Firefly Island (29 page)

He craned away, his shoulder brushing the rough plaster of the hospital wall. “Where's all this coming from?”

“I hate this place, Daniel. I'm sorry. I know that's not what you want to hear. I hate all the drama, the unpredictability. All these people and their secrets.” Al's words repeated in my head, the volume ramping up. She was right, I didn't belong in Moses Lake. “We'll never have a normal life here. It will always be like this. I want a normal life—regular work hours, weekends off, a house that's ours, and friends down the street for Nick.”

“Nick loves it here.” His brows pinched together, his expression conveying that he thought I was being silly. “And the last time I checked, you were starting to like it, too. What happened to working on funding for the gardening program and taking on the hunger problem in Chinquapin Peaks? What about helping kids like the ones you've been writing about on the blog? What about showing the rest of the world how the odds are stacked against kids growing up rural and poor?” His gaze drilled into me, pierced me, called up memories that made me ache inside—the garden, the kids, Sergio, Sierra,
Birdie, and Len. My husband, this man who understood me like no one else, knew those things were inside me, even as I tried to deny them. “All that fire just . . . went away?”

My throat stung and tears gathered in my eyes. “I'm scared, Daniel. I'm afraid for us. We don't know what we might be dealing with here. If Mason did do this to Jack—to his own father—what would stop him from coming after you? Us? We have Nick to think about, and the baby. What if Mason really was involved in the disappearance of his stepmother and that little boy . . .”

“Shhh.” Daniel took me in his arms, pulled my body close to his. “I'm going to take care of us. I promise, Mal. I will.”

I clung to him, gulping back tears, trying to gain control as he tucked me under his chin, his arms holding me tight, his heartbeat pulsing against my ear. The depth of my love for him, of my need for him poured over me, both painful and sweet, both comforting and frightening. If anything happened to him, I didn't know how I would keep going. Couldn't he see that? Couldn't he see that
we
were what mattered most?

Finally, I straightened and wiped my eyes. I didn't want Nick to look over and see me this way.

Daniel smiled down at me, stroking a tear from my cheek with the pad of his thumb. Something was on his mind. The downward squeeze of one eyebrow betrayed it. “You know what? Maybe you and Nick should go—just grab a few suitcases and take a little vacation back to Maryland. There's plenty of room at your mom's, and you've been missing your sisters. By now Trudy must be about ready to tell everyone that the in vitro was a success this time. You could be there for that. You can compare pregnancy notes together.”

I pulled back, my mouth dropping open. “You're . . . trying to send us away . . .” In that instant, I understood everything. Daniel knew how risky this game of cat and mouse with
Mason was, but he wasn't willing to give it up. “
You
won't go, but you're sending us away. You know how dangerous it is here.”

He lifted his palms, held them out to fend off my accusations. “I didn't say that.”

“You didn't have to. I can see it all over your face.”

“Mal, don't read more into it than there is. I thought you'd enjoy a vacation, that's all.” His gaze darted away, then back.

I stood there staring at him, a cold tide of disbelief and resentment filling all the warm places where love and trust had been a moment before. “Yeah, thanks a lot.” Taking a step away, I turned from him, strode across the lobby, and gathered Nick.

“Mal, hang on . . .” Daniel stopped in the entryway.

“You know what, never mind,” I shot back, and behind the reception desk, the greeter paused in her work, sending a look of concern our way. I was beyond caring who heard. “If you decide
we
matter more than whatever it is you
think
you need to do, we'll be at home. Packing.” I didn't wait for an answer but just turned away and left.

Mercifully, Nick was easy to distract with a hot dog and a movie when we reached home. By the time it was over, he was dozing on the sofa. I tucked him into his bed for a nap, then went after the suitcases we'd stored in the old garage. I'd dusted them off, done a batch of laundry, and packed the suitcases half full of clothes before Nick woke up. The sound of his bare feet coming down the hall brought the feel of precious, quiet mornings when Daniel and I lingered in bed, listening to the doves in the cedars, the loons on the water, the cows lowing to their calves in the fields, the roosters in the barn singing up the sun, and then finally the soft stirrings of Nick in his bed before he came padding into the room, dragging his favorite blanket behind him.

