"You're right, it's a mess," Craig acknowledged.
Zach had just set the last load of tools on the shed floor. In some disarray already, the shed was now overflowing. Paws stepped carefully through the jumble, sniffing everything.
"Are you going to use all this stuff?" Zach asked.
Craig nodded. "A lot of it, anyway. I have a landscaping and yard care business, so things like this"—he held up a pair of loppers as an example—"come in handy. Anything that can cut, dig, rake…"
"Is this a chainsaw?" Zach picked up an old gas-powered device and examined the teeth on its blade.
"A hedge trimmer, for trimming bushes. It's not made for thick limbs. So its teeth are different, see? This is a chainsaw over here." Craig lifted the latter out of a pile and set it atop the clutter. If either of them worked—they looked as if they'd been gathering dust for a decade—it alone would be worth much of the little he'd paid for this whole collection of stuff.
Zach set the hedge trimmer back down. "You don't believe you're my dad, do you?"
His forthrightness impressed Craig. "No. Should I?"
The youngster considered. "Mom doesn't believe me because I didn't…you know, come out of her tummy."
"That does make it hard to believe."
Zach was silent for a moment, working the problem. And not letting it upset him. Good for him. Paws sauntered over to stand by his leg, and Zach rubbed the yellow dog's back.
Craig stepped outside the shed and leaned against its rough exterior. Paws and Zach followed. "So, Zach… If we're not your parents, who's your next best guess?"
"I don't have another guess," he answered. "You're the only people Grandmother ever told me about. But I think she was right."
"You do? Why?"
"Because of my name. You said I have the name you wanted to give me. I mean, give your son."
"Maybe it's just a coincidence."
"But I have the same name and Grandmother said I was your son. And Mom—"
"Kara."
"Yeah—she said I look like your picture. So did the police officer." There was a little more stress in his voice this time. Was he nervous or just thinking hard? He made good eye contact; if he was lying about any of this, he was doing a convincing job.
Craig folded his arms. "Hmm." Another thought struck him. "Why did you come here today? Why not yesterday or tomorrow?"
"Because today was the nanny's last day."
"Right, you said that. So why did she quit today? Why not go back to Mexico last week? Did she tell you?"
"She said the money ran out, so it was time to go," he reported.
"Who was paying her?"
"Grandfather. But after he died, the money started to run out."
"So she headed back home and left you here in Seattle all by yourself."
"Yeah."
"Did she tell you to come here to us?" Craig asked.
"No. She already knew I was going to."
"How did she know?"
"I told her. So she said goodbye when she dropped me off at school this morning."
"And that's it?"
"Yeah."
"Do you know how we can call her or find her before she goes back to Mexico?"
"No," Zach said. "She said she was leaving this morning."
What kind of person just left the child under her care at school and said goodbye? What kind of person didn't contact the folks she knew the child would reach out to? How come this story seemed so reasonable the way this boy talked about it, yet made no sense?
Kara called from the side door. "Craig? I have the guestroom ready."
"All right, we're coming," he replied.
Paws led the way back to the house, across the wet grass. It was fully dark now; this being early May, the sun was setting a little later each evening. It must be nine o'clock already. Kara would say the night was still young.
Paws gave way reluctantly at the door. He knew better than to bring his wet feet into Kara's kitchen uninvited. Zach and Craig wiped their shoes on the mat outside the door, then made their way to the guestroom. It was neat and tidy again, the queen-size bed fully made now, the upholstered sitting chair in one corner now free of junk, a desk with matching chair under the window, small lamps giving light from brackets on the wall over the bed.
Kara looked up as they entered. "Are you wet again?" she asked Zach. His hair was damp from the misty rain outside. "You really are part fish. At least this time you're not dripping." She waved him into the room. "Everything's set. You can sleep on the floor if you want to, but the bed is softer."
He eyed the bed with awe. "I've never slept on a bed that big."
Craig motioned toward it. "It's yours. Don't get used to it, though—it's only for one night."
With a glance at Kara, Craig moved to the bed and patted the edge of it. "Hop up here, Zach." He pulled the desk chair over for himself and sat down. "Let's talk."
