Down the Hidden Path

by Heather Burch

  “David!” Angie’s hands went to her hips.

  “They do, Mom. Most of them don’t know she’s my birth mom, so they just think this pretty older woman hangs out with me all the time.”

  Angie’s face read shock. She pointed at him, but looked at Gray. “Can you believe this? He’s twelve, talking like this. Hot and older woman . . .”

  Gray cleared her throat and felt the prickle of embarrassment working its way up to her cheeks. “Oh dear. We may need to clear this up for the boys in your class.”

  David grinned. “Nope. Let them wonder.”

  Bill reached over and took his wife’s arm. “You should close your mouth, honey.”

  “I’m appalled at what I’m hearing.”

  David extended a high five in his dad’s direction, but was stopped dead by Angie’s sharp voice. “Don’t you dare encourage this.” She cast a glance heavenward. “Men.”

  Gray nodded, kept her mouth shut, though conversations like this were common on every subject from what movies to what kind of music was appropriate. Inevitably, they kept Gray included in the discussion, even asked her opinion often, but she volunteered little. She had no claim and no right to offer advice. David was her son by blood only and if she ever lost him, she’d die.

  An hour later the three adults sat at the ice cream shop with a sullen David picking at a sundae. When his gaze lifted, there was fresh fire in his honey-colored eyes. “Liam Brockman? Seriously? Like no one’s ever seen a volcano before.” He shoved his sundae away and crossed his arms.

  “Sarcasm, David,” Angie warned.

  He met her gaze squarely. “Sarcasm is a beautiful thing, Mom, when one knows how to wield it properly.” His eyes narrowed. “And I can’t believe you made me congratulate him. He probably didn’t even build the stupid volcano.”

  Gray concentrated on her chocolate soda, which wasn’t as good as the ones Rodney made at the Dairy Flip in River Rock, but it would do. She really needed to stay out of this conversation because she agreed with David. The volcano was stupid even if it did have LED lights and realistic sound. Volcanoes were third grade. And besides, that Liam boy was mean to the bone and probably only won because his dad was a scientist and the teachers were sucking up.

  It was a few moments before Gray realized someone was talking to her. She looked up. “I’m sorry. What?”

  Bill smiled. “You were mumbling something into your drink.”

  She blinked. “Was I?”

  Three heads bobbed up and down.

  Gray tried to swallow her indignation about the injustice of David coming in second to a bully. Of course, Angie didn’t know that Liam kid picked on David. Before she could stop herself, words were flying from her mouth. “I was just thinking that Liam didn’t really act surprised that he’d won. You know, like he could have thrown anything up there and he’d have the prize.”

  Angie raised one perfectly arched brow.

  Gray’s heart nearly stopped. Had she done it? Crossed a line? She tried to swallow, but her throat had gone cotton dry.

  Angie’s head tilted to the side, her bright eyes sharp as needles. “But don’t you agree that David was the bigger person for congratulating him?”

  In a perfect world, yes. But this wasn’t a perfect world. This was middle school, where acts like that were not only not appreciated, but exploited later. David had already suffered at the hands of bullies. “Honestly, Angie, I was also thinking about what an important project this was.” She turned her focus to David. “You brought awareness of a fairly new technology. What if there were people at the science fair today who have cancer? Or may have it in the future. You told them about a treatment they may never have known about. You may have saved a life today. Knowledge really is power. You enlightened people today, and that’s worth a heck of a lot more than a blue ribbon and some DVDs.”

  David studied her for a long time. “Yeah.” He pulled his sundae closer and dove in. “I did do that.”

  Whew. Bullet successfully dodged. That didn’t alter the fact that as David got older, it became more and more difficult to tread lightly. Gray didn’t always agree with Angie, and that seemed to be more common with the passing years. Bill was a fairly neutral party, but he deferred to his wife.

  Gray was—she continually reminded herself—the outsider. Just lucky to have such an open relationship with David and his adoptive parents. Life was funny that way. Giving you for the briefest moment the one thing you desire more than life, then snatching it away. Or out of reach. There, but never yours. Never yours.

