by Susan Wiggs
She was quiet for a long time. Shadows sculpted her face, and he couldn’t read her thoughts.
“Michelle?”
“You’d better go, Sam. This isn’t a good time for a discussion with Cody.”
His heart lurched. “He’s taking it that hard?”
More silence strained between them. Michelle bit her lip, hesitant to speak, and pushed her hair out of her eyes with a weary motion. “This just isn’t a good time,” she repeated. “I don’t know what to think, except that you and I don’t work until you and Cody figure out a way to get along.” She opened the door to the howling night. “I won’t let myself be torn to pieces by the two of you.” Her good-bye was as brief and painful as the cauterizing of a wound.
He drove home, the chill inside him expanding. Damn it. Last time he’d seen Michelle, he’d asked her to marry him. Two days later, she was practically throwing him out. Sam squinted at the dry, blowing snow. He was tempted to turn back, but the doubts—and the remembered words of his mother—held him back.
“Don’t go chasing after her again.” Only yesterday, his mother had admonished him in a tequila-harsh voice. “Don’t go getting your heart stomped into the ground.”
He told himself not to jump to conclusions. They’d work out their problems. But no matter what he told himself, he still remembered that Michelle hadn’t tried to find him years ago.
Saturday
Chapter 51
The next morning, Michelle was still wearing the sterling-silver earrings she had put on for her big night with Sam. The night that never happened. It seemed like ages ago. Miles ago. A lifetime ago. With Sam, she had known a love so deep that it left her gasping and haunted her still. Watching him leave last night had crushed her, and it was far worse now than it had been years ago, because now she understood exactly what she had lost.
She took off the earrings and made a fist around them. Something had broken down between her and Cody and Sam, and she didn’t know how to make it right. She didn’t know if it could be made right. Maybe she should have told him Cody had disappeared. The fact that she hadn’t was revealing in and of itself. Regular couples would discuss the issue right off, up front, and confront it together. Instead, she had resisted telling Sam that after his quarrel with Cody, their son had taken an all-night bus to Seattle.
That was important, overwhelming. She should have told him. Yet she hadn’t. Why?
Because it would make her look like a failure. A mother who lacked control of her own son. She was tired of feeling like that. She was embarrassed. She imagined people saying, “Her son took off on her.” People’s opinions shouldn’t matter, but to Michelle they always had.
She hadn’t seen her father since breakfast the day before. He’d gone to the air park. She had spent the day painting and worrying and waiting for Cody to call.
He hadn’t.
It was all she could do to keep from jumping in the Rover and racing across three states to him. But she forced herself to stick by her decision. The old Michelle would have done that, and the old Cody would have expected it. But things were going to be different now. Different and new. Until Thursday night, she had thought Sam would be a part of it, but now she wasn’t so sure. The child they had made together should be a part of their love. Instead, he had become a symbol of their doubts and differences.
It was just as well that she had come to see those differences now rather than sinking even deeper in love with Sam. The thing to remember was the hurt. The sense that, when all was said and done, the past few weeks had been an interlude. By nature, an interlude had to end.
Sam McPhee was all her heart wanted. But she was so scared. Was she to spend her life with this ache of yearning in her chest, the walking wounded of failed love?
She had made a studious effort not to try to second-guess Sam. Who knew what he was thinking, blowing up at Cody and then disappearing like that? Maybe everything got a little too real for him. Maybe he started thinking about what it would be like actually to be married, to be the father of a difficult teen. Maybe it was not what he wanted after all.
And so she couldn’t look to him for comfort. Her wounds had to stay private. The pain was too raw, too sharp to show anyone yet.
The past weeks must have happened to someone else, she thought. Her giddy happiness with Sam felt surreal, a fairy tale made of myth and spun sugar. No one’s life could actually turn out like that, she realized. But her hopeful, foolish heart reminded her that at the center of every fairy tale lay a truth that gave the story its power.
