The Journey is Our Home

by Kathy Miner

  She felt the woman first, as a shift in the energy around her, a shimmer in the air and on her skin. Cass closed her eyes, centered, protected, and opened. When she opened her eyes again, the woman was right in front of her, lovely and laughing. Her dark hair lifted and flowed around her head as if she was under water. Cass smiled, and got right to the point.

  “Did you know my brother, Jack?”

  Yes.

  The answer was immediate. Cass nodded, then took a deep, steadying breath. If Jack had crossed over, he hadn’t made contact with her. She had to ask, although she was reluctant to do so. Maintaining a neutral mindset was much more difficult when there was a personal connection. “Is he there with you, in the spirit world?”

  No.

  Cass tilted her head to the side, considering, remembering the curve of an unborn baby. “Can you show me how you knew him?”

  A series of images kaleidoscoped in front of her eyes: Jack, sitting behind the steering wheel of a car, looking as stuffy and insufferable as she’d ever seen him. Jack, wretched with sweat and fever, delirious, calling for their mother. Jack, laughing in the middle of a group of kids, his face alight with fun and love. Jack, his eyes dilated with desire, demanding and aggressive and overwhelmingly sexual. Jack, his face torn with grief and love, his strong arms keeping her warm as she made the passage, his voice following her across: “Love is as strong as death; its jealousy unyielding as the grave. It burns like blazing fire, like a mighty flame.”

  “Gah!” Cass threw up a hand and squeezed her eyes shut. “Okay, give me a minute to assimilate.” She grimaced, muttering, “Some of that, I really didn’t need to know.” After a moment, she cracked her eyes open. “What’s your name?”

  In answer, she heard an unmistakable guitar intro and Eric Clapton’s voice. “Your name is Layla?”

  Yes.

  “Was your baby Jack’s baby, too?”

  The woman’s regret preceded her soft No.

  Cass nodded. “Okay. So not his baby, but you two definitely had an interesting story. Is it him I’m supposed to deliver the message to? Because I have to tell you, that could be challenging.”

  Again, a soft No, and this time, Layla lifted her hand to point directly at Cass.

  “Me? The message is for me? Well, that’s a first.” She leaned forward, suddenly filled with anticipation and a strange certainty that destiny was shifting, like sand, beneath her feet. “What’s the message?”

  A tarot card flashed in front of Cass’ eyes, the first of the major arcana, a young man striding out on a journey with a bundle on his back: The Fool. And music again, a guitar and Jack’s voice this time, singing an old Ray Charles tune. Joy burst in her heart like sunshine.

  “Jack’s coming home!”

  SIX: Naomi: Woodland Park, CO

  Naomi had just finished wrapping and packing the last of the ginger snap cookies when Hades’ low chuff alerted her that someone was approaching the cabin. Seconds later, the distinctive sound of a small creature zipping in through the dog door made her turn. Persephone launched into the air and Naomi caught her, laughing in joy and welcome as the little dog bathed her chin with love, love, love and dog saliva.

  “There’s my sweet girl! Who’d you bring with you?” She blended her senses with Hades, something she did almost without thinking these days, and had the answer to her question. “That would be Martin.”

  She walked to the door, still cradling Persephone and smiling when she opened it. The expression on Martin’s face made the smile die instantly. “What is it? What’s wrong? Is Grace hurt?”

  Martin shook his head and stepped past her into the cabin. Naomi pulled the door shut and set Persephone down, reaching to grasp Martin’s cold hand. “Are you hurt? Sick? What’s wrong?”

  Martin shook his head again and laughed, though there was no humor in the sound. He pulled his hand away and scrubbed both palms over his face. “I never have to worry about how to introduce an issue with you. Before I’m hardly thinking it, you want to know what’s wrong. It’s kind of irritating, to tell you the truth.”

  “Well now that you’ve brought it up, you have some irritating habits yourself.” Naomi closed her eyes for a moment, and imagined a large, warm hand smoothing the bristles from her spine. “But that’s a topic for another time. Sit. Talk.”

