“What’d you do that for?” he yelled as he tromped reflexively on the brake, looking wildly around for a place to pull over.

“Just…get me out of here,” she said tersely, rocking herself with her arms folded across her waist, as if she had a bad bellyache. She sounded like her jaws were wired together. “Just…get me away from this town. God…” She leaned back suddenly, lifting her hands to push her hair away from her face in a gesture that was becoming familiar to him, then gave her head that little shake that settled everything back into its proper place. He couldn’t help but think how symbolic that was. “I can’t wait,” she said in a voice that was rough with passion, “to get back to L.A. Back to civilization.”

“Lady,” Troy growled, “you’ve got a pretty peculiar idea of civilization.” He wasn’t sure whether he was mad at her for what she’d done-throwing her diary away-although he was still jangling from the shock of that, for sure. Or the people-the fates-that had hurt her so badly. Or whether it was just the accumulation of everything he’d had to deal with over the past few days. Either way, it had finally happened. He’d reached the end of his rope.

And Charly knew it. She felt the sudden coldness of fear-not of him, not of Troy, she knew he’d never hurt her, not in a million years-but of losing something she hadn’t known was hers until that moment.

“Okay, maybe that was a bad choice of words,” she said, glancing at him uneasily. “I just meant-you know, some place where life is a bit more sophisticated. All this soap-opera stuff is getting to me.”

“Sophisticated.” He said the word, then snorted. “You know, Mirabella says that about you-‘Charly’s so confident, so funny and smart. So cool and sophisticated’-like it was a compliment. Well, hell, lady-let me ask you this-What does that mean, anyway? Can you tell me that?” He threw her a look, but she didn’t reply, and he went back to watching the road while she sat hunched and cold, watching a muscle work in the side of his jaw.

After a while he went on, in the slow, measured way people do when they aren’t used to making speeches. “All I know is, folks who live in small towns, particularly Southern small towns, are supposed to be unsophisticated. And folks who live in big cities are supposed to be sophisticated. So, what is it? Huh? You tell me. Some kind of dress thing? Knowin’ what wine to order? Bein’ in on who’s hip, who’s hot and who’s not? Does it mean big-city folks know more’n small-town folks?”

He gave a short, harsh laugh. “I’ll tell you somethin’, lady-when you live in a small town you learn more about human nature and the dirty little secrets people carry around with them, and what makes for good and evil, than anybody. You oughta know that.”

She opened her mouth to say something, but changed her mind when she saw he was only thinking, and hadn’t finished yet. She swallowed instead, and it sounded loud in the silence.

“Maybe,” he said after a moment, tilting his head a little to one side, “that’s what sophistication means. Not how much you know, but whether or not you give a rip. Tell me somethin‘-in L.A. when you hear a siren, what do you think about? Do you even notice? Does anybody? In a small town, when folks hear a siren, let me tell you, they notice. They stop what they’re doin’ and they listen, and they’re tryin’ to figure out what kind of siren it is, and where it’s going. And if it comes down their street, they run out on their porches and front lawns to see it, and their hearts are pounding, and they’re wonderin’ who it’s for, which one of their neighbors is in trouble. And after it goes by, five minutes later they’re on the phone to their neighbors, askin’ who is it? What’s wrong? Is everybody okay? Can I help? And if it’s anybody they’re connected to even a little bit, the next day they’re goin’ up the walk with a covered casserole dish in their hands. And come Sunday, you can bet they’re gonna be mentioning those people in their prayers.

“Do they make mistakes sometimes? Do they rush to judgment? Do they gossip and find fault? Act mean and petty sometimes? You bet they do. But they care. Maybe that’s not very sophisticated, but you know what? I don’t care. Because that’s the kind of place I want to live in, where people care about one another, warts and all. And that’s the kind of place I want my kids to grow up in. You can go on back to your sophisticated city folks, lady. Tell you somethin’-peopte live like that because they don’t want the burdens that come from caring, and that’s the truth. And to make themselves feel better about it, less lonely, maybe, they call themselves sophisticated.”

On the last word the Cherokee jerked to a stop. Charly looked up, surprised to see that they were back at the Mourning Springs Motel, parked in front of room 10. Her vision blurred and shimmered.

