Ryan's Return (23 page)

"How is Jonas? Is he back at work?"

"No, but he is home. Ryan brought him home yesterday -- without the doctor's permission, of course." His tone turned bitter. "I'm sure Ryan told you."

"No, he didn't." Kara moved to the edge of the sidewalk so people could get around them.

"He didn't tell you at the picnic or last night when you were alone at the Gatehouse?"

Resentment filled his voice, but instead of making her feel bad, it just made her angry. "No, Ryan didn't tell me at the picnic, and we wouldn't have even had lunch together if you had bought my basket like you were supposed to."

"He bid one hundred and fifty dollars."

"So it was the money that stopped you?"

"What else?"

"Maybe you wanted to eat with Loretta?"

"Don't be ridiculous."

"Is that what I'm being?" She put her hands on her hips.

"Yes," he said belligerently, as if he wanted to pick a fight with her. "You've been acting stupidly ever since you invited Ryan here."

"Stupidly? Now I'm stupid, too? Gee, I didn't know you had such a high impression of me."

"I did have a high impression. Until I found out you couldn't be trusted."

Kara felt his words like a slap on the cheek. "Because I invited your brother here?"

"No, because all these months you've made a fool out of me. Pretending we could have a relationship."

"I wasn't pretending. Although at this moment I have serious doubts."

"Doubts? I could never be with you, not when your father..."

Kara felt a sudden heaviness sink through her body. Her father -- again. Ryan said he knew something about her father. Now Andrew. "When my father what?"

Andrew took a deep breath. "When your father screwed my mother."

Kara's jaw fell open. "What?"

"Your father broke up my family. He took my mother off to the big city, filling her head with promises of excitement and adventure. He convinced her to leave her children, for God's sake. The man had no decency."

Kara didn't know what to say. She understood the words coming out of his mouth, but they didn't make sense. Her father -- his mother? Lovers? She put a shaky hand to her mouth, suddenly caught off guard by a wave of nausea.

No, it was impossible. She tried to remember, but there were so many faceless years in between when she hadn't seen her father, when she hadn't known him at all. Maybe she had never known him.

"I -- I didn't know," she said slowly. "Are you sure?"

"Don't pretend. You had to have known."

"I didn't. And I'm not pretending. But I don't understand. How could your mother and my father, both married, have had an affair here -- in a town where gossip runs faster than the river?" She paused. "And why didn't you ever tell me before?"

His eyes narrowed into slits. "Because I didn't know. Because my brother kept it to himself. All these years I thought I was the one closest to Jonas, but he and Ryan had this big secret." Andrew pulled the letter out of his pocket. "Here, read it for yourself. It's all there."

Kara stared at the paper, not sure she wanted to read it. "I can't."

Andrew shoved it into her hand. "Take it, Kara. You started this. You invited Ryan home. Now you have to pay the consequences along with the rest of us."

"Why are you so angry with me?" she whispered, truly taken aback by the viciousness of his tone.

"Because he's your father, dammit. He's your flesh and blood. When I look at you, I think of him, of what he did. How can I be with you? How can we make love? In the back of my mind, I would be seeing them instead of us."

"So that's it? Ryan hands you a letter about a twenty-five-year-old affair, and we're through? I guess we didn't have much to start with, did we?" She uttered a bitter laugh. "I've spent this entire weekend worrying that Ryan would somehow break us up, but lo and behold my father did it instead, and he's been dead for ten years." She paused. "And where is your mother, Andrew? Where is this woman whom my father supposedly led astray? I sure as hell never saw her with him, and he never mentioned her, not once."

"They must have broken up after they left here."

"Or maybe they were never together at all. Maybe this is not the truth. Maybe it's a lie."

"I don't think I can tell the difference anymore. Maybe I never could."

"Tell us another story," Melissa said as she ran down to the river next to Billy and Angel.

