"Oh, I did, in the beginning. He was very exciting and very handsome. He took me out of the city and brought me here and I loved it. I was happy. Of course, when I found out about his affairs, the first time, I was devastated. But then I got pregnant and I thought it would all be okay, so I just ignored them, you see. He always came home to my bed and I was so young and foolish. I thought that would be enough. Then Jessie came along and he changed. I realized how little he needed me. Even for Jessie, I was just a cook and housekeeper, someone who was here all the time but who wasn't allowed to share in their lives. He taught her that so I can't totally blame her."

"I'm sorry, Annie, for bringing this up. You don't have to tell me," Chris said, mindful of the sadness in Annie's voice.

"Oh, all that happened thirty years ago," she said, waving her hands dismissively at Chris. "That doesn't bother me now." She pushed her plate aside and refilled her wine, this time a dark cabernet. "I found someone to love me, though," she said quietly.

Chris took a sip from her own glass, waiting for Annie to continue.

"His name was Jonathan and he was an attorney in San Francisco. He was older than me, a widower. I went there to inquire about getting a divorce, you see. But I couldn't go through with it. I always held out some hope that Jessie loved me just a little and if I stayed with her father, then I wouldn't lose her completely. Anyway, Jonathan and I started seeing each other and I fell in love with him. Jessie was only twelve then. I vowed to stay with Jack until she graduated high school, then I was going to be with Jonathan."

She held her wineglass in front of her a long moment before finally taking a swallow. Then she smiled and patted Chris's hand.

"Of course, things never turn out the way we plan, do they? Jack found out about Jonathan and he was furious, to say the least. Never mind that he had women all over the state or that we had not been intimate in years." Her voice grew bitter then and she slammed her hand on the table. "He was a bastard all right. Unfortunately, Jessie was home when he decided to bring it all to light. She heard everything and if there was any love in her for me, it died that day. Oh, her eyes looked at me with contempt and hatred. I had made her daddy cry, you see. I had broken his heart." Annie stood up suddenly and took their plates. "Bullshit, of course, but he was a fine actor," she said as she walked away. "A fine actor."

Chris stayed at the table, trying to imagine this woman's grief. All these years to have lived here alone, carrying such painful memories along. Why did she stay here?

Annie came back and reached over the table to fill their glasses. "I find it's best to be drinking whenever I dwell on this subject. Not that I think about it often, Chris. I couldn't survive if I did. But it helps to remember sometimes."

"What about Jonathan?" Chris asked.

"Well, after Jack's death, he wanted to marry me, but there was Jessie to consider. She had not spoken to me since that evening of our fight. Even after the funeral, nothing. It was as if I didn't exist. I couldn't get through to her. Of course, she blamed me for everything and why not? She knew nothing of Jack's affairs over the years. She only knew what he told her and what she had seen. I never went with them on their camping trips or hiking or fishing. She thought, and was told, I'm sure, that I didn't want to be with them. In truth, I wasn't allowed to go, you see. It's my own damn fault for allowing him that control over me but I was young and foolish. Anyway, it was as if I had pushed him myself, for all Jessie cared. We lived in complete silence for nearly nine months, then she left."

"Forgive me for asking, but do you think Jack ever... abused her?"

Annie slid her eyes away quickly and Chris saw the shadows of doubt cross her face, but Annie shook her head.

"No. He wouldn't. It wasn't Jack's style. I mean, he had women. Lots of women," she said.

Chris didn't push. It wasn't her business anyway, although she could see the thought had crossed Annie's mind before. Instead, she moved the conversation back to Jonathan.

"You could have gone to San Francisco, started over," Chris suggested.

"No. I would have been no good for Jonathan then. I stayed here with my sorrow. Wallowed in it, actually." She leaned closer to Chris. "I learned a great deal about wine that first year, Chris," she said quietly, then laughed. "But I always thought that if Jessie needed me for anything, she would at least know where I was. If I moved, how would she find me?"

"But she never did?"

"No. Never. She's done quite well for herself, though." Annie leaned forward and nearly whispered, "Have you noticed how often mothers get murdered in her books? Oh, and not a quick death, either."

Chris laughed with her, impressed again that this woman's spirit had not been broken.

"The only thing I know about her life is what is crammed on the book jacket. Not much, but at least I know she's in New York." Then she shrugged. "You take what you can get, Chris. The rest, you leave to your imagination."

