The Boy Who Appeared from the Rain
Page 69
Craig disconnected a call and turned to Kara as he stepped from the garage into the kitchen. His jeans were caked with mud—not unusual on a rainy day like today. Rain or shine, he still had to work.
"Hey, good-looking," Kara greeted him, leaving her dinner preparations to offer him a quick kiss, careful to avoid contact with the soiled parts of him. "Who were you talking to?"
Craig set his boots on the garage floor just inside the door. "That was the realtor who's selling Zach's old house. He said it's been a rental for twenty-five years, owned by a company that rents houses all over Seattle. Apparently they don't give out information on previous tenants."
"Maybe if we explained what it's for…"
"I did, sort of—enough to let him know a child's welfare might be at stake. He said he'd make some calls and get back to me, and he called back just now. But no luck. He said the company won't give out that information, if they even still have it. I stopped by and met some of the neighbors today, too, but none of them knew the residents three years ago. They said the residents pretty much kept to themselves."
Kara rolled her eyes. "Why is it that every time we learn something about Zach, it leads to exactly nowhere?"
"Because someone's hiding," Craig replied. "Or was, anyway. His grandfather and grandmother, whoever they were, left very little trail when they died."
"But there's someone else, too, Craig," Kara pointed out. "From what Zach says, the grandmother never claimed to be his mother, to have carried him. Someone else must have given him birth. And someone sent him to us."
Craig worked the problem in his mind yet again, but with no more success than in previous attempts. Discovering Rita yesterday had refreshed their hope, but so much had been kept hidden even from her. "Any news on Grover?"
"He's improving. They sent him home to rest, so naturally he made his daughter bring him by the nursery."
"I can imagine. I hope she dragged him away before he wore himself out. Where's Zach?"
Kara waved one hand airily. "Oh, you know him. He's outside being a fish."
Of course—it's raining, Craig thought with amusement. "Well, I'll clean up and then go say hi to him." He turned and walked toward the bedrooms.
"Dad!" the youngster's voice sounded suddenly from behind him. He looked back to see Zach stepping into the kitchen through the side door, grinning with excitement. "Dad, look who I found! Come and see!"
The youngster was cupping a mound of mud that dripped from his hands, and he himself was soaked through from the rain, mud smeared across his legs, shorts, and shirt. He had even gotten mud in his hair somehow. He stepped to the center of the kitchen.
"Zechariah Timothy!" his mother roared. "I said you could dig in it, not swim in it!"
"Look, Mom!" he answered happily, oblivious to her disapproval, showing her the mud. It continued to drip slowly onto the tiles of Kara's kitchen floor. She did not look pleased, but peered graciously into his hands, all the same.
"That looks like him to me," she said, "but your dad knew him better than I did. Quick, Craig, come and see him before your son gets mud on the rest of the floor."
Curious, Craig stepped back to the kitchen. "All right, Zach, what's with the mud?"
"Not the mud, Dad," he corrected, "inside the mud!" He watched with anticipation as Craig investigated the mess. A single worm wiggled through it, half in and half out, striving futilely toward someplace where the soil was drier and less prone to swinging this way and that.
"The worm?" Craig asked, confused.
Zach grinned. "Don't you recognize him? I think he remembers you!"
"Remembers me?" He narrowed his eyes. What was the youngster up to? He glanced at Kara, who nodded toward the worm with eyebrows raised. Then, as Craig took in Zach's mud-covered body, not to mention his own, along with the worm, he caught on. "Oh!" he cried. "It can't be! Wait a second…" He stuck a finger into the mud and dug the worm out into the open. "What do you know? That little red circle by his head—I'd know that circle anywhere! That's our boy, all right. How are you, old pal? I haven't seen you in years!" He touched the worm lightly, causing it to curl up. "Derek will never believe this. How did you find him?"
"Mom saw him the other day," Zach told him. "She showed me where he lives in the garden. I just had to dig around until I found him." He watched the worm wiggle a bit, then looked up at Kara. "Can we keep him inside, Mom? Just for a few days?"
She was still eyeing with disapproval the mess Zach was making on the floor; another chunk of slimy mud slipped off of him and hit her tiles. "Okay, I'll get a box for him. You"—she poked one clean finger into the mud on Zach's shirt, jabbing him in the ribs—"take your friend outside and wait on the patio."
Zach obeyed, and Kara retrieved a small box from the garage. As she returned to the kitchen, she cast Craig a quick smile. "I think he actually believes it's the same worm."
"Maybe it is," Craig shrugged, returning her grin. "Who are we to say it's not?"
She cocked one eyebrow. "Good point."
With that, she stepped out the side door and spoke to Zach. "Okay, put him in here… There you go. I'll take the box. You go around the house to the laundry room, take your clothes off, and put them straight into the washing machine."
"All of them?" Zach responded, incredulous.
"Yes, everything—well, maybe not the underwear, if you can keep the mud off of it," she compromised. "And then go straight to the bathroom and shower yourself off. Don't touch anything but the doorknobs. And use soap!"
"But—"
"Don't worry, we won't look."
With that, she returned to the kitchen, carrying the worm in its box. "I told him he could dig. How did he get so filthy?" Craig opened his mouth to speak, but with a quick appraisal of his clothes, she cut him off. "No, I know—it's a boy thing. Like father, like son." She reached for a roll of paper towels and began cleaning up the mess where Zach had stood. "I've changed my mind," she declared. "I want a girl."
Craig grinned and made his way to the back bathroom, careful not to touch anything along the way.
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