"It's not a story; it's the truth," Angel declared as they stopped a good ten feet from the water's edge. They couldn't get close to Tucker's Bridge today. It was almost completely covered, and the water had risen at least six more feet up the bank. "Isn't it wild?" Angel asked. "I love it like this."

Billy hung back, not wanting to get too close. Melissa also looked concerned. "Don't go any farther," Billy said. "You might get washed away."

"I'm not scared of the water. I wish I could take a raft out on it right now."

"You're crazy," Melissa stated. "No one can boat on the river when it's like this. Maybe we better go back."

"Wait. I didn't tell you about the ghost. I saw her again."

Melissa looked at her with disappointment. "Tell us a new story, Angel. That one is boring."

"It's not a story," Angel protested again.

"What did she say this time?" Billy asked with a long-suffering sigh of loyalty.

Angel hesitated, then plunged ahead. "She said she was an Indian princess when the first white man came to the river. She fell in love with one of the loggers, but she couldn't tell her parents, because they would never let her marry a white man. So they met in secret on the bridge every night at midnight. Until one night, when he didn't come back. She cried so many tears that the river rose two feet; then she went home and waited until the following night when she could go back."

"Was he there?" Melissa asked, suddenly caught up by the new twist in the story.

Angel shook her head. "No. She waited until dawn. She cried and cried until her heart was bleeding. The river rose two more feet. The next day, the third night, she returned to the river. And the same thing happened. By the end of the week, she had given up all hope of ever seeing the man she loved. She knew her father had done something terrible to him, that he might be dead, and she couldn't bear to live without him."

"What did she do?" Melissa asked with a hushed voice.

"On the seventh night, under a full moon, she cried until the river rose so high it washed over her body. She was swept off the bridge and into the dark, swirling waters. And as she looked back at the bridge, she saw him. He had finally come for her, but it was too late. He reached out his hand for her, but she couldn't grasp his fingers. He cried out her name and jumped into the water after her. She struggled to get to him, but she couldn't do it. The water held her down until she could no longer breathe."

Angel pointed toward the bridge, where only the top railing was visible. "She's still there, and at night, every night, she comes looking for him. Because she knows that somewhere in the river he waits for her, and that one night they'll be reunited for all of eternity."

"Oh, wow," Melissa breathed. "That is so romantic."

"I thought you said she was looking for something," Billy interrupted.

"She is. A necklace, she said. I think he gave it to her the first night they met. She has to find it. Because once she has it in her hand, he'll come back to her, and they'll be together forever and ever. We have to help her." Angel took two more steps down the bank.

"You can't go down there," Melissa said. "You'll drown just like she did."

"But we can't leave her trapped for all of eternity."

"I can," Melissa said. "I have to go home. My mom will kill me if she finds out I got this close to the water."

Angel turned to Billy as Melissa left. "Are you leaving, too?"

"It's spooky down here. Let's go."

"You don't believe me, do you?"

"No, I don't," Billy said somewhat apologetically. "Come on, Angel."

Angel crossed her arms in front of her chest. "I'll find the necklace by myself. You're just a chicken anyway."

"I am not."

"You are, too."

"Why do you make up all these stupid stories?" Billy asked with anger in his voice. "Everyone knows they're not true."

"They are true."

"My dad says your dad isn't a spy," Billy added. "He's a traveling salesman. That's all he is."

Angel sucked in a deep breath as his words hit her hard. "That's just his cover."

"And I heard your mom talking to my dad one night. Your mom said your dad had lots of other women. That he never wanted to come home."

"That's not true. She's lying," Angel cried.

Billy stared at her in shock, suddenly realizing what he had said. "Uh, An-Angel," he stuttered.

She glared at him, forcing the tears back behind her eyelids. "Go away."

"I'm -- I'm sorry."

She picked up a stick and tossed it at him. "I don't want to talk to you ever again." She ran down the bank until she was at the edge of the water. She knew Billy wouldn't follow her there. And he didn't. He kept calling her name. Finally he stopped. And when it had been quiet for a long time, she turned around. He was gone.

