True North

Chapter 25

"Well, maybe it's time that you got to know him," Brian suggested. "Cut him some slack, he might surprise you."

"Nothing he does would surprise me," Stormy snorted, rolling her eyes.

"Oh, my God! Are you always so damn obstinate?!" Brian burst out, although he was smiling when he said it. "Could you work with me here, just a little bit? I'm trying to help!"

Stormy covered her face with her hands, and then slid them down just far enough to peer out sheepishly over the tops of her fingertips.

"You're right," she chuckled apologetically. "I'm sorry, and I appreciate you for trying. I just—" She broke off for a moment, and then shrugged indifferently. "Maybe it's too late for me. Maybe I'm beyond help."

"Nobody is beyond help," he insisted, more firmly than he had intended. The sharpness in his voice registered on her face, and he softened his tone before continuing. "And, as long as you're breathing, it's never too late."

Her green eyes stared back at him, and he noticed for the first time the tiny flecks of gold that formed a shimmery ring just outside the pupil. For a long moment, neither of them spoke, until he finally turned away.

"Again, Confucius, very profound," she kidded dryly. "But that's easy for you to say, Mister Perfect."

"Mister Perfect?" he repeated indignantly.

With both his parents dead and his ex-girlfriend's betrayal being paraded under his nose on a regular basis, his life was hardly perfect, and the implication that it was rankled him for some reason. Stormy seemed to take note.

"What I mean," she elaborated, choosing her words carefully. "Is that you've never done anything wrong. You said so yourself—you're exactly where you're supposed to be, doing exactly what you're supposed to be doing. You've never screwed up, you've never messed anything up, and everybody likes you!"

Brian could only gape back at her, incredulous.

Does she honestly believe that she's the only person to ever make a mistake, or fall off track? he wondered. And does she really believe that there's no coming back from that--no reprieve, no forgiveness? She turned to look at him just then, and he could see the answer to that question in her eyes. Yes, she does.

"C'mon," he said, grabbing her wrist and pulling her toward the door. "You leave me no choice."

No words were spoken as he dragged her outside, across the porch and down over the steps. He cut right at the bottom, crossing swiftly over the grass and stopping at the far corner of the house, where the porch ended. Brian released her wrist from his grasp and smoothed his hand along the wooden railing.

"I rebuilt this porch," he said. "About five or six years ago..."

"Is that so?" Stormy asked, surprised but obviously unsure as to where he was going with it. "Impressive. I've never been particularly handy with a hammer, myself."

"Yep, and I redid that flower bed over there, too," Brian said, not responding to her attempt at humor. "Come here, I'll show you something else." He turned the corner of the house and headed across the lawn with Stormy close behind. He came to a stop beside the huge oak tree that stood in the side yard and reached out to run his hand over a significant area of deeply scarred bark, scarcely visible now in the gathering dusk.

"I did this, too," Brian said, his manner somber. Stormy seemed to realize that he wasn't expecting a response, and he was grateful for her silence as he gathered his thoughts. He could feel her eyes intently searching his face as she waited for him to continue, and, after a long pause, he did.