20

ZACH LEANED BACK in his chair, studying the 3-D rendering of the built-in bookshelves surrounding a fireplace in a family room. Did he continue working with the existing fireplace or suggest a new design to complement the overall flow of the shelves? It was the first week of October —how much did he want to mess with the project timeline?

The light on the phone on his desk lit up, indicating an incoming call. Decision postponed for the moment.

“3:17 Cabinets, this is Zach Gaines.”

“That was very professional, Mr. Gaines.”

“Payton?” Zach straightened, righting his chair.

A brief muffled laugh came through the phone. “I’m sorry. I just haven’t ever heard you sound so businesslike before.”

“Well, thank you, I guess.” Zach opted to keep this lighthearted tone going. This was a new version of Payton. “What can I help you with, Miss Thatcher? Were you so impressed with my skills that you decided to redo your kitchen?”

Even as he waited for her answer, he glimpsed the edge of his tattoo beneath his shirtsleeve and breathed a silent prayer. Payton might sound cheerful, but they were the merest of friends. Who knew why she was calling?

“I kept thinking about your offer when I was at your cabin —” Payton’s words were rushed —“to go see the bench you made for Pepper . . .”

He couldn’t have been more surprised if she had asked him to build her cabinets. “Yes?”

“And I’d like to come see it . . . please.”

Silence. Try as he might, he couldn’t think of anything to say.

“Are you still there?”

“Yes. I’m just surprised.”

“I can understand that, considering how less than two weeks ago I refused when you asked if I wanted to see the bench.” Payton paused. “But now . . .”

“I’d love for you to see the bench. When were you thinking of coming up?”

“Would tomorrow work for you?”

“Tomorrow?” She kept surprising him. “Saturday?”

“Yes. Is that too soon? You’re probably busy —”

“No. I’m not busy.” And even if he was, he’d cancel anything he was doing. “Tomorrow is fine.”

Their conversation was as awkward as if this were their first dance together. They kept trying to avoid tripping over one another’s virtual toes, not sure who was leading and who was following.

Was there something else Payton wanted to talk about?

The question rose in his mind. Hovered. But Zach pressed his lips together and waited. All she’d asked to do was to see the bench. Nothing more. He wouldn’t presume. Wouldn’t pressure her.

“Why don’t you come up midmorning?”

“That’s fine. And then you don’t have to worry about feeding me breakfast.”

“I should warn you that I still don’t have any tofu in the house if you get hungry.”

“Do you want me to pick up any on my way?”

“Don’t bother. Really.”

With a laugh, they hung up. Tapping his fingers on the desk beside his keyboard, Zach stared at the computer screen but saw Payton Thatcher’s face.

What was that about?

For requesting something so serious, Payton had been almost too upbeat. When he’d asked her to go see the bench the first time, she’d flinched.

“I can’t . . . I really think I should just leave —”

He swiped his hand across his face and eased out of his chair, heading toward his friend’s office. Maybe Colin could help him figure this out, as he’d done so many other things.

With a sharp rap, Zach half opened the door. “Hey, do you have a minute?”

Colin pushed back from his desk, a welcoming smile on his face. “Absolutely. Come on in.”

“Thanks.” Zach couldn’t help but take a moment to admire the view of the aspens turning color outside the office, backed up by snowcapped mountain peaks.

“Is this about work?” Colin twirled a pen between his fingers like a mini baton.

“No.” Zach forced his attention back to his waiting coworker. “It’s about Payton Thatcher.”

“Oh?”

Zach had to give Colin credit for his understated reaction, but it wasn’t as if they hadn’t talked about her. “She just called and asked to see the bench I made —the one you helped me with.”

“In honor of her twin sister, right?”

“Yes. Remember how I told you that she showed up at my cabin almost two weeks ago?” When his friend nodded, Zach continued, pacing back and forth in front of Colin’s desk. “And when I invited her to go see the bench, she said no —and almost ran to her car. Now she wants to see it.”

“So?”

“What do you think is going on?”

“Why do you think something is going on? Maybe she wasn’t ready the first time you asked her and now she is.”

“But she didn’t sound like herself.”

“Meaning?”

“She was almost . . . friendly. That woman does not want to be my friend.”

“Okay. Or maybe something is going on . . .”

“Why is it I can never get a straight answer from you?”

“I did give you a straight answer —two of them. Look, maybe Payton Thatcher suddenly decided to be your friend.”

