A Flicker of Light

by Katie Powner

  Now here she was, feeding ice cream to Steve? And what kind of name was that, anyway? If he had a cat, he’d name it Buckshot.

  Bea bent to watch the creature. “He’s not supposed to eat people food, Grandma.”

  “Bah.” June waved a hand in the air. “It’s just a little ice cream.”

  His mother had always had a soft spot for Bea, letting her have her way more often than Mitch would’ve liked over the years, but this unexpected pet tolerance didn’t seem to be for Bea’s benefit. What had gotten into her?

  A knock at the door tore Mitch’s attention from the table. He wasn’t expecting anyone else, but he hopped up and headed down the hall. His mind was still trying to process the sight of his mother feeding ice cream to a cat when he pulled open the door.

  Oh no.

  “Well, hello there.” His neighbor’s eyes were wide, as if he were the one who’d shown up unexpectedly at her door. “I saw the car out front and figured Bea must’ve made it in. I brought over a casserole.”

  Marge was forever bringing over a casserole. Ever since Caroline passed away, Marge had shown up at least once a week with a casserole. Then Mitch had to wait for Marge’s car to be gone so he could return the dish when she wasn’t home. He employed the same strategy when he rolled her trash can back in and mowed her lawn. Avoiding her took a lot of work.

  “That’s nice of you, but—”

  “Marge! How good to see you.” His mother came bustling up, wiping her hands on the apron she kept in Mitch’s kitchen. “Come in, come in. How’d you like that pie I sent down?”

  Marge beamed as she plunked a square glass pan into Mitch’s hands and closed the door behind her. “Thank you, June. Now, what’s this about a pie?”

  Mitch gulped and glanced at the dish. “I’ll go put this in the—”

  “Do you mean to tell me you never gave Marge her pie?” His mother jammed her fists into her waist and glared at him.

  “It was a busy week, Mom.” He inched away. “By the time I had the chance . . .”

  He gave Marge what he hoped was an apologetic look. She shrugged and pinched her buxom hips. “Don’t you worry about it. I don’t need my own pie, anyway.”

  His mom somehow wedged her way behind him and Marge and herded them down the hall like cattle in the chute. “I’ll just have to make you another one.” They entered the kitchen, where she pressed Marge into a chair. “In the meantime, I’ll fix you a plate.”

  Instead of protesting, as Mitch would’ve preferred, Marge set a napkin on her lap and folded her hands on the table. “That would be lovely.”

  She settled in as if she came over every day. “Hi there, Bea. It’s so good to see you.”

  Bea looked between him, Marge, and the dish in his hands with an inscrutable expression. “Good to see you, too, Marge. This is my husband, Jeremy. Jeremy, Marge.”

  Jeremy seemed unfazed as he stood to reach across the table and shake her hand. “Nice to meet you.”

  Bea raised an arm in the direction of Marge’s house. “Marge lives next door.”

  Marge’s long, dangly earrings jangled as she nodded. “I saw your car and wanted to say hello.”

  As they talked, Mitch opened the fridge and scrunched his nose. There was no room for a casserole. He set it on the counter with a thud and shut the door. “How did you know it was Bea’s car?”

  She’d left town in a black Chevy Blazer two years ago. Nothing like the yuppie-looking Toyota out front now.

  “I heard it from Janice, who heard it from Ralph that she was coming in today.”

  Mitch frowned. Ralph. He loved the guy and had worked with him for years, but he sure liked to talk. Not that anyone could keep a secret in Moose Creek.

  Marge caught him looking at her and blushed. “And I saw the California plates.”

  He looked away.

  “How long have you been neighbors?” Jeremy asked.

  “Since forever.” Marge dug into the pie his mom had set in front of her, not appearing to mind the chewiness one bit. “Back in the day, our little block had all kinds of activity going on. Kids playing outside, and everyone coming and going. But now it’s just me and Mitch. Two solitary souls.”

