Love Will Find a Way (23 page)

"The Cub Scouts are having a camp-out by Sullivan's Lake," Wesley said with a heavy sigh at the end of his sentence.

Dylan sat down next to him. "You don't sound too excited."

Wesley shrugged. "It's a father-and-son camp-out."

"Oh, I see."

"Grandpa is going with me."

"That's good."

"I guess. He can't go hiking because of his arthritis. And he won't be able to do the three-legged race or the swimming relay with me. He says the lake water is too cold for him. I don't even want to go on the stupid camp-out, but Mom says I have to." He added another sigh just in case Dylan couldn't tell how unhappy he was.

He needn't have bothered, because Dylan had a pretty good idea of how he was feeling. He hadn't had a dad around to do the father-son things either. Once or twice his stepfather had filled in, but he'd made it clear he didn't want to be there.

"So how long do you go for?" he asked.

"Just one night. We come back tomorrow at five." Wesley paused. "Hey, Dylan?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you think you could go on the camp-out with me?"

"Uh ..." He didn't know what to say. He wasn't Wesley's father. He didn't belong on a father-son camp-
out, that
was for sure. But there was a pleading look in Wesley's eyes that told him how much the boy did not want to go with his elderly grandfather. "I don't know, Wes."

"Please. Grandpa doesn't want to go anyway. He'd be happy if you took his place. And you could do all the cool stuff with me, the hikes and the swimming and everything."

"But you'd have fun with your grandfather."

"Right." Wesley rested his head on the sleeping bag in his arms.

He looked completely dejected, and even if half of it was an act, Dylan couldn't help but respond. "Where's your mom?"

"She's making us some food to take."

"I'll be right back."

Dylan went into the house without bothering to knock, a habit he'd only recently begun to acquire, but it appeared that locked doors and knocking irritated people out here in the country; they preferred you just let yourself in and help yourself to whatever you needed. He'd never lived in a house like that, and it still didn't feel right to him to be walking down Rachel's hallway without her knowing it, but he pushed the feeling aside and ventured into the kitchen. He found her half hidden behind the freezer door.

"I'm almost ready, Wesley. I just have to fill the ice chest," she said, shutting the door. She stopped when she saw him. "Dylan."

"Hi."

"Hi," she said with a breathless catch in her voice.

He'd thought a couple of days would be enough to banish the memory of their last kiss, but seeing her now, her lips softly parted, her gorgeous blue eyes focused on him, he was taken right back to where they had been. And he wanted her -- again.

"What are you doing here?" Rachel asked.

"Oh." He had to think for a moment. "I came to see if something was wrong because Wesley didn't show up at the house, and I was worried about him."

"He's fine. He's going on a camp-out."

"Yeah, I saw him on the porch."

She licked her lips. "Was there something else?"

He hesitated. "Is your grandfather excited about this camp-out?"

"Hardly, but he doesn't want Wesley to miss out. Why do you ask?"

"I was thinking that maybe I could go in his place." He couldn't believe the words had come out of his mouth, but there they were.

Rachel looked shocked by the suggestion. "I don't think so. You're not Wesley's father."

"I'm not trying to be," he said slowly. "But Wesley is concerned that your grandfather won't be able to keep up. He asked me if I could go instead."

"He doesn't want to go with his grandfather?"

"His great-grandfather," Dylan reminded her. "Wesley is eight years old, Rachel. John seems like a million years old to him."

"I didn't realize. Why didn't Wesley say something to me?"

"He probably doesn't want to hurt anyone's feelings."

"But he can talk to you?" She shook her head in confusion. "I guess that's good."

"We've become friends, bonded over hammer and nails," he said. "It's a guy thing." He wanted to take the pressure off her. She tried to be all things to Wesley, but she couldn't. It was too much to ask anyone to be a perfect mother and a perfect father at the same time.

His words drew a smile from her. "A guy thing, huh? And this camp-out is a guy thing, too?"

"Oh, yeah, we'll pound our chests, howl at the moon, and make a fire. We'll be in hog heaven."

"Sounds like a fabulous time," she said with a short laugh. "I guess you can go if you're sure you want to. I better call Wesley. Wes—"

Dylan laughed as Wesley came bursting through the kitchen door. He'd obviously been eavesdropping.

