“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
“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.
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.
“Let’s put it in front of the window,” Brook suggested. “I know there’s no one out there to see it, but I think that’s where it belongs.”
“We’ll see it,” Lance reminded her. “When we’re coming in from outside, we’ll see it in the window.”
“That’s right!” Brook smiled at him.
They decorated the tree with little odds and ends from Lance’s workroom, metal pieces that flashed and sparkled. Popcorn was strung and slender paper chains were fashioned. When they were finished, they stood back to admire their work and were pleased with the result.
“Next year we’ll add some battery-powered lights.” There was a pause. Lance felt his spontaneous joy slipping away when he remembered that Brook wouldn’t be here next year. He quickly moved past the sad thought and returned the bright smile to his face. Brook let the comment slide, not wishing to think about leaving either.
For the next few days, every time Lance went outside, Brook stayed in and worked on his gift. For his part, Lance spent more time than usual alone in his workroom, with an ear cocked toward the doorway so he could hide his project if he heard Brook coming.
Christmas Day arrived and they woke to more snow. It had fallen softly during the night adding a thick new layer over the slopes and trees. Before getting out of bed, Lance held Brook close and warm under the blankets,
