Wildfire (25 page)

Chapter
26

Halfway, she stopped and retraced her steps to stand in
front of the house.
Obaa-chan’
s apartment, a mother-in-law addition,
peered out from the back. Maybe one of her grandmother’s books would give her
some clues about Henry’s kind of creature. Lynn dashed to the back and
clattered up the stairs.

The thought that
Obaa-chan
wouldn’t be there, waiting
with a cup of green tea, sucker punched her at the door. She stood on the
landing, breathing hard. She hadn’t entered the place since the night her
grandmother had died.

Heat swirled around her and memories —long repressed—
clamored for attention. Her legs wobbled as dizziness almost swept her off her
feet. Lynn grasped the railing. The touch of cold metal pulled her back to the
present.
Your fear is only as strong as you allow it to be,
Obaa-chan’
s
words haunted her. She shook her head to clear the film of fear clinging to her
mind.

Lynn stared at the tarnished brass door knob. It’s just an
empty apartment. Heaving out a breath, she reached out and grasped the knob.
Twisted and pushed, to no avail. Locked. Damn it.

Her shoulders sagging, she turned around and returned to the
main house. Shame and relief seeped through her, making her miserable. She
unlocked the front door and walked inside, dropping her backpack next to the
coat rack.

“I’m in the kitchen!” Her mother’s voice bounced down the
hallway, accompanied by the mouthwatering savory scent of fried onions and
chicken broth.

Lynn trudged into the pristine white-and-blue kitchen, and
flopped into a chair.

“Tired?” Ayako looked over the pot of boiling soup.

She managed a nod. “Long day. Anything I can do to help?”

Her mother eyed her hands. “Wash your hands first.”

“Yes, ma’am, Dr. Mom,” Lynn replied, pushing out of the
chair. She made sure to scrub her hands for twenty seconds. Her mother abhorred
germs.

By the time she finished, Ayako stood slicing chives for
garnish. “Get some bowls, please?”

Lynn swallowed a sigh. Her mother’s forced cheerfulness and
careful politeness added a different kind of strain to their relationship. Why
couldn’t the woman just relax? Her conscience pinged her. At least she’s trying
to make dinner civil and pleasant.

Facing the blue dinnerware, Lynn practiced smiling. Then she
rolled her head from side to side, did a restrained shimmy, and grabbed two
deep bowls. Next she found a couple of soup spoons and took them to her mother.
“Smells good!”

Ayako shot her a smile. “Let’s hope it tastes good.” The
smile wavered. “With my mind on your dad, I can’t seem to remember simple
things, like where I left the keys or whether I put salt in the soup.”

Lynn managed a Jen-like careless wave. “Salt’s overused
anyway,” she said. “It’ll be healthier.”

“Oh, so you
do
listen to me sometimes.” Her mother’s
face shone red from the steam.

“Sometimes.” Lynn headed to another cabinet and snagged two
glasses. “Milk, right?”

Receiving a nod, Lynn went to fridge and poured milk into
the glasses, then carried them to the table. The soup bowls were already in
place and Ayako sat waiting.

Lynn dropped into her chair and bent her face into the warm
aroma floating up from the bowl in front of her. Fat Soba noodles, bits of
chicken, slices of mushrooms and green onions floated in clear broth. It
reminded her of simpler times from her childhood.

Her mother stirred some hot sauce into hers. “So, are you
going to call Rob now that you’re back?”

Lynn’s spoon froze mid-air. Luckily, it was empty. Calm.
Stay calm. “Rob and I are no longer seeing each other.”

“He told me you were angry at him for some mistake. He
seemed really sorry.”

“Did he explain to you what the mistake was?” Lynn’s voice
dripped icicles —cold and sharp.

Her mother shook her head, then dropped her gaze back to the
soup.

“Would you like the sordid details?” Damn, she sounded
bitchy.

Her mother pursed her lips and gave another head shake.

Lynn counted backwards from ten. “Mom, Rob’s a big boy and
he doesn’t need, or deserve, an advocate. This is between me and him. Stay out
of it, okay?”

A nod. If her mother bowed her head anymore, she’d get hair
in the soup. Why the hell was she being so conciliatory?

Lynn sighed. “I know you liked him and you’re disappointed.
I’m sorry.”

