stairs, and just beyond that, he saw the angry river.

Then he looked up and saw his bedraggled, rebellious son, eyes wide with concern, stretching out his hand. “Come on, Dad!”

Eric wasn’t sure which convinced him: fear for his son’s safety, or the rush of love and gratitude when he saw that slender hand reaching toward him to offer support.

Eric climbed the final two steps, then stretched his own hand toward Dillon’s. Dillon took it; then carefully, slowly, they crossed the swinging bridge together.

“I
don’t know whether to spank you or hug you.” Showered and in dry clothes, Eric sat on the carriage-house sofa beside his youngest son. But to show his choice, he slung his arm over Dillon’s shoulders and pulled him closer for a moment.

“Well, I’m not going to be so easy on you.” Gayle refused to smile at Dillon. “The next time you deliberately disobey your father or me, kiddo, it’s not going to end with a hug. I’m always looking for a galley slave.”

“I just knew Dad needed help. Nobody gives me enough credit.”

Eric caught Gayle’s eye and saw she was struggling hard to be the bad cop. He added what support he could. “Credit or not, you’re going to listen.”

“I know. I know.” Dillon aimed his most affable grin at his mother. “But can you get over it this time so we can look in the box?”

The lockbox sat on the table. Like his son, a shaken but intact Eric was anxious to open it, but they had promised to wait for Travis and Noah, who had gone to retrieve Gayle’s truck. Noah’s arm was freshly bandaged, and Gayle—who had apparently gotten good at this over the years—had determined it would heal without stitches.

The door opened with a bang, and the missing duo ran inside. Gayle handed them towels and hung up their rain gear. Noah went to his room to change, and Gayle provided Travis with a dry T-shirt and a pair of Jared’s shorts.

Finally everyone was seated around the table. Gayle’s parents hoped to fly out of D.C. in the afternoon if the storm passed through in time and had already left for the airport. The other guests were in Paula’s capable hands. She was making popcorn and cocoa, and had promised to preside over a showing of
Shenandoah
, with Jimmy Stewart.

No one would disturb them.

“Who does the honors?” Eric asked.

“You.” Travis leaned over and handed the box to Eric. “You’re the one who risked your life to save it.”

“That would be an exaggeration, even if it felt like it when I was crossing that bridge.”

“Close enough. The lock’s rusted through. It should give with a discreet yank. I’ll look away.”

Eric felt honored. He followed Travis’s advice and jerked. The lock gave in his hand. “I guess this doesn’t bode well for the contents.”

“No guarantees.”

Now that the time had come, Eric hesitated. “Remember when Geraldo opened Capone’s vault?”

The boys looked blank until Gayle explained. “Geraldo Rivera is a television journalist, like your father.”

“Not quite,” Eric protested.

“Well, he’s not quite as flashy as your father.” Gayle laughed at Eric’s expression. “Anyway, back before you were born, a station in Chicago announced they were going to unseal a secret vault that had supposedly belonged to Al Capone. Geraldo publicized the heck out of it. People thought there might be millions locked inside, maybe jewels, skeletons, who knows. They opened it on live television in front of a huge audience.”

“And there was nothing in it except a couple of empty bottles,” Eric said.

Noah was clearly not impressed with any similarities. “Why would anybody go to all that trouble to hide an
empty
lockbox?”

“Well, if it’s empty, we can speculate. But let’s see.” Eric pried the top loose with his fingers. The rust didn’t help, and for a moment he wasn’t sure he could open it without destroying the box. Then the pieces popped apart.

The box wasn’t empty. Inside was a small package wrapped in oilcloth and tied with string. Eric knew his duty. He’d opened the box, but this was Travis’s find. He handed the package to him.

Travis’s eyes met his. Understanding passed between them. They had been forced into becoming a team to rescue the lockbox. In years to come, they might well need to be a team again. There were three boys who counted on both of them.

Travis took out a pocketknife and cut the string. Then, carefully, he unwrapped the folds of oilcloth.

Everybody leaned over to see what he had uncovered.

“A book!” Dillon looked up. “Like the one in our play?”

“It’s wet. And it’s probably been wet more than a few times,” Travis said.

Eric saw that the cover was leather, but it was shredding under Travis’s fingers. There was an unmistakeable odor of mildew, and a powdery green mold bloomed in the leather cracks. If the volume had ever borne a title, there was no hint of one now.

