Firefly Island (18 page)

Jack didn't answer, but walked back through the house without a word. I picked up Nick and followed, passing down the hall and across the living room, not looking at the painting above the sofa. The dog followed quietly behind me, as if even he knew we were treading on memorial ground.

Outside on the back steps, I finally caught a breath as Nick yawned, stretched, and blinked, slowly coming to life. Smacking his lips, he took in the yard, his face a mask of confusion as Jack locked the little house again and put the key away.

The sounds of a car door closing and another vehicle rumbling up the driveway echoed against the buildings as we walked back around the corner. When I stepped onto the path, Chrissy was hurrying toward the yard, her eyes wide,
her red curls flying in the wind. “Oh my gosh, you found him!” Leaving the gate hanging, she ran to meet us. “Thank God! I've been callin' everyone I could think of to come help you search.”

From the looks of things, she had. Two vehicles were racing up our driveway already, and a third had just turned in the gate. The posse had arrived.

Never go to bed mad. Stay up and fight.

—Phyllis Diller
(Left by Mama B, for the couple not talking in Cabin 3)

T
he evening after Nick's disappearance wasn't a pretty one in our house. Daniel and I fought because while Nick was missing, Daniel had been AWOL—so consumed with trying to recalibrate a fixed-speed centrifuge that he'd turned off the phones in the lab.

My Firefly Island epiphany evaporated like smoke, and I heard myself hissing, “There's something wrong here, Daniel, and you're so caught up in your fascination with Jack West's scientific genius that you're blind to it. You didn't see what I saw in that little house. It's like a shrine, and then out in the garage, I found a cookbook. I think it was
her
cookbook. There was a letter in it she was writing. She talked about needing to get away from here, about being afraid. You have a family to think about, Daniel. Nick and I need you to put us first. It's like Jack West is pulling you further and further away from us. I feel more like your hired
nanny
than your wife!” They were horrible words—the worst I could think of. In that moment, I meant them to be. I was going for shock value, hoping Daniel would wake up if I hit him hard enough.

For the first time we ended up not speaking, and we slept in separate places.

In the morning, Daniel was gone before daylight. I woke exhausted, aware that I'd been tossing all night, dreaming that Nick was wandering along the lakeshore alone, unaware that just across the cove, hidden in the dark undergrowth of Firefly Island, someone was stalking him. Someone dangerous.

A moment later, I was in a grocery store, but there were no customers. I was running from aisle to aisle, screaming for Nick. Then I saw him walking out the door hand-in-hand with the little boy from the photos in Jack's cottage. I screamed, tried to run, but my legs wouldn't work.

Frightening, vivid dreams came one after another, a relentless assault.

In the morning I went straight to Nick's room to check on him. He was sleeping in after his big day afield, his fist curled close to his face, his blond curls spread out on the pillow, soft, angelic. His face was so peaceful, his lips playing with the smile from some dream that must have been very different from mine. He deserved so much more than two people who couldn't seem to pull it all together.

In the kitchen, the pages had been turned in the red-and-white-checked cookbook, the letter tucked haphazardly in a different place than before. Daniel must have looked at it, then gone to work, not the least bit concerned.

I pulled it out, read those few sentences, realized again that they could have meant almost anything, could have been written by anyone. . . .

The phone rang, and Trudy was on the other end.

“Hey, everything okay?” She sounded at once both concerned and cheerful. “I woke up thinking about you this morning.” Trudy and I always had that sixth sense that connects sisters like an invisible thread. “I checked the blog, and The
Frontier Woman didn't report yesterday. Thought I'd make sure you hadn't been carried off by coyotes.”

“Last night's report wouldn't have been pretty.” I passed through the kitchen, saw the peach pies, baked but untouched. “We had a major blow-up.” I spilled the story. “I woke this morning feeling awful—and not just about the fight. Just when I think I'm finally settled in . . . then, I'm not. Trudy, there's either something wrong with this place or there's something wrong with me.”

“Okay, let's just back up a little.” Trudy was the voice of reason, as usual. “Not that the letter thing doesn't give me the creeps a little. I can see how you could read almost anything into it, but it's not like you to be so . . . reactionary.”

