action. It seemed more like small mischief, humorous even, to confound anyone who thought they had a handle on Sullivan Proctor. Each person who had taken one of his credit cards could knock themselves out trying to use them. If someone wanted to steal his identity, as far as he was concerned, they were welcome to it. He would be long gone.
He got rid of them all, nearly emptied his wallet. Library card, insurance cards, shopper’s discount cards, store credit cards, CPR certification, gym membership card, and even his driver’s license. He imagined all the new Sullivan Proctors running around the city in the days to come.
He was now Lance Matthew, an anonymous individual, who for all intents and purposes did not exist. He was now an entirely new man, one who lived in nobody’s data banks, unnumbered and uncounted. Just the way he wanted to be. He’d thought about actually buying a new identity but he would be right back where he had started, just as someone else. No, he had to be someone who never existed for his plan to work.
“I made a new identity and created the paperwork on a computer,” he told Brook. “Of course, the IDs I have now are all faked, but they look real enough. And no one knows. No one, that is, except my parents, my brother, and now, you.”
“Wow,” Brook exclaimed. “That’s crazy wild. What if you want to go back to your old life?”
“I can’t,” he said simply. “I fixed it so I can’t. I have no idea what kind of trouble Sullivan Proctor has gotten himself into since I’ve been gone. Sullivan Proctor could be a wanted criminal for all I know.”
“Wouldn’t your mom and dad know if someone was using your name illegally? Wouldn’t someone contact them? “
“Maybe,” Lance said. “But they haven’t so far. And my parents would be telling the truth when they say they don’t know where I am.”
Brook gazed at him for a long moment. She took in his dark tousled hair, tanned face, deep brown eyes with their occasional sparkle, his rugged but trim beard, his wide shoulders stretching the flannel shirt to its limit, his strong capable hands and muscular arms.
“You don’t look like a Sullivan Proctor,” she pronounced. “You look like your new name. It suits you.”
His eyes met hers. “Thanks,” he said softly.
“But, Lance,” she asked. “What if something happened to you up here? What if you got injured or sick? How would you get help?”
“Those are questions with no good answers. I guess, if something too terrible happened, I’d just be out of luck. But then, if I were in a bad car wreck I’d probably face the same fate. Or if I were mountain climbing and had a slip. Accidents happen everywhere; and more often then not, they happen in inconvenient places.” He ran a hand through his hair. “But, I take vitamins religiously. I’m very careful with my tools, more so than most people, I would guess. I know one slip could cause a fatal injury or infection. I haven’t seen a doctor in more than three years, or a dentist.” His eyes twinkled. “Your dad would most likely disapprove. But, anyway, I know I’ve been living dangerously in a way. But I’m so careful, Brooklyn. Even with little things like making sure I floss my teeth, and using generous amounts of peroxide and rubbing alcohol even when they are probably unnecessary. This caution extends to the very water I drink. I filter the river water I use, and melt snow in the winter, but never the first snowfall. And I even filter that!”
“I have an extensive supply of bandages and medication. I took everything from our medicine cabinet at home before I left. There are the pain pills and tranquilizers you’ve been taking. Plus I have some antibiotics. Expired yes, but hopefully still potent enough to be of some help. To top it off, I hit the drugstore and stocked up an everything I could think of.”
He looked thoughtful. “No, I just have to be diligent, extremely careful, think things through before carrying them out. Of course, I guess anything could do me in. A bad tooth, an accident with a tool, a rusty nail, or a fall. So far, I’ve been lucky.”
“Living like this; it’s so risky. You should at least have a cell phone,” Brook said. “At least that.”
“Well, I don’t want anyone to know where I am, or even who I am. And anyone I want to call I can call from a payphone, just like I do my parents. Besides, there aren't any towers up here, no service.”
“Bet you hated to see me out there in the woods,” Brook ventured.
“I did,” Lance admitted. “I’m not going to lie about it. I felt resentment. It’s that selfish part of me rearing its ugly head again. I thought you were going to be nothing but trouble and I feared what you would do to my life, without meaning to, of course.”
“You could have just left me there, walked away.”
“No, Brooklyn,” he said, meeting her eyes with his steady gaze. “I could never have done that, would never have. And now that I've gotten to know you…'
Chapter 35
The moment stretched out. Brook’s pulse picked up. Lance’s eyes held a tenderness she hadn’t noticed before. Clearing his throat, he got up, and the spell was broken.
“Let me finish these dishes. Then I’ve got to tend to the ladies,” he said, “and check on Gilbert.”
“What ladies?” Brook asked. 'Are there other people out here? I thought you lived alone.'
“Oops! Sorry about that,” he chuckled. “That’s what I call my chickens. I thought it was a tad more respectful than calling them ‘the girls’. But only a tad.”
Brook smiled at the thought. “You wouldn’t want to offend your chickens, that’s for sure. They might start hiding their eggs from you.”
Lance laughed. “No, I definitely don’t want to go on an egg hunt, not in this snow anyway.” He finished clearing the dishes, and then turned to Brook. “Now, let me help you into the bathroom and then get you settled before I take off. I have quite a few chores to take care of and I’ll be gone for a spell.”
When she was finished and seated back on the bed, he looked down at her.
“Bet you’re getting a little bored. Got cabin fever yet?” he asked kindly.
“No, not really,” she said. “I still get tired pretty fast. And I can always read.' She gestured at the stack of books on the bed. 'But, I
“Sure.” He went behind the curtain and returned with a manicure set and a well-appointed sewing kit. “What do you plan to sew?”
“Oh, you’ll see,” she answered, a mischievous gleam in her eye.
Later when he returned, he found her wearing a modified version of his clothes. They fit her quite well.
“I ruined your things,” she said, standing on still-painful feet to model her alterations. She had cut and sewn, taking up places here, trimming them away there. The seams were whip-stitched, the best she could do with the tools at hand.
“If that’s ruining them,” he said, his voice husky with some unnamed emotion, “maybe I should give you some more to wreck. Seriously, though, they look nice on you. In fact, I didn’t know those clothes could ever look so good.”
She blushed at the compliment. “Well, now that you mention it, I wouldn’t mind having at least one other set of clothes. You know, wash one and wear one.”
“I think that can be arranged.”
He went quickly to the kitchen where he began pulling food from the cold pantry and busying himself with the old cook stove. She lowered herself back onto the bed, feeling strangely pleased with herself.
The rest of the day passed in quiet pursuits for Brook; reading, napping, thinking. Lance disappeared behind the curtain for long periods, coming out once in a while to check on her, and once to set some more clothes by her bedside. He noticed as he did so that her nails were now short and even, all the jagged edges tamed by the file.
Outside the windows, the snow fell, deepening its blanket over earth and tree, its soft cold embrace locking them away from the world.
That evening, after a supper of browned potatoes and carrots steeped in the juices of a succulent roast, Lance got up from the table and stood by the outside door. “Come here,” he said.