“Can you open it?” he asked Travis.

Travis looked torn; then, carefully, he turned back what was left of the cover.

Everyone gathered closer. Travis shook his head. “There was writing on the flyleaf, but the ink is a blur. It bled into the page.”

“Can you tell anything?’

“I think that’s a
B.
” Dillon pointed to what was clearly a signature of some kind. “Look, it
is
a
B.
”

But even as they all craned their necks to examine the writing, the latest deluge sealed the signature’s fate. As they watched, what was left bled into the paper and joined the other smears of ink. Had there ever been a chance of comparing this handwriting to any on record from John Wilkes Booth, it had disappeared forever.

“Is the book Shakespeare?” Gayle asked.

Travis turned the page and read the title. “The sonnets.” He squinted at the small print. “Looks like it was printed in…1858.”

Everyone was silent until Dillon spoke. “In the play, Blackjack told Robby he marked one of the poems with a leather lace. Did Miss Webster make that up?”

“No, that was the story I was told.” Travis held up the book and peered at the top edges. Then he carefully opened the pages, and there, acting as a bookmark, were the remnants of a thin strip of leather.

“Can you read it?” Gayle asked.

“Not easily. It’s in rough shape.” Travis held the pages closer to his face. “It looks like this is number seventy-two.”

“I can look it up online,” Noah volunteered.

Gayle got up. “No, I have the sonnets. I’ll get them.”

“You read Shakespeare? For fun?” Dillon asked the question as if his mother had admitted to conjugating Latin verbs in her downtime.

“Not until recently.” A moment later, she came back with a paperback volume. “I ordered this after your play was finished. I’ve been wondering which sonnet Blackjack marked. I thought it might be fun to read them all together and try to figure it out.”

She found the correct page. “Shall I read it?”

“Please,” Eric said.

Gayle cleared her throat.

She looked up and shook her head. “Wow.”

For a moment they sat in silence.

Noah was the first to speak. “We’re never going to know who Blackjack was, are we?”

Gayle closed the book. “A man with deep regrets. And I bet that’s all Miranda was ever meant to know.”

F
or the next few days, Gayle didn’t avoid Eric as much as she allowed everything else in their busy lives to take precedence. Now that archaeology camp was over, Eric had three carpenter’s helpers, and together the Fortman men made substantial headway on the Star Garden suite, coming back in the evenings sweaty and dirty, but, from all appearances, in harmony. Gayle stayed away from the renovations for any number of reasons, but at the top was a desire to let the guys have their fun without interference.

She spent time before the trip to Richmond catching up on all the things she had put aside during her stint as camp caterer. Most important, on Sam’s recommendation, she hired a man who had participated in his prison ministry to cook breakfast at the inn five mornings a week. Gabe was intelligent and eager to get his life back on track. Just as important, he was a fabulous cook. So far the match was made in heaven, and she was afraid she could never go back to cooking breakfast full-time again.

On Tuesday the quilters put the final stitches in the breathtaking Touching Stars quilt. Helen insisted that Noah and Eric be there to help the women remove it from the frame. And when the quilt was off, she turned it over and told both of them to sign their names on the label alongside the names of all the members of the SCC Bee. Then she gave each of them a certificate of honorary membership.

Helen had taken the quilt home to bind it, but she promised it would be ready to hang next week.

Nothing could be put off forever. And late Wednesday afternoon, after the family came back from Richmond, where they watched Jared recite his oath of enlistment, Gayle asked Eric if he would like to take a walk along the river.

Eric looked as exhausted as she felt, but she hoped talking would make them both feel better.

They met on the terrace and walked silently down toward the water. The banks on both sides were still lined with debris. The flood had taken its toll on property, but the locals were philosophical. There had been worse, and there had been better. No one had died, and the water had receded quickly. Once the water was down, Travis had called to say that although there was substantial erosion, enough of the site was intact that, barring more floods between now and next summer, the camp could dig there again.

“How are you feeling?” Eric asked, when they reached the river. “I guess it went well today. Jared was certainly proud.”

“I probably feel the way every mother of a recruit feels these days. But when I stood there, I understood exactly what Miranda went through when she watched Lewis riding off to war.”

“But you weren’t like Miranda. You supported him.” He paused. “We both did.”

