July Thunder (25 page)

The woman who answered the door looked a lot
older and wearier than the Mary he'd met. Her eyes were hollow and almost expressionless as she looked at him.

“Can we talk?” he said without preamble.

“What's the point?”

He shifted on his feet, fighting the urge to slink away like the cur he was. It hurt to realize he'd put that look on Mary's face. He'd never wanted her to look anything but happy, and instead his bollixed emotional state had made him hurt her.

“The point,” he said finally, “is that we need to talk. I think there are some misunderstandings. But I can tell you one thing for sure, Mary. There won't be any point to it if we
don't
talk.”

After a few seconds of hesitation, she stepped back and let him into the house. Neither of them seemed to want to sit. In fact, Mary stayed close to the door, as if she wanted to be able to run on a moment's notice.

“This is terrible,” he said finally.

“What is?”

“Me. I'm a cop, right? I've got smart ideas and words of advice for most of the world. Call me in on an emergency and I know exactly what to do. I can talk fighting couples into making peace. I can soothe accident victims. I can sort out neighborhood squabbles. Hell, once I even talked a burglar into putting down his gun.

“But it's different when it's somebody I care
about. Suddenly I don't have any smart words or good ideas. Damned if I don't get tongue-tied.”

“You don't sound tongue-tied to me.”

“That's because I'm not talking about the things that hurt yet.” His heart was beating nervously, and he felt his mouth go dry. This was not going to be easy. In fact, it was probably the hardest thing he'd ever done. And right now he felt like a blindfolded man walking into a minefield.

“I don't talk much about what I really feel, Mary. I'm not good at it. But maybe I need to change that. So here goes. I believe in saving the whales and what's left of our forests. I worry about the ozone layer and world hunger, and I joined one of those organizations where you send in twenty bucks a month to feed a hungry child. I've got five kids right now, and I write to them at least once every two months and send them some little doodad I think they'd like.”

Was he imagining it, or was her face softening just a shade? “I think we ought to pay down the national debt, and I think we ought to pay more for food so that family farms can make a living. And I think we all need to do a much better job of taking care of one another than we do now.”

He thought he saw the slightest nod of her head, but he couldn't be sure. “Which leads me to my next point. I haven't done a very good job of taking care of
you.
Last night…last night I just plain didn't know what to say. And I think, to be honest, I should
admit that all I could seem to think of were clichés I figured you'd heard a million times and didn't believe anyway.”

She drew a shaky breath and bit her lower lip.

“I mean, what am I going to tell you, Mary? That it wasn't your fault? I don't think it was. God, I've been around kids enough to know how slippery they are and how fast they move. Not two months ago I was called when a motorist hit a four-year-old who rode down the driveway on his tricycle right in front of her. He was okay, by the way, except for some fractures, because the driver was going really slow. But the woman driving was hysterical. She'd seen him on the driveway. She knew he saw
her,
because he looked right at her. Then zip. He dashed right in front of her. She couldn't believe he'd done that.”

Mary looked down, and he felt suddenly cast adrift now that he couldn't see her eyes anymore. “The point is, kids are slipperier than eels. And not every accident can be prevented. I know that.”

He waited, but she didn't say anything. No help there. So he plunged on.

“I understand that you probably weren't responsible, Mary. But I also know that me saying that doesn't make you feel any better. You feel guilty. You feel like you should have done something more. I understand that, too, because I feel that way about Beth.

“So none of the things I could say are going to make you feel any better. I knew that last night, and
I was casting about for something,
anything,
useful to say to you, and I guess you thought I was rejecting you. But I wasn't. I was thinking, Mary.”

She still didn't look up, but finally she spoke. Quietly. “What were you thinking, Sam?”

“I was thinking that you had a deep, deep wound. And I was wondering if there was anything I could possibly say or do to help you with it. I mean, I'm not exactly great myself. You've seen enough of my stupid old scars to know. I was wondering if anybody as messed up as me would be any use to you at all.”

Now she did lift her head, and pain showed in her gaze. “Sam…”

“Hey,” he said with mock humor, “I'm on a roll here. Exposing my soul. Let me get on with it before I chicken out.”

She nodded.

“So it wasn't that I didn't care, or that I was appalled at you or anything. I was feeling helpless. I'm no psychotherapist, Mary. And I wasn't there when your son was killed. Nothing I can say is going to make you feel one whit better. Just like nothing anybody can say is going to make me feel better about Beth.”

“What happened with Beth?”

“We were out skiing. I don't know exactly what happened. I was behind her, and she seemed to lose control, and the next thing I knew, she ran into a tree at about sixty miles per hour. Skull fracture. I
sweated a lot afterward. I still sweat about it. What if I'd been able to get the ski patrol there sooner? What if I'd lifted her on my back and carried her down the mountain instead of waiting. What if I'd gone first and found that rough spot? What if…? I mean, you can always try to work out ways that things could have been different. We all seem to spend a lot of time doing that when something terrible happens.”

She nodded. “Yes. We do.”

“So I wasn't there that day, and I can't second-guess you. And you can dismiss anything I say because I wasn't there. And that's the kind of thing I was thinking last night.”

She nodded. “I'm sorry.”

“Let me finish. Like I said, I'm such an emotional basket case myself, I was worrying whether I'd just be a burden to you rather than a support. But maybe…maybe if two people who seem to have only one emotional leg to stand on lean on each other…maybe they can walk. Maybe…maybe you don't need my support as much as you need my understanding. I can't take away the guilt, Mary. But I can understand it.”

She nodded, and some of the tension seeped out of her face. “Maybe.”

“But here's the other kicker. You said you couldn't trust me. And without trust we can't get anywhere together. You've got to trust me to move my leg when it's time, and I've got to trust you to
move your leg when it's time, and we've both got to trust each other to hang on. Or we might as well just sit down and give up.”

Tears were welling in her eyes, and they caused him to step closer. “Mary,” he said huskily, “I'd trust you to raise my child.”

Her eyes grew huge. She gasped, and then her tears began to fall in earnest. A moment later she was in his arms, clinging for dear life.

“I'm sorry, Sam,” she sobbed. “I'm so sorry. I was just so afraid. I started to care so much for you, and I was sure you were going to dump me when you found out about me. I was afraid of how much it was going to hurt! So I pulled back….”

“It's okay,” he murmured, running his fingers through her hair. “Oh, sweetie, it's okay. I'm scared, too. It hurts so much to care. It hurts so much to love.”

“Love can kill you.”

“Just about. But…you know, it's already too late. For me, anyway. Because I'm in love with you, Mary McKinney. I'm in love with you, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I want to get married and have babies and see your smile over the breakfast table every morning. And if that means I have to risk that awful pain again…well, I'm already risking it. Right now. I can't walk away. Unless you tell me to go.”

Her fingers were knotted into his shirtsleeves, and her tears were dampening his shirtfront. “I can't tell
you to go, Sam. I tried, and I felt like I was going to die inside. It hurt so bad…. Oh, Sam, don't ever go away again. Not even if I tell you to. Promise me?”

“I promise. Sweet Mary, I promise. And I'll tell you right now, we're going to get some therapy together. But first—because I don't want to wait that long—I want to know…Mary, will you marry me and have my children?”

She lifted her tear-streaked face, the most beautiful sight he had ever seen. “Yes, Sam. I will. I love you so much!”

Inside him, Sam felt the last of the old walls and barriers crumble. He had expected it to hurt to feel so vulnerable again, but, much to his amazement, all he felt was joy and relief.

It wouldn't always be easy. But it was going to be a wonderful life anyway.

T
he rain drummed on the roof, almost blotting out the sound of Elijah Canfield's voice. Not that any one minded. This was the tenth straight day of rain, sometimes slow, sometimes pounding, as if the heavens were determined not only to douse the few remaining fires but to christen the ground for new growth. Already the barren earth around the church was alive with tiny green sprouts, although Sam had laid a carpet runner from the parking lot to the church door, to protect Mary's gown from the mud.

“Do you, Sam Canfield, take this woman, Mary McKinney, to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, so long as you both shall live?”

Sam looked into Mary's green eyes, brimming with tears. “I do,” he said, in a voice that betrayed the depth of his own emotion. As if to make sure
Mary didn't misunderstand the quiver in his voice, he added, “I sure do.”

Elijah's voice now wavered a bit. “Now then, these two having exchanged vows in the presence of God and witnesses, and by the power vested in me by the State of Colorado, I now pronounce you man and wife.” He paused to swallow. “Son, you may kiss your bride.”

Sam folded her veil back over her gleaming red hair, bespeckled with just a few flecks of silver glitter. “I want to sparkle for you,” Mary had said when she'd told him what she planned to wear. Sam had assured her that, whether she wore glitter in her hair or mud on her nose, she would always sparkle in his eyes. He remembered that exchange as he bent forward and met her lips, a kiss as soft as a butterfly's breath, melting into a tight embrace.

“I am yours forever, Sam Canfield,” she whispered in his ear.

“I will love you until the end of time itself,” he whispered back.

They linked arms and walked down the aisle, stepping into the lightened drizzle amidst a hail of birdseed. Sam chuckled at the thought.

“What?” Mary asked, squeezing his hand.

“Oh, some of that seed will take root. Some of the new lawn around this church will be…ours.”

“Then you'll have to mow it,” Elijah quipped, coming up behind them in his wheelchair. “After
all, this old church is still standing because of you, son. You saved its life.”

“A lot of people worked hard to save this church,” Sam said. “No one more than you, Dad. Sometimes a battered, old husk is worth saving.”

“Yes,” Elijah said, nodding. “Sometimes it is.”

As if in agreement, the heavens responded with a roll of July thunder.