Pathways (9780307822208)

by Bergren, Lisa T.

  They were a mismatch, from sock to hat. From the inside out. That was what he told himself anyway. Tried to tell himself to get a grip. To move forward with his plan to tell her good-bye. Not just for the summer, but forever.

  She glanced up, looking along the fjord beach line, and finally to the street and Eli. He smiled, and she smiled back, her eyes mysterious and beckoning. He walked forward, like a sailor careening toward a dangerous shoal, yet unable to do anything else.

  “How did it go?” she asked, folding up her paper and standing beside him. Her eyes were bright and happy, and an hour in the seaside sun had kissed her cheeks with pink.

  “It went well,” he said, stuffing his hands into his jean pockets. “All three of them were interested. We’ll talk about it more next month and do some serious planning—maybe even a little joint advertising come spring.”

  “That’s great news!” she exclaimed, throwing her arms around him in an exuberant hug. “I’m so happy for you!” She started to pull away, but he succumbed then to the relentless desire to hold her. He pulled her to him tightly, moving to cradle her head against the nook beneath his chin, feeling the heavy, long strands of silky hair beneath his hand.

  “Oh, Bryn,” he said, almost in a moan. “Oh, Bryn.”

  She looked up at him then, her eyes the color of a fall leaf-fire’s smoke, the invitation to kiss her present again. Her lips parted, slightly, beckoning him. He closed his eyes against her beauty, against the vision of her, and tipped his head back a little, trying to pull away, knowing he must.

  “Kiss me, Eli,” she whispered. “Kiss me.”

  He shook his head, a tiny motion at first, then stronger, gaining momentum until he could release her entirely. He sighed heavily and dared to look at her. “I can’t.”

  “Why not?” she asked, her look incredulous. “You clearly want to. I want you to. Why not?”

  “Because.” He licked his lips and swallowed hard. “Because a kiss means more to me now than when I was sixteen. Because a kiss is a seal, a declaration of love. A proclamation of it. It means something to me, Bryn.”

  “It means something to me, too,” she said, wrapping her arms around him again.

  “No. No, Bryn,” he said, pulling her away from him. “I can’t. I can’t do this. You and I are not right. You belong someplace else. I belong nowhere but here.” He shook his head sadly, nearing tears. “I brought you here to see more of Alaska and to say good-bye. Not to get things rolling again.”

  “Oh,” she said, her face showing the blows of his words. “I had thought … I had hoped … Oh.” She glanced up at him, her eyes brimming with tears.

  He closed his eyes to the gut-punch of inflicting pain on her. Of bringing her anything but joy and light and peace. “I’m sorry, Bryn. I wish it were different. I wish we were older, that we had a chance. But right now, we’re too different and heading in opposite directions. Don’t you see? It’s hopeless.”

  “Hopeless,” she mumbled back, nodding a little. But her eyes—those dark, clear eyes that he had begun to read so well—her eyes were still full of hope. Hope that he would change his mind, hope that he was mistaken, hope that there was a way for them.

  But there wasn’t.

  Part 2

  Higher Road, 1996

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Bryn Bailey left for Alaska again four years, ten months after she departed swearing she would never return. This time she was alone. She wasn’t sure what she was going for, what she wanted from her visit; she only knew she was supposed to come. That it was right to come.

  She considered that it might be a pathetic attempt to feel closer to her father—conspicuously absent for her fifth visit to the lake—but then put the thought out of her mind. It’s what her therapist would say.

  “You sure you’ll be all right up there alone, Bryn Bear?” Grampa Bruce asked her as they walked toward the gate in the airport terminal in Boston. She took a step away at his use of her father’s nickname for her. She studied him, but he walked along as if he had said nothing unusual at all. He was aging quickly. Since when had his shoulders slumped so severely? And his step had lost its spring and become more of a shuffle. She hadn’t spent nearly enough time with him since she’d come to Massachusetts, she realized with regret.

  She blew out a quick breath and ran a tender hand over her grandfather’s shoulders. “I’ll be fine, Grampa. Will you?” Thinking of him alone, with no other family nearby, she worried about him. Bryn’s grandmother had passed away over a decade earlier. She knew he still missed her, and yet after her death he had charged forward, embracing his life and making the most of it. He was the darling of his neighborhood, making friends with the old and the young alike.

