A Father's Quest

by Debra Salonen

  “And Remy,” Birdie had put in. She dreamed about Remy nearly every night. Her soft voice and nice smile. Birdie felt safe around her. Not Daddy-safe—like he could beat up anybody who tried to her hurt her, but I-won’t-ever-leave-you safe. Her mommy wanted to be that kind of person, Birdie knew, but her sickness didn’t let her.

  Darla, the therapist, explained the whole thing nearly every time Birdie saw her. The whole thing was getting old, which was another reason Birdie was glad to move. That, and she wanted her daddy to be happy. In her dreams, Daddy smiled a lot. And laughed. With Remy.

  “Remy,” she cried one more time, her hand automatically touching the little medal on the chain around her neck.

  And, suddenly, she appeared, her golden hair falling softly around her shoulders and face. She was wearing a dress, like Birdie. Only, hers was white. She could have been an angel. Except, angels weren’t supposed to cry, were they?

  “Birdie,” Remy said, pushing the screen door out so she could open her arms. “You’re here. I saw you in my dream last night. I’ve missed you.”

  “Me, too,” Birdie sobbed, her words lost in the warm, safe arms of her personal angel. Me, too.

  JONAS HAD HIS SPEECH all planned. Unfortunately, the words evaporated the instant he saw his daughter throw herself into the arms of the woman he loved with every ounce of his being. He’d come full circle. He’d run away to escape his fears and had nearly lost everything he held dear. He was stepping a million miles or so outside his comfort zone to try to convince her that his glass would be brimming over if she’d give him another chance.

  “What are you two doing here?” Remy asked, looking first at Birdie then Jonas.

  His throat closed up at the way she tenderly touched Birdie’s cheek before redirecting an errant lock of bright red hair. He sucked at braids and every other nuance of girl’s hair care.

  “Me and Daddy brought you a present, Remy.”

  “A present?”

  “Sort of,” Jonas said. His fingers drummed across the top of the metal sign he was now embarrassed to show her. The idea had sounded playful, optimistic and fun a couple of weeks ago when he’d run the plan past both Jessie and Leonard. They’d given him a green light. How come neither of them saw the downside to this idea, he suddenly asked himself. What if she thinks I’m trying to control—

  “Jonas?”

  Her inflection told him he’d missed something. “Huh?”

  “Do you want to come inside?”

  “Yes?” He looked at Birdie, who looked worried. Damn. He hated it when she worried. That was his job. “Yes,” he said, trying to sound decisive. “But first, we want to show you your gift.”

  “It’s only part of it,” Birdie said.

  Remy looked confused but she smiled prettily. “Okay.”

  He motioned for Birdie to stand in front of him, then together they turned the sign—its two long metal stakes squeaking against the porch. “Ta-da,” Jonas said, holding his breath.

  Remy looked down, turned a ghostly shade of white, slapped one hand to her chest and stumbled back. “I don’t believe it. How did you know?”

  Birdie looked up at him. He’d been prepared to lie if asked, but he changed his mind. “It came to me in a dream.”

  Remy blinked, her jaw falling open. A second later, she threw back her head and laughed. “A dream. I love it. Oh, my gosh, it’s perfect. You are both perfect. Come in.”

  Birdie didn’t hesitate for a second. She raced across the threshold and disappeared into one of the rooms. He knew he should scold her for making herself at home but he didn’t say a word. He couldn’t. The look in Remy’s eyes made his throat close tight and his heart beat so hard he was afraid it might explode.

  She stepped close enough that the sign brushed against the hem of her dress. She put her arms around his neck and pressed her chest to his. “I don’t believe you, and you can tell Jessie I said so, but…” She let the word hang while she kissed him. “I’m glad you’re here.”

  Relief on par with what he felt the moment he spotted Birdie in the forest standing beside Remy surged through him. He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her hard, with all the emotion he’d kept tamped down for so long. Fear. The kind that came from losing a man he loved but never understood. Of worrying that whatever overwhelming passion or pain drove his father to take his own life might reappear in Jonas’s life if he felt too much—loved too much—still lingered in the far recesses of his brain. But Jonas understood now that love wasn’t to blame for his father’s suicide. Any more than it would be to blame if Cheryl took her own life.

