Stony River (78 page)

After she joined Willy at the table, they ate their sandwiches, Willy had a second bottle of dark ale, and they resumed their journey. Willy was full of stories about the first weeks in his shop. And he gave her the latest news of their friends, with whom he kept in close contact by phone. Ralf had just landed a three-month assignment promoting tourism in Lethbridge, for which Jillian was doing all the design layout, so they were working together directly for the first time in their careers. Len had scaled back on his art and even his garden, while he spent much of his time pursuing a likeminded Annalisa.

When they arrived at her apartment it was already late, Willy admitting it was his fault: when he’d calculated the time for the trip, he had based it on how fast he could drive forty-seven miles on a road with, you know—he gestured airily—pavement, two lanes,
bridges
. He begged pardon for being so unreasonable.

Sevana accepted his satire as completely merited; but all of that aside, she had more to do than simply throw her things in the car and continue to Calgary. Her apartment was a jumble, she didn’t know where anything was, and the long hours of driving, on top of the strain of leaving Stony River again, had made her so exhausted that she felt incapable of dealing with anything further that night.

Willy was at first reluctant when she said she wanted to stay behind to sort and pack and clean, but decided she could come up on the bus tomorrow, while he went ahead tonight in order to open the shop in the morning. He was still bright-eyed and alert, the one advantage gained from his habitual late nights out drinking. He said she could just bring the essentials with her tomorrow, and they’d come back soon to get the rest of her things and do the cleaning. Len could take her to the bus—in fact, he’d stop by his house and arrange it on the way out of town.

“Just the same, I’d feel better if you came with me now.” He pulled her close in the middle of the room and kissed her. “I have the strangest feeling that unless I drive you to Calgary myself, you’ll never get there. That’s why I came and got you in the first place—and now my mission is unsuccessful, after all.”

“That’s absurd, Willy.” Sevana rejected his misgivings out-of-hand. “The bus can get me there as easily as you. I’ll call before I leave, and you can pick me up at the Calgary station.”

“Just the same…” he muttered again, his forehead puckered and his eyes unusually thoughtful as they traced over every detail of her face, “I don’t like this feeling you could slip away from me. You’re everything I’ve ever wanted, Sevana. I ought to marry you right now—you know that, don’t you?”

She looked up at him lightly, wondering if he was serious—immensely touched he would even consider such a terrifying prospect for her. “This very minute?” she countered playfully. “I’d have to think about that one.”

“Meanwhile, think about this—” and he kissed her again, long and ardently.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Willy,” she said, stepping back a bit out of breath. “Thanks for crossing all those creeks to come get me, and giving me those delectable flowers for Joel’s dad.”

That was a slip she hadn’t intended. She bit her lip, hoping he hadn’t noticed.

“
Joel’s
dad?” Willy repeated. “Oh, cripes,” he groaned, “not the ‘friends only’ friend. Wait a minute, let me guess. He’s back, he’s broken off his engagement, and you two are—” He was ticking off the predictions on his fingers.

“Hush, Willy,” she broke in. “Your imagination is running away with you.”

“It’s true, isn’t it?” he demanded. “Doggone it, Sevana, you owe me the truth.”

Sevana stifled a sigh. “It’s true he’s back, and he
is
breaking off his engagement. But why, I don’t know, and we are still nothing but friends.”

“Confound it all,” Willy said viciously, fully unconvinced by her speech. “I finally get you back, and you’re not even here, you’re somewhere else. I thought you’d finally let him go. Sevana,
I swear to God
, if you don’t show up tomorrow, I’m hiring my incredibly beautiful next-door neighbor to take your place.”

“The flowershop girl?” prompted Sevana. “You never mentioned she was beautiful. I thought you just felt sorry for her.”

“She even looks a little like you,” Willy said, steely.

“What if she can’t count?” Sevana demanded, scandalized. “What if she knows nothing about art?”

“I’ll train her!” cried Willy.