  “Ah, I’m always fine. You’ll rest there, then? In Alaska? You’ve gotten no sleep at Harvard. Your grandmother worries after you.” There it was again, evidence that his mind was slipping away.

  “I’ll get rest there.” She bent and kissed him on his leathery cheek, all wrinkles and sagging skin. “It’s so quiet on Summit, I won’t be able to sleep the first night. Then I’ll sleep like the dead.”

  “I’d still feel better about it if your father was going. You’ve never been there alone.”

  “I’ll be fine, Grampa. Dad has his new life. I’m going to go and discover what I’m supposed to do with mine.”

  Grampa Bruce placed one hand on top of his cane and then the other hand on top of that. “You going there alone to punish him, child?” His brow furrowed.

  “No. I’m going there for me. I can’t explain it. I just know I’m supposed to be there. I guess it’s Dad’s fault. He was the one who insisted I go every five years. Now I can’t seem to get it out of my head.”

  “Or your heart. Maybe it’s God who is calling you there, Bryn. Have you thought of that?”

  “No,” she answered simply. Grampa Bruce always required total honesty. He could see through people as clearly as the airport x-ray machines had examined her bags. “I think I just know that it is the one place I can go where I can find some sort of peace.”

  “Yes, yes,” he said, his brown eyes studying her. The lids sagged at the corners, showing red, tender inner flesh. His irises were a bit cloudy, but his intent was clear. “Peace,” he nodded. “See if you can find the Source of peace.”

  Bryn gave him a wise look. “There you go, Grampa Bruce. Always trying to evangelize me.”

  “Just be open. Promise me that.”

  “I will, Grampa.” She bent and kissed him again and, with a last farewell smile, turned and handed her ticket to the gate agent. She took a long, deep breath and entered the Jetway. Medical school had chewed her up and spit her out. She simply could not face anything else without a break, a total break. And Summit Lake was about as far from Harvard as she could get.

  As she rode in the taxicab up the highway from Anchorage, through the awe-inspiring Matanuska Valley—wide and flat for miles and banked by towering green blue snowcapped mountains—into the heavily forested hills of the Susitna, with gasp-worthy peaks, she took a long, deep breath. She found more reassurance and peace in this place than she ever could in Newport Beach. Particularly when her mother was in the throes of despair and looking for a constant sounding board.

  The cabby turned off Highway 3 at an abandoned real estate office and headed toward Talkeetna. To Bryn’s left was a magnificent, perfectly still lake—a picture postcard—lined with pointy black spruce, and in the distance, the Alaskan Range made its appearance, suddenly bigger and closer. Not much farther Bryn passed a small lake that opened up toward the Talkeetna Mountains with a lovely hand-carved sign advertising a floatplane service run by …

  “Wait!” she cried, leaning forward in her seat. “Please. Go back.”

  The driver silently pulled over and made a U-turn. “That floatplane service?” he inquired over his shoulder.

  “Yes.” Bryn peeked out one window and then the other, trying to read the sign even as they were moving. ALASKA BU
SH: FLOATPLANE SERVICE, the sign read. ELI PIERCE, PROPRIETOR.

  Eli.

  Her mind raced back five years to that day outside Seward, when Eli told her he couldn’t, wouldn’t, be involved with her. Didn’t want her. Didn’t need her. What at one time had been a bone-crunching pain was now merely a twinge. He had been right, of course. It was the wrong time; there was no way they could have been together. They had flirted, had a summer fling. He was simply being sensible.

  Eli Pierce, proprietor. He’d done it. Built his de Havilland into a full-fledged business. She needed a ride to Summit. Who better than her old neighbor? Maybe he’d cut her a deal. She had the cabby pull into the parking lot along the highway and wait while she walked to the small log cabin she assumed was the office. Below her, on a tiny lake, was the Beaver, with its perfectly proportioned pontoons, thick high-lift wings, big flaps, and powerful engine. She remembered Eli telling her it was the ideal plane for getting into and out of small bays and short lakes at the higher elevations, especially with people or cargo to haul.

