Beyond the Storm (9780758276995) (28 page)

“You're both, and you're one and the same. I don't believe that you can't feel anything, otherwise you wouldn't be here by my side. You came back for me. Just as I felt last night . . . that Venture came back to Aidan. I saw her . . . in my reflection. All of us, we found each other in that farmhouse because we're all the same.”

“You can't be sure.”

“I am.”

“Vanessa, no, I came to say good-bye.”

“I'm cold.”

“Vanessa, hang on.”

“I don't want to,” she said. “I want what we had. I want to know if it's all true.”

“You don't know that forever is what we'll get. It's too great a leap. If you give up now, we can't guarantee where the world takes us next. We . . . you, you can't take that chance. I think the letters filled our minds with crazy fantasy, that the love that existed between Aidan and Venture could inspire us to head to tomorrow. But there's no tomorrow for me, only for you. You have way too much to live for, the world is out there for you to discover.”

“I've seen it, more than I ever dreamed. What I have left to discover is you, rediscover,” she said, gazing into his blue eyes that sparkled like the azure sea. What she saw beneath them was sunshine, white clouds that blazed across a blazing sky, no more rain and no more thunder, just a new morning filled with promise, a fresh start. In her mind they were beside the lake, and the water was lapping against the sandy shores and they were together, safe and secure and free of the rocky terrain that loomed nearby. She desired what those knowing eyes revealed, a window to some other place she'd never thought possible, where they could be together . . .

“We need to be together. All of us,” she suddenly said.

“Vanessa, no, we had our time . . .”

A smile widened across Vanessa's face. “I'm cold.”

“No . . . Vanessa, fight it.”

But his voice was fuzzy again, a hazy glaze settling over her eyes. She allowed them to close and then she felt a jerk of her body, a violent seizure that knocked her eyes back open. She looked up to find the medic hovering over, scrambling, screaming for help.

“She's going into cardiac arrest,” he yelled, “somebody get over here . . .”

She felt the cold sensations rip through her body. She saw things, so many things. In her mind, flipping, flickering images of the dance, of Danny's funeral, of Adam in New York, of Reva and Mrs. Stillwell-Abramson and the beautiful capitals of the world in which she'd lived and thrived and died a little death, and then quaint old Danton Hill and the rocky pier called Mercer's Point where she and Adam had once decided they no longer wished to stake a claim to innocence, where they came together in a tender, desperate moment that maybe never should have happened, except it had and the result was . . .

Her eyes closed. She felt hands upon her, pumping at her, hitting her chest.

They were reviving her.

But they wouldn't, that's what she decided.

She would take a chance.

She would take that leap of faith into the netherworld. She would follow her heart. She would do as Venture would have done.

She had to believe, to trust that whatever had happened to her had all been for a reason. The screaming voices of those misunderstood folks trying to revive her echoed in her soggy brain, their sounds fading like the sirens she'd heard earlier today when she'd awakened in the farmhouse after sleeping in the strong arms of the man whom she . . .

. . . say it, she thought, say it. He has to know, even though you couldn't say it before, it wasn't the right time but now it had to be done. Here was the defining, ultimate moment of her life and perhaps its last one too, its final breath. That's when she again opened her eyes and what she saw, well, it was the most beautiful thing ever.

Sunshine, bright, glowing,

For the first time, warmth.

There she saw a face shining down on her.

“Adam,” she said. “It's you . . . Aidan.”

He smiled and it was the smile she'd waited so many months to see, as she sat upon the beach and stared at the quiet waters of the lake. A smile she never thought she would see again. Not in this lifetime or those she'd patiently waited through.

“Yes, Aidan, that's me. But I'm Adam too.”

“Am I Venture? How can that be, how can I be anyone other than Vanessa?”

“You are Venture, and you are Vanessa, and perhaps you've been others too.”

“You found me.”

“More like you found me, saved me, after all this. Sitting in the homeroom class so many years ago. I couldn't be sure, because how could I? I was just a kid, and what did I know of love in this life, much less a love that defied the ages? But I knew I had to know more about you, and that one day our paths would cross again. Who could ever have imagined how . . .”

“Or why.”

“No, we know why, we know because destiny mapped out our lives even when we couldn't see it, or listen. The world meant for us to find each other, to be together . . . someday, one day, when both of us were ready to believe. Are you, Vanessa, are you ready for what was denied us all this time?”

Hesitation played no part in her decision. She nodded. She said, “Yes.”

She reached out, touched his cheek. Her hand felt like it went through him. “Are you real?”

“Real enough. For you, for me,” he responded.

“I love you,” she said. “Adam.”

“I love you too, my sweet, effervescent Vanessa,” he said, and she felt his kiss.