Angel wiped the tears from her cheek with the cuff of her sweater. She couldn't believe her mother had told Andrew about her father. How could she tell all their secrets?

"Angel."

The soft voice filled her with warmth, and she lifted her head. The lady floated above the bridge, her expression loving but sad.

"Why are you crying?"

"I don't know. I think I hate my father." Her face got so tight, she felt an ache through her cheek bones. "And I hate my mother for marrying him, and most of all I hate myself for making everything bad happen."

"You? A beautiful little girl who tells stories that light up the heavens?"

Angel smiled reluctantly. "Did you like it?"

"I only wish I were an Indian princess. To think that the man I loved would have died for me rather than let me go. But I fear that kind of love is only true in stories. And I suspect that perfect families only exist in stories too. Is that why you tell so many of them?"

"I guess. They make me feel better."

"You miss your father, don't you?"

"Yes. At least I miss having a father. I just want a family again, a mom and a dad, the way it's supposed to be."

"Maybe I can help you."

"How?"

The lady moved closer to the tree, so close that she almost blended in with the branches. If she hadn't been wearing the yellow and red scarf, Angel probably wouldn't have been able to see her at all.

"Did you give the watch to Ryan?" the lady asked.

"Yes. He didn't want it though."

"I had hoped..."

"What? What did you hope?"

"It doesn't matter anymore. I still need the locket, Angel. Time is running out. The river will flood by Thursday."

"How do you know that?"

"I just do. You must tell everyone to move to higher ground. You must tell Jonas Hunter, especially. The river will not bend to his will, not this time."

"Mr. Hunter?" Angel asked doubtfully. "I don't think he'll listen to me."

"We must find the locket, Angel. Perhaps if you take it to him, he will understand."

"Understand what?"

"What it means to love someone. Then perhaps Ryan and Andrew will also understand, and you will have a chance at getting that family you want."

"Really?" Angel stood up and began looking among the rocks and bushes, but she saw nothing. "I don't think I can find it for you," she said, feeling hopeless at the prospect.

"You must try every day in the evening, at dusk. I will help you. Promise me you will come back, Angel."

"I promise." Angel didn't know why she said yes. She didn't even know why she was talking to what was probably a low cloud caught in the branches of a weeping willow.

"And Angel, promise me one more thing."

"What?"

"That you won't stop believing in happy endings. I wish I hadn't stopped believing. Maybe then things would have been different. But I gave up, Angel. Don't ever give up on the people you love. Go after Billy and make your peace. Kiss your mother good night. And if you can't forgive your father, then lock his bad deed away in a place where it can't touch you again."

The lady's voice rose and fell like a melody, a soothing lullaby, so soft that Angel kept blinking her eyes.

She must have fallen asleep for a second, because she suddenly opened her eyes and she was sitting on the ground, and there was no ghost. There was no one around.

A shiver ran down her spine. Billy was right. This place was spooky. And the river was getting higher. Would it really flood by Thursday? Could she really tell Jonas Hunter to leave his house? He would never believe her -- not in a million years. But maybe her Aunt Josephine would.

Kara stormed into her aunt's antiques shop, knocking over a basket of papier-mache eggs and a silver tin full of assorted buttons. Aunt Josephine sent her a mild, undisturbed smile.

"Hello, dear. I'm making some tea, would you like some?"

"No." Kara put the letter down on the counter, carefully smoothing out the edges. "What I want is an explanation -- of this."

"What is it? I can't read without my glasses."

Kara reached around behind her and pulled her glasses off the shelf. "Here."

Josephine reluctantly put them on. She read silently for several minutes while Kara drummed her fingers relentlessly against the glass countertop. She still couldn't believe what she had read. Her father and Ryan's mother -- how could such a thing have happened, especially in this small town?

