I glanced at my dad. “Remember when we brought that table down?”
He laughed. “I can’t believe we got it here in one piece.”
I gently rubbed my hand across a corner where the wood was splintered. “Barely did.”
“When you were away, I’d come down here sometimes, build a fire, sit and think, usually at nighttime.” He shrugged. “There’s something peaceful about a campfire under the stars.”
“I’m sorry I wasn’t here.”
He made a sound like an old man in a western movie. Pshaw.
I giggled and moved to sit on top of the table, stretching my legs across its surface in the afternoon sunshine. “You didn’t rappel by yourself, surely.”
“Course not. I took the trail down.”
He sat on the bench near my feet, and it creaked beneath him.
“You seem different.” He picked at a splinter in the table. “Better.”
“Yeah.”
“Shanty Espinosa?”
I chuckled. “Who would have thought?”
“Graham.” He squinted at the top edge of the canyon, and I knew he was watching the shadows of the canyon walls as they slowly crept across the floor. The shadows were six feet from the table. In another five minutes, we would be sitting in shade. “He’s a good judge of character, and he uses his resources wisely, especially people.”
“I suppose.”
He rubbed his chin. “You two having a tiff?”
A tiff. “You could say that.”
“Hmm.”
I waited for him to ask for details, but he didn’t. I waited for him to ask about Shanty’s support group, but he didn’t. I waited for him to mention the property sale again, but he didn’t.
“Cecily?”
I hummed in response.
“I need to tell you something.”
“Okay then, shoot.”
“It’s not that easy.”
I waited in silence, puzzled.
Dad rested one elbow on the tabletop. “You know how I told you I lead a support group? A kind of recovery group?”
“Yes.”
“Well . . . I had trouble after your mother died.”
What did that mean? “Okay.”
“I suffered from depression for a while.” He inhaled deeply and finished his explanation on the exhale. “I even took medication on and off.”
He was turned so I could only see the side of his face, and now the shadow fell across him, but not me, leaving my eyes unable to focus on him. “That’s what your support group is about,” I said.
“Yep. Graham set me up with a few guys, and somehow I’m encouraging to them because of what I went through back then. I just thought it was right I should tell you.”
A beetle toiled across the ground, rolling a ball of mud or something else. “You’ve conquered it?”
“Yes, that’s part of the reason for the accountability group. We’re all struggling or recovering from some sort of addiction, and we check on each other, make sure we’re doing all right.”
“Depression isn’t an addiction, though.”
He shifted on the bench. “I’m not so sure about that. I think I was addicted to grief, to not allowing myself to get on with life.”
Well, I could certainly relate. “That explains all the meetings,” I said.
The shadow continued across the bottom of the canyon floor, inching onto my shoulder, then sliding down my side to the rocky ground.
Daddy cleared his throat. “I’m sorry Brett caused you to doubt yourself.”
Everyone was sorry about that, but not as sorry as I was.
“And I’m sorry I wasn’t a better father.”
My heart fluttered. “Wh—What?”
He watched as three dragonflies danced circles above our heads. “There were some things I wasn’t very good at. You were left without a mother, and I thought I could be both mother and father after she died. I hoped I could. But I couldn’t do everything.”
My dad was a wonderful father, and I wanted to argue with him, to demand that he look at things from my perspective, but when I started to speak, he lifted a hand to stop me.
“Let me explain,” he said.
I nodded.
“I’m sorry for not being there for you, Cess. For not telling you how important you were to me, and for not letting you know how pretty you are, both inside and out.”
I had never thought about needing that from my dad, but now, his tender words stirred my emotions, creating a halo of peace around my fractured self-esteem. A tear slid down my cheek and dropped to my arm.
“I want to make up for lost time.” Daddy stood and took a step toward me so that he was looking me right in the eye, something he didn’t do often. “You’re a beautiful woman, and any man would be lucky to have you, but you’re not only beautiful on the outside, your heart is lovely as well. You’re a good person, Cecily. And I’m proud of you.”
I tried to speak but was only able to make a humming sound until I swallowed. “Thanks, Daddy.” Another tear leaked from my eye, and I swiped at it. “That means a lot to me.”
“I should’ve told you that a long time ago. I should’ve told your mother more often too.”
“So . . . Mom and I? We were alike in that way too.”
He didn’t have to verbally agree with me. Our similarities were abundantly obvious now.
Daddy leaned over and hugged me, not seeming to know what to do with his arms. I didn’t mind his bumbling, though, and the touch therapy felt marvelous.
When he pulled away, his eyes were moist, but he was smiling. “Ready to hike back up now? Maybe make a sandwich?”
“No.” I chuckled at his clear attempt to get things back to normal. “I’ll be there in a while.”
I watched as he climbed out of the canyon. When he got to the surface, he coiled the rappelling lines, sorted the gear, and carried it all back to the cabin. Soon, he would fix us two sandwiches, and later, he would probably act like this discussion had never happened. For a while at least. He may have been on the tail-end of his recovery from grief, but talking about Mom was still difficult for him. I could respect that. And my mother would have too.
