A THORNE REMAINING

 

PART SEVEN:

 

She lay in bed a long while, wondering where he'd gone. Perhaps down to 
the stream. He wasn't in the room. She knew she wasn't wrong about that.  

After a while she slept and in the middle of the night he came back, sitting 

on the window seat, watching her sleep. She hadn't lowered the blinds over 

the window wall and the moonlight lay on her face, her pale hair almost silver 

now as it spread out around her on the pillow, one hand curled up beside her 

cheek. 

He watched her a long time, then walked through the closed French doors 
and made his way up to the top of the hill, sitting there the remainder of 

the night, looking at the dim outlines of the tors...thinking. How strange it 

was that it had come to this, that his days rescuing kidnap victims were over, 

and that he should be again here where he'd sat so often as a boy with 

everything now behind him rather than ahead. Except for her. Except for 

Allie. But in what way did she lie ahead for him? Was he just to hang around, 
watching her live her life until one day she went back to Coffs with her sister? 

What then? Well, he'd always been a bit of a fatalist.  In his line of work it 

was rather a necessity. He'd just wait, wait and see what course things took.

Morning came and he went back down the hill, stopping outside the French 
doors to look into his room. She was up, dressed, and reading more in his 

journal.  The door to the hall was closed and Addie was no where to be seen.
He opened the French doors and came into the room.

"Hullo," he said, stopping just inside.

She felt the breeze come in with him and turned her head. "Hello, Terry," 

she smiled. "You've been to the hill, haven't you." It was a statement, not 

a question.  She knew he had without knowing how she knew.

He was surprised, cocking one eyebrow.

"I saw the hill, you know," she continued, "even before I got out of Addie's 

car. And I wished...right from that first moment...I wished there were some 

way to go to the top of it, for...me...to get to the top of it. I bet you can 

see the park from there, right?"

"I could get you up there, Allie," he said, "even in that bloody chair. I could 

push you to the top." He smiled, thinking of what a sight that would be, Allie 

sitting in her wheelchair, hands in her lap, as she scooted blissfully up the 

slope. Suddenly he wanted desperately to share that view with her. If only 
there were no one else about. He could...if only.

"You could point out which tor it was you almost fell from. You didn't write 

much about that, you know."

"I know," he said. "I felt dumb about the whole thing."

"I wish...I could hear you," she murmured. "I wish...."

He came close to her chair, squatting beside it, trying to get through to her. 

"Let's go to the stream, Allie. The stream."

"Would you like to go to the stream?" she asked, the idea just suddenly 
there.

"Whew!" he sighed. He could do it. On a certain level he could do it. "Yeah, 

get your paints. I won't let you get stuck."

She wheeled to the closet, getting out her supplies. "With you there, I guess 

I don't have to worry about getting stuck, eh?"

As she slid the sketchbook into the pouch, she turned, not sure where he 
was. "You wrote you wished you could paint better.  About the sunset. Did 

you ever try to paint it?"

"Once," he chuckled. "But never again."

She was looking in completely the wrong place so he pulled out the desk chair 

and sat down. She sucked in her breath. "Oh, my!" she breathed.

"Is that ok?" he asked. "Not too much for you if I move the furniture a bit? 

I don't want to make you uncomfortable."

She liked the reality of it, liked knowing where he was, liked the assurance it 

gave her that she hadn't lost her mind. She finished loading her supplies into 

the pouch, opened the door and rolled down the hallway, stopping by Addie's
door to say she was going out to paint.

Addie was deep into a complex chapter and just waved her hand over her 
shoulder then it dawned on her what Allie had said.  "WAIT!" she called out, 

dashing down the hall as Allie rolled out the screen door. "You didn't think 

you were going down that ramp by yourself, did you?"

Actually, Allie had thought Terry would be with her, but she couldn't say 

that. "Sorry," she grimaced. "Almost forgot."

"Well, don't forget! For Pete's sake, Allie, with that wall at the bottom you 

could split your head open!"

Once on the lawn, Allie wheeled blithely off toward the end of the house. 

Addie watched her a moment. "Don't go too near the bank," she called after 

her sister.

"I'll be good!" Allie hollered back, her mouth quirked in a little grin.

When he heard the smack of the screen door, Terry gripped the rear handles 

and began pushing the chair. Allie loved the sensation of knowing he was right 

there, right behind her, his hands on her wheelchair. It was so real that she 

had to work at resisting the impulse to turn her head, to look back and see 

him there. Gradually she settled into the contentment of his unseen presence. 

As they crossed the lawn and headed down into the trees,  he found himself 

wanting to know more about this whole chair business. When he'd asked 

before in the kitchen, he'd hadn't gotten much of an answer. "Tell me," he 

said. "Tell me, Allie, why the chair? When? Tell me."

It wasn't as though she heard his words as words, but more that a nebulous 

thought appeared deep in her mind and took on some form that she was able 

to grasp. "It was a truck, Terry. I was five. Riding my bike to the playground.
Never saw it coming. Next thing I knew I woke up days later and couldn't 
move my legs."

Five? Oh, God...she'd been in the bloody thing nearly all her life.

"It's all right, really it is. I'm used to it. Is all I know."

He wanted to say that it wasn't all right, that it wasn't fair for her to have 

been hurt so badly so young.  But as he knew, fair seldom was the way of 

things.  Things happened. You dealt with them and got on with it. Then there 

was...this. This whatever it was. This giant piece of some cosmic puzzle that 

he was trying to fit in somehow, somewhere.

They arrived near the stream, both of them grateful to find the quagmire 
of the previous day had dried during the warm night. She settled in a place 

she liked, getting out her paints, and he went to sit on the rock just where 

she'd painted him. There was a small loose stone there and he moved it so 

she would know where he was.

A pang gripped her. He was there, right where she always pictured him, and
she couldn't see it. Still, he was there, not just in her imagination but really, 

really there. 

"What?" he asked, seeing the brief, stricken look cross her face.

"I can't see you," she replied, her voice low. "I can't even picture what you
look like sitting there since I've never seen you. I don't know what color your
eyes are, your hair. I...."

He understood and his mind roamed over his house. Where? Where was a 

picture of him? He wasn't much for keeping pictures of himself around. 

Damn, there must be something...somewhere. He'd search later today.

She'd gotten out her tablet again and was adding a bit of a wash over the sky, 

giving it a more delicately-shaded tone. He liked watching her work, her 

movements graceful despite the damn chair. He wanted to pick her up out of 

that, carry her around in his arms. He wanted.... He wanted, yes, to touch 

her, to hold her. How could everything have gotten so messed up?

The morning passed in a comfortable companionship and around lunchtime, 

Addie appeared with a sandwich and a glass of lemonade for Allison. This was 

her first time down to the stream and she wanted to see for herself what her 

sister found so attractive about the place. Handing the food to Allie, Addie 

walked out on the flat stone, sending Terry scrambling to get out of her way. 

He had no idea if someone would just walk right through him or not or if 

they'd feel his presence somehow were that to happen. He wasn't ready yet 

to find out. 

"You're right. It is pretty down here," she commented, not really finding it 

anything remarkably special, though. She sized up the stream. Only about 

knee deep at most. Not terribly dangerous, unless you were lying down and 

couldn't get up. She looked back at Allie, sipping her drink. "You don't go 

too close, do you?"

"I'm fine, Addie. Don't worry. Besides, I've got my guardian angel with me."

"Sure," Addie replied, smiling wryly. "Followed you here from Coffs, did it?"

"Nope," Allie smiled, not saying more. 

"Can I see?" Addie asked, coming up beside the chair. "Ooo...that's nice! I 

like the colors you've used."

"Thanks. It's the lighting here...just perfect for watercolors."

"Well, don't stay out here all day, ok?" Addie began walking back to the house.

Allie watched her go, knowing she'd be back at her computer, typing for hours. 

What difference did it really make if she stayed out here or in her room?

"Guardian angel, eh?" Terry chuckled. "Well, that's one way of looking at it." 

Dino would be doubled up in laughter at the concept. Dino. How was he doing 

now? Must've been really hard on him, me dying on him like that. He tried to 

imagine what it had been like for his friend to have to bury him on that 

mountainside, leave him there. That leaving behind. That would gall Dino the 

rest of his life. Sometimes there was just no help for it, though. He wished 

he could let Dino know that it was all right.

"You still there, Terry?" Somehow his preoccupation made her sensing of his 

presence less clear.

He skipped a rock across the stream, making a series of five splashes. She 

smiled. "You're good." 

He wanted to say something and know that she heard him...heard him as he 

said it. 

That evening as she sat in bed reading his Dickens, he rummaged through the 

bottom drawer of the desk. Allie had her lashes down as though looking at 

the printed words, but her eyes were actually peering up through them, 

fascinated by the sight of the notebooks that sailed out of the drawer, pages 

flipping before sailing back again. It's quite amazing what one comes to accept 

as normal, she chuckled to herself.

A tap came at her door, but rather than waiting for Allie's response, Addie 

went ahead and poked her head in. "Night, dar...," she began, but Terry, 

startled, had set the notebook in his hand down atop the desk so quickly that 

he'd knocked over the leather cup of pencils.

"Damn!" he said, stepping away from the desk toward the window seats. 

Allie bit down hard on her lip as she saw her sister's eyes widen. "Guess I 

left it a bit tipped," she explained breathlessly. "Was using one of the pens 

earlier and must've not set the cup back right."

Addie's expression settled back down, then, spying the open drawer she 

frowned. "Oh, Allie, you're not poking into his personal things, are you?"

Allison tried her best not to look like a deer in the headlights. "Um...maybe 

just a little," she faltered.

"Look, little one, it's not going to do anybody any good for you to go and get 

morbidly interested in some man who's dead," Addie said firmly as she closed 

the drawer. 

"It's just that it's his room," Allie whispered, "so I think about him here...

sometimes."

"Perhaps you should move into that front bedroom, then?"

"Oh, no," Allie replied quickly, "I love the light in this one, the windows, the 

view of the stream."

"Just don't let yourself get carried away into some dream life thing, all right? 

I worry about you being alone so much, you know."

"I'm fine, Addie. Just fine. Have a good night's sleep," she added, trying to 

bring her sister's mind back to why she'd come.

Addie crossed to the bed, giving Allie a little kiss on her cheek. "Same to you, 

sweetie."

When Allie saw the desk chair move slightly again, she tried to make light of 

what had just happened. "Cheese it, Joey. Stash da loot, the coppers are 

comin'." But Terry was truly disturbed by the scene. What if Adelaide became 

aware he was there, there in the room with the sister she felt so protective 

of? It wouldn't be good, not good at all. He looked across the room at Allie 

where she sat in the bed, the book lying open across her lap, her blue eyes 

looking straight at the desk chair. He couldn't blame Addie for being protective 

of her. He felt very strongly that same way himself. 

Sighing, he flipped open the notebook he'd put on the desktop. Which one was 

this? Oh, yes, it wasn't even his but one his father had kept with records of 

his attempts to make wine over the course of three seasons. He turned the 

pages, smiling at the familiar handwriting and the anecdotal stories his father 

had written about the dismal failure of the whole thing. But there, tucked 

between two pages at the end, was a picture. It was him, taken when he was
19 on a family trip down to Sydney. It showed him standing in front of a tree 

in the Botanic Gardens. He was slim in that teenagery sort of way, but it was 

better than nothing.

Allie watched the square of paper sail across the room and settle atop her 

book. Her heart beating rapidly, she picked it up. Terry. Young Terry, but 

Terry still. From under a thatch of light chestnut brown hair he looked 

out of the picture at her with dancing seagreen eyes and a wide smile. She 

let her fingertip touch the cleft in his chin, follow down the curve of a brow,

move to a bandage on his forehead.

Her own chin began to tremble and she blinked back tears. Terry.

ON TO PART 8

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