In-between Hour (9781460323731)

by Claypole White, Barbara

  “This is Will.”

  “Thelma Pickering from Azalea Court. I’m delighted to tell you an apartment just opened up.” She didn’t sound delighted. “And since your father is at the top of our waiting list, we can move him in at your earliest convenience.”

  “You mean someone died.”

  Ms. Pickering cleared her throat with a fussy little ahem. “That’s typically the way this happens, Mr. Shepard.”

  “Sorry. That’s great, just great. I mean, great for my dad, not for the poor bastard who... Can I get back to you?”

  “If you’re no longer interested, we do have other families—”

  “No, no. I’m interested, very interested. It’s just that I’m in the middle of a family crisis. Nothing related to my dad.” Nothing related to me, either. “Can you give me twenty-four hours?”

  “Of course, Mr. Shepard.”

  Will hung up and walked back to the husk of his life.

  He crossed the road without looking and passed a clump of perfectly shaped burning bushes glowing scarlet against the concrete of the parking deck. A gust of wind brought the crisp sound of dead leaves tumbling across the sidewalk.

  Hannah believed things happened for a reason. He believed life was all about the math of timing: meeting the right woman at the wrong moment. What category did this latest development fall into?

  If the call had come a month earlier, he would have been relieved, maybe even glad. Azalea Court was the best retirement community in Orange County, with three levels of care that included assisted living and hospice. No views of Occoneechee Mountain, or the forest, but a big garden with mature trees. And the staff seemed pleasant enough. His dad could move in with no history of a reaction to the news of a dead grandson, and the Great European Adventure could live on undisturbed and unthreatened. Jacob could stay in his beloved Orange County; Will could return to his rooftop garden in New York. Everything would click together the way it was ordained, and the past month would be expunged.

  So why did this feel like defeat? If he took this option, was he being a realist or was he, once again, turning his back on his parents—despite everything he’d just told Galen?

  Will tugged open the car door, jumped in, flicked on his high beams and headed for Occoneechee Mountain.

  * * *

  Clouds darkened, promising a doozy of a storm, and within seconds a deluge battered the Prius. Only a fool would attempt to walk the trails in this weather with this level of light. But no way could he go back to the cottage. No way could he face Hannah or his dad.

  The tires swooshed over a sliding sheet of water, and Will rolled into Hillsborough.

  He passed the Occaneechi sign and glanced right. A pair of vultures—peace eagles—soared above the old ghost field. Underdogs labeled dirty scavengers, vultures were really nature’s cleansers, cleaning up carrion. People, not nature, had given them the bum rap.

  He ducked to look through the passenger window, but the dying foliage kept the living village hidden. How strange that the powwows had been moved from here to the ancestral lands. Maybe the tribal council was focusing all its efforts on promoting the Homeland Preservation Project up at Pleasant Grove. Maybe the living village had become more of a tourist destination. Maybe the town had, once again, kicked out the Occaneechi Band of the Saponi Nation.

  Rain punched the roof of his car like the fist of some divine being reaching down to beat the crap out of him, and the vultures continued to circle. Guiding you home in bad weather, according to his dad, the hopeless romantic. “You got bad weather, that old vulture, he’s the only bird in the air,” his dad used to say. “You get lost, he’ll guide you.”

  What the hell. Will turned right and parked behind the courthouse. He didn’t want to revisit memories that shouldn’t be unearthed, but curiosity had always been his downfall. Thanks to his mom, he’d never seen the evolution of the Occaneechi village.

  The lot was empty; nothing surrounded him but the past.

  Even as a cornfield, this had been a place for ghosts. Before they discovered the burial site, he and his dad used to dawdle through after an evening spent fishing on the oxbow, and Will would imagine the whispering of spirits.

  The excavation of the pre-European settlement on the banks of the Eno River began the year before he started kindergarten, but the first powwow wasn’t held until the end of his high school sophomore year. The buzz of celebration that summer had splashed his world with color and meaning. During the ceremonial blessing of the land two years later, Will had made the commitment to return the following summer and help with the reconstruction of the village. And he had. He’d even brought friends. Lots of new friends who knew nothing about his old life—until his mom’s public humiliation. He hadn’t been back since.

  Will slammed the car door and dashed for the trees, arching his arms over his head. Rivulets of water slid over the clay path still baked solid from months of drought. He skidded and slowed to a walk. Keeping his head lowered, he inhaled the musk of wet earth.

  The unwanted memory flooded back: his dad cajoling his mom into the truck. The drums, the dancers’ sweat, the shock and pity on his new friends’ faces. All those years of struggling to safeguard his mom’s secrets—cover up some of the crazy-ass exploits that had caused so much gossip in high school—and in half an hour she’d blasted to the world that she was certifiable. Left no doubt in anyone’s mind. His dad severed contact with the tribe after that, and Will escaped his mother’s shadow for good. In the remaining college summers, he came home only briefly—to see his dad. After graduation he moved to New York, landed a job in the ad agency and hung out with Agent Dodds every night.

  Will stepped into a huge puddle and swore. Cold water had seeped into his Converse.

  He glanced up at the sign—Mecou Witahese! Welcome Friends!

