“Does it matter?”
He stood, moved closer and brushed something from her arm. She went rigid.
“That was a tick,” he said. “You can thank me later.”
“Oh.”
“Look, I’m not irresponsible, Hannah. And climbing isn’t a sport for crazies. The moment Galen starts screwing around, we’re done. Experienced climbers take new climbers out all the time. We consider it our responsibility—to teach good stewardship of the sport.”
“Do you trust him enough to do this?” She would not cave, she would not.
“Do you trust me enough?”
“Yes. But that’s not the issue. Give me more, more reason.”
“You seem to believe that I can help your son.”
She nodded.
“Then let me try this. Conquering the physical and mental challenge of climbing releases a flood of endorphins. It’s empowering. What if it leads him back to his poetry?” Will put his hands on his shoulders, rolled his neck and stared up into the cloudless sky. “Look, I know you’re scared. I would be, too, in your position, but this I’m good at. I won’t fail him. Or you. I promise.”
Not a traumatic decision, after all. In the end, it was as simple as trusting a man who promised not to betray you.
“Okay,” she said. “I’m putting my son’s life in your hands. Please don’t make me regret this.”
“No pressure, then,” Will said.
“Not if you’re as good as you think you are.”
“I’ve found this guy who can belay for us—help us with the climb—on Thursday. I’ll have to leave you in charge of my dad, though. I doubt we’ll be back before late evening.”
“Strange way to spend All Hallows’ Eve—home alone worrying about the two of you.”
“Halloween’s a totally pointless holiday,” Will said. “I prefer to forget it exists.”
“Trick-or-treating with Freddie in the Big Apple must be quite something.”
Will went back to sorting out his equipment. This reticence about his son made no sense, no sense at all. How could the father of a young boy not get swept up in the fun of Halloween? Although not talking about Freddie could just be Will’s way of finding peace in unbearable absence. When the boys were Freddie’s age, she grew restless if either of them was away from her for longer than an hour. However, when Liam was four and flooded the inside of her truck with the garden hose, she had fantasized about packing him off to kindergarten boarding school. Poor Will, he must miss his own baby so much.
“And how are you doing?” she said.
He glanced up through his hair. “Excuse me?”
“Caregiving’s exhausting. Are you taking time to look after yourself?”
“I will—once I get out of here.”
When he said things like that, it was easy to pretend that she didn’t care, that she could never care. That he would return to New York, and his leaving would mean nothing.
Twenty-Four
Will loaded the last bag of gear into the car. He should have been planning to take Freddie trick-or-treating, not preparing to spend Halloween climbing with a depressive who may or may not be suicidal. When they were divvying up the holidays, Cass had insisted on Easter, July Fourth and Thanksgiving. Will got Halloween. Christmas had still been up for grabs when she’d hurtled into a wall and obliterated the future.
He tried not to think about how much money he’d spent on Galen in the past two days. A great deal more than he’d spent on Freddie’s last birthday. Buying top-of-the-line equipment had eased the anxiety over Galen’s safety but had also been an ugly reminder of the non-revenue-generating status of corporation Will Shepard. If he never sold another manuscript, could he live off his backlist? He had at least thirty years of career ahead; at some point he had to return to work. And yet whenever he imagined himself locked away in his Manhattan office with only a screwed-up fictionalized friend for company, a hollowed-out feeling settled in his gut.
Where the hell was Galen?
Will checked the time and pushed away impatience. Negative emotions were not wanted on a climb, even if your partner was twenty minutes late. Galen did everything at half-speed, and Will had a thing about punctuality. He didn’t need a psychologist to explain the reason. Spend your formative years in a house that spun with chaos, and anyone would draw comfort from the structure of a start time and an end time—the start time being flexible within five minutes max.
As the week had progressed, Galen had seemed if not excited about the climb, then at least energized, and that fact gnawed at Will. Misgivings? Yeah, he had a few. Was Galen feeling better, or was this a last hurrah? Either way, from the moment they parked the car, Will was not taking his eyes off his young friend.
