Hummingbird Lake Page 0,24
‘This too shall pass,’ and I know that it is applicable in this case. I’ve been down this road before. I know what to expect.”
The others all shared a look, then Sarah asked Nic, “What do you think?”
Nic shrugged. “I’m a veterinarian, not a psychologist or a sleep specialist.”
“Or a man,” Celeste observed. “That’s what Sage needs. A good man. A good marriage.”
Amusement gleamed in Ali’s eyes. “Now there’s a thought, Celeste. Good sex does make a girl sleep like a baby.”
“True,” Nic agreed, smiling smugly.
“Now, that’s just rude.” Sarah turned to Sage and said, “I don’t know about you, but I’m getting tired of these giddily happy married women lording their sex lives over us.”
It was a running jest between them. Sage knew her friends were trying to lighten the mood.
“Yep. I don’t like it either.” Sage polished off her cinnamon roll, then licked her fingers while the others continued their banter. Just when she’d begun to hope that the intervention part of the morning was behind her, Sarah had to circle around to the topic once again. Darn her, the woman was a terrier.
“I hate that you’re having trouble sleeping,” Sarah said, “but I don’t think it’s a good excuse for you to go hermit on us. This isn’t like your bouts of creativity, Sage.” Gesturing toward the studio walls, she added, “I don’t see new paintings stacked up.”
That’s because I keep them hidden away. Sage couldn’t bring herself to destroy or paint over all of the nightmare canvases, but she couldn’t bear to look at them, either. No way was she going to make their existence public.
Rather than address the topic of paintings, she tossed a proverbial bone. “You’re right, Sarah. I’ll make an effort to get out more. Okay?”
“You’ll join us for the Patchwork Angels meeting next week?” Celeste asked. When Sage hesitated, she added, “Please, Sage. For me?”
Sage couldn’t say no to Celeste. “I will.”
“Promise?” Sarah folded her arms. “No convenient burst of I-must-paint-because-my-muse-demands-it?”
“I promise, Sarah. I’ll come to quilt group.”
After that, talk shifted to Nic’s babies and Sage gratefully concluded that the intervention had now eased into a coffee klatch. Relaxing, she sat back, sipped her tea, and told herself she’d get through this rough patch. After all, she had the dearest, most caring friends in the world on her side, along with the haven that was called Eternity Springs.
Still, a little sleep wouldn’t hurt.
Colt Rafferty held his breath as he reached the summit of Sinner’s Prayer Pass during the third week of February. The road was well maintained, but the switchbacks in winter were a heart attack waiting to happen. He hoped his tires held. He really hoped his brakes didn’t quit. When he hit an icy patch and skated toward the edge of the road—the edge of the mountain—he sent up a prayer and decided that whoever had named this pass certainly called it right.
Colt had made this drive dozens of times before, but never in the dead of winter. Never in ten-degree weather. Never with snow deep enough to swallow his rental SUV. This would be his first trip to Eternity Springs during the off-season. When his boss told him to go someplace to cool off, he couldn’t think of a more fitting place to go. As his back tires fishtailed, he muttered, “Hope that wasn’t my last fitting thought.”
Colt was coming off the most difficult stretch of weeks he’d experienced since coming to the CSB. Two horrific accidents, eighteen deaths that could have and should have been prevented, and a bureaucratic wall of red tape and politics that made him see red and, unfortunately, lose his temper.
Well, sliding off the road here on Sinner’s Prayer Pass would at least get him out of the lawsuit that was probably coming. He’d really screwed up when he threw that punch at the OSHA guy.
But dammit, he was sick to death of the agencies all working both sides against the middle, and he’d finally erupted. He’d just ended a phone call to Melody Slaughter in which he’d had to tell her that the chemical spill that had killed her husband and eleven others the previous week had been completely avoidable had the OSHA inspector done his job.
“I don’t know why I even try,” he muttered as he downshifted. What good were they doing, really? Only a small percentage of their recommendations ever made it into regulation. Only a percentage of those regulations were being followed in the field. “Why should they follow regulations