  As Gray drove the twenty miles from Laver to River Rock, she thought about life and memories. How the things that formed who she was now were the very things that had once nearly destroyed her. Back at home, Gray’s thoughts turned to Jeremiah McKinley. She’d seen him earlier in the day and now he haunted the space in her mind she thought she’d cleared. As Gray nuzzled into her bed and tucked under a handmade quilt—fashioned by her grandmother’s own hands before the stroke, when Nana could whip together a quilt in record time—Gray tried to force the image of Miah from her head. But when she closed her eyes and the quiet and the darkness took her, she saw him, standing there, his hand in a sort of farewell salute as she’d driven away. The soldier who’d come home. The soldier who’d never been hers.

  And never would.

  CHAPTER 2

  Jeremiah stepped around the side of the building past a giant metal Gerbera daisy and an equally oversize hummingbird perched on one of the petals. He shook his head when the wind kicked up, causing the hummingbird’s flat mesh wings—held on by wire—to flutter. Although Charlee’s place was only a short walk away, it seemed like a different world. A world of lollipops and metal flowers. A world of color and chaos. He was a soldier, a man who preferred order to impulse and functionality to folly. He was glad he didn’t have to look out his windows and see this every day.

  He knew Charlee loved this place. She referred to it as her sanctuary of artistry and whimsy. Miah always felt a little out of sorts being surrounded by the gargantuan colorful flowers that seemed to have “grown” in scattered patterns with little thought to their placement. He stopped, sank his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans, and took in the dance floor, complete with outdoor tables all heavy laden with tiny sparkling lights. It was Wonderland. And he was a reluctant Alice.

  This was—in all its glory—the Marilee Artists’ Retreat, a place where a handful of aging artist types painted and gathered and now lived. Charlee had planned for it to be a short-time thing for the visiting artists, but Mr. Gruber, King Edward, and the sisters had fallen so head over heels for the retreat, they stayed on. And on. And on. Charlee couldn’t be happier.

  “Charlee’s in the kitchen.”

  Jeremiah turned to face Ian, coming out of the large building where dinners were prepared. Ian was perfect for Charlee—kind, strong, and didn’t put up with any crap. He was also the man his sister had chosen from a plethora of potential suitors in town. ’Course, none of them could handle Charlee. So Miah was glad his father had sent Ian. That’s how he’d come to think of it. Major Mack had sent Ian, along with a journal Ian was supposed to share with Charlee. For the first time in her life, Charlee had gotten to know the poet their father really was. And as a bonus, she’d also gotten the man of her dreams, Ian, who’d been a soldier under Major Mack’s leadership.

  Miah and his brothers had always known how poetic their father was. He’d instilled in them the importance of writing when in combat. Journaling, jotting down thoughts and feelings, was one way to process, one way to mourn, grow, and move on. Moving on was necessary for men in combat. Moving on was what he was trying to do now.

  Miah shook Ian’s hand over the daisy. “Hope you did the cooking, not her.”

  Ian smiled. “I got your six.”

  It was not that Charlee wasn’t a good cook, but Ian had been to culinar
y school—though he didn’t finish—and Charlee only knew how to make regular food. Food for the masses. Growing up, it had been Charlee raising her big brothers, cooking dinners, making sure Caleb, the baby, got some food, too. A twelve-year-old when their mom died, Charlee sort of stepped into her shoes. A lot of responsibility for a preteen. Now that he thought about it, maybe whimsy was a necessity for her now. The wind kicked up and the hummingbird’s wings went into overdrive, spinning in the breeze. Miah chuckled. Maybe he needed a bit more whimsy in his life.

  Jeremiah angled to face the kitchen, where warm light seeped from the wide picture window over the stainless steel sink. “What’s on the menu?”

  “She said meatloaf was your favorite.”

  Oh. Regular food.

  Ian grinned. “Well, I don’t do meatloaf, so we’re having prime rib with creamy horseradish and au gratin potatoes.”

  Miah’s mouth watered. “Now that you’ve married my sister, can I come over for dinner every night?”

  Ian dropped his hands on his hips. “Sure. By the way, thanks for giving her away at the ceremony. I know we sprung it on you.”

  “I’m glad I was able to be there. Now that it’s been a month, how you holding up?”

  “Married life is good.” Ian smiled all the way to his eyes. “It’s really good.”

  Miah held his hands up. “Okay, okay. I don’t need details.”

  Ian removed a spiderweb from the daisy. “She still wishes the other brothers could have been there.”

  “Hey, I’m just glad she got around to planning the wedding.”

  Ian threw his head back and laughed. “She didn’t. My mom and sister had to. I thought girls were supposed to want to plan a wedding. Isn’t that like some sort of unwritten rule? Some law of being female?”

  Miah placed a hand on his shoulder. “Female rules and laws? Dude, you are so talking to the wrong guy if you want answers about females.” For a hot instant his underwhelming reunion with Gray at the taco stand flashed through Jeremiah’s mind. Women and their laws. Yeah, he was clueless.

  “Who needs answers about females?” The voice was old, gruff from years of hard living and too many late nights, but it had a solid ring to it, a sort of granite quality that Miah admired. He turned to face Mr. Gruber, who was stepping onto the dance platform.

  Of all the artists, Mr. Gruber was Miah’s favorite. The old man’s paintings were known the world over, but it was his no-nonsense attitude about life that endeared him to Jeremiah. Gruber just might carry the secrets to life as easily as he carried paintbrushes. And he was always quick with his wit and willing to share his knowledge. Another admirable trait, in Miah’s eyes. “Ah. Our modern-day Renaissance man. I bet you have all the answers concerning women,” Miah said.

  Gruber smiled with his crooked grin. “All the answers. Just don’t know the questions.”

  All three men laughed.

  Ian nodded toward the kitchen. “Go on in and say hi to your sister. I’ll keep this old coot company.”

  Gruber closed one eye and pointed an arthritic finger at Ian. “Without witnesses, I’ll teach you some manners, Lunchbox.”

  Miah left the two to duke it out and headed into the kitchen to find a humming Charlee hovered over the stove. Unable to resist, he snuck up behind her and grabbed her waist.

  She jolted. Her head of blond curls flew back and barely missed his chest. The spoon in her hand went flying, sending creamy white sauce onto the wall and counter.

  “Nice job, sis.”

  She spun on him and punched him square in the chest. It was a bit like a fly battering a bull. “You jerk!”

  Miah only chuckled in response. “You better get used to brotherly abuse. I’m here for good.”

  Her anger disappeared. She jumped into his arms and hugged his neck. “I know. I’m so glad. If we can just get the others home . . .”

  He winked, peeled her arms from his aching neck. “I’m working on it. Isaiah is considering coming home.”

  Charlee’s giant blue eyes widened. “Really?”

  He nodded. “Yeah. I’ve been telling him how much I need his help here working on the lodge.” Honestly, he knew Isaiah was getting tired. And tired soldiers were dangerous soldiers. Isaiah had never really been military material, in Miah’s mind. He was a profound thinker who experienced the blows of the world a little too intimately. It had always been hard for Isaiah to leave the battlefield on the battlefield. “They call him Preacher, you know?”

  Charlee rinsed the spoon under hot water, then tossed it in the sink and selected a new one from the stainless steel drawer. “That’s fitting.”

  “Yeah. I think the only reason he hasn’t gotten out yet is because he feels like those young guys in his unit are his flock, and what kind of shepherd leaves his flock?”

  Charlee’s eyes grew misty. “Just like Dad said in his journal.”

  Miah’d read the entire thing; some pages he’d read over and over again. He’d dropped more tears than a box of Kleenex could combat, and once he broke down completely, having to close the book and walk away. The words in his father’s journal communicated a soldier’s most intimate thoughts, fears, hopes, and dreams. And it not only shattered his heart, it rebuilt it anew.

  Charlee must have noticed the change in him. She kissed his cheek, having to rise on her tiptoes to do so. “Bring me Isaiah first, then Gabriel, then Caleb. And I’ll cook you dinner every night.”

  He winced. She struck him again, this time on the arm with the kitchen spoon. “Why Caleb last?”

