by Susan Wiggs
Aurora stuffed the yellow plastic bracelet away and didn’t let herself respond, even though she wanted to confess how much she worried about her dad every single time he went to the station. She worked hard to keep from being cozy with Sarah. That sucked. She couldn’t let herself fraternize with the enemy. And that was what Sarah was now—the enemy. Aurora kept her yearning closed tight in her fist.
Sarah stared at the smoldering wreckage. “I wish they could figure out who did this. It has to stop. These fires. So far, no one’s been hurt, but that’s just luck. And we can’t count on luck.”
To change the subject, Aurora asked, “Where are your babies?”
“I left them with my friend Judy. I hope they’re sound asleep.” She watched a crew of volunteers raking through the remains of the structure. “My grandfather built that shed,” she said. “When Kyle and I were little, we used to play around it. Sometimes he’d put a raw oyster on a stick and chase me around with it. Brothers can be a pain.”
Was she putting a special emphasis on the word brothers? Aurora wondered. Like, maybe Aurora would wind up with the twins as her stepbrothers? She refused to contemplate that.
“I guess your brother must be pretty bummed,” Aurora remarked.
“Kyle needed more space for parking, anyway.”
Thunder growled in the hills over the bay, like a wake-up call she had known was coming. Fat droplets of rain came down, a few at a time, but promising to thicken.
* * *
The thump of a slamming car door startled Aurora. She was back at home because he’d cut his duty cycle short, but had kept her waiting while he finished up his reports.
That was Dad. He was all about responsibility and duty, even after he’d narrowly escaped an explosion. Yeah, that was him all right. It was his duty to take responsibility for Aurora. He’d never been her dad because he loved her, because he wanted her, but because he had a freaking duty.
Years ago, she used to rush out to greet him, even if it was raining, like today, because she couldn’t stand waiting another minute. Today she was still so mad at him she couldn’t see straight. The minute he saw her, he’d guess that she was upset, and he’d ask what was the matter. Fine. She’d tell him today. Right now.
She marched upstairs and grabbed the papers and receipts she’d found. The rain that had started after the fire drummed relentlessly on the roof, and the wind rattled the windowpanes.
Defiantly, she clutched the receipts she’d found and marched downstairs.
“Hey, Aurora-Dora,” her father said, oblivious to her mood. He had some scratches on his face and the outline of a bruise around one eye. He looked as if he’d been in a fight—and lost. But he was grinning as if he hadn’t been blasted to kingdom come. Was that what made her so mad, that she’d almost lost him?
“Hey.” Her tone of voice got his attention.
“What’s the matter?”
She set the receipts on a table. “For one thing, you’ve been paying my mother to stay away.”
He didn’t act surprised or even sorry he’d been hiding this from her. Or mad that she’d snooped in his hidden box. “I sent her money when she said she needed it. Staying away was her choice.”
“She’s my mother.” The word came out twisted by pain. “You knew I missed her every single day of my life. You told me she never called or got in touch.”
“I didn’t want you to keep hoping she’d come back. I didn’t want you to be disappointed.”
Aurora wanted to scream with frustration. Instead, she went to her room and started methodically stuffing things into her backpack. Her father stood in the doorway. “I’m sorry,” he said.
“Sure.” Inches from tears, she threw in a couple of schoolbooks, zipped her backpack and put on her raincoat. Rudely, she shoved past him.
Her dad followed. “Aurora, let’s talk about this.”
The cold rain slapped her in the face as she whipped around toward him. “There’s nothing to talk about. You lied about my mother. You lied about everything. Why didn’t you ever tell me the truth about Mexico?”
Now he looked pale, as though he really had been in a fight.
“I read your statement,” she reminded him. “I’m not stupid.”
“I just didn’t see how it would do you any good to know how rough things were in Tijuana,” he said, his voice raw with regret.
“It didn’t do me any good for you to hide the truth.” Thunder punctuated her words, loud as a stranger, pounding at the door. “I have to go to the library,” she said, heading out into the pouring rain. It was miserably cold, but she barely felt it.
Her dad followed her out. He didn’t flinch as the rain flayed at him. “Ah, honey, come back inside and let’s talk about this.”
She stopped at the end of the driveway and turned. “Why? You never wanted to talk about it before.”
Without a raincoat, he was getting soaked to the skin, his shirt sticking to him, but he didn’t move toward the house. “If I could, I’d rewrite your whole life for you, but I can’t. All I can do is give you the best life I can right now.”
“What, by hooking up with Sarah Moon? I know you’re in love with Sarah,” she yelled, the rain dripping off her nose and cheeks.
“I can’t help it,” he replied, holding out his arms, palms up, as if to catch the raindrops. “And I won’t stop.”
She turned to walk away, but he called out, “Listen, Aurora. I love Sarah—and I love her boys, too. But you...you’re my heart. My life changed when you came into it. You made me into a father.”
She turned back. “Bull. You rescued me because you had no choice.”
He didn’t deny it, but insisted, “We’re a team, you and I. And if you think that’s going to change just because I met someone, you’re wrong.”
“Everything has already changed.” She backed farther away from him.
“How is that a bad thing?”
“Everything was fine before.” She knew, though, that it wasn’t. Her dad was always okay, but not fine, and now he seemed determined to do something about it. And there was nothing Aurora could do to change his mind. She wasn’t important enough.
“There’s something I need to tell you.” He cleared his throat, looked her in the eye. “I’m going to ask Sarah to marry me.”
She tossed her head, flinging raindrops from the hood of her jacket. “I know. I saw the receipt for the ring.”
“I was going to tell you, but you beat me to the punch by snooping around.” He had an expression on his face she’d never seen before. A glow. “Anyway, I hope like hell she says yes, and I hope like hell you’ll be happy for us.”
“Happy. Let’s see. To have a pair of twin babies move into my house. A woman who’s not my mom married to my dad. All this is supposed to make me happy?”
“Sarah loves you, Aurora. You know she does. And you can love her and the boys, if you let yourself. It’s not possible to have too many people in your life to love.”
Aurora couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Then she couldn’t believe what she was thinking. What if Dad had died in that fire? She could wind up with Sarah and the two kids until she was eighteen. “Maybe I’m not like you, Dad. I can’t just start calling a group of strangers my family. I don’t work that way.”
“News flash, Aurora,” he said, showing his temper. “The world doesn’t revolve around you.”
“You’re right. It revolves around you and Sarah and those babies.” Suddenly, Aurora felt sick. Her dad deserved Sarah, who was kind and good, who came from a nice family. Her dad and Sarah belonged together, two good people making a life together, not one rescuing the other. That was probably why it had never worked for Aurora’s real mom. She and Dad had never been equals, and Mama’s running away was proof of that.
“Where the hell are you going?�
� Dad yelled.
“I’ll be at the library, doing homework,” she said, shouldering her backpack and adjusting her hood.
There was a pause. Aurora knew he was trying to decide whether or not to make her stay and get yelled at some more. “We’ve got dinner at Granny’s tonight, and we need to pick up the dog at your friend’s house,” he said.
“I know. I’ll go straight to Granny’s afterward.” Under her breath, she added, “As if you’d care.” Walking down the road, she fingered the wadded-up receipt in her raincoat pocket. She’d held on to it, because the receipt told her another thing her dad had kept a secret—her mother’s physical address.
Thirty-Nine
After he took a shower and dried off, Will phoned his parents to warn them that Aurora was likely to be in a temper when she arrived. He got their voice mail and told his mother to call him.
He dressed in jeans and a flannel shirt, and did some things around the house, the fight with Aurora stinging far worse than the myriad nicks and cuts from the fire. When Aurora was little, she used to be so sunny and uncomplicated. Each time he had to head off to work, she had a little ritual. She’d hold his face between her tiny hands and say, “Bye, Daddy. I’ll see you again when you come back around.”
Hearing her call him Daddy—something she had taken to all on her own—filled him with a fierce, protective pride so strong that it drove away every regret he might have had about chances missed and paths not taken.
Today, she hadn’t even bothered with goodbye.
“Knock, knock.” Sarah stood in the doorway, smiling at him. Without waiting for an invitation, she let herself in. “Do you have time for a little company?”
The light seemed to change and the wind to shift whenever she was near. He looked at her and saw magic; she was all bright flares and mysterious shadows. “Sure,” he said, taking her in his arms. She felt and smelled like heaven, and even though he was still troubled by Aurora, a deep contentment settled in his heart as he held her close. Whatever was going on with Aurora was something to be sorted out, and maybe Sarah would even help him with that. The concept of having help raising a child was a new one on Will. Thank God, he thought, remembering the sensation of being hurled through the night by the explosion. Thank God he’d survived. He needed this, needed Sarah, needed to love her. This was what love was supposed to be—calm, not chaotic.
With Marisol, everything had been chaotic. And one of the things he found most unsettling about Aurora was that sometimes, she reminded him sharply of her mother. Today as she’d hurled her angry accusations at him, what he saw in her eyes frightened him—dark flickers of Marisol.
“I’m so glad you’re all right,” Sarah whispered against his chest.
“Don’t ever worry about me. I’m a professional.”
“Yeah, tell that to the propane tank.”
“I’m fine, Sarah. I swear I am.” He tightened his hold on her and they swayed a little, in a rhythmless dance of intimacy. His throat felt thick and his eyes burned. Damn, he thought. Damn. Loving her was moving him to tears. That was a first, for sure.
“What?” she whispered, and he realized she must have felt him shudder.
“I love you, that’s what.” His kiss was long and filled with things for which there were no words. That sense of peace settled over him, and, lifting his head, he wondered if she felt it, too. The soft expression in her eyes indicated that she did. “Sarah—”
“Notice anything different about me?” she asked, pulling away from him and turning slowly, hands out.
All right, so she still wasn’t ready. “This is a trick question,” he said. “So many ways for a guy to screw up the answer. I need a hint. Does it have to do with a new outfit or a haircut or losing weight?”
“Are you saying I’m fat?”
“Aha. It is a trick question.”
“What I thought you’d notice is that I’m by myself. The boys are with my grandmother and Aunt May again.”
“If I didn’t have to go to my folks’ for dinner, I’d be a lot happier about that,” he admitted. He was on fire for her, all the time, and didn’t get nearly enough of her alone.
“I just wanted to see you.” She smiled at the expression on his face. “Don’t look at me like that. Remember, before I started sleeping with you, we were the best of friends.”
“And then we had to go and ruin it.” He kissed her, though he forced himself to go no further.
“I saw Aurora after the fire,” Sarah said. “I thought maybe she wanted to talk, but she didn’t have much to say. She’s pretty angry about us, Will.”
He didn’t disagree or try to deny it. “I doubt she’s as mad at you as she is at me,” he said. Then, taking a deep breath, he told her about Aurora discovering that he’d been sending money to Marisol.
“I thought spousal maintenance was fairly standard,” Sarah said.
“It’s not official or even mandatory. I just do it because...hell, I don’t know.”
“Because it’s what you do. You rescue people. Bail them out.”
“She gave me Aurora. And I know there’s no price on that, but Marisol... She still needs me.” The words sounded hollow, spoken aloud. “That’s not true. She never needed me. She needs what I have to offer. There’s a difference.”
Sarah looked at him for a long time. “I wish I could understand about her, Will.”
“I’ve told you. I—”
“No, really tell me. Everything.”
He started to evade the issue again, but then he nodded, feeling a curious sort of relief in his chest. He loved Sarah. He trusted her. She already knew about the journey to Mexico, the hasty marriage, the dramatic change in his life plans. She even knew that he fell crazy in love with Marisol and stayed that way like a fool for far too long. What he hadn’t told her was how it had all unraveled.
“I guess Marisol was never happy, not with this town and not with me,” he said. He had taken charge of securing Marisol’s green card and initiated the process of applying for U.S. citizenship. In the meantime, he was working every crappy minimum-wage job he could find, training as a firefighter and waiting for a position to open up.
Marisol grew restless within the insular confines of Glenmuir. Inadvertently, Will himself set in motion the demise of their marriage. Thinking it would cheer her up, he left Aurora in the care of his parents and drove Marisol to Las Vegas for a vacation. She had been enchanted, like a fairy-tale princess who finally found her kingdom. The lights, the noise, the smoky casinos and even the glamorous call girls in the hotels all captivated her. After that trip, Will heard nothing but Vegas, Vegas, Vegas. Ultimately for Marisol, the lure proved a stronger force than her ties to Glenmuir. Will’s steadfast devotion could not hold her. Nor could the quiet need of her small daughter.
“Actually,” he explained to Sarah, “Birdie was still in law school when I realized things weren’t good between Marisol and me. But my sister was already thinking like a lawyer. She was the one who came up with the suggestion that I should legally adopt Aurora. If not for that, I might not have custody of her now.”
Looking back on events, he had to admire his sister’s foresight—and her cynicism. It was as if Birdie had seen something he couldn’t. If he’d had a little of his sister’s caution and attention to detail, he might’ve sensed something—a warning, a premonition—to indicate trouble brewing. He’d been blind, though, maybe willfully so. He wanted to believe he was making the American dream come true for two who needed it most, and he’d stubbornly clung to that notion for far too long.
“When Aurora and Marisol became U.S. citizens, my folks threw a big party to celebrate.” He shook his head, steepled his fingers. His chest hurt; he wasn’t used to baring his soul about a painful episode. “Even then, I kept thinking everything would work out. Then a few days later, with her
documents stashed in her pocketbook, Marisol took off. She’d absconded with as much cash as she could find in the house, as well as what she could get the ATM to cough up before I closed the account.”
“By herself?” Sarah asked, looking mystified. “She didn’t try taking Aurora with her?”
He shook his head. He probably should have guessed at her impending defection for months beforehand. She’d even taken a couple of trial runs, although he hadn’t seen them as such at the time. Every once in a while, he’d discover that she’d left Aurora by herself, never seeing her actions as a warning of things to come.
“I had to drive over to Petaluma on some errands,” she’d explain, usually in simple Spanish, which he understood perfectly well. “Aurora is happier staying home for a couple of hours.”
“She’s too little to be left alone.” Will had struggled to keep his temper.
“In a town like this, nothing ever happens, good or bad, so where is the harm?” Marisol had been willfully clueless.
“Everywhere,” he’d told her, hot with irritation. “In a box of matches you left out on the patio, or a jug of antifreeze in the garage. Or what about her bike? If you’re not here to supervise, she might take it into her head to go riding without a helmet, and she could crash or get lost.”
Marisol was genuinely baffled. For someone raised the way she had been, leaving a child alone to fend for herself was common practice.
Even after incidents like that, he’d refused to see her desperation for what it was. When he woke up and found her crying at night, he thought she was simply tired from work. Sometimes he saw her staring out at the horizon with a look of yearning so stark in her eyes that it haunted him. Sometimes, it reminded him of the life he’d given up in order to be a family man. The difference between them was, Marisol followed her yearning while Will fought his.
He had just made captain—the youngest in county history—the day he finally had to face facts. He looked at Sarah, grateful for the compassion he saw in her face. “I came off duty one day and found Aurora home alone. It wasn’t the first time. But I told myself it was the last, even if I had to walk away from work and look after her myself. That day, she didn’t come back. I was going to mobilize a search, and then the phone rang. Marisol was at a rest stop on I-15. She said she was going to live and work in Las Vegas. She wouldn’t be coming back. Ever.”