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Small-Town Girl
C.J. Carmichael


Will a small-town solution work for a big-city girl?After her son is seriously injured in a car accident, Julie Matthew wants two things: for him to regain his health and for her family to return to normal. What a shock when she learns that Russell, her husband, sees normal as a rut. His solution? To move their family from Vancouver back to the tiny rural town in Saskatchewan where he grew up.It's for the sake of their child, he claims, and a guilty conscience leads Julie, who loves big cities, to go along with his plan. But once in Chatsworth, she begins to suspect that Russell has his own interests at heart. Especially after she sees him and his former girlfriend together at the school where they'll both be teaching.And that's not the only surprise her husband has for her!









“I think we need to move.”


Julie froze, certain she hadn’t heard correctly. “Russell?”

“I know how much you love Vancouver, love this house. And you’ve done a beautiful job with it. But we’re in a rut.”

“Russell, this house is perfect—and I’m not talking about the bloody furniture or the color on the walls, for heaven’s sake. We’re close to Ben’s school, and his friends…. And what about the ten thousand we just spent on landscaping?”

She considered Russell’s long commute to work. “Do you want to move closer to the university? Is that it?”

“No. Farther. Much farther.” Russell cleared the plates from the table and rinsed them for the dishwasher.

Julie sat, waiting for him to tell her exactly what he had in mind. Finally he returned to the table. Gripping the back of the chair, he took a fortifying breath.

“I’ve been tossing the idea around for years now. Ben’s accident is only the catalyst.”

Cold dread pinned Julie to her chair. Years, Russell had said. Yet he’d never even hinted he wasn’t happy living here.

Then he added, “I’d like us to move back to the farm town I grew up in….”


Dear Reader,

We’ve all suffered personal tragedies, the sort that can turn your entire world upside down. You see people walking to work, stopping for coffee, mailing a letter, and wonder, Why are they bothering? Don’t they realize how unimportant it all is?

That’s how I felt as a young teenager when my brother was seriously injured in a farming accident. With my other brother and two sisters, I sat in front of the TV at my grandma’s house while my parents waited at the hospital. Disney was playing—it must have been a Sunday night. I remember staring at the set and wondering how Donald Duck could be up to his usual antics when my brother was so desperately hurt. I felt lost and scared. All I wanted was for life to go back to the way it had been that morning at breakfast, before any of the men had gone out to the fields.

In Small-Town Girl, that’s how Julie Matthew feels, too, when her son is gravely injured by a drunk driver. She wishes she could turn back the clock to the moment her phone rang that morning. She wishes she could change the answer she’d given, the decision she’d made so quickly.

But of course she can’t. And so our story begins….

C.J. Carmichael




Small-Town Girl

C.J. Carmichael







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)




ACKNOWLEDGMENT


For around-the-clock advice (mostly pertaining to my stories) I thank my brother-in-law, Dr. Gordon Bird


For my brother David




CONTENTS


CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

EPILOGUE




CHAPTER ONE


AT THE TIME, THE MEETING had seemed very important to Julie Matthew, senior editor of West Coast Homes. She frowned when the magazine’s administrative assistant opened the boardroom door and beckoned to her.

“I’m rather busy, Gina.” She’d just put up her first overhead on projected advertising revenue. “I don’t suppose this could wait?”

Gina shook her head, her expression grim.

“Well, then.” Julie sighed, then smiled apologetically at the familiar faces, including those of the publisher and managing editor. Her felt marker still in her hand, she strode out of the room, closing the door behind her. “This had better be—”

Without a word, Gina handed her the phone, her eyes huge in what was, Julie noticed, a very pale face. What was wrong? Julie took the receiver in her left hand and clenched the marker in her other.

Russell was due home from Saltspring Island today. He’d taken some papers to mark in the peace of their seaside cottage. Had there been a problem with the shuttle plane as it sprinted across the Strait of Georgia to Vancouver Harbor? Oh, God, please no…

“Julie Matthew speaking.”

A stranger asked, “Are you Ben Matthew’s mother?”

Ben. It was Ben. Julie leaned against the wall, her knees suddenly undependable. “Yes” was all she could say.

“I’m sorry. Your son was in an accident. The ambulance brought him here, to the General Hospital.”

No! She didn’t actually scream—at least, she didn’t think so. She tried to ask what had happened, where to go, how he was. But her brain was stuck in a loop. Ben, Ben, Ben, Ben…

It wasn’t her husband. It was Ben, her nine-year-old son.



JULIE TOOK A TAXI from her office to the hospital. Gina had ordered the cab for her, and had promised to get hold of Russell, too. Julie should have been the one to tell her husband. But when she’d held her cell phone she couldn’t direct her shaking fingers to the familiar numbers.

Julie managed to pay the driver, get out of the car and shut the door. Now that she was here at the hospital, her heart began to slam against her chest. The red letters spelling out Emergency seemed ominous, almost evil. A deep breath didn’t help much but gave her the strength to head for the reception desk.

“Julie.”

She froze, taking in the face of her husband, who had somehow beat her here. He had the shell-shocked expression of a casualty victim on the cover of Life.

“I can’t believe this….” He offered his open arms and for a moment she gave in to the relief of his strong embrace.

“How did you get here so fast?”

“Gina called me on my way home from the harbor.”

It didn’t matter. Only one thing mattered.

“Where is he?”

“I haven’t seen him yet. They tell me it’s—it’s a head injury. He was unconscious when they brought him in. I think he still is.”



COMA. MANY TIMES JULIE had read books, watched movies, where characters were described in this state. Now she discovered she didn’t really know what the term meant. Dr. Assad, Ben’s neurologist, tried to explain.

“When you see him, he’ll appear as if he’s asleep. But Ben isn’t responding to outside stimuli the way a sleeping person would.”

“But…he will wake up…he’ll be okay?” Russell asked the question Julie didn’t dare voice.

“The CAT scan showed small amounts of bleeding. We won’t know the extent of his injury for a couple of days.”

Julie still couldn’t frame a question or even a comment. This couldn’t be happening to them. Yet there was no doubting the reality of the clean-cut, earnest physician in front of her.

“I wish I had definitive answers for you,” Dr. Assad said. “I know the uncertainty is difficult. Where brain injuries are concerned, long-term predictions are difficult. I’m afraid we’ll have to take this one day at a time.”

“Can we see him, Doctor? Can we see Ben?” Russell asked.

The physician nodded. “We have him in our Fast Track area. Be prepared for a lot of activity. Also, don’t be alarmed by the tube down his throat and the monitor leads. We’re taking good care of your son.”

Julie followed the doctor, Russell’s guiding hand on her back. People, corridors, walls blended in a kaleidoscope of whites and grays and greens as she thought of Ben. All she wanted was the relief of seeing him. Of holding his hand.

At the entrance to the trauma area, Julie stopped dead. She barely noticed the half-dozen medical personnel or the equipment Dr. Assad had warned them about. For her, all the light in the room focused on one person only—her child, motionless on an operating table.

The neurologist had been wrong. Ben didn’t look as though he was sleeping. At home Ben slept with his arms flung out and his covers tangled, hair curled engagingly over his forehead.

Here he was arranged neatly, with his arms at his side, his legs straight and together. His beautiful russet curls had been partially shaved.

Julie couldn’t move. She’d been clinging to an irrational hope that Ben would open his eyes when he heard her voice, when he felt her hand touch his. Now she knew, without even trying, that he wouldn’t.

“Oh, Ben.” Russell hurried to their son. He gathered one of the small, limp hands and pressed his cheek to it. Julie saw Russell’s tears escaping from behind his closed eyes.

Several tentative steps brought Julie to her husband’s side. She laid the back of her fingers against Ben’s cheek. His pale skin felt warm. Illogically, the numerous electrodes attached to his scalp made her think of the shock treatments notoriously used for mental illnesses.

Dr. Assad had assured them the EEG was painless. It was merely a tool for measuring brain-wave activity. Besides, Ben was beyond pain at the moment. Ben was beyond anything, judging from his face, which was blank, utterly devoid of his unique personality.

Where had he gone? If he wasn’t in this body anymore, where was he? Did he know they were here? Did he know she loved him, that she’d give anything…

“Ben.” She bent low to whisper his name inches from his ear. His perfect, beautiful ear. “Ben, it’s Mommy. You’re going to be all right, baby. I promise you’re going to be all right.”

She ran a finger down the side of his face, feeling the sharp edge of bone beneath soft boy skin. When he was an infant, sleeping in her arms, she’d often touched him this way. She’d dreamed about his future, imagining jars of insects, crayon-scrawled pictures, scraped knees and brave smiles. She’d pictured him sailing through high school, going to college, finding a girl….

Never this.

“I love you, Ben.”

She felt a cool hand on her arm and gazed up blankly.

“Excuse me, Mrs. Matthew. We’ll be moving Ben to ICU soon. You and your husband are welcome to stay while we make the preparations.” The nurse guided Julie toward a chair. Russell took her other hand.

