The Journey is Our Home

by Kathy Miner

  She was out of it, but not that out of it. “What do you mean ‘for now?’”

  Tyler rolled his eyes. “Missing Brody right about now,” he muttered. “He was the only one who could stay ahead of your brain. Let it go, Grace. Just let it go.”

  She made herself get out of bed the next day. While she’d rested, her dad and the boys had developed routines, dividing chores so efficiently, it left Grace at loose ends. They’d also begun to form friendships. More and more, Grace would hear them talking about things that had nothing to do with the tasks of everyday living, like hobbies and interests, or speculation on conditions elsewhere in the world. That conversation had stopped Grace right in her tracks. Here they were, fighting their battles in their little tiny corner of the world. How was it different elsewhere? In rural China, say, or Australia? Curiosity for the sake of curiosity woke in her, long dormant, and she welcomed it as an old friend.

  When she felt up to it, she went down to the old Gallagher cabin. Animals had been inside, and therefore the weather, and much of what Quinn had left behind was ruined. From the stack of books he’d left, she salvaged all but the fifth book of the Harry Potter series, lugging them back to the Chambers house. She read the entire series over the next week, and was overjoyed when Adam surprised her with a copy of Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. The boys had once again been out scouting, and the conversations between them and her father began to lower in volume, taking on an urgency she didn’t want to hear. They stopped talking whenever she walked in the room, which was just fine with her.

  Until it wasn’t. Grace woke up on the tenth morning since they’d returned, and knew it was time. She sat at the dining room table in the exact same spot she’d spent so many hours the winter before and began to write. She captured all of it, what she had observed and what she had heard. When she completed the document, she made a copy. She finally finished late in the afternoon two days later, and went to find her dad and the boys.

  Martin and Adam were in the kitchen, preparing a rabbit Persephone had caught for dinner. Grace looked around. “Where’s Tyler?”

  Adam looked up. “He went to find you some new clothes. I brought some back the other day, but nooo. Not good enough. He said they were old woman clothes and went to find you something more ‘stylish.’”

  “And I found some, too, you hopeless slob.” Tyler stepped in the kitchen door, which had been left open for the cross-breeze. He pulled off his backpack and took it to the kitchen table to begin unloading its contents. “I found some new boots and a pair of tennis shoes in your size, a couple pairs of jeans, and some shorts and t-shirts. I also found some sundresses - comfortable and cute - and they’ll look great on you.”

  “’Comfortable and cute,’” Adam mimicked, then laughed when Tyler straightened and glared. “Oh, chill, you fashionista. I’m just glad Grace has another girl around to bond with.”

  “Spoken by the man who joined the army so he could wear cammies 24-7.” Tyler nudged Grace, pointing at Adam conspiratorially. “He wouldn’t know ‘style’ if it climbed up his leg and chewed on his ass.”

  “I hunt. I fish.” Adam saluted. “I ranger, or at least I used to. Camouflage isn’t a fashion statement, it’s a way of life. Besides,” He waved the bloody knife he was wielding in a side-to-side, up-and-down fashion, indicating Tyler’s camouflage pants and shirt. “Pot criticizing the kettle.”

  They bantered like this all the time, and Grace loved it. She and her dad exchanged grins. Then she turned to the pile of clothes Tyler had set on the little kitchen table. She held up one of the sundresses, a gorgeous tie-dye in blues and greens, and looked up to find her father gazing at her.

  “Your mom used to wear sundresses all the time,” he said. “Even before it was ‘stylish.’”

  “I remember.”

  Grace held the dress up to herself and smoothed it, then looked around at all of them. She sighed. She’d stalled long enough. “I need to know what’s going on out there.”

  It was almost comical the way they all exchanged glances. Adam’s eyes got big, and he looked for all the world like a five-year-old trying to hide a contraband cookie behind his back. Tyler was suddenly very busy re-folding the clothes he’d brought her. But her dad gazed at her steadily. “Let’s go in and sit down.”

  They gathered around the dining room table, and her dad started. “The men you called Bean Counter and Little Man survived. Bean Counter lost an arm, but it looks like he’s going to make it.”