“Right.”

“Or maybe she decided she wants to see the bench . . . and she’s nervous. And she’s covering that up by going all friendly on you. It’s as simple as that.” Colin stood, coming to stand in front of Zach. “Enough pacing. How about I pray for you?”

“That would be great.”

Colin rested his hand on Zach’s shoulder. And as he had so many times before, he talked to God in a quiet, sure voice as if He were standing in the room with them.

“You know why Payton called Zach today, God. Help him to be the friend she needs. May her heart find healing and hope. Amen.”

The closer I got to Winter Park, the faster and thicker the snowflakes fell from the gray sky overhead. The wipers beat a steady rhythm against the windshield, the scenery fading to white as I sipped coffee and let Keith Urban sing about boys getting a truck.

Of course, I’d left Denver that morning, not once thinking that it might snow in the mountains.

I slowed down, other cars passing me by and tossing dirty snow onto my windshield. Bad weather or not, I was going to see Pepper’s bench. Confront the past. Find a way to tell the truth.

But what would be gained when I did so? What would be lost?

When I arrived and parked alongside Zach’s truck, Laz greeted me by running around in circles. Zach shook his head at my sleeveless down vest and low boots, leading me into the cabin, despite my protests that I was fine.

“You must be the only person living in Colorado who doesn’t check the weather report.” Zach’s voice was muffled as he dug through the hall closet.

“Very funny.”

“Here.” Zach offered me an oversize winter jacket, a pair of gloves, and a knit cap. “This should keep you warm enough. My mom always kept spare things up here, and I never got around to cleaning out the closet.”

“Thanks.” I slid the coat over my vest, pulling the hat over my ears. “You’re sure I’m not keeping you from anything?”

“Yep. I try not to work on projects on the weekend unless I absolutely have to.” Zach zipped up his coat, pulling a pair of gloves out of one of the pockets. “What about you? No events this weekend?”

“Kimberlee is doing some prep today for a celebration tomorrow. Bianca —she’s our receptionist —is helping her. We’ll talk tonight about what else needs to be done.”

“You two are a good team.”

“It’s a good arrangement.”

Zach held open the cabin door. “You about ready?”

Ready? No. Determined? “Yes.”

Laz ran ahead of us the moment we stepped outside, barking and kicking up little puffs of snow.

“We’re heading that way.” Zach motioned toward the cluster of trees at the far end of the field behind the cabin.

“Right.”

If Zach was hoping for me to chat, he’d be disappointed. This was like my dream . . . the one where I was searching for Pepper. Only it wasn’t dark. No. Instead, I was outside in the Colorado mountains, snow falling all around me. Zach Gaines walking alongside me. And I wasn’t looking for Pepper.

I was looking for some way to face my past so I could face my family.

My steps slowed the closer we got to our destination. It was as if something . . . the truth, maybe . . . weighed me down. My chest hurt, and I struggled to take a deep breath.

Zach matched his steps to mine. “You okay, Payton?”

“Yes.”

I’d come this far. I wasn’t turning back. Wasn’t escaping to my car. Wasn’t going back to what I’d lived like for the past ten years. No more dodging memories. Or closing my eyes, my heart, to what had happened. Maybe . . . maybe if I returned to the scene of my crime, I could —what? Absolve myself of my sins?

My steps faltered . . . stopped.

Something was different. What was it?

The stretch of trees ended abruptly in a staggered row of severed trunks. In front of the stumps, facing away from the cabin and toward the expanse of the Rocky Mountains, stood the bench Zach had made for Pepper.

“What happened to the trees?”

“I . . . I chopped them down.” Zach stared at the horizon. “It was a type of physical therapy. Or a whole new form of anger management. I spent five years dulling my emotions with alcohol. Once I stopped drinking, I had to figure out how to deal with the memories. My anger. My regret. You spend all day swinging an ax, you don’t have any energy left except to eat whatever’s in the fridge, take a shower —maybe —and go to sleep.”

“What did you do with the wood?”

“I burned most of it in the fireplace.” Zach moved forward and rested his hands on the back of the bench. “And I used some of it to make this.”

Zach had transformed the tree into a bench. Pepper’s bench. My knees buckled and I stumbled forward, allowing Zach to guide me. He brushed a layer of snow from the seat, helping me sit before I fell to my knees.