"Can Dylan go?" Wesley asked eagerly.

"Yes, he can go."

"Yea!" Wesley cried, launching himself into Dylan's arms.

Dylan laughed and swung the boy up off the floor. "I need some stuff, though."

"What kind of stuff?" Wesley asked.

"A sleeping bag and a pillow."

"We have a couple extra," Rachel said as Dylan lowered Wesley to his feet. "Why don't you go get them, Wesley? And tell your great-grandfather he's off the hook."

Rachel stared at Dylan after Wesley left the room, an expression on her face he couldn't quite interpret.

"What?" he finally asked.

"Wesley really likes you."

"I'm a likable guy. Don't sound so amazed."

"Sorry." She cleared her throat. "Last year's Cub Scout camp-out was the last thing Gary and Wesley did together. Gary tried to get out of it, but he just couldn't come up with the right excuse, so he went along, but he pretty grumpy about it."

"Gary hated to camp. He was like a girl when it came to sleeping on the ground with bugs crawling around him."

"Hey, I think I resent that girl comment," she said with a small smile. "I am a very good camper."

"Well, your husband wasn't."

"No, he wasn't." The smile slipped off her face. "So … I should probably call that number again, try to get that woman to speak to me.
 
I've been putting it off, but I can't keep doing that."

He frowned. "I called the number yesterday. It was disconnected. I'm sorry, Rachel. It was our only lead and I shouldn't have waited as long as I did to call back."

Rachel's face paled. "It's disconnected. Why would she do that?"

"I'm guessing she doesn't want you to find her."

"I can't believe the only lead we have is gone."

"Not completely. I called a friend of mine who's a private investigator. He's going to see if he can put a name to that number."

"Oh, well, that's good, I guess. What now?"

"Well, I'm going camping. I think you should look through every drawer and box in this house that belonged to Gary. It's time, Rachel. What do you say? Deal?" He stuck out his hand.

She stared at his hand for a long minute,
then
finally slipped her hand into his. "Deal."

Her fingers were warm and curled around his. He wanted to pull her closer. It took everything he had to let go. He moved to the door. "Do I have time to run into town and change my clothes?"

"Yes. In fact, they're meeting in town at the steps to City Hall. The mayor is one of the dads. You can take Wesley with you and stop at your hotel on the way, if you want. Unless you think I should come along."

"No, I can take him."

"People are going to wonder about you ... and about me."

"We're friends, Rachel. That's all they need to know."

"But not all we are," she murmured. "You can lie to them, Dylan, but don't lie to me, okay?"

He nodded. "Okay."

* * *

Rachel spent the evening as she'd promised Dylan, going through the drawers and closets of her life. She'd done a halfhearted job a few weeks after the funeral, but nothing since. At the time she hadn't wanted to throw anything away or to make changes. Now she didn't know why she'd resisted the chore. Gary was gone. Keeping his clothes in her closet wouldn't bring him back. But as she'd told Dylan once before, she was a pack rat by nature. And throwing things away did not come easily.

More than once she found her eyes tearing as she picked up something of Gary's, a pair of cuff links she'd given him on an anniversary, his favorite bottle of cologne, the gold watch he'd inherited from his grandfather that would one day go to Wesley. They were just things, she told herself. Without them she would still remember the way Gary smiled, the way he hugged, the way he snored, the way he laughed, the way he loved.

The tears in her eyes finally spilled over, and she sat down on the bed and cried for everything she'd lost and everything she would miss. For the first time in six months, she let herself think and feel and remember. Each memory hurt more than the last, each thought made her heart break and the tears stream down her face, but she stopped fighting and let them come. When she was finally spent, she felt like a wrung-out sponge. There were no more tears left. She was empty.
Completely empty.
It felt good.

The weight was lifted from her shoulders. The queasiness was gone from her stomach; the sense of having to stay in control had disappeared. She went into her bathroom, blew her nose, washed her face and got on with the task at hand.

* * *

When
Carly
came home around ten, Rachel had filled two large plastic bags with Gary's clothes, as well as a couple of boxes. She was just about to go through Gary's jewelry box when Carly paused in the doorway.

