The words echoed through Vanessa’s mind as she pulled the car into the parking lot of the hospital where she had promised to meet Joe. Nervously, out of the corner of her eye, Vanessa caught sight of Callie who sat, expressionless, next to her.

What had Frank been thinking?! She still couldn’t believe that he had gone off on his own to try and stop Nash. Despite the terrible pain he had been in, despite the great, inconceivable losses and near losses Frank had suffered at the hands of Nash, she still had trouble believing that Frank would be crazy enough to pursue Nash on his own. It’s almost like he had a death wish, she thought at once, but stopped instantly to chide herself for even having the thought.

Stopping for a moment to compose herself, Vanessa squeezed her eyes tightly shut after having turned off the ignition and prayed silently that Frank would be okay. Joe had briefly informed her of what had happened with Frank in that terrible phone call she had received while visiting Callie.

Snapping herself temporarily out of her reverie, Vanessa realized that Joe needed her right now. He had been through so very much, and now…

She shuddered at the thought of what Joe would be like if, God forbid, Frank died. Glancing sidelong at Callie, Vanessa suddenly realized that she HAD to pull herself together. Callie had a stoic facade, but, despite that, Vanessa did not miss how badly Callie’s hands were shaking and the way in which she kept swallowing hard, as if trying to keep her composure. Reaching over to her, Vanessa squeezed Callie’s hand.

"It’s going to be all right," she said, softly, trying to comfort her.

Callie just nodded, staring straight ahead.

"I mean it," Vanessa repeated. Of course, she didn’t know any such thing, but she did know that she had to try and convince Callie to hold it together. Besides, the thought that Frank really wouldn’t be okay was unfathomable to her as well.

Slowly, Callie turned to her, refusing, as always, to cry. Her strength never ceased to amaze Vanessa. Even with the worst odds against her, Callie always held it together. Just like Frank, and that’s what made him snap, she thought at once. So much alike…

"Are you okay?’ Vanessa asked, finally breaking the silence. She was shocked when Callie actually spoke.

"Is this my fault?’ Callie asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Astonished, Vanessa couldn’t speak for a moment. "What?! No—Are you crazy?!" What on earth was Callie talking about? Vanessa couldn’t help but to think that maybe, after all, this WAS too much for her best friend.

Through tear-filled eyes, Callie continued, voice breaking. Still, the tears were held back. "I didn’t talk to him," she whispered. "I…I thought we were through, you know? Maybe…if I had…he would have asked me first…before going…" Her voice trailed off, and she blinked back tears.

"No—oh, no, Callie," Vanessa replied, her heart breaking. She squeezed Callie’s hand harder. "Frank had something to prove. Maybe it wasn’t to me, or to you, or to Joe. Maybe we’ll never understand what it was that motivated him to go out there. But he had to prove something to himself. You probably know better than anyone else what it’s like with him when he sets his mind to something. Now let’s just focus on him…being all right."

Weakly, Callie nodded, and got out of the car. They made their way to the hospital.

Inside, Vanessa caught sight of Joe at once. He looked terrible. His face was pale and drawn, and Vanessa knew right away that he was having a hard time keeping it together. Although she saw Fenton behind Joe, all she could do now was to run to Joe, anxious.

As soon as she got to him, Vanessa saw Joe look at her with a flood of relief in his eyes. At once, she was enfolded in his arms, and she let him cling to her tightly for a few moments and they stood there. As gently as possible, she rubbed his back, waiting for him to talk.

The next ten minutes were some of the worst that Vanessa could remember. She listened in horror to Joe’s story as he and Fenton filled the girls in on what had transpired. As much as Joe tried to sugarcoat the condition in which Frank had been found, there was simply no way to do so. Horrified, Vanessa listened to all of the details, trying to make sense of it all. She realized that she was trembling at the conclusion of the story. It took them all a few more minutes before they realized what all of this must have sounded like to Callie. When they did, they turned around to comfort her.

Callie was gone.

*****

Outside, against the bitter wind, Callie tried to collect her thoughts. Somehow, she had found herself out here, away from the horrible images she was hearing, away from the horror of her life. Strangely, a sense of calm had descended upon her as she watched herself walk silently away, not moving consciously, but knowing that she was moving all the same.

The scene before her had looked, for a moment, like a soap opera. The distraught brother, putting on a brave front. The comforting and beautiful girlfriend, who wanted desperately to hold it all together. The father, helpless and defeated, looking outside for the answers, and nothing coming. The main character, clinging to life after the bad guys tortured him. And me? She thought numbly. Who am I? What role do I play?

With a start, Callie felt a smile creep to her face. My God—it IS a soap opera. Wasn’t it, though? These kinds of horrors didn’t happen in real life. You didn’t go on vacation to watch your best friend be attacked and cling to life. You didn’t have the man you loved betray you, then lose your child, and then have HIM get hurt.

Then, suddenly, the smile fell. This isn’t a soap opera. This IS my life.