Zach jumped up on the bed and sat facing the adults with his legs dangling off the edge, his hand gauging the spring of the mattress. Kara sat down cross-legged on the floor in front of him, to Craig's left.
"So here's what I'm thinking, Zach," Craig began. "Wherever you came from this morning, we're really not supposed to have you here."
The boy listened, eyes fixed on Craig.
"I don't think we would be in trouble, since a police officer brought you, but if we keep you past tonight, we could be. And look, if you ran away from home"—Zach didn't flinch; Craig had thought he might hit a nerve there—"then you could be in some trouble, too, maybe."
"Which is why we need to know where you came from and how to get you back there safely," Kara continued. "I feel terrible thinking that your mom and dad might be out there searching for you right now, wondering if you're lost or hurt or even alive."
Zach still didn't flinch. "I understand."
"But you still say you're our son?" Kara asked.
He nodded.
"So, Zach," Craig instructed after a moment's awkward silence, "get yourself a good night's sleep, and tomorrow we'll need you to tell us everything about yourself until we know what to do with you."
"Even if it takes all day," Kara added.
"Okay," Zach replied. "But I have to go to school first."
"Oh! Right," Craig managed. "Tomorrow's Friday. I hadn't even thought about school."
"We're not used to having kids sleep over on a school night," Kara confessed. "What time does school start?"
"8:45."
"All right," Craig said. "Your school's only two blocks from here. We'll have you there in plenty of time."
"Okay."
Kara stood up. "Is there anything you need before bed, Zach?"
"I don't think so."
"Okay then, under the covers."
The youngster pulled his shoes off and set them neatly on the floor at the foot of the bed. Leaving his shirt and socks on, he crawled across the bed, pulled the blankets back, and slid underneath them.
Craig replaced his chair and went to stand by the door as Kara moved to Zach's bedside.
She straightened the covers around him, then reached out and rumpled his damp hair. "Good night, Fish. We'll be in the next room if you need anything. And, obviously, you know where the bathroom is."
Zach looked quite comfortable under the covers. "Good night," he returned. He propped himself up on one elbow. "This is a great bed!"
"I'm glad you like it," Kara said with a smile. "Sleep well. It was nice to meet you tonight, Mr. Zechariah Timothy Fleming."
Craig flipped the light switch off as Kara met him at the door. "'Night, Zach," he said as they exited.
From the hall they made their way to the den and collapsed together on the couch. "You know what we need to do, Kara?" Craig said. "It's simple. All we need to do is go to the school tomorrow and get his contact information. We could say he stayed at our place last night, but we can't find his parents' phone
number. That would be true, more or less."
"Do you think they'd give it to us? Schools have to be careful about privacy rules."
"If we take him into the office with us, maybe they'll trust us. Or maybe they would make the call for us."
"Okay. It's worth a shot." She slid next to him, pulled him toward her, and kissed him on the forehead. "What a bizarre evening. I'm going to get ready for bed and maybe read a bit. Are you coming?"
Craig stifled a yawn. "You know, what if Zach ran away from home and thinks we're going to take him back tomorrow? He might try to sneak out during the night."
"And then if the police come looking for him here tomorrow..."
"Right—that would be a problem. So I think I'll sack out on the couch tonight. That way if he tries to leave, I'll hear him and wake up."
"He seems determined enough to stay here that I doubt he'll try to run away, but okay. Better safe than sorry. I'll grab you a blanket."
With that, they set about making their bedtime preparations. Craig's mind raced through every avenue he could think of for determining which of his relatives might be Zach's mother or father. Grant? Possibly. He lived somewhere in the area, though not in Seattle proper. Marie? Not likely, but she did tend to keep secrets. He didn't know any of his cousins very well. What were the odds that there might be a picture of a young Zach hidden somewhere in the family photo albums? No, that was extremely improbable. Had they ever met a Zach in the family, Craig and Kara would have remembered.
Kara brought him a blanket, then said good night and left to read in bed. Craig stretched out on the couch, not to sleep yet, but to think through his options.
*****
The Boy Who Appeared from the Rain Page 12