She allowed his strong arms to encircle her. She realized she was no longer held captive on the gurney, or by the sea for that matter, she was free of their hold, perhaps free of all worldly constraints. And yet here he was, and here she was, they were together, and the horror of the accident was gone. She could barely remember the hard impact or being rescued, nearly being brought back to the living. This moment was perfect—this was how it should be. She kissed him back, and he kissed her again, fiercely, their embrace like one more dance, and this time she actually thought she could hear music, real music that allowed her heart to swell and her body to sway and for the man she adored to sweep her off her feet and into a world of reds and purples where nothing existed but the two of them. The four of them.

Yet they weren't alone.

A sound came toward them, feet upon the soft ground.

They turned.

From out of the wild, ripened cornstalks came a small figure. She was adorable, with a smile that brightened everything around them, her hair shimmering with the color of golden wheat and her cheeks apple-like, red and rosy. She extended her hands, both of them, waiting for them each to take hold of her.

“But who are you?” Vanessa asked, bending down to gaze upon the beautiful girl.

“Of course you know,” the girl said.

Vanessa gasped, holding her hand to her beating chest. Her heart, ceaseless in the other world, threatened to leap from her body, so filled with an overwhelming love was it. She wasn't alive but somehow she was, vibrantly so, she could feel and she could touch and she could reach out and hold this lovely little creature. She could feel her heart swell with pride and amazement. She could feel tears fall from her cheeks like rain and she did nothing to stop them.

“Elizabeth Grace,” Vanessa whispered. Tremulous, heaving sobs escaped her mouth, yet, combined with joyous laughter, managed to echo across the sky. “My lovely little girl, it's you, and . . . my . . . how perfect you are.”

“So beautiful,” Adam breathed, his face filled with the wonder of just what was possible in this world, “just beautiful . . . both of you . . . my God, this is . . . can it be real?”

“I don't know how. But yes, it's as real as we want it to be.”

“Come with me,” said the little girl, turning to gaze up at Adam. “Both of you.”

“Me too?” Adam said with some surprise to his voice.

“Of course, how silly. That's how it's supposed to happen, that's how it was supposed to be long, long ago,” she said with an innocent but knowing giggle that sounded so much like her mother's. “Now, take hold of my hand. I've been waiting too long for your loving touch. Let's go, it's not very far. I have a place to show you. Do you like swing sets?”

Adam nodded. “Very much so.”

“But, sweetie,” Vanessa said, crouching down so her expression met the little girl's eyes. They were emerald green too, a mirror of her mother's. “Where are you taking us?”

What she said was so simple, but so telling, and so very right.

“Someplace where it's warm and the sun shines all the time and there's happiness, where stars beam when you want them to and comets soar past you.”

“And where is that?”

“Easy,” the magical child said. “Beyond the storm.”

And that's when she placed herself between Adam and Vanessa, scrunching her tiny nose up at the both of them, a miniaturized, glowing version of the woman named Vanessa Massey. Vanessa took hold of the little girl's hand, and the man named Adam Blackburn followed her lead, and together, the three of them began to walk, venturing toward the cornfields, which right now—in this very moment in time—glowed in the encroaching sun, opening up and welcoming them into a world where nothing was known and everything was new.

Beyond the Storm
exists because of the generosity of many people.

Much of the first draft of the novel was written in Brussels, Belgium, and so I send huge thanks to Steven Tallman and Yuri Michielsen for the use of their gorgeous apartment in the Saint-Gilles neighborhood and for providing Vanessa a haven.

Thanks to Susan Kunz and Wolfgang Joensson, who, over drinks in Paris, France, during that same trip, helped breathe life into Vanessa's sense of wanderlust.

Thanks also to Audrey LaFehr (my editor!) and Steve Marquart, without whom I'd never have met the above people. You invited me to places in Europe I could only dream about, and what do I do? Write another novel set in Upstate New York.

Thanks to Liz Fleming, who allowed me to take a break from the writing when I landed in London, England, toward the end of my trip. And a break translates to pints at the local pub.

Lastly, thanks to the Fayetteville-Manlius High School Class of 1982 for helping to inspire a story about a reunion. All those glamorous cities, and ultimately where do I end up? Home. Not bad.

 

 

 

 

The suggested questions are included to enhance your group's reading of Joseph Pittman's

Joseph Pittman
is the author of the novels
Tilting at Windmills, When the World Was Small, Legend's End, A Christmas Wish,
and
A Christmas Hope.
He has also written the acclaimed Todd Gleason crime series, including
London Frog
and
California Scheming.
He lives and works in New York City. He writes wherever.

Visit him on the web at josephpittman.com.