Finally Josephine looked up. "I always wondered about Isabelle."

"Are you saying you didn't know my father was having an affair?" Kara demanded. "How can that be? You know everything. You even have a crystal ball, for God's sake. How could you have missed something as important as this?"

"I didn't miss it. I just never knew for sure."

"But he was your brother."

"I know you want an explanation, but I'm not sure I can give you one."

Kara paced restlessly around the space, wishing she had more room, wishing she could break something, wishing she wasn't continually caught off guard by the people in her life. "I thought my parents loved each other," she said finally. "I thought everything was perfect when we lived here. They were happy together. I remember them sitting on the couch, listening to you play the piano. Dad would stroke Mom's hair. She would kiss him on the cheek. They would laugh together. Was it all just an act?"

"Not all of it," Josephine said. "But your parents obviously had problems. They got a divorce."

"But not till they left, not till the Gatehouse was flooded and the theater couldn't be rebuilt. Dad couldn't start over with us in the city. He was too depressed, too restless. That's why he took off."

"I don't think that's how it happened," Josephine said gently. "I think your father and mother had problems that went much deeper than where they were to live. I can't tell you what they were. Harry didn't confide in me. Oh, I would hear them argue now and then, but I wasn't privy to their confidences."

Kara tossed her hair in an angry, frustrated gesture. "I don't understand. I came back here to find the happiness I once had, only to discover now that it was all an illusion. My father was screwing Mrs. Hunter."

"The letter doesn't say that, and you don't know that they ever acted on their emotions. Love is sometimes beyond our control."

"Not when you're married. Then you have to control it."

"Yes, but I rather doubt that Harry and Isabelle had an actual affair. When she writes of him in this letter, she speaks almost poetically. In her words he's more than a man, he's practically a god. Now, Harry was a lot of things, but he definitely wasn't a god. Which leads me to believe they didn't know each other all that well."

"I don't understand."

"I think Isabelle loved the way Harry made her feel more than she loved him. And that was probably the attraction for Harry, too. Isabelle was a beautiful, passionate woman. She was warm and affectionate, all the things that your mother wasn't. Not that I didn't care deeply for your mother. She wasn't a bad person, just difficult to get close to."

Kara didn't need to be reminded of that fact. When her father left, so had all the warmth in their family. Not that her mother was mean. She just didn't touch, and she didn't like to be lazy, and she didn't have a loud laugh that made you feel as if you had told the best joke in the world. But she had been a good mother in her own way.

"Another thing I don't understand is where Mrs. Hunter went. She supposedly left with my father, but he never showed up with her, and I distinctly remember him spending the night with us in San Francisco. Where was she?"

"Maybe they split up once they got to the city."

"No wonder Mom couldn't stand to talk about him," Kara said after a moment, retracing the past as quickly as she could. "She must have known that he had fallen in love with someone else. I wish she had told me, maybe not when I was a child; but later there were so many opportunities. Right before she died, I told her I thought Michael was cheating on me. And do you know what she said?"

"I can't imagine."

"She told me to look the other way, to accept the good with the bad, to try and hang on to him. How could she give me such advice?"

"Maybe she wished she had hung on to Harry."

Josephine walked over to the hot plate and picked up the kettle, which was beginning to steam. She poured two cups of tea and handed one to Kara.

The aroma of herbs, cinnamon, and spices soothed her jangled nerves, and Kara took a grateful sip of the tea.

"Where did you get the letter?" Josephine asked as she settled onto a stool behind the counter.

"From Andrew, who got it from Ryan, who apparently stole it from Jonas all those years ago."

"That's what Ryan stole? My goodness. All these years Jonas made it sound like Ryan had taken his life savings, when in fact all he had taken was a letter from his mother."

"Andrew broke up with me. He said he can't bear to touch me, knowing that my father was with his mother."

"He's a damn fool," Josephine said sharply. "What does that have to do with the price of tea in China?"