Freddie and Cassandra were in Vienna. They’d spent the evening before at the Prater, riding the Giant Ferris Wheel, and the morning at the Augarten Park. Fortunately, they’d avoided Hitler’s anti-aircraft flak tower, a concrete monument to evil.
If only Will could figure out how to use that Nazi behemoth in his work, incorporate it into a hate crime Agent Dodds could stumble into while on vacation. Except his hero was still suspended from the helicopter. Besides, Agent Dodds didn’t do vacations. Didn’t do downtime. Sex was rushed, desperate and usually with someone’s wife; A.A. meetings were an excuse for Dodds to check email. The only time Dodds unplugged was when he visited his paranoid schizophrenic mother in the nursing home surrounded by razor wire.
Will pushed back from the kitchen table and wandered into the main room. He should try and get his dad upstairs to bed. Or maybe not. Life was so peaceful when the old man was out cold. It was the relief of watching a sleeping toddler after a crazy-ass day of playground supervision. It was also the writing hour—or would be, if he had a story worth telling. Something other than the Great European Adventure.
He eased the cotton throw off the back of the futon and tucked it around the old man. A walk in the moonlight might unlock a little inspiration. Will refused to think the word muse, which resonated with literary pretension and angst. Of course, he’d always dissed the phrase writer’s block, too. Cosmic payback was one sick bitch.
Five minutes—Will tiptoed onto the porch—he’d only be gone five minutes. Long enough to take a look at the mare that was always tearing up grass with her teeth. Didn’t want the old man waking to an empty house.
A large buck with a trophy rack appeared on the edge of his vision, then glided back toward Saponi Mountain. Will turned his head away from the siren song of the forest. With any luck, he wouldn’t have to set foot in there before returning to New York.
Tree frogs croaked a concerto, and snuffling came from the compost pile. The raccoons were out in force. Above, an expanse of night sky shimmered with stars. Man, he’d forgotten the glory of Southern nights—how he was drawn to the stillness, the raw energy. As a kid, he’d loved reading or writing in the middle of the night. Unless there was a storm to whip up her craziness, terror tended to come with the light, when his mom was awake.
On the ground floor of the main house, a figure moved behind closed curtains. His temporary landlady was still awake. Temporary was such a wonderful word. It didn’t hold you to a thing.
And was that running water? Curious, Will changed direction and headed toward the beam of artificial light illuminating the far side of the main house. Too late he remembered what Hannah had said about an outside shower. He swallowed a huge, painful gulp.
Poppy was standing under a jet of water, and she was full rearview naked.
If she were ten years younger—and he hadn’t stopped dating when Freddie was old enough for sleepovers—Poppy would have been a classic Will Shepard babe. Curvaceous, wild, outspoken, she was fire inside and out, a woman who dazzled with a good-time guarantee and the knowledge that she could lose interest and vanish. Great sex, no future. But thinking with his dick had only ever led to disaster, and dealing with his dad was enough of a calamity.
He should turn away. Really. Because to stay meant crossing the line into being a sicko, a total perv. He should look away, but like a twelve-year-old with a stack of porn magazines, he couldn’t.
Poppy rinsed her hair, tilting her head from side to side.
Eyes up, Will, eyes up.
But his eyes, unable to heed the message from his brain, trawled lower. What was it about women’s butts that made him behave like a kid confronted with a wall of jelly beans in every flavor you could imagine and some you couldn’t?
Grab and eat your fill.
Then a door opened, and Will sprinted for the camouflage of the forest.
* * *
Had anything ever felt quite so divine? The buzz from a bottle of wine—minus Hannah’s one teeny-weeny glass—and the cool water caressing Poppy’s body. No wonder Hannah liked to shower in the moonlight. This was bliss. At least, it was until Hannah started cawing like trailer trash.
“Poppy!”
Poppy hummed loudly.
“Poppy!”
She should have plied Hannah with more wine, but her friend had stopped drinking after droning on and on about being on call. ’Course Hannah didn’t do drunk, didn’t do mad, and she hadn’t had sex in forever. What was her problem?
