A/N: Ana's point of view.

Happy All Hallow's Eve! NaNoWriMo cometh. Tomorrow! Yay! So, I'll be writing like gangbusters all month long. As you can probably tell, I'm totally excited. Hopefully, my enthusiasm can survive a thirty-day marathon.

DeeGH: Is there redemption for Carla? Let's take this apart as a purely intellectual exercise. First, she burned the man most able to afford to help her during her illness. She cheated on him, so now she's broke. Worse, she's spent so much of her life living in the moment, she neglected her health and wellness. Now she's left with no marketable skills and is too worn down by cancer to work.

A few reviewers have asked why Carla doesn't just seek out public assistance. Well, that would take time and effort, and still not garner the help she wants. Carla wants to recover, but it's a pipe dream. She's very close to referral to hospice. But Ray has always been a decent man. Despite her numerous betrayals, she knew he wouldn't turn her away.

Inspiration Song(s): Duran Duran - Sound Of Thunder

APoV

After a long day avoiding Carla like the plague, I finally got the opportunity to sit down with Ray as he explained Carla's dire condition and his efforts to assist her in her time of need. I was flummoxed. Dad's rigorous work schedule would kill him, but there was absolutely no way I'd be able to talk Ray out of sacrificing himself for this greater good. He was never the kind that would turn away anyone in need. Even Carla.

I was incensed. I couldn't believe that after Carla's numerous betrayals, she finally comes hat-in-hand expecting and getting Ray's assistance. I wasn't angry at Ray because that was who he is. The kind of person he had raised her to be. But when it came to Carla, I found myself curiously unfeeling. Many secrets lie between us that Dad did not know.

He never knew what caused the final break between Carla and me. I had never told. I knew that Ray would have killed Morton outright. He'd had some inkling of the physical abuse. I couldn't hide that considering I'd returned to Montesano covered in bruises from Morton's last beating. Along with a major shattering of confidence, I'd also lost whatever faith in Carla I possessed.

Years later, when Carla failed to attend my high school graduation because she was on a cruise with her man of the hour, I finally washed my hands of her. Having her appear on Ray's doorstep seemed like a harbinger of doom. After all this time, her chickens had come home to roost. And worse, I had believed she had come to die. No, Carla wanted to live. And she didn't give a shit that Ray would have to bankrupt himself to do it.

Ray was sad for another reason, too. With a small amount of coaxing, I'd discovered that before Carla had shown her face again, he'd been dating a nice widow named Helen, who sensibly abandoned him when she saw the writing on the wall. What self-respecting woman could stay with a man who had allowed his ex-wife to move back into his house?

I fully empathized with her. I remembered being ecstatic when Carla had found another man to marry so we would have nothing to worry about. Yet, once again, Carla's wicked ways had once again found her in a poor position. She couldn't even get COBRA benefits and once her cancer was discovered, it was a pre-existing condition. Good luck getting individual coverage. The only other choice she had was to throw herself at the mercy of the state.

Carla should look to the sky and thank her lucky stars that men like Ray existed and that she'd had the great honor to have once been married to one of them. Any other man would have slammed the door in her face and let the rain and wind carry that bitch away to Oz so a house could fall on her.

I'd also discovered the reason why Carla stayed in the living room instead of her bedroom upstairs. Even when they were married, Carla and Dad had separate bedrooms. She couldn't even make it up the stairs, and though that filled me with pity, it was for the condition itself rather than its victim. As far as I was concerned, we were all victims of this horrible disease since it seemed as though Ray had locked himself into taking care of her and I was dedicated to taking care of Ray.

I felt guilty that I'd brought Carla into his life. It didn't escape me that Dad had mainly married her for my benefit. I felt partly responsible for our current situation.

With a heavy heart, I admitted to myself returning to Vancouver was a wash. Thankfully, I was able to reach the Claytons in time to let them know that I could no longer come to work due to a family emergency. The call to the college administrators was much more difficult. When I told them of my family situation, they were quite compassionate, allowing me to make arrangements with individual professors to continue my work long-distance. However, they had broken the sad news that I would no longer be valedictorian. Not having known I was in contention, I'd only felt the barest sting. But I was very happy when they informed me that Katherine Kavanaugh, my roommate and best friend of four years was second in line. I couldn't have lost the top spot to a better person. Thankfully, I was still in contention for salutatorian as the requirements for residency weren't as restrictive.

This was another example of good things in my life that Carla had ruined. The sickness wasn't her fault, but the lifestyle that she lived before it was full of risk. Though many good people get attacked by the pernicious disease every day, I couldn't help but believe that Carla had been cruising for a bruising the majority of her life. I was angrier at the fact that Ray and I would be responsible for cleaning up another one of her messes.

There would be far more resources to help Carla right now had she not raided my college fund and Ray's checking account before she ran off with Stephen Morton. It was no use crying over spilled milk or scorched earth. Besides, my rage at the witch was bitter enough without stirring The cauldron further.

As it was, I could barely think about Carla without rolling my eyes in derision. One thing I wouldn't do was sit around watching her diminish day after day, and I'd be damned if Carla expected me to wait on her hand and foot. Been there, done that. I was going to look for a job, something to help bring in some money to take some of the pressure off Ray. There was only so much cooking and cleaning I could do with Carla bumbling around looking lost. I could do without her company.

