With This Ring

by Patricia Kay

  "That's great," he said. "Tell me about it." He listened with growing optimism to Lark's account of the evening out.

  "I know this is just a beginning. I mean, I realize she'll have other bad days, but I feel so encouraged, Justin. This is such a positive sign, I think."

  "I agree."

  "Trouble is, we can't let her backslide. We have to keep up the pressure. Keep making her go out, see people, do things."

  "I know."

  "Unfortunately, I'm starting a three-day shift tomorrow," Lark said. "Can you fill in the slack?"

  "No problem." It was never a problem to spend time with Amy. Sometimes Justin felt guilty about his desire to be with her, but he always managed to shake the guilt off. He had promised Sam he would take care of her. There was nothing to feel guilty about.

  "Make her get out. Don't take no for an answer."

  "No. I won't." He thought for a minute. Tomorrow was Friday. "Maybe I'll take a vacation day tomorrow. That way the whole time you're gone will be covered." He was thinking aloud now. "I might even go over there early tomorrow morning, make her go out to breakfast with me, then take her for a long drive somewhere."

  "That's a wonderful idea. Getting her away from Houston would be the best thing for her."

  They talked for a while longer, then Lark said, "Call me and let me know how things go, okay? I've got a new line—sorry, in plain English, a new route—so I'll be in San Francisco."

  Justin promised he would keep her informed, and they hung up. For the first time in weeks, he felt a glimmer of hope. Although he and Lark had assured each other many times that Amy would eventually recover, Justin had had a few doubts. He had been afraid that Amy might be one of those people who love so deeply and completely that she would never get over Sam's loss.

  But things looked brighter now. He smiled. Tomorrow was going to be a good day.

  * * *

  Amy awakened feeling better than she'd felt in a long time. And when she looked at her bedside clock, she couldn't believe it. It was seven o'clock. She'd slept for seven straight hours, without dreaming.

  It was probably those two margaritas you had . . .

  Whatever had caused the uninterrupted sleep, Amy was grateful. She rolled over, hugging her pillow and thinking about getting up. As she did, all three cats stirred. They had taken to spending the night on her bed the way they had before the advent of Sam into her life. Sheba, always the most skittish, hopped off the bed. Delilah and Elvis, after giving her a why-are-you-bothering-me look, snuggled closer. "Hey, you two lazy things, get up." Amy nudged them, and after a few minutes, they reluctantly moved, Delilah emitting an irritated "myup" to show her displeasure.

  Amy chuckled and got up too, heading for the kitchen. After filling the coffee maker and turning it on, she took a shower. An hour later, feeling refreshed and enjoying her second cup of coffee, she actually began to toy with the idea of doing something other than sitting around her apartment today.

  The realization amazed her. That emotion was quickly followed by a stab of guilt. Her gaze darted to the half-completed portrait that was still sitting on the easel in the corner, as if Sam would somehow feel her betrayal. Just as the sadness and emptiness that had been temporarily banished began to creep back, the phone rang. She jumped, splashing coffee on her clean jeans.

  "Oh, darn. Who could that be?" She didn't pick up the phone, just in case it was a sales type. Instead she let the recorder answer.

  "Amy, it's Justin. Are you awake?"

  She reached for the receiver. "Hi, Justin. I'm awake."

  "Good. Have you had breakfast yet?"

  "No. Just coffee." She refrained from telling him she hadn't been eating breakfast lately. Of course, anyone looking at her would know she'd been skipping meals, because all of her clothes were too loose.

  "Good," he said again. "I'll be there in thirty minutes. I'm taking you out for breakfast."

  "No, Justin, I—" Astonished, she stared at the receiver.

  He'd hung up.

  * * *

  They had breakfast at a little restaurant in Old Town Spring called Mama Jo's. Mama Jo's specialized in old-fashioned country eating and was known for its enormous homemade biscuits that were served with cream gravy or butter and honey or both.

