Love Will Find a Way (28 page)

"I can't wipe away the past nine years," she said. "I can't pretend they didn't exist, that I didn't live with and love someone else, because I did."

"I'm not asking you to do that."

"What are you asking me?"

"I don't know, Rachel. You tell me. You're the one who believes in the legend. If the magic is real, if an apple from that tree binds two people together for all time, then what are you going to do about me?"

"What do you want me to do?"

"How about you stop answering questions with questions, to start with?"

"I don't know what you want me to say."

"Sure you do. You're just afraid to say it."

She saw the challenge in his eyes and wanted to rise to the occasion, but she couldn't seem to get there. "I need to go. I'll tell my grandmother you have other plans for dinner."

"That scared, huh?"

"I think we need some time apart."

"I think we've had too much time apart. But go, Rachel. Just remember this -- you can run, but you can't hide," he said as she turned away.

"Oh, yeah?" she muttered, "Watch me."

"You are impossible," Carly told Travis, fighting back the urge to stomp her foot. That would be childish, and she didn't want to be childish. She wanted to be mature and sophisticated and way out of this jerk's league. But he was being nice, and she hated him for it, hated him for making her feel anything but irritation.

"What is your problem? I just did something incredible, if I don't say so myself. I thought you'd be happy." He waved the tickets in front of her face, and she immediately grabbed them and tucked them out of sight.

"Someone could see you," she snapped, casting a quick glance into the hallway behind them. Her grandmother and Wesley were in the kitchen, but Rachel would be back any second. "How would I explain tickets to the opening of an art gallery in San Francisco? Where did you get these anyway?"

"A friend of mine works for a radio station in the city. I asked him to let me know if he got free tickets for anything arty."

"I can't go," she said flatly, even though she couldn't believe she was turning this opportunity down.

"Why not?"

"Because it's for Friday night, the night of the Harvest Dance, and Rachel would ask where I'm going. I can't tell her that I have an interest in art."

"You'll have to tell her someday. In fact, you should show her. I went into your basement earlier, and --"

"You did what?" she asked, her jaw dropping.

"I looked at some of those other paintings you tucked away."

"You had no right."

"They were incredible. You have a talent, Carly, a talent you shouldn't be hiding."

"A talent my family would hang me for,"

"I'll take you to the gallery opening," he said. "Tell Rachel we're going out on a date. She'll be happy it's me and not Antonio."

That reminded her. "I was going to take Antonio to the dance, another reason I can't go anywhere with you."

"He's still in New York, isn't he?"

"He should be back soon."

"I assume he hasn't called you?"

"I'm sure he's busy."

Travis sent her a thoughtful look. "You didn't sleep with him, did you?"

"As if that's any of your business!"

"You didn't. I'm glad."

"It has nothing to do with you." She didn't like the gleam in his eyes. It was more than just a knowing look, it was a look filled with something else,
a
something else she wasn't going to give him. "Why did you do this?"

"Because I want you to have what you want," he said.

She couldn't have what she wanted, not at the expense of her family. She couldn't bear to lose them, and she would lose them if they thought she was like her mother. They'd feel betrayed by her painting. She knew that with complete and utter certainty.

"You want to go, don't you?" Travis asked.

"Of course I want to go," she grumbled. "I would love to go."

He smiled "Then let's do it."

"What about the dance? Rachel won't believe I'd go on a date with you instead of to the Harvest Dance."

"We'll figure something out."

"But why would you want to go to an art show? You don't even like art."

"How do you know what I like?" he challenged. "You think you know exactly who I am and what I want, but, baby, you don't have a clue. I'll pick you up five o'clock on Friday. Be ready to go." He grabbed the tickets out of her hand. "If you aren't ready, I'll go without you."

"Like you'd go by yourself."

"You want to take that chance?"