Lord. Even now. Even after last night, she was still dumb enough to hope. It was a shock to realize that even though she loved Sam with everything that was in her, it wasn’t enough. Her throat filled up, and her eyes swam, and she blinked frantically. She decided to go riding, work on her painting, try to feel normal for a while.
And maybe, please God, maybe, wait for the phone to ring.
* * *
The crisp edge of winter kept its hold on the ranch even though a dazzling sun kept trying to warm things up. On her way to the barn, Michelle passed the calving shed, hearing sounds of bovine distress and a few well-chosen swear words. In the lot adjacent to the stockyard, protesting steers were being loaded for shipping to some rodeo or other. A dark-skinned young man, carrying a bucket of oats for the horses, tipped his hat in greeting. She remembered how enchanting she had found all of this when she had come to her father, eager and shy, to live as his daughter for the first time. They couldn’t have known then the turns their lives would take, and she had never dreamed she’d be back here again, loving this place even more, if that was possible.
On a day like this, Blue Rock was the idyllic place in the imagination of everyone who had ever dreamed of the West. The rim of mountains, the fields of snow with bunchgrass showing through, the clusters of buildings and ranch vehicles spoke both poetry and permanence.
She heard a grinding of tires and saw a car turn in from the main road. Sunlight glared off the windshield of her father’s Cadillac as it parked in front of the old building she used as a studio. Shading her eyes, she watched two people get out of the car. Her heart seemed to drop to her knees.
Cody and her father didn’t see her as they went around back to the trunk. They were both wearing leather flight jackets and weary grins. She couldn’t believe it. Couldn’t believe her father had gone after Cody, and that Cody had come back to Blue Rock. Yet it made perfect sense. Gavin had done for Cody what he should have done for Michelle—brought him back to the place he belonged, whether he knew it yet or not.
Her throat stung as she watched her father and her son facing each other—Gavin tall and white-haired and distinguished, Cody slender and intense. They spoke for a moment, then Gavin clasped Cody’s shoulder in a way that was so awkwardly male that she couldn’t help smiling through her tears.
For so long, she had thought Gavin had been no father at all to her. But last night, she had sat down with the blank book the transplant team had given her months ago, when she had first agreed to the transplant. The pages had stayed blank, as empty as she had been before coming to Montana. Then last night, she had lain in bed and written in the book, and by the time she finished, she understood that Gavin had been her father in the only way he knew how. She had written of the precious time she and Gavin had spent together seventeen years ago. An early-morning ride on horseback. Lazy afternoons on the porch, watching the mountain wind ripple through the fields of avalanche lilies. Evenings by the fire, sketching while he read his mail. That was what he had given her. And it was, she suddenly knew, enough. Enough. Thank you, Daddy.
She blotted her cheeks while Cody lifted the lid of the trunk. He took out something she hadn’t seen in a very long time—her portfolio case.
The tears threatened again, and Michelle pressed a hand to her mouth. Cody went into the studio, and she was dying to know what he was up to, but she had something to do first. She went and got the journal and took it to her father.
Gavin’s expression indicated that he recognized the book.
“Read it,” she said, kissing him on the cheek. “I think you’ll like it.”
“I love you, honey,” he said, taking the gift. “Now go see your boy. He’s got a lot to say for himself.”
“Thanks, Daddy. Thanks for bringing him home.” She kissed him again, then hurried to the studio to find Cody. “Hey, stranger,” she said from the doorway.
His shoulders stiffened, and the reaction stung her. Lately it was automatic, the way he braced himself for the worst. He turned to face her. “Mom,” he said. “Mom, I’m really sorry I took off.”
She tried to say something, but no words came out. She stepped into the main room of the studio, and her heart soared.
