Long after Mrs. Hilbert had come and gone, Colt lay awake, thinking about the sermon he’d heard that day:
For as high as the heavens are above the earth, so great is His love for those who fear Him; as far as the east is from the west, so far has He removed our transgressions from us. As a father has compassion on his children, so the Lord has compassion on those who fear Him for He knows how we are formed, He remembers that we are dust.
Dust. The taste of it was in Colt’s mouth. He couldn’t erase from his mind Paula’s struggling against tears as she implored him to keep his word.
He reviewed as he had so many times in the past his abandonment of Paula, though at the time he would not have used that term. He had been so certain their marriage was doomed. Leaving her was the hardest thing he had ever done. Was it truly a noble sacrifice? Or self-deception? Joy bore the scars of a missing parent. Paula, the burden of single parenting. And what of him? Loss. Loss. Loss.
The Gideon Bible from the bedside table lay open to the verses spoken in church. “As far as the east is from the west, so far as He removed our transgressions from us.” The words glistened on the page like cool water from the hand of a loving friend. A pardon that wiped the wrong from memory, while humanly impossible, was promised by God.
The wave of longing flooding Colt surpassed the leaden ache of his injuries. Stretched out on the bed, he shielded his eyes from the glaring lamp. But the eyes of his heart were wide-open to God’s word as he prayed, asking and receiving forgiveness, a pardon that not only forgave but forgot. Exhaustion eventually claimed him.
The lamp was still on when the phone awoke him at daybreak. It was Walt Snyder, checking in. Colt got his bearings, and told him about Paula’s exchange with the pastor in the hospital elevator.
Walt didn’t bother with office hours. He called Reed Custer at home, then reported back. Colt thought about knocking on Paula’s door to share what Walt had related. But she had an attitude where Monique was concerned. Anyway, after asking him to leave yesterday, she had locked her door behind him, a gesture that spoke louder than words.
Joy was already up and at the computer tackling her schoolwork when Paula got out of bed.
Paula kissed her cheek. “Good girl. I’m off for my morning walk.”
“Take your time. Dad’s right next door,” said Joy.
As if she needed reminding. Paula donned a long skirt and floral-print jacket over a pale-yellow shell. Her walk took her past the Biblical garden.
Inexplicably drawn, she let herself in through the open gate and continued along the garden path toward a gazebo. Screened as it was by yellow roses and other vining plants, she was almost upon the gazebo before she saw the bench within it was occupied. Her breath caught in her throat.
“Colt! You gave me a start,” said Paula. “How’d you get here?”
“Mrs. Hilbert dropped me off. But I’m hoping to hoof it back.” Colt folded the New Testament from which he had been reading into his pocket. “I talked to Walt a bit ago. Care to join me?”
“Is there news?” asked Paula.
“Of a sort,” replied Colt. “When I mentioned your meeting a pastor in the hospital elevator, and that the timing coincided with Joy’s scare, Walt called Reed Custer at home.”
“And?” prompted Paula.
“Reed was at the hospital that morning. He wasn’t sure of the time. And here’s the clincher—he always takes the stairs for exercise.”
Paula dropped down on the bench like a lead balloon. “So it wasn’t him.”
“No.”
“So we’re back to square one. Was the guy I talked to really a pastor? Or someone pretending to be.”
“Exactly,” said Colt. “Walt plans to touch base with Detective Browning this morning. As for Reed, he offered to contact a couple of the people who volunteer their time at Can-Do Mission.”
Puzzled, Paula tipped her face. “I don’t understand. What do volunteers at a homeless shelter have to do with what happened at the hospital?”
“Nothing,” said Colt. “But there’s an outside chance one of them may have a line on Monique.”
“Her again,” said Paula.
“She’s the key to seeing justice done where Simon Burwell is concerned,” replied Colt. “Of the volunteers, she was closest to a guy by the name of Patrick Delaney. That’s who paid her way so she could attend the retreat. Incidentally, Walt says Delaney was engaged to Jake’s fiancée for a while.”
“Oh, that Delaney.”
