Page 47 of The Fault Between Us
He swallowed the lump in his throat and looked back out at the falls, everything in him melting. “What do you believe, Claire?”
She looked reflective, like she was putting some thought into her words and he was glad. He wanted to know her heart—like he had shared his.
“I believe,” she said slowly, “that God created this—the falls and Old Faithful and the sunrise and the mountains—to show us how much he loves us. When I look at something like this, I feel like God is here, and he loves us. He loves Claire Reilly. And he loves Red Wilder.” She raised her brows at him as if challenging him to disagree.
He wasn’t about to argue. “He sounds like somebody I might like to get to know.”
She smiled at him then in that bright, sure way she had. “Maybe you should.”
She’d asked him to take her picture then, with the falls behind her and that luminous smile. She’d had the photo developed and given it to him, writing Claire Reilly on the back. Not Claire. ClaireReilly. As if he’d ever forget who she was.
The picture was in his pocket, along with the letter from Claire that had come on Friday in care of the Zonolite Mining Company. The letter he hadn’t read.
It could be Claire telling him to come home. Or it could be her goodbye to him. Either way, there was no reason for him to stay in Libby, mining Zonolite and dying a little each day from heartache. It wasn’t something he could talk to her about on the telephone. He had to see her, and beg her to forgive him. For leaving. For Dell. For keeping secrets.
chapter 29:FRANNIE
Three more cabins and Frannie was done for the day.
“Your sisters are sure pretty,” Vicky said as she stripped the bunk bed of the dirty sheets. “It was nice of them to come see you sing.”
Nice? She wouldn’t call what happened between Claire and Bridget nice. The usual Bridget-and-Claire-against-Frannie had looked a lot more like Claire-against-Bridget. She felt kind of sick thinking about it.
Frannie threw the wad of dirty sheets on the cart outside the door. Claire and Bridget could solve their own problems, she had better things to think about. Miracle of miracles, the whole gang had finagled two days off from Twig, and as soon as their shift was over they were going to blow this popsicle stand.
She peeked under the lid of the ceramic pot and choked back a gag. “When do I stop being the newbie and somebody else has to do these?” Frannie asked with a groan as she gingerly picked up the enamel pot and carried it to the door.
“Do what I do,” Vicky said. “Pitch it over the rim of the canyon. No sweat.”
Frannie stared at her. Could you really do that?
Vicky tossed a pillow in place. “There’s a place between the upper and lower falls we call Duck Point, goes right down into the ravine. Get a clean one from the supply shed and nobody’s the wiser.”
“News to me.” Frannie carried the duck down the trail to the narrow strip of trees bordering the canyon rim. Sure enough, there was a drop-off. She peered over but couldn’t see all the way down. She thought of all the cabins and all the years the lodge had been there. There could be hundreds of these pots piled up down there. Maybe thousands.
One more wouldn’t make a bit of difference, would it?
Frannie held the duck over the edge but couldn’t make herself let go. She thought about how Claire was always talking about how gorgeous everything was in Yellowstone and how they had to keep it that way for future generations and all that junk. Frannie let out a sigh and trudged to the outhouse. She kicked herself as she held her breath and emptied the disgusting contents into the disgusting pit toilet.
Back at the cabin, she put the cleaned duck in its spot under the water basin.
“Did you find the place?” Vicky asked, sweeping a pile of dust under the carpet.
“Sure did,” Frannie said. “Thanks for the tip.”
Frannie had been one of the gang since the silly initiation at Dead Savage Spring. That night, Paul drove them back to Canyon with everybody goofing off. When they got back after midnight, everybody piled out of the car. “Race you to the dungeon,” Sam said, and he and Ernie tore down the trail.
“I’m hitting the privy,” Vicky announced, leaving Paul and Frannie to walk down the dark trail together.
At the turnoff for the dungeon, Paul stopped. “You know,” he said, kicking at the dirt path with his toe, “I wouldn’t have let you get hurt, in the hot pot.”
She shrugged. “I figured you wouldn’t.” Nobody—but nobody—was going to know how scared she’d been.
“Anyway,” he said, the moonlight lit his face and she noticed that his eyes were really nice, hazel with gold flecks. “The gang’s a lot more fun now that you’re in it.”
“Thanks, Paul,” she said. He turned to go but she stopped him. “Why do you put up with them?” she asked. Sam and Ernie were always mean to Paul, calling himeggheadandnerdand making fun of him.
She made out the movement of Paul’s shoulders as he shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said. “I guess having them as friends is better than not having friends at all.”
