"I'm not hearing her voice," Mia replied, not rising to the bait. "I'm reading her voice."

The time had come. Mia took a breath and walked directly to the library shelf. She had to give up the diaries now. Belle needed them more than her. She opened Kate's diary and took out the sealed envelope from Mrs. Minor. Then lifting all three volumes she walked to Belle and handed the books to her.

"What're these?"

"Kate's diaries."

Belle looked stunned. "Where did you find them?"

"Here. In the bookshelf. They were wedged behind some other books. One is a diary written by Kate when she was a girl of twelve. The other is her fishing diary. It's a marvel and it spans over twenty years. When you read them, you'll hear her speaking to you. The last is her father's fishing diary. That's more perfunctory, but still, it was done by your great-grandfather, Reverend Walter Watkins."

Belle lifted the cover of the diary and perused the girlish script. As though the emotion was too strong, she snapped the cover shut and looked at Mia. Her dark gaze was unreadable.

Mia reached out. In her hand was the long envelope, curled at the edges and wrinkled from time stored in a box in Lucy Roosevelt's attic.

"And this is a letter that was written by your grandmother to your mother. It was never delivered. Old Mrs. Minor held on to it for years. Unfortunately, she died before she could give it to you. Her daughter asked me to do that, so..."

Belle looked at it, then stuck out her hand and took it. She looked dispassionately at the envelope. Then Mia saw a faint softening of her features as she ran her finger across her mother's name. She turned it over and saw that it was sealed.

"I'm surprised you didn't open it and read it."

It was a low blow, but not altogether undeserved. Mia didn't reply.

Belle put the letter into a diary, then looked up, her face impassive. "This doesn't change anything," she said. "It's time for you to go. There's a storm coming, but when it's passed, I'd appreciate it if you'd pack up and leave the cabin. Right away."

Mia felt like she'd been punched and was trying to catch her breath. A silence fell between the women. Mia looked at Belle and found her unrelenting.

"Thank you for the time you gave me," she said sincerely. "I'm sorry I caused you any pain. That was never my intent. I'll leave as soon as the storm is over."

"That would be good. I'd appreciate it if you left the key on the table."

Belle was gone. Once again, Mia was alone.

She went to the bookshelf and ran her hand along the empty space where the diaries had lain. Only an outline of dust remained on the shelf. Mia felt their absence like a pall. She looked around the room at the watercolors that were her visual diary of her time spent here. Each one spoke to how she showed up every day saying yes to the universe.

One by one, Mia removed the tacks and took the watercolors down. She stacked them neatly on the table. They resembled pages of a book, and she knew someday in the future she would look at them again and read the story there with fresh eyes. Looking around, she thought the cabin felt void, empty without them, as though she were already gone. She felt that Kate was gone, too. She no longer sensed her presence in the cabin. Mia wrapped arms around herself and walked from room to room. On the final round she stood in the middle of the cabin and called out, "Kate? Kate, are you here?" She looked at the empty space on the bookshelf, the unadorned wood walls, and the rain streaking the windows like tears.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry I failed you."

Mia grabbed her purse and went out the door, slamming it behind her. There was nothing here for her any longer.

Chapter Twenty-three.

I cannot put into words all of the heartfelt gratitude that I have for making this one of the best experiences I've ever had-and it was not just about fishing! You brought meaning to everything we did and learned. Thank you seems so little to say for all that you gave me.

-TO BELLE CARSON from a Casting for Recovery participant Mia's small, dented car sliced through the wind to Watkins Lodge, where she found Stuart standing in the carriage house, bent over blueprints. The plastic sheeting was billowing loudly in the wind and a drill was humming, so she couldn't call his name. He looked up and saw her standing at the entrance, her slicker soaked and her strawberry blond hair plastered to her face. He abandoned his work to walk directly to her and wrap his arms around her.

"What's wrong?"

"I have to leave," she said against the soft corduroy, not knowing if he heard. She closed her eyes and buried her face in his chest. She was enveloped in the scents of sawdust and sweat.

