Mountain Laurel (4 page)

"There's an emergency. I have to run," he said quietly.

"You're a doctor?"

"No," he said, smiling at her question. "I'm a park ranger for Garrett County. A few families are staying in the park and a smoke alarm in one of the cabins went off." He raked a hand restively through his dark brown hair and glanced toward the door. "It's probably nothing. Ten to one someone burned their fish dinner or forgot to open the chimney damper." His smile widened. "City folks do that sort of thing all the time."

Watching his purposeful strides as he walked out the door, Laurel shook her head, still amazed by how different he looked now than he had earlier on the side of the road. Shouldn't she have realized he was okay? That he posed no danger to her and Ginny?

And what was that he had said about a wedding? She stepped out onto the porch and returned his parting wave. Sighing, she thought that it was just as well that he was taken; there wasn't room in her life for a man, anyway.

She saw Ginny coming up the lane. As the two vehicles passed, Laurel smiled at her sister's stunned expression.

"That was..." She balanced a pizza box on one hand, pointing at the departing truck with the other.

"I know, I know."

"Well, what was he doing here?" Ginny's eyes were wide with curiosity.

"Bring that pizza inside and I'll tell you the whole horrible story. I hope you got the works."

Ginny's eyes grew larger with each embarrassing detail. But Laurel didn't mind sharing them with her. They were having the most intimate conversation they'd had in months. It was like old times between them again.

"I can't believe it!" Ginny laughed, clearly delighted.

Laurel muttered, "Well, believe it."

"I can't believe you honestly thought you could fit through that window! I would have given anything to have seen it all."

"Ginny!"

They broke into a fit of giggles.

A few minutes later, Laurel nibbled on a piece of pizza crust. "This is so nice." She stretched her legs out toward the fireplace and wiggled her bare toes a comfortable distance from the heat of the crackling flames.

"It reminds me of that slumber party I had a long time ago." Ginny sighed. "Do you remember?"

"Are you kidding me?" Laurel crossed her arms behind her head. "Mom had been sick about three months and I knew it was getting you down, so I wanted to do something special for your birthday."

"You invited ten of my friends over—"

"I should have made it five," Laurel interrupted.

Ginny laid her head back on the couch and spoke dreamily, "We stayed up all night talking."

"Or three. It took me two days to clean up the popcorn."

"That was one of the nicest things you ever did for me." Ginny turned her head to look at her sister. "I never told you this, but I was scared then."

Laurel sat up, tucking her feet under her, ready to listen.

"It was like having two deaths in the family instead of one. Brian drowned, and the same day Mom left in an ambulance. I didn't see her for weeks." Ginny stared into the glowing firelight. "When she did come home she wasn't the same." The reminiscence filled Ginny's eyes with sadness. "She's never been the same."

"I know, honey." The lump in Laurel's throat made it difficult to speak.

"It's like living with a ghost the way she floats around the house, quiet and staring."

Laurel was silent, not knowing what to say. Their mother's depression had left a shadow of the woman she once was.

"Brian's death made Mom—" Laurel searched for the right word "—fragile."

Ginny's smile was soft. "That sounds like Dad talking."

"It is," Laurel confessed.

"And Dad really promised to stay with Mom?"

Laurel nodded. "Don't look so surprised. Jim is there to help. They'll do all right."

"You know," Ginny informed her, scowling, "that all those business trips Dad takes are just a cop-out, a way for him to get away from all of our family problems. Brian dying. Mom." She paused, then her voice dropped to a hoarse whisper as she added, "And me."

"Don't be ridiculous." Laurel knew her aim at nonchalance was awkward. She was surprised by Ginny's perception and didn't want her sister to be hurt by their father's ineptitude.

"But it's not fair," Ginny stated flatly. "It's not fair to any of us, you, me or Mom."

"Gin, you can't think of it as fair or unfair," Laurel tried to explain. "You shouldn't expect more from a person than they're able to give. And the rest you just have to learn to deal with."

A silence followed in which both of them were lost in their own thoughts.

The rest you deal with. Laurel knew that she had been given a lot to deal with in her life. But she had never viewed it as unfair. So what if she had to work a little harder to keep her family healthy and happy? She loved them and it was worth it.

"You know what was strangest of all?" Ginny slowly twirled a strand of hair around her index finger. "Having my older sister go to my parent-teacher conferences. That was just plain weird."

"Well—" Laurel shrugged "—with Dad working and Mom sick, somebody had to make you toe the line."

"You did that all right!" Taking a sip of soda, Ginny continued, "You never missed one of my concerts. Or the school play."

"You were good in that," Laurel complimented her. She took a bite of pizza, then teased, "Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, right?"

"Laurel," Ginny reprimanded. "It was the Shoemaker and the Elves! I played the shoemaker's wife."

"I knew it had little people in it." Laurel wiped her greasy fingertips on a paper napkin. "It was hilarious. All those gangly teenagers walking on their knees."

Ginny ignored the gibe. "We wanted to do something exotic like South Pacific or Hair, but Mrs. Ross said, 'Stick to a fairy tale, children,'" Ginny mimicked the old teacher with a high, cracking voice. "We did everything—wrote the script, made the set and costumes. We were even responsible for refreshments."