I realized that I'd been imagining the new baby's life this way—filled with slow, sunny mornings, the music of the loons, the scents of damp, hidden canyons and flowers sprouting in the leaf litter. I'd been imagining our life here, in this wild, strange place that was like nothing I'd ever planned.

I stood with a shirt half-folded in my hands, watched Nick come into the room and climb onto the bed. Cuddling his stuffed Dalmatian under his chin, he regarded me with big, drowsy eyes, his static-filled curls hovering around his head like a sunny halo.

I finished folding the shirt and set it in the suitcase.

“What you doin'?” The last word came out in a long, slow drawl that reminded me of Birdie and McKenna.
Do-een.

“Packing some clothes so we can go on a trip.” I walked to the closet to look through the shoes, because I couldn't face Nick anymore. Why was I so conflicted about this? Why was I torturing myself with doubts? Daniel was the one who was wrong. I was right, wasn't I? Shouldn't our family come first? We weren't some kind of vigilante squad. We were just regular people, and we were out of our league here. “You remember the rumpus room at Grandma Hale's—with all the toys? Where you slept on the little sofa? We're going there. And maybe we'll drive on out to see your Nanbee and Grandpa Everson, too. That'll be fun, won't it?”

The bedsprings squeaked as Nick bounced closer. “We can't go dere, silly!” Grinning, he straddled the stuffed puppy and lifted his hands. “I gotta go to school tomorrow in two week.” Two fingers demonstrated his understanding of the number. Nick was beyond excited that we'd signed him up for the preschool program at Moses Lake school. He was literally counting down the days.

Guilt nipped at my heels as I moved to the closet to sort
through shoes. “Well, we don't have to worry about that right now. We'll get on a plane, and we can be there in no time.”

Get on a plane . . .

If I was really serious about this, I'd have to do something about plane tickets and a ride to the airport. Maybe Chrissy or Tag could drive us. I didn't even know where the closest airport was. . . .

I
was
serious about this, wasn't I?

I had to be. Someone had to think about Nick and the new baby. Someone had to be rational.

“I'm hungry,” Nick complained, and I was glad he'd gone off the topic.

“Let's take a break and go get something to eat.” I'd been in such a spin since Al's visit that morning, I hadn't even thought about the fact that I hadn't eaten since breakfast, and other than the hot dog with his movie, neither had Nick. He was probably starving.

“I want onion wings!” He squiggled happily off the bed. “And a fwies and a lollypop!”

I realized that Nick thought I'd meant
go
, as in to the Waterbird. The idea didn't sound too bad all of a sudden. In reality, it was too late in the day to wrap my mind around booking a flight and figuring out how to travel to the airport. I needed to get out of the house, to really think. Maybe the drive would clear my head, and when we came back, I'd be ready to look for airport information and tomorrow's flight schedules.

But I knew why I was delaying—why I was putting off the inevitable. The fact was that no matter how upset I was with Daniel at the moment, I couldn't leave him behind. Somehow, I had to persuade him to come with us. “Let's go to the Waterbird.” I held a hand out to Nick, and he slipped his fingers into mine, small, fragile, and filled with trust. Daniel and I needed to be worthy of that trust.

On the way to the Waterbird, I tried to sort out the muddle in my thoughts—to untangle facts from feelings. But they all were so twisted together, so inseparably interwoven. Daniel was putting his job ahead of Nick and me again, even to the point that he was willing to separate from us, to put himself in danger. To put us in danger of losing him. The truth of that dredged up a sludge of resentments that made it difficult to see anything else.

I wanted him to consider us first. Was I so wrong to expect that? Was it selfish? Was I asking for too much, demanding too big a sacrifice? Was I reacting like the spoiled, catered-to caboose baby who'd had everything her way, who'd been on her own all her adult life and never had to compromise with anyone?

