You're Still the One by Janet Dailey, Elizabeth Bass, Cathy Lamb, Mary Carter Page A

could feel myself coming apart. I don’t know why Jace and my dad are somehow connected, but they are.
    “No.” I shook my head. “No. I’m going, Jace.”
    “What? What are you talking about?”
    “I can’t.” I felt the tears fill my eyes. “We were together once.” He was my best friend, my boyfriend, everything. “And it was so hard . . . so hard to have it end, and I’m not up for it again. I can’t do it.”
    “Who said it has to end? I’m not even talking about it ending; I’m talking about it starting. Allie, don’t go.”
    “Good-bye, Jace. I’m glad you’re well. You look amazing. I’m glad you’re a doctor. I know I already said this, but you’re really good at it. So incredibly talented.”
    “Please, Allie, come on.”
    He stood in front of me and I pushed by him. He gently grabbed my arm; I pulled away. He asked me to stay; I declined. He said he would drive me home, but I ignored it.
    He followed me out, telling me again he wanted to talk, that we could talk about something else, but I started hobbling down his hill.
    He climbed in his truck, pulled up beside me, and insisted I get in. I refused, and he actually got out, picked me up again, and put me in the cab. “You’ve got a bruised ankle and stitches. I am driving you home. If you want to fight with me on this, I’ll win, Allie. Stay in the truck.”
    He was angry, he was stony. He was ticked off, and I didn’t blame him. We didn’t say another word.
    When he dropped me off at home and drove away, I grabbed my keys, drove to the store, and bought a pint of chocolate chip ice cream and three romantic movies. I got in my sweats and an old yellow robe and watched TV while I cried. I read a Jane Austen novel, thought of my mother who had loved Jane, too, then I read a crime thriller. I couldn’t sleep that night.
    The lights in his house were still on.

Chapter Seven
    I could not stand living without color in my dad’s house. It reminded me of our dull, dreary trailer, and almost made me ill. I knew I would list the house and land for sale as soon as I had a job and knew where I would live, but I couldn’t stand to live in the bleakness anymore.
    I went shopping and bought blue-and-white flowered slipcovers for two chairs, and a blue slipcover for the sofa I had covered with my mother’s red-and-white flowered quilt. I bought throw pillows with designs in red, blue, and yellow. I also bought two pillows with apples on them, one with a hummingbird.
    I bought bright woven rugs for the family room, kitchen, and my bedroom. I bought two floor lamps and three table lamps with flowered and striped shades to bring light in. I bought two plaid tablecloths, and red cushions for the kitchen chairs. I bought a new bedspread in bright yellow with a swirling design, and four huge yellow pillows. I bought white towels and white bath mats and thick red ceramic dishes and mugs.
    I bought two pots of chrysanthemums for the deck. I bought scented candles. I bought three vases to display wildflowers in my bedroom, on the kitchen table, and in the bathroom. I hung up photos of my mom and I in Bigfork, kissed my finger and brought it to her smiling face.
    My dad’s place had been transformed.
    There was life in it.
    Cheerful, bright life.
    The clinging, dirty, dangerous trailer feel started to recede, along with that sick power my dad had had over me.
    I took the dogs for a walk.
    The squirrels taunted Bob.
    Later that evening I turned on the oven, found a cutting board, then settled down at the table to chop the apples I’d picked from the orchard to make an apple pie, my first in a long time.
    My mother and I made apple pies here in Oregon when I was younger, and later when we moved to Montana. We made one the day before she was killed in an avalanche in Montana when I was eleven years old.
    She was skiing with two friends. Ironically, it was the first time we’d ever been away from each other. One of the husbands offered to babysit the kids