With This Ring (24 page)

She shrugged.

"Well, then, why don't we get married over Thanksgiving and just go somewhere for a three-day weekend?"

Four months.

Was she ready to get married in four months? It seemed so soon. Then again, why not? She wanted to marry Justin, didn't she?

So there really wasn't any reason to wait.

* * *

"Please be happy for me, Lark. I know you don't approve. I know you don't think I love Justin the way I should, but I do love him. And I think I can make him happy."

Lark tried to ignore the pain that had come so swiftly and with such intensity. She had thought she was ready for this announcement, but obviously she wasn't. "I am happy for you, Amy. My only concern in all of this is that Justin deserves one hundred percent."

"And I'll
give
him one hundred percent."

Lark looked at Amy's eyes—at the honesty and sincerity she saw there. Amy really believed she would do what she said, and maybe she would. Lark hoped so. Taking a deep breath, she gave Amy her best smile. "Congratulations, then."

Amy rushed forward, and they hugged.

"You'll be my maid of honor, won't you?" Amy said as they broke apart.

"I'd be hurt if you hadn't asked me."

They smiled at each other.

"Have you told your parents yet?" Lark asked.

"Not yet, but we're planning to tomorrow night."

"Your mother will be happy."

"I know."

"Justin's mother will be happy, too," Lark said, remembering Claire's concern for Justin.

"I hope so. I really like her." Amy hesitated. "Sam thought the world of her, too."

"I never told you, but at the New Year's Eve party she talked to me about you and Justin."

"Really? What did she say?"

"Not that much. Just that she was worried because she knew Justin was in love with you and she was afraid he might get hurt."

"Why didn't you tell me?" There was no criticism in the question, only curiosity.

Lark shrugged. "What was the point? By the time I saw you again, your relationship with him had obviously changed. I figured I'd laid enough on you with my worries. You sure didn't need to feel guilty about Justin's mother."

"Now that my life is settling down, we've got to work on yours," Amy said. "There's
got
to be a guy out there for you."

"Oh, no! Forget that. I told you once before. No more fixed up dates for me. I'm perfectly happy the way I am."

Later, as Lark drove home, she wondered if the day would ever come when she could be completely honest with Amy again.

She certainly hoped so.

Because when that happened, she would no longer feel this pain.

* * *

"Amy, darling, I'm so happy for you!" Faith exclaimed. "And Justin . . . this is wonderful." She gave him her warmest smile.

"Thank you, Mrs. Carpenter. I'll do my best to make Amy happy."

"I know you will," Faith said.

"Congratulations," Alan said, shaking Justin's hand.

Faith hoped Justin didn't sense Alan's reserve, which was so obvious to her. Well, Alan was very like Amy. A complete romantic, whereas Faith was more realistic. Yes, she and Alan had been meant to be, but if something had happened to keep them apart, Faith had no doubt she would have eventually met someone else with whom she could have been happy.

Justin would make Amy a wonderful husband. And one of these days, Alan would be just as enthusiastic as Faith was. She looked at Amy. "So have you picked a date?"

"Yes. We thought we'd get married on Wednesday night, the day before Thanksgiving."

"Perfect," Faith said, glad they weren't waiting too long.

Later, after Amy and Justin had gone over to her apartment, Alan said, "Well, you got your wish."

Faith smiled. "Yes, thank goodness."

Alan nodded, but his eyes were concerned.

"Alan, darling, don't worry. This is the best thing that could have happened to Amy."

It was awhile before he answered. "No, it isn't. The best thing that could have happened would be for Sam not to have died."

Faith held her tongue. She still firmly felt that Sam would have eventually made Amy unhappy. Justin was a much better choice for her. Much more settled and mature and certainly more dependable. But why argue? Sam was dead, and Justin was alive.

And nothing Alan believed or wished would change those facts.

* * *

That Sunday, Justin brought Amy to his mother's for dinner. The day before, the two of them had gone shopping for rings, and today Amy wore the square-cut diamond he'd given her on her left hand. He was so proud of her. And she looked so beautiful today, in a green flowered dress made out of some kind of silky material that floated when she moved. He couldn't wait to see his family's reaction when they made their announcement. They didn't disappoint him.