Julie swayed as her field of vision narrowed. She blinked, putting a hand to her forehead.

“Julie?” Alarm coated Russell’s voice. “Are you all right?”

“Washroom—” She almost choked on the word as the nausea hit, upturning her stomach, bringing bile to her throat.

“This way.” The sympathetic nurse opened the exit and pointed her down the corridor.

“Let me come,” Russell said.

She shook her head at him, then rushed off. In the washroom she headed for the first available cubicle, then almost blacked out as she knelt on the floor. Facing the toilet, she retched, then flushed, then retched again. The former contents of her stomach swirled with the in-rushing water, before disappearing down the pipes.

Now she noticed a pale-yellow stain on the white toilet seat. A couple of black hairs stood out against the plain tile floor. She retched once more, wiped her mouth with a wad of toilet paper, then flushed the toilet again.

Oh, God, she was weak. Pathetic and useless. She leaned her head against the metal wall and closed her eyes. Something burned behind her lids. Tears? But she couldn’t cry; she wouldn’t.

Ben. She had to help Ben. She’d promised. She was his mother, for God’s sake.

Facts. She needed facts. Sitting on the cold floor, her head against the cubicle wall, Julie dug her cell phone out of her purse.



AT JULIE’S REQUEST, Gina found several books at the public library and rushed them to the hospital. She gave Julie a sympathetic hug, but later Julie couldn’t remember anything the younger woman had said. She took the books to the waiting room by the ICU, where Ben had just been transferred, and started to read.

What she learned wasn’t reassuring. Statistically, patients with severe head trauma, in very deep comas, had a fifty-percent survival rate. A third of those patients who recovered from significant brain injury developed emotional or behavioral problems as a result.

Julie confronted those difficult facts and read grimly on. She learned the difference between brain death and coma. In brain death the actual neuron cells were destroyed, offering no hope of recovery. But in Ben’s case, those cells were intact. Just not functioning normally.

Hope. She needed hope. And here was something else she could cling to. There were cases in which brain injury patients originally considered hopeless recovered fully.

Just as Ben was going to do. He had to. Julie shut the book firmly, knowing she could face Ben now that she knew he had a real chance. Her boy would survive.



THE POLICE RAN THROUGH the particulars of the accident with Julie and Russell. A drunk driver had rear-ended the van Ben had been traveling in. It still wasn’t clear whether Ben hadn’t been wearing his seat belt or had fastened it incorrectly. At any rate, when the Caravan tumbled off the road, Ben crashed through a side window, to land on a grassy boulevard several yards away. Ben’s best friend’s mother, who’d been driving the van, had walked from the accident. As had her son, Jeff, and the drunk driver, though not in a very straight line.

Only Ben had been hurt.

As she stood sentry at her son’s bedside Julie made herself visualize the accident, imagining she’d been there and what she might have seen. She did this to herself over and over, the way she probed a canker sore, or tore at a hangnail.

In her mind she saw the van fly off the road and flip over. Her son catapulted from the driver-side passenger window, then hitting the boulevard next to a video store. A size-three Converse running shoe, tan brown with dirt-gray laces, kept flying in the air. The untied laces—Ben would never heed her admonishments to do them up—streamed through the air like ribbons.

In these constant mental replays, the shoe never landed. Not the way Ben had, in a still heap of mangled boy against lush green grass. No, the manufactured combination of rubber, canvas and cotton kept soaring, like a kite, or one of the seagulls patrolling Vancouver’s inner harbor. A boy’s sneaker. Size three. Laces untied.

Hospital staff had included the shoe in the bag of Ben’s belongings she was given to take home from the hospital. Good as new, almost.

The one that had stayed on Ben’s foot had been ruined.



BY THE END OF THE FIRST DAY, Ben’s vital signs were stabilized, but his condition remained listed as critical. The second day he began breathing on his own and the ventilator was disconnected. Poised for their son’s return to consciousness, Julie and Russell hovered over Ben for the rest of that day and the next. Yet nothing happened.

“What does this mean?” Julie pleaded with the doctor for an explanation. But he had no answers to give.

Julie learned how the mind became numbed by despair. She and Russell began to take turns at Ben’s bedside, unable to talk any more of their fears or hopes. Each hour that ticked by became another mark against them.

“Hey, Ben, want to listen to some music?” On the morning of the fourth day Russell brought a tape machine from home, along with some Disney tapes. Soon a cheerful melody from The Lion King bounced life into the small private room.

The doctors said hearing was often the first sense to return. Julie leaned over her son, searching his face for the tiniest reaction to the familiar tune. A smile, a twitch, a blink of his eye.

Nothing.

“Oh, Ben.” She set the Harry Potter book she’d been reading aloud onto her lap. “Do you remember how much you enjoyed The Lion King the first time you saw it?” She’d bought him the video for Christmas when he was six. He must have watched it once a day for the next two weeks. Soon he’d had all the lyrics to every song memorized.

“You and your friends danced around the family room, singing at the top of your lungs….” She carried the memory forward, speaking for the sake of her son, hoping something in her voice might reach him and pull him back.

“That Halloween you dressed up as Simba to go trick-or-treating.” Russell, sitting in a chair next to her, picked up the conversation and kept it moving. With closed eyes, Julie heard the drone of his voice, but no longer the individual words or their meanings.

She was so tired. And every day, hope was harder to grasp.

“Remember how much you love purple Life Savers? You always open the package and search…”

Her husband’s voice mingled with the tune from the tape machine. Julie leaned her head against the wall behind her. Her fingers relaxed their grip on Ben’s hand. For a moment she felt the blissful lure of oblivion.

Then something crashed to the floor. She jerked upright at the noise. The book had fallen off her lap.

“Julie?”

“I’m sorry,” she apologized to Russell. Then she realized he wasn’t looking at her, but at Ben.

“Did you see that?” Russell rushed to their son’s side. “Ben started at the loud noise. I’m sure of it.” He took the child’s flaccid hand.

“Can you hear me, Ben? Your mother and I are with you. We’ve been here all the time. You’re going to be okay, son. We love you, Ben.”

For the first time since the accident, Ben’s features rearranged themselves. The grimace could have been the result of pain or confusion; it was impossible to tell. With hope fluttering in her chest, Julie signaled for a nurse, all the while watching desperately for another sign her son was finally waking up. But nothing else happened for the next interminable hour.

First the nurse on duty, then Dr. Assad questioned Julie and Russell carefully about what they had seen. Both held out cautious hope more improvements would follow soon.

And they did. That evening Ben’s eyes fluttered. At one point he even opened them briefly. The next day he started muttering, flailing his arms. Russell kept playing music; Julie continued reading. On the fifth day of his coma, Ben finally spoke.

“I’m so tired…of that song.”

In an instant, every tightly held muscle in Julie’s body relaxed. Tears flowed down her cheeks, splashing unheeded onto her blouse. Her hands trembled as she put one on her husband’s shoulder; the other, on her son’s head.

Ben was back.




CHAPTER TWO


Four months later

AT THE LIVING ROOM WINDOW Julie played with the gold band of her watch, pushing it back and forth over her wrist bone. Her laptop computer sat open on the ottoman next to the armchair where she’d been editing a column for next month’s edition of West Coast Homes.

More honestly, trying to edit.

She couldn’t concentrate. It was four months today, and she knew she ought to be grateful. Ben was alive, better, and life in the Matthew residence had returned to normal. Well, sort of normal. She and Russell were back at work part-time and Ben’s rehab, as of today, was over. Soon Ben would be back in school, and their lives would resume their usual, predictable rhythms.

Normalcy. It was all she had craved since that dreadful day.

She twisted her watch again, then adjusted the blinds to the perfect angle. She fluffed the pillows on her antique love seat, then ran a hand over the polished ebony surface of the grand piano. Not so much as a flake of dust clung to her fingers.

“Should we wake him, Russell?” When Ben’s naps went over an hour, she became nervous. She’d already checked on him and he appeared fine. But she couldn’t contain her irrational fear—what if he didn’t wake up this time? Or what if he suffered a seizure. His medication was supposed to prevent them, but what if one happened anyway?

Russell surfaced from the textbook on his lap, Contemporary Literary Criticism. He removed his dark-framed glasses in order to check the time on the clock above the mantel.

A sweet memory snuck up on her. The first time they’d met, in the University of British Columbia library, she’d asked him for the time. He’d removed his glasses then, too. His mop of brownish-red hair had desperately needed a trim, and she’d longed to reach over and tug one of those curls as he’d glanced at the clock on the wall.

“It’s almost noon,” he’d said in answer to her question. Then he’d asked, “You’re English?”

“From London. Islington.” Her family had been in Canada for only a few months and already she’d found her accent an asset in drawing the attention of men. “And rather hungry at the moment.”

“May I offer tea? Cucumber sandwiches?” He’d mimicked her, but not unkindly. And as he spoke, he’d snapped shut his textbook and risen from his chair. She remembered thinking he had the warmest smile she’d ever seen.