After he’d left in a state of high emotion, Sevana—with no mind whatsoever for the task—fell to packing.

Very late, sitting in the empty living room too tired even to go to bed, she fell into a reverie. So many other nights had she sat in that same room alone with her lostness and insecurity—but she was a stranger to the person she’d been there. One thing she knew now, without any doubt, was that she was meant for the mountains. It was more than a quixotic notion or a passing captivation—more even than a forbidden desire she wasn’t allowed to indulge. She belonged there, had always belonged there; she could never live anywhere else. In some unforeseen way, in the unsuspecting act of going to visit her brother for a summer, she had somehow found her life. The mountains hadn’t been calling her away to seek some elusive dream—her dreams had been right in front of her. She just hadn’t known it then, to be able to answer. And the only question now was how to get back—after she had locked herself into a different, alien path. Did she have the courage to tell Willy she was backing out of his world, after she had committed herself to it—and him? She had chosen it all freely, she had told him she loved him; she had a promise to keep. She didn’t want to be a person who couldn’t be taken at her word.

But in the morning, after a short and unrestful night, she dismissed any inclinations she might have had to bail on Calgary. Closing a handbag, she told herself that regardless of anything else that was true, at this point she had an obligation to honor. Everything was in place, it was too late to change her course. Willy was counting on her, she could not let him down.

A last time she looked around the apartment, restored to a neat stack of boxes ready for transport. She felt more orderly about her life, too, felt good about keeping her commitments. It was the right thing to do. Everything had been off last night; she had been fatigued and emotional. You didn’t set your life in order by running from your responsibilities. You didn’t find your own happiness by seizing it over everyone else’s. She would have to wait for another time, a different way, to follow the dreams she now knew to be hers.

In a touching show of solidarity Ralf, Jillian, and Len all came to see her off. They’d wanted to hear how her brother was doing, and have the chance to say goodbye in person. After carrying her baggage into the bus station, Ralf pumped her hand. “We’ll miss you way more than Willy,” he assured her heartily.

“I’ll never forget how you took me to see Fenn at Christmas, Ralf,” said Sevana, smiling up at him gratefully.

“Who knows, Sevana, maybe we’ll move to Calgary before it’s over,” Jillian speculated, hugging her. Sevana appreciated how unquestioningly Jillian had accepted her choice for Willy and Calgary, even though it had gone against her better advice.

“Thanks for everything,” Sevana whispered in her ear, and they both laughed as their thoughts ran in conjunction to the unsolicited addition to Len’s art collection.

Len didn’t say much but hugged her, too, and Sevana thought how quietly he had liked her and never betrayed how he felt. “I won’t forget you, Len,” she said softly. “Best of luck with Annalisa.”

After her friends left, Sevana bought her ticket, then found a telephone to dial Willy and tell him she was on her way. When it started ringing, she hung up as if she’d been stung. Berating herself for the foolishness, she went through the whole process again. She made herself let it ring until Willy answered. Then she opened her mouth, but couldn’t say the words.

“Hello?” Willy said again, more loudly.

She hung up and stared down at the tiles of the floor in mortification. She didn’t know what was wrong with her.

The bus for Calgary came in with a whine of gears and wheeze of brakes, and the loudspeaker announced it was time to board. Sevana stood looking at the open bus door that would take her to her new life in the center of the art world, and she couldn’t walk through it. She was still looking at it ten minutes later when the bus closed its door and pulled away in a blast of exhaust.

Tears burned her eyes. She was angry with herself. She was being irrational, but she seemed unable to pull herself out of it. She sat down on an available seat in the grip of extreme bewilderment, unable to think or plan or take action.

The man who had sold her the ticket had been watching her ever since she’d let the bus go by. He hadn’t even felt the need to tell her it was her bus, he could see the recognition of it so plainly on her expressive face. That she was in some kind of emotional turmoil was unmistakable. The unusual clarity of her beauty had attracted his notice from the first, and he’d kept his eye on her amid the bustle of the station. Now he walked over to her. He was tall and lean like the army men she knew, a little gray tingeing his short black hair. “Is there something I can help you with, miss?”