Ayako met her gaze. “I’m sorry too. I did like him, but
mostly because he seemed to make you happy.”

“He did make me happy for a while,” Lynn said. “Trust me, I
decided what was best for me.” The best thing for her would be to find a cave
and stay the hell away from men. The faces of all the guys she’d been involved
with —failed with— paraded through her mind. Her thoughts lingered on Jack and
the two kisses they’d shared.

Her mother slurped a noodle into her mouth, chewed and
swallowed. “I do trust you. Now, tell me about Jen and Paradise Valley. Have
you met anyone there?”

Bile pinched the back of her throat. Just the thought of
discussing the Jack debacle made her feel sick. She gulped down some milk to
wash the bitterness from her throat. Her heart ached. How could she miss
someone who thought she was about to eat him for a snack?
She was so never going to discuss Jack.
Especially with her mom. “Oh before I forget, do you have the keys to
Obaa-chan’s
apartment? I tried going in there and it’s locked.”

Ayako rubbed an invisible spot on the table. “Yes, I locked
it. I guess I’m not as trusting as your grandmother.” She coughed. “I didn’t
touch anything. Well, aside from cleaning out the fridge.”

“You didn’t sort through her things? Why?”

Fiddling with her spoon, her mother gave a half-hearted
shrug. “I just thought you could deal with everything once you were ready.”

Thanks for leaving me the hard job
. Lynn stared over
her mother’s left shoulder at a silk scroll on the far wall. An orange and
black koi swam in the pale blue waters of a quiet pond next to a weeping
willow. If only she could escape to that serene spot
.

“I mean, you were close to her.” The additional words drew
Lynn’s eyes back in time to catch her mother’s glance dart to her and away
again. “I—I didn’t want to intrude.”

Intrude?
Did her mother really feel like she’d be
intruding on
Obaa-chan’
s privacy? That not being dragon somehow made her
not good enough? “I don’t think she would have minded.”

Ayako picked up her glass with a trembling hand and gulped
some milk. “Mmm,” she mumbled, then dabbed at her lips with a paper napkin.
“Maybe. But I think she’d have preferred you to do it.”

Lynn rubbed the bridge of her nose. Baggage. Why did
everyone have baggage? “It’s going to be hard for me,” she said. “I would
really like some help.”

Her mother’s spoon dropped with a splash into the soup. “Are
you asking me to help you?”

Tears welled as Lynn bit her tongue —literally— to stop the
smart-alecky reply that pounced to the ready. She nodded. “Yes, I want you
there with me.”

Ayako wiped up the soup splatters on the table with the
napkin. “Of course. Of course I’ll help.” She looked up. “When did you want to
do it?”

Weariness —from the emotional turmoil of the past few days,
the long drive, and this final conversation— descended on Lynn like a vulture
coming in for the kill. She yawned into her hands. “Tomorrow will be soon
enough.”

Jack’s skin itched under all the dust and sweat covering him
in the musty attic, yet he didn’t stop pawing through box after forgotten box.
The piles of old clothes, scraps of paper and photographs just kept growing.
All these years, he’d only made trips up to grab or stow Christmas lights.
Everything else he’d ignored. Junk, just ancestral junk. Now, he searched for
answers.

The naked overhead light bulb gave off a feeble glow.
Shadows edged the small pool of light like doubt. Would there be anything to
find? The entire idea seemed too fantastic. He wanted to dismiss what Lynn had
said, forget everything. He wiped the sweat from his brow. Unfortunately, he
couldn’t dismiss what his eyes had seen. Twice.

An image of Lynn half transformed into dragon pushed into
his mind. He’d never forget it. Awake or asleep— didn’t matter. Whenever his
eyes drifted shut, that picture woke him. In other instances, another image —of
soft skin and willing lips— haunted him. His fingers curled around an old,
grimy rubber ball. He threw it against the far wall with a grunt of
frustration. After a plaintive squeak, the ball thumped to the floor.

He pulled out a tattered black notebook. Probably another
ledger of accounts from the old dry goods store. His ancestors apparently
counted and recorded every penny spent and earned. That was before his
spend-happy grandfather and father got into the picture. Without bothering to
open it, he tossed the notebook to the relevant pile and continued digging.
This time he found one of his father’s old pipes. A faint smell of sweet cherry
still clung to the empty bowl.