  Mitch pulled at the collar of his shirt. Why’d she have to say it like that? But he remembered those days. They were good times. Before Bill abandoned Marge, and her three kids grew up. Before Caroline died, and Bea got married. So much had changed.

  He didn’t like the way Marge was looking at him, but he resigned himself to the situation and sat back down at the table next to his father, who hadn’t said a word since asking Mitch to pass the pepper at dinner.

  “Now, Bea, listen.” Marge pushed back the wild, curly frizz of hair encroaching on her face and leaned forward. “Janice said Ralph said you might be in town for several months. So I thought you might like to know that I heard Kathy’s finally retiring from the Food Farm, bless her heart, and MacGregor’s looking to hire someone part-time to replace her.”

  Mitch cringed on the inside. That was his daughter’s best prospect? Replacing Kathy at the Food Farm? Then again, if a job would tie her down to Moose Creek . . .

  “What a great idea.” June clapped her hands together. “Caroline has always liked to keep herself busy, isn’t that right?”

  She turned to Bea with a smile, and Mitch frowned. Caroline? Where had that come from? Bea did resemble his wife enough to make his heart twinge every time he looked at her, but Caroline had been gone for two years. His mom had never made that mistake before.

  Bea’s brow furrowed, and she tilted her head. Before she could respond, another knock sounded at the door.

  “What on earth?” Mitch muttered.

  “Busy place,” Jeremy said.

  Mitch hurried back down the hall and yanked open the door for a third time. “Oh, hey, Darryl. What are you doing here?”

  “Evening, Mitch.” The officer jerked a thumb over his shoulder, then hooked it in his gun belt. “Somebody parked the wrong way in front of your house.”

  “It’s the easiest job in the history of jobs.” Bea snuggled closer to Jeremy, thankful her dad had switched the twin bed that had been in her room for the queen bed in his. “It wasn’t too bad when I worked there before. I kind of liked it. And it would only be part-time.”

  Jeremy spoke softly into her hair. “But what about the baby? Aren’t you supposed to take it easy?”

  She frowned. Only seven weeks pregnant and the baby was already dictating her life?

  “I’m not exactly sure what I’m supposed to do,” she said. “This is all uncharted territory.”

  But she knew one thing: they needed to make money. She’d googled “how much does it cost to have a baby” the other day and nearly hyperventilated. It seemed an impossible amount. And she knew another thing: she would go crazy hanging around the house all day. Grandma June had been right about that, even if she had called Bea by the wrong name.

  “Maybe I should work there.”

  She stiffened. “Jeremy.”

  They’d talked about this already. Sixteen of the seventeen hours from Santa Clara to Moose Creek had been used up talking about what they were going to do now. What the plan was. How they were going to make it work. Jeremy had big dreams about starting his own company, being his own boss, and Bea was committed to helping him achieve his goals. That’s what a good wife was expected to do. That’s what Mom always did.

  She and Jeremy had agreed they would stay with her dad for a maximum of three months so Jeremy could focus on researching ideas and methods and come up with a business plan. They had also agreed it would be ideal if she could earn some money in the meantime. A part-time job at the Food Farm wouldn’t provide health insurance, but at least it would be something.

  “I know we had a plan,” Jeremy said. “But your dad—”

  “Don’t worry about my dad.” Bea relaxed and nuzzled Jeremy’s neck. “He’s just a little overprotective.”

  “I don’t think he
’s very happy with me.”

  “It’s our life. Not his.”

  “I told him I had a few ideas about what to do now, and he said, ‘You can’t eat ideas.’”

  “Well, he’s not wrong.” She shrugged. “You can’t.”

  Jeremy tensed. “I need you on my side here, Bea.”

  “There are no sides.” She kissed his ear, hoping she was right. Hoping he was just being paranoid. Dad might be thinking I told you so now, but he would be impressed when Jeremy launched his own company.

  Right?

  “It’s been a long day.” She knew how to take her husband’s mind off his worries. She slid her hand across his chest. “Maybe we should talk about this tomorrow.”

  He exhaled. “You’re probably right.”