Ah, Russell… The memory faded as quickly as it had arrived, landing her back in the living room with her husband of ten years. Ten very good years. Only, lately… Well, they’d been under a strain.

“Ben’s always tired after therapy,” Russell reminded her.

In his tone she heard the effort of strained patience. She’d always liked things just so in her house and her life. But lately, well, since the accident, she’d been unable to let anything slide. Everything had to go according to plan, like clockwork, or she couldn’t cope.

She knew her behavior drove Russell to the brink of his patience—which said a lot, because Russell was one of the most patient men she’d ever met.

But she couldn’t help herself.

“I’m so glad we’re finished with therapy.” Julie wanted to believe the nightmare was now behind them. Those two months of Ben in hospital, then these last two, where he’d received outpatient treatment. According to his neuropsychological assessment he was ready to reengage in regular life.

Russell, reading again, didn’t add any comment. She surveyed the world through the flattened slats of the wooden blinds. Late August, and the city was lush with its abundant greenery. In the distance, the ocean sparkled like a band of platinum in the setting sun.

“Dinner’s almost ready. I suppose I can just keep the chicken warm.”

“If he isn’t up in fifteen minutes, I’ll prod him a little.” Russell didn’t lift his gaze from his book this time; still, Julie heard the sigh behind his words.

Relax, Julie. He’d said the words to her so often these past months he didn’t need to utter them anymore. They rang in her ears like a mocking refrain. Because relaxing was something she’d never been good at. And now…

“I’ll check on the food.” She left the room and went down the hall to the kitchen. But there was nothing to do there, either. The counters were clean and the table set. A chicken-curry casserole warmed in the oven. The rice steamer was on hold; a garden salad waited in the fridge.

She brushed a hand over Ben’s dinner plate. Closing her eyes, she could picture him here, talking and eating at the same time, tipping his chair back on two legs, barely swallowing before putting more food into his mouth.

Habits she’d once hated, and now missed desperately. Since the accident Ben ate so carefully, struggling to control his fork, not to spill his milk.

She turned to the fridge, where for years she’d kept a calendar posted with Ben’s homework deadlines, after-school commitments, play dates with friends.

Now the only writing in the clean, white squares were the times for his scheduled rehab therapy, ending with today’s. All that loomed was the September 3 back-to-school day. Would Ben be ready to face those academic and social challenges? More important, would his friends and teachers be ready for him?

Not many of the guys he chummed around with had called since he’d been released from hospital. Even Jeff, his best friend, had come around only once. Though to be honest, Ben didn’t seem to want to see his friends, either. Was he self-conscious about the changes in himself? Or was he still too weak to play?

Julie didn’t know the answers. Not to these questions, or any of the hundred others she’d had since Ben’s accident. The doctors were no help. They’d adopted a “wait and see” attitude that drove her nuts.

She’d waited too long already, damn it! Hadn’t Ben suffered enough—hadn’t they all?

Despite the hours and hours at therapy, Ben’s speech was still slow—he had to search for the words that had once spilled out of his mouth like the froth from a shaken soda can. His balance was shaky; his memory, unreliable. Worst of all were the headaches and his frustrated anger.

“It’ll be okay, Ben,” she promised her son every night, but as the days passed into weeks and months, she’d begun to feel like a liar. Ben wasn’t okay, at least not yet.

She’d memorized the chapter on traumatic head injury in the book she’d bought on brain disorders, as well as every word Dr. Assad had ever spoken to them. Her acquired knowledge offered as much cause for worry as for hope.

Every brain injury was unique. Outcomes were unpredictable. So far they’d been lucky. Ben had emerged from the coma. That was the biggie, wasn’t it? She tried to be grateful, but it was hard.

If only…

Biting her lip, Julie opened a cupboard door at random and began to clean.



“SALAD?” JULIE ASKED rhetorically as she passed the crystal bowl from her husband to her son. Ben, using the silver tongs awkwardly, portioned some of the greens onto his side plate.

Once the highlight of Julie’s day, the dinner hour at home had turned into an ordeal—and not just for her. Ben sat quiet and withdrawn—usual for him since the accident. His hair, so like his father’s, had grown to cover most of the scar tissue on his forehead. While he’d regained some weight in the past month, he remained five pounds lighter than before the accident in April, and Julie struggled not to urge him to eat more.

All three of them had lost weight. Her waistbands were loose and Russell had dropped at least ten pounds. Naturally thin, now he appeared almost gaunt.

Of all of them, he made the most effort to keep dinner pleasant, filling the conversation that had once been centered on Ben’s school day and recess antics with stories about the university.

“Can’t say I’m sorry there are only two weeks left in the summer session,” he said. “This has to be the most boring batch of students I’ve ever had. Even Weasel has been quiet lately.”

“Didn’t beg for any extra marks in last week’s assignment?” Julie asked.

“Surprisingly, no. Though maybe he considered himself fortunate I’d been as generous as I was. He should have been, anyway.”

Ben stabbed at his plate with his fork until he speared a piece of chicken. If he was paying attention to any of this, it wasn’t noticeable.

Russell sighed and his forehead creased. Julie had seen a lot of that frown lately. Probably she sported one on her brow, too. Struggling to smile, she tried to tell a story about an aborted photo shoot at a new home furnishings store on Robson Street, but the story fizzled halfway through.

“Anyway, it was quite a mess. But I guess you had to be there.” She forked a piece of lettuce, then another and another.

“Can I be excused?” Ben asked. He pushed back from the table. In the past, he’d spent most evenings playing with Lego or reading with her and Russell in the living room. Lately he preferred to blockade himself in his bedroom.

Julie set aside her plate, fighting an urge to hurl it at the kitchen window. Everything had been so perfect before the accident. Why did it have to happen? They were good people. They didn’t deserve…

Hell. She forced her mind to go blank. That kind of thinking got her nowhere. And she knew it.

The accident was reality. Ben’s injury was reality, too. Now, deal with it, Julie. You’re the mother here. So why couldn’t she say the right things, do the right things, to make this family whole again?

“I’ve been thinking, Julie.”

She’d almost forgotten Russell was still in the room. “Yes?”

“This family needs a change.”

Caution made her reply slowly. “What do you mean?”

When her husband didn’t answer right away, she kept going. “If you’re suggesting a holiday, I’d been wondering if we might squeeze in a week at Saltspring before school starts now that Ben’s therapy is finished. Any chance you could get away?” She knew he was already busy preparing for the fall session.

Russell drummed his fingers on the table. He was an academic, but he had hands that looked as though they could actually do something. Tighten a valve, unclog a sink, change the oil in a car.

“We always go to Saltspring,” he said.

Well, of course. They had a cottage on the ocean. Why wouldn’t they go to Saltspring? “What kind of holiday did you have in mind?”

“I wasn’t thinking of a holiday. I’m proposing a real change—something permanent.”

Oh, no. She didn’t like the sound of this. What she needed—what they all needed—was a return to normal. Not change. Especially not permanent change.

Watching Russell, she experienced the disorienting sensation of observing a stranger. She had absolutely no idea what he was thinking right now. When was the last time they’d talked—really talked—about something other than Ben?

Actually, they didn’t even talk about Ben anymore. She hated seeing the strain on her husband’s face when she admitted her deepest fears. So she did her best to keep them to herself. If Russell had any anxieties of his own, she never heard them. Maybe he was protecting her? Or maybe his ingrained optimism protected him from imagining the worst. Nothing got Russell down. Apparently not even the near death of his son.

She struggled to keep resentment out of her voice. “Sounds like you have something specific in mind.”

“I do. I think we need to move.”

She froze, certain she couldn’t have heard correctly. “Russell?”

“I know how much you love this house. And you’ve done a beautiful job with it. But we’re in a rut.”

“Russell, this house is perfect—and I’m not talking about the bloody furniture or the color on the walls, for heaven’s sake.”

“But—”

“We’re close to Ben’s school, and his friends…. And what about the ten thousand we just spent on landscaping?”

She considered Russell’s long commute to work. “Do you want to move closer to the university, is that it?”

“No. Farther. Much farther.” Russell cleared his plate and Ben’s from the table. Hunching his lean, large-boned frame over the sink, he rinsed them for the dishwasher.

Julie sat, waiting for him to tell her exactly what he had in mind. Finally, he returned to the table. Gripping the back of his chair, he took a fortifying breath.

“This may seem like it’s coming out of the blue, but I’ve been tossing around the idea for years now. Ben’s accident is only the catalyst.”

Cold dread pinned Julie to her chair. Years, Russell had said. And yet until this moment, he’d never even hinted he wasn’t happy living here.

“I’d like us to move back to Chatsworth.”

Her nervous tension snapped on a burst of surprise, then outrage. “You can’t be serious.”

Russell had been born and raised in Chatsworth, Saskatchewan. The small prairie town was lucky to boast five hundred citizens at most. Usually Russell and Ben went by themselves to visit Russell’s parents, but Julie had tagged along often enough to know exactly what life in that small town would offer her and her son.