When Zach said he’d made a bench to commemorate Pepper, I’d envisioned some sedate bench with wooden slats and wrought-iron arms —the kind of thing I’d seen hundreds of times set near a park lake, creating an idyllic scene.

But this . . . this bench was part tree, part memorial, with its rough edges and polished surfaces. The inner veins of the tree glistened gold, umber, and brown on the back and the seat, while two pieces of the trunk held the bench in place.

I removed my gloves, my fingertips finding a few stray snowflakes as I traced the design of the wood. “This isn’t what I expected. . . .”

Zach sat beside me, leaving space between us. “I’m sorry if you don’t like it —”

“No. No, I didn’t say that. I think it’s perfect.”

Neither of us said anything for a few moments, snowflakes falling around us, until Zach broke the silence. “Why did you decide to come up here today, Payton?”

“I’m trying . . . trying to tell the truth. To finally tell the truth.”

“The truth?”

“About what happened that night. All these years I’ve struggled with wanting to forget . . . and needing to remember. . . .”

Where was Pepper? Not at the hot chocolate station set up behind the cabin. Not watching the snowmobile races. And not among the group of kids circled around the bonfire. Shaking my head, I exhaled a breath that appeared in the air as a small white cloud. I didn’t come to Zach Gaines’s spring break party to spend my time looking for my twin.

One last “Have you seen my sister?” directed me inside the cabin, where she sat talking with several other girls, including Tari —one of her new friends. She was laughing. Relaxed. When was the last time she and I had sat around and talked like that?

But when I waited at one end of the brown cloth couch so Pepper could see me, she ignored me. What was going on? Pepper was nice to everyone, saying hi to people she barely knew. Being my twin didn’t give her the right to act like I was invisible.

“Pepper.” I raised my voice. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

“Now?”

“Yes, now. I just need a minute.”

Pepper smiled at her friends. “I’ll be right back.”

A moment later, we stood in the small kitchen decorated with rooster statues and graphics, Pepper leaning against the counter while I paced the room. “If you want to sit around talking, you could have stayed home.”

“What do you care if I hang with friends and play a board game?”

“You can do that at home, too.”

“Did you find me so you could criticize what I’m doing tonight?”

I needed to calm down —especially if I was going to talk my sister into my plan. “No. It’s just, I’m signed up to do one of the snowmobile races, against Zach Gaines, but I don’t want to do it now. Take my place, okay?”

“What? No.” Pepper emphasized her words with a quick shake of her head. “Do your own race.”

“Oh, come on, Pepper. They’re doing a contest of some sort, or I’d forfeit. It’s one race. We haven’t switched places in years —and no one will even know.”

“We’re not little kids anymore. . . .”

What was wrong with her? We used to have fun together, and now she wouldn’t do this one little thing? The whole time we were talking, she kept glancing back at her friends.

“I know we’re not kids anymore, Pepper.”

“Besides, it’s not honest.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“Don’t shout.”

“I’m not shouting.” I lowered my voice to a rough whisper. “I’m asking you to race for me, not rob a bank or vandalize property.”

“You know what I mean.”

“No, I don’t. And sometimes I don’t know . . .” I stopped. “Never mind.”

“Sometimes you don’t know what?”

“I’m not getting into this here. Would you please —” my teeth were clenched —“switch places with me for one snowmobile race so I could go to the bonfire?”

“Payton —”

“You’ve had a chance to be with your friends for a while. Why can’t I hang out with mine?”

“Your friends . . . or Brice?”

“It’s a bonfire. And he might be there.”

“I don’t like to race. . . .”

The person I was talking to looked like my twin sister. She even sounded like my twin sister —at least her voice did. But the Pepper I knew was always up for a joke or a good time.

“Go slow. Don’t win.”

“Right. Then people will really think it’s you.”

“Just do the race.”

“I thought you were asking me.”

I turned my back on Pepper, only stopping when she sighed and agreed. Asked for my coat to pull off the switch. There was no camaraderie. No “This is going to be so fun” moment. No shared laughter and hug.

And I never shared anything with Pepper ever again.

Someone was shaking me.

Zach gripped my arms, his face close to mine. “Payton. Payton. Come on. Snap out of it.”

“What?”

“You were quiet at first . . . and then you started talking about the night Pepper died.” Zach released me, half-turning away and swiping his hand down his face. “At least, you were telling me about switching places —”

I dropped my face into my hands, my skin heating at the thought that I’d said any of that out loud. I couldn’t look at him. Any minute now, he’d get up and walk away from me. I’d spilled out the ugly truth —at least part of it —while seated on a bench made from the tree Pepper had collided with.