Once Mom had sat on the side of my bed, running her fingers through my hair as I cried into my pillow. Who knows why I had been crying. She had told me the sadness would end soon. She had used the analogy of clouds in the sky, blocking out the sun, and she said the shadows were only temporary, and that I would always be able to find a way through my pain.
She had been right about that, even if she’d transferred some of her own problems with self-worth onto my shoulders. I would act on that advice instead of the advice I had been telling myself for the past decade. I would climb out of this enormous hole in the ground and into the sunshine. I would stand on the side of the canyon, peer into its depths, and find myself. I would get rid of the pain in my heart . . . once and for all.
I pushed away from the picnic table.
Chapter Forty-Six
Graham’s letter of apology to Cecily (as scrawled on printer paper just before he wadded it up and threw it in the wastebasket under his desk):
Cecily,
I just wanted to apologize again for the way our conversation ended the other day. I’m sorry. My words didn’t do the situation justice came out wrong when we talked. Please know that (no matter how it seems) I really do have your best interests at heart care. You said we never should’ve gotten together in the first place, but I disagree. I hope, eventually, you’ll consider spending time with me again. Even though I don’t consider myself worthy of
Graham couldn’t ride his bike fast enough or far enough to escape the pain in his heart. Tomorrow would make a week since he and Cecily had broken things off, and it had been a week of torture. He had been polite to her at the office, and she had done the same, but there was a huge elephant in the room—an elephant larger than Palo Duro Canyon itself—and he longed to have things back like they were. Lunches in the park, laughter betwee
n appointments, kisses.
He took the Rock Garden trail, winding up from the bottomland in a steep ascent, keeping his gaze focused intently on the path. On impulse, he veered to the right, deciding to bushwhack his way cross-country. It was late Sunday afternoon, not typically a busy time at the park, but he desperately needed solitude, time away from any hikers and tourists he might encounter with their water bottles in tow.
His mind drifted back to Cecily and their bike date. She had been so hesitant to ride, but then her confidence had grown, and they’d had a fun time together. Until she wrecked and hurt herself. That seemed to be her habit, hurting herself.
He wanted to curse. Not only did she habitually hurt herself, she allowed herself to be hurt by others—whether or not their actions were intentional. Somehow her brain created pain where there didn’t have to be any.
He sped around a cedar, then jerked his handlebars upward for greater lift when he reached the top of an incline. For two seconds, he was airborne, his wheels off the ground and his bike sailing weightlessly, and part of his tension blew away with the freedom. He landed with a jerk and turned his wheel toward the next curve, speeding up even more, trying to outrun his memories. He had never wanted anything as badly as he wanted Cecily Ross in his life.
If their lives had been simple, he could have kept dating her. Maybe even married her someday. They could have had a life together. He increased his speed even more, his back tire sliding as he rounded a dusty curve. Not only did he want Cecily in every way a man wants a woman, but he also wanted the best for her, and that was where his pain lay. He had no right to be with her when everything he did hurt her. Not until she could see life clearly did he have a right to distract her from her number one mission, which was to become a healthy and whole person.
He grunted as he took the next jump, and this time when his bike sailed through the air, the unhindered feeling brought tears to his eyes as he thought of the look on her face when he told her he wanted to take a break. She had been just as torn as he had. Salty sweat trickled into his eyes and he blinked, and in that split second, he lost control. He tried to correct, but it only made matters worse, and he missed the next jump. Instead of weightlessly floating, his bike took a nosedive, pitching forward and dropping two feet into a ravine below the trail. His front tire slammed against a rock formation, and he was slung onto the rough ground.
Lying on his back, he stared at the sky, breathing heavily. Clouds, wispy from the wind, mocked him, as though he were a tiny little man in such a great big world, nothing compared to life and all its pain.
He chuckled. “Stop wallowing, Dr. Harper.” He pushed himself up, tilting his head from side to side and rotating his shoulders. He hadn’t taken a spill in months, but this one wasn’t as bad as some of the others. He wasn’t even bleeding. He stood, arched his back, then hobbled over to check on the bike. He might need to add some air to the front tire later, but it was rideable. Removing his helmet, he let the wind blow through his sweaty hair, and then he took a long drink from his water bottle and peered up the sides of the canyon walls, trying to decide which part of the canyon he liked more, the floor or the surface.
Probably the surface, because that was where Cecily usually was.
Maybe the fall had shaken a little sense into him. Gone were his negative thoughts, and in their place was the very vivid feeling that he couldn’t live without the girl. He smiled. Maybe she wasn’t healthy enough for a relationship at the moment, but he could wait. He had waited this long for the right woman—what was a few more months? Or years? Eventually she would work through her feelings of jealousy and inadequacy—she had already overcome a ton of insecurity—and underneath all that messiness was a precious heart Graham wanted to embrace.
His gaze swept the rim above his head. She was up there somewhere, probably fretting about something, probably angry at him, but she would get over it eventually, and Graham would be there when she did.
Something caught his eye in the distance. A hiker probably. Was that the hiking trail, or was it farther around the canyon on private property? Wait—it was a woman, and he recognized her. She was standing right on the edge, too close, staring—not at the expanse, but straight down to the ground below. She took a tiny step forward, hugging herself.