  Grace nodded. “I thought I saw them both. Are they taking command of the gang?”

  “Little Man is,” Adam answered. “And he’s a man on a mission.” He shifted to reach into the back pocket of his pants, and Tyler put a hand out to stop him.

  “Don’t show her,” he said in a low voice. “There’s no need.”

  For the first time ever, Grace saw true disagreement between them. Adam shook his head at Tyler, disapproval on his face. “That’s not right, and you know it. She took a hell of a beating for the mission and would have died for it. It was her plan, and it was genius. Not even Brody could do better. She’s got a right to know and make her own decisions.”

  Their gazes stayed locked for long moments. Then Tyler sighed and dropped his hand. Adam reached into his pocket and pulled out a square of paper, which he unfolded and handed to Grace.

  “Well,” she said, when she worked up enough saliva in her suddenly dry mouth to speak. “Looks like they’ve got a police sketch artist lurking around there somewhere. And a copy machine hooked up to a generator, I bet.” She tossed the paper, a flyer with all three of their likenesses on it, onto the table. “These are posted around?”

  “Everywhere,” Adam answered. “They didn’t get Tyler right at all – this looks like a constipated pug, you ask me – but you and I are dead ringers. I’ve only been going out at night since they scattered these around. People won’t hesitate to turn us in, believe me. We screwed up their gravy train, and they’re not too happy about it.”

  Grace shook her head sadly. She’d done what she could. People would change if they could. “Any word on whether they’re still planning to raid outlying settlements?”

  “Full speed ahead. Taking out the helicopters changed their attack plan, but they’ve still got tanks and Humvees on Carson.” Adam glanced at Martin. “They tried to recruit your dad for the crew clearing Highway 24. They don’t seem too worried about keeping secrets anymore.”

  Grace looked at her dad. He nodded confirmation. “Whenever you’re ready, we need to get you out of here. Tyler and Adam are welcome in our community, if they’re interested.” He glanced to the side, speaking almost to himself. “I’ll have to talk to Naomi, level with her about the Brody connection. It could take some time to bring her around, but considering what they’ve done for you, for all of us...” Then he returned his eyes to Grace. “When will you be ready to travel?”

  “Tomorrow.” She reached across the table and took both his hands in hers. “But I’m not going to Pagosa Springs.”

  Martin dropped his head forward and started swearing, long and low. Grace let him wind down, then squeezed his hands hard when he looked up at her with anguished eyes.

  “They know my face, Dad, and they will not forget this. Not for a long, long time. Little Man hated me before, and he’ll never stop hunting me. I’d lead them right to Lark, to Quinn, to Naomi.” She shook her head. “After everything I’ve been through, that is the last thing I want. Pagosa Springs is safe enough as long as I’m not there.”

  “You and I will go farther, then,” her dad began. “There is a limit to how far they’ll go, Grace. At the end of the day, they’re trying to survive, just like we are. Their resources aren’t unlimited.”

  “I don’t want you to go with me.”

  As one, Tyler and Adam scraped their chairs back, preparing to stand. “We should just let you two talk this out,” Tyler began, but Grace held her hand out to both of them.

  “Stay. Pleas
e.” She looked at her dad. “Do you remember what you used to tell Benji and me, whenever you deployed?”

  Martin shook his head at her, looking hunted. “Don’t, Gracie. Please.”

  “You told us that your service showed your love. You told us that you had to leave us because it was your job to keep us safe.” She leaned closer. She had to make him understand, because she simply did not have the strength to do this if he fought her. “Daddy, I can’t be her mama. But I can keep her safe by leaving. Let me show her my love the only way I can.”

  Her dad’s face was quivering with his effort to maintain control. “I’ll go with you,” he said. “I’ll take you wherever you want to go.”

  “I want to go to Piper. I kept my own set of notes on their trip, and I can find Jack’s home in Pewaukee.” She took a deep breath. “And I want you to go to Lark. I want you to help Quinn raise her, and I want you to be with Naomi. Please, dad.”