  Amy had to admit that the food was worth the drive. She actually managed to down two biscuits, along with scrambled eggs and two pieces of bacon. And throughout, she hadn't once thought about her unhappiness.

  "I wonder how many fat grams I've eaten," she said, patting her stomach.

  "You don't need to worry about fat grams," Justin said. He motioned to the waitress.

  Amy was grateful he hadn't elaborated. She knew how bad she looked.

  Once he'd settled their bill, he suggested they might spend some time looking in the various shops. "Or we could go for a long drive, somewhere out in the country. Or Lake Livingston. My brother's got a cabin there, and I've got a key."

  "It's sweet of you, Justin, but I'd really rather go back home."

  "We're not going home. We'll do whatever you want to do, but going home isn't an option."

  Her first reaction to this highhanded statement was a rush of anger. If she wanted to go home, she'd go home. But the anger was quickly replaced with shame. Justin was her friend. He cared about her. He wasn't trying to be highhanded, he was doing what he thought was best for her. What had she ever done to deserve this kind of friendship?

  She tried to smile and knew the effort was less than her best. "All right. In that case, I vote for Lake Livingston."

  Chapter Fifteen

  Coming to Lake Livingston had been an inspired idea, Justin decided, looking at Amy's face and seeing the way the lines of strain and unhappiness had gradually ebbed away.

  The two of them were sitting on the edge of the dock, fishing poles in hand. The late April sun was warm on their backs and shoulders, the breeze silky, the water golden and placid, with only an occasional ripple of bass marring its sun-dappled surface.

  Steven's cabin was located off a sheltered inlet on the eastern side of the big lake, which was just northeast of Conroe. In the distance, several fishing boats were visible, and occasionally, the bright flash of a water skier, but for the most part, Amy and Justin had their tiny piece of the lake to themselves.

  Amy sighed—a light, contented sound—and her lips curved into a tiny smile. Her eyes, as she turned to face him, were as peaceful and calm as the water beyond. "Thanks for bringing me here," she said softly.

  When she looked at him like that, Justin found it hard to breathe around the knot in his chest. He wondered if she had any idea how he felt about her, how much he wanted to permanently erase the pain from her eyes and her life. "I'm glad you're enjoying it."

  "I've always loved the water," she continued, turning her gaze back to the lake. "Even at its angriest, it soothes the soul."

  "Yes." Justin remembered the first time he'd seen the Atlantic Ocean. The summer he was ten, he'd accompanied his father to Maine to visit a dying aunt who lived in a little town north of Portland. The rocks, the crashing waves, the noisy gulls wheeling overhead like miniature airplanes, the hot sun and chilly wind—all made a tremendous impression on him. As young as he was, he had still recognized, on some elemental level, the healing power of the water.

  "I used to think," Amy continued, "that I wanted to live by the ocean."

  "And you no longer want to?"

  She shrugged. "I don't know. Right now, I'm not sure of anything."

  Justin hesitated, then reached over and laid his hand on her knee. He squeezed gently. "Things will get better."

  She turned to look at him again, her eyes lucent in the brilliant morning light. "Will they?"

  "Yes." He could feel the warmth and life beneath her jeans-clad leg, and he wanted, more than anything, to put his arms around her. To keep from doing something he knew he shouldn't, given his feelings for her, he contented himself with squeezing her knee again, then casually removi
ng his hand.

  "How can you be so sure?" Now her voice had taken on a ragged edge. "Maybe nothing will ever be better. Maybe this is all there is, all there will ever be."

  "I don't believe that."

  She was silent for a long time, so long, Justin began to feel uncomfortable, yet he didn't know what to say.

  "Sometimes I hate Sam," she finally said.

  Since Sam's disappearance, Justin had felt the same way, many times. "I know."

  "Do you?"

  "Yes. Sometimes I hate him, too."

  "Why do you hate him?"

  Because of what he did to you. Because the joy is gone from your eyes. Because you never laugh anymore. "Because he left us. Because . . . he hurt you."

  She sighed again, but this time there was weariness in the sound. "Can I ask you something, Justin?"