  Her doctors claimed she wasn’t suicidal. She might even rebuild a fairly normal life for herself someday—within the safe structure of the mental-health community. Her instincts had been sound when she sought the communal life of the GoodFriends. Routine and security were key. And Jonas would make sure she had that—for Birdie’s sake.

  “Daddy,” Birdie called from inside the house. “Come see the pretty colors. Can we paint our walls this color? Please, Daddy. Grandma won’t care. She told me so.”

  Remy moved back and tilted her head. “Grandma Charlotte?”

  He pushed a lock of hair behind her ear. “Birdie and I are moving into Mom’s house.” He coughed and amended the statement. “Or will be as soon as the contractor I hired rips out all the ugly white carpet and installs new bamboo flooring.” He thought a moment. “Maybe now would be a good time to paint. I should hire a consultant. Know anybody local?”

  Laughing, she stepped back and picked up the sign. The turquoise background was bold but it served as a perfect foil to the yellow, black and white lettering that read: Remy Bouchard, Consultant—www.thedreamgirl.com.

  “Consultant,” Remy said, chuckling softly. “Appropriately vague, since I have no idea what I’m doing. Good choice.”

  “It wasn’t my idea.”

  “I knew it,” she exclaimed. “Jessie.”

  Jonas shook his head. “Nope. You’re wrong.” But he didn’t explain until after he walked the sign to the middle of the yard and stuck it in the ground, facing the street. Then he was back on the porch, leading the way inside. “Where’s your laptop?”

  Remy’s heart was racing and her head was spinning and she couldn’t stop grinning long enough to answer questions. Jonas and Birdie were moving back to Baylorville. She wanted to ask about Cheryl. And his job. But the less practical side of her—Mama’s side—was content to enjoy the moment.

  The minute Remy was seated, Birdie raced across the room from her post at the bay window and jumped on the sofa beside her. A happy, little-girl move that made Remy smile. “You look wonderful, Birdie.”

  Birdie took hold of both her braids, which Remy had to admit looked as though a man had braided them. “I wanna cut my hair. What do you think?”

  Remy glanced at Jonas, who was fiddling with her computer at the dining-room table. “You know what my mama always said? It’s your hair, and unless you’re Orna Bascomb, it’ll grow back.”

  “Who’s Orna Bascomb?” Birdie asked.

  “An old woman who only had about seven individual hairs on her head. Still, she came to Mama’s shop every week to have her hair washed and styled.” She rearranged Birdie’s braids to mimic a pageboy look. “I think you’d look adorable with short hair. Maybe I’ll get my hair cut, too. Change is good, they say.”

  Birdie suddenly threw herself against Remy and wrapped her skinny arms around her fiercely. “I love you, Remy. I told my daddy I want him to marry you someday so you can be my other mommy. Will you, Remy? Please?”

  Jonas hurried to the couch. “Whoa, partner,” he scolded in a very gentle, almost laughing, tone. “Now, who can’t keep a secret?” To Remy he said, “She was positive I was going to blow the rest of our surprise by emailing you to get your feedback.”

  “Feedback on what?”

  He held out his hand to help her up. “You’ll see.” To Birdie, he said, “I think I left the hard copies in t
he car. Would you get them for me, sweetheart?”

  “Sure, Daddy.” He bent down to kiss his daughter’s cheek before he handed her the keys.

  The second she raced from the room, he hustled Remy to the chair sitting in front of her open laptop. “I wanted you to have a minute or two to process this without Birdie breathlessly waiting for you to ‘ooh’ and ‘ahh.’ It’s a prototype, Rem. That’s all. Nothing is written in blood. The web designer is a friend of your sister’s. Her name is Rachel Grey. She’s been super easy to work with and she promised to change anything—everything—to your specifications.”

  Remy heard all of his disclaimers but immediately discounted them as irrelevant. The website was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen. A more muted, easy-on-the-eyes version of her street sign made up the background. Only, there was a lightness and fluidity to the design that she couldn’t quite put her finger on. It seemed to move and change…like a dream.

  “It’s amazing, Jonas. Absolutely gorgeous, but…” She saw him brace for some negative comments. “Do you like it?”

  “Yes. I was blown away when I first saw it.”

  “How could anyone not be? It’s a work of art. The but I was going to say had to do with the fact it’s meant to sell a service I’m not certain I’m qualified to sell. My lucid dreams are one thing, but doling out advice to strangers… I’m not sure I feel comfortable doing that without more training. So I’m studying for my master’s in psychology.”

  He pulled up a chair and sat close enough for their knees to touch. He took her hand and said, “I know— Jesse told me. And I’m proud of you. Education is always a good thing. But when I hired you to find my daughter, how did you say I could pay you back?”

  “Two weeks of salary and a glowing recommendation. The check you sent is on my desk.” She glowered at him. “I don’t know who you asked, but I’ve never earned that much in my life.”

  He lifted her hand and kissed her knuckle. “Consider it seed money.”

  The image of her dream—the gardening dream she’d told Jessie about—returned. Jonas had been there, too, she realized. Holding an umbrella. You didn’t need a lot of training to figure that image out. He was her protector, the one who looked at the sky and worried about the weather so she could garden in peace.

  “And, as I told Leonard Franey a couple of weeks ago, you didn’t need a recommendation because you already had a job. Do you know what he said?”

  She shook her head.

  “What did he say, Birdie?”

  Breathless but grinning, ear to ear, Birdie handed him the folder and answered, “So give her a test—a testi-ment?”

  He pulled his daughter into the tiny space between them and bussed the top of her head. “Testimonial. A personal, rather moving—if I do say so myself—testimonial of your ability to interpret dreams to achieve very specific goals.”

  “Me,” Birdie chirped. “You found me. And you and Daddy found each other, too, right? And we’ll never be lost again.”

  Remy smiled her answer because she was too choked up to speak. She and Jonas had a lot more to talk about, but she knew the important stuff. He loved her. He might never be the cockeyed optimist she was, but he wasn’t beaten down by fear and cynicism, either. Together, they’d make a better team than they ever would have in high school because, now, they truly understood—and finally appreciated—the gifts they’d been given. She would probably never understand fully why their mothers lied, but finally she felt some degree of peace with what happened.

  “IS BIRDIE ASLEEP?”

  “For now,” Jonas told her, joining her in the kitchen of his mother’s old house. A vast array of paint samples were spread across the table, along with the library of home-makeover magazines she’d acquired. “She’s been having nightmares. Her therapist said this was normal. She’s working through some issues.”

  His willingness to seek counseling for his daughter instead of merely assuming she’d recover from her trauma told Remy a lot about the man he was. A good, involved, connected father.

  “What about Cheryl? What’s going to happen to her?”

  He walked to where she was standing. “Do we really have to talk about my ex-wife right now? She will always be a part of Birdie’s life, and I’ll try to make that reality as painless as possible for all of us. But the family counselor Birdie and I spoke with said it’s important to know your limits. I’m not responsible for Cheryl’s choices. I never was.”

  He took her hand and led her into the backyard. The landscaping lights, which were either set on a timer or triggered by the fall of darkness, had turned the area into a small, green oasis. A padded glider that had been covered in gardening tools the last time she was here had been cleared off and dusted.

  They sat there, shoulder to shoulder, comfortable and relaxed. He took her hand and ran his thumb across the faint scar left from her scratches. “When I fell into that well, I tried everything to get out. I was at the point of giving up when I felt a presence in the well with me. An angel. She wasn’t a little girl, like you were. She had beautiful blond hair and a kind smile. She’s the one who handed me the St. Christopher medal. I’d stomped it down into the mud and, in my panic, I’d forgotten about it.”

  She put her free hand to her chest without thinking. Gone. He fished something out of his pocket and held it out to her in the palm of his hand. “I know you gave mine to Birdie, so I bought you one of your own.”

  She held the shiny silver medallion up to the light. A perfect little diamond winked back at her. This was more than a necklace, she realized, it was a promise. One they’d announce to the world when the time was right.

  “I felt naked without it.”

  He fumbled with the clasp at her neck, but a moment later looked down and tenderly positioned it just where he wanted it. His fingers set her skin on fire like a spark to dry tinder.

  She pulled in a quick, shallow breath that made him look up. His lopsided grin reminded her of the boy she’d loved with all her heart. Still loved.

  “Speaking of being naked…I have a mosquito-free, king-size bed inside. With a lock on the door and a child monitor on low in case Birdie needs me. Are you interested?”

  She smiled and let out a sigh. “You had me at mosquito-free. Let’s go.”

  “I’M ALMOST AFRAID TO touch you,” Jonas said, leaning against the door he’d closed and locked behind them. “What if you’re a dream?”

  She touched her fingers to the necklace he’d given her. “I thought the same thing in Florida the first night we were together.”

  He walked to where she was standing. “You are the most beautiful woman in the world. To me,” he added when she gave him a droll look of disbelief.

  She looped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer. “Kiss first, talk later.” Her tone was teasing, not imperious, but it was exactly the kind of shorthand communication they’d shared in high school, completing each other’s thoughts, humming the same tune at the same time.

  He felt a surge of emotion, so raw and deep, it seemed to come from the seat of his soul. Love, loss, sadness for all the time and experiences they’d missed out on, but a need, too, so intense it almost wiped the slate clean. There was no going back, but there was now. And now was the greedy joy of watching Remy unbutton her blouse with fast, nimble fingers; her skirt quickly followed.

  She cocked her head and looked at him. “Clothes. Off.”

  He let out a low chuckle and complied with her demand. His shirt stuck to him from the humidity; it fought back, but he won. “I should shower. I’ve been moving junk all afternoon.”

  She ran her fingernails across his shoulder and down one pec, making his nipple turn hard as a nail head. Her tongue followed, teasing his nipple with her tongue. She licked his skin before running the tip of her tongue back and forth across her bottom lip. “Yum. The salty taste of hard work. That’s the taste of a good man. I like it.”

  Then she cozied up against him, putting her hands on
his hips. He’d lost a few pounds since the last time he’d worn these particular cutoff fatigues. The waistband was loose, leaving plenty of room for her to work her hand inside the zipper.

  His mouth went dry and he forgot to breathe. “Oh, man.”

  She nuzzled his chest. “I agree. Man, oh, man. You have the most amazing body.”

  He took her face in his hands and kissed her hard, plundering with all the pent-up need and desire he’d known since their first night together. He’d been crazy to think he could live without this. Without her.

  Her tongue matched his urgency. He might have wanted to make this slow and perfect for her, but that idea disappeared the minute she touched him.

  “I need—”

  “No. I need,” she cut him off. “Now.”

  She unfastened her bra and tossed it over her shoulder, then yanked off her panties.

  Jonas’s brain was missing a good portion of its normal blood supply and he couldn’t make his hands work the damn snap on his fatigues quickly enough. She brushed his hands aside and placed them behind her back. “Later,” she said. “Hold me.”

  She flattened herself against him, wiggling with a wild, demanding urgency that made him pick her up. Her legs locked behind him. Her breasts were in exactly the right place to kiss, nip and suckle. She ran her fingers through his hair while her hips ground in a slow, intense circle that nearly unmanned him.

  “Holy…I don’t know what…” he murmured. “You are the hottest woman I have ever held in my arms, but if we don’t hit the bed in the next three seconds, we’re going to wind up on the floor.”

  She laughed and pointed. “The bed. Now.”

  He held tight and timed his roll to land with her on top so he didn’t squish her. Her hair came loose from the knot she’d had it in, dropping like a golden veil over them both. She arched her back, tossing her head as she laughed. “That was a crazy ride. I loved it. But we have to do something about these pants.”

  She moved off him and knelt on the mattress to finish what Jonas had started. He lifted his hips when she started to tug them down. One final flick sent them flying, the same way she’d discarded her bra.