“Then you do know him?”
“Not personally. Just that he jilted Shelby and left her holding prepaid honeymoon reservations at Wildwood.”
“Wildwood?” echoed Colt.
Paula nodded. “It’s a local resort. Shelby drove down intending to spend what would have been her honeymoon writing. That didn’t pan out either. But that’s another story. Back to Delaney—are you thinking Monique may have confided her whereabouts to him?”
“It’s a long shot, but Walt’s going to check,” said Colt. “I can’t be sure Monique’s in hiding, mind you. But I prefer to think she has stayed a step ahead of Burwell, and that she may even be able to offer information key to finding him. I’d sure like to see this whole matter wrapped up without any more violence.”
Sobered by the realization that the exact opposite could be true, that Monique could have become a victim of her ex-husband’s vengeance, Paula closed her eyes.
“The saffron crocus are in bloom. See there?” said Colt as if he, too, needed to absorb the tranquility of this garden retreat.
Paula opened her eyes to admire the garble of autumn crocus covertly tucked amidst other late bloomers and varied greens. A fountain trickled nearby. A flag swayed in the air over head. Birds warbled resilient songs. The sights and scents and affable sounds were little pockets of resistance on the downcast face of gritty realities.
Colt maneuvered to his crutches. “Let’s walk, shall we?”
The talk was small as they strolled past pun gent junipers, a young pine and a sturdy cedar sapling. The trees were skirted by herbs and autumn flowers and grain-bearing field flowers, all sharing common ground.
“Such a variety of plants growing together in harmony,” mused Paula.
“Makes you wonder, why can’t we?”
Paula faltered at Colt’s hushed reply. Leaning on one crutch, he plucked a yellow rose and held it out to her. “Peace offering.”
“For what?” she asked, taking it.
“Getting too close yesterday.”
“I thought we’d agreed to forget that.”
“I’m trying.” Colt drew a shallow breath as she hid her face in the rose. “Is yellow still your favorite?”
“Yes,” she said, and thanked him. “Though we probably shouldn’t be helping ourselves.”
“I can put it back if you like,” he offered.
Paula’s mouth curved. She turned the rose between her fingers, and raised it to her face. “Smells almost as good as if we’d come by it honestly.”
He chuckled and changed the subject. “What can you tell me about this story Joy’s writing?”
“The one Shelby gave her?”
“Yes. She wants me to collaborate on it with her.”
“Oh, she does, does she? Did she also tell you she initially read the story without Shelby’s knowledge?”
Colt rested on his crutches. “Before Shelby turned it over to her?”
“I’m afraid so. I suspect it was intended as a peace offering on Shelby’s part.” A sigh escaped Paula. “Joy plays a poor second fiddle.”
“She was jealous of Shelby?” Colt proved intuitive.
Paula nodded. “I should have seen it coming. Jake’s been like a father to her.”
It was a phrase Paula had used repeatedly over the years, a rosette she hung on Jake. This time, it came at Colt’s expense. She saw him flinch. Regretting her carelessness, she apologized. “That was tactless. I’m sorry.”
“For telling the truth? Don’t be,” said Colt. “I’m indebted to Jake for being there.”
Paula’s remorse clucked and clattered like a rock caught in a hubcap. The idle conversation that carried them to the garden gate was heavily polite. Pausing to open it, she asked, “How’s your leg holding up?”
“Doing fine, thanks. Have you had breakfast yet?”
“I didn’t take time,” she admitted.
“Let’s grab a bite on our way back, shall we?”
A little sidewalk diner down the street proved a timely rest stop between the church and the lodge. Paula’s plucking nerves quieted over a hearty breakfast. Lingering over coffee, Colt spoke of his as yet unfinished article on Simon Burwell. Which brought the conversation back to Monique and his hopes that she might provide a link to her ex-husband.
“As bitter as she was over all Simon had put her through, I think she’d be more than happy to help the police locate him for questioning, if we could just find her.”
“Talk about love going awry!” said Paula.
“A little like us?” he offered.