Stupid, stupid, s-t-u-p-i-d for a woman in her prime to say she wouldn’t date because of her sons—neither of whom even lived at home anymore. If she put in the smallest effort, Hannah would be a red-hot babe. And the boys wanted their mom to get it on with someone so they didn’t have to worry about her being home alone in the middle of nowhere. Well, that was Galen’s take. Liam’s motivation was more along the lines of “So she’ll, like, stay out of my business.”
Poppy had only kept one secret her whole life: that when Liam was sixteen and wasted, he’d asked Poppy to be his mom. Well, maybe she’d kept more than just that one secret.
The water stopped, and Poppy shivered.
“What?” She swallowed a belch. “I’m recycling water for your plants.”
She was thrust into a warm, fluffy white towel.
“You mean you’re hoping Will Shepard notices you recycling water for my plants while you’re standing out here naked.” Hannah raised her eyebrows.
“That, too.”
“Making goo-goo eyes at my new tenant is the worst idea you’ve had in a series of worst ideas. He’s got issues. It’s written all over his face.”
“I’m more interested in his body....”
“Which is barely out of diapers.”
“Yummy. Everything all firm.” Poppy snorted a laugh. “Dang, girl, you don’t have a hankering for him, do you?”
Hannah sighed. “I’m old enough to be his mother.”
“Bull crap, he’s older than he looks. Only a few years younger than me.” Eight. She’d done the math.
“Suppose it had been Jacob? You could’ve given him a heart attack. Although—” Hannah’s mouth did that cute little twitchy thing it did when she was thinking “—he would’ve died happy.”
“Ah. Didn’t consider that.”
“Exactly. No more outside showers while I have tenants.”
“Yes, mama dearest.” Poppy hiccupped.
“Are you drunk?”
“Yup.”
There was definitely movement by the tree line. Man-size movement. Poppy sashayed her hips as she followed Hannah and the dogs back inside. The trap was set and sprung. Now all she had to do was reel in that hunk of an author. Game on.
* * *
Branches snapped all around him, and Will glanced over his shoulder, half expecting a pack of saber-toothed tigers to leap from behind the oaks and shred him with six-inch razor fangs. Reduce him to gristle and bone.
Less than two days in Orange County, and he was back in the forest. It was nothing more than a Pandora’s box of the past, and unlike his dad, Will wanted that part of his life to remain in storage.
The memory assaulted him, anyway: his mother grabbing him by the hand after his first day of kindergarten, shrieking, “Let’s celebrate with an adventure! Slay the beast of Occoneechee Mountain!”
There had been a time when her grandiose schemes had sucked him in. Even after they’d imploded in a flurry of excess or fizzled as her attention darted to something else, he’d allowed himself to believe that next time, next time, things would be different. But by then he’d learned better. Five years old and already he was skeptical. As she pulled him deeper into the woods that day, he had cried to go home, and he never cried as a kid. Will rubbed his arms. The memory crawled under his skin, wormed into his cells, returned i
n stereo surround sound.
All morning in school, he’d been anxious, waiting for the other kids to tease him for being a runt, for not having a lunch box, for wearing secondhand clothes. His fears were realized at recess, until the little girl in a hot-pink tutu knocked down the bully who’d stolen his swing. Ally got in trouble for that, but she didn’t care. And he was smitten. No one had ever stood up for him before. No one had ever put him first. He jumped off the bus, eager to invite his new friend over to share his stash of library books. But his mom had other plans, and she wouldn’t let go. She held tighter and tighter until she dragged him over the rusty animal trap that sliced open his knee. It was the first time—maybe the only time—his dad got angry with his mom; it was the first time Will fantasized about escape.
He touched the scar through his jeans. The itchiness from earlier had gone. Once again, it was numb.
Waiting until the outside lights on the main house switched off, Will crept back to the cottage and picked up the plastic bag Hannah had left on the porch swing. What did she say? It should help you sleep.