“It’s my fault Pepper died.” I lowered my voice, afraid my words would turn into a scream. “I never told my family about switching places with Pepper —about why. Or about how we argued. They met us at the emergency clinic, and by that time . . . by that time, she was already dead . . .”

My voice faded. Laz had returned, sitting at my feet, nuzzling my hand until I buried my fingers in the soft fur at his throat. Zach’s silence was an invisible barrier between us. He probably hated me. My immature actions —wanting to spend time with a stupid guy, hoping he would kiss me —had killed my sister . . . and derailed Zach’s life, too, for a time.

Laz moved closer to Payton, resting his furry black head dusted with snow on her knee as she rubbed his fur. His body leaned against her legs. How many times had the dog instinctively sought Zach out, sitting beside him in silence, when darkness had descended in his mind?

Only when Payton’s other hand pressed against her face, her fingers trembling, did Zach realize she was crying. Oh, he understood that kind of pain. The torment that could keep you awake at night. Stop you from attending family gatherings . . . birthdays and holidays . . . Always providing an excuse to avoid going home and hearing the unspoken words that echoed with even more unanswered questions and unmet expectations.

“Payton, I know what it’s like to disappoint your parents.” He stopped. Cleared his throat. Started again, hoping she was listening. “My parents . . . my dad was so proud I earned a full-ride scholarship. And then when I spiraled out of control after what happened during spring break and partied it all away . . . flunked out of my college classes . . . lost the scholarship . . .”

“You didn’t kill your sister.”

Her words brought him up short. Payton was listening, all right, but she was having none of it.

“No. But I wrecked the relationship between me and my dad. Between me and my mom. She’s caught between the two of us. She loves my dad. Still loves me. Although I don’t know why.” He switched tactics. “Besides, if I’d watched out for you that night, things might have been different.”

“Watched out for me? You wanted the volleyball team to come to the party because you liked Bailey Davis, from what I’d heard. You weren’t responsible for me.”

Zach said nothing, but he could still hear Brice warning him to steer clear of Payton. “No. Brice invited the team —and I knew he was, um, interested in you.”

“So? It wasn’t your job to babysit me.” Payton leaned forward, staring at the ground.

“Well, I shouldn’t have been drinking. None of us should have been.” He leaned forward too, elbows on his knees, hands clasped. “Back then I thought a couple of beers was no big deal.”

“Why did your parents let you drink that night?”

“They didn’t know —not until after the accident.”

“But they covered for you?”

“Yeah. It was all about the scholarship.”

“How stupid can you be, Zach? You’re going to lose everything you worked so hard for!”

Did his dad even care about what —who —the Thatchers had lost?

He’d kept his dad happy. Kept his scholarship . . . for a time.

Zach clenched his jaw and then inhaled, exhaling a small white puff of air, trying to release the pressure building up inside him.

No root of bitterness. So often pastors preached about not letting bitterness toward another person grow in your heart. But he’d had to learn not to become embittered toward himself. His own actions. He’d spent months digging up the resentment and anger that had wrapped around his heart, strangling hope and peace and the ability to forgive himself.

Zach faced Payton on the bench, sliding closer, daring to rest his gloved hand on hers, ignoring how she flinched. “Payton, your sister’s death wasn’t your fault. Everyone made choices that night. Each one had consequences. Yes, you told Pepper to take your place, but Pepper could have said no. And maybe you’re better at racing, but it’s not like Pepper had never been on a snowmobile before. Did you know the police said they don’t think her helmet was fastened properly?”

Payton’s eyes widened at his question.

“And I was stupid, too. I know I’d only had a couple of beers, and I probably scared Pepper because I was going faster than I needed to —”

“Because you thought it was me —”

“No. Because I raced fast. All the time.”

Some people believed the eyes were the window to a person’s soul. When she looked at him, Payton’s eyes were blank, her soul starving for truth. He knew what truth she needed. But she also needed forgiveness. Hope. How was he going to reach her? He needed to go slow. Choose the right words. Temper grace with caution.

Zach rubbed his arm where his tattoo was. Whenever he considered a special woodworking project, like the table he was making for the living room in the cabin, he examined the piece of wood. Studied the grain, trying to imagine what he’d discover as he worked with the wood, staining it, polishing it . . . always considering the finished piece.