She looked up at the blue uniform through a mist, trying to focus on his kindly face.

“Where is it you want to go?” he tried again.

That, at least, was a question she could answer. “Cragmont,” she blurted out, the word escaping her involuntarily. And like magic, through her tears she was laughing, and her chest felt light.

One hour later she was boarding a bus bound for the west coast. She was to switch buses at Creston and get off at Nelson. The ticket man had arranged everything. She felt he must be an angel appeared to help her. She waved at him as she went up the bus steps, and he waved back with a smile for the uncommonly pretty girl with eyes like a starry summer night.

The bus trip took the rest of the day, but for Sevana it flew by, as miles do when one is traveling the same direction as one’s heart. She already knew what she would do. Her mind, which had been having so much trouble making decisions over the past few months, had no difficulty now. She would find a job, any job, and set up residence in Cragmont. She would paint mountain scenery to her full content. It was too much, this trying to go against the pull of her heart—she was compelled to answer it. She would call Willy, of course. But as she considered how to explain her inexcusable actions to him, she realized he already knew. He had said his goodbyes last night when he’d kissed her and spoken his regrets.

There was an overnight delay at Nelson. In the morning she was the sole passenger of the
Selkirk Stage
with the same solemn-eyed, taciturn driver of last spring, who gravely informed her that he remembered her from last year, and then said nothing else the whole trip. She had called Willy from the motel. He had blown up and yelled when she told him where she was, but had recovered quickly enough, saying he guessed it was his neighbor’s lucky day: she’d cooked him a sensational dinner last night and had been insanely jealous to learn he already had a girlfriend. Sevana wished him fame and fortune, asked his pardon many times sincerely, and promised to visit the shop soon—all the while knowing she should feel some fear at heedlessly discarding all her prospects there when she had no certain ones anywhere else, but instead feeling only an exhilarating sense of freedom.

She asked the driver to drop her off at Lakeshore Lodge, and there she paid for a room. She stood at her lakeview window in utmost contentment of the massive crestline under which she had come to harbor. She needed to start searching for work and a place to rent.

By evening she was no closer to a job, but had already found a house. Only the second one she’d looked at, she liked immediately. It was one of the highest on the hill before the forest began, very small and quaint, overlooking the town and lake. She told the landlord she would take it, put money down on the spot. She returned to the Lodge for a hamburger, then went out on the beach to plot her next course of action.

All through dinner Joel watched her from the table made from a round of a huge pine—not believing the figure he saw on the lakeshore, yet knowing it was she. He didn’t say anything to his father who ate beside him, but he kept track of that graceful, girlish silhouette down the beach. She didn’t seem to be going anywhere. She just wandered the shore, paused at the water’s edge with her face lifted to the mountains, tried to skip a rock which sank. “Keep your wrist level,” Joel muttered—and when his father asked what he said, he shrugged helplessly. “Talking to myself.”

She sat in the sand and drew something with a twig, then got up and strolled a few paces, stopping again to look across to the mountains as if she couldn’t get enough of the sight, her straight hair blowing in the wind coming off the water.

When Joel rose from dinner, he marked once more the location where she stood, before he wheeled his father to his room and got him situated. Then he excused himself, trying not to seem impatient, saying he had an errand to attend to. He hurried to the lakeshore, feeling himself trembling with expectation. She was not in sight.

His eyes searched both directions as far as he could see. Then he walked briskly a great length of shore. He was ready to blame his distraught mind for making the whole thing up, when he found a very good likeness of the lake and mountains scratched in the sand. Blast it all, he should have run out when he’d first seen her, instead of being polite and not deserting his father. But she’d acted like she was going nowhere, not a plan in the world for the evening.