by Nora Roberts
“No. It’s nothing like that. I didn’t know you had any interest in that business, Noah.”
“Why wouldn’t I?” He pushed away from the doorway and picked up one of the bright red apples in a blue bowl on the table. “It was Dad’s case, and a big one. People still talk about it. And he thinks about it.” Noah jerked his chin in the direction his father had taken. “Even if he doesn’t talk about it. What’s the deal, Mom?”
Celia lifted her shoulders, let them fall. “The girl—Olivia—wrote to him. She has some questions. I don’t think her grandparents have told her very much, and I don’t think they know she wrote your father. So, let’s give the two of them a little room.”
“Sure.” Noah bit into the apple, and his gaze drifted toward the window where the tall young girl had led the man toward the trees. “I was just wondering.”
eight
The trees closed them in, like giant bars in an ancient prison. Frank had expected a kind of openness and charm, and instead found himself uneasily walking through a strange world where the light glowed eerily green and nature came in odd, primitive shapes.
Even the sounds and smells were foreign, potent and ripe. Dampness clung to the air. He’d have been more comfortable in a dark alley in East L.A.
He caught himself glancing over his shoulder and wishing for the comforting weight of his weapon.
“You ever get lost in here?” he asked Olivia.
“No, but people do sometimes. You should always carry a compass, and stay on the marked trails if you’re a novice.” She tipped up her face to study his. “I guess you’re an urban hiker.”
He grinned at the term. “You got that right.”
She smiled, and the humor made her eyes glow. “Aunt Jamie said that’s what she is now. But you can get lost in the city, too, can’t you?”
“Yeah. Yeah, you can.”
She looked away now, slowing her pace. “It was nice of you to come. I didn’t think you would. I wasn’t sure you’d even remember me.”
“I remember you, Livvy.” He touched her arm lightly, felt the stiffness and control a twelve-year-old shouldn’t have. “I’ve thought about you, wondered how you were.”
“My grandparents are great. I love living here. I can’t imagine living anywhere else. People come here for vacation, but I get to live here all the time.” She said it all very fast, as if she needed to get out everything good before she turned a corner.
“You have a nice family,” she began.
“Thanks. I think I’ll probably keep them.”
Her smile came and went quickly. “I have a nice family, too. But I . . . That’s a nurse log,” she pointed out as nerves crept back into her voice. “When a tree falls, or branches do, the forest makes use of them. Nothing’s wasted here. That’s a Douglas fir, and you can see the sprouts of western hemlock growing out of it, and the spread of moss, the ferns and mushrooms. When something dies here, it gives other things a chance to live.”
She looked up at him again, her eyes a shimmering amber behind a sheen of tears. “Why did my mother die?”
“I can’t answer that, Livvy. I can never really answer the why, and it’s the hardest part of my job.”
“It was a waste, wasn’t it? A waste of something good and beautiful. She was good and beautiful, wasn’t she?”
“Yes, yes she was.”
With a nod, she began to walk again and didn’t speak until she was certain she’d fought back the tears. “But my father wasn’t. He couldn’t have been good and beautiful, not really. But she fell in love with him, and she married him.”
“Your father had problems.”
“Drugs,” she said flatly. “I read about it in newspapers my grandmother has put away in our attic. He took drugs and he killed her. He couldn’t have loved her. He couldn’t have loved either of us.”
“Livvy, life isn’t always that simple, that black-and-white.”
“If you love something, you take care of it. You protect it. If you love enough, you’d die to protect it.” She spoke softly, but her voice was fierce. “He says he didn’t do it. But he did. I saw him. I can still see him if I let myself.” She pressed her lips together. “He would have killed me, too, if I hadn’t gotten away.”
“I don’t know.” How did he answer this child, with her quiet voice and old eyes. “It’s possible.”
“You talked to him. After.”
“Yes. That’s part of my job.”
“Is he crazy?”
Frank opened his mouth, closed it again. There were no pat answers here. “The court didn’t think so.”
“But did you?”
Frank let out a sigh. He could see how they’d circled around now, see parts of the roofline, the glint of the windows of the inn. “Livvy, I think he was weak, and the drugs played into that weakness. They made him believe things that weren’t true and do things that weren’t right. Your mother separated from him to protect you as much, probably more, than herself. And, I think, hoping it would push him into getting help.”
But it didn’t, Olivia thought. It didn’t make him get help, it didn’t protect anyone.
“If he wasn’t living there anymore, why was he in the house that night?”
“The evidence indicated she let him in.”
“Because she still loved him.” She shook her head before Frank could answer. “It’s all right. I understand. Will they keep him in jail forever?”