  “Yes ma’am.” Martin’s edges were all still there, but he belied the sarcasm by complying with her first request, at least. He sat down at the table, folding his arms and staring down at them. Naomi watched him for a second, then set about fussing. She always had a kettle warming on the wood-burning stove, so in just a few minutes she had a mug of steaming, fragrant tea in front of him. She sat down across from him with her own mug and waited.

  He didn’t make her wait long, nor did he tiptoe around. “The baby with Quinn. Lark. She’s Grace’s daughter, isn’t she?”

  Naomi felt a moment of breathlessness, then reached across the table to grasp his wrist, pulling his hand free so she could weave her fingers through his. She sent his heart a warm wave of comfort before she nodded. “Yes.”

  He nodded as well, squinting as he gazed at her. Long moments passed before he spoke again. “You knew. She told you.”

  “She didn’t volunteer the information. I guessed, when we first found her, back at my old house. When I helped her bathe, I could tell she’d recently had a baby.” Naomi waited, letting him work through this at his own pace. She had known this day would come, and welcomed it, now that it was here.

  Martin turned his head to the side. “I saw her the day Piper and Jack and the others left. Went over to say hello to Ignacio, and Quinn was there with her. With Lark. I knew, the instant I saw her.”

  He returned his eyes to hers, and they were filled with torment and wonder at the same time. “She looks exactly like Grace did, just the spitting image of her. But it was more than that. I could feel her connection, both to Grace and to me. Naomi.” His voice broke, his eyes suddenly swimming. God, how it twisted her heart to see this strong man’s tears. “Grace is that little girl’s mama! Why aren’t they together? And I’m her grandfather! What am I supposed to do with all that?”

  They weren’t Naomi’s questions to answer, and she knew it. “Have you talked to Grace yet?”

  “No. Not yet. She’s been avoiding me for days. I think she knows I know.” He breathed for a moment. “Did she ever plan on telling me?”

  “I’m not sure. She’s still so fragile, I haven’t pressed her on it.” She squeezed his hand. “I’m sorry I kept it from you. She asked me to not say anything. She’s terrified of what you might do, of losing you like she lost the rest of her family.”

  Martin wiped at his eyes impatiently, then frowned. “Why is she afraid of what I might do? Does she really think I’m that harsh? Christ, her mom was pregnant with her when we got married. I’m sure Grace did the math on that long ago. I’m not in a position to do any judging.”

  He paused. His eyes narrowed, and Naomi saw the instant the terrible knowledge took root. His voice, when he spoke, was pleading. “Isn’t Quinn the father? Or her boyfriend, William?”

  Oh, God. This, she hadn’t seen coming. Naomi drew in a deep, steadying breath, and reached for Martin’s other hand. She shook her head, holding his gaze, flooding him with all the comfort she could summon. “No, Martin. Neither one of them.”

  He knew, then, and his face went sickly white. “Oh my God. Oh, no. Not that, no.”

  Naomi felt his heart stutter, then pound. He slumped forward on the table, burying his face in his folded arms. She scooted around to kneel beside him, rubbing his back in long, soothing strokes. “Just take deep breaths. That’s it.”

  She rubbed his back until his pulse slowed, leaning her cheek on his shoulder. She waited, and when he lifted his head again, she took his chin and turned his head so he would meet her gaze. He needed to hear this. “She survived it. She survived, and we’ve got her now, safe and sound.”

  She didn’t promise
that Grace would be okay, because she didn’t know if it was true. Grace had survived being gang-raped, but she would never be the same. Nor would Piper. Both their daughters had been brutalized, and sometimes, it made Naomi wonder why the whole damn human race hadn’t just died out. What was it all for, if they couldn’t rise up out of the ashes of the old world as better people? What was in the dark hearts of those people that they sought to damage and exploit?

  She shook off the bleak thoughts and concentrated on Martin. He looked so much older than he had just a few minutes ago. His eyes gazed at a distant horizon as he assimilated the information, and she knew the moment he went to the place Grace had dreaded. His face smoothed into a cold, hard mask, and every bit of light in his eyes died. This was the face of the Marine, she knew, the face he’d worn for combat. For killing.