  She raised her hand to knock on the door, hesitated, then rapped four times. There was no answer. Bryn checked her watch—eleven-thirty—and sighed. She’d taken the red-eye to get here and was eager to finish her travels to Summit. Where could he be? This wasn’t the way to run an efficient operation—Sunday.

  It was Sunday. And Eli Pierce, the most moral man on the planet, was most certainly at church. She smiled and headed back to the taxicab, picking up a brochure from an outdoor display, reading in a whisper as she walked. “Unguided Hunts—Remote Lake and River Fishing—Rainbow Trout, Four Species of Salmon & Northern Pike—River Floating—Backpacking (Drop Off & Pick Up)—Flight Seeing Glacier Tours and Flights Around Mount McKinley in Denali National Park—Wildlife Tours (4 Years Experience).”

  Bryn rode the rest of the way to town and had the driver canvass the few church parking lots, ending up at the Christian Center. She was sure she saw Jedidiah’s truck out front and supposed the Pierces were inside. “You can drop me off here,” she told the cab driver.

  “Sign says it started an hour ago.”

  “It’s fine. I have a friend inside. He can take me where I want to go.”

  She thought about going into the church, but told herself that the service was probably just ending, that she would disrupt things. But most of all she was afraid of feeling … weird. She hadn’t been inside a church since she was a kid with her grandparents.

  So Bryn sat down on the front bumper and perched there, waiting for Eli to emerge. She could hear singing, and it sounded so sweet and fervent, she almost wished she were inside to better listen. She fidgeted, crossed her legs, uncrossed them, leaned her elbows on her thighs, chin in hand, then crossed her arms and leaned back. She turned slightly sideways, so he’d see her best side first.

  What are you doing, Bryn? She blew air out from between her lips, angered at herself for posturing—her preparation for flirtation, attraction. Eli Pierce was likely to be involved with someone else by now. Or married. Whatever there had been between them was over. And she did not want to feel the pain she had felt five years ago, never wanted to feel such agony again. She needed a pilot and a plane to get to Summit Lake. That was it. Nothing more. But the idea of seeing him again had her heart pounding, and she couldn’t resist running a hand over her hair as the church doors opened and people began pouring out.

  When Eli emerged, smiling and speaking animatedly with an attractive young woman with dark blond hair, her racing heart seemed to skip a beat, then pounded forcefully, robbing her of air. She fought off the desire to bring hand to chest, not wanting to appear as taken as she was. Maybe he was seeing the blonde, maybe he was in love with her, maybe he wasn’t available even to take Bryn to Summit today. Maybe they had plans for brunch or something.

  He spotted her then and came to a full stop. The woman next to him looked from Eli to where he was gazing, then back again, her smile quickly fading. Eli began walking again, shaking his head and grinning.

  “I knew I’d find you here,” Bryn said softly, smiling. “Didn’t know I’d find you here. I mean, I knew it was your summer but …”

  She sat there, staring at him, wondering if he could read her mind. If he knew how good it was to see him, that it brought her a combination of pure, manic joy and agonizing pain all at once.

  He opened his arms to her then, and she immediately slipped off the bumper and embraced him, inhaling his scent of cinnamon and pine and a tinge of airplane fuel. Eli held her for a long, tender hug, then pulled away. “Uh, Sara, I’d like you to meet an old friend, Bryn Bailey. Bryn, this is Sara Cussler. She’s a river guide, new to Talkeetna this summer.”

  Bryn tore her attention away from Eli to the pretty woman at his side, tall and slender. She had hair the color of caribou, eyes the color of the Chulitna River, and a healthy glow that reminded Bryn of a warm sunset. Outdoorsy and attractive and no doubt a Christian—and checking out Bryn as clearly as Bryn was checking her out. Her lips curved into a welcoming smile, but her blue eyes were suspicious, had reason to be suspicious. Because as much as Bryn had prepared herself for this moment, for seeing Eli again and guarding her heart, she found her skin tingling where he had touched her, as if he had left hot handprints on bare flesh.