Payton Thatcher was so much more valuable than any woodworking project —and God wasn’t finished with her yet. She just didn’t realize it.

“Payton, you are not more powerful than God. You don’t hold life and death in your hands. He decides when people are born and when they die —”

“You’re saying God killed my sister?”

“No, that’s not what I’m saying.” At least, that’s not what he meant for it to sound like. “Pepper’s death was an accident, brought on by people’s choices. Yours. Mine. Pepper’s. But you’re still here, Payton, and that’s because God has a plan for your life —”

Payton shook her head. “Zach, I told you I don’t do God.”

“But I do.” Zach paused. His hand still rested on Payton’s. “If you were honest with yourself right now, you’d admit that you’re miserable. That nothing’s been right for a long time. But that was probably true even before Pepper died —”

Payton gasped, pulling her hand away. “Why would you say that?”

“Because life is always out of balance until we realize we need God. You haven’t been living your life since Pepper died. How much have you given up? Avoided?”

“Stop talking about all this, Zach.”

“You’re not going to find any peace until you do two things.”

“And what do you think I have to do?” She asked the question, but her voice dared him to answer.

“Tell your family the truth.”

She must have accepted his answer. “And what’s the second thing?”

“Do you think, after all these years, that you have the strength to tell your family the truth?”

“Are you offering to come with me?”

“I would, if I thought it would help.” Zach waited until Payton made eye contact with him. “Take a good long look at who God is and decide what you believe about Him.”

“Oh, so God’s going to help me tell my family?”

“He will if you ask Him to.”

“I don’t think God, if there is a god, would listen to me, Zach.”

“He will. Talk to Him.”

“Right. Me, talk to God. I barely talk to my family. I’m not sure I want to take on some all-powerful, invisible force I don’t believe in —”

“Payton. God is powerful. But He also loves you. He created you. He offers you grace that erases your guilt. I’d still be wallowing in alcohol and regret if I hadn’t come face-to-face with God.”

“Face-to-face with God, huh?” Payton’s words mocked him. “Just how did you do that?”

“Someone told me his story —how God changed him. And I wanted change, too. He said —”

Payton shook her head, holding up her hand. “I’m sorry, but I’m not up to any stories today.”

“I wasn’t trying to push you.” Colin had prayed for Zach to be the kind of friend Payton needed. Today he needed to listen, not talk. “I knew coming here would be hard.”

“My sister would have loved this bench, Zach. Thank you.” Payton’s shoulders shifted as she sighed. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Do you miss running cross-country?”

Why was she asking him that? “Competitively? No. I still run for the fun of it.” Maybe answering her question earned him the right to ask one. Should he risk it? “Do you miss volleyball?”

She stood, indicating she was ready to head back to the cabin. “If you’d asked me a week ago, I would have said no. But that was before . . .”

“Before?”

“Before I helped my high school volleyball coach run a club practice. And don’t ask how that happened. All I can say is I showed up to watch, and the next thing I knew, I was putting three middles through their paces.”

“And after that you realized you missed volleyball?”

“Yes. When I played in high school, I’d thought about coaching, but . . . but I gave that up.” Her boots scuffed through the snow. “It’s not that I don’t like my job. I do.”

“Could you get back into coaching now?”

“I don’t know. But Sydney —my coach —told me to come back to practice anytime I wanted.”

“Will you?”

“Maybe. If I have time.”

Payton seemed willing to talk as long as the topic remained casual. Fine. He’d follow her lead.

Once they were back at her car, she declined his invitation to come inside.

“It’s a long drive home and we both have other things to do.” Payton opened the car door, slipping behind it. “Thank you for showing me the bench.”

“You’re welcome. Feel free to come back up anytime.”

“Thanks.”

“Drive safely.”

She gazed up at the sky, where blue patches were appearing between the clouds. “It’s stopped snowing, so the drive back will be nicer than the drive here.”

“Just be careful.” He stepped away, hoping he didn’t sound like a parent.

“Wait. I need to give you your gloves . . . the coat . . .”

He waved her back into the car. “Stay warm. I’ll be seeing you again, right?”

“Right.” Her answer was hesitant. “Sure. Take care, Zach.”

“You, too, Payton.” He lowered his voice to a whisper as she closed the door. “I’ll be praying for you.”