  He sat up straight and pulled away from her. “I couldn’t understand why she would abandon her own child. Now I know why.” His voice was as cold and controlled as his face. “What Ed’s friend at Bear Creek told us about – it was like that, for her. They raped her, and they would have killed her, if she hadn’t escaped. Those men need to be put down, like the diseased animals they are.”

  He turned bloodshot eyes to Naomi. “I shouldn’t have stopped you that day, with Brody. I should have let you kill him where he stood. I should have helped you kill him. And I’m going to kill the men that did this to her, every single one of them.”

  Naomi overrode the instinct to soothe and comfort, giving instead some of the hard reality Martin was so fond of dispensing. “That is the most selfish thing I’ve ever heard. And your reaction is exactly why Grace didn’t confide in you.”

  Martin’s nostrils flared, and the wave of menace that rolled off him had Naomi stepping backwards before she was even aware of moving. Hades was suddenly there, a low growl rumbling in his chest, crowding his big body between them. Persephone barked sharply, then whined, then barked again, as if trying to get Martin’s attention. He didn’t even seem to notice. His chest heaved, and he bit out words. “How is wanting to defend my daughter selfish?”

  “It’s too late to defend her,” she shot back, and he flinched as if she’d slapped him. “She has lost her mother and her brother, and William. She’s estranged from Quinn, when any fool can see how dear they are to each other. Most of all, she longs for that baby girl, but she doesn’t know how to handle what she’s feeling. You’ve seen the way she carries Persephone around, like a baby. Just like you do, when you’re missing little Michael.”

  Naomi felt her chin begin to wobble and fought to control it. He didn’t need her tears, her softness or compassion right now. He needed truth. “If you leave her to pursue some sort of vengeance, which could very well get you killed, you will be abandoning your daughter. You’ll be leaving her completely alone in this world. And it will be so much worse than losing everyone else, because you will have chosen to leave her.”

  He stared at her, and she could feel his rage as if it was her own, a combination of impotence and anger. He knew she was right. He stood up so fast, the chair he’d been sitting in tipped over to crash on the floor. Again, he didn’t even seem to notice, pacing back and forth in the space beside the table, faster and faster, raking his hands through his hair in ever-increasing agitation.

  Naomi stood up and retrieved the axe from where she kept it, just inside the door. Without a word, she handed it to him, then followed him outside to the woodpile.

  She sat in one of the Adirondack chairs nearby, Hades beside her, Persephone in her lap, watching as the hard work slowly wore the desperate edges off his fury. He paused to peel off his t-shirt, hardly missing a beat as he tossed it to her. His familiar scent lifted from the damp folds, and Naomi turned her face away, unnerved by the slow, hot curl of desire, the first she’d felt since Scott had died. Of all the timing. She kept her eyes closed after that, unwilling to either act on the feeling or lie to herself about it, listening to the rise and fall of the wind and the steady chunk of Martin’s axe.

  He split and stacked an enormous pile of wood before he wound down. Naomi was drowsing by that time, leaning her head back against the chair, Persephone curled up on her chest. She blinked sleepily when Martin retrieved his t-shirt from her lap, and watched as he paused to mop his face with a clean handkerchief before he slid the shirt back on and pulled a chair over to sit beside her. He looked calmer, but his rage was banked only, still simmering just beneath the surface.

  “Would it be worse, do you think, knowing exactly what happened? Or is what I’m imagining more terrible?” He asked the questions in a low voice without looking at her.

  “I honestly don’t know. Piper didn’t tell me details, but I felt things. When I touched her, sometimes.” She was quiet for a moment. “I try not to think about it.”

  “How am I supposed to look at her or talk to her and not think about it? I can’t just pretend it never happened. And I sure as hell can’t pretend I don’t know.”

  “No, you can’t. But she would hate it if she saw it in your face every time you looked at her, just like Piper did. Neither one of our girls deserves to be defined by what happened to them. They’re not victims. They’re survivors.”

  Martin grunted. “Semantics. Words. They don’t help me. They don’t tell me how to keep it from eating me alive.”

  “There’s always more wood to split.” He shot an irritated glance at her, and Naomi reached out to rest her hand on his forearm. “Here’s the thing. If you can’t figure that out, if I can’t, how are our girls going to? We’re the parents. We’ve got to show them the way.”