He held her tight a moment, then lowered his cheek to her ear. "Wait here."

Letting go, he went to the other side of the room to speak to the man working with the drill. The high hum ceased and Mia saw Stuart's hands move in the air as he spoke. The other man looked up at her, then nodded. Stuart walked across the room to grab his Barbour jacket and keys off his work table, then returned to her side.

"Stuart, I didn't mean for you to stop work. I'll get some coffee at the inn and wait."

"It's OK. We're about done. We're just battening down the hatches for the storm."

"I'll wait," she said again.

He took her arm and said, "I don't want you to."

Like that first night they'd spent together, he curled his fingers in hers, then led her to his Jeep parked outside the carriage house. He swung open the door on her side, then sprinted around the front to hop in. The Jeep sprang to life and Stuart drove the narrow road around the lake to the handsome arts-and-crafts building he lived in.

"This damn rain is relentless," he shouted.

Mia could only nod and grip the door handle, feeling an ache of embarrassment that she'd come to him with her sad story.

When she stepped inside his condo she felt again the mild surprise that this earthy man lived in such a high-style, professionally decorated space. It always threw her, and she stood at the entrance with her dripping Gore-Tex jacket, unwilling to step across his polished hardwood floors.

"Come in," he said, stripping off his jacket.

"Your floors..."

"Oh for God's sake, come in." He walked over to help her with her jacket. He held tight to it for a moment, looking at her, then turned to hang both jackets on a tree stand made to look like antlers, while she mopped her wet hair from her forehead.

"Why don't you go in the bathroom and dry off. I'll make a pot of coffee. I bought some especially for you. That rain has a cold bite and you look wet to the bone." He looked at his watch. "I could order us some dinner."

She shook her head. "No, thanks. I couldn't eat a thing. But coffee sounds great."

"OK. Go on, dry up. There's a robe hanging on the door. Help yourself."

She walked across the room, feeling undone by his kindness. She closed the bathroom door and leaned against it, wrapping her arms around herself and bending at the waist. She felt this wild shriek circling inside of her, gaining strength like the hurricane that was battering the coast.

"You like milk in your coffee?" he called.

She shivered then uncurled, taking a breath. "Yes, thanks," she called back, trying to force her quaking voice to sound normal. Methodically she stepped from her wet clothes and wrapped herself in the dry terry robe, tying it tight at the waist. The man's size large was far too big for her. The shoulder seams trailed down her shoulders, but she felt like she was wrapped in a warm blanket and curled the collar high up along her neck. She came out barefoot and with her damp hair brushed back from her face.

He handed her a steaming mug. "You look better."

She took a long sip of the hot coffee, feeling its warmth spread through her veins. Over the rim of the mug she saw him watching her.

"With your hair brushed back like that, the dimple on your chin is pronounced," he said. "You look like a little girl."

She reached up to touch the depression in her chin. "It's genetic. My mother had one."

Mia walked to the far end of the brown leather sofa while he clicked a button on the wall beside the fireplace to ignite the gas logs for an instant fire. She curled her legs underneath her in the cushions. Once more her gaze scanned the massive fireplace of river rock that climbed to the ceiling. Across from it the storm was streaking sheets of water against the tall plates of glass.

Stuart came to sit beside her. He stretched his long arm out across the back of the sofa and with the other took hold of her hand and drew her out from the corner to him. She set her mug of coffee down on the table and crawled into the nook of his arm. Once more she rested her chin against the soft corduroy.

"Now what's this about leaving?" he asked.

Stuart did exactly as she knew he would-he listened. Mia opened up the floodgates, telling him with unrestrained fury how angry she was at Belle for kicking her out, and more, how hurt that she'd do it with so little concern or feeling. Belle had always been a little intimidating, but at least Mia had thought she was fair. She carried on like the storm outside, blowing hard and without restraint. When she finished her story she sighed, spent. He stroked her hair from her temples, curling it around her ear. The rhythm of it was even, like his casts on the water, and she sighed.

She'd come mostly for this, she realized. The silence between them. She simply needed to be with her best friend.

