Love Without End (29 page)

She turned the key in the lock.

Hidden away in the mountains north of Boise, the two-story log house—built many decades before but completely remodeled on the inside—was open and airy with a state-of-the-art kitchen, modern efficiencies throughout, and spectacular views of the rugged Idaho mountains from every window. The place had been left to Allison four years earlier in her great-aunt’s will. Never in her wildest dreams had Allison imagined she would end up living in it one day. Perhaps Aunt Emma had seen the future a little more clearly than she had.

Welcome
to
your
new
home
.

A lump formed in her throat, but she fought back the tears. She was weary of crying—it was all she’d done for months and months. Sometimes it felt like years and years.
Setting her mouth, she dropped her purse onto the small table inside the front door.

Some of her own furniture filled the living room. She was glad of it. Made the place feel a little less foreign to her. Not that it
was
foreign to her. She’d visited her aunt’s home many times throughout her life, and after it had come into Allison’s possession, it had served as an occasional getaway, a place of peace when life’s storms became too much to handle.

Dear Aunt Emma. The sister of Allison’s maternal grandmother, Emma Carter had been considered somewhat of a “rebel” in the family. Never married and financially independent because of her success as a nature photographer, added to sound investments and careful spending, she’d lived as she pleased. Oh, the stories Aunt Emma used to tell about World Wars I and II, the Roaring Twenties, the Great Depression. If ever a woman was born with the gift of storytelling, it had been Emma Carter. No wonder Allison had adored her.

“How do I get on with my life, Aunt Emma?” she whispered.

If Aunt Emma were still alive, she would have answered honestly and directly. No mincing words. Emma Carter had never sugarcoated anything for anybody. Not even for her favorite—as she’d always called Allison—and only—as Allison had pointed out in return—great niece. But Aunt Emma was gone. Allison would have to find the answers on her own or muddle along as best she could without them.

She passed through the living room and walked down the short hallway to the master bedroom. The new queen-sized four-poster she’d purchased sat against the opposite wall, bare of bedclothes other than a quilted mattress cover.
Staring at the bed, she felt her aloneness afresh. It burned through her like salt in an open wound.

She looked away.

In a corner of the bedroom sat her large desk and credenza. It too was naked. Allison hadn’t entrusted her MacBook, large external display, or printer to the movers. Those important items were still in her car in the driveway.

A design deadline loomed closer. She’d best get her office set up and make certain the Internet was turned on as promised by the cable provider. Her to-do list was too long to ignore, even for a few days. And besides, keeping busy took her mind off many less pleasant realities. Immersing herself in work had been her salvation. For years, really, but especially over the past eleven months. Ever since the day she’d uttered her ultimatum.

The lump in her throat returned. She swallowed again.

“Tough love” some would have called her take-it-or-leave-it demand, and she’d been certain tough love was required in the situation. But she’d believed what she said would be that last straw, that illusive bottom, those words that would change everything.

They
had
changed everything. Just not the way she’d hoped they would. Not the way she’d wanted. Not for the better. Not as promised.

Why
didn’t You keep Your promise?

It was the most she’d said to God in a while. The ability to pray seemed to have shriveled inside of her. One more loss added to so many others.

With a shake of her head, Allison retraced her footsteps to the living room, went out onto the wide redwood deck that
circled three sides of the house, and descended the steps to her pale gold SUV parked in the driveway. From behind the driver’s seat she released her dog from his crate and set him on the ground. Gizmo sniffed at his new surroundings.

“You stay close. I don’t want an eagle or a bear having you for lunch.” The tricolored papillon perked up his ears, and she couldn’t keep from smiling. “You’re such a good boy.”

She’d bought Gizmo from a local breeder to help fill the vast emptiness that had surrounded her after her husband walked out the door, leaving her and her ultimatum in the dust. Having an active puppy around had helped ease the emptiness too. There was always something she needed to do for the little guy—feed him, take him for a walk, give him a bath, let him out to do his business.

She’d read somewhere that owning a papillon meant never going to the bathroom alone, and it was true. Gizmo followed her everywhere. He slept on the unused right side of the bed. He sat near her feet when she ate, a hopeful expression on his face even though she never let him eat table scraps. He curled up beside her on the sofa while she watched television. He lay in his dog bed under her desk when she was on the computer. He was her constant and best companion, and she loved him for making her feel less alone.

Perhaps she would become that crazy old lady who lived in a log cabin in the mountains, talking only to her dog. Or dogs. She could get Gizmo a friend or two. Or maybe she should acquire a half-dozen cats. She could give herself a funky haircut and let it go all frizzy and kinky. She could dress in bright, baggy clothes. But then, who would know if she was crazy or not? Who would see her? A dense forest separated her from
her nearest neighbors, and she was miles up a winding highway to the nearest town. Not to mention that her only child, Meredith, lived halfway across the country.

A crazy old lady. She closed her eyes and released a sigh. Forty-five wasn’t old, but some days it seemed like it. Some days forty-five felt like ninety.

She went to the back of the Tribeca and opened the rear door. Her LED computer display was in its original box with a handle. She grabbed it along with her laptop case and headed into the house. And for the next several hours, while she hooked up electronics in the bedroom and the living room and otherwise settled in, she managed to keep her thoughts from returning to the sad place they too often traveled to.

That was no small victory.

The story continues in Robin Lee Hatcher’s
A Promise Kept
.

About the Author

B
ESTSELLING NOVELIST
R
OBIN
L
EE
H
ATCHER IS
known for her heartwarming and emotionally charged stories of faith, courage, and love. The winner of the Christy Award for Excellence in Christian Fiction, the RITA Award for Best Inspirational Romance, two RT Career Achievement Awards, and the RWA Lifetime Achievement Award, Robin is the author of over sixty novels.