  Though the room was dark, she found his chin with her fingers and turned his head toward her. She met his lips with hers, and he kissed her back, gently and deeply, but when she moved closer, he pulled away.

  “Bea, I can’t.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Your dad’s downstairs.”

  “So?”

  “So what if he hears us?”

  She let go of his chin and laid her head on her pillow. “Jeremy.”

  “I told him about your tattoo.”

  She sat up with a gasp. “What’d you do that for?”

  “He asked about mine, and it just kind of slipped out. I’m sorry.”

  Bea plopped back down in bed and stared at the ceiling, imagining what her dad’s face must’ve looked like when he heard that little bit of news. She reached for Jeremy’s hand under the covers and grabbed hold of it tightly.

  It was going to be a long three months.

  SIX

  The darkness is one of the things I love most about this place. No city lights. No streetlights. Only stars and stars and stars, and a crescent moon.

  Rand’s boots rub against my bare calves as I stand in the yard looking up at the immense, all-encompassing sky. My boots were right there by the back door, too, but shoot, I like wearing his. The mountain stands before me like a sentinel keeping watch, but I wonder if it’s doing its job. ’Cause I heard what she said. Beatrice. She thought no one could hear, but I heard.

  Mitch and Rand were sitting in the living room, having one of their silent conversations, and Bea and her husband were in the kitchen doing dishes. Like I couldn’t do them myself. Imagine, telling me to go sit down and take a break.

  But I didn’t do that. And I heard her say it.

  Baby.

  An owl hoots, and bats swoop and dive like acrobats in front of the moon. I put my hand in the pocket of the old dress I wear as a nightgown and wrap my fingers around a penny. Would there be any shine left in it if I held it up to the moonlight? I pull it out and lay it flat on my palm.

  The screen door slaps shut and startles me. My heart shakes.

  Oh, Lord, I dropped the penny.

  “June, what’re you doing? It’s two in the morning.”

  I drop to my knees and skim my hands over the grass, searching.

  “You got no coat.” The porch steps groan as Rand limps down them one at a time. “You’ll catch your death.”

  “Stay back.” Nothing but damp earth meets my fingers as I press them into the ground. It has to be here somewhere. I was standing right here.

  “June.”

  I lift my head and shout, “I said stay back.”

  My voice prowls through the night like a feral creature. I must stop him. I can’t let him find it. I need to tuck it far away.

  I pound on the ground. “No, no, no, no, no.”

  “Come back to the house, June.”

  He stands beside me now, and I slap at his legs. “Get away, get away.”

  “Juniper.”

  The fear in his voice reaches me, but I don’t understand it. Does he know?

  His hand is on my shoulder, soft and strong but unsure. I start to cry. Where is my penny? Why can’t I find it? What if he sees?

  “Come on.” He gently grasps my arm and pulls me to my feet. Snot drips from my nose, and when I wipe at it, I feel the dirt smear across my face. It’s better if I let him lead me inside. It’s the only way to get him away from here. To keep him from walking all over the grass. When he isn’t here, when he isn’t looking, I will return.

  We shuffle back to the house. Tears stream down my face and drip off my jawline. They fall like rain onto my nightdress.

  It is dark, and I am cold.

  SEVEN

  Bea’s foot struck a Cheerio as she placed her cereal bowl in the dishwasher, and it skittered across the floor. Steve chased it across the smooth laminate boards. She laughed as the cat batted the Cheerio under a chair and then pounced on it from behind the leg.

  “At least Steve likes it here.”

  Jeremy slid the milk jug back into the fridge. “I never said I don’t like it.”

  Her shoulders slumped. He hadn’t said it out loud, yet she could tell being in her dad’s house put him on edge. It wasn’t where she wanted to be, either. But it was only temporary. They had no choice.

  “I know.”

  “It’s kind of nice being around family. Family that actually cares about you, anyway.” Jeremy shook his head as if shaking off bad memories. “How does your stomach feel after eating? Is your morning sickness bad today?”

