Free The Treasure Box by Penelope Stokes Page B

brought a tuna sandwich and a glass of iced tea into the office with her, and ate a late lunch in front of the computer. But so far nothing had reappeared since the scene with Rachel and her fiancé.
    Twice Vita had picked up the phone to call Bits ’n Bytes, and twice she had hung up on the first ring. She couldn’t explain it, even to herself. Why was she so reluctant to have her hard drive reformatted and get back to her normal work schedule? What was she waiting for?
    Vita didn’t know. But still she waited. She spent the time—the better part of an hour—flipping idly through her file on Alaska.
    Both Norwegian and Princess had good cruise packages, but Norwegian made a double loop through the Inside Passage, both beginning and ending at Vancouver. For a traveler who had roundtrip airfare to consider, Norwegian’s itinerary was more convenient and less expensive than ending in Anchorage or Seward.
    She gazed at the brightly-colored cruise brochures and could almost hear the waves lapping at the sides of the ship. It took a minute or two for Vita’s mind to register that she wasn’t just imagining the sound. But it wasn’t waves; it was more like running water, like the rain cascading off the roof into little pools at the edge of the house. Vita listened intently, then shook her head. No. Rain didn’t make that whooshing, rippling noise. This was the sound of laughing, leaping waters. A river running down stream over rocks.
    She swiveled around in her chair and stared at the computer monitor. Its flat black surface was fading, and from the speakers she could hear the sounds more clearly now. When the scene materialized, Vita knew exactly what she was seeing.
    The river in the woods where Sophie had nearly drowned.
    Rachel sat on the bank, her long skirts gathered around her ankles. She tossed a small stick into the water; it circled for a minute in the still, deep pool, then surrendered to the current and floated downstream on the rapids.
    Above Rachel and to the right, a fallen tree extended far out over the water. Cathleen had taunted her sister and Sophie from the horizontal trunk of that very same tree before dropping Sophie’s Treasure Box into the river. Rachel threw another stick into the stream. This time Vita saw not a small twig, but a terrified little girl, caught in the undertow and carried down the rapids.
    She didn’t know how Rachel could stand to be here, at the very spot where her best friend had been lost to her. But then Rachel had endured ten years coming to grips with Sophie’s death; Vita had only faced it for the first time yesterday. Maybe time did heal such a wound, or at least scabbed over the infection so that you didn’t think about it so much.
    A noise behind Rachel startled her—footsteps approaching through the woods. She turned toward the noise, and Vita could see that she had been crying. So much for the “time healing wounds” theory. Rachel still missed Sophie desperately; Vita could see it in her red-rimmed eyes, feel it in the heaviness of her limbs.
    The footsteps grew closer, and a second woman appeared. Ten years older, thinner, more stooped than before, but still recognizable. Rose Woodlea. Rachel’s mother.
    â€œCare for a bit of company?” she asked, sitting down on the bank beside her daughter.
    Rachel forced a smile. “How did you know where to find me?”
    â€œWhere do you always go when you need to think?” Mam waved a hand in the direction of the river. “Is she here?”
    â€œSophie?” Rachel nodded. “I don’t see her, of course, but she’s here.”
    â€œPeople say you never get over losing your first love,” Mam said quietly. “I suppose that holds for a best friend, too.”
    Rachel turned and looked at her. “What about you?”
    â€œMy first love, or my best friend?” She offered a pale imitation of a smile.
    â€œWell, you