Chapter Nine

Jessie parked her rental car in front of the office and took a deep breath of mountain air as she walked around the car. The late-August sun felt good on her skin and she couldn't wait to trade her slacks for shorts. Looking around, she was surprised at how familiar everything seemed. The roads going through town were still not paved and she remembered riding down them on her bike, dust flying, going to meet her father at the ranger station. She looked up at the trees and smiled, remembering how big they looked to her as a child, how she used to put her arms around their trunks and try to touch her fingers on the other side. Of course, she never could. She got out and breathed deeply, letting the still familiar smell wash over her. Sixteen years. Just like yesterday, she thought.

She heard the screen door open and she turned toward the cabin, surprise showing in her eyes. She slipped the sunglasses back on quickly as Mary Ruth Henninger came down the steps, looking every bit of fifty, though Jessie knew her to be in her late seventies by now.

"Welcome, dear. You must be Miss Parker."

Jessie took the offered hand, smiling slightly at the firm handshake of the older woman.

"I'm a little late, I'm afraid," Jessie apologized.

"Just a few hours. I know how traffic can be in those big cities. Come inside and we'll get you fixed up, dear."

Jessie followed her up the steps, knowing it was not the traffic that made her late, but rather a trip to the grocery store and her own hesitation at finally coming back here after all this time. It was as if she were afraid of this place. But she hoped sixteen years were long enough. The last thing she wanted was to be recognized by any of the locals who might remember her. She took off her sunglasses only long enough to sign where Mary Ruth asked. She was proud that she didn't hesitate when signing the strange name.

"You know, you look familiar, dear. Have you stayed here before?"

Jessie coughed, then cleared her throat and answered truthfully. Indeed, she had never stayed at Mary Ruth Henninger's cabins before.

"Well, I've got a nice secluded cabin for you, just like you requested. Number seven. Not quite as far back as cabin eight but a new ranger is living there now."

Jessie nodded and politely listened to the directions, thinking she could still find her way around here blindfolded.

As she drove to her cabin, she had a momentary lapse and a pleasant feeling of contentment settled over her, almost as if she were simply on vacation. But she couldn't keep memories away for long and she was soon a little girl again, chasing after her father, loving life to the fullest.

So unlike the woman she had grown to be.

A hardness settled back over her by the time she found her cabin. It wasn't very far off the road, but it was nestled in the trees and there were no other cabins nearby. None that she could see, anyway. She walked around, some of her good humor returning as she watched not three, but four chipmunks come up for a close inspection of their new cabin guest. She heard a squirrel fussing at her from a low hanging branch and she looked up, watching it as it flipped its tail at her before scurrying up the tree a little higher.

She quickly unpacked the rental car, taking the bags of groceries in first and putting the perishables in the refrigerator. She had picked up quite a few things in Sacramento, including a couple of thick steaks. She didn't envision going out for dinner and she certainly didn't want to go to the local grocery store for food. In reality, she couldn't remember the last time she had cooked steaks outside. She finally came to her most important bag. Wine.

She held up a bottle of cabernet sauvignon and nodded. She would have that with her steak tonight. Other bottles followed and she put the pinot grigio and chardonnay in the refrigerator to chill, the rest lined the small counter space next to the sink.

She went back outside for her two bags of clothes and walking back into the cabin, she finally took the time to look around. The sofa was worn, but looked clean. The small lamp on the end table had been left on for her and it brought a coziness to the room, despite the bare walls. She shrugged. Certainly not the fancy hotel she had stayed in last night in San Francisco, but it had a welcoming warmth that she was never able to find in a city.

She changed into shorts and put on the new hiking boots she had bought. It had been sixteen years since she had on hiking boots. Her exercise these days was jogging in city parks with hundreds of others and she was actually looking forward to a little solitude on the trails. She walked towards the woods behind the cabin and found a small stream, barely three feet across and she jumped it easily. A little farther along, though, she came upon a cabin and stopped. One of the Henninger's, she supposed. She followed the stream until she came to the road, then walked the short distance to a trailhead that she remembered. Elk Meadow Trail, a two-mile hike to the meadow and back would be easy enough. A good way to get back into the swing, so she started out, ignoring the notice that everyone should sign in before going into the forest. She followed the trail, pushing childhood memories away and letting her mind go blank. She tried to remember the names of the trees. Sugar pine, of course. Who could forget a tree with twenty-inch pinecones? She easily picked out a white pine and Douglas fir. Then she stood next to a spruce and the name would not come to her, much to her disappointment. She walked on, finally getting close enough, and she grinned. An incense cedar. Her favorite tree. She stuck her nose next to the bark and inhaled, breaking into laughter at the joy that simple scent brought to her.