  “I need a ride to Summit,” she said to Eli, taking a half-step away, wanting it to be clear to Sara that that was all she wanted from him, that she did not intend to interfere. “Saw a nice lookin’ operation on Fish Lake.”

  “That would be mine,” he said, grinning and nodding. “Happen to be taking Sara to Summit today. I could give you a lift.”

  Bryn swallowed her disappointment that Sara was coming too, calling her heart foolish for hoping for anything else. She licked her lips and forced a smile. “Great. What time are you guys leaving?”

  Eli looked at Sara for the first time since laying eyes on Bryn. “What time, Sara? In an hour or so?”

  “Sure. After we pick up cinnamon rolls. Want one, Bryn?” Her tone was friendly, but her eyes conveyed anything but warmth.

  “That’d be perfect. I need to grab some groceries too. Is it okay that I’m intruding?”

  “No problem.” Eli came around to open the truck door for them, gesturing for Sara to enter first. As she ducked inside, Eli’s eyes found Bryn. “It’s … it’s good to see you,” he said lowly.

  “It’s good to see you, too, Eli. We’ll have to catch up sometime.”

  “I’d like that,” he said, then brushed past her toward the driver’s side of the cab.

  Bryn didn’t dare look over at Sara, certain she would appear as jealous as Bryn herself felt about her. Stupid, Bailey, she told herself. You’re being completely stupid. Back off. You’re here for you this summer, not to reclaim Eli. And you have no right to him anyway. Suddenly all she wanted was the safety of the taxicab, the reminder that she was a cheechako, and the subdued smell of old cigarettes—anything to make her forget the spicy, outdoorsy aroma of Eli Pierce.

  “So tell me about Bryn Bailey,” Sara invited, her tone carefully neutral. They had dropped Bryn off at the mercantile for supplies.

  Eli smiled over at Sara and took her hand with his right. They had been friends from the start this summer, and dating for a couple of weeks. “She’s an old family friend. Her dad and my dad bought places on Summit the same summer. They met in Germany. It’s a long story.”

  “I have time.” She crossed her arms, and Eli could feel her eyes on him. A slight flush rose up his neck.

  “Bryn has come to Alaska every five years since we were kids. Last time I saw her was in 1991. Her dad practically dragged her up here. I’m surprised she came alone. I wonder where …”

  “And?” Sara asked impatiently, pulling him back to the point of their conversation.

  “And … we were friends, that’s all. Did some hiking, some canoeing, some flying together.” He pulled the truck over, across the street from the bakery, and looked at Sara. “I’ll be honest wi
th you, Sara. I wanted to have something more with her; she wanted more with me. But we were just too different. Not to mention that she lived in California and I lived in Alaska. Now she’s in Boston. And she’s not a believer.”

  “But if she had been?”

  “If she had, something more probably would have happened between us. But there was still the major obstacle of distance.”

  Sara nodded, her eyes searching the park before them. They were on the edge of town, near the river. She nodded again, as if mulling over his words, but then simply smiled. “I’ll go talk to the guys, see if there’s someone who wants to take my day trip tomorrow so we can spend more time together at the lake. Meet you back here?”

  “Sure. I’ll go get the rolls.” He watched her turn to let herself out the door, and wanting to reassure her, he reached for her once more. “Sara, there’s nothing between Bryn and me. We’re old friends. That’s all.”

  “Uh-huh. I’m not staking a claim, just curious. We’re just friends too, right?”

  “How long you here for?” Eli tossed over his shoulder to Bryn. He had seated Sara beside him in the cockpit, wanting to make her feel like the priority. After all, he had invited her out to the lake to be with him.

  “Couple of months,” she called out. Eli caught Sara’s meaningful glance as he focused on the instrument panel again. It was clouding up quickly, and Denali was already behind a thick curtain of gray. He’d follow up with Bryn later. Right now he had to concentrate on getting to Summit safely and not setting off any more alarm bells for Sara. Sara was a fine woman and a fast friend, just his type; he didn’t want to mess up with her. They’d just started to really connect. There was the potential of something sweet between them … Something like what he had once with Chelsea Thompson. Something big. Yeah, something big.