I sighed, wanting to pick up the pie-making utensils and smack myself repeatedly on the forehead. “I'm sure I'm being mental. Maybe I'm just tired. I'm having all these wild dreams—not just the bad ones I told you about. One night, I was helping with the cattle roundup, only I was riding a spotted cow. Anyway, every day seems like a roller-coaster ride. One minute I'm psyched about the blog or about working on the house with Al, and then the next minute, I have this out-of-nowhere urge to crawl in a hole and cry my eyes out. It's just weird.” I reached into the cabinet for a mug, thinking that some coffee would smooth away the rough edges. I didn't want to greet Nick first thing in the morning in this kind of mood.

“Mal, are you two using birth control?”

I almost dropped the phone. “What?”

“You heard me.”

Outside, a peacock strutted by, its fan of tail feathers as otherworldly as Trudy's question. I stared at the bird for a minute, grasping for an answer. “Where is
that
coming from? Of course we're using birth control. The last thing we need
right now is a
pregnancy
to worry about.” As soon as the words were out, I realized how wrong they were. On the other end of the line, my sister would have given anything for a pregnancy, for a baby. “I'm sorry, Trude. That sounded really bad. I should go before I say anything else stupid. Any news on the in vitro, by the way?”

“No bad news, which is good so far, but let's not get off track. We're talking about you. When Carol was pregnant, she was exactly like that. So were Meryl and Missy. The dreams, the wild emotions, the . . .”

“I'm on the pill, Trudy. Believe me, I take it regularly. Daniel and I haven't even talked about whether we want more kids, and now definitely isn't the time.” Our lives were so tenuous already; I couldn't even imagine what a pregnancy might do.

Trudy was like a dog on a choice fillet. “What was that thing the week before the wedding . . . that day I called you, and you'd been to the doctor?”

“That was the dentist, and it was a root canal. What does that have to do with anything?”

“Oh,
man
 . . .” Trudy's response was laden with gravity, her hesitation weighty. “Did they prescribe antibiotics for that?”

“Yes, they did, and the first one gave me hives. I thought I was going to have to go to my wedding looking like Shrek, by the way.” It seemed funny now, but at the time, it felt more or less like a tragedy. Waking up with hives during your wedding countdown is tantamount to a bride's worst nightmare. “Anyway, they called in a replacement, and it was fine. I finished them up on the honeymoon. No more problems with the tooth. Thank goodness, because I don't know where the nearest dentist is around here. I'm going to have to look into that.”

“Oh-h-ho-oh, man,” Trudy was half groaning and half
laughing now. “That's how my friend Melinda got pregnant the fourth time. Antibiotics and birth control pills don't go together. Didn't anybody ever tell you that?”

Somewhere deep in my brain, a tiny little alarm bell sounded. I thought back to that day at the dentist. “No, Trudy, I remember the nurse asking me if I was on birth control pills. I'm sure they gave me something that wouldn't be a problem.”

“But you just said you switched—after the hives.”

“Well, I'm sure they gave me something
else
that wouldn't be a problem. The dentist isn't an idiot, you know.” The answer sounded more combative than I meant it to. I wanted Trudy to stop the inquisition, already. Unwillingly, I began counting up weeks, trying to remember if, in all the chaos since the wedding . . .

“Listen, just pick up a home pregnancy test and make sure, all right? And don't do any painting or bug spraying or crawling around in closets until you know.”

“Trudy, everything's fine. I
know
it's fine.” My stomach clenched around the words, forcing a nervous little laugh.

“No, you don't. I can tell by the way you're saying it. Don't take any more birth control pills, either.”

“Trudy, enough already! I'd better sign off. Nick's waking up.”

“I mean it. Either you take care of this, or I'll tell Mom.” She hung up the phone before I could argue, leaving me with that frightening ultimatum. In our family,
I'll tell Mom
was the death knell of every argument. Nothing, but nothing, was worse than that.

Trudy's threat hovered as Nick wandered in for breakfast. The more I tried to put it out of my mind, the more it nagged, like a fly that lingers because you keep swishing blindly at it rather than going after a fly swatter.