“He’ll be a marine to be proud of, the kind our country always needs.”

“I hope he doesn’t make the military his career. I don’t know if my heart will hold up that long. It’s going to be lodged in my throat until he’s a civilian again.”

“One day at a time.” She pointed to their right. “Let’s go this way. There’s more of a path.”

They walked for a distance before he spoke. “I remember plowing this trail the first time. I rented a tractor and nearly drove into the river.”

“You left your mark on the inn.” Gayle stopped and looked up at him. “And on me. But, Eric, this isn’t where you belong. It never was. And I think we both know
I’m
not the woman you belong with.”

He stopped, too. Then he took her hand and kissed it before he tucked it tighter into his. They strolled a little farther, like the old friends they were, and Gayle knew that this gesture of friendship was as much an acknowledgment of the truth as anything he could have said.

“What made you decide that?” he asked after a while.

“Watching you when the site was flooding. It was the first time since you came back to the inn that you really seemed like the old Eric. You glowed. You vibrated with energy. Your eyes danced with excitement. You were the guy we all know and love from our television screens.”

“I guess that felt like old times.”

She squeezed his hand. “I know. I think it’s going to be time very soon for you to go back to your job. Maybe not exactly what you were doing before, but back into the world you love.”

“Gayle, I’m sorry. Again. Forever.”

She stopped and pulled him around to face her. “Don’t be. This is best for both of us, not just you. I’ve been thinking and thinking about it. When we divorced, no matter what we told other people, each of us blamed ourselves. I wanted to be different for you, you wanted to be different for me. But that was never remotely possible.”

“No matter what you might believe now, after all the times and ways I disappointed you, I did try.”

She met his eyes, and her gaze didn’t waver. “We can’t change who we are, and blaming our basic nature is like blaming the sun for shining too brightly or the moon for not shining brightly enough. Our problems weren’t about what we did to each other, they were always about who we are.”

“I guess it’s possible to fail, even when we try our best.”

“And now it’s time to let go of the guilt and the regrets, and let the divorce be final once and for all.”

“Why does that sound so sad?”

She reached into her pocket and pulled out the velveteen pouch that contained her wedding and engagement rings. She put the pouch in his hand and closed his fingers around it.

“It’s sad because we still care about each other. Maybe we even love each other. But I really don’t want to be married to you again. Or anymore. Our marriage is well and truly over.”

He smiled, too, but his expression was sadder still when he opened the pouch and saw what was inside. “I don’t want these.”

“Please take them and do whatever you need to. It would be a help to me.”

He slipped the pouch inside his jacket pocket. “The other night? I wasn’t using you. I really wanted this to work. I guess I was hoping that would be the final proof.”

“It was an odd way to say goodbye, but I realized right away that’s what it was. So we close that door forever and move on. We’ll still be friends. I’ll always wish the very best for you, and I know you’ll do the same.”

She stood on tiptoe and kissed him. Gently and finally. “And now, with no regrets in the way, it’s going to be that much easier to do what’s right for our sons. I hope you’ll always feel good about coming here to spend time with them. You’ll always be welcome.”

“Gayle…” He looked away; then he looked back at her. “About the boys…”

It took her a moment to realize he was asking permission to speak. “What about them?”

“I want them with me.”

For a moment she didn’t understand. “You want to take them on a vacation before school starts?”

“No, I want them with me next year.”

“But how?”

“I think I’m moving to Los Angeles. There’s a job there, a good one, I know I’m ready to do. It means living there for at least the next year and setting up everything. After that I’ll be traveling quite a bit, but next year I’ll be stable and settled, and I can rent a place large enough for all of us.”

“
Both
boys?”

He confirmed with a nod. “At first I thought maybe just Noah. The time left with him is so short. But Dillon’s been shunted to the side too often when he should have been included. I can’t leave him here alone again. Gayle, they both need this. They need a year with me. Maybe I’m not a perfect role model, but I can help them become men. They need an immersion course.”

“But what about school?”

“I called their principal on Monday. We can make arrangements. They can go to school out there or follow lesson plans with me. I can hire tutors for the subjects I don’t remember. Noah can still come back and do his senior year and graduate with his friends, and Dillon will come and settle back in when the year is up. But let me have this time with them now.”