Nothing.

Russell couldn’t be serious.

“If you and Ben want to go visit your folks, that would be fine with me.”

“I’m not talking about a visit.” Russell pushed away from his chair and strode to the window. “I know I should have discussed this with you, but…I’ve—I’ve tendered my resignation at the university.”

“You’ve quit?” If he’d slapped her on the face, she couldn’t have been more stunned.

“Our family needs something different, Julie. Something slow paced and more meaningful. This city is sucking it out of us.”

“Sucking what out of us?” He wasn’t making any sense. Vancouver was one of the most beautiful cities in the world. Russell had worked hard to become a full professor at UBC. And her job at West Coast Homes was a dream come true for her.

“The happiness, the spontaneity, the…the joy.”

This was too much. She got out of her chair and gave it a hard shove over the tile floor. Then she advanced on Russell, her voice angry but very quiet. “How the hell are we supposed to be feeling any joy right now? Our son was in a coma for five days. He almost died.”

“Well, thanks for the news flash. Now here’s an update for you. Our son is alive. But did you see his face at the dinner table tonight? He’s floundering, Julie. We’ve got to save him.”

She covered her mouth. Yes, poor Ben was floundering. Trust the English professor to come up with just the perfect word.

“And you think moving to Chatsworth is going to help?” She knew she sounded scornful, but how couldn’t she? Russell’s idea was preposterous.

“I do. And so do my parents.”

Oh, no. Now he was dragging in Betty and Larry Matthew, two of the very biggest reasons she’d rather move to the Arctic Circle than to Chatsworth, Saskatchewan.

“You’ve talked to your parents about this?”

“Actually, they brought up the idea. Apparently the woman who used to teach grade five at the elementary school is moving—her husband wants to go to law school in Saskatoon. They’ve put their house up for sale. It’s small, but it’s lakefront, and it’s only blocks from the school.”

This was sinking in. Russell had quit his job. He’d found a new job, a new house. “You mean this. You really want to move to Chatsworth.”

He put a hand on her shoulder. “I know I’m asking a lot of you, Julie. I realize you love your career…but this way you could afford to stay home for a while.”

She’d never wanted to stay home. When they’d discussed having Ben they’d both agreed on a nanny for the first five years, then day care once he started school full-time. “What about the cottage?”

“We can keep the place in Saltspring. Come back for holidays.”

But this wasn’t how their life was supposed to be! They’d planned everything before they’d married. Worked out every detail. And in ten years it had come together for them. They had it all, exactly what they’d wanted.

“We need to enjoy each other more. Family has to be our focus now, Julie.”

And it wasn’t before?

In her stomach, she felt the familiar burning of guilt. If only… Were there any more bitter words in the English language?

She wanted her life back, exactly as it had been. But maybe she didn’t deserve that. She knew Russell didn’t blame her for Ben’s accident. Such a thing would never even occur to him.

But maybe it should. It had to her.

And Ben? Did he blame her, too? Julie couldn’t answer that one. Because Ben suffered from retrograde amnesia. Their son couldn’t remember anything that had happened the day of the accident. Probably he never would.




CHAPTER THREE


LYING ON HIS SIDE of the king-size bed with Julie at least a foot away, Russell recalled the last time he’d made love to his wife. The Friday before Ben’s accident.

The April night had been warm and Ben had had plans to camp out in Jeff’s backyard. With a rare evening to themselves, he and Julie had strolled down to the ocean and back, then he’d made pasta and they’d shared a bottle of wine out on their new deck.

Later, in the dark, he’d brought out an old quilt and spread it along the portion of the deck screened by lattice and honeysuckle.

“Russell…?” He’d loved the way she’d said his name, softening and smoothing the two syllables with her English accent. Her speaking voice was the first thing he’d fallen in love with.

“Come here.” He’d kissed her and slowly seduced her out of all her clothing.

“What if…”

He’d silenced her nervousness with another kiss. “No one can see us.”

In the moonlight, Julie’s skin had glowed. She had the proverbial peaches-and-cream English complexion. Hair color that she termed “dirty blond” and he considered “honey.” Long limbs and a slender waist—

Russell forced himself to stop remembering and stifled a groan. Why torture himself with old memories, when the flesh-and-blood woman lay at his side?

Shifting to his left, he tried to gauge whether Julie slept. Her back to him, she remained perfectly still, her breathing too quiet for him to hear. He watched for several minutes, hoping she would roll over, throw out an arm, give him some opening that would allow him to slide closer to her.

She didn’t move.

The digital alarm clock on Julie’s night table soldiered on. Eleven-fifteen became eleven-thirty. Finally, Russell sighed and shifted to his back, arms folded behind his head.

“Still awake?”

Russell flipped back to his left side. “Oh, yeah.”

She faced him now, covers drawn to her chin. “Did you really quit the university?”

She wanted to talk. Well, what had he expected? Their conversation earlier that evening hadn’t been exactly conducive to romance.

“I really did.”

“You didn’t think we should—oh, never mind.” She brushed her hair back from her face. In the dim glow from the streetlights outside he could see her arch her clearly defined, elegant eyebrows.

“What if I don’t want to move to Chatsworth? What if I refuse?”

“I don’t know.” This idea of his had seemed so obviously the right thing to do for his family he’d almost convinced himself Julie wouldn’t object. He’d been kidding himself, of course. He knew how she felt about small towns, especially the one he’d grown up in.

“I don’t think you’re being very fair to me,” Julie added.

“Maybe not,” he conceded. “But I wish you’d at least consider the idea.”

She propped her head up on her hand. “You haven’t given me much choice. You’ve already quit your job.”

“Yes.” He should have told Julie first. But nothing she could have said would have changed his mind. He wanted more time with his son. “Since the day Ben was born, he’s fit into our lives so smoothly. Aside from those few months at the beginning—” they’d each taken two months off from work “—we’ve barely had to adjust our lifestyle to accommodate him.

“Look at us. We both have jobs we love. Ben’s been in before-and-after-school care right from the start. You still run three times a week. I play squash—”

“We’re not the only working parents in the world. And isn’t it healthy for us to have interests outside the house?”

“That’s not the point.” He flung off his covers, suddenly hot. “Ben hasn’t asked much of us. He’s been a great kid, a happy kid. But now he needs us. Now—for a few years, at least—it’s time for him to be the focus.”

“And he isn’t now?”

“We’ve put our lives on hold since the accident. And yes, we’ve devoted most of our energy to him. But already we’re starting to slip back into our routines….”

“Don’t you want that? Isn’t that exactly what Ben needs?”

Russell could see how badly Julie longed for him to agree. He wished he could make her happy and do it. “But Ben can’t go back to being the boy he used to be. Not yet, anyway.”

Julie dropped her head into her hands. Russell tried to draw her to him, but she resisted.

“Have you thought about what school is going to be like for him? He won’t be top of the class anymore. He doesn’t even have the stamina to play soccer with his buddies. He’s going to feel like an outsider.”

“And he won’t be an outsider in Chatsworth?”

“He’ll be the new kid. There’s a difference. Plus he’ll have more family.” This was a delicate point. Russell was aware of the tension between his mother and his wife. He had no clue why two such wonderful women couldn’t get along. He didn’t dare say this out loud, but he was certain that if only they spent more time together, they’d come around.

“There’s my side of the family, too.”

Russell hardly knew her parents or sister; they’d moved back to London before Ben was born. “Are you suggesting we consider relocating to England?”

“Of course not. It’s just…” She buried her head in her hands again. He wondered if she was crying. But when she finally faced him, her eyes were dry.

“What if Ben doesn’t want to move to Chatsworth?”

With that question, Russell knew his plan stood a chance.

“Let’s ask him in the morning.”



JULIE WAITED UNTIL RUSSELL fell asleep. Then she slid out of bed and crept down the hall, past their home office, to Ben’s room.

After the accident, she’d moved an easy chair in here. The first few nights she and Russell had taken turns watching him. Finally Ben had insisted that they stop.

“I’m fine. You guys worry too much.”

He always said he was fine, even when it was obvious that he wasn’t. Getting him to take his medication to prevent seizures was often a struggle.

Julie hovered over her son, listening for the comforting rhythm of his breathing. She touched his hair; his curls were so much softer than Russell’s. Her hand trailed over his cheek, then up to his forehead, to the patch of pink, scarred skin.

What did the future hold for Ben? He’d come into this world so perfect. She remembered marveling at every wonderful detail, from his ten lovely toes, to his thick cap of hair. He wasn’t perfect anymore. Certainly not on the outside. And on the inside—no one could say. Just because Ben’s EEGs were normal now was no guarantee…

She’d been allotted a beautiful, flawless son. And under her care he’d been hurt so badly he’d almost died.

Maybe Russell was right. Maybe their city lifestyle was no longer the best for Ben. One thing she couldn’t argue with: if she’d put Ben first on that thirtieth day of April, none of this would have happened. Her son would still be whole and sound and happy.