Cody had taken out the paintings and lined them up against a wall. The light flowed over bold splashes of color, and she thought about how long it had been since she had looked, really looked at her own work. The paintings were honest and painfully beautiful, filled with truth and emotion. She could see the evolution of frustration, grief, joy. When she regarded the paintings now, they seemed to have been done by someone else. Someone more emotional. More tender. With more of her soul to give. It seemed a miracle to Michelle that these images had come from her. There was one significant painting missing, she realized. It was the snow scene—the one that hung over the mantel in Sam’s house.
Sam.
Pushing away the ache of regret, she opened her arms. Cody hugged her, and she marveled at how tall he was, tall and wiry and stronger than she remembered.
“Hey, Mom—”
“Cody—”
They both spoke at once. She gave a little laugh and stepped back. “I’m so glad you came back,” she said.
He picked at the bandage on his hand. “I never should have left like that, Mom. It was so stupid.”
“We’ll get over it,” she said, and was pleased to feel actual conviction behind the words. “Cody, I owe you an apology.”
His face paled. “Mom, no. I’m the one who—”
“I do.” She held up a hand to quiet him. She felt a sting of regret for the way things had been between them lately. She’d always thought it was her job to protect him from being hurt, but she’d wound up teaching him to shy away from emotion. “I was awful to you sometimes, Cody, and it was my own frustration making me pick at you and fuss at you. That was wrong, and—”
“Mom, there’s some stuff I need to tell you.”
Struck by his tone, she went over to the cushioned window seat. Cody was somber and tense as he sat beside her. In Gavin’s bulky flight jacket, he looked strange and poignantly familiar. His hair was combed, there were no headphones in sight, and when he looked up at her, she saw both Gavin and Sam in his face. “I screwed up, Mom,” he said. “I screwed up big-time.”
“What do you mean?”
He rubbed his hands on his thighs. “Um, I don’t blame you if you get mad at me.”
“So just say it, Cody. I can’t read your mind.”
He picked at the fraying gauze bandage on his hand. “I didn’t tell you the whole truth about Sam taking off Thursday night.” His voice was low but steady. “His, um, mother—Tammi Lee—got in trouble. Sam didn’t say, but I think she was drinking. So he had to drop everything and go help her.”
Michelle’s stomach lurched. Sam hadn’t said a word about this. He had kept it from her, just as she had kept Cody’s disappearance from him. She had never known much about Sam’s life with his troubled mother. How hard it must be for him, for them both, every day. And her son had held his silence. Her son…
“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked Cody, more baffled than angry.
“I didn’t know what to do. Everything happened so quick—Sam was yelling at me about Molly and he made me feel so bad, and then he had to go help his mother. She got fired from her job, see? And I’m the only one who knows the real reason why.” His cheeks flamed, and Michelle was shocked to see tears in his eyes. “Some guys from school took money from the shop, and Tammi Lee got the blame. Instead of speaking up, I just let Sam go running off to help her, and then I started thinking how much he’d hate me when he got back, so I didn’t tell anyone… it just got away from me.”
She detected a hint of his old sullenness. But she wouldn’t stand for evasion, not anymore. “Those are excuses, Cody. What’s the real reason?”
He didn’t speak for a moment, and she felt a little shock of disorientation as she watched him fighting tears. “I got scared, Mom,” he said.
“Scared of what? Cody, tell me.”
“I got scared, thinking about what it would be like to have Sam for a father.” The admission was squeezed out of him along with the tears he had been struggling to hold back.
Scared. Michelle’s heart skipped a beat. She knew then what Sam had tried to tell her the last time they were together—that Cody was in danger of becoming like her. Holding back and hiding from love because it was frightening. Overwhelming. All her life she tried to buy emotional safety at the risk of feeling only half alive.
“I saw how happy he makes you,” Cody added, “and I guess I was afraid you’d love him more than me.”
“Oh, son.” She touched his face. “It’s totally different. You have my heart, all of it, and that will never change.”
“I’m sorry, Mom. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” His arms went around her. He still smelled like a boy, of soap and outdoor air, and he still needed his mother. As much as she needed him.