There are so few forevers, Frank thought. “He was given a sentence of twenty years to life, the first fifteen without possibility of parole.”
Her eyes narrowed in a frown of concentration. Fifteen years was longer than she’d been alive, but it wasn’t enough. “Does that mean he can just get out in seven more years? Just like that, after what he did?”
“No, not necessarily. The system . . .” How could he possibly explain the twists and turns of it to a child? “He’ll go before a panel, like a test.”
“But the people on the panel don’t know. They weren’t there. It won’t matter to them.”
“Yes, it will matter. I can go.” And he would, Frank decided, and speak for the child. “I’m allowed to go and address the panel because I was there.”
“Thank you.” The tears wanted to come back, so she held out a hand to shake his. “Thank you for talking to me.”
“Livvy.” He took her hand, then touched his free one to her cheek. “You can call or write me anytime you want.”
“Really?”
“I’d like it if you did.”
The tears stopped burning, her nerves smoothed out. “Then I will. I’m really glad you came. I hope you and your family have a good time. If you want, I can sign you up for one of the guided hikes while you’re here, or I can show you which trails you can take on your own.”
Going with instinct, Frank smiled at her. “We’d like that, but only if we can hire you as guide. We want the best.”
She studied him with calm and sober eyes. “Skyline Trail’s only thirty-one miles.” When his mouth fell open, she smiled a little. “Just kidding. I know a nice day hike if you like to take pictures.”
“What’s your definition of a nice day hike?”
Her grin flashed, quick and surprising. “Just a couple of miles. You’ll see beaver and osprey. The lodge can make up a boxed lunch if you want a picnic.”
“Sold. How about tomorrow?”
“I’ll check with my grandfather, but it should be all right. I’ll come by about eleven-thirty.” She glanced down at his scuffed high-tops. “You’d be better off with boots, but those are okay if you don’t have them. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Livvy?” he called when she turned back toward the trees. “Should I buy a compass?”
She tossed a quick smile over her shoulder. “I won’t let you get lost.”
She walked into the trees, going fast now until she was sure no one could see. Then she stopped, hugging herself hard, rocking, letting the tears spill out.
They were hot and stinging; her chest ached with them as it hitched. But after they’d fallen, after she was able to breathe again, to scrub her face dry with her hands, she felt better.
And at age twelve, Olivia decided what she would do with and how she would live her life. She would learn all there was to learn about the forest, the lakes, the mountains that were her home. She would live and she would work in the place she loved, the place where her mother had grown up.
She would, over time, find out more about her mother. And about the man who killed her. She would love the first with all her heart. Just as she would hate the second.
And she would never, never fall in love the way her mother had.
She would become her own woman. Starting now.
She stopped to wash her face in the stream, then sat quietly until she was sure all traces of tears and tattered emotions were gone. Her grandparents were to be protected—that was another promise she made herself. She would see to it that nothing she did ever caused them pain.
So when she walked into the clearing and saw her grandfather weeding his flowers, she crossed to him, knelt beside him with a smile. “I just did this over at the lodge. The gardens look really nice there.”
“You got my green thumb, kiddo.” He winked at her. “We won’t talk about the color of your grandmother’s.”
“She does okay with houseplants. A family just checked into the lodge. A couple and their son.” Casually, Olivia uprooted a weed. She didn’t want to lie to him, but she thought it wisest to skirt around the bare truth. “The mother said she’d hiked around here when she was a teenager, but I don’t think the other two know a bush from a porcupine. Anyway, they’d like me to go out with them tomorrow, just a short hike. I thought I’d take them to Irely Lake, along the river so they could take pictures.”
He sat back on his heels, the line of worry already creasing his forehead. “I don’t know, Livvy.”
“I’d like to do it. I know the way, and I want to start learning even more about running the lodge and campground, more about the trails and even the backcountry areas. I’ve gone along on guided hikes before, and I want to see if I can do one by myself. It’s just down to Irely. If I do a good job, I could start training to guide other hikes during the summer and maybe give talks and stuff for kids. When I’m older, I could even do overnights, and be a naturalist like they have in the park. Only I’d be better, because I grew up here. Because it’s home.”
He reached out to skim his knuckles over her cheek. He could see Julie in her eyes, Julie, when she’d been a young girl and telling him of her dreams to be a great actress. Her dream had taken her away from him. Olivia’s would keep her close.
“You’re still young enough to change your mind a dozen times.”
“I won’t. But anyway, I won’t know if I’m good or if it’s really what I want until I try. I want to try, just a little bit, tomorrow.”