  “If you think for one god-damned minute I’m going to let you take off cross-country alone –”

  “Excuse me, sir,” Adam interrupted, a hard edge in his voice. “But if you think for one god-damned minute we would let her take off cross-country alone, you are seriously mistaken. We’ll take her to Piper.” He looked at Grace, and lifted his chin. “It would be an honor.”

  Tyler nodded his agreement, and silence fell around the table. In her father’s face, Grace saw acceptance, even if he was struggling with the words. She rose. “Dad, will you come walk with me?”

  Arm in arm, she led him along still-usable trails, into the heart of the Garden of the Gods. How she would miss the majesty and peace of this place, the beauty and scope of time that never failed to take her outside of herself and her tiny, short-lived, human problems. They spoke of little things, pointed out wildlife and blooming plants, named the monoliths, then found a bench and settled on it, watching the sun sink slowly towards the top of Pikes Peak. Deep shadows fell, cooling the day. Finally, her dad spoke of consequential things.

  “Do you know which one was Lark’s father?”

  Grace stilled. The eyes had given him away. Sad and fathomless, just like his daughter’s. Grace had recognized those eyes only minutes before he died. She kept her face turned away so he wouldn’t see her knowledge. She just couldn’t see any reason to burden him with it. “Quinn’s her father. And you’re her grandfather.” She looked at him then, and smiled. “Are you going to be ‘grandpa,’ or ‘grandad,’ or ‘papa?’”

  To her delight, he blushed a little. “‘Papa’ I think. It’s less old.”

  They laughed softly together. Grace leaned her head on her dad’s shoulder, snuggling close. They were losing the light and would need to head back soon. Plans needed to be made and provisions needed to be packed. The thought left her both bereft and excited. What would they find on their travels? Who would they meet? Part of her yearned for her father and his shelter, but even stronger rose the desire to leave all this behind. To start anew. She grinned at herself in the gathering dusk. In a minute, she’d be singing, “Just around the riverbend…”

  “I made a record of what happened here for you to take back to Anne,” she said. “I’ll take a copy to Piper. Crazy to think we’re writing our own history, isn’t it?” Grace thought about that for a moment, and felt a resonance in her chest. A noble calling indeed, recording the history of a devastated people. Something a long-dead president would approve of. “Make sure people know what Adam and Tyler accomplished here, dad. There’s just about no way to overstate the importance of it. Their names should be remembered. Verity, too, and Brody. I know it doesn’t make up for what he did to Piper, but he’s a hero, dad. They all are.”

  She looked up to find her dad gazing at her, his face alight with love and pride. “I know who to name ‘hero,’ Gracie. Don’t you worry about that.”

  NINETEEN: Piper: Beaver Island, Michigan: October

  Piper slogged up the dune face, shuddering as the wind cut right through her parka and snapped at her bones. She’d never known a wind like this, penetrating and damp, relentless and downright hateful. No matter how many layers she put on these days, she felt chilled to the core. Not for the first time, she questioned whether or not she was tough enough to make it through a Michigan winter, particularly since winter hadn’t even arrived yet. She reached the top of the dune, took the full brunt of the sand-slinging wind in the face, and knew with certainty: She was doomed.

  The object of her search stood on top of the dune, bare-headed and coat open to the elements as he stared out over the heaving grey waters. Luc had obviously been gifted with some kind of insulation Piper didn’t possess. His eyes were turned to the west, as they almost always were, searching. Piper trudged to his side, blinking away tears the cold stung from her eyes.

  “There are no cuss words obscene enough to describe this wind,” she said. “Tell me you’re not thinking of going out in this. Tell me you’re not that nuts.”

  Luc’s lips lifted in a brief smile, the only kind she’d ever seen touch his face. Word around the island was that his trip to Pewaukee last summer had changed him, but word didn’t know what had occurred. Only a select few knew the details, Piper among them, and they knew how to keep their own counsel.