Jack froze. He turned and stared at the ball. Half deflated,
it sat forlorn on the floor. That’d been one of his old childhood toys. He’d
loved it as a child. And now the pipe. This box must be from his father’s time.
Slowly, he twisted around and grabbed the notebook. The age-worn cover made it
look much older than most of his father’s books. He flipped it open. Faded
blue-inked words sprawled across the yellowing pages.

Settling into a cross legged position, Jack began to read.
Just a few sentences later, recognition slammed him. He remembered lying in bed
as a young child as his father had read him these stories— of dragons who
sacrificed themselves so their loved ones could escape, and others who fought
with courage and fire, of caves and treasures, adventures in the sky and
foreign lands. As he grew older, he’d started asking for other stories. He’d
always assumed the story was printed in a book, but it was handwritten. The
book slipped from his sweaty palms and bounced on the floor. The precarious
seam split some more, and a few pages spilled and scattered. “Shit!”

Jack scrambled to gather the pieces. Among them, he found an
envelope. He held it a moment. He’d take the notebook downstairs to the
library, take a shower and look through everything in better light. Instead of
returning the small envelope to the damaged book, he slipped it inside his
shirt pocket.

So, he was a coward. At least he was man enough to admit it.
After a long, hot shower, Jack prowled around the desk, eyeing the notebook. As
if, any moment, it’d transform into a dragon and bite him on the nose. He
needed to read the words, needed to find answers. Instead, he remembered his
promise to visit Tavistock at the assisted living facility in San Angelo.
Grabbing his hat, he lit out the door.

As soon as he knocked and entered, the old man switched off
the television and flashed him a toothy grin. “I see, you finally remembered
me.”

“Oh, I’ve thought of you often, it’s just that life had me
by the throat.” Jack sank into the comfortable lounge chair next to the bed.

“Or has a certain young reporter kept you busy?”

Jack stared at his fingers twisting his hat round and round.
“Nothing like that.”

Silence forced him to look up into Tavistock’s worried gaze.
“Y’all had a fight?”

Enough with the questions. Maybe the visit hadn’t been such
a great idea. “No. So, how are the nurses treating you?”

Tavistock made a face. “Fuss over me like I’m a baby.”

“Anyone young enough to fuss over me?”

The old rancher shot him a sly smile and his chin jutted
out. “You can’t fool me. I saw you and Lynn kiss at the fire. Reminded me of
Elsie and me in our younger days.”

Jack leaned his head back and closed his eyes. Shit.
Apparently there would be no avoiding the topic.
“We
aren’t right for each other.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, really.”

“Ya’ know…”

Jack’s eyes popped open as he sat up straight. “I don’t want
to talk about it.”

Tavistock stared at him, then nodded. “What
do
you
want to talk about?”

Placing his hat on his knees, Jack leaned forward. “The old days.”

Raising a gnarled finger, Tavistock tapped his temple.
“Everything’s in there. What do you want to know?”

“You knew my great-grandfather and grandfather, right?”

“Yeah, I knew ‘em.”

“I want your take on them.”

“You’ve heard stories.”

Jack nodded. “I want to know what you thought of them. The
good and the bad.”

“The good and the bad.” Tavistock leaned back into his
pillows and steepled his fingers. “You’ve heard most of the bad, so I won’t
repeat things needlessly.”

Jack’s knees jitterbugged with his hat. He forced himself to
still.

“To tell the truth, I was kinda jealous of them for a long
while.”

The hat flew to the floor as Jack jerked in surprise. He
picked it up and dusted it off. “Jealous? Of what? Their money?”

“Nah, my dear old dad had plenty of that.” He chortled. “The
Callaghan men had something else. Just something special about them.”

Jack’s throat grew as bone-dry as West Texas dust. “What do
you mean?”

“Confidence. Pure one hundred percent proof confidence.”
Tavistock shook his head. “To a young tadpole like me back then, ungainly and
unsure of myself, that was a thing of envy.”

“Confidence?”

“Oh yeah, they’d walk into a room and you’d feel their
energy like the sun beating down on us mere humans. For a long time I wanted to
be just like a Callaghan.”