  “Hot coffee, Jeremy.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Keep your voice down.”

  His eyes twinkled. “Relax, he’s not even home.”

  “I—I know,” she sputtered. “I’m just, uh . . .”

  Her voice trailed off as she let out a long breath. Was she going crazy? Dad couldn’t hear them. He’d risen with the dawn and headed off to work before Bea had even opened her eyes. No matter how many hours of sleep she got, her body wanted more.

  Jeremy stretched his neck. “You can’t keep it from him for long.”

  “I’m just not ready.”

  She scrunched her nose. I’m just not ready felt like such an understatement. She was more than just not ready to face her dad’s reaction to the big news—she was terrified.

  “Are you going to call the doctor at least?”

  “Maybe later.” She gave a half smile as she watched Steve’s tail flick back and forth while staring down the wayward Cheerio. “I was thinking we could walk down to the Food Farm this morning.”

  “Walk?”

  “I’ll give you the grand tour of Moose Creek. Shouldn’t take long.”

  “Okay.” He followed her to the front door, where their shoes and coats waited. “But don’t you want to drive?”

  She opened the door and took a deep breath. “No way.”

  The air here was different from California. Thinner, for one thing, and drier. But also fresher. Santa Clara always smelled vaguely of an adolescent’s bedroom that had been shut up for too long. Moose Creek smelled like ice water and Ponderosa pines. Unless the wind blew in just the right direction and carried the earthy scent of Dirk Reichman’s cows into town.

  They headed west on the dirt road, labeled Lewis and Clark Avenue but referred to by locals as Second Street. Bea breathed the familiar air, studied the familiar houses, and anchored herself on the familiar hard-packed dirt beneath her feet. Yet she couldn’t deny an unfamiliar feeling. The feeling of being a stranger. She’d been gone only two years. How could Moose Creek no longer feel like home?

  Jeremy scanned the street. “It’s quiet.”

  She didn’t answer. It had been hard to get used to the constant noise and bustle when she first moved away. Cities were so loud. But that’s what Jeremy had grown up with.

  An old four-wheeler manned by an even older driver puttered by at a slow and steady pace.

  Bea raised one hand. “Good morning, Earl.”

  Earl nodded as he passed, his shaggy white hair streaming behind him.

  “That guy looks like he’s about a hundred years old,” Jeremy said.

  “Ninety-three.”

&nb
sp; Jeremy’s eyes widened. “And he’s still allowed to drive?”

  “He’s not really driving.”

  “Um, yes. He is. He’s driving a four-wheeler.”

  Bea shrugged. “He likes to make the rounds. Just be glad we weren’t here a couple months ago. In the summer, he rides around in cutoff jeans with no shirt on.”

  Jeremy narrowed his eyes. “And the police aren’t concerned?”

  It had never crossed Bea’s mind that the police should worry about what Earl was up to. She’d seen Officer Darryl pull Earl’s four-wheeler over many times but only for a chat. “After everything he’s been through in his life, I think the police figure he can do just about whatever he wants.”

  She watched the four-wheeler disappear around a corner and chewed the inside of her lip. Part of her was annoyed Jeremy thought Earl was doing something wrong, but what if he was right? How long could Earl keep riding that old Yamaha around before someone got hurt? Something like that would never be allowed to happen in Santa Clara.

  Sometimes the upsides of living in a small town were also the downsides. And vice versa.

  As they continued walking, Jeremy checked his phone. “I’m not getting any reception.”

  “It’s spotty all through the foothills.”

  “What’s the elevation here?”

  “About forty-eight hundred feet in town, but it gets up to six, seven thousand when you go through Bridger Canyon.”

  He pointed over his shoulder. “How high is that peak?”

  “Around ninety-five hundred or so.”

  It was a long way up from Santa Clara, which sat pretty much at sea level. The air was heavier down there, similar to Atlanta, where they had met. Jeremy had been attending Georgia Tech, while she’d chosen Georgia State University in response to an overwhelming urge to escape Moose Creek after her mother died. So much for that.