Fighting for the Edge (35 page)

Both women arched their eyebrows in bemused wonder.

You just never knew with Abel.

Catherine took a long, final look at Daniel’s resting place, then she and Lynell clasped hands and pulled themselves to their feet. They collected their things and wandered down the hill to the parking lot with a ghostly white cat tiptoeing behind them.

****

Abel bent down and, with one of his favorite brushes, signed his latest work. Then he raised his lanky frame, put his hands on his hips, and studied his creation.

He liked it. Was pleased with how this one had pretty much morphed into something totally different than what he’d started with. His paintings often did that. Started out an image of one thing, then totally reflected something else altogether, although the image remained the same.

Basically the same.

He reached up, brushed a strand of sandy-colored hair out of his eyes with the hand still holding the brush, and realized he’d probably just gotten a smudge of paint on himself somewhere. He was a mess when he painted, and rarely found and wiped clean every stray color on his skin. Catherine often said he’d become his own canvas. She delighted in picking dried paint out of his scruffy hair or three-day beard. Once, she even found a swatch of yellow paint on the back of his neck. How does one get paint on the back of one’s neck? Pretty soon, she’d find some leftover color on his elbow, or the back of his heel. Somewhere quite ridiculous.

He’d always felt a little absurd with himself, and a little self-conscious about it. But Catherine seemed to love that about him, and he adored her for that. He could relax around her. Had relaxed almost ever since he’d first seen the young woman sitting alone on the bench, staring at one of his paintings at his first showing in this city. She’d looked so lost in his work that she was actually sitting on the long dark braid that roped down her back, and didn’t seem to realize it. He knew who she was — he’d recognized her from his new stepmother’s photos. She wasn’t Lynell’s true daughter, but was about as close as family could be and not be physically related. He’d immediately felt a little sorry for her.

She was Catherine.
Daniel’s
Catherine.

And then, she’d turned to him as though she’d known he’d been standing there the whole time and asked, “Why do you always hide the angels in your paintings?”

The question had floored him. He couldn’t speak. Couldn’t move. No one except his mother had ever seen, had ever actually
known
he’d hidden angels in his work.

His first response, after unfreezing of course, was to quickly glance around to see if anyone had heard Catherine’s comment. He figured that one day the world might realize he
did
put angels, in one form or another, in his work, but he’d often assumed the world would realize it sometime in the distant future.

Probably after he was dead.

It astonished him that this unbelievable creature with those lonely, dark eyes had spotted the angels so casually.

Maybe it was because she’d needed angels watching over her, too.

Catherine had nodded toward the painting. “At first I couldn’t find the angel in this one. It wasn’t hidden in the leaves, or formed in the clouds or in the folds of the lady’s shawl. It
is
the painting. It’s incredible, really, the way you can squint and see how the lights and darks of the painting all blend into the shape of an angel around the woman.”

Abel took a step forward, glanced at the painting, then back to Catherine. He met her gaze and held it. “It’s guarding her. Surrounding her.” He paused, then softly added, “It’s protecting my mother.”

Catherine raised her eyebrows and put her hand to her mouth. “Oh,” she’d said ever so faintly. “I didn’t know. I’d never seen a picture of her.”

“It’s all right,” said Abel. He’d walked over to Catherine and taken a seat next to her on the bench. His knees had cracked, and she’d smiled shyly at that.

“No one has ever noticed the angels,” he whispered.“Except my mother. And now, you.” He rubbed a hand through his unmanageable hair. “To tell you honestly, it sort of freaks me out. But it’s also kind of nice, in a weird sort of way.”

Catherine then leaned toward him, and her braid fell forward and thunked him on the arm. “Don’t worry,” she’d said, “I won’t tell anyone.”

It’d taken Abel months to gather the courage to ask her out. To a dog show. And she’d discovered blue paint in his eyebrow. She’d chuckled about it, and he’d nearly hyperventilated running to the men’s room to look for more paint on him someplace. To think, when in New York he’d dated some of the most stunning, sophisticated women in the business. Art dealers and collectors and appraisers and so forth… and this quiet little veterinarian with dark hair practically swinging to her knees made him swoon with the ecstasy of her breath in his ear when she whispered to him about his eyebrow.