His mother was obviously thrilled. "I couldn't be happier," she said, hugging Amy.

"Thank you, Mrs. Malone."

"Please, call me Claire," his mother said. "Mrs. Malone makes me feel too old."

Amy laughed. "You sound like my mother."

When his mother turned to him, there were tears in her eyes. She laughingly brushed them away. "Don't mind me. I'm being silly."

"No, you're not," he said, putting his arm around her. He felt a bit choked up, himself.

Jessie hugged Justin hard. "Good for you," she said.

Katie laughed happily. "This is great!" she enthused. She threw her arms around Justin. "Sam would've liked this, too, don't you think?"

Her words caused a twinge of uneasiness, and Justin quickly looked at Amy to see if she'd heard his sister's remark, but she was laughing and talking to Susan and Lisa. Then he got mad at himself for falling into that old guilt trap again. There was no reason for him to feel the least bit guilty. He had not stolen Amy from Sam. Sam was dead, and Amy and Justin were alive.

He looked at Amy again. She fit in with his family perfectly. And they all loved her, just as he'd known they would.

He thought about everything he and Amy had been through together. All the pain, all the sadness. But that was all behind them.

From now on, things would only get better.

And in November, when Amy was finally his wife, life would be perfect.

October 2, 1994 - Western Nepal

It was a stupid accident.

One minute he was walking along the path to the stream where he did his daily bathing. His leg was feeling good; he was hardly limping at all, so he was barely using his cane. The next minute he had tripped over a protruding root of a larch tree. He fell hard, hitting his head on a rock, and he lay sprawled on his stomach. Pain stabbed at his temples, and for a moment, he was afraid he was going to pass out. He called weakly.

Several of the villagers heard him and came running, Reena among them. "Sahib," she murmured, "sahib."

As the villagers helped him up, his head spun. Gently, they led him to Reena's hut and laid him on his pallet. Reena wet a cloth and cleaned his forehead. He moaned. Still murmuring comforting words, she filled a small bowl with
dhal,
the lentil soup that was a mainstay of the villagers' diet. In the combination of Nepalese, bits of English, and sign language that had become their mode of communication, she urged him to eat.

Sam couldn't help smiling. Food. The universal cure-all for what ailed you.

Suddenly, in the process of lifting a spoonful of the hearty soup to his lips, he stopped. Shock radiated through him.

Sam.
His name was Sam!
Sam Robbins.

Slowly, over the next few hours, in bits and pieces, everything came back to him. The reason he was in Nepal. What he'd been doing when he'd fallen. The magazine. The snow leopards. And Amy. Amy.

Excitement caused his hands to tremble. Reena, who had been watching him closely since his fall, looked at him, wide-eyed. He knew she was frightened.

He grinned. "Reena," he said, pointing to her. "
Naam.
"

Nodding, she echoed him. "Reena,
naam.
"

He pointed to his chest. "Sam.
Mero naam . . . ho
Sam." My name is Sam.

"Sam," she repeated wonderingly. A sweet smile spread across her face. "Sam."

He lifted the picture of Amy that he always wore. "Amy," he said. He did not know how to say she was his fiancé, so he said the word for friend. "
Saathi.
"

Reena's smile became coy and knowing, and she giggled. "Ah,
saathi, saathi . . .
"

Sam's heart swelled with happiness. Amy. He couldn't wait to see her. To hold her in his arms again. He closed his eyes, remembering every detail of her face, her body. Remembering that last night together. "Amy," he whispered. He knew that no matter how hard it was to leave the village or how long a trek it would prove to be to reach a place where he could make arrangements to fly home, the thought of Amy would carry him through.

What would she think? How would she react? He had been gone a long time. What if she thought he was dead? He pushed the thought away. He knew Amy. She would never believe he was dead.