"Maybe I do," she said uncertainly, because this wasn't a step she was sure she wanted to take. She'd started down this road once before but had chickened out. Maybe she really wasn't that good. And if she wasn't that good, why risk losing everything else for a dream that would never materialize? It would be easier to just get married. Then whatever she and Antonio did would be part of their new life together. Rachel wouldn't see it as a betrayal. A woman was supposed to support her husband, and if Antonio's interest was art, then Carly's would have to be, too.

"Boy, I can see the wheels turning in your head," Travis observed. "You take the longest route of anyone I know to get from point A to point B. You want to be an artist, start by going to a showing. Don't start by marrying some guy you don't love."

How could he know what she was thinking? Had she spoken out loud? Before she could ask him, the front door opened and closed. Rachel was home. "Fine, I'll go with you," she said quickly. "But don't tell Rachel."

"Don't tell me what?" Rachel asked as she came into the living room.

"Nothing," Carly replied abruptly. "I guess Dylan found you, huh?"

"Yeah, he found me."

Rachel didn't sound too happy, and Carly wondered why. "You look flushed."

Rachel put both hands to her face, looking guilty. "It's warm in here. I think we need to get a ceiling fan."

"Or maybe just send someone back to the city," Carly said pointedly.

"What are you doing here, Travis?" Rachel asked, changing the subject. "Looking for another mouse?"

He smiled. "We can't seem to find the little bugger. Carly thought she saw one run in here, but I couldn't find anything."

"It was probably just my imagination," she interjected. "Thanks for coming by." She walked over to the doorway, hinting that he should leave. For a moment she thought he was going to say something else, he so enjoyed yanking her chain, but all he did was murmur a goodnight in Rachel's direction. Then he stopped in front of her and said, "Don't forget our date. Wear something pretty."

She silently counted to ten before turning back to face Rachel's inquiring gaze.

"You're going out with Travis?" Rachel asked.

"Just for dinner next weekend. He wants to plan a surprise party for his mother's birthday next month, and I said I'd help him." It was amazing how easily the lies came where her art was concerned. "What's up with you?" she asked, changing the subject.

"I told Dylan the Lady Elaine story."

"Was he impressed?"

Rachel shrugged,
then
sat down on the couch. "I don't know what he thought. But when I was telling him the story, I started thinking about more than the apple tree. I was thinking about Elaine's journey west. How brave she was. How much she was willing to sacrifice for the man she loved. She must have been an amazing woman. I'm beginning to wish we'd inherited more than the tree. I wish I could be that bold, that daring, that willing to throw away everything I know for everything I don't know."

Carly wished she could, too. Just as she wished she could share with Rachel the most important part of herself. But she'd rather have her sister believe she was in love with an Italian playboy than that she had the same passion for painting as their mother. Where was her bravery?

Their mother had had courage, maybe more courage than compassion. She'd chased her dream and to hell with the consequences, leaving behind a family shattered by her actions. "She stole it from us," Carly said, not realizing she'd said the words aloud until she saw the quizzical look on Rachel's face. "Mom. She stole our courage. She took it with her when she left. Because she ran away, we've been afraid to lose what we had left."

Rachel stared at her as if she'd never seen her before.

"You don't agree?" she asked sharply.

"No. I mean, yes. Actually, I do agree. I've just never thought of it that way."

"We couldn't hold on to her, so we have to hold on to other things."

"Like the farm."

Carly nodded, even though for her it wasn't the farm at all, it was Rachel's love. It wasn't until this very moment that she realized what it was all about. She'd lost her mother and her father, too, for that matter. She couldn't afford to lose her sister.

"But you don't care about the orchards like I do," Rachel said slowly. "What is it you care about, Carly? What are you afraid to lose?"

It was the best opening she'd ever had to reveal her secret; she just needed to find the right words. Unfortunately, while she was looking for them, Wesley came running into the room.

"You're back," he said, jumping onto Rachel's lap. "Dylan and I made a cabinet today. I want to show it to you."

"We'll go see it tomorrow, honey."

"Okay. Grandma says it's time to eat. Where's Dylan?"

"He had to go home."

Wesley's face fell. "But he said he was going to stay."