That feeling had lasted for three years… and Abel hoped that soon, very soon, he’d be assured it’d last a lifetime.

****

Abel picked Catherine up that afternoon with a backpack filled with cold chicken, potato chips and pickles in one hand, and a plastic grocery bag filled with rubber balls of various sizes and colors in the other.

Catherine sat and pulled out each ball, one by one, and inspected it as they rumbled through the countryside in Abel’s yellow pickup truck.

“Okay,” she said, tossing a red ball about the size of a large orange in the air and catching it, “I give up. I just can’t figure out what these balls are for.”

“Bait,” he said, grinning slyly at her before turning back to the road and humming to himself.

“Bait,” Catherine repeated. “Bait. Any more clues?”

“Well — our lives may be in danger.”

“Oh, really? From what? Clowns missing their noses… seals missing their toys?”

“You’re getting warmer.”

“Seals missing their toys?” She laughed. What on earth was Abel getting her into now? He was always so springy, so full of surprises. She adored him, this tall, lanky man whose shining hazel eyes seemed to change with every conceivable emotion in his chemistry. When was he going to ask her to marry him? Would it be today?

How much longer could she wait?

Catherine’s heart warmed with anticipation and her toes wiggled with excitement. She looked at him, and he caught her eye and smiled. There was green paint by his nose. She wouldn’t tell him, not yet, anyway. The mystery of the balls was too tantalizing.

Soon they pulled into a park of sorts. A sign to their right read “Krass County Trails,” as they slowed to a stop in a dirt parking lot shaded by huge, gnarled trees.

“Here we are! Well, sort of,” said Abel, shutting off the engine. “Hope you have your walking shoes on.”

“You never said anything about walking shoes.”

“And grab your medical bag.”

“You did mention the bag. Are we going to walk so far we’ll need medical treatment?”

Abel bounced out of the cab and hurried over to open her door. “We do have a bit of a walk ahead of us,” he said, gesturing toward the woods where a path about three feet wide disappeared into a canopy of leaves. “It looks rather creepy, doesn’t it?”

“Does the sun even break through all of that?” Catherine asked, stepping out of the truck with Abel’s hand on her arm. She was quite petite, and this truck so tall he loved to help her. Abel was, and had always been, an old-fashioned gentleman.

…
A gentleman about ready to go lead her down some dark path with a backpack of food, a bag of rubber balls, and medical equipment.

Abel hoisted on the backpack, took the bag of balls in one hand, and slung his arm over Catherine’s shoulder. Catherine strapped her medical bag to her back and they headed off into the woods.

“Time’s up,” she said. “You have to tell me what’s going on before I pelt you with those balls and leave you for dead.”

Abel laughed. She loved his laugh, and although she was getting a little annoyed with this whole mystery thing now, she was just happy to be in his presence. Happy, and content, and full of peace.

How she loved this man.

“We… well, I, have a mission,” said Abel at last. “It’s kind of a long shot, but I wanted to try it.”

“A mission?”

Abel tightened his arm around her. “I heard a story a few days ago, and couldn’t get it out of my mind. It was about a girl who died a few years ago.”

Catherine stopped abruptly. “That’s it! I don’t do ghosts, Abel. Especially in the woods all alone — I don’t care how cute you are.”

“Let me finish…” Abel said, gently tugging her on. “This isn’t about ghosts. At least, not human ones.”

“What?”

“Did you ever hear of the ghost dog of Krass Trails? Or the wolf-dog of the Krass Trails?”

Catherine shook her head, suddenly intrigued.

“Well the story goes… and it’s true, I checked it out, that a woman with multiple sclerosis was walking her dog through here one day, a black German shepherd she owned for protection. Apparently, she had some kind of a seizure about a mile down this section of the trail. She got on her cell phone and was able to call 911 before she collapsed. They did rescue her, but couldn’t get the dog. They were barely able to get to her at first because she was unconscious and the dog wouldn’t let them near. Somehow they managed to scare it off into the woods. Then they got the woman to the hospital. Sad to say, she passed away. Aneurism, I think the article said. But no one ever found the dog.”

