Deep Haven [02] Tying the Knot

by Susan May Warren

Bucko looked as sleep-deprived as Noah felt. Bags of exhaustion hung under his red-streaked eyes. His massive, slumped shoulders betrayed the beating they’d taken yesterday muscling the campers, the canoes, and all the gear back to camp. Noah’s entire staff deserved a long vacation in the tropics or at least in some five-star hotel equipped with a hot tub and sauna. Troopers with a capital T, they’d also unpacked their gear and prepared the kids for their trip home.

  “Yep.” Bucko slapped Noah’s back; his knees nearly buckled. “Don’t worry, boss. We’ll get them home safely.”

  Noah nodded, his chest tight.

  Bucko gave him a grim look. “Are you going to the hospital?”

  “Later.” Much later, after Anne was long gone. He owed her a debt of gratitude, but he couldn’t face her after all she’d done and tell her it was over.

  Wilderness Challenge had folded.

  As soon as he could pack his gear, clean the kitchen, take down the tents, and lock up the outfitter’s shack, he was headed to Minneapolis.

  Back to his life. The one he should have never left.

  Sure, Wilderness Challenge had been a credible idea—on paper and in his mind as he had sat in the Sculpture Garden and dreamed of lives being changed, of street kids bringing home hope from the north woods—but reality was flesh and broken bones and blood.

  He noticed George dump his stuff into the pile of baggage and went over to talk to him. George still had a heart of flesh, evidenced by the silent horror of his actions. Thankfully, Bucko kept him close, and the rest of the campers were warned to keep their hands off and mouths shut. Noah still didn’t know what to do with the kid. God had spared Darrin, and now Noah desperately wanted second chances for them all.

  “How are you, pal?”

  George shrugged, turned away.

  “Listen, I’ll see you round, okay?” Noah held out his hand. George stared at it. Noah didn’t comment on the sadness in the kid’s eyes. Slowly George slipped his hand into Noah’s grip and gave him a limp shake. Well, hope had to start somewhere. “Super.”

  Latisha stumbled up, under the weight of a duffel bag. “I’m all packed but ain’t goin’ home. Not with my brother in the hospital.” Her jutted chin told Noah she still packed a dangerous amount of attitude.

  She’d been sneaking out with George on the sly, something they both admitted to later. Something Noah dearly hoped Darrin would never know.

  What other things had been going on behind Noah’s very naive back?

  He found a compassionate voice, willing to take some guff from her, knowing she was torn up with guilt. “Latisha, Bucko needs your help with your mother. Keep her calm. Help get her packed. Bucko will bring you both back here in a few days to see Darrin. He’ll be fine, and when I get to the hospital, I’ll have him call home. I’ve already talked to your mother, and she needs you.”

  “Just so you know that I’m going to be back.” Her chin began to quiver.

  “I’m not going to tell Darrin about you and George.” Noah lowered his voice. “That’s your business.”

  The relieved smile she gave him nearly broke his heart.

  “I’ll see you in a couple days, okay?”

  She nodded. “Thanks, Noah. Until yesterday, it was a great summer.”

  He yearned to agree with her. Yes, parts of it had been spectacular—the camaraderie, the Soul Talks, the wonder of the campers as they beheld God’s creation up close and personal. The magic of meeting Anne. Oh yes, it had been the best—and most painful—summer of his life.

  As if to remind him of everything he’d lost, Bertha bounded up, followed by three of Ross’s campers. “She’s got my shoe!”

  Noah caught the dog’s collar, the momentum nearly ripping off his arm. “Whoa there, honey.” He grabbed the Nike in Bertha’s mouth, wrenched it free, and tossed the slobbery mess to the kid. “Yum.”

  The smile the boys returned said Bertha had made a hit. As had Anne. She had been elevated to some kind of superwoman after her EMT save of Darrin. Noah’s heart twisted. Oh, how he wanted to see her dive into these kids’ lives . . . she obviously had the touch. Had the compassion, the kindness, the skill . . .

  All she lacked was the guts.

  That was something he couldn’t help her with. He would never ever, not in a million painful years, leverage his love to get her to move to Minneapolis with him.

