The next morning as Brook sat with Lance in his workroom, she laid her pencil on her pad and cleared her throat. He looked up from his project to find her staring at him.
“Something is really bothering me,” she said.
He waited.
“As I write, I keep remembering things. Jase and his gang mentioned my car being right where it was supposed to be.” Brook frowned. “What do you make of that?”
“I don’t know, Brooklyn. I guess it could mean a number of things. Maybe they had someone cruising around, looking for a good vehicle to take. Maybe the spotter saw your car and started following you, then called them with the location when you stopped. Or maybe someone knew you were going to that exact spot and tipped them off ahead of time.”
“Exactly,” she said, feeling as though she were venturing into fearful territory. “And as far as I know, the only person who knew where I was going…was Clark.”
Lance looked thoughtful but said nothing.
“But that’s impossible.” She chewed on the end of the pencil for a second. “Isn’t it?”
“I don’t know the man, Brooklyn.” Lance’s tone was steady, noncommittal. “You’d be in a better position to judge that.”
“Maybe the shock of what I went through has made my memory unreliable. But that’s what I thought I heard. When you combine that with the fact that Benny had a key…”
“It isn’t logical. I mean, you and your husband have plenty of money. From your description of him, he doesn’t sound like a criminal.” Lance bent over his project once again as he talked. “Plus, I can’t believe he’d want anything bad to happen to you. He’d have to be insane.”
“You’re right; it’s ridiculous.” Brook shook her head and picked up the pencil once again.
“I never said it was ridiculous. I just said the man would have to be insane to put you at risk in any way.”
Brook doodled on her paper. “My perceptions could be a little off, I guess. I don’t even know why I’m thinking about this right now. When I first sat down, I was actually planning to try and write a poem.”
Lance looked up at her and wondered why she changed her mind about following this line of thought. He had wanted to explore the subject a little further, but if she didn’t feel the same, then he wouldn’t pursue it. He let the topic slide away. “A poem? About what?”
“This place.” She smiled at him. “The forest, the cabin, the snow…I don’t know. Just this wonderful place.”
“I admire people who can write poetry. I feel poetic sometimes, but could never get the feeling into words.”
“I don’t know if I can either,” she replied. “But I’m going to try.”
“While you’re doing that, I’m going to get another cup of coffee. Would you like some?” Lance stood.
“Sure, thanks,” she said, intent on the page in front of her. Lance stepped close to her on his way to the kitchen and grabbed her empty cup. He kissed the top of her head and lingered beside her, gazing over her shoulder at the curve of her cheek. She should just describe herself if she wants to create a beautiful poem.
Chapter 46
“How about some music while we eat?” Lance asked one evening as they prepared to sit down to supper. He turned on the radio. The reception was bad, but through a web of static they heard the familiar strains of Christmas music.
“It’s Christmastime already? I didn’t realize. I love Christmas songs, especially the older ones.” She strained to hear the music. “What is the date, anyway?”
“The date?” Lance looked surprised but then shook his head. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I should have realized you’d have no idea of the date. It’s December 18th. I keep a small calendar taped to the inside of the workshop door of the cabinet closest to my bedroom if you ever need it. I’m sorry Brook, I should have kept you informed, it’s just that time doesn’t mean that much to me, including the date.”
Brook smiled softly, “It’s okay, Lance. I never thought about the date until now. It’s fine.
Lance raised his shoulders in an apologetic shrug and turned back to the radio. He twiddled with the radio knob, but finessing the dial only made the sound worse, and admitting defeat, he shut it off. He turned to Brook with a hopeful look. “Looks like we’ll have Christmas together this year.” He hadn’t celebrated any holiday for a long time. He wondered how Brook would react to Christmas. She had been through so much and might not even want to celebrate the season. Plus, she’d be with him instead of her husband or family.
“We certainly will. And it will be a Christmas to remember.” Brook determined to make it a joyous occasion. "I'm so grateful to be alive, and safe, I feel like there's plenty to celebrate." Her enjoyment of the season would be like a thumb in the eye of her abductors, and a willful act of defiance to the bad feelings that lingered.
Lance was relieved. “I’ll find a tree tomorrow. But, we’ll have to make our own decorations,” he said. “There isn’t much time. Christmas is next week.”
“There’s plenty of time!” Brook was enthusiastic. “I bet there are all kinds of things around here we can use for ornaments.”
Lance suggested they have roast duck with all the trimmings. Brook, after rummaging through Lance’s supplies, volunteered to make pineapple upside-down cake, an old family recipe. Excited, they made their plans.
That evening, Lance excused himself and went to his workroom. Brook didn’t follow; she wanted the time alone to think of something she could make for him for Christmas. But what? She didn’t want to ask Lance if she could use things from the cabin, and she couldn’t exactly go shopping. She pondered her dilemma. She selected and discarded a number of ideas. Finally, inspiration struck. She dug in the kitchen for the scraps of fabric left over when she altered Lance’s clothes to fit her. He had tossed the remnants into the rag bag, but she rescued them and tucked them inside her purse. Then she took out her notepad.
Unknown to Brook, while she sought an idea for his present, Lance was working on a gift for her. That night after they made love, Brook found it difficult to fall asleep. Memories, good and bad, assailed her along with a niggling sense of guilt and confusion over Clark. Yet, she rested her head on Lance’s shoulder and delighted in the warmth of his body, his tender protective embrace. Surprised that she could hold so many simultaneous conflicting emotions, Brook seemed almost a stranger to herself in many ways. Although she had anticipated changes, negotiating her internal environment was sometimes like visiting a place she had never been before.
Thoughts of her and Lance’s plans for the holiday further disrupted her slumber. She had just given up and resigned herself to lying awake all night, when sleep sneaked up on her and pulled her down into its soft depths.
The next morning, after breakfast, Lance hurried through his chores, anxious to find just the right tree. He let Gilbert out, allowing her to accompany him on his search. Her belly was rounding out nicely and swung a bit from side to side as she trotted along.
Lance had to shake the snow from each tree before he could see its true form. Some of this snow landed on Gilbert, and she pranced away, shaking her head as she turned a reproachful eye upon him. In some places, the snow was so deep she nearly got stuck. Lance admonished her gently. "Stay with me, now."
Finally, after searching for over an hour, Lance spotted the perfect tree. Wielding his axe, he made short work of chopping it down. He bound the branches with a piece of twine and hauled it home. After returning Gilbert to her pen, he carried his find inside the cabin.
Brook’s face lit up when she saw the tree. Lance cut the twine loose and the branches sprang back into shape, revealing a Douglas fir almost perfectly shaped, and nearly as tall as her.