"Something came up," Rachel said. "You'll see him tomorrow, don't worry. Tell Grandma we'll be right there.

"Okay."

"Guess we better go eat," Rachel said, getting to her feet. "You were going to say something, though. What was it?"

She shook her head, for the moment had passed. "Nothing."

"Was it about Travis?"

"No! Goodness, why would you think that?"

"Because I don't believe for a second that Travis was here seeking a phantom mouse," Rachel said with a smile. "I think he's mad about you. He has been for a while."

"He's mad, but not about me."

"Oh, come on, surely you've noticed."

"I'm not interested in him that way."

Rachel frowned. "That's right. You want Antonio. Be careful, Carly. Be careful what you wish for. Sometimes it comes true and then you find out it's not at all what you wanted."

* * *

"You know what I wish?" Wesley asked Dylan when he stopped by the house on Monday after school.

"What's that?" Dylan asked as he sat back on his heels and gazed into the little boy's face.

"That Daddy would come back now and help us with the house instead of waiting for us to finish it." Wesley's blue eyes challenged Dylan to refute the fact that Gary was coming home.

He wasn't sure how to respond. This was the one conversation they hadn't had, the one they'd both avoided. Now that it had arrived, he didn't know what to say. He didn't want to make things worse, but he also didn't want to lie. They'd established a trust between them, a trust he wanted to protect.

"Do you really think your dad would just wait for us to finish the house?" he asked, the words coming out slowly. "Don't you think he'd want to help if he could?"

Wesley wet his lips with his tongue. "He's very busy. He has a lot of work to do. He can only come home on the weekends.
And sometimes not even then.
He wants to be with us, but he can't."

Wesley sounded like he was reciting a familiar refrain. Were these the words Gary had used to explain his frequent absences? And why had Gary been such an absent father? Hadn't he realized how much Wesley missed him when he was gone? Maybe Dylan was to blame, too. Maybe he shouldn't have offered Gary the convenient city apartment. He should have urged his friend to spend more time at home with his family. Well, it was too late to do anything about the past. But he could do the right thing now.

"That's true," he said easily. "Your dad wants to be with you more than anything. But he can't, can he, Wes?"

Wesley shook his head as the tears began to fall down his cheeks. Dylan put down his hammer and gathered the boy in his arms, feeling his small body shake with the sudden release of sobs. Rachel said Wesley hadn't cried much since the funeral. But he was crying now, weeping like his heart was breaking. It was the worst sound of pain Dylan had ever heard. He wished he could make it go away, but all he could do was hold on.

Finally, the sobs began to break. Dylan loosened his grip so he could wipe away the traces of Wesley's tears with the sleeve of his shirt.

"It's okay to cry," he told him. "I cried enough to fill a big bucket when I found out your dad had died."

"Why did he have to die? Why did he have to go away and not come back? It's not fair. Everyone else has a dad but me."

Wesley's simple questions broke Dylan's heart. They reminded him not only of Gary but also of Jesse. He could remember clinging to his mother, asking her why Jesse had to die. Why did God have to take him to heaven? Why couldn't he have more time?

"It's not fair," Dylan agreed, giving Wesley another hug. "But I know this. Your dad loved you a lot."

"He did?" Wesley stepped back, digging his hands into the pockets of his blue jeans.

"Yes. Did you know he called me the night you were born? He was so excited to have a son. He told me he was the luckiest man on earth, and no one in the world could ever mean more to him than you did."

Wesley sniffed, taking in every word like a long, cold drink that he was thirsty for.

"I'd never heard your dad sound so happy. And over the years, he'd tell me how proud of you he was, every little thing you did -- when you first learned to talk and walk, read and ride a bicycle. He loved being with you, Wes. And the only reason he's not here with us today is because he can't be."

"Sometimes I think he's still coming back," Wesley confessed. "Like his car will come up the driveway and he'll honk three times, the way he did when he came home after a trip. Sometimes I stay up all night listening for the horn. Don't tell Mommy. She doesn't want me to stay up at night."