  “No. We won’t be going out again until spring. Not far, anyway. The mainland would be the farthest.” Luc nodded at the restless Lake Michigan waters. “That’s a dead roll. Heavy weather’s coming in. Feels like a November witch.”

  He turned and headed down the dune face, and Piper slipped and slid after him. “Wait? A witch of November? Like the shipwreck song? That’s an actual thing?”

  Luc turned to look at her, and this time, his smile was more of a smirk. Her Colorado-native ignorance of the ways of water often amused him, and she played to that. Anything to lighten the boy up and give him a moment of forgetfulness.

  “It’s an actual thing. Technically, it’s a storm system caused by low atmospheric pressure over the Great Lakes which pulls cold air down from the north and warm air up from the south. The two air masses collide, and a November witch is born.”

  “It’s October. Okay, yes, it’s the last day, but still.” A particularly strong gust of wind slugged her right between the shoulder blades. “Jesus,” she gasped. “Did she hear me? Should I apologize?”

  Luc chuckled at that, which she considered a triumph. “Witches can happen anytime during the autumn months,” he explained. “This isn’t even all that early. Is the party starting?”

  “Soon. People are starting to trickle in. Your mom sent me to get you so you wouldn’t be late.” Partial truth, which both of them knew. Maddie had sent Piper because otherwise, Luc wouldn’t have shown up at the community center at all. Community gatherings, he had told her, made him feel sick to his stomach.

  “Is Annalise surrounded by people who care about her? No. Is she at a celebration? Is she participating in a feast? I seriously doubt it. I don’t deserve to go to a party.” Luc had hurled the bitter words at Piper months ago, in early August, when she had hunted him down during the combination “Lammas / Welcome, newcomers, to Beaver Island!” party Veda had organized. Then, like now, Piper had found him on the western shore, staring out over the rolling waters of Lake Michigan. And then, like now, his worried mother had sent her. Luc listened to Piper, because he sensed she understood him. That day, she had told him why.

  “I murdered a man.” She’d dumped the words on him with deliberate roughness, no preamble. “I shot him execution-style, in cold blood. And I didn’t do it to save anything but my own ass.” When his startled eyes had found her, she’d dropped her shields and let him feel some of what she carried, what she would always carry. “You’re not the only one with images in your mind you can’t stop seeing, Luc. You’re not the only one who feels like the remorse will drown you sometimes. Annalise is still out there. And though I can’t believe I’m quoting Verity, she’s always right about this stuff. If it’s your path to find that little girl, you will. So do what
you can on that front, and in the meantime, stop moping around and channeling Heathcliff. You’re worrying your prego mother half to death. You want to feel guilty? Go look at the lines you’re putting on her face, pal.”

  Luc had stared at her for the longest time that day, analyzing her words, feeling her truth. Then he’d stomped down the dune ahead of her, muttering. “Heathcliff, my ass. I hate the Brontes.”

  He tugged at her heart, this bookish and brave young man, and had since the first day she had met him. When he and Cass had shown up at the Kiel family home in Pewaukee, he had still been in shock. Cass had told them what happened, and on their way back through the area the next day, they had all looked for little Annalise for hours. Intermittently, Piper would pick up a faint red bond-line connecting Luc to someone, but it wasn’t consistent enough to navigate by. Five days later, they had arrived on Beaver Island. The very next day, Luc had left a note for his parents and sailed the Grindylow back to Milwaukee. He was gone for nearly two weeks, and by the time he returned, his mother was hysterical with worry.

  By then, Piper had already been struggling with a growing restlessness. Jack, with little Gideon tucked by his side, had stepped right into the center of island life by opening a school for the six surviving children. Owen was quietly breaking the hearts of every woman within a decade of his age by fixing all things broken and giving his strong back to any task that needed doing. Ed and Rosemary were Veda’s constant companions in the garden, and Cass was rarely separated from Jack, whether she was teaching alongside him at the school or dragging him along on sailing lessons with Bastian, Luc’s younger brother. The two talked non-stop, catching up on years of separation, and Piper could literally see the healing taking place for both of them in the multi-colored, nuanced bond-lines that grew and strengthened between them every day.