Paula looked up from her tepid coffee. “I’m not bitter. And I don’t want a fight.” Struggling to be honest, she added, “Single parenting is no picnic. Joy and I have had some problems. And not just with Shelby.”
“How do you mean?” asked Colt.
Paula looked back over the past summer, remembering how threatened she felt as her relationship with Joy deteriorated. Colt had made a tempting target. Repenting of her biased view, she admitted, “There are voids in her life that I can’t fill. Neither can Jake.”
“Dad spaces?” he eased the way.
Nodding, Paula found it easier to admit than she would have a week earlier. “Joy tells me you two are going to the water park this after noon,” she said in prelude to the long awaited topic of shared custody.
“That’s the plan. You’re welcome to join us,” he invited.
“Thanks. It sounds like fun. But, if there’s any hope of ever finishing Joy’s quilt, I need to stay on track.”
Colt gave it a moment’s study. “If I help you with the quilt this morning, would that free you up your afternoon?”
“That’s generous of you, Colt. I appreciate the offer. But I’m not sure Joy will welcome my tagging along,” said Paula.
“Then again, she might. Wouldn’t hurt to ask,” Colt added.
His coaxing found a receptive audience. Quieting her doubts, Paula agreed to do so. Together, they returned to the lodge. Colt had a message from Walt, asking him to call.
In so doing, he learned that Detective Browning was going over a list of pastors who made regular calls at the hospital.
“I gave him Paula’s description of the man in the elevator,” continued Walt. “He’ll do some checking in hopes of finding the guy. But we’ll have to be patient, it’ll take some time.”
“What about Delaney?” asked Colt.
“Nothing so far. I haven’t been able to reach him.”
Colt related the news to Paula as they worked on the quilt. The remainder of the morning passed quickly.
Joy finished her schoolwork in time to join them for lunch. “I’m glad you’re coming with us, Mom. Suit up, and we’ll do the water slide together.”
Pleased by Joy’s reaction, Paula slipped into her swimsuit and pulled a green seersucker gingham sundress on over it. She filled a cooler with chilled soft drinks and packed snacks as well.
The park was only a short drive from the lodge. Colt found a shady spot and settled there.
Paula explored the water attractions with Joy until a group of home-schoolers about Joy’s age lured her away.
Paula neared the umbrella-shaded redwood table where Colt was enjoying his small patch of shade. He looked up from his book, past her to Joy and her newfound friends. “You’ve been replaced?”
“Handily so. I was ready for soda and some sunscreen, anyway,” said Paula, reaching for her sunglasses.
He chuckled and passed her a soft drink, but couldn’t find the sunscreen. “Would you settle for some shade instead?” he asked.
“If I could find some.”
“Pull up a chair here beside me, slant the umbrella a bit and you’ll have it.”
Paula accepted his invitation. Tilting the umbrella so it shaded them both, she draped a towel over her shoulders and fetched her book from the mesh bag she had brought along. But the novel didn’t hold her attention.
Perhaps Colt’s book wasn’t up to par, either.
He put it aside. Lounging side by side, they idled away the afternoon, Joy-watching and meandering down shared tributaries of memory lane, then upstream beyond where their lives had branched.
In response to Paula’s interest, Colt described his refurbished vintage twenties apartment. He likened the high tin ceilings and handsome crown moldings to those he remembered from her parents’ home in Liberty Flats. Paula confessed her sorrow over the deteriorating condition of the old home place. Like Gram’s house, it had been built by her grandfather. Unlike Gram’s, it had changed hands numerous times over the past dozen years and now sat vacant and in very bad repair.
“Ripe for a restoration, eh?” said Colt.
“Or the wrecking ball,” said Paula. “Joy says we should rescue it. Not that we need that much house. Nor could we beg, borrow or steal enough cash to do it justice. Anyway, I’m content with our house. It’s just the right size for two people with busy lives and little time for mop and polish.”
