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After their engagement and during the first year of marriage, Clark had spent every dinner hour with her and every weekend. Then, over the next few years, he had begun to stay later at work, and their dinners together dropped to two or three times a week. Before long, he was working most weekends. Also, in the early days of their marriage, they had talked. They talked about their childhoods and the time that had transpired between then and when they met. Thinking back, Brook realized these talks centered more on Clark’s life, than her own. But, even at that, conversation had dwindled away to merely perfunctory exchanges. Adequate, but unsatisfying.
Then she lost Lacey, the precious baby she had longed so to hold, to nurture through childhood, and shape into a healthy, happy adult. When that dream was ripped away, along with the chance to ever have another baby, Brook had been crushed. But Clark hadn’t really been affected. Oh, he had been sad at the time, but he quickly forgot the whole incident and carried on as before. No! Not as before. Now that she really thought about it, Clark had withdrawn further from her after the loss, spending more time at work and far less with her. Possibly, she reflected, this was her fault. She, herself, hadn’t been the same afterwards.
As the sheriff pulled onto the interstate, Brook looked up at the mountains with their craggy sides and snowy tops.
"Doing alright back there?" the deputy asked.
"Yes, I'm fine," Brook said. "Just reflecting."
The deputy turned back to the sheriff and they resumed their conversation. Brook closed her eyes again and sank back into her memories.
Clark hadn’t understood why Brook wanted a child so much. Several years after losing the baby, Brook had broached the subject of adoption. Clark had looked at her with incredulity. “I suppose we could,” he had said, flatly. “But it’s not like it would be ours.”
Brook had insisted that any baby they raised would be theirs completely.
Then, Clark had dropped the bombshell. “You do what you want, but it won’t be my child. It won’t have Parrish blood.”
From that point, Brook realized, life had changed around their house. They made love, but not frequently. Their goodbye kisses that used to promise things to come had now become obligatory, little more than a duty. She now knew that while she had still loved Clark, she hadn’t really been in love with him for a long time.
Then there were the last several months. What would Clark’s reaction be to her sudden return home? Would he understand how she had suffered? Clark never had been strong on empathy. How would he respond when he heard about the rapes? Would he see her as dirty, damaged goods, unworthy of his attentions? And, more to the point, how could she hide the fact from Clark that she had been with Lance, had lain, willingly, with another man? Brook ran scenarios through her head as the car traveled on.
As the trip neared an end, she fingered the beautiful bracelet that wrapped her wrist in a symbol of Lance’s love. She felt so alone right now.
Brook was astounded by the range of emotions that poured over her: sadness over leaving Lance, happiness to be returning home to her family, and confusion over her feelings for Clark.
By the time she stepped from the car in Denver, her mood was so low she found it a struggle to even breathe. Walking toward the Denver police station, she straightened her posture and set her resolve. The next few hours would not be easy ones.
Chapter 51
Lance went directly back to the cabin after watching Brook disappear from his life. He parked in his usual spot, haphazardly covered his truck, and walked with determination up the mountain. He would get on with his life; he’d go back to the time before he had found Brook in the forest. It wouldn't be easy; in fact, it might even be impossible. Brooklyn Cheyenne Parrish had made an indelible mark on him. He would never forget her.
At home, Lance set about doing his chores. He let Gilbert out and mucked her pen. She seemed to sense his dark mood and didn’t frisk about as usual. Holding a tight lid on his feelings, Lance kept moving, handling one chore after another. He fed the chickens and the few ducks that remained, and chopped more wood, since the nights were still chilly. Not wishing to spend time inside, where everything reminded him of Brook, he found one project after another that required his attention outside. Finally, exhausted, he entered his home, made a light supper, and sat down to read, but found his thoughts wandering.
Chapter 52
Brook was escorted up the steps with no idea the kind of stir she was about to cause. Just outside the doors, the flash of a camera startled her. A group of reporters began throwing questions at her.
"Mrs. Parrish, where have you been all this time?"
More flashes.
"Brook, Brook! Can you identify the men who took you?"
"What'd your husband say when he heard you're alive?"
Sheriff Hawk pushed Brook behind him and held up a beefy hand. "Back off, all of you."
Brook's legs grew shaky, and she felt the female deputy's hand on her elbow. "Come on, Mrs. Parrish."
Hawk held the reporters at bay while the deputy guided Brook through the doors. They approached the window, and the deputy asked for Detective Conroy. She then glanced out the glass front of the building to watch as Sheriff Hawk threw his weight around. A tiny smile curled her lips, and Brook realized a deep affection existed between the sheriff and his deputy. She'd been so lost in thought on the trip, she hadn't noticed.
"Leonard won't let them get to you. He's a good man." She patted Brook's arm. "Stubborn, but good."
In a flurry of activity, a side door opened and several people hurried toward Brook. A tall woman in a dark suit extended her hand as the others, some in uniform, stood back.
“I’m Detective Randi Conroy,” she said. “You’re Brooklyn Parrish?”
“Yes, I am.” Brook found the detective’s handshake comforting somehow, warmer than she expected. Brook felt immediately at ease with her.