“Just down to Irely?”
“I showed the father the loop trail from the inn before I left. He kept talking about getting lost.” She shared an easy chuckle with Rob. “I think Irely’s about all he can handle.”
Knowing she’d won, she got up, brushed off her jeans. “I’m going to go see if Grandma needs any help with dinner.” Then she stopped, leaned down to wrap her arms around Rob’s neck. “I’m going to make you proud of me.”
“I am proud of you, baby.”
She hugged tighter. “Just wait,” she whispered, then darted inside.
Olivia was exactly on time. She’d decided that would be important to how she lived her life from now on. She would always be prompt; she would always be prepared.
She arrived early at the lodge to collect the boxed lunch for the hike. It would be her job to carry the supplies. She was young and strong, she thought as she stowed them in her backpack. She would get older, and she would get stronger.
She shouldered the pack, adjusted the straps.
She had her compass, her knife, bottled water, spare plastic bags to seal up any trash or garbage, her camera, a notepad and pencils, a first-aid kit.
She’d spent three hours the night before reading, studying, absorbing information and history. She was going to see to it that the Bradys had an entertaining, and an educational, afternoon.
When she walked around to the patio entrance of the unit, she saw Noah sitting in one of the wooden chairs. He was wearing headphones and tapping his fingers restlessly on the arm of the chair. His legs were long, clad in ripped jeans and stretched out to cross at the ankles of high-top Nikes.
He wore sunglasses with very dark lenses. It occurred to her she’d yet to see him without them. His hair was damp as if he’d recently come from the shower or the pool. It was casually slicked back and drying in the sun.
She thought he looked like a rock star.
Shyness wanted to swallow her, but she straightened her shoulders. If she was going to be a guide, she had to learn to get over being shy around boys and everyone else. “Hi.”
His head moved a little, his fingers stopped tapping. She realized he’d probably had his eyes closed behind those black lenses and hadn’t even seen her.
“Yeah, hi.” He reached down to turn off the cassette that was singing in his ears. “I’ll get the troops.”
When he stood up, she had to tip back her head to keep her eyes on his face. “Did you try the pool?”
“Yeah.” He gave her a grin and had the woman’s heart still sleeping in the child’s breast stirring. “Water’s cold.” He opened the patio door. “Hey, the trailblazer’s here.” There was a muffled response from behind the bedroom door before he turned back to Olivia. “You might as well sit down. Mom’s never ready on time.”
“There’s no hurry.”
“Good thing.”
Deciding it was more polite to sit since he’d asked her to, she lowered herself to the stone patio. She fell into a silence that was part shyness and part simple inexperience.
Noah studied her profile. She interested him because of her connection to his father and to Julie MacBride and, he admitted, because of her connection to murder. Murder fascinated him.
He would have asked her about it if he hadn’t been certain both his parents would have skinned him for it. He might have risked that, but he remembered the image of the small child with her hands over her ears and tears flooding her cheeks.
“So . . . what do you do around here?”
Her gaze danced in his direction, then away. “Stuff.” She felt the heat climb into her cheeks at the foolishness of the answer.
“Oh yeah, stuff. We never do that in California.”
“Well, I do chores, help out at the campground and here at the lodge. I hike and fish. I’m learning about the history of the area, the flora and fauna, that sort of thing.”
“Where do you go to school?”
“My grandmother teaches me at home.”
“At home?” He tipped down his sunglasses so she got a glimpse of deep green eyes. “Some deal.”
“She’s pretty strict,” Olivia mumbled, then leaped to her feet in relief when Frank stepped out.
“Celia’s coming. I figured I should go get our lunch.”
“I have it.” Olivia shifted her pack. “Cold fried chicken, potato salad, fruit and pound cake. Sal, that’s the chef, he makes the best.”
“You shouldn’t carry all that,” Frank began, but she stepped back.
“It’s part of my job.” Then she looked past him, saw Celia and felt shy again. “Good morning, Mrs. Brady.”
“Good morning. I saw a deer out my window this morning. She stepped through the fog like something out of a fairy tale. By the time I snapped out of it and dug out my camera, she was gone.”
“You’ll probably see more. The blacktail is common in the forest. You might catch sight of a Roosevelt elk, too.”
Celia tapped the camera hanging from a strap around her neck as she stepped out. “This time, I’m prepared.”
“If you�
�re ready, we’ll get started.” Olivia had already, subtly she hoped, checked out their shoes and clothes and gear. It would do well enough for the short, easy hike. “You can stop me anytime you want to take pictures or rest or ask questions. I don’t know how much you know about Olympic, or the rainforest,” she began