Better pilfer one of those orange capsules from his dad—add a temazepam chaser on the off-chance dried feverfew wasn’t strong enough for total blackout.
Ten
Jacob smoothed out Freddie’s map on the table. Been another rough night. All them nightmares about Freddie. His grandson were on the trip of a lifetime. And his granddaddy’s no-good-for-nothin’ brain weren’t gonna say otherwise. ’Bout time he crafted a dream catcher, hung it above his bed and then took it outside so all them bad dreams could perish in the sunlight. Plenty of sunlight this morning. And warm in the front room. Shouldn’t be this warm when the dogwoods were firin’ up. Wouldn’t be much color this fall, not with the heat and the drought. Drought were a real serious business. Weakened trees fell, wells ran dry and that phantom of forest fires didn’t never go away. October could be a real dry month, too. Mighty fine month for travelin’, though. One time he took Angeline to Asheville—special trip for their weddin’ anniversary. They even stayed over! Spent a night in a motel! And they drove up and down the Blue Ridge Parkway drinkin’ in the wonder of fall in the mountains.
Where was Freddie and his mama travelin’ today?
He wanted to stick the map on the wall, but Willie said no. And he could argue the heck out of it, but seemed like a protest not worth makin’. Besides, with this sturdy cardboard casin’, he could take the map out whenever and wherever he chose.
It were real nice in the main room of this house. Big house, too. Had two bathrooms! And a separate toilet downstairs! Never lived in a house with more than one toilet.
Mornin’ sun hit them front windows just right. Whoever built this place sure knew what he was doin’. And all that glass at the back framed the forest real nice, like a paintin’. This weren’t his shack, and it weren’t Occoneechee Mountain. Didn’t rightfully know where he’d woken up this mornin’, but he reckoned he’d got it good this time. Real good. Bless Willie for bringin’ him here.
Now—Jacob rolled up the sleeves of his denim shirt—where was Freddie and his mama today? He squinted at the map.
“I’d offer to lend you my reading glasses,” a pretty gal with blazing blue eyes said. “But I have no idea where they are. Sorry to just walk in. I did knock but you didn’t hear me.”
He scratched his head. Had they met before?
“I’m Hannah. Or Hey You.”
Hannah, a name to keep, a name to treasure.
“How are you doing today?”
“Fair ta middlin’, I reckon.”
She held out her hand—delicate like china, but calloused. A little lady who grabbed life and held on. He smiled. Been a while since he met anyone who made him want to smile. Other than that firecracker of an art teacher. He wanted to smile—little enough to smile about since his Angeline crossed over. People told him death got easier, but he knew otherwise.
Once death finds you, he ain’t leavin’.
Could say the same about grief.
A big dog, a shepherd, pushed its nose against the screen door.
“I’m right here, baby,” the gal said.
Now he remembered where he’d seen her—at daybreak, takin’ them dogs into the forest.
“Reckon they can come in, too.” He nodded as a mutt joined the shepherd. Real jumpy, them two. Just about broke his heart to imagine what made them so.
Hey You smiled. Damn pretty smile. Smile like redbud blossom welcoming spring. Had Willie noticed her smile? He worked too hard, that boy. Needed to notice the pretty women more, especially this one letting in a whole pack of dogs.
One of the dogs had such mean-lookin’ scars, he had to turn his head. What kind of a monster hurt an innocent creature? Dogs and kids—he always said they just wanted to love and be loved. Didn’t hold true for his Willie. He were so shut down when he were little, hard to even hug him. And in high school, he moved through the world like he were a spirit. Were that before or after his gal got herself a boyfriend that weren’t Willie? Weren’t no one’s fault she didn’t love him right, but when you gave your heart and didn’t get it back, there weren’t nowhere to hide. He’d been so worried about Willie that summer when...what? What had happened that summer?
The pretty gal said, “I just thought I’d check in, see if you needed anything. Will not around?”
Plum forgot her name. But then she smiled. Hard to forget that smile. Had Willie noticed her smile? He could ask if Willie put her up to this, but he didn’t want to sound ungrateful. Besides, he wouldn’t mind a bit of company.
“He went into town visitin’ some retirement hotel.” Damned if he would use the word home. “Thinks I don’t know where he’s at. But I know. He told me to stay here and not move. Thinks I’ll wander off into them woods and get lost.”
“And would you?”
“Well, now, I might decide to take a stroll up that hillside. Looks real invitin’ to me. But get lost? Heck, no. I been trackin’ through the forest since before either of you was born. Should have disappeared off into the Appalachians when I had me the chance.”
He’d always planned to live up in the mountains and the caves. Be self-sufficient. That were his dream after his dear, sweet Angeline crossed over. But what kind of a daddy and a granddaddy would he be if no one could ever find him?
“Poppy tells me you’re one helluva banjo player,” the pretty gal said. “I expected to hear you picking away over here.”
“Bah, them days are long gone.” And they weren’t comin’ back. Just like his Angeline. “Don’t play much these days.” Only ever played for his Angeline—and to annoy ol’ possum-face at Hawk’s Ridge.
“I’d love to hear you play sometime,” she said.
“I weren’t ever that good, little lady.”
She knew things about him, this gal. Had she been talkin’ to the art teacher? Art teacher were the only person he’d told half them things to. He’d been braggin’. Embarrassin’ for a guy his age, but she was one pretty gal, that art teacher. Hard not to want to be a bit of a peacock. Angeline wouldn’t mind. Not his dear, sweet Angeline. Now she’d known how to move. At fifteen she swung her hips like a woman twice her age. She had every man for three counties beggin’ at her door. Never did figure out why she chose him. No siree. He used to play for her, when she came to listen to the band in all them bars, just for her. When they got that record deal, though, she were in a dark place. Demons took her bad that winter. Always worse in the winter.
So he quit the band. Had to stay home with Angeline. She needed him, his dear, sweet Angeline, and so did Willie. Motherin’ were hard for her. Sometimes he had to be the daddy and the mama.
“What’s that?” The pretty gal nodded at the map.
“My grandson, he’s on this trip. Woo-wee. Trip of a lifetime and he’s only five years old
. I’m trackin’ him and his mama.”
Her cheeks flushed a pretty shade of pink. “Your son’s married?”
“Nah. Never been married. Near broke his mama’s heart. Want me to show you where my grandbaby’s been?”
“I’d like that,” the gal said, and pulled up a chair to sit real close. Two of the dogs came and sat beside her.
“You know where Cardiff, Wales, is?” he said.
“Actually, I do.”
“Here.” He handed her one them colored markers. “Could you circle it for me? Poppy and me, we’re havin’ a sweepstakes to figure out where my grandbaby’s goin’ next. You want to join in?”
“What’s the prize?” She smiled that pretty smile. Shame Willie weren’t here to notice.
“Well, I reckon Poppy’s still workin’ on that. You ever travel to Europe, little lady?”
“Once, when I was a kid.” She looked a bit sad, like she needed one of his special hugs. He patted her knee. “It was the last trip my family took together.” She paused. “You know, you can tape this to the wall if you like—until you find a new home.”
A new home? Heck, he reckoned he’d found it. And this time, he weren’t leavin’—with or without a fight.
Eleven
Puddles of light from the midday sun decorated the forest floor as Hannah crunched through tinderbox leaves. A turtle lumbered past, and the dogs startled a murder of crows. Eyes down, she watched for poison ivy and venomous snakes. Both were easily hidden to anyone not paying attention. Copperheads were especially well concealed at this time of year.
Was that whistling? Looking up, she smiled at the tall, white-haired man waiting on the edge of the forest. For once, the prospect of leaving her woodland cocoon came without the wrench of transition, the sinking knowledge that she was stepping back into real life.
In the past three days, she and Jacob had fallen into a lunchtime routine. After she came back with the dogs, he would follow her into the house, sit down at the kitchen table and eat whatever she offered. Never did he ask what she was serving; never did he leave a crumb.
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