Graham’s water bottle fell to the ground as he started running. He shouted her name, but she didn’t turn his way, didn’t hear, probably wouldn’t have acknowledged him even if she had. The wind swished through the cedars, blowing Graham’s voice in the opposite direction, and his shouts swept down the canyon like a trickle of water. He yelled anyway, running faster and faster, cursing his awkward cycling shoes that prevented him from sprinting. If only she could see him out of the corner of her eye, maybe then she would stop, maybe she would step back to safety, maybe she would want to figure out her life and heal. Maybe it would be worth it all.
Graham clenched his fists, bellowing at the top of his lungs, desperately willing her to look up. But he had been willing her to look up long before this, and she still hadn’t managed to do it.
She took one last step, and as she fell there was no sound except the wind.
Chapter Forty-Seven
Group text from Cecily: Well, if this isn’t us, I don’t know what is: “It is one of the blessings of old friends that you can afford to be stupid with them.” Ralph Waldo
Cecily (twenty-seven minutes later): I honestly thought I’d get a response now that I finally found an Emerson quote to share. Not to mention the fact that it’s all friendship-y and whatnot. Lol.
Cecily (twelve minutes later): Okay, so anyway . . . I’ll see you at Midnight Oil at 9 pm.
“Hey, Cecily.” Michael reached for a cup in the size I typically ordered. “You and the girls haven’t been here in a while.”
“No . . .”
“Been meeting somewhere else?”
I almost felt guilty. “Most recently we met at a junk yard in Amarillo.”
“Why a junk yard?” he chuckled.
“Let’s just say we had a lot of pent-up anger we needed to unleash on an old wreck.”
He stared at the cup in his hands, then shoved it under a spigot.
“Sledgehammers,” I added.
“Ah.” The cup almost overflowed, but he caught it in time and poured out a small amount of the coffee. He added flavoring and snapped on a lid, but then he left the cup sitting in his work station as he came to stand in front of me. “So . . . are Shanty and Nina meeting you tonight?”
“They are, but they should be here by now.”
He peered toward the front windows, scanning the dark street, and I turned to look as well. In the middle of the shop, an elderly man stood stock-still, staring at the television mounted on the side wall, his mouth hanging open slightly.
Curious, I looked over at the TV and saw a still shot of the canyon and a news-release ribbon scrolling across the bottom of the screen. Next came a female reporter standing by the entrance sign of the state park, microphone in hand. “Something’s happened out at the park.” I turned back to Michael, but he was already coming around the counter with the remote control, turning up the volume.
We stood next to the old man, gaping at the screen as the reporter told us a woman had fallen to her death on one of the park’s most popular hiking trails. As of yet, she was unidentified, and authorities had not ruled out foul play. Behind the reporter, flashing lights swept through the gates.
I couldn’t move. Could barely breathe. Where were my friends? Both of them were charged with raw emotions at the moment, and both suffered from low self-esteem and flashes of depression. Shanty was upset about Al, and Nina was upset about the incident at the student center. Would either of them take their own life? I hadn’t thought so—hadn’t even considered it—but now the fear crept into my thoughts like a festering storm. Nina had those scars on her wrists.
My hands were shaking as I pulled my phone from my purse, blinking to see the screen clearly. I tried to ope
n my messages but accidentally tapped the icon for settings instead. Then I shook my head, returned to the main menu, and concentrated on finding the correct icon. When I finally had it opened, I stared at the options, unable to remember how to spell either of their names. A sob jerked through me, and I tapped back to saved messages to click on the group text I had used earlier. My fingers moved in slow motion as I typed. Where are you guys?
I stared at the screen and waited for a reply. Nothing. I looked around me, frantically scanning the street for either of my friends and searching the shop for any encouragement.
Michael stared at the television. His feet were planted shoulder width apart, and he was bent at the waist as though he had a bad stomachache. The old man shook his head and sat down with his coffee, but Michael and I stared dutifully at the television as it showed an aerial view of the canyon taken from a helicopter. Emergency vehicles could be seen parked haphazardly in one of the parking lots. Then the screen cut to a shot of the hiking trail on the surface where first responders were rappelling into the canyon.
My phone vibrated in my hand, and I jerked, but it was only a text from Pizza Hut. A coupon. How could the world function normally right now? I returned to my group text. Please answer me.
The text was so misspelled it would be a wonder if they could read it, and I suddenly had an overwhelming fear that it wouldn’t matter if they could read it or not.
The door of the shop opened with such force it slammed against the trash can, and Shanty barreled in. Her eyes were wide, and her hair stuck out in all directions. She looked first at me, then Michael, then all around the shop. Her face crumpled and she wailed. “Thank God you’re all right, but where’s Nina?”
“Where have you been?” It was a senseless thing to say.
“Coming home from Amarillo. There was a wreck on the interstate, backed up for miles, and my cell’s dead.” She hugged me tightly and didn’t let go. “I was stuck there,” she whispered, “listening to it on the radio. Oh, Cecily, do you think it’s our sweet girl?”
It had to be.
I pulled away from Shanty and looked her in the eye. “She hasn’t answered my texts.”
Looking Glass Lies Page 22