Rachel smiled at the wary expression on her sister's face. "Hi."

"What's going on?"

"Just doing some cleaning."

"Looks like more than a little cleaning."

"Once I got started, I just kept going. It needed to be done."

Carly walked farther into the room. "What are you going to do with all this stuff?"

"Give it away to charity. A lot of Gary's suits are in excellent condition. I think they'll come in handy for someone looking for a job or trying to hold one down." She opened the small wooden box that Gary had kept on top of the dresser. Inside was the silver chain she'd bought him as a birthday gift a few years earlier. "Maybe Wesley would like this," she murmured.

"I'm sure he would." Carly sent her a thoughtful look. "Did something happen tonight to trigger all this?"

"It just felt like the right time."

"Can I help?"

"You can help me take these bags downstairs."

"Oh, sure, now you let me help when there is manual labor involved. I should have figured."

Rachel gave a little laugh at the disgruntled expression on Carly's face. "You did ask. Thanks, by the way."

"No problem."

"Not for taking the bags out, but for not judging me, for not saying it's about time or the alternative -- how can you just throw Gary's life away in two plastic bags and a couple of boxes?"

"You're not throwing his life away, just his things, things that don't mean anything to anyone."

"Right. So I just realized that I'm starving. Want to share a banana split like we used to?"

"With whipped cream and nuts on top?"

"As big as we can make it."

"Absolutely." Carly picked up a bag. "By the way, I saw Grandpa in the yard. He said Dylan went on the camp-out with Wesley. How did that happen?"

"Wesley talked him into it. He thought Grandpa would be a little too old for some of the activities."

"And Dylan agreed? Did you by any chance warn him about what actually goes on during the annual father-son camp-out?"

Rachel laughed. "Are you kidding? He was acting like the original bear hunter."

"He's going to kill you when he gets back."

"Hey, he wanted to go."

"Quite the volunteer, isn't he? First your house, now your son's camp-out. He's certainly going beyond the call of duty." Carly paused, her eyes narrowing on Rachel's face. "But this isn't about duty anymore, is it?"

"I don't know what you mean," Rachel said, looking away.

"He cares about you."

"What do you think about some new curtains in here? Maybe even a new carpet. I feel like a change."

"What you're changing is the subject."

"I know. Let me, okay?"

Carly hesitated,
then
shrugged. "All right. But I hope you know what you're doing, Rachel. I don't want to see you get hurt."

"Dylan won't hurt me. He's a good friend." As Carly left the room, Rachel realized that she'd done just what she'd asked Dylan not to do -- she'd lied about their relationship.

Their relationship -- whatever the hell that was. Maybe they were friends. She didn't really know anymore.

* * *

"Got more than you bargained for, didn't you?" Lance Daniels said to Dylan, giving him a friendly punch on the arm.

Dylan wiped the face paint off his cheeks with a paper towel and a big scowl. "Wesley did not tell me we were going to act like warriors."

"An old tradition," Lance said with a laugh. "Started back a gazillion years ago when they used to play cowboys and Indians.
With the politically correct movement, the game transformed into warriors and adventurers.
You did great capturing the flag, by the way. I haven't seen Wesley smile so big in a long time."

"I'm glad I could help," Dylan mumbled, tossing the paper towel into the trash can. The boys were supposed to be getting ready for bed, but the flashlight beams were bouncing off the walls of the tent, followed by laughter, giggling and squealing. Dylan smiled to himself at the sound of such unrestrained joy.

"Want a beer?" Lance asked as they sat down in side-by-side camp chairs by the dwindling campfire.

"Beer? You've got beer?"

"Private stash. What do you say?"

"I say yes," he replied with a grin. He watched Lance pour the beer into two plastic cups and hide away the offending bottle. Some of the other fathers had gone to bed, a couple had taken a walk down by the lake and another two were playing cards on the other side of the fire.

"Hell of a thing that happened to Gary," Lance said. "He was a good guy." He raised his cup in a silent toast and Dylan did the same. "Heard you were friends from way back. Gary used to tell me some of the things you did when you were kids. He was quite the storyteller."