  "Sure. Anything."

  "You said something awhile back, when the Nepalese authorities officially gave up the search, that made me think Sam . . . that he might have been doing something he shouldn't have been doing." Her eyes met his again. "Is . . . is that true?"

  Justin could have kicked himself. He remembered his earlier slip of the tongue but had hoped she wouldn't. Well, he wasn't going to lie to her. "Yes, it's true. He'd been warned about climbing down that mountain. The guide told him it was too dangerous, but Sam said he was tired of waiting . . . so he went, anyway."

  She swallowed. "That . . . that's what I thought. I . . . oh God . . . " Her voice broke. "He promised me. I specifically asked him to be careful, not to take foolish chances. And then he did, anyway." Her eyes were filled with anguish. "Didn't he love me enough to be careful?"

  "Amy . . . " Justin laid down his pole and now he did put his arm around her. At first she held herself stiffly, but after a moment, her body relaxed, and she leaned against him. Her hair was only inches from his face, and he could smell the fresh sweetness of it as well as the light, flowery fragrance she wore. "He loved you. He loved you more than I've ever seen him love anyone. But being careful . . . that just wasn't Sam's way. Sam lived on the edge. He always had. I think he probably always would have. He tried, but something inside him wouldn't let him hold back. He had to prove he was better, smarter, braver, faster than other people."

  When she didn't answer, he tipped her chin up. Tears glistened on her eyelashes, and her bottom lip trembled. A fierce longing gripped him, and reason and caution, which had always been Justin's bywords, flew out of his mind. The next thing he knew, his mouth had settled against hers. At first, she responded, her soft lips yielding and sweet, causing the most exquisite pain, which was a combination of love and need and the desire to protect, to arrow through him. But then, as if she'd suddenly realized what she was doing, she yanked away, putting her hand over her mouth and saying, "I-I'm sorry, I can't, I don't know what . . . " Her expression was a mixture of horror and embarrassment.

  It took every bit of self-control and strength Justin possessed to release her, to say in a calm voice, "It's okay. There's nothing to apologize for. It's my fault. You looked so sad. I just wanted to make you feel better."

  He should never have given in to his desire, no matter how much he had wanted to comfort her. And now, somehow, he had to make things right. He had to reassure her, show her that what had happened was not important. He smiled, making his voice brisk. "What do you say we go see what we can scrounge up for lunch? I'm starved."

  For a moment, he didn't think his ploy would work. She looked uncertain, and he was sure she was going to ask him to take her home. But then, causing him to feel weak with relief, she nodded, and the awkward moment passed.

  Together, they headed for the cabin, and for the rest of the day, Justin was careful not to do or say anything to make Amy uncomfortable again.

  * * *

  May brought a resumption of Amy's parents' traveling. They had postponed or cancelled all of Alan's speaking engagements and demonstrations ever since Sam's disappearance, but now, seeing that Amy was more like her old self, they felt freer to live their own lives.

  Amy spent a lot of time with Justin. He was more than a friend. He was a lifeline, her last link to Sam, the person who understood, more than any other, what she'd gone through, because he'd gone through it with her. At first, she'd been uncomfortable with him after that episode at Lake Livingston. Part of her discomfort stemmed from the fact that she had enjoyed being kissed by him. It had felt so good to be in a man's arms again, to have a man's solid body next to hers, to feel the warmth and comfort of a caring embrace. Knowing she'd enjoyed the kiss had confused her and made her feel guilty. What was wrong with her? Sam had only been gone a little over six months, and there she was, kissing someone else and liking it. Then she'd get angry. Why should she feel guilty? She wasn't the one who had done something stupid and gotten herself killed.

  All of these emotions caused a wall to form between her and Justin. But as the weeks went by, and nothing else like the kiss happened, she relaxed again and almost managed to put the kiss and its connotations out of her mind. Gradually, she and Justin resumed their comfortable relationship.