  Welcome to what? This wasn’t a reconstruction, this wasn’t a tourist hotspot; this was abandonment. A handful of cedar poles that should have marked the perimeter of the village leaned like drunks. Weeds choked the fire pit, and the matted sides of two small huts had begun to peel off like burned skin. The living village was an empty coffin. It represented nothing—no past, no present, no future. Nothing.

  Will sank to his knees. Rain drummed on his shoulders, and he tipped back his head, allowing it to sting his face. Each droplet hit like a tiny spear.

  If he were an animal, he’d howl.

  * * *

  By the time he’d parked outside the cottage, the rain had stopped and night had fallen. He was also caked with mud. Mud had even wormed its way into his hair. Of course, prostrating himself on the ground like a comatose mud wrestler would do that.

  As he leaned down to grab his sodden shoes, Will glimpsed the outside shower. He should wash off so he didn’t trail Carolina clay across the cottage’s pale floors. Bad enough that he was bailing on Hannah. He didn’t need to burden her with extra housekeeping. That reminded him: he needed to hire a cleaning service.

  Walking across the gravel was surprisingly painless. Then again—he tossed his shoes onto the porch—the soles of his feet were hardened from years of scrambling over rocks barefoot. He stripped off his sweatshirt, flipped up the top of the trash can and dumped it inside. The sweatshirt belonged to his night with Hannah; he would never wear it again. Maybe he’d chuck out everything in New York, too. Downsize and buy a one-bedroom loft.

  He stepped into Hannah’s huge galvanized tub and yanked the cord for the outside shower. Cold water battered his chest as he spread his arms wide and closed his eyes. In his mind, he was standing naked under a mountain waterfall as a veil of water cascaded over the cliff above, separating him from the world, muffling his grief with its roar.

  A branch snapped and Will jumped. He turned around to find an audience: Hannah and her pack of strays.

  “I was worried about you,”
she said.

  He turned off the water and let her wrap a huge, white towel around his shoulders.

  “Why don’t you take off your jeans, and I’ll put them in the dryer,” she said.

  Removing his jeans was easy now that he’d donated his belt to saving Galen’s life. Hannah disappeared with them but returned moments later, empty-handed. If he abandoned the jeans as well as his sweatshirt, he’d have one less thing to sort out before leaving tomorrow. Will stepped out of the huge tub onto the teak slated shower mat and began to dry his body: left leg, right leg.

  “How’s Scarlet?” Not that he gave a shit about some cat, but they had to start somewhere.

  Left arm, right arm.

  “She passed. I handed her off to another vet, so I could be available if you called. You didn’t.”

  There was no malice in her voice, just quiet acceptance, as if he’d performed within expected parameters. He slid the towel down his torso, secured it around his waist and slipped off his boxers. Less than twenty-four hours since she’d stripped him of his clothes, and she didn’t flinch, didn’t even glance at his bare chest. Not once. Was this some sort of preternatural control, or did she really not care that he was naked under her towel? He wanted her to care.

  “How’s my son?” Hannah said.

  “Sedated. Mostly he dozed while people came by to check on him. It’s a busy place, the locked ward. You’ll discover for yourself tomorrow. He says you can visit.”

  She crossed her hands over her chest and seemed to deflate with joy, relief, gratitude...who knew. They had shared bodies, not minds.

  “Thank you,” she whispered. “Will, thank you.”

  He wanted to hold on to his anger from the morning, but he felt only emptiness. “I’m sorry about being MIA all day. This is just...hard for me.”

  “I understand.”

  No, she didn’t.

  “I’m sorry, too,” Hannah said. “Sorry for dragging you into my family drama, sorry for throwing myself at you last night, sorry for handling this morning badly. I was so scared, so angry, so embarrassed.” She sighed. “But what you did for us last night, what you did for me today—”

  “It’s fine, Hannah. Let’s just move on. Where’s Dad?”

  “In the house.”

  “And Poppy?”

  “She’s been helping Andrew bury Scarlet. They turned it into a little ceremony.”

  Will picked at a loose thread on the towel. “I got a phone call from Azalea Court a few hours ago. A spot just opened up. I’ve decided to move Dad in tomorrow. Then drive home to New York.”

  Sleep deprivation was forcing him to use words badly. He had never before referred to New York as home. Rosie waddled over and nudged his leg, and a small herd of white-tailed deer glided in and out of his sight line.

  Hannah drew in her breath. “What if you’re already home?”

  If she thought that, she didn’t know him. At all. He’d spent most of his life scraping off the knowledge that Orange County had once been home, making sure it would never be home again. He didn’t have a home; he’d never belonged anywhere with anyone. Except for last night. Briefly, he closed his eyes and remembered their silent lovemaking: the frenzy, the heat, the unspoken need. Was she asking him to stay? Did she want him to stay? But he couldn’t. He had to leave; he had to run; he had to forget. No, he had to remember. He was too tired, his thoughts too incoherent.

  “I’ve never had a home.” The words felt heavy. “Did you know the Occaneechi village is gone? Abandoned.”

  “Yes, although I didn’t realize you were interested in tribal affairs. But then again, the space between us is filled with things you don’t tell me. By the way, you left your watch in my bed.”

  Will bowed his head, then raised it slowly. “Come to New York with me.”

  They stared at each other. Yet again, words had slipped out unedited. Yet again, exhaustion had spawned a sentence that contained the power to change his life. The first time he’d asked a woman to move in, and it was a meaningless request. Worse, