Reunion Pass: An Eternity Springs novel (22 page)

Mac was furious with his son. He was impotent to do anything about it. The days of grounding Chase and sending him to his room were long gone. Never mind that he was providing Chase a room. Shouldn’t that give him some sort of stroke?

Yeah. Right. Like Ali would for a minute put up with throwing Chase out into the cold.

“Impotent,” Mac muttered, returning to his car. A moment later he pulled out of the overlook and back onto the highway, taking the curves as tight as the car safely allowed—which was pretty damned tight. Almost as tight as Mac’s nerves.

Those nerves went from tight to explosive when he made the turn to his home and spied Ali walking from the direction of the yurt, a foil-wrapped baking dish in her hands, and tears streaming down her face.

His heart pounding, Mac steered the Porsche to intercept his wife. He shoved it into park, switched off the engine, and sprang from the driver’s seat. “Alison, what’s wrong? What happened?”

Please, God. Don’t let him have hurt himself.

Ali swiped the tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand. “Mac, you’re home.”

“Why are you crying?”

“He breaks my heart.”

“What did he do?”

“Nothing! He does nothing! He sleeps. He sits. I thought he was getting better. I know he went hiking and he played with the dog. Honestly, I took it as a positive sign when he and Lana called it quits. But that was ten days ago and still he sits and he sleeps and he doesn’t eat. Look!”

She ripped the foil off the top of the baking dish and shoved it out toward him. It was a pan of her lasagna. Half a normal-sized piece was missing. “He had this for three days, Mac. Three days.”

In a futile effort to make her feel better, he said, “Cool, I’m starving. All the more for me.”

His comment only made her cry harder. “What are we going to do, Mac? We have to do something. He’s not getting any better. I’m so worried about him.”

Mac gazed helplessly at his wife for a long moment, and then his temper blew. “We’re not helping the situation. We’ve given him a place to hide. We’re enabling him.”

“What are we supposed to do? Kick him out?” Torment swam in her eyes. “He wouldn’t care. He’d wander off and go sleep in a sleeping bag. You know he would. And it’s not like we’re supporting him financially because we’re not.”

“We’re paying the light bill for the yurt,” he defended, throwing out his arms.

“Like that’s anything more than pocket change. I don’t think he turns the lights on. I think he sits around in the dark.”

Fresh tears welled up and spilled from Ali’s eyes, and upon seeing them, Mac had had enough. “Okay. That’s it. I might not be able to throw him out, but I’m a damned good poker player and I have an ace that can’t be beat. I’m going to throw down the father card.”

*   *   *

Chase leveled a stare at the dog. “You are totally in so much trouble. I am going to sell you to the first circus that comes along.”

Captain trembled in his boots. Or at least, that’s what he would have done if he’d been wearing boots instead of naked paws. At least, that’s what Chase would have liked to believe the dog would have done. In reality, Captain lay sprawled at Chase’s feet, replete in an après-shoe-destruction coma. “Those were my favorite pair of sneakers.”

They were his only pair of sneakers. “I can’t believe you ate my sneakers.”

Captain didn’t answer him back, though one of his big floppy ears did twitch. Three times.

Chase swallowed a sigh. “Okay. Maybe I share some responsibility for this destructive tendency of yours, but seriously, you are such a pain.”

Captain whimpered and whined and Chase shook his head. “Don’t argue with me. I’m immune. I think—”

He broke off mid-sentence as he heard the sound of an approaching motorcycle. His family had warned away visitors at his request. Except for Lori, only one Eternity Springs resident had made the trip to the yurt. Celeste Blessing had come by once to drop off dog food. The purpose of a second visit was to invite him to join her on a motorcycle ride of the Alpine Loop. He’d been tempted to join her that time. Had it not meant retrieving his old bike from his parents’ garage, thus risking running into a member of his family, he might have gone. The idea of a high-altitude road trip held some appeal to him.

Except, knowing his luck, a family member would insist on coming along. Probably worried he’d take a curve too fast and go sailing off a mountain. He couldn’t blame them for worrying. He knew he acted weird when they came around. He wished he knew how to tell them that being around them made him feel worse instead of better.

Because he saw how much heartache he’d caused them.

Because he didn’t want them to know what he’d done or who he’d become in the wilds of Chizickstan.

A coward. A killer.

A well and truly damned photographer.

Chase turned toward the sound and shielded his eyes from the sun in order to better see the rider zipping along the road. No helmet? That was stupid. That wasn’t … couldn’t be … “Dad?”

When had his father bought a motorcycle?

Captain darted into the yurt away from the roar of the approaching bike. Chase had yet to recover from the shock of seeing his father on a motorcycle when Mac pulled the BMW to a halt in the drive in front of the yurt. As soon as he switched the engine off, Chase snapped, “Where’s your helmet? You should never ride a bike without a helmet, Dad.”

“Oh, that’s rich. Yeah, buddy. I get a safety lecture from you?”

As his father stalked toward him, Chase studied the motorcycle, the echo of dozens of paternal lectures on motorcycle safety floating through his mind. His parents had been antibike for as long as Chase could remember. They’d given him hell the day Chase had announced he’d bought his first Honda. “Does Mom know you have this?”

“We ride together.”

“Mom? Seriously? Tell me she at least wears a helmet.”

“Forget the damned helmet. You made her cry. I’m sick and tired of you making your mother cry.”

If Mac had aimed a roundhouse punch directly at Chase’s chin he couldn’t have managed a more direct hit.

Chase felt the blood drain from his face. His throat tightened and he wanted to dig a hole in the dirt and crawl into it.

“Couldn’t you at least pretend to eat the food she makes you? You know your mother, how much she invests in the meals she makes our family. And you turn up your nose at her lasagna? For heaven’s sake, you could give some to the dog, you know, just to spare her feelings.”

Chase shut his eyes. He wanted to explain about his last conversation with Bradley, about the wager and the prize and how the sight of his mother’s lasagna made him sick to his stomach. “Dad … I…”

“I may not have all the details, but I know that you went through a harrowing experience. I understand the need to hole up and lick your wounds and deal with your grief. I know that everybody grieves on his own timetable, but the way you’re going about it isn’t healthy. You need a reminder that you are not the only person in this world who is struggling. You need something constructive to occupy your mind and body. I have just the solution.”

“Mom already gave me the name of a shrink, Dad.”

“And I hope you’ll talk to her, too. But that’s not why I’m here. You may well have found your way out of that hellhole on your own, but Jack Davenport undoubtedly made it happen faster. He got intel from the government that even the Callahans couldn’t have managed. He did you a solid. You owe him. Now you have the opportunity to do a little payback. Seven o’clock, tomorrow morning, you need to show up at the Rocking L camp on Murphy Mountain. No excuses. I don’t care if you’re too tired or too depressed or have a hair appointment or are on your period, you are going to show up tomorrow morning prepared to give swimming lessons to a group of children who have suffered their own kind of hell. Got it?”

Chase responded immediately and out of habit. “Yessir.”

Mac had his mouth open to continue the argument, but the easy acquiescence took the wind out of his sails. “You’ll be there?”

“I will.” Chase paused a moment, then repeated, “Swimming lessons?”

“You can swim, can’t you?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Okay, then.” Mac nodded once. “Good. Don’t be late.”

He turned and took four steps back toward the bike before coming to an abrupt halt. He whirled around and marched swiftly back toward Chase. He wrapped his arms around Chase, giving him a quick, fierce hug. “Dammit, son. We love you. Get some help.”

Chase waited until after Mac had climbed back on his bike and roared away to respond. “Love you, too, Dad.”

He returned to the yurt and crawled into his bed. He lay on his back, his arm flung across his eyes, as his father’s parting shot echoed through his head. Get some help? If only it were that easy. There wasn’t a therapist in the world who could erase the images haunting his mind.

Mac was right about one thing. Chase did owe Jack Davenport. But … swimming lessons? Seriously? How does a drowning man teach kids how to swim?

“Well, guess I’ll find out at 0700.”

*   *   *

Though only a small part of the work done by Lauren’s Gifts, the children-focused charitable foundation established by Jack Davenport as a gift for his wife, Cat, the Rocking L summer camp program occupied a special place in their hearts. With the number of campers served kept small by design and in keeping with a “first-rate rustic” plan, the Rocking L boasted six log cabins that housed eight campers and two counselors each, a central mess and activity center, a stable, and a heated swimming pool. The number of campers served during the four-week session was kept small in order to give each child the individual attention he or she needed. While staff did include highly credentialed therapists whose talents were utilized as needed, the camp focused on fun.

Jack and Cat personally chose each camper who was awarded a spot based on applications submitted by friends, family, mental health professionals, and sometimes, the campers themselves. It was a heartbreaking job, but one they found infinitely rewarding. The lone criterion for becoming a Rocking L camper was having experienced a significant loss. The Davenports learned early on in the process that “significant” meant different things to different people, and thus afforded them a wide range of potential campers from which to make their selections.

Chase reported to the camp office where he met directors Shaun and Alisha Cummins. “I can’t tell you what a blessing it is for us that you’re able to join us,” Shaun said, offering Chase a firm handshake. “We had a real run of bad luck when our aquatics counselor broke his leg three days ago. It’s difficult to find qualified staff on short notice.”

“I’m glad I could help. What exactly do you want me to do?”

Shaun outlined the daily schedule. Of the thirty-six campers due to arrive that day, only eight had elected to add swimming lessons to their activity schedule. Of those eight, five already knew how to swim and wanted to improve their skills. Three children—two boys and a girl—were afraid of the water.

Alisha handed Chase a thick binder containing detailed bios of all the campers with his swim students listed first. “It’s confidential material and we’ll ask you to respect that, but it’s imperative that you know these kiddos’ backgrounds. All of our staff needs to be sensitive to potential emotional triggers.”

Chase eyed the binder with alarm. “I took three hours of psychology in college. I have no business attempting to counsel troubled children.”

“No, of course not. All we ask is that you be aware. It’s a case of if you see something, say something. The goal here is to give these kiddos four weeks of fun and adventure and time to be kids.”

Because of the nature of his job Chase hadn’t spent much time with children over the past few years. The first day he figured out that kids were a lot like puppies. They listened about as well, minded about as much, and if you didn’t keep an eye on them, they peed where they shouldn’t.

Spending time with them lifted his spirits.

By day two, he recognized that his three little nonswimmers presented a particular challenge. Seven-year-old Ava was terrified of water. Eight-year-old Trevor wasn’t afraid of anything, but he didn’t have the sense God gave a goat. Nicholas, also eight, touched a spot in Chase’s heart that he hadn’t known existed.

Blond and blue-eyed, wearing big dark-rimmed glasses, Nicholas Lancaster was a solemn little man. He listened intently to instruction and tried so hard to please. Too hard, Chase thought. No wonder, considering the horror the little guy’s mother had put him through.

It was a grim story, one that left Chase shaken after he’d read it. What a selfish woman his mother had been. Another case of bad choices leading to horrific consequences. Poor kid would undoubtedly be scarred for life.

Nicholas proved to be a brave little boy. He approached the swimming pool with obvious trepidation, but he managed the first two days’ lessons just fine. Chase’s challenge with Trevor was getting the redheaded boy to slow down long enough to actually learn. Nothing like hauling off and jumping into the deep end before he learned to float.

Ava was a different case. The child’s fear of water was a living, breathing beast and totally understandable since her significant loss was a twin sister who’d drowned. So far, Chase had been unable to coax her to so much as put a foot in the water.

However, the yearning on her face as she watched him work with Trevor and Nicholas made him determined to win this particular battle. Especially since Ava’s parents had listed her learning to swim as the primary goal for her time at the Rocking L.

Chase tried everything he could think of to get her near the pool on the first two days of lessons, then last night as he’d fed Captain, he’d had what he hoped was a brilliant idea. On day three of camp, finished with the lessons for his group of five swimmers and waiting for the three Tadpoles—his nickname for Ava, Trevor, and Nicholas—to arrive for their afternoon lesson, he heard a familiar voice call his name.

He smiled as he turned around to see Lori approaching … with his dog.