They sat for a long while, listening to the storm. Mia's eyes grew heavy and her mind wandered. Where was Belle at this moment? Did she have someone to confide in? Or was she alone reading the letter from her grandmother? With her anger spent, Mia grew concerned for Belle and the confusion and pain she might be going through.

"I'm worried about Belle," she told Stuart.

"Do you know where she is?"

Mia shook her head. Her cheek rubbed against a button on his shirt.

"She's a resourceful woman. I'm sure she's OK."

Mia reached up to pick at the button and wondered if that were true. The tallest tree fell the hardest.

"What are you going to do now?" Stuart asked her.

"Go back, I guess."

He hesitated. "You could stay here in Watkins Mill."

"I don't have a job."

"You could get one. Mia..." He paused. "Why go back to Charleston?"

She slipped the button disk out from the buttonhole. "It's not just about getting a job." She moved her hand to the next button and played with it. "I've got to go back to Charleston. I have unfinished business I need to tend to. My divorce will be final soon. I have to move my things from my condo." Her fingers released the second button. "My doctors are in Charleston, too. I'm due for my checkup. And..." She opened a third button and slipped her hand underneath the fabric. She felt his chest rise as she ran her fingers through the fine hairs, letting her nails softly skim from shoulder to shoulder.

"I'm considering breast reconstruction."

"Why? You look beautiful the way you are."

She shifted her head to look up at him. His face was inches from hers. "You make me swoon. They should clone you. I know a thousand and one women who would steal you in a minute to hear the things you say to me."

"I'm serious, Mia. Why do it now? Why go under the knife again?"

She tucked her head back in the crook of his arm. "Because maybe I want to look normal again? Whatever that means. Every time I see that empty space on my chest I'm reminded of the cancer." She brought her lips to his chest and kissed the smooth skin. "Maybe I won't. I don't know. But that's a decision I'm ready now to face. I remember something you said to me a while ago. You were talking about my reading the diaries and you said I was stealing the fire. Remember?"

"Yes, vaguely."

"I remember it vividly because it was perfect. It's exactly what I was doing. Kate Watkins showed me the fire and while I was here she helped me conquer my fears. I know who I am better now than before the cancer. I know now that being a survivor means I've got my life back. I see things more clearly. I'm stronger and I know I can take care of myself. My time at the cabin-and with you-changed me. I'm ready."

"But..." He stopped and his hand stilled on her head.

Mia closed her eyes tight, hearing the subtle plea in his silence. He couldn't ask her to stay. He knew she had to go back. And yet, if he did ask, she might do it.

She raised herself from his shoulder and moved to sit cross-legged before him. They sat for a moment, eye to eye. He'd been working long hours and her loving eyes picked up signs of his fatigue: the chalkiness of his tan, the dark stubble on his jaw and upper lip, the faint shadows under his eyes.

Over the past few months she'd had a crush on this man. He'd made her body come alive again after a long hibernation. During the summer months she'd experienced the giddiness of romantic love, the gushes of a girl complete with self-doubt and uncertainty.

But this man sitting before her was real, not a summer fantasy. She knew with him the infatuation could grow, in seasons, to love. What could she bring to love? she asked herself. She had to settle issues within herself before she could answer that question. Mia had to go home for those answers.

She reached out to bring her hand to his jaw, cradling it. "Stuart..."

His hand flew to cover hers on his cheek. His eyes blazed. "I know."

She shivered and he grabbed her arm to pull her to him, not gentle this time but rough and full of need. Her body fell against him, feeling the pressure of his desire. Their lips pressed hard, hungry and probing. Steal the fire kept running through her mind as her fingers fumbled at the remaining buttons of his shirt. He spread open the terry robe, exposing her chest, bringing his mouth to her nipple. Her hands froze for a moment, stunned as always by the exposure. She bent her head and saw that his eyes were closed and he wasn't looking at scars or voids. She closed her own eyes and relinquished as his lips traveled up her neck, his breath warming her skin as he moved to claim her mouth. They knelt together, his hands clasping her head while he kissed her fiercely, possessively.

I could love this man, she thought, holding him tight. He leaned against her, pressing her back against the sofa. She felt the cold leather against her back, then looked up as he tore the shirt from his body and threw it on the floor. She watched him wrestle with his belt and send it flying, heard the hum of his zipper. She lifted her arms in welcome and felt the weight of him on her, flesh against bone, heart beating against heart.

When he entered her she closed her eyes and once again they were moving in perfect synchronicity, back and forth, slipping into a natural rhythm. When at last she arched to meet him she cried out from her depths. Then, with a shudder, she was released.

Tropical depression Nicholas was loaded with rain and headed straight for Asheville. The rain was falling at a steady rate from a slate gray sky as Mia made her way back to the cabin. The windshield wipers were clicking feverishly but couldn't keep up with the sheet of water on her windshield. Mia had to lean far forward and squint to see the slice of road through the water. Her hands gripped the wheel tight. Her little sedan cut through the rain on roads that were slippery with mud. It was like driving on ice. She crawled at a snail's pace around Route 9, then up the back mountain road that led to her cabin. Alongside the road, the river roared like a racing lion.

When she arrived at the cabin she was alarmed to see how high the river had risen. The pool was nearing the top of the banks and it was only a matter of hours before it overflowed them. She drove her car to the far back of the cabin, to the highest ground. She had to steer around the green truck parked beside the cabin. It was emblazoned with the sign Brookside Guides.

Her first thought was relief. Belle would know what to do if the river overflowed. Her second thought was, What is she doing here? She yanked up the parking brake, pulled her nylon hood over her head, and took a deep breath before pushing open the door. The wind attacked her, knocking her hood from her head and billowing her rain jacket. The rain slapped her face with stinging cold so she ducked her head as she ran along the stone path, mentally thanking Stuart for his help with the project. Around the walkway the ground was a sea of mud. Mia climbed the stairs and ducked under the porch roof. She caught her breath, then shook the rain from her jacket like a dog and mopped her face.

Mia hesitated, her hand on the door handle. She couldn't imagine what Belle was doing here again, so soon, with a storm raging. She'd said she could wait until after the storm to leave. Could she possibly be kicking her out now? There was nothing to do but face the music.

Pushing open the door, Mia stepped into the cabin. Belle was standing at the pedestal dining table, bent over her stack of watercolors. Her head bobbed up and she straightened the minute she heard Mia enter.

"You're back," Belle exclaimed.

"Yes," Mia replied guardedly. She took off her dripping jacket and set it on the tree stand by the door. Walking across the room she felt Belle's eyes on her. Her muddy boots thumped on the wood floors, and Mia was keenly aware of the trail of mud she would have to wash off later. She reached for the kitchen towel and began drying the rain from her face and hair. She looked over to Belle.

Belle appeared self-conscious. She was still in her rain slicker and her long braid fell like a damp rope down her back. "Were the roads bad?"

Mia nodded and set the towel on the counter. "Very. They're getting muddy." A sudden gust of wind rattled the windows, emphasizing the point.

"I better go," Belle said, and began walking toward her. "I just came by to give you this." She handed Mia an envelope.

Mia recognized the yellowed envelope immediately as Kate's letter. She took it in her hands and stared at Kate's flowing script. The name Theodora was smeared with drops of rain. She looked up with uncomprehending eyes. "Why are you giving this to me?"

"I thought you deserved to read it. And I was ashamed."

Mia's breath hitched as she saw Belle's implacable face crumple with grief. She wanted to reach out and hug her but Belle held herself so rigidly Mia sensed that to touch her would break the composure she was fighting for. Mia recalled the gentleness that Belle had shown her that day she found Mia sobbing in the car. She stepped closer to Belle.

Belle was still looking down as she spoke. "I spent the evening reading the diary. I couldn't stop," she said, looking up at Mia. "It was like listening to her voice." She released a short, pained laugh. "My grandmother's voice. After all these years. You can't know what that meant to me."