Hummingbird Lake (13 page)

She reached into her tote bag and pulled out her stack of finished squares. She placed the twelve-by-twelve-inch squares where her artist’s eye said they fit best with the overall design. Upon seeing them, Ali said, “Oh, Sage.”

Sarah looked and said, “Wow. These are gorgeous. Absolutely gorgeous.”

In her blocks, Sage had used bits of lace, beading, and
bows to create bouquets of flowers. Each of the five squares was different; all were intricately detailed. After studying them a moment, Sarah added, “You are so talented, Sage. Now I’m really stressed out.”

“Why?”

“Because the pressure is on. I said I’d do the piecing on this one, since it’s my turn. And now that I’ve seen your squares, I think we possibly could win. But I’m gonna have to sew a straight line. Arrgh!” Sarah grimaced and covered her face with her hands.

Her friends laughed, and Ali reached out to pat her hand. “It’ll be okay, Sarah. The contest entry is just for fun.”

“Don’t speak so fast, Alison,” Celeste said. “If we’re entering the art show, we darn well want a blue ribbon!”

“Here, here,” Sage added. “I second that.”

Nic looked up from her nursing child. “I knew Sage was competitive, but you, Celeste?”

“I am a proponent of always doing one’s best,” Celeste replied, primly lacing her fingers.

The others all laughed, and then the conversation shifted to plans for the next project. Sage did enjoy the comradery, but she was simply too tired to participate in the conversations with much enthusiasm. Subtly she watched the clock. Staying an hour should be long enough to fulfill her obligation, shouldn’t it?

She was demonstrating her beading technique to Nic and paying minimal attention when Ali steered the conversation toward some charity work she did in Denver. It wasn’t until she heard her own name that she truly tuned in. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

“I’m finalizing activities for the kids’ cancer camp at Angel’s Rest in June. I need to submit the detailed plan to the insurance company for underwriting, and I’d like
to add a second art program. Can I count on you to teach two art classes, Sage?”

“Art classes?” Sage repeated.

“Yes.” Ali’s smile dimmed a bit. “Remember, we talked about it right before Christmas?”

Sage went cold. “I didn’t say I’d teach a class.”

Obviously confused, Ali frowned. “Um, we did discuss it. You didn’t tell me no.”

Art classes to children? Teaching children? Sick children? Pediatric cancer patients? Everything inside Sage rebelled at the thought, and she snapped. “I certainly didn’t tell you yes!”

That shut the conversation off abruptly. Nic, Sarah, and Ali appeared shocked and disapproving. Celeste’s brow wrinkled in worry. Their reactions only annoyed Sage further. Couldn’t they simply be her friends and leave her be?

With her defenses weakened by exhaustion, old fears and frustrations roared forth, and Sage lost her temper. “Excuse me, but I never committed to anything where your cancer camp program is concerned, and it’s wrong of you to assume I’ll go blithely along with the idea. You are my friend—not my mother, my doctor, my employer, or my priest. You don’t get to tell me how I spend my time.”

Ali drew back as if Sage had hit her. Sarah said, “Now, wait a minute—”

“No! You wait a minute.” Sage surged to her feet. Her friends had crossed the line. Anger sharpened her tone, and she could feel her face flush. “All of you wait a minute. I went along with your little intervention because I recognized that in your own buttinsky minds, you thought you were doing a good thing. Not that anyone cared about how I felt. But this goes too far. These are children! Sick children!”

“Yes, they are,” Ali said, obviously confused. “They’re sick children and you’re a doctor.”

“A children’s doctor,” Nic interjected.

“And an artist. I’m not asking you to treat them,” Ali explained. “I’m asking you to teach them to paint.”

Sarah folded her arms. “What’s your problem, Sage?”

Sage closed her eyes. They didn’t understand. They couldn’t understand. That didn’t stop them from judging her, though.

Sarah wasn’t finished. “You know, Sage, we’ve been trying to help you, but you won’t let us. It’s obvious that you have secrets—Nic and I figured that out when you moved here—and it’s plain as day that you don’t want to share them. Okay, fine. I understand about keeping secrets. My big secret is going off to college in the fall. So keep your secrets. But you can’t expect us not to care. We’re your friends. Look at yourself! I’ll bet you’ve lost ten pounds since Thanksgiving, and believe me, it doesn’t look good on you. You’re falling to pieces!”

Sage’s chin came up and she prepared to defend herself, only Sarah wasn’t through. “You even blew off the twins’ christening celebration. And you’re one of their godmothers! What’s wrong with you?”

Familiar guilt rolled through Sage at that. Her only defense for that sin was that Cari and Meg had plenty of other godmothers—Ali, Celeste, Sarah, and Gabe’s three brothers’ wives. However, that was a pitiful, weak excuse, and Sage wasn’t going to float it. Nor was she going to explain that she couldn’t overcome her aversion, that her only option was to stay away. These women didn’t know what it was like. They couldn’t know. And for their sakes, thank God for that.

“Now, Sarah,” Celeste began.

“No.” Sarah lifted her chin. “I’m sorry, Celeste. I know you said to let it be, but I don’t see that letting it
be solves anything. Ali needs Sage’s help, and Sage should give it. Those children need her.”

A flash of memory hovered at the edge of Sage’s mind: white diapers and bright red—

“No.” She shook her head hard, flinging the picture away. “No. I don’t do children. Ever. For God’s sake, have you not noticed? Do I volunteer at the school? Do I help coach the girls’ basketball team?”

“You helped at the Valentine’s daddy-daughter dance last year,” Sarah said.

Well, she’d been different then. Stronger. But she couldn’t explain, and while she searched for an acceptable comeback, Nic argued her case by quietly stating, “You won’t hold my girls. You won’t even touch them. You ask how they are, you give me medical advice, but you keep it all clinical. You’ve even distanced yourself from me since they were born.”

Sage’s breathing quickened. Pressure built in her chest and she closed her eyes. Nic’s accusation was true. She
had
pulled away from Nic since she’d had her babies.

A lump rose in Sage’s throat. She hadn’t realized it—okay, admitted it—until this very second. She’d been trying to tell herself that this current state of emotional turmoil had occurred because of the trouble in December. Now, faced with Nic’s accusation, she recognized that she’d been lying to herself. Her PTSD recovery had hit a wall last September when Nic had her babies, when Sage had delivered those two sweet, precious girls, then fled the house and fallen apart.

“It’s hurt me, Sage,” Nic added, driving the nail even deeper.

Sage wanted to disappear. To melt away into a puddle of nothing.
Someone throw water on me. I’m the Wicked Witch of the West. The Wicked Witch of Eternity Springs
.

But she couldn’t melt into a puddle, and she couldn’t
show weakness, because if she did, these women would pounce. They’d make demands. They’d press her for information. Without knowing what they were doing, they’d send her back to Africa. Make her relive the horror.

Well, that wasn’t going to happen. She couldn’t deal with pouncing, so she wouldn’t show them weakness. Instead, she hardened her voice and said, “Well, sorry about that, but you’re just gonna have to deal.”

Turning to Ali, she added, “And you’re gonna have to find someone other than me to teach your art classes.” Her hands were shaking as she grabbed up her tote bag and said, “Sarah, you need to find someone else to pound on, because my emotional punching bag has been beaten to death. I’m going home. Please, do us all a favor and don’t come calling. I cooperated during your little intervention, but that is over. I need my privacy now.”

With that, she rushed from the kitchen, but not before she heard Sarah say, “Wow. She really let loose her inner bitch, didn’t she?”

Sage was breathing as if she’d run a mile as she paused at the front door to pull on her coat. Her chest hurt. Her throat was tight. Pressure built behind her dry eyes.

“Sage?” Celeste Blessing came into the hallway outside the kitchen.

“No, Celeste. Please. I can’t. I just can’t.”

Celeste linked her fingers in front of her. “It’s okay, dear. You’ll be okay. I’m praying for you.”

Oh, God
. Sage rushed out into the cold, zipping her coat and yanking on her hat and gloves as she hurried up the street. She went straight to her Jeep, thankful that before leaving the gallery she’d packed it with the art supplies she’d need during the remodel. She shoved the key into the ignition, started the engine, and put the car into gear before allowing it to properly warm up.

She kept her eyes straight ahead as she drove faster than was truly safe. Her breaths continued to come in shallow pants. The pressure behind her eyes built and built and built.

Shame swirled inside her. Shame and hate. She hated herself. Hated her actions. Her cowardice. She wanted to lie down and die. She should have died. It all came back to that. She should be dead.

Like everyone else.

She reached the turn onto the point in under five minutes. As she pulled onto the road that led to her cottage, she realized she was whimpering aloud. She arrived at the gate. Her cottage was dark, empty, and cold, while next door lights blazed and smoke rose from the chimney. Without conscious thought, she turned into the neighbor’s drive, parked behind Colt Rafferty’s rental, and literally ran toward his front porch.

He opened the door as she approached. “Sage? Honey? What happened? What’s wrong?”

She simply stood there. Silent and aching and desperate. Beseeching. Searching for sanctuary. Looking for a soft place to fall.

“Oh, baby.” He scooped her up into his arms and carried her over toward the fireplace and an old wooden rocker. He sat with her on his lap, cuddled her close, and rocked her as he murmured against her ear. “It’s okay, Cinnamon. I have you. You’re safe. Let it go, honey. You can let it all go.”

So she did.

NINE

Since his job often brought him into contact with people in the midst of horrific circumstances, Colt was familiar with tears that poured from the soul. They were different from those that flowed from the heart or those from the part of the brain that registered physical pain. Soul tears had a unique depth, a singular intensity, that signaled pain that almost couldn’t be borne. Soul tears were those that a person saved for the big things and shed on rare occasions.

The first time he’d seen Sage Anderson cry, she’d offered up soul tears. Here again, the same.

His own heart ached a little for her as he held her. His interest in the mystery of her increased. What was the genesis of her pain?

Because he was a man who tried never to overlook any possibility when attempting to solve a puzzle, he entertained the notion that she might have him fooled. Had he read her wrong? Maybe she was no more than a bubbleheaded drama queen who screamed over a kiss and lost it over something no more serious than a parking ticket. After all, the woman painted fairies for a living.

Following a moment’s consideration, he shook his head. It simply didn’t ring true. His instincts were telling him that this woman in his arms carried wounds as deep
and as painful as any borne by those he’d encountered through his work.

“Attagirl,” he murmured. She remained oblivious while he eased her out of her coat. “You get rid of all that poison. Just wash it away.”

Her fist held the flannel of his shirt clenched in a tight grip. Her entire body trembled and shuddered. Little kitten mewls of pain escaped her. She was pitiful to behold, a strong woman brought low. He cuddled her a bit more tightly against himself and started to speak.

“I grew up in a midsized town in Texas about an hour from Houston. When I was eight years old, my dad bought a little runabout boat and we spent every day we could steal at the lake. We always packed a cooler with sandwiches and drinks, and we’d tie up or anchor in a cove or creek off the main body of water to have our lunch. After lunch, we’d diaperize—which in the Rafferty family lexicon meant wearing your life jacket upside down, with your legs through the armholes and the jacket around your butt like a diaper. That way you floated with your shoulders above the water without doing much work—it made it easier for my dad to drink a beer. Anyway, we’d float for a while and talk about baseball or the upcoming college football season—important things.”

Sage sniffled and shuddered, and Colt couldn’t tell if she was hearing him or not. Nevertheless, he continued. “My younger brother was one of the most annoying kids on the planet, a total show-off. He also liked to fish. We always kept a fishing pole or two in the boat. So one day during our float time after lunch, he decided it would be a good idea to fish while he was in the water. He diaperized, jumped in with this pole, and started casting. Think he was using a spinner bait, if I remember correctly.”