  Charlee used her forearm to brush hair from her face. “He’s all Army. I don’t think he’ll give up military life until he’s forced to retire. He’s got too much of Dad in him.”

  Miah winked. “If he’s going to stay in until retirement, I’d say he’s got just enough of Dad in him.”

  Charlee nodded and turned her attention back to the sauce she was supposed to be tending.

  Silence filled the space, a little heavy because Miah wanted to discuss something with her and needed to be nonchalant about it. “So, I, uh, saw Gray in town.”

  Charlee spun to face him. “Gray Smith?”

  He nodded, averted his eyes as if to seem casual. “Mm hm.”

  “Was she visiting? I don’t think she lives here.”

  “She just moved back.” Yep. The hem of his shirt was oh so interesting.

  “Oh. Is she living at her grandmother’s house? It’s been empty for years.”

  He shrugged, pulled a loose thread. “Don’t know.”

  “How did she look?”

  “Beautiful.” Miah thought back to the sultry body, that deep laugh he’d heard. “I mean, really beautiful. Her hair is longer, ink black and just as straight, lands at the bottom of her waist—which is tiny, by the way, and now she has curves.”

  “She’s a woman now, Miah. She was a girl when you left.” Charlee spoke, but the sounds seemed to be coming from far away, as if they were background noise to the memory.

  Something cold passed over him, some unnamed ghost stretching its fingers and tickling over his flesh. He met Charlee’s gaze and for a long time didn’t speak. But the thought of Gray filled his mind. “She’s really beautiful.”

  “She can’t be that different. She was always pretty, Miah.”

  He rubbed the back of his neck. “How did I not notice?”

  Charlee rolled her eyes and placed a hand flat on her hip. “Too busy with your cheerleaders. All gloss and glitz.” She squared off to face him. “Gray was too good for you.”

  He laughed without humor. It was true. He’d been all surface and fun. He’d only had an inkling of depth when he was with her; she’d made him more. “I guess you just don’t see your best friend like that.”

  “No, certainly not when cheerleaders are flipping their skirts in your face.”

&n
bsp; “Hey! I can get this kind of abuse anywhere,” Miah said. One thing about Charlee, she didn’t mince words.

  “Bet she’s not too good for you now.” Her eyes sparkled. Love looked good on his sister.

  “She barely spoke.”

  Charlee patted the clean spoon against her chin. “Maybe she was just in a hurry.”

  He shrugged. “Maybe.”

  “Miah, why didn’t you two ever become a couple? You were so close. Always together. Just never together.”

  A hot summer night flashed in his mind. Rain, long hair, wet skin, hot breath. A tiny cabin and a thunderstorm outside. She’d smelled different that night; something primal and delicious had worked its way through the pores of her skin, intoxicating him. Drugging him until all he could do was say yes. And then more.

  “Jeremiah McKinley! Are you blushing?”

  He blinked, scrubbing the memory from his mind as if it had been right there in front of him for all to see. He couldn’t explain the pressure in his chest, the fact that he’d noticed the heat of the kitchen only moments ago and right now, he just wanted out.

  “Oooooh. Someone’s got a crush. Looks like the tables have turned, my big brother.”

  “Huh?”

  She kissed his cheek again. “Gray was the one in love with you. And you barely noticed her. Now, she doesn’t give you the time of day and you’re all gawky eyed.”

  “She was what?”

  “Come on. Please tell me you’re not that dense.”

  He shook his head. No, he and Gray had been . . . well, they’d been . . . best buds, that person you share your secret hopes and fears with. They’d been friends. Just friends. Best friends, but still.

  And then there was that one night—

  Annoying snapping fingers in his face drew his attention. “I’ll snoop around a little bit. See what I can find out about her. I always really liked Gray.”

  “Thanks.” It was all he could say because if he voiced any more, it might give away his utter confusion. Gray had never . . . acted like the other girls. He’d never—until that night—suspected that there was any chemistry between them. She was his rock. His anchor in the storm of high school. And even that night had been a rush of teen hormones and a sort of farewell send-off, nothing more. High school was over. She was going away to college and he was going away to follow in his dad’s footsteps. They each had plans and a future that didn’t include each other. It was their good-bye.