  “Shit.” Martin shut his eyes. “I know you’re right, in my head. I can hear your words and understand the logic of them, but I can’t feel it, here, in my gut.” His hands opened and closed in white-knuckled fists, pressing against his stomach. “All I can feel is how badly I want to hurt them. I want to make them scream before I crush their skulls.”

  “I know. I know exactly what you mean.”

  He tipped his head back against the chair, staring up at the sky. After a moment, he held his hand out to her, and she curled her fingers with his and squeezed. He squeezed back, then tugged their joined hands to rest over his heart.

  “It’s not the baby’s fault, though. Lark isn’t to blame. Grace can’t think that.” He lapsed into silence again, and Naomi didn’t try to fill it, giving him time and quiet to think it through. Finally, he spoke again, his voice stronger, surer. “I want to be a part of that baby’s life, to help raise her. There are two people left on this Earth who share my blood, that I know of. She’s my granddaughter.” He looked at Naomi, and the wonder was back in his eyes. “Lark. It’s a pretty name, don’t you think?”

  “It’s a lovely name for a darling, sweet baby.”

  His lips curved, a precious moment of real pleasure, real pride. Then he sobered once more. “Grace will come around. She’s a mother now. She’ll learn to love her baby, I’m sure she will.”

  For the first time since their conversation began, Naomi felt a chill of trepidation, for both of them. “Martin, you can’t decide that for her. You see Grace when you look at Lark, but you can’t know what Grace sees.”

  His jaw set at a stubborn angle. “I’ll help her see. Like you said. I’ll love little Lark, and show Grace the way.”

  Naomi smiled, even though Martin, of all people, would see the lie of it. “I hope so. For all of you, I hope so.”

  He looked away, his jaw flexing and relaxing for a moment, then returned dark, intense eyes to hers. “You were wrong about one thing, though. Grace wouldn’t be left alone. She would have you.”

  Naomi smiled. “She’s stuck with me, whether she likes it or not. Now, do we need to postpone this trip? I was just about to head over to Ignacio’s to get the horses. We can put it off, if you want time to talk to Grace.”

  Martin frowned. “Let’s see how it shakes out. Like I said, she’s been avoiding me for all she’s worth. I’ll talk to her tonight,
and make the call after that.” He blew out a big breath of air. “I know it’s been quiet since we saw that first helicopter, but my skin’s crawling. We need information, sooner rather than later. And we need to know about the conditions on Rampart Range Road, whether a large group could move on us via that route.”

  “Okay.” Naomi hesitated, then went with her gut. “Do you want to come with me to Ignacio’s? You could talk to Quinn. If he’s okay with it, you could introduce yourself to Lark.”

  Martin looked down at his hands, and Persephone chose that moment to step delicately from Naomi’s lap over to his. He scooped her little body to his chest and buried his nose in her fur. Then he tucked her against his shoulder and stood up. “I do want to go, but there’s something I need to do first. I’ll meet you back here with the ATV, say in about twenty minutes?”

  “Sure.”

  As usual, he didn’t say goodbye but just went on his way, Persephone’s perky ears just visible over his shoulder as he strode along. Naomi watched until they disappeared over a rise, then sighed. Heartache loomed dark on the horizon, for everyone involved. In a perfect world, Grace would heal, and open her heart to her daughter. She and Quinn would raise the baby together, whether they did so as friends or as a romantic couple. Martin would help, and Ignacio, and a constellation of others, including Naomi herself. She shook her head. In a perfect world, little Lark wouldn’t exist.

  But she did exist, the product of her mother’s suffering and her grandparents’ young love. Who could say what tragedies and accidents, what strokes of fortune, good and bad, went into the creation of a person? She doubted they would ever know who Lark’s father was, but what if that little girl was the finest thing he ever created, in spite of the violence of that creation? There was no way to twist her mind around the complexities of it, to see the balance. Maybe “perfection,” then, lay in trusting that a balance did exist, that life was somehow unfolding as it should, even if she couldn’t see it from her limited perspective. Naomi shook her head again and laughed softly to herself. She was starting to sound like Verity. And that was pretty terrifying.