“I’ll make everything right with Sam and Tammi Lee,” he said. “I swear I will. I just hope they forgive me.” Cody straightened up and scrubbed at his face with the back of his hand. Then he put his arm around her, and the universe came back into balance.
She gazed at him, and in his eyes, she saw Gavin’s eyes. Her father and her son. It took both of them to make her understand that life was short; who knew how long anyone had? When she got to wherever she was going, she wanted to have painted her paintings. She wanted to have loved with a passion beyond reason. She wanted to know that Cody was not just her son, but her friend.
She used to look at him and wonder where her little boy had gone. Now she realized she’d found him. She’d found him in this hurting, confused, and ultimately good kid who was becoming a good man. She paused, drew a breath, tried to think of the right thing to say.
“You know what’s even more scary?” she asked. “It’s that I almost lost you, Cody. But I think we’re going to be okay.” She realized that she’d almost lost Sam because she hadn’t trusted herself with him. What she should have done was fling herself into the relationship the way she had flung herself into painting. Because it wasn’t just the painting that came back to her after its long sleep in the frozen tundra, but life. And Sam had awakened her to that.
She thought about the transplant. Fear and love were sometimes the same thing, both necessary, unavoidable. Now she understood that it was okay to bleed if you know how to heal.
“So we’ll call Sam, right?” Cody said. “He’ll give me another chance, won’t he?”
She put her hands on his shoulders. Lord, but it felt good to hold him again. She had never felt closer to her son. At sixteen, Cody was learning what she wished she had known long ago—that you have to love even though it hurts, even though there are no guarantees. You have to spend it all even though you never know what you’ll get in return.
“Oh, Cody.” She wanted to reassure him that of course Sam would forgive him. But how did she know that? She’d had sixteen years to love and understand Cody, to learn who he was. Without all that groundwork, Sam’s forgiveness would have to be a leap of faith.
Chapter 52
It snowed later that day. An oppressive quiet shrouded the land, and flying snowflakes pocked the colorless sky. Michelle rode beside Cody in the Range Rover with headlights shining in the bleak day. The heartbeat rhythm of the windshield wipers, batting at the snow, punctuated the silence.
&n
bsp; This was nuts, she thought. This was asking for heartache. When Cody had phoned Lonepine, he’d spoken to Edward Bliss, and the news was not good. Sam had taken his mother to detox, then brought her back to the house for a day or two while she found her footing. No, Edward wasn’t any too sure they wanted company. And yet here she was, driving her son over to Lonepine, just as they had that first day—Lord, was it only three weeks ago?—before Sam and Cody had any idea they were father and son.
Why did she ever think this was a good idea? Barging back into Sam’s life, hoping and praying he would let her back in.
Self-doubt and sheer terror pounded in her gut. In the past, the fear would have stopped her from taking this step. She would have chosen emptiness over pain and joy. Now she knew better. For a short and glorious time she had found the essence of all she desired in the arms of Sam McPhee. It was something she wouldn’t get another chance at, something most people didn’t even experience in a lifetime.
Parking at Lonepine, she stared out the window at the white-quilted landscape that was starving for spring to come again. Tammi Lee stood out on the porch wearing a big jacket with the collar up and smoking a cigarette.
“You want me to come with you?” Michelle asked Cody.
“Nope. I’m on my own.”
He got out of the car and walked toward the house. She realized he didn’t need her to prop him up as she had so often in the past, even when it would have been better to leave him be.
* * *
Tammi Lee tossed out her cigarette and sat very still, waiting for Cody to come to her. She felt drained, wrung out, as if she had just run a marathon. She hated having her grandson see her like this, but this was who she was—someone who had flown high and crashed-landed more times than she could count. She hovered in a low gully, wondering if she’d rise or fall this time.
“Can I talk to you?” Cody asked. His face looked pale and tight, hands jammed hard into his pockets.