But hadn't I compromised these last months—compromised almost to the death of everything that made me who I was? I'd left a job I enjoyed, my life, my family, my comfortable apartment, my dreams for myself. I'd become a mother, a laundry washer, a house fixer, a peach-pie baker, a support system, a cow caretaker. The suits and shoes and purses I loved were still in a box in the corner of a closet, because I had no place to wear them. I had no identity outside the house, the ranch life, the everyday activities that comprised the mythically idyllic life of The Frontier Woman.

Would it always be this way? Would I always be trying to force myself into a mold that didn't quite fit, because it was the only space available in Daniel's life? How long could that go on before you resented the very person you loved?

The questions, the future, haunted me as we pulled into the Waterbird and I helped Nick out of the car. The hillside view of the lake in the afternoon sunshine failed to soothe my rough edges, to quiet the nerves vibrating under my skin. I couldn't shake the feeling that something terrible was lurking
just out of sight, and our only chance was to destroy it before it destroyed us.

Inside the store, the Docksiders were gathered in their favorite booth, with Birdie camped out in a chair at the end of the table, sharing their fries.

Nick did a back-and-forth on the doormat, trying to decide whether to go to the counter to see Pop Dorsey or hurry to the back booth to catch up with Birdie and the Docksiders. The men were busy talking, cracking fresh-roasted peanuts, and drinking coffee. Nester Grimland was doing something with feathers, string, and a strange-looking metal apparatus. Birdie, on her knees in her chair, was both watching and helping. She sorted a red feather from a Ziploc baggie and handed it to Nester, and he pinched it, twisting it in the long stream of afternoon sunlight from the windows on the Wall of Wisdom.

“Yep, I sure think that one'll do just fine.” Nester gave approval to Birdie's choice. “If I was an ol' fat bass, I'd jump right at a hand-tied fishin' fly with a red feather on it, for sure.”

The lure was more than Nick could resist. He was off like a shot, and a moment later, he'd squirmed onto the chair next to Birdie. She slipped her arm around him, her little hand patting him on the back as they smiled at each other.

I went to the counter and ordered two small-fry cheeseburgers with onion rings—ketchup and tomato only on the burgers. No mustard, no pickles, no onions. Two small vanilla Dr. Peppers. Two scoops of Bluebell Homemade Vanilla ice cream. Our usual.

Something about the normalcy of the routine made me feel better, and the lull of the Waterbird slipped slowly over me. I stood gazing out the back windows, watching boats race across the water's glistening surface as vacationers on water skis drew cascading swirls in the water.

Daniel and I had talked about getting some kind of boat, once the bio patents started coming in. If everything worked out with the patents, we'd be able to afford things we could only dream about now. . . .

Pop Dorsey slid our drinks across the counter. “Here ya go, darlin'. Sheila will bring the rest out to ya in a bit. Everythin' all right today?”

“Sure,” I said, and Pop registered doubt. I wondered what I looked like. I hadn't even glanced in the mirror before leaving the house. “Busy day,” I added as an excuse.

“No more news about Mr. West, I s'pose?” Pop slid a stack of napkins and two straws my way.

“Nothing since this morning. Daniel hasn't called to report any change.” Daniel hadn't called at all, and the silence stung.

“Well, we're all prayin'. That's the best thing.” Pop met my gaze for a moment, his eyes cloudy with age, yet acute. “Jack West may be an ornery old cuss, but he's lucky to have you young kids lookin' after him. Even an ol' growlin' dog needs love and care. Sometimes an ol' growlin' dog needs it most of all.”

Guilt rushed over me as Pop wheeled away in his chair. I carried the drinks to the corner and sat staring at the quotes on the Wall of Wisdom as I waited for our food. Meanwhile, Nick entertained himself at the Docksiders' table, helping Nester and Birdie tie fishing flies. When our hamburgers came, Nick didn't want to leave his perch, so I handed over his burger basket.

The Waterbird conversation ebbed and flowed with the usual rhythms—weather, fat bass, fishing holes, badly behaved tourists who threw trash in the lake, giant catfish large enough to swallow a human. I relaxed into the hum of it and the serenity of the lake, trying to imagine the fact that the
same God who guided the rhythms of wind and water might be trying to guide me.

What was He saying?

I closed my eyes and tried to hear.