"It was a big job. Your class pulled it off just fine."

"We did," Ginny agreed. "Oh, we had our setbacks, but it turned out great." Grabbing another lock of hair, Ginny sighed wistfully. "High school was great."

Not missing a beat, Laurel said, "Speaking of school..."

Determined that Ginny would not be forced into the family business as she had been, Laurel desperately wanted her sister to expand her horizons, to go as far as her dreams could take her.

"Oh, no." Ginny pulled a frown. "Not again! Look, Laurel, I told you already. You're not going to push me into college."

Laurel watched her sit up and cross her arms protectively over her chest.

"Ginny, what is it you want to do with your life?"

"I don't know!"

Laurel patiently said, "You can't go on the way you have been."

"What's wrong with the way I've been?" Ginny's lips were stubbornly taut. "Wait! Let me answer that!"

Laurel didn't want to fight. They'd shared such a wonderful evening. But, looking at her sister's face, she knew it was too late, that all she could do now was suffer the storm.

"I'm wild and uncontrollable, right?" Ginny glared. "And you're worried. And Dad's worried. And Mom.
Ha!
Mom." Her bitter voice shook with emotion. "She's not even aware of her evil daughter, now, is she?"

This outpouring of hostility surprised Laurel. She stared at her sister a long moment before saying, "You're not evil. I don't think that and neither does Dad."

"What do you think?" Without giving her a chance to respond, Ginny plowed on. "I suppose everyone wants me to be like you—Miss Mature, Miss Responsible." Anger reddened her face. Her shoulders were square and tight.

"Why do you say those words like they're dirty?"

"I knew it!" Ginny spat out.

"Calm down," Laurel softly pleaded.

"I am calm!" Taking a deep breath, Ginny stated, "Okay, let's examine your mature, responsible life-style."

"Now wait just a minute. We're talking about your life, not mine," Laurel argued.

"No, I'm serious," Ginny insisted. "I say we talk about what a wonderfully full life you lead." She paused for effect, then pointed accusingly. "You don't want to because you know what a bunch of baloney it is. Your life is so wrapped up in me and Dad and Mom and the shop that you don't have a friend in the world!"

"That's not true. Jim—"

"Jim doesn't count, Laurel! He works for Dad. That's the only reason you even know him." Ginny was thoroughly disgusted. "Face it! You have no fun. Your life is boring with a capital B.
Boring!
"

Laurel looked down at the napkin in her hands and saw that she had pulled it to shreds. She hated to admit it, but some of what her sister said was true. She managed Seashell Cove, their family-owned gift shop, because, after her brother's death and her mother's breakdown, her father needed her.

She'd wanted to go to college, to pursue a career in education. But as her family's need of her had become greater and greater, her hopes of ever getting her teaching credentials had dwindled. Instead, she had become Ginny's surrogate mother, her mother's nursemaid and her father's confidante and business partner.

Resigned to the fact that she'd never continue her education, Laurel took care of her family the best way she knew how: loving them, looking after them, thinking of them every minute of every day. But she had never thought it a burden. On the contrary, she was more than happy to give them everything they needed, help them in any way possible.

"My life is full," she said in her defense. But why did the words sound so hollow, so unconvincing?

"Your life may be full, but it's boring! You never have a good time. I don't even think you know how. You don't have any friends. You don't go out with guys. When was the last time you had a date? Your senior prom?"

"I can have just as good a time as anyone." Laurel bristled. Ginny's last remark had hit home. She'd dated several men, summer vacationers who had wanted more of her time than she could give. She had found them immature and irresponsible. One of them had even had the gall to make a joke about her mother. After that she refused all offers to go out, not wanting to waste her time with such childishness.

Trying to change the subject, Laurel asked, "Why is it you equate having a good time with dating men?"

Ginny ignored the question and persisted. "Give me one example."

"Of what?" Laurel asked, her eyes narrowing warily.

"Of you having a good time." There was a teasing glint in the teen's eye.

Laurel sat, silent.

"I only asked for one." Ginny chuckled. "All I'm saying is I am not you. You can't expect me to live like you do." She rolled her eyes. "My social life would be pushing up daisies!"

"Your social life." Laurel jumped in with both feet. "That's what we're supposed to be discussing here."

"But what we've both discovered is that it's
your
social life that needs work."

"I've discovered no such thing." Laurel walked around the couch.

"Are you up for a bet?" Ginny's face was mischievous.

Laurel had a sinking feeling in her stomach.

"You show me that you can have a good time." Ginny twisted her body around and rested her elbows on the back of the couch. "And I'll..." She paused, thinking of the right phrase. "I'll think about college."

"What do you mean, show you I can have a good time?" Laurel asked suspiciously.

She watched as Ginny turned around, plopped down on the cushion and rubbed her chin. "Well, let's see."

Laurel closed her eyes and shook her head. She was in big trouble. Opening her eyes, she saw Ginny's excitement.

"For the next two weeks," the younger girl gleefully explained, "throw caution to the wind! Have a good time. Meet some men, go out on a few dates." She wickedly wiggled her eyebrows up and down. "Maybe even fool around a little." She laughed at the horrified expression on her sister's face. "You'd think I said a bad word."