Catherine stopped short again. “How long ago did you say this occurred?”

“Almost two years ago.”

“And the woman died?”

Abel nodded solemnly.

“Why didn’t they look for the dog?”

“They did — for a while. But they eventually gave up.”

“But — you don’t think he’s dead, do you?”

Abel shook his head, and they continued on.

“Kids have seen him. Or seen something. I think the dog is still in here.”

Catherine shook her head. “Poor thing. What was its name, do you know?”

“Chopper.”

“G-r-e-a-t. Chopper. So, is my medical bag for the condition of the dog, or for the condition of
us
if we find the dog?”

Abel grinned, but only faintly. “The dog isn’t dangerous. At least that’s what the woman’s brother told me. He said it was a one-man dog, but he’d never harm anyone unless they attacked his master. The brother didn’t care for the dog because he was allergic to it, but was surprised to hear it may still be in the woods, still watching and waiting for its owner to return.”

There was a long silence between them, then Abel spoke softly, shaking his head. “It tears me up. There’s something sad about something waiting around for something that will never return.”

The words seemed to hang in the air.

There’s something sad about something waiting around for something that will never return.

They walked slower, a little more awkwardly. The branches overhead closed in tighter and it became stuffy in the woods. The only sound was the shuffling of their feet across the path or an occasional crack of a twig stepped upon.

“That didn’t come out the way I planned,” Abel finally said, breaking the silence.

Catherine felt him tense, and knew he’d been thinking about how she’d emotionally put her life on hold for so long, hopelessly waiting for the musician with the kind amber eyes to return for her one day.

There’s something so sad…

“It’s okay,” said Catherine. “There
is
something sad about that. Especially when it’s an animal and can’t understand why it was left alone.”

Abel nodded, but didn’t say anything.

“And that’s why we have to rescue Chopper.”

They strolled on through the woods in silence. At last Abel explained that the brother of the dog’s owner did mention one important fact in coaxing Chopper back to civilization. The dog was crazy about balls. Maybe after a few years of living as a wild animal he might have forgotten about them, but maybe not. It was worth a try.

After walking a mile and seeing no one else in sight, Catherine and Abel began to call for the dog. They hoped that if he was still alive and within range of their voices, he’d get close enough to see them and be drawn out when they began tossing the balls in the air. They didn’t expect immediate success or trust from the probably half-wild animal, but hoped for a start.

“I knew this little adventure would seem silly to a lot of people, but not to you,” Abel said.

“There’s nothing silly about trying to rescue someone — or something. Ever,” Catherine said. She gave a sly, sideway glance at him, then lobbed a ball high into the air and let it bounce. “You know that all too well, Mr. Geller.”

“Maybe so,” he said, bouncing a bright green ball on the path. It twanged off into the woods and nestled in a thatch of berries. “Chopper! Come, boy! We have balls!”

They continued to bounce balls on the path, and fling a few into the woods, all the while keeping a hopeful eye for some sign of movement in the bushes.

But there was nothing. A few birds fluttered overhead, and the chatter of a raccoon in some distant tree disrupted the otherwise stillness.

“I think we’ve done all we can for now,” said Abel finally, gazing up at the sky. Clouds were filling in and a breeze picked up through the foliage.

“You know what, Catherine? I think I smell rain.”

“It can’t rain,” said Catherine. “We haven’t eaten yet.”

“Oh, so the weather must comply with your stomach, does it?”

“It does.”

Abel chuckled and pulled off his backpack. Catherine watched him as he spotted a fallen log quite practical for humans to perch on, and called her over. He dropped several things, napkins and forks and the like, as he tried to assemble their dinner into some semblance of formality. At last he threw his arms into the air and laughed.

“I give up,” he said. “I’m clumsy. Would you care to dine with a clumsy connoisseur, madam?”

“I’d love to dine with a clumsy connoisseur.”

The wind gusted even more while they were eating, and a roll of thunder growled across the sky. Soon a raindrop splashed across Catherine’s nose. Then a few more. They raised eyebrows at each other, then scrambled to pack their food as the thunder became louder and more constant.