“Here’s the key,” Troy said in a harsh and gravel-filled voice. “You’re paid up for tonight, if you need it.”

She could only stare at him, cold inside with fear and shock, unable to believe she could have blown it so badly. So suddenly.

His eyes…his beautiful eyes gazed back at her, dark with disappointment and pain. What do you want from me? She knew the answer to that question now-maybe she always had. Something she hadn’t been able to give him, then. Maybe she still couldn’t. But, dear God-had she lost any chance she might have had to try?

“You’re leaving already?” she mumbled. Her lips felt stiff and numb. Please, Troy…please don’t give up on me.

“Time I headed on back.” He was mumbling, too. “Need to get at that nursery job for Mirabella.”

“What about your bag? It’s inside.”

“You can bring it to me when you come. I expect we’ll be seein’ each other. At the wedding…”

“Yeah,” she whispered. “Okay…sure, I’ll do that.” He was holding out his hand, giving her the room key. What could she do but take it? And after that…

She groped blindly for the door handle. Jeez. she was thinking, all I’ve done since I got to this damn town is cry. She found it finally and pulled it open. “Well,” she said, “thanks for everything. I really do appreciate all your help.”

“No problem,” said Troy abruptly. “Glad to do it. Listen-” she turned to look at him, and he nodded at her “-I hope everything works out for you. And you let me know how your daddy’s doin’, y’hear?”

“Yeah…sure. I’ll do that.” She felt numb.

She was about to slide out of the seat when Bubba suddenly stuck his head over the back of it and gave her face a worried lick. It was almost more than she could take. She wrapped her arms around the dog’s neck and buried her face briefly in his silky coat, then choked out a strangled “Bye-thank you,” and hopped out of the car, slamming the door behind her. She hadn’t even turned around before she heard the Cherokee’s engine roar as Troy backed out of the parking space and drove away.

“Well, Charly,” she whispered as she fumbled to put the key in the lock and tears dripped from the end of her nose and splashed onto the backs of her hands, “you are really somethin’ else, you know that? Cool, capable, sophisticated Charly… So if you’re so damn smart,” she growled furiously as the lock finally gave and she pushed the door open, “how come, when it comes to human relationships, you…don’t…know…jack!”


Troy drove like a bat outta hell. It did enter his mind, as he headed up the curving mountain road, that if the right trooper happened along, Charly might wind up bailing him out of jail. But he didn’t let it slow him down.

Just before he got to the fork where the road to Mourning Spring Park branched off the main highway, he pulled over onto the grassy verge, turned on his flashers and stopped. He had nerves jumping around in his belly like fleas on a hot rock, and thoughts and emotions chasing one another around inside his head. He knew if he could ever manage to pin one of them down he probably wouldn’t be doing what he was doing, so he didn’t even try.

He got out of the car and slammed the door, then went around to the back and got Bubba’s leash. He gave the pup a hug and rumpled his neck fur as he clipped the leash onto his collar. Then he said, “Okay, boy, let’s go find Charly!” and stood back out of his way.

Of course, ol’ Bubba was just happy to be out of the car, happy to have some new territory to investigate and mark in his usual way. Down the bank he went, Troy slippin’ and slidin’ along after him, just trying not to lose his feet. When they got to the bottom, he let the dog snuffle around some, then gave his leash a yank and said it again, “Come on boy-find Charly. Where’s Charly? Go get her-go on!”

What was he thinking of? The dog wasn’t even a tracker to begin with, and nothin’ but a pup besides. And there were enough interesting, good-smelling distractions in those woods to keep him busy all afternoon, what with squirrels and turtles, mushrooms and deer sign and no telling what all. So Troy wasn’t expecting much.

They’d been at it maybe fifteen minutes and had gone about fifty yards from where they’d started, Troy thinking it was about time to call it quits on this crazy fool idea, Bubba plowing his way into a little thicket of cedar and holly where last winter’s leaves still lay rotting in knee-deep drifts. Troy was about to call him back when the pup, instead of snuffling on to the next excitement, sat abruptly back on his haunches and turned to look at him over his shoulder.

“What is it, boy? What’d you find?”

Bubba just looked at him, tongue hangin’ out, pleased with himself. So Troy went on over and dug around in the piles of leaves, and there it was. Impossible to see because of its color-without the dog he’d never have found it in a million years.