The afternoon shadows grew long. Joy bid her friends goodbye and complained of being famished. As they gathered their belongings, Colt suggested a cookout. Paula seconded the motion, then yielded to Joy’s pleas for a snack and stopped for an Ogle dog. The crusty batter-dipped hot dog smelled tempting. But both Paula and Colt held out for steaks.
Finding a general store wedged between a T-shirt shop and an art studio where old-time mountain crafts were plied, Paula chose thick cuts and trimmings for the grill. She tucked a ready-made salad into her basket and a half gallon of peach ice cream for dessert.
Joy found handmade candles for the terrace table. The yellow roses caught Colt’s eye. He bought a dozen and let Joy pick the vase. She settled on a large hand-turned pottery vessel on which hearts had been fashioned as adornment.
It was dark by the time they gathered around Paula’s terrace table for a late dinner. The sliding glass door leading into Colt’s suite was open as well. His ringing phone interrupted the blessing. Joy bolted up and away to answer it. She returned a moment later to report that Mrs. Hilbert wanted Colt to know she might be a little late.
“It’s her twenty-fifth wedding anniversary,” Joy explained as she reclaimed her place at the table. “She and her husband are going to grab a bite to eat before she comes.”
“I wish I’d known. I could have invited them to have dinner with us,” said Paula.
“For their anniversary? No way! They should go somewhere fancy,” said Joy. “With dancing afterward. And a carriage ride under the stars. That would be romantic.”
“Did you see your quilt, Joy? We’re coming along nicely.” Paula sought to get Joy off the romance track.
“I’ve got a finger that’s starting to feel like sandpaper.” Colt followed suit.
“From feeling for the needle from the bottom side.” Paula nodded. “Me, too.”
“Let me see.” Joy reached simultaneously for both Paula’s and Colt’s hands. “Pincushion fingers. Matched set. What do ya know?” She sandwiched their hands, fingertips to fingertips. Holding them between her open palms, she sang a line from an old Beatles hand-holding classic.
In no hurry to retrieve his hand, Colt chortled, “Where’d you hear that one?”
“Gram Kate’s. She has a whole set of old forty-fives. Why? Was it your song? Yours and Mom’s when you were dating, I mean?”
“We’re not quite old.” Paula pulled her hand away, and sought once more to sidetrack Joy. “How’s your steak?”
“Delicious. You’re a good cook, Mom. Don’t you think, Dad?”
“I certainly do,” said Colt. He smiled at Paula. “I don’t know when I’ve enjoyed a home-cooked meal more.”
Joy grinned like a cat in a sunny window. She parked her elbows on the table, and rested her chin on steepled fingers. “Maybe I won’t be a writer after all. Maybe I’ll be a marriage doctor when I grow up.”
“Elbows off the table, Joy,” said Paula. Passing Colt a dish of peas, pearl onions and mushrooms, she voiced her hopes of getting an early start in the morning. “I’d like to get my morning walk in. Then I’m going to settle in and quilt.”
“If you want some help, I’m free,” offered Colt.
“Great!” Thinking of Gram’s old adage about many hands making light work, Paula said, “With your help, I think we can finish the quilting by noon.”
“I’ll specialize in arranging nice getaways for all my patients,” said Joy.
“I need to make up my mind about the binding.” Paula refused to acknowledge Joy’s pointing like a bird dog on the scent.
“I was wondering how you planned to finish it,” said Colt.
Paula voiced a couple of ideas, including packaged binding.
“Would you listen to yourselves?” Joy rolled her eyes. “You’ll have to start another quilt the minute you finish mine, or you won’t have a thing to talk about!”
“Is this the marriage doctor practicing without license again?” asked Colt.
“It is,” countered Joy. “And might I suggest you make this one a wedding quilt?”
“Give it a rest.” Paula fired a quiet warning.
“For Uncle Jake and Shelby, I mean.” Joy covered her verbal backside.
“Or how about this? You wrap up Shelby’s story and return it as a wedding gift,” suggested Colt evenly.
Joy jerked her head around. “Huh?”
“She may like another shot at it,” said Colt.
Joy’s face fell. “Give it back? You can’t be serious?”
“I wouldn’t joke about your keeping something that doesn’t belong to you,” said Colt.
“It does belong to me. Shelby gave it to me!” sputtered Joy.
“Under a cloud of suspicion, as I understand it.”
“Why? What did Mom tell you?”
Intercepting the thundercloud expression Joy aimed at Paula, Colt said, “Leave your mother out of it. This is your father telling you that if you’re serious about being a writer, you need to come up with your own ideas and follow through with them. If you have a problem with that, feel free to say so.”
Wounded tears sprang to Joy’s eyes. Blinking them back, she glowered at them both. “Talk about getting ganged up on!”
“Yes, well you might want to keep that in mind and adjust your agenda accordingly,” said Colt.
Failing to see any humor in that suggestion, Joy’s mouth turned down in a sulky pout. “Does that mean you’re going to make me give back Shelby’s story?”
“I’m offering advice,” replied Colt. “Do what you will with it.”
Watching Colt’s face, Joy caught her lip, and held her silence a long moment. When she spoke again, it was to quietly ask, “Will you be mad if I keep it?”
“No. But then I’ve been disappointed before,” said Colt.
Joy looked stricken. But relief lifted Paula’s heart by the bootstraps. Mountain-moving relief swam through her at the realization she had nothing to fear in Colt. Far from it. She had found an ally in him, and was grateful for his gentle handling of the whole situation.
His gaze was warm as he thanked her for dinner and reached for his crutches. “It was delicious. Thank you for including me, Paula.”
“I bought ice cream for dessert,” she reminded him.
“Maybe another time. I believe I’ll go dial up a florist and have some flowers waiting for Mrs. Hilbert when she arrives.”
“For her anniversary? How sweet.” Thinking to spare him some trouble, Paula indicated the roses Colt had arranged in the center of the table. “If you’d like, you’re welcome to these.”
“Thanks, but those are taken. I picked them with you in mind,” replied Colt.
“Yellow, I noticed.” Paula stretched a hand toward a velvet petal. “They’re lovely. As was the gesture. Thank you.”
There was a boyish quality to the quiet pleasure expressed in his smile. Paula’s skin warmed. She lowered her flushing face to the roses. “There’s a florist a couple of blocks down. Maybe Joy would go fetch you a bouquet.”
“I’d appreciate it,” chimed Colt. “Unless you’d rather stay and do the dishes, Joy.”
Joy slumped deeper into her chair. “Dishes.”
“Joy,” murmured Paula at her refractory muttering.
“It’s all right. I’ll handle it by phone.” Balanced on his crutches, Colt paused behind Paula’s chair, and gave her shoulder a reassuring pat.
Paula swallowed her reprimand for Joy. Even more disturbing than Joy’s bad manners were the sensations radiating from the warm imprint Colt’s passing touch had left. In his wake, she was surprised to find tears standing in Joy’s eyes. “What’s the matter?”
“Dad’s mean. Serve him right if I just gave up and let you two be miserable the rest of your lives.”
“Oh, Joy. Grow up,” said Paula absently. She cradled a single rose blossom with her cupped hand and inhaled its sweet fragrance. Feeling sun-washed even in the midst of Joy’s little tempest, she started inside.
“Where are you going?” Joy called after her.
“Mrs. Hilbert’s due any time. Your father’s going to have a hard time finding a florist quick enough for the job.”
“So you’re going for him?”
“I thought I’d offer.” Turning back, she saw Joy’s expression shift to a grudging smirk. Knowing how much Joy despised doing dishes, she added, “Unless you’ve changed your mind, and would like to go while I do the dishes.”
“No, thanks,” said Joy.
Paula let herself in through the terrace door, cut through their quarters and rapped on Colt’s door. There was no answer. She knocked again.
“Colt?” she called and tried the knob. It turned unchecked. The door swung open. The lamplight burning within poured a soft glow into the shadows. But Colt wasn’t in view.
Hearing a crashing and a muffled outcry from deeper within the apartment, Paula bolted toward the sound to find Colt facedown on the bedroom floor.