She almost couldn’t imagine it. Her sons, all of them. Gone. The carriage house so empty her footsteps would echo. Her life empty, even with an inn filled with guests.

“Oh, Eric, I don’t know…” She shook her head slowly. “Are you sure?”

“Think of
them.
”

Tears sprang to her eyes. Because this time Eric’s instincts were right. This was exactly what their sons needed. And if they didn’t take the opportunity now, it might never happen.

“Have you talked to them?”

“Vaguely. I couldn’t come right out and ask without consulting you. But both of them are excited about coming to visit me in L.A. And I told them I want to take them to Texas first, to spend some time with their grandparents. I’m hoping we can all mend fences. We’ll see.”

Long moments passed as she struggled, but at last she gave a short nod, because how could that not be a good idea, no matter what came next?

He looked relieved. “I don’t think they’ll have a problem moving in with me for a year, as long as they know they can come back here if it doesn’t seem to be working.”

“You’ll make it work.”

“I intend to give it everything I’ve got.”

“You’ll be careful with them?”

His eyes softened. “I’ll be careful. I promise. Precious cargo.”

“Oh, I’m going to miss them.”

“Of course you are. And you’re even going to miss me a little, although the relief may get you through that part.”

She laughed, even though her eyes were filling with tears. And when he hugged her, she hugged him back. Hard.

Eric took the boys out for an early dinner to talk about next year’s plans. Gayle refused the invitation to join them, knowing that if she were there, her sons would be worried about her and wouldn’t be completely honest. The moment they left, as if on cue, the carriage house grew two sizes larger and every sound echoed to torment her.

She tried to imagine life without teenage boys and simply couldn’t.

She was forcing herself to eat a poached egg and an English muffin when somebody knocked. Glad for the interruption, she opened the door to find Leon, shoulders slumping, on the doorstep. Her heart sank when she saw a duffel bag at his feet.

She opened her arms, and he stepped into them for a long hug.

“Your dad’s off the wagon?” she asked, knowing the answer.

He stepped back. “For a week now.” He straightened his shoulders. He looked as if he had already cried the tears he’d needed to. “Mrs. Fortman, can I come back for good? I’m not going to be able to live there again. It’s not right for him
or
me. If I leave, maybe he’ll go back into treatment and maybe he won’t. But I can’t make him change.”

“Of course you’re welcome here. You’re always welcome. You’re part of our family.”

“I know Jared’s going to be leaving. I figure Noah will want the room over the garage all to himself. He deserves it. I’ll move in with Dillon and—”

“Not to worry. There’ve been some big changes, but you’re going to be the only guy in residence next school year.” She explained the situation.

Leon considered before he nodded gravely. He seemed to understand everything she had and hadn’t said. “You’ve always been there when I needed you. This time, maybe I can be here for you?”

She steeled herself not to cry. “Will you play your music too loud and make me remind you to do your homework? Oh, and leave your dirty socks on the rug every once in a while?”

“Sure, except that socks thing. Nobody should have to touch my socks.”

“Are you trying not to cry just as hard as I am?”

“Pretty much.”

“Go on and move back into your room. And Leon…” She swallowed. “Welcome home.”

After he left, she finished crying; then she washed her face and combed her hair. There was only one way she wanted to end this difficult day, and one person with whom to end it. She put on her most comfortable walking shoes, checked with Paula to be sure everything was okay at the inn, then started down the road.

Travis was her closest neighbor, but he still lived a good distance away. As the sun slipped over the mountains, she admired fireflies and slapped mosquitoes. For a moment she tried to imagine leaving the Valley and pursuing a life somewhere else, but she knew she never would. She had everything she had ever wanted right here. And if someday the boys settled nearby, then this would truly be heaven.

Travis’s Highlander was in his driveway, and he was alone. She hoped he wouldn’t mind her company, because she was certainly in the mood for his.

She knocked and waited until the door opened. Something very much like butterflies fluttered inside her when she saw the look of surprise, then pleasure, on his face.

She had never been with Travis when she was a completely free woman. Now the change was resonating in every part of her.

“To what do I owe this visit?” He opened the door wider, then closed it once she was inside.

“Did you ever have a day when everything in your life did an about-face?”

“I think you’re here to talk about yours, not mine.”

“I’ll give you a synopsis. Jared is now officially in the marines, and Eric is moving to Los Angeles and taking the other boys with him next year. “