Free The Color of Love (The Color of Heaven Series) by Julianne MacLean Page A

which provided a sheltered area beneath.
    Dropping to my knees, I crawled under the splayed branches and hid next to the massive trunk.
    I knew I couldn’t lie on the snow all night or I’d freeze to death, so I pulled a few items out of the pack—the rolled up tent and the sleep pad—and lay down on top of everything.
    I made no fire that night. All I could do was lie still and try to heal—and pray that the bear was not watching me from the darkness like the lynx.
    As luck would have it, it began to snow.
    At the time I thought I was cursed, but later I came to realize it was a blessing in disguise, because that fresh blanket of snow buried the trail of blood I’d left behind.

Chapter Twenty-six

    The night I spent under the tree after running from the bear was one of my worst nights in the wilderness. It came only second to the night after Seth fell into the ravine.
    Though perhaps one could argue that my polar bear night—accompanied by a cracked jaw and bloody lip—was a crucial turning point in my life because that’s when the seeds of my future were planted.
    It probably sounds crazy, and in my line of work, if I were hearing this story now, I would try and educate the patient by suggesting that sometimes a person can retreat into fantasy in order to seek comfort or escape an unpleasant reality.
    No question, that’s exactly what I did that night.
    In my case, however, I have no regrets about my so-called escape from reality, because I’m not sure I would have survived the next year without more of the same.
    o0o
    It was exceedingly dark and cold that night, no moon or starlight at all, and I was in so much pain I couldn’t sleep.
    Loneliness hit fast and hard. All I wanted was to be back in my warm bed at home, even if I was tossing and turning, or at the coffee shop once again chatting with the clerks in the morning. I imagined our conversation and the feel of the hot paper cup in my hand as I slipped it into the cardboard sleeve.
    A hot beverage is one of those simple things in life we don’t appreciate nearly enough. I swore that, if I was ever lucky enough to set another kettle onto a stove to boil, I would never take it for granted again.
    It was dark in the woods. There is no other darkness like it anywhere, and I feared I might simply expire from loneliness.
    In an effort to ward off such wretched thoughts, I did something proactive instead. I dug into the pack to search for Seth’s phone.
    There was barely any battery life left, but enough at least for me to scroll through his photo gallery and search for the pictures of his wife in the park on that hot summer day in Boston with the swan boats in the background. That woman had inscribed his compass with words I could not let myself forget: So you’ll always find your way home.
    I needed to hear her voice.
    At last I found the video Seth had shown me, and I pressed play .
    There she was. Carla, with that cute, flirty smile.
    Her eyes were impossibly blue. I exhaled with a feeling of calm, and it helped to stop the shivering.
    “Someday I want you to buy me a house on a lake where I can plant purple flowers…”
    I watched that video over and over until the battery died. Then I rummaged through Seth’s wallet and found the printed photograph of Carla. Because my own wallet and phone had been lost in the crash, it was the only picture I had of another human being. I stared at it for a long while, then slipped it back into the wallet and put it in my pocket.
    That night, I fell asleep dreaming of the house on the lake with purple flowers.
    Looking back on it, I now believe that God had not forsaken me after all. On that particular night, he was definitely paying attention.

Loneliness

Chapter Twenty-seven

    Carla

    I never did tell Gladys about how Seth cashed in his life insurance policy and left us with nothing but his personal belongings, because I couldn’t bear to tarnish her memory of Seth as a brave mountain climber and devoted father.