The following day, his few possessions packed in a type of knapsack, Sam stood ready to leave the village. Pemba, one of the youngest and strongest of the male villagers, would accompany him, taking him to the nearest city with a telephone. From there, Sam would go to Kathmandu, where he would board a plane for home.

Home. He could hardly believe it. In just a few days, he would be with Amy. And Justin.

He smiled just thinking about Justin. Hell, he hoped he didn't cause poor Justin to have a heart attack.

As Sam and Pemba prepared to leave, Sam looked around the village. A pang of regret pierced him. He had grown to love these reclusive and primitive people. They had been good to him. If not for them, he most likely would have died.

He would especially miss Reena. His gaze met hers and he saw the sadness underlying her happiness for the return of his memory. Slowly, he said his farewells, leaving her for last.

They embraced. "I'll come back to see you," he promised, hoping she understood. "Thank you for everything."

"
Namaste,
" she murmured.
I salute the God in you.
A sentiment given in greeting and in good-byes. Sam's eyes stung as he gave her a final hug.

The last thing he saw before turning to walk away was a lonely tear slipping down her cheek.

* * *

October 8, 1994 - Houston

Justin always listened to the radio when he worked on Saturdays. Lately, he'd been tuning in to 94.5—the oldies station. He especially liked the songs from the fifties and sixties. Selections like Chubby Checker's "Twist and Shout," Elvis's "In the Ghetto," and Peter, Paul and Mary's "I Dig Rock and Roll Music," were particular favorites.

This morning he was working on the third quarter financial report. It was a beautiful autumn day—bright and clear—and he wished he could be outside enjoying it, but the report was important. Anyway, he was almost finished. Another twenty minutes or so, and he could leave.

He smiled, thinking about the afternoon and evening he had planned. He and Amy were going out to lunch and then on to a movie. Justin wasn't crazy about movies the way she was, but he didn't mind going if that was what made her happy. He didn't mind doing anything that made her happy. And she
was
happy.

Sometimes he still couldn't believe how good things were between them. For so long, he'd worried that she was still thinking about Sam. The worry had been like a cancer, eating away at him, no matter how many times he reminded himself that she had chosen to be with him, that he had not coerced her or in any way forced her. He knew it was stupid to keep doubting her feelings, but he couldn't seem to help himself because occasionally, she would stare off into space, and when he'd ask her what she was thinking about, she'd give herself a little shake and say, "Hmmm?" distractedly. She'd always laugh then, and say, "Oh, I was just daydreaming."

During these episodes, he told himself it was normal that she would occasionally think about Sam. After all, she had loved him very much. Her thinking about Sam didn't mean she was still sad or regretting anything about her life with Justin. But no matter how many times he reassured himself, he knew there'd always be a tiny, niggling fear at the back of his mind. And it wouldn't go away completely until she was his wife.

Well, she soon would be. In just a little over six weeks, they would be married. Almost all the arrangements had been made. He grinned, thinking about the wedding, and how he and Amy had prevailed against her mother.

That mother of hers was really something. Justin liked Faith because he knew she was on his side and very much in favor of him marrying Amy, but he wasn't blind to her faults. She was one strong-willed woman, used to getting her own way and formidable when she was crossed. She had wanted them to have a big, splashy wedding, but in this, he and Amy were in perfect accord. And they'd held their ground. Eventually, Amy's mother had capitulated on almost everything.

The wedding was going to be small, with only a few of their closest friends and family invited, and the reception afterwards would take place at the Carpenter home. Amy was wearing her mother's wedding dress. Lark would be her maid of honor and Steven was going to be Justin's best man.

That night, Amy and Justin would stay at The Houstonian, and early on Thanksgiving morning, they would fly to San Francisco for three nights. Justin had booked the bridal suite at the St. Francis Drake Hotel on Union Square. Both he and Amy were excited about the trip. Neither one had ever been to San Francisco.

Amy'd laughed about that. "I've been to Rome and Paris and London. I've even been to Moscow, but I've never been to San Francisco."

Still thinking about the good days ahead of them, Justin finished his report, cleared off his desk, turned off the radio, and headed for Amy's.