“We gonna go pick beans today!” Nick chirped, after scarfing his cereal. “We gonna go pick gween beans wif the lady.”

I groaned. Of all the things he could have remembered about yesterday, he had to remember the thing about bean picking with the summer enrichment kids. Keren had mentioned it again when she'd shown up with Chrissy's posse of neighbors.

“Mrs. Zimmer,” I corrected, trying to decide how to let Nick down easily.

“Wif Mrs. Zimmer!” he cheered, sliding from his booster chair and very carefully carrying his empty cereal bowl to the kitchen. Pulling his stool over to the counter, he climbed up to reach the sink, turned on the water, and informed me, “I washin' my bowl. You gotta go get dwessed.” His eyes twinkled as he glanced back at me. “You can't go in yous jammies!”

How could I possibly tell him I'd changed my mind about visiting the summer enrichment kids?

I couldn't, of course. I wanted to be a promise keeper in his life, not a welcher.

“You're right.” I gave him a big hug, and his little arms squeezed hard, warming me to the very depths of my soul. But even that joy came wrapped in a tissue paper layer of uncertainty.
Why isn't this enough?
I didn't even know who the question was for—my soul, my heart, God? Why, every time I thought I'd settled into this new life, did a whisper in the back of my mind tell me not to let my guard down? Was it this place, or was it just me? Was I afraid for our safety, or was I afraid of becoming
just
a wife and a mom? Was I worried that I would lose everything, or worried about losing my image of myself?

I pondered it as I dressed and then drove to town with Nick playing happily on my iPod in the backseat. What I wanted, I
supposed, were concrete answers. I wanted someone to open a window into the future and say,
Look, there you are a year from now. And see, you're just fine.

When we reached town, I parked my car in the shade of an alley behind Main Street. Nick jitterbugged with excitement as we walked around the building to where the kids were sitting in a circle on the sidewalk. The shade of an awning fell over them, shielding them from a summer sun that was intense, even at nine o'clock in the morning.

Keren smiled at us as we strolled up the sidewalk to the group. “Everyone, we have a guest with us today. This is Mrs. Everson and Nick. Can y'all say hi?”

The kids swiveled, and Nick hung back a little, clinging to my hand, momentarily overwhelmed. Tucking his chin and letting his blond curls fall over his eyes, he stopped walking. A bullet train of thoughts raced through my mind.
Maybe we shouldn't have come. Why is he being so shy
?
This isn't like him.
Nick was used to going to day care. What if his social skills were flagging already? What if playing by himself all the time, with only a dog to talk to, was ruining him . . .

I waved and smiled at the kids on Nick's behalf. “Hi, everybody!”

The sea of faces checked us out, wheels turning behind pairs of sparkly little eyes. Without even realizing it, I'd started cataloging the group, taking note of clothing that was dirty or tattered, hair that looked like it hadn't been combed or fixed or washed in a while, smiles with teeth that were decayed or covered with hideous silver crowns, skin mottled with bug bites, a child in what looked like pajama pants and a T-shirt that was dirty and didn't match. Her dark hair hung in a lopsided ponytail. She was scratching her head. I thought of lice. I looked at Nick's beautiful blond hair.

The little girl smiled a silver-crowned smile.

I thought of Nick's beautiful baby teeth. His perfect smile.

On the other side of the group, three little boys were sitting together, wearing name-brand clothes. Hair trimmed and combed. Faces washed. Legs not covered with scratched-and-healed bug bites.

I found myself steering Nick that way, stepping off the curb to circumvent the group as Keren tried to refocus their attention.

A little dark-haired girl in a wrinkled, washed-to-death sundress smiled at Nick and patted the sidewalk, her blue eyes curving upward in recognition. Her sandals were too small and her hair hung in uneven pigtails that looked like they'd been in for a couple days. I tried to decide whether I'd seen her before. She seemed to know Nick.

“Birdie, look up here at me, please,” Keren admonished, and the little girl turned around again.

Birdie, the granddaughter of Len, the mentally slow man we'd seen in the convenience store our first morning in Moses Lake. I only remembered the name because it was so unusual, and because I wondered what sort of child would belong to such an unkempt man. I felt sorry for her without even knowing her.