Callie felt her body get up as if she was a marionette. Although, unlike one, she didn’t know who was pulling the strings or what the higher power was that was sustaining her. She glided along outside, enjoying the harshness of the wind, the pain it brought to her. Logic fought with fear, horror, emotion, love, and disbelief…

She knew she should blame herself for not talking to Frank. She couldn’t, though. Part of her knew she had been right and that, despite everything, Frank HAD been wrong. She wanted to blame Frank for being such an idiot as to go after Nash, but she couldn’t do that, either. On some unspoken level, she understood what no one else ever would about Frank--- that for him to live, he had to live for others. And, in some strange way, he must have been thinking that he was living for her—for Joe—when he was trying to avenge them. She wanted to yell at Joe for not protecting Frank, or Mr. Hardy—or her parents, or anyone--- ANYONE who could make the pain go away. But there was only Nash. She knew that.

And there were, of course, the consequences of his actions to be dealt with.

She knew what she had to do. Quietly, unobtrusively, she slid back into the hospital, stopping only for a moment to ask what room Frank was located in. She thought she asked that, anyway. It seemed like she was being carried, somehow, through the course of her day ever since she heard the news. As she approached the room, she wasn’t surprised that Joe wasn’t there. He knew she would want to go there first. She knew that he had understood, on some level, that Callie had to go to Frank—now—and she thanked him silently for it.

Entering the room, she saw Frank and felt her knees go weak. She slumped back into a chair and turned away. So dead….

She shrugged off the thought and did not look at Frank. She did not touch him, sob to him, or begin screaming. Rather, as if in a trance, she took out a book of poetry, a small, pocket companion that Frank had given her when they had first met, so many years ago. That first Christmas, during sophomore year of high school, they had been studying American literature, and she had fallen "madly in love" as she told him, with Robert Frost. Something about his sentiments were so fresh, so straightforward, that the simple beauty of his words always lulled her into serenity.

Frank used to write her love poems. He still did. It was one of their many secrets.

She used to read him her favorite poems and tell him how they reminded her of him.

She took out the book.

"Frank, my love," she said, forcing herself to look up, blinking back tears. "I’m still mad at you. But you can’t go dying on me, because I should have the right to kill you myself after all the grief you put me through."

By now, the tears freely rolled down her cheeks. The saltwater felt good; they were bitter, and through their release, she felt some of her own bitterness roll away and a new purity fill her soul.

Frank would be okay. She knew it. Because if he died, she knew she would, too. And she wasn’t ready to die. Not yet.

"Here’s one of my favorites. You know it, baby." She spoke to the room, her voice her only solace.

"It’s called "Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening." It’s really quite famous. You know I’ve read this to you a thousand times, but I thought—hey, maybe this time there’s some special significance. Ready?"

Of course, silence answered her. She smiled softly. "Feel free to wake up any time and tell me to stop talking."

Her own joke fell flat, even to her own ears. Still, she had to keep smiling. If she didn’t, she would never stop crying.

"Okay," she said aloud. "Here’s the first stanza" Trying to keep her voice from cracking, she read.

"Whose woods these are I think I know.

His house is in the village though;

He will not see me stopping here

To watch his woods fill up with snow."

Looking up through her tears, Callie tried to keep smiling. "I wonder about the poem, now, Frank. These woods- we’ve seen too much of woods, huh? That’s the beautiful thing about poetry. It keeps changing as you grow." She paused a moment to wipe her eyes. "You’re kind of like that person, Frank. I’m sitting here, watching you, but you can’t see me. Do NOT let yourself fill with coldness, baby. Anyway," she continued, now unable to stop her trembling tone, "I’ll go on."

"My little horse must think it queer

To stop without a farmhouse near

Between the woods and frozen lake

The darkest evening of the year."

"That’s what this is, hon. The darkest evening of the year. It’s so cold without you. Remember all those nights we used to stay up by the fireplace during winter? Sure you do." She choked back a sob. "And what about all of the nature walks we’d go on? And all those times in high school when we’d call each other out sick, pretending to be our parents, so we could spend the day together? I remember that. They never suspected us because we were the ‘good’ kids, the kids who’d never cut. You know," she paused, breathing raggedly, "I never really thought that was fair. I guess life’s not fair." By now, Callie was openly crying, unable to fight the flood of tears that threatened to overwhelm her. Still, she went on reading.

"He gives his harness bells a shake

To ask if there is some mistake.

The only other sound's the sweep

Of easy wind and downy flake."

"That’s what I feel like now, Frank," she sobbed, rubbing her forehead for some control. "There must be some mistake! This can’t be happening. I want to shake myself out of it, but it’s REAL- it’s happening—and I don’t know how. I want it to be easy again."

Slowly, Callie walked over to Frank’s bed. He hadn’t moved. She sat down and took his hand, closing her book of poetry. She knew this poem. She had memorized it years ago. It seemed only appropriate to recite the last lines to him.

"Here’s the end, baby. Now you listen—and you listen hard. It’s really important that you understand what this means."

"The woods are lovely, dark and deep.

But I have promises to keep."

"You HAVE promises to keep", she sobbed squeezing his hand. "And you’ve never broken your word to me, so I don’t expect you to do it now. Don’t you die--Don’t you die!"

She bit her lip and warbled out the closing lines.

"And miles to go before I sleep,

And miles to go before I sleep."

They were so significant, so utterly telling of everything she wanted to say; she just rested her head down on Frank’s shoulder.

And prayed that sleep would not take him.