Why hadn’t she appreciated her good fortune when she’d had it? Why hadn’t she realized that a smart, happy, healthy little boy wasn’t just normal—he was a miracle. She’d taken the biggest blessing in her life for granted. And Ben had paid the price.

Moving to Chatsworth could be her atonement she decided. If she gave up the life that she loved—her job, her friends, her house—maybe Ben would regain all that he’d lost.

Of course, real life didn’t work that way. But maybe Russell was right. Maybe Chatsworth really would be better for Ben.

Could she stand to move there? Julie brushed a kiss on Ben’s forehead, then sighed. If her son did indeed want to move, she knew she’d have no choice. She’d go.



“BEN? YOUR MOTHER AND I were talking about something last night. We’d like to know what you think.”

“Yeah?” Ben paused in the middle of trying to remove a section of his grapefruit.

His movements were so awkward it hurt Julie to watch. She ached to take the spoon from his hand and feed him. But Ben struggling through tasks like this was supposed to help him get better.

“This is just an idea, you understand,” Russell continued. “If you don’t like it, then fine. We’ll forget about it.”

“What, Dad?”

Julie wanted to cover her ears. Once the offer was made to Ben, there would be no turning back.

“We’re thinking of moving. To Chatsworth. Where your grandma and grandpa live.”

“Yeah?” Ben’s eyes rounded. “Would we live in the same house?”

“No.” Julie hated how sharp that had sounded. She took a deep breath. “Actually, your father has heard of a house for sale farther down the street.”

“Is it by the lake?”

“You bet,” Russell said.

“Cool. Could we go canoeing and fishing and stuff?”

Russell laughed. “Exactly.”

Julie pictured, in that instant, exactly the life Russell wanted for them. Apple pie and roast chicken on Sundays. Long afternoons watching baseball at the diamonds by the lake. Sitting out on the veranda in the evenings, gabbing with passing neighbors.

It was a lovely life, she supposed, a dream life for many.

But it wasn’t the life she wanted. Not everyone suited small-town living. She’d grown up in London. To her, Vancouver was already small enough.

Yet, listen to Ben.

“We could visit Grandma and Grandpa all the time, right? And could I bring my bike? And what about a dog, Dad? Last time we went to visit Grandma she said every boy needed a dog….”

He sounded so excited. She hadn’t seen him speak this quickly or look as animated since…

Since. Everything was “since” now.

“I don’t know about the dog, Ben. We’ll have to ask your mother.”

Her fate was sealed. She grabbed the handle of her coffee cup, then let it go, afraid the porcelain would snap. Her wonderful job. Her friends, the theater, lovely shopping…the coffee shop she stopped at every morning. All part of her past now.

“We can get a dog,” she said through tight, dry lips.

Russell looked even more surprised than Ben. “We can?”

She felt a sudden, scary urge to laugh. “Why not? A dog, a cat—what does it matter?”

“A cat, too?” Ben’s smile widened. “Awesome! Gee, Mom, can we get a hamster and a—”

“Julie?”

She perceived the concern in Russell’s voice, but right now, she couldn’t deal with anything more. After stacking two breakfast plates, she turned her back on her family and escaped to the sink. From the table, she heard Russell say to Ben, “No hamster, son. Or guinea pig. Or lizards or snakes.”

He went through the list of pets Ben had wanted at one time or another. Just to make sure, he added, “A dog and a cat. Nothing else.”

“Cool.”

Hearing that word, Julie felt like crying. Ben sounded so happy. She glanced over her shoulder at Russell. He was gazing at his son, smiling fondly.

Seeing Ben cheerful and excited again should have been a lovely moment for her, too.

But she couldn’t help worrying that the repercussions of this move might be far greater than any of them could guess.



THEIR HOUSE SOLD QUICKLY, amid a flurry of interest from two different buyers. After signing the papers, Julie could tell Russell felt like celebrating.

She wanted to mourn. Even if they decided after a few months or a year that Chatsworth wasn’t the right place for them, there would be no coming back. Little gems like this house were rare in West Van. Most homes sold for much, much more.

“Some wine, Julie?” He’d just opened a bottle from the case of cabernet merlot they’d purchased in March.

She swiped a damp rag over the window ledge, watching as he poured two glasses full.

“I never thought we’d get our asking price. After paying off the mortgage we’ll have enough money for three, maybe four houses in Saskatchewan.”

“Yes, well, considering I don’t even want one, that’s not particularly good news, is it?”

Russell’s face fell, and she regretted being churlish.

“Sorry. Everything’s happening so quickly. That’s all.” She took a sip of the wine, thinking to cushion the shock of having sold her home to the highest bidder.

“Did you give your notice yesterday?” He sat on a stool, leaning over the granite countertop.

She started to polish the faucet. “I told Suzanne about our plans to move.” The managing editor had been flatteringly disappointed.

Russell stopped swirling the wine in his glass. He looked at her carefully. “Did you give your notice?”

“I tried, but Suzanne wouldn’t accept it. She asked if I would work freelance from Chatsworth. Do some editing, take on a new column.”

“Oh.” Russell thought about that for a minute. “It never occurred to me you could continue to work from Chatsworth. But why not? Are you going to give it a try?”

“I’d like to. We will have an Internet connection?”

“They do have telephones,” he pointed out.

“Naturally. Well, yes, I’d like to give it a shot. I may have to fly to Vancouver occasionally, for meetings and such.”

“I’d planned on you coming back fairly regularly, anyway. Can’t expect you to give up all your theater and shopping. This way the trips will be a business expense.”

“Yes.” But only one ticket would. Or perhaps Russell had no plans of joining her. Separate holidays, then. The last thing, Julie feared, her marriage needed right now.




CHAPTER FOUR


THE FIRST SIGN OF CHATSWORTH, approaching from the west along the Yellowhead highway from Yorkton, was the white grain elevator sitting next to the train tracks running parallel to the highway.

The boxlike structure—which resembled a milk carton more than a building, in Julie’s opinion—was a tangible reminder of why this town existed; to service the surrounding farms. Farmers hauled their grain to the elevator so it could be sold. They banked in Chatsworth and collected their mail there. Picked up groceries at Lucky’s grocery store, filled their tanks at Stanley’s garage and bought parts at the Handy Hardware to fix their broken-down tractors.

“This is it, isn’t it, Dad?” Ben slipped his earphones down his neck and leaned forward.

“You bet, son.” Russell had his foot off the gas and the left indicator light flashing. He waited as a grain truck heading west passed by, then turned the Volvo onto the main road toward Chatsworth. Behind them, the rented U-Haul bumped over the twin sets of train tracks.

The town wasn’t ugly, Julie conceded. Late-afternoon sunlight sparkled on the lake. The surrounding trees were tinged with early-autumn highlights. True, most of the homes were small and utilitarian, of little architectural interest. But the majority were well tended, and some of the flower gardens still looked spectacular, with late-blooming dahlias and mums.

Russell turned left again and stopped in front of the three-story, brick elementary school. “That’s where we’ll be going a week from Monday, Ben.”

Julie tried to put herself in her husband’s shoes. Could he really be happy to have exchanged his responsibilities at the university for the prospect of working here, in this modest structure, teaching grade-five students everything from spelling to art? Judging from the expression on his face, he was.

“Worried, Ben?” he asked.

Their son shrugged. “Not really.”

“Well, you’ll have to be good…with the church across the road and all.”

Julie turned to view the small white clapboard structure. “Your dad and I were married here, Ben.” How long ago that day seemed. She’d been so stressed, dealing with her parents and sister, all quite annoyed that she’d chosen to have her wedding so far from an international airport.

Having the ceremony in Chatsworth had been her concession to Russell and his family. And they’d been bouncing between her family and his ever since. One year Julie would take Ben with her to London; the next year their son joined Russell for a visit to Chatsworth. Rarely had they made these trips as a family, saving the bulk of their vacation dollars and days for Saltspring.

“Are we going to Grandma’s now?”

“Sure. Let’s just drive past our new house first.”

Julie could read the implications of the glance Russell shot her. He wanted her to like this house. He wanted her to like this town. He wanted her to think this was a wonderful adventure, a fresh start for their family. And she didn’t want to let him down.

But when Russell parked their Volvo in front of the unassuming bungalow on Lakeshore Drive, finding compliments was hard. This place wasn’t terrible. The white siding seemed in good shape; the windows looked new. The small porch in the front was cute, though desperately in need of paint. But it wasn’t their house in West Van. Not even close.

Oh, Russell… Where have you taken me?

“Look at that tree house! Do you see it, Dad?”

“You bet. I’ve always wanted a tree house. Maybe there’ll be another in the back for you.”

Finally able to smile, Julie pointed out one redeeming feature. “There’s a raspberry bush next to the garden.” They all loved raspberries.

“Awesome. Can I pick berries whenever I want to?”

“In the summer, sure. They’ve finished for the season now, though.” Russell put the car back into Drive. “We should get going. Grandma will be holding supper for us.”

Julie, tense already, felt a suspicious pressure in her temples. Surreptitiously, she dug one of her pain-relief pills from her handbag.

“Headache coming?” Russell asked as he glided the Volvo and U-Haul two blocks farther along Lakeshore Drive.

She nodded, swallowing back the medication with a swig from the water bottle she’d purchased at their last stop for gas in Regina.

Briefly, Russell rested his hand on her knee. Before she could cover it with her own, he’d reclaimed the steering wheel.

“We’re here.”

“Yeah!” Ben shot out of the back seat, not bothering to close the door behind him. Rivaling him for speed were his grandparents, who must have been watching at the window because they were already on the steps. Betty Matthew held out her arms and Ben hurled himself into her embrace.

Watching, Julie blinked rapidly. She’d been dreading this first encounter with the Matthews and now the moment had arrived.

Russell had her car door open. He held out his hand.

“Just a minute. I need to close my purse. You go ahead.”

She zipped the leather bag, then slung it on her shoulder. From the corner of her eye, she spied the keys dangling in the ignition. She imagined herself unhooking the U-Haul from the back. Driving off, windows open, music blaring.

That she found the image so appealing scared her. She didn’t really want to abandon her family. She wanted to rush from the car the way her husband and son had. She longed to be able to hug her in-laws, to smile naturally and joke about the misery of two twelve-hour days spent traveling.

But she’d never achieved that comfort level with her in-laws.

She felt stiff as she walked up the sidewalk, and had to force a smile when she reached the group.

“Julie. You look a little tired, dear.” Betty Matthew made the first move. Julie succumbed to an awkward embrace with the plump, shorter woman before turning to Russell’s father.

Age had rendered Larry an inch shorter than his son, but he was still slender and the almost-white hair on his head remained thick and curly. He smiled and pecked her on the cheek, while her lips touched only air.

“Oh, it’s so good to see you all! How was the drive? Come on in. I’ve got a roast waiting in the oven.”

Julie leaned close to her husband. “Should we lock the car?”

He smiled indulgently. “It’s okay, Julie.”

She glanced over her shoulder. A significant portion of their worldly goods were stowed in that U-Haul. Clothing, family photos, her favorite pieces of art. “I’m going back to get the keys, at least.”

Russell shrugged, following his parents inside. When Julie returned, keys in her purse and both car and U-Haul safely locked, she found the men in the living room. Larry had already served his son a cold beer, still in the bottle.

In the five years since her last visit, little had changed in this room save the addition of a few more framed photos and a couple of new knickknacks on the fake mantel. Fifteen years ago the Matthews had purchased their living room furniture with comfort and price the main concern. Those same principles guided the decor of the entire home.

“Mother’s in the kitchen,” Larry told her.

She nodded, accepting the dismissal, barely registering her husband’s faintly apologetic smile.

The kitchen was past the dining room to the right. She heard her mother-in-law before she saw her.

“Here’s a wooden spoon, Ben, honey. Stir the gravy for me, would you? I’ve made Yorkshire puddings. I remember how much you liked them last time you were here.”

No one seemed to notice Julie when she first stepped into the room. She stood straight, hands clasped in front of her, like a schoolgirl summoned to the principal.

“May I help?”

“Sure.”

Julie couldn’t miss the subtle tension that stiffened Betty’s voice. She noticed the effort with which Betty gave her a smile.

“I have a salad on the table. Could you put out the bottles of dressings? I’ve got Thousand Islands, Ranch and Italian.”

Julie smothered the impulse to offer to make a vinaigrette. She uncapped the bottles that she’d found lined up on the refrigerator door, then put them on the table as they were.

“Larry already carved the roast.” Betty took a white platter from the oven and removed the covering of foil. The meat was uniformly dark gray—very well done. “I’ll put out the gravy, then we can eat. Ben, would you call your dad and grandpa, please?”

Sitting at the table, listening to her husband say grace, Julie had a flash of prescience. This was only the first of many times the five of them would sit here. From now on, she would mark off the weeks of her life with Sunday dinners just like this one. She would become middle-aged in this town. Accumulate wrinkles and gray hairs. Maybe in time she would develop a taste for overcooked beef, and sofa sets covered in afghans, and pictures hung about a foot higher than eye level on the wall.

Julie tried, but she couldn’t eat the food on that particular Sunday. She couldn’t focus on the conversation, either. Ben looked happy. So did Russell. Her husband and her son seemed so real to her right then. Their voices were strong; their laughter, assured. She marveled at their ability to fit in, to adapt, to accept.

And secretly worried that this had been their kind of world all along.




CHAPTER FIVE


THE NIGHT BEFORE SCHOOL started, Julie and Russell had their first visitor who wasn’t family.

The moving truck with their furnishings had arrived four days earlier, and the hours since then had been a tangle of unpacking and sorting, arranging and rearranging. Ben had spent most of that first week with his grandparents. Tonight, though, he was reading in his room. Julie had made an effort to set up his furnishings as similarly as possible to how they’d been in Vancouver. Though Ben didn’t seem to care much.

He hadn’t complained about anything to do with the move. Nor did he appear unduly concerned about his fast-approaching first day at a different school.

“I’ll get the door,” Julie told Russell, leaving him standing at the back window, holding a sheet of fabric she’d been pinning for new curtains.

The window treatments were for show more than necessity. Julie couldn’t imagine wanting to shut out the view of sparkling lake, with green pastures and woods beyond. In Vancouver, they’d enjoyed a peek-a-boo view of the ocean. But here, the lake literally lapped at their backyard.

See? You’ve found something about this house that you like.

Walking down the hall, Julie smoothed her shirt, her hair. Stopping at the mirror by the front entrance, she checked her lipstick, then she opened the door.

“Hello?”

The woman on the welcome mat—an attractive, disheveled, smiling redhead—looked surprised to see her.

“Oh. You must be Julie.” She stepped forward, offering a wicker basket full of cookies. “I’m Heather Sweeney—an old friend of Russell’s. Just wanted to welcome your family to town.” Her gaze dropped to the pincushion in Julie’s left hand. “But you’re busy. Perhaps another time….”

“Now is fine. We were just measuring for draperies. Please come in. I’m sure Russell will appreciate the break.” She glanced at the basket in her hands, the still-warm, aromatic cookies. “How lovely of you.”

“Basic chocolate chip. Can’t really miss with those.”

“Julie? Do I have to keep holding this?” Russell’s voice traveled from the back of the house.

“No. We have company. Come and say hello.” She swiveled at the sound of his footsteps in the hall.

“Heather!” Seeing their visitor, Russell broke out in a smile, the kind that still made Julie’s toes curl. The kind she hadn’t seen in a very long time.

“I thought it might be nice to have a chance to chat before the mayhem of the first day of school,” Heather said.

Julie stepped to the side as the two friends hugged. Heather, shorter than Julie, had to stand on her toes. In Russell’s arms she closed her eyes briefly. To Julie, it seemed she deliberately took a deep breath, as if to inhale Russell’s very essence.

Silly thought.

“Let’s have a drink on the deck,” she invited. “It’s a splendid evening.”

“Good idea. I take it you two introduced yourselves?” With a hand on each of their backs, Russell led them down the hall, to the kitchen. Julie set the cookies on the counter. “We’ll have them for lunch tomorrow,” she said.

After taking orders, Russell poured a glass of pinot gris for Julie, a lager for himself and juice for Heather. They sat out on the cedar decking in padded aluminum chairs that Julie hadn’t yet had time to wipe down.

“I’m sorry for the dust.” She brushed off her own seat with her hand before sitting. “We’ve been concentrating on the inside.”

Heather wasn’t perturbed. Of course her denim shorts would wash easily.

“You must have been working hard,” she said. “The inside looks amazing. You have a talent for decorating. But then, that’s what you are, isn’t it? An interior designer?”

“Julie studied interior design in London, before she got her master’s in journalism from UBC.”

“Wow. Maybe I could have you over sometime. Get some pointers. I’d feed you dinner in exchange.”

The woman had a very friendly smile. Her light-blue eyes seemed incapable of hiding even the smallest of uncharitable thoughts.

“I’d be happy to,” Julie said, not entirely honestly. “But tell me how you two know each other.”

Their glances met and they both smiled.

“We went to school together,” Russell said. “Although I was two grades ahead.”

Heather paused to sip from her glass. “Then Russ went to university in Vancouver. We didn’t see much of him after that.”

“Heather earned her education degree in Saskatoon,” Russell told Julie. Turning back to Heather, he said, “Mom passed on the news about your wedding.” His smile faded. “And the accident.”

“That was no accident.”

“No, I guess not.” Again he made an explanation in an aside to Julie. “Heather’s husband was an officer with the Royal Canadian Mounted Police. A couple of years ago, he stopped a guy on the highway. The crazy idiot pulled out a gun….”

“Oh, no.” Julie’s stomach lurched at the picture her mind all too vividly provided. Immediately her feelings toward her guest softened. “How tragic. I’m so sorry.”

“Yes, it was terrible.” Heather’s open face made it clear she was still dealing with the loss. “The man responsible turned the gun on himself right after. Somehow that made it worse for me. If he hadn’t wanted to live, anyway, why did he have to take Nick?” She shook her head. “I’m sorry. I know this kind of thinking is pointless.”

“It’s difficult not to focus on how easily a situation could have resulted in a different outcome,” Russell said. “All it takes is a second to change your life forever.”

Julie thought about Ben and the morning of April 30. If the phone had rung two minutes later, they would have been out the door; she wouldn’t even have heard it….

“Life deals some hard blows,” Heather agreed. “I was so sorry to hear about Ben’s accident. How’s he doing?”

“Fine.”

“Okay.”

Russell’s and Julie’s answers collided in the quiet evening air.

“He’s getting stronger every day,” Russell elaborated. “The doctors warned us it might take some time before he fully recovers.”

To Julie, Russell sounded totally confident that one day Ben would be completely well. Yet the doctors hadn’t provided any guarantees.

“I’m so glad to hear it,” Heather said. “I know your parents were terribly worried. I can only imagine how hard it must have been on the two of you.”

Julie stared out at the lake, which lay framed between two spruce trees growing at either end of their spacious backyard. The water had turned navy in the fading light. A new chill in the air sent goose bumps over her arms.

Russell finally responded to Heather’s comment. “It’s been a tough few months.”

“I’ll keep an eye on him—I promise,” Heather said.

Julie blinked, feeling as if she’d missed a couple of steps in this conversation. After a few seconds of silence, she acknowledged the obvious. Heather had already referred to the craziness of the first day of school. Russell had mentioned her education degree.

“You’re a teacher.”

Heather glanced at Russell, then back to Julie. “Grade four.”

“Ben’s in grade four.”

“Yes. He’ll be in my class this year. I’m looking forward to meeting him.” She smiled at Russell. “And to working with you.”

“After all these years,” Russell said. “Who would have thought?”



THE KING-SIZE BED JULIE and Russell had shared in Vancouver dwarfed the small bedroom in this new home of theirs. Julie sat on one corner of the mattress, brushing her hair and listening to the creaks of an unfamiliar house.

Often she’d heard Russell complain about the never-ending noise of traffic and sirens in the city. But she found the quiet of this town much more oppressive. According to Russell, the birds would wake them at dawn. But right now, at just past eleven, she felt as if she and Russell were the only ones in this town still awake.

Ben had fallen asleep hours ago, with clean clothes for tomorrow laid out on the chair in front of his desk and a new backpack, filled with supplies she’d purchased in Vancouver, sitting on the floor next to his shoes.

Julie stopped brushing her hair and closed her eyes. The picture came, as it always did…

A size-three Converse running shoe, flying through the air, laces untied…

To replace the ruined pair, she’d bought Ben Boarders. He’d been so pleased. Apparently they were all the rage at his old school. Would they be here, too? She hoped so. She wanted badly for him to blend in and be happy. What concerned her most, of course, was his performance in the classroom. Just how slow was Ben now? Would he fit into the average of his class? Or somewhere below?

What if he couldn’t even maintain his grade level?

She’d give him a few weeks, she decided, then talk to his teacher. Heather Sweeney was certainly approachable enough. Her friendship with Russell would make her even more eager to help.

Russell came into the room from the washroom, face and neck damp. He pulled his white T-shirt over his head, balled it up and tossed it into the wicker basket just two feet from where Julie sat.

“Nice that Ben had a chance to meet his teacher before the big day tomorrow,” he said.

“Yes. I suppose I’ll get used to people dropping in unannounced around here.”

Russell had his jeans unzipped. He paused and stared at her.

“Sorry. That was churlish. I do appreciate that she took the time to stop in. I guess I just wish I’d had a chance…to tidy up a little first.” That was a lie. The condition of the house hadn’t bothered her. She wished she could have brushed her hair, freshened her makeup, put on a decent pair of sandals, instead of padding around in her bare feet. With chipped nail polish, no less.

Not that Heather Sweeney had been perfectly groomed. But the other woman had the kind of looks that benefited from being untamed. Fresh and outdoorsy.

Stealing a glance at her husband, who had stripped to his white boxers and was climbing into his side of the bed, she thought of another adjective.

Sexy.

Yes, Heather Sweeney, in her denim shorts and pink tank top had definitely been that.

Julie exchanged her brush for the novel she was currently reading. Once settled under the covers, she adjusted her pillows and looked across to her right.

“Were you good friends?”

Russell lowered a sheaf of papers to his chest—lesson plans for the upcoming week. His dark eyeglasses slid down his nose a quarter of an inch. “With Heather, you mean?”

“Mmm-hmm.” She opened her book, trying to remember which chapter she’d finished with last night. After she’d found it, she realized Russell still hadn’t answered her question. She glanced back at him.

He was staring out the window, his gaze thoughtful.

Actually, he’d seemed unsettled, in a quiet sort of way, ever since Heather left.

“She’s an old girlfriend, right?”

Russell sighed. He removed his glasses and placed them on the nightstand. “Yeah.”

Julie tossed her book aside. Leaning on her side, head propped up by her bent arm, she asked, “Were the two of you serious?”

“For a while. I took her to my grade-twelve grad.”

“Was that the end of it?”

“More or less. We’d planned on attending different universities, in different provinces, so it didn’t make sense to make promises to each other we’d probably be unable to keep. After all, we were young.”

The ending sounded a bit too pat. “And you never dated again?”

“Well, we saw each other occasionally at holidays—Christmas and summer.” He paused for effect. Raised his eyebrows. “Then I met this new girl in the UBC library….”

He’d met her.

For the first time since the accident, Julie felt her husband focus in on her as if he was seeing Julie his wife, not Julie the mother of his son. His eyes lingered on her face, then dipped to the neckline of her silk chemise.

Russell set his papers gently on the floor, then edged closer to her. His move made her nervous. It had been a long time. Too long. But who felt like making love when their child’s life hung in the balance?

Even as she had the thought, Julie recognized it as an excuse. Making love could have been a comfort. For both of them. And Russell had initiated a few overtures. But she’d been too stressed….

She willed her body to relax. That Russell was gentle helped. First he stroked her hair. She felt the muscles in her neck relax a fraction.

“My beautiful Julie.”

They kissed tentatively, like strangers who were trying to get to know each other again. In a way, Julie realized, that was exactly what they were. Four long months had elapsed since they’d last been intimate.

Russell slipped one hand between her and the bed, drawing her nearer. Inside his embrace, Julie tensed again.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she lied, angry with herself. She closed her eyes and pressed her face against his chest. Inhaling, she thought of Heather and that brief second when Russell’s arms had encircled the woman. What had been going on in their minds in that moment? What had Heather felt? And what about Russell?

With her husband’s hands on her body, Julie wondered about the past love affair, and suffered again the unfamiliar bite of jealousy. Why had Russell never mentioned this woman? Did that mean she hadn’t been very important to him? Or maybe the very opposite.

With her mind distracted, her body began to react and respond of its own accord. She moved beneath Russell’s touch now and reached out to him, as well. Soon the old heat and ache were rekindled.

She needed this. It had been so long. So long…

“Russell, you don’t by any chance have a condom, do you?”

“What?”

“I haven’t been taking my birth control pills. Not since…”

In the past, she had a morning routine. Vitamin C, iron and birth control. All with her morning glass of grapefruit juice. But after Ben’s accident, she just couldn’t. To worry about her vitamin levels when her son was in such a serious state had seemed selfish. And sex had been the last priority on her mind.

“Oh, Julie…” He groaned, pressing his body to hers, so she could feel the hard length of him. “Of course I don’t have a condom. We haven’t used them in years.”

“Maybe you could run out—” She cut off her sentence as soon as she remembered where they were. No such thing as a twenty-four-hour drugstore in Chatsworth, Saskatchewan. And even if there were…the clerk would probably know Russell by name. How could anyone buy a package of condoms at midnight from someone who knew their name?

She felt Russell’s hand on her hip. His fingers glided over the silk of her chemise, down the outer side of her thigh. Then he touched bare skin and traveled upward, finding her silk bikini briefs, already wet.

“We could improvise,” he suggested, his breath hot in her ear.

He was still pressed up against her, still obviously ready. Desperate, in fact.

It had been a long time since she’d seen her husband this way. She thought, maddeningly, of Heather again. Had his libido been revved by the sight of her shapely legs in her short denim cutoffs? Or the lush cleavage beneath that thin tank top?

Stop it! she ordered herself.

Russell had slipped her chemise from her shoulders. Now he kissed a trail from her breasts to her navel. And lower. Finally, her mind turned blessedly blank. Julie fell back on her pillow, breathing out a constrained moan at the sweetness of this pleasure.

“Yes,” she told her husband as he showed her precisely how inventive he could be. “Oh, yes, Russell, yes.”



THE NEXT MORNING, Russell and Ben walked to school together.

“Good luck!” In her black leather mules, Julie stepped out the front door. A cool breeze nipped through her thin cotton blouse, and she hugged her arms around her ribs.

Despite the chill, a translucent blue sky indicated that perfect Indian-summer day lay ahead. The birds Russell had promised chattered around her. A couple of doors down, two little girls dashed outside and raced in the direction of the elementary school.

Behind them strolled Russell and Ben, side by side on the road. Julie stood watching her son and her husband become smaller and smaller, smelling the fermenting raspberries on the bush under the living room window. No one had bothered to pick them this summer and they were rotting on the branches.

Eventually Russell and Ben turned right, as had the girls, disappearing from her sight. This morning Julie had awakened feeling better. Not quite happy, but a little more relaxed. Now anxiety gripped her again as she fretted over the challenges facing Ben today. How would the other kids react to his presence in their classroom? Would he be teased? Ignored? Bullied?

Her stomach constricted over the juice and toast she’d had for breakfast. If only there were something she could do to help Ben with this transition. But there wasn’t. Unable to stand the worry, she focused on planning her day. Someone from the phone company had called earlier to let her know a serviceman would be arriving later that afternoon to set up Internet access. And Ben and Russell would be home for lunch. The very idea was a novelty. In Vancouver, coming home for the noon meal had been impossible—for all of them. Here, apparently, everyone did it.

As for the morning, she needed to organize the spare bedroom, which had been designated as her office. Before that, though, were breakfast dishes to wash, beds to make.

Thinking of all the tasks she had to accomplish gave Julie an illusion of control, and that calmed her. She went inside and started with her and Russell’s room. As she pulled the sheet taut, she recalled last night and how they had tried so hard to please each other.

How was it that a man and woman could kiss and touch each other in the most intimate ways and still feel so distant? She suspected the problem was with her. She still loved Russell, although she wondered if she knew him as well as she’d once thought. Quitting his job, moving to Chatsworth—she never would have guessed these things would make him happy.

She’d believed he wanted the same things she did. But apparently not. No wonder making love wasn’t as easy as it had once been, birth control issues aside. A huge distance seemed to span between them, even when they were right next to each other.

Hopefully things would get easier over time. They’d definitely taken a step in the right direction last night. Although she still suspected she had Heather Sweeney to thank for that.

As before, the idea hurt, and Julie tried again to chase it from her mind. She was probably all wrong about Heather. After all, Russell had never mentioned her….

Julie moved on to Ben’s room—a disaster as usual. She snapped the bed linens into place and fluffed his pillow.

Usually she took pleasure in these easy, domestic tasks. She liked keeping order in their house—craved order, actually. But today she felt out of sorts, lonely…empty. Partway down the stairs with a load of laundry she realized this was the first time she’d been in this house by herself.

This house. It didn’t feel like a home, even though they’d filled it with their furniture and belongings. Despite her best efforts, the rooms somehow felt wrong.

And the place was so quiet.

Julie set the dial on the washer to permanent press. She added a scoop of detergent, then went back upstairs. Unwashed dishes from the morning’s French toast and grapefruit cluttered the counter. The boxes of office supplies she’d meant to unpack lined the hall to the bedroom.

Despite the chores requiring her attention, she grabbed her purse from the hook by the door, as well as her black cardigan. She couldn’t stand the atmosphere in here any longer. She had to get out.

Julie followed the same route her son and husband had walked that morning. Critically she assessed the homes of her neighbors, before turning right. The brown brick elementary school sat stoically on the left. The school yard stretched around it, deserted, waiting for recess.

She wished she could peek into Ben’s classroom to see how he was doing. Her husband, she was certain, would have charmed his entire grade-five class by now. Oh, maybe there’d be one or two holdouts. But not for long.

She walked up another block to Main Street. The little café on the corner seemed an obvious destination, although it made no attempt to lure customers.

Perhaps because customers wanting something to eat or drink had no choice but it.

Trying hard not to think of her neighborhood coffee shop in Vancouver—of the hand-painted wall murals, the rich, fragrant coffee aroma that hit the second she opened the door, the friendly staff who all knew her name—Julie stepped inside the café.

Beige was her first impression. Tired was her second. Not one thought had been given to decor in this utilitarian room, where the air hung thick with the odor of frying bacon and freshly made toast. The booths by the front windows were occupied—a farmer and his wife in one, a young mother and her toddler in another. A short counter with a half-dozen bar stools divided the dining area from the kitchen. To the right were another couple of booths and tables for four. Beyond those were what appeared to be video games.

Julie perched on the edge of one vinyl-covered stool. Eventually a gray-haired woman—probably in her early fifties—emerged from the kitchen, coffeepot in hand. Without a word, she put a cup in front of Julie and poured.

No sense even asking if they had espresso, Julie decided.




CHAPTER SIX


“YOU MUST BE Russell Matthew’s wife.” The woman set the coffeepot back on its burner.

“Yes. Julie.”

“I’m Donna Werner. Me and my husband, Jim, own this place. He’s in the kitchen, burning breakfasts. Want one?”

She was joking. No scent of scorched anything marred the high-fat aroma.

“Coffee will be splendid, thanks.”

Donna shrugged as if to say, Well, I can’t force you, but you’re really missing out.

The coffee was good. Hot and strong. Julie sipped and wondered if lack of caffeine had been her problem this morning. As she contemplated the improbability of this, another woman came in from the street. Her hair—wildly curly and vividly auburn—drew and held Julie’s gaze.

This red was nothing like Heather Sweeney’s obviously natural, glowing shade. With tints of pink and mauve, it had to have originated with a variety of chemicals Julie hoped she never had the misfortune to encounter.

The woman however, was cheerfully unaware her hair was a disaster. She smiled at someone—or maybe everyone—in the front booth, then sat at the counter on the stool right next to Julie’s.

Given that every single other stool was vacant, her choice baffled Julie.

“Hi, I’m Adrienne. You must be Julie.” The newcomer held out a hand, with fingernails frosted blue. Donna Werner appeared from the back again and poured the ubiquitous cup of coffee.

“Thanks, Donna. I really need my fix this morning. First day of school you’d think the kids would be excited and get out of bed on time for a change. But no.” She spilled sugar into her coffee, then poured cream to the top of the mug. “How ’bout your son? He’ll be the new kid today. Was he nervous?”

Disconcerted that these people, who were perfect strangers to her, seemed so familiar with her life, Julie kept her answer brief. “Ben’s recovering very well, thank you.”

“Oh! Nice accent. I didn’t know you were from England. I heard you met Russ while you were in university.”

“My father’s company transferred him to Vancouver for a few years. I decided to go with my parents and study journalism at UBC. I’d intended to return to London with my family, but then I met Russell….”

She’d fallen in love that autumn, with everything. The university, the city, most of all the amazing, unflappable man who was so kind and gentle and funny in a silly sort of way she found quite adorable.

“What about you?” Julie asked. “Have you lived in Chatsworth long?”

“All my life, give or take a year,” Adrienne replied, apparently proud of the fact. “I took my beauty training in Yorkton. And now I have my own salon. Run the business in my basement. Let me give you my card. It’s kind of inconvenient to drive to Yorkton every time you want a trim—” she examined Julie’s hair “—or a little color touch-up.”

This woman was a professional hairstylist? Julie took the card and relegated it to her purse, certain she’d never refer to it.

“Well.” Adrienne stirred her coffee, oblivious to the liquid spilling over the edge of the serviceable white ceramic mug. “What do you think of Chatsworth so far?”

“The lake is lovely.”

“Like to swim, do you? You’ll have to give the golf course a try, too. We cross-country ski there in the winter. A shame you didn’t move in a few months earlier. We had a real celebrity wedding in July. Didn’t we, Donna?”

“Catered from Yorkton” was Donna’s only comment.

“You’ve read Warren Addison’s book, haven’t you?” Adrienne asked.

“He wrote Where It Began, didn’t he?”

“You bet. We went to school together. Grades one through twelve. This summer he married another girl from our class. Miranda James.”

“Don’t know why they bothered to have the wedding here in Chatsworth. Ordered everything from food to bouquets from Yorkton.” Donna wiped up the mess Adrienne had made on the counter, then placed a clean napkin under her mug.

“Well, we don’t have a floral shop, for one thing,” Adrienne pointed out. “Though I do think Miranda would have done well to have her hair styled at my shop. I offered my services free. As a wedding gift,” she elaborated, in case Julie might get the idea to request the same deal for herself.

“Nothing but the best was ever good enough for Annie James’s daughter,” Donna stated.

Julie had no idea who any of these people were. But she had to admit the conversation was interesting. Her book club had read and discussed Where It Began. “Does Warren Addison actually live here?”

“Last winter he moved into his parents’ deserted farmhouse to work on his new book. He and Miranda live in New York most of the time.” Adrienne sighed, as if imagining another world, far, far removed from the one she’d always occupied.

“You should have seen the press,” she said after a moment. “They were everywhere that day.”




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