* * *
The chickadees squabbled over the half-empty bird feeder, and Hannah smiled. Doubt about the climb had vanished, replaced by the certainty that Galen would be safe on Will’s watch. Even though she’d have to look after Jacob, it was as if Will had given her a day off. Whenever Galen was in the house, anxiety sucked at her attention span. Chores were abandoned incomplete. Worst of all, she hovered. Galen didn’t need her reminding him constantly to eat, to shower, to sit up straight, but like a parent with poor impulse control, she seemed unable to stop. Maybe he needed a break, too. He had certainly seemed content, or rather relieved, in the days since Will had proposed the climb.
Right, chores. After she fed Jacob and helped him trawl the web for pictures of places Freddie had visited, she would wash out the hummingbird feeders. Then she would store them for the winter, pack them away with the knowledge that next time she used them, this phase of her life would be over. Galen would, hopefully, be back in grad school, with a new girlfriend. She and Inigo might even be able to get together and say, “Remember when...” And Will would be back in New York, probably dating some young babe. Would she ever see him again? Unlikely. But she and Poppy would visit Jacob wherever he ended up. They might even spring him for holidays.
Thank God Inigo wouldn’t know about today until Galen was home. The ex would have lectured her on trusting strangers, even though their son had spent weeks in the care of people they’d known nothing of beyond name tags and job descriptions. Will, however, had the most important tag of all: parent.
And maybe, on this quiet Sunday, she might glimpse him again in that role. Such tales Jacob had of Will! Except, of course, for those that included Ally. Those Hannah preferred to not hear. But only the day before, Jacob had talked about the last time Freddie had visited. About how his grandson was such a happy boy—full of noise and energy and curiosity. About how Will had such patience—the kind of daddy who never raised his voice.
The dogs followed her up the steps to the cottage. She knocked, then stuck her head inside. “Jacob? I’m coming in to make breakfast! A huge breakfast with eggs, pancakes, the works!”
The dogs clearly understood the word breakfast. As she opened the front door wide, they shot into the main room, tails wagging.
Delicious cooking smells wafted from the cottage every evening around six, but Will was, no doubt, a premade-meals guy. He probably had his own chef in New York, or dined nightly on expensive takeout. She would check the contents of the fridge and then run back to the house for supplies.
A half-full French press and a clean coffee mug sat on the kitchen counter with a note that read, “Dad—zap your coffee cup in the microwave for one minute. NO LONGER.” No longer was underlined twice. Will’s handwriting was surprisingly ordinary, his letters medium-size and undistinguished. Nothing that demanded attention.
Hannah touched the side of the glass container. Still warm.
She tugged open the fridge door and scanned the shelves. Apart from the generic orange soda and a large bottle of ketchup, everything was stamped with the 365 Whole Foods insignia. She pi
cked up a carton of eggs—cage-free—and set them down on the table, and then eased open the deli drawer. Some aged Gruyère and a wedge of Lincolnshire Poacher—her favorite cheddar but difficult to find and very expensive. No bacon—in fact, no cold cuts. Meat lovers’ feast was definitely off the menu.
Curious, she eased open one produce bin, then the other. Everything was fresh and hand-chosen. No bags of salad, no ready-to-nuke veggies. Instead, there were two heads of lettuce, baby carrots, a hothouse cucumber, grape tomatoes, blueberries, strawberries and apricots. She picked out a fat onion and an even fatter green pepper. Omelets were a definite option. What else did Will have?
She shut the fridge and randomly opened cupboards and drawers. She found the griddle, the whisk and a packet of pancake mix, but nothing was where she expected it to be. How intriguing. A man who was passing through had taken the time to reorganize the kitchen.
According to Poppy, food at Hawk’s Ridge was low-fat, salt-free, tasteless and served in minute portions. Hannah grinned, picturing a smorgasbord of breakfast delights. She was going to feed Jacob until he groaned, No more. First things first: find out what he wanted.
“Stay,” she said to the dogs, pointing at the ground. Daisy and Rosie flopped to the floor; the other dogs followed.
She walked to the bottom of the stairs and called for Jacob. Nothing.
“Jacob?” she repeated. “This is Hey You. I was wondering if I should start breakfast. Would you like blueberry pancakes or an omelet?”
Still no answer. Goodness, had he wandered off again?
She ran up the stairs. “Jacob.” She didn’t mean to say his name as a reprimand, but fear emboldened her.
The door to the smaller bedroom stood wide-open. Flung open. Will’s imprint was everywhere: in the lingering smell of his soap, in the pillow dent, in the rumpled bottom sheet, in the twisted heap of bedding half kicked off the end of the bed, in clothes left wherever they were tossed, in the towel puddled in the middle of the floor. She was inside, picking up the damp towel before she pictured Will standing where she was standing, naked. As if scalded, she dropped the towel and ran back into the hallway.
“Jacob?” She knocked on the main bedroom door. “You okay in there?”
A moment of quiet was followed by a sob.
“Jacob, honey?” Turning the knob slowly, she entered.
He was sprawled on the floor.
* * *
He were dreamin’ about Freddie. Real bad dream. He got up, needed the bathroom. Next thing he knew...he were on the floor.
“Angeline?”
No, weren’t his Angeline. An angel, then? Had he crossed over? She looked like an angel—blonde, smiling. Prettiest smile he’d ever seen, except for Angeline’s.
He’d always been partial to wakin’ up to see two things: the forest and Angeline’s face on the pillow next to his. Demons didn’t take her when she slept. If a man could open his eyes every mornin’ and see the woman he loved and the forest, then sweet Jesus had blessed him indeed.
He should sit up, act like a man, but he felt mighty wobbly. And his groin were warm and damp. Sweet Jesus, no. He hadn’t pissed himself, had he? Willie would shove him in a nuthouse faster than you could say, could say...
Why were his pajama pants wet? Why the fuck was he on the floor?
“Jacob,” the angel said, “it’s me, Hey You. I think you lost your balance and fell. Does anything hurt? Can you sit up?”
’Course. He knew it were Hey You, not an angel. His worthless, crippled mind were playin’ tricks again.
“Had me a real bad dream. Hard to shake off them bad thoughts when I wake. I get confused sometimes. C.R.S. Can’t remember stuff.”
He grabbed at her. Must get up, must get up off the floor. What would she think, Hey You? He couldn’t be lyin’ on the floor like some wounded animal. Why could he smell urine?
“Do you want to talk about the nightmare?” Hey You said. She had a pretty smile, almost as pretty as his Angeline’s. Had Willie noticed her smile? She tucked her arm under his and that little lady, she were stronger than she looked, ’cause next thing he knew, he were up and leanin’ against the bed frame, with his useless legs stuck out in front of him.
“Can’t talk about it. Real bad dream. Why would a mind do somethin’ so awful?”
Hey You sat beside him on the floor. “I have bad dreams, too, about Galen.”
“Who’s Galen?”
“My son.” Hey You gave a real big sigh, plum full of things she didn’t want to say. “The crazy one.”
“Crazy One. That’s a good nickname. My wife were a little crazy sometimes. But she were my angel.”
“And Galen’s mine. He just has some problems to work through.” Hey You looked real thoughtful. “You and I need to figure out how to dump our bad dreams.”
“What say you to makin’ some dream catchers, little lady? Haven’t made one in a while, but I reckon I still remember how.”
“I’d like that.”
“First, we got to find us some willow branches, to make the loops. I have leather and beads in one of them boxes in the corner, but we also need feathers from the all-seein’ night owl.”
“That shouldn’t be a problem if you like scavenger hunts. There’s an owl living on the edge of the forest. I’ve even seen him during the day.”
“Yup, I’ve heard him, too. That old rascal’s got plenty to say.” His heart were racin’. Reckon he’d just sit for a while, get his breath back. Let his mind settle a bit. “You know the most important thing about makin’ a dream catcher?”
The angel shook her head.
“Got to leave a hole in the center. Now that hole’s the starting point and the ending point. All dreams come into the web, but only the good dreams know how to get through the hole. And them good dreams, they filter down the feather of the all-seein’ night owl to reach the sleeper. Them bad dreams? They don’t know how to get through. They get caught up in the web and perish in the sunlight. That’s why the womenfolk hang them outside in the mornin’.”
What was that smell? Had he pissed himself? Had Hey You noticed the smell?
“Well, I think we both need dream catchers. But first, Jacob, we need to get you cleaned up.”
“Angel?”
“Yes, honey?”
“I think I pissed myself.” And then a big ol’ tear escaped. “Don’t tell Willie. You tell Willie and he’s goin’ to pack me off to one of them nuthouses. He always wanted me to do that with his mama. He never understood, never realized I couldn’t do that to her. I tried to keep them both safe. That’s what you do, right? A man, he has to protect his family. Couldn’t always, though. Couldn’t always.
“I know in his heart Willie thought he were doin’ right by his mama, but she wouldna managed without us. She were a free spirit, his mama. Couldn’t bear to see her drugged and confined. And I knew Willie would be okay. Were tough for him, real tough, but he had this gal. They looked after each other. What a pair—always findin’ trouble. ’Course he wanted to grow up to marry her, but that weren’t never gonna happen. She loved him, but not that way.” He paused. Hey You hadn’t said anything in a while. Mind you, his mouth were runnin’ on like a freight train clickety-clackin’ all the way to Mebane. “Not like me and his mama. She were so fragile, his mama. She needed a whole lot of lookin’ after. She couldn’t manage without us. I loved her always. Love her still.”
“I know, honey. I feel the same about Galen.”
“Who’s Galen?”
Hey You smiled. “Crazy One. Will’s taken him rock climbing today.”
“You think that’s a good idea?”
“Yes, I do. He needs to reconnect with nature. He needs to find joy again.”
“We talkin’ about your son or mine?”
Hey You smiled
. “Can you get up?”
“Sure can.” He sniffed. Couldn’t believe he’d cried in front of a gal. Real pretty one, too.
“I’m going to help you into the bathroom, turn on the shower, then leave you in peace. But I’m going to wait in here, okay? When you feel like you can get dressed, you shout through the door, ‘Go away!’ and I’ll go down and make the best breakfast you’ve ever had. Do you like blueberry pancakes?”
She were an angel, all right—knew that kin should share Sundays, should sit around a table with a big ol’ stack of hot blueberry pancakes and Aunt Jemima’s best. Tried to do that with Willie and his mama on a Sunday mornin’. A family needed traditions, needed to come together to share food, needed to be thankful. It might not be Sunday—hell, he didn’t rightfully know what day it were. But he were feelin’ mighty thankful.
“I sure do, little lady.”
She heaved him up, and they staggered into the bathroom. Embarrassin’ to be in the bathroom with a pretty gal, but Angel, she just kept smilin’ at him, like they did this every day. He put his hands on the sink for extra balance while she turned on the shower.
“Thank you,” he said.
She kissed his cheek. “You’re welcome. If you can convince me by the end of the day that you’re not hurt, this can stay our little secret. And after you’ve gotten dressed, leave your pajamas on the floor and I’ll wash and dry the evidence before Will comes home. Does that sound like a plan?”
“Sure does, Angel.”
* * *
Hannah sat on the bed and listened. The shower door opened and closed and water continued to run. So far so good, other than the fact that she had broken her promise to Will. Did that mean he, too, was capable of violating their trust?
It was the tears. She’d never been able to deal with a man’s tears. Always they reminded her of her dad sobbing quietly at her mother’s funeral, searching for dignity in grief. An eighty-year-old man was crying and she had the power to make the hurt go away. How could she not keep Jacob’s secret? But she would be vigilant in the extreme for the remainder of the day. If Jacob showed even the slightest sign of disorientation, she would tell Will the moment he returned.
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