Carla had decided to play the pitiful waif to solicit my compassion, but even as I witnessed how diminished she had become, I wasn't buying it. Every time Carla even looked in my direction, all I heard was noise. She'd really missed the boat, if she was attempting to become friends at this late date.

It was some days later when I received a call from the manager of our local diner saying that they had an opening and offered me an interview for the next day. That Tuesday, however, as I was getting ready for the interview, I went to the kitchen only to discover that Ray had forgotten his lunch. Oh well, I'd just drop it off on the way.

I drove a backfiring Wanda to Ray's construction site. I needed to have her looked at. José was usually good for minor repairs, but I knew I'd have to retire her. He guilted me into buying her because it was his mother's. When I suggested that he should keep the old Volkswagen Beetle himself, if only for nostalgia, he'd laughed it off and said at least she'd found a good home and he could still visit.

Dad's day job was at a huge, beautiful, sprawling mansion overlooking a massive plot of land. I'd never seen the like. Of course, there were other mansions, but this one seemed to grow out of the ground. It was cleverly designed to appear as it had always been part of the landscape. My eyes were drawn to the wondrous detail work that only Ray could deliver. There were lots of gingerbread-type accents on the Queen Anne-style home. I couldn't believe only one person resided there.

I followed the sounds of drilling, hammering, and sawing to the backyard where some men were working while others were taking a brief respite. Ray was giving some instructions to another member of the crew.

"Dad!" I called out with a lilting voice. The sun, seldom seen on days like this was shining down on me as my hair whipped behind me in the breeze.

"I brought your lunch," I said, waving the bag of goodies. "And brought a few more extra treats for the crew."

Placing the bags down on one of the near picnic tables, I began unloading. I had made a few dozen muffins the night before.

"Sorry Annie," he apologized. "I was in such a rush this morning, I totally forgot thank you for the treats. You look nice. Where you headed?"

"Well, I have an interview at Nora's Diner in about half an hour, so I thought I would make a detour to drop off your food before making my way there."

"I didn't realize you were looking for a job," he muttered lowly.

"If this is the path you've chosen, my place is here," I declared. And there was no way I was going to stay home waiting on Carla hand and foot, I thought snidely. The less time we spent in each other's company the better.

"I thought that you and Carla could take this opportunity to make peace," he said.

"I almost wish that was possible," I replied, "but I can't see it. Even sick, she hasn't changed. She remains the same person in essentials. Do you know she still hasn't apologized for all that happened and everything she failed to do?"

"Forgiveness isn't for her; it's for you. I want you to let go of this anger," he lectured.

"It's not anger, Dad. It's reality. It's about the fact that if I met someone like her on the street, I'd avoid her like the plague. Being my mother makes her no exception."

Just when I would have said more, I felt movement behind me. Turning around, I saw an older gentleman around my father's age approaching. He was handsome for an older guy. He had a big smile showing all of his teeth, and he seemed a decent sort.

He had very dark, sun-streaked blonde hair with wisps of gray at the temples. And he had dimples! It had been a while since I'd seen a man with dimples.

"Who's this, Ray?" the man inquired.

"This is the daughter who made the other spread and has been making meals for me every day. I forgot my lunch this morning and she just brought it to me before going to her interview."

"So, this is the mysterious Annie?" he drawled.

"There's nothing mysterious about me," I said and he laughed. "If anything, you're the mysterious person living here all alone in this," I retorted, waving my hand around at his huge property. I was amused at his interest. Though his flirting was overt, it wasn't slimy.

RayPoV

Annie had never seen herself as anything spectacular. But even I noticed something going on between them. I'd never pegged Ana as the type into older men. She didn't seem too attracted to him really, but I was shocked she was humoring him, or even having a conversation considering she was usually so shy.

Though, I thought darkly, it wasn't as if she had too many people to speak to besides her mother and me lately. Frankly, I believed she was happy to have an opportunity to speak to anyone that wasn't part of their crisis.

"Would you like one of these muffins? I made 'em fresh last night," she offered, and as if she had loosed the floodgates, some of the other guys taking a break rushed over like lemmings, grabbing at least one muffin to go. Lincoln however grabbed two.

"Well, I got to go!" she said. "Wish me luck," she directed with a wink, walking away with a swagger. Her confidence seemed bolstered by Jesse's attention. He chatted with me for a few minutes before making his way back to the house. Once again, I noted to myself that Mr. Lincoln must have been pretty lonesome in his castle. It wasn't a mausoleum, there was nothing dank, dark, or haunted about it. It was a beautiful work of art, light and airy, only missing joy and laughter.

I again wondered why a wealthy, good-looking guy like Linc didn't have a wife and a passel of kids. Or at least an ex-wife and a few grandchildren to fish with. Goodness knows I wouldn't want to live in a seven-bedroom house by myself. He didn't even have live-in staff to clean it up, only a housekeeper and a cook who came and went. It seemed sad for a man to live alone in a home built for a family, even if the property had been owned for generations. But it wasn't my business to ponder the lives of the rich and reclusive.

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Nichole Stewart FB