  One particularly beautiful Saturday in late May, when the two of them had taken a picnic lunch to Hermann Park where they spent three pleasant hours eating and watching the children at play, Amy said, "I don't know what I would have done without you the past seven months, Justin."

  His eyes looked even bluer than usual as they met hers. He smiled and continued toying with a blade of grass. She thought how nice he was, how reliable and steady and honest. A person could always count on Justin. When he said he was going to do something, he did it.

  She wondered why he hadn't married. He was thirty-six, attractive, had a good job, and all the qualities women looked for in a man. What was the problem? Giving in to an impulse she later questioned, she said, "Can I ask you something?"

  "Sure. Go ahead."

  "I'm curious. Why are you still single?"

  He looked at her for a long moment, then turned his gaze into the distance. His face was in profile to her, so she couldn't see his expression. "Until last year, I'd never met anyone I wanted to marry." He turned to meet her eyes. "Unfortunately, she wasn't available."

  Amy's heart beat harder. The look in his eyes told her this was a subject she should have left alone. "Oh. I-I'm sorry," she said, because she had to say something. To give herself something to do, she started gathering up the remains of their meal and putting them into the picnic hamper.

  "Amy."

  Slowly, she looked up.

  "You know I love you, don't you?"

  She swallowed. Of course, she'd known. Somewhere deep inside, the knowledge had been there, even if she'd never acknowledged it.

  "I know you still love Sam," he continued quietly. "I know it's too soon, but do you think . . . is there a chance that someday . . . ?"

  "I don't know. I-I . . . it is too soon . . . I'm sorry." Now she threw things into the hamper. She just wanted to get out of there. To go home. To pretend these words had never been spoken.

  "Amy . . . " Justin grabbed her arm, made her stop her frantic movements. "It's okay. Maybe I shouldn't have said anything. I just . . . I wanted you to know how I feel. I wanted you to know that I'll always be there for you. But I'll never pressure you, I promise. If all you want from me is friendship, I can accept that. If you want more, all you have to do is let me know. The future is entirely up to you."

  * * *

  For weeks after this episode, nothing more was said, but Amy knew Justin was thinking about it, just as she was. She went over and over her motives for bringing up the subject. Why had she? She didn't know. She only knew she wished she hadn't, because she was so afraid she'd hurt him. But after several times together with no mention of the picnic and his declaration, and with no change in his attitude toward her, Amy once again relaxed and realized he'd meant what he'd said. He would always be her friend, but the future course of their relationship was entirely up to her.

  * * *r />
  October, 1993

  Amy sat by the window. She stared at the view beyond. Normally, these clear, bright days of autumn were her favorite time of the year. She loved the gradual turning of the leaves, the frenetic activity of the squirrels, the smell of smoke from fireplaces, and the increased energy level of Houstonians—who were just as glad as she was to see the stunning heat of summer finally go away.

  But nothing had been normal this entire year.

  Sometimes it amazed Amy that she'd actually gotten through it. God knows, there had been so many days she didn't think she would.

  Tomorrow it would be exactly one year since Sam had disappeared. No trace had ever been found of his body. The search parties had long since ceased to search, especially since a month after Sam's fall, the entire western part of Nepal had been buried under a blizzard and subsequent avalanches. Hundreds of people had been trapped—hikers and tourists among them. Dozens had died.

  For a long time, Amy had continued to harbor a secret glimmer of hope, but as winter wore on, and then spring and summer came—and with it, a return of Sam's possessions from the trip—even that glimmer faded away.

  Now she knew, finally and irrevocably, that Sam was dead. She sighed, twisting the emerald ring around and around on her finger. She'd had to wind thread around the back of it because she'd lost so much weight it no longer fit. She knew she should remove it, just as she knew she should put the unfinished portrait away, and get rid of his clothes and belongings that were still there, but she couldn't seem to make herself do those things, no matter how her mother and Lark urged her to.

  It wasn't that she still cried at night or that she felt sad all the time. She didn't. Sometimes hours would go by when she didn't think about Sam at all, especially now that she'd gone back to teaching.