  It was better that she never knew how he felt. That he’d wanted her beside him more than he wanted to breathe. But she’d come to Deep Haven to find peace, and he wasn’t about to destroy that by pulling on her heartstrings. Even if he did manage to convince her that she’d be safe, it would only take the first drive-by shooting for her commitment to shatter. No, if he had any hope of Anne in his future, God would have to put her there. Wholly committed. Wholly at peace. Wholly trusting in His grace to be sufficient to conquer her fears.

  He wouldn’t hold his breath. Not after scraping open her scars and giving her fears new ammunition. She deserved more than anyone to live a life in a war-free zone.

  Noah watched the kids load their belongings into the bus. His heart felt as if it had been bludgeoned.

  Katie helped Shelly toss her gear into the back of the bus and hugged the young woman. Tears streaked down Katie’s cheeks. She held Shelly at arm’s length and mouthed, “I’ll call you.”

  Noah smiled. So the camp would close. Maybe God had other plans. Still, standing in the middle of his crumpled dreams, Noah fought to see how. “Katie, could you come here?”

  Katie winked at Shelly, then sauntered over. “What’s up, boss?”

  Noah looked away. “Can you gather up Anne’s stuff and bring it down to the hospital? Take Bertha too.”

  Katie narrowed her eyes. “Why? Aren’t you going?”

  “Of course.” If he had his druthers, he’d be gunning down the Gunflint Trail right now, not only to check on Darrin but to hand his heart to the woman he loved, beg her to come to Minneapolis to join his lifework. And they’d get about as far as Duluth before he’d come to his senses and realize he was dragging her back to the lions’ den. “I have some things to do at camp first.” Liar, liar.

  Katie’s expression told him she knew exactly what he was thinking. Her silence made him shift, swallow. “What?” he said.

  “Tell her yourself.”

  “What?” He pursed his lips. Did she read minds too?

  “Tell her that you’re quitting. Tell her that, after everything she’s worked for this summer, the camp is cancelled. Kaput. I dare you.”

  Noah studied his boots. “Okay, you’re right. I’m a giant coward.” He gritted his teeth. “I don’t want to see her because . . . because if I do, I know I’m going embarrass us both. I want her to come to Minneapolis so badly it hurts. But if I tell her that . . .”

  “She’s liable to agree.” Katie nodded. “And, excuse me for being blind, but where’s the tragedy in that?”

  “She’s worked for years to move here and start a new life, and she’s never going to—”

  “Give it up for a guy like you?”

  Ouch. Noah flinched, angry that Katie could read him so easily.

  “Listen, Noah, I don’t know what you see when you look in the mirror, but Anne sees a man of honor. A man of courage.”

  “You don’t know everything.”

  She laughed. “I know what she said. She said she thought you were a great guy. In fact, I’d even guess that she’s in love with you.”

  Noah clenched his jaw against a rush of pain. Thanks, Katie; that’s a big help.

  “Anne’s a smart woman,” Katie continued, her voice rising. “Let her decide what she wants to do. If you don’t ask, you’ll never know.”

  Noah closed his eyes and shook his head. “I can’t ask.”

  Katie sighed. “Then you’ll never know.”

  “I know what her answer would be.” Best-case scenario involved tears and heartache. And wouldn’t that be fun for both of them? He ran his hand through his hair. “P
lease pack her stuff. Take her dog down and tell her . . . tell her good-bye for me.”

  If looks could kill, he’d be a smoking pile of cinders.

  “Fine. But don’t you ever complain about being alone, because I’ll be around to remind you that you had the woman of your dreams right here, and you blew it.”

  26

  Shh. She’s sleeping.”

  Anne roused at the harsh sibilant sounds and tried to place the voice outside the drawn curtain. Katie. Verbal sunshine. She hadn’t seen the staffer since waving good-bye in the wee hours from an aerial and oh-so-frightening view of the cliffs while riding in the helicopter.

  Anne felt as if she’d been mowed down by a wrecking ball. Her hair had dried on the pillow, and as she sat up she could actually feel it rising from her scalp in an askew halo. She rubbed her eyes; her stomach roared to life and growled. She’d slept long—late afternoon hued the room in shadow, dim rays slanting through the blinds and lining the tile floor.

  “How are you feeling?” Katie asked Darrin as Anne whisked the curtain aside. Katie glanced at her, guilt on her face.

  “I was awake,” Anne said as she finger combed her hair. “Although I know I don’t look it.” She slid off the bed. The tile against her bare feet sent a cold jolt to her brain.

  Katie grinned, but sadness edged her eyes. “You’re a sight for sore eyes.” She patted Darrin’s head in the next bed. “As are you, pal. You scared the wits out of us.”

  Darrin shrugged, but a blush touched his face. Anne could hardly believe how his heart had softened in a mere twenty-four hours. She bit her tongue and rocked on her toes, itching to tell Katie the good news.

  Darrin was a new creation in Christ. Saved. Transformed.

  Just wait until Noah found out. The thought put a silly grin on her face.

  Katie sat down in a nearby chair. “Latisha will be here soon. She’s heading home with the rest of the campers today. Bucko will drive your mom and her back tomorrow.”

  “The campers are leaving?” Anne said, panic in her voice. She fought to hide her dismay. Noah wasn’t sending everyone home, was he? After they’d fought to open the camp, after Darrin’s life had been transformed? “Why?”

  Katie sighed. Her eyes told Anne everything, including how she felt about the decision. “He asked me to bring your gear down. It’s in the car, along with Bertha.”

  Anne tried not to gape, but she felt as if she’d been slugged. Noah had tossed her out on her ear without a thank you . . . or an I love you. She blinked back the tears biting her eyes. “Um . . . thanks.” She smoothed her scrubs, dying to ask Katie if Noah was on the bus, heading south . . . taking her heart with him.

  How could he just leave? Turn his back on Wilderness Challenge, on his dreams, his kids . . . on her?

  Her chin quivered, and she turned away, listening to Katie answer Darrin’s questions about the campers. Of course Noah could leave. She might be wildly crazy about him, but he didn’t love her. What a fool she’d been, declaring her heart. She’d practically taken it out and pinned it to her sleeve for him to wallop. Oh sure, he’d been kind; he’d made her think his feelings mirrored her own. Perhaps she’d mistaken the emotions in his eyes . . . perhaps it had been pity.

  Her heart felt like an anvil in her chest. Yes, of course. He’d seen her fall. He’d seen her bleed. Without knowing it, he’d dragged her right into the middle of her fears. Of course he felt guilty. And sorry for her.

  Pity. Noah didn’t love her. He was simply trying to shore up her emotions. All those tender looks, those nights sitting in front of the campfire listening to the song of the forest had been nothing more than Standing Bear pep talks.

  Good thing she was in a hospital. She felt as if he’d torn her heart right out of her chest and stomped on it.

  She turned to Darrin and Katie and interrupted them. “Excuse me. I’m going to go get something to eat.” As if she could put anything in her pitching stomach. But she needed to move around.

  She strode out of the room and down the hall, her body stiff and heavy as if moving through mud. At least she hadn’t told Noah she’d follow him into his dreams. At least she hadn’t sacrificed her future for his affection and pity.

  She slumped into a chair at the end of the hallway and buried her face in her hands, fighting tears.

  “Anne, honey? You okay?” Sandra sat beside her, materializing like an angel. “You look wrung out.”

  Anne forced a smile. “You’re looking pretty ragged yourself. What’s this, thirty-six-hour shifts?”

  Sandra had bags under her eyes, and her shoulders carried a weight of exhaustion. Even her uniform looked like it had seen better days. She leaned her head against the wall and closed her eyes. “I got a catnap at the nurses’ station. But we’re short on nurses and Kelly called in sick this morning.”

  “They can’t expect you to stay on.”

  Sandra didn’t open her eyes. She just shook her head in a silent editorial.

  “Listen, you go and get some sleep. I’ll watch the floor for you.” Anne reached for Sandra’s stethoscope. “I feel fresh, although I may not look it.” Maybe a few hours tending patients would drag her mind off her own fatal wounds.

  Sandra leaned forward, bracing her elbows on her knees. Her voice sounded ancient, distant. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. Go. I’ll get my ID badge.”

  Sandra closed her eyes as Anne ran down to the lounge, retrieved her badge and keys from her locker, and punched in. On her way back to the ER, she noticed a new picture hanging on the wall, an updated view of the Deep Haven lighthouse. So Garth Peterson hadn’t been lurking around town in pretense while he mugged nurses at night. Anne allowed herself a moment of shame that she’d suspected him.

  “Meds are due soon.” Sandra angled her a weary look when Anne returned. “We only have three patients, but you’ll need to do rounds in a few minutes.”

  “I can handle it. Let’s do charts.”

  Sandra trudged over to the nurses’ desk and grabbed the list of patients and trolley of charts. “Do you still have your keys?”

  Anne jangled the keys in her hand and nodded.

  “My guess is that they’ll confiscate them after your shift. New policy is to only have one set per floor.” She handed hers over to Anne. “Lock these up, please.”

  “Don’t tell me they’re still losing meds?”

  Sandra shrugged. “Could be clerical, but Chief Sam has been prowling around like a lion. He thinks there’s a connection between the missing meds and the attacks on nurses.”

  Anne tried not to imagine Peterson’s soft hands on thin throats. She obviously had to work on her propensity to falsely accuse strangers. “How is Jenny, by the way?”

  Sandra perched her hands on her hips and stretched. “Recovering. But it will take a while for her to shake the emotional wreckage from the attack.” Sandra’s eyes spoke her sympathy. Anne understood too well what kind of road Jenny would have to tread to find her way back to the living.

  As Anne went over the patients’ charts with Sandra, the twenty-bed unit became as quiet as a church on Tuesday. Sandra finally crept into an empty room, and Anne made sure the door was closed.

  Anne couldn’t escape the feeling of loneliness as she locked up Sandra’s keys, then slouched at the nurses’ station, counting down minutes until rounds. She flipped through the charts: Mildred Larson, recovering from a myocardial infarction; Olin Karlstrom, in for a double bypass surgery. She checked their meds, then went in search of the med cart to fill the orders.

  The pharmaceutical closet smelled faintly of antiseptic and plastic. The scent of medical science at its best and worst. So many different drugs. It made Anne both grateful and leery. She never escaped the sense of responsibility when she measured out the medicines. The wrong dose could kill.

  She prepared the meds, levered the cart out of the closet, locked the door, and wheeled it down the hall. She knocked in warning, then entered Mrs. Larson’s room. Anne h
ated to rouse the sleeping woman, but missing her meds would be worse than losing rest. Gently she took the woman’s pulse, recorded it, then slipped on the blood-pressure cuff. By the time she’d recorded the results, Mrs. Larson had groaned and started a litany of complaints.

  “Let me get your temperature; then I’ll give you your meds.”

  The elderly woman grumbled but opened her mouth.

  Anne took her temperature, then handed the woman the small container of pills and some water. Mrs. Larson drank them down with gusto. Anne checked her incision. “I think you’ll be ready to head home soon.”

  “I hope so. My bones are weary of being in this bed all day, and I have a garden to tend.”

  “Oh, that sounds lovely.” Anne took a peek at the remains of the woman’s lunch, recorded it, then wheeled the med cart to the door. “What do you grow?”

  “Tomatoes and squash. Some peppers. The growing season is so short up here, they need all the lovin’ they can get.”

  “I’m sure your plants miss you.”

  “Best garden I ever had was in north Minneapolis. Just a little inch of land, but my tomatoes grew like weeds. And the zucchini! Couldn’t give them away. Here I barely get enough to make a decent loaf of bread.”

  Anne cradled the chart in her arms. The elderly woman’s complexion improved as she talked. “Hmm.”

  “The ground’s too cold up here to grow anything decent. I love the north country, but I sure do miss my little patch of garden. Sorry to give that up when I moved here. The tomatoes don’t taste the same.” The woman folded her hands on her blanket. “But I suppose when you choose one thing over another, you always lose something.”

  Anne nodded. “I’ll be by to check on you later.” She nearly ran out of the room.

  “Whoa, Anne!” Dr. Jefferies caught her shoulders before she plowed into him.

  “Sorry.” Anne fought her beating heart and smiled at the doctor. He looked slightly disheveled today, as if he’d been jogging or working outside. His brown hair tangled in a mass, and definite lines etched his usually clear face. Sweat beaded his forehead. His gaze darted past her, down the empty hall, and back. “I need to get into the supply closet. Seems that I left my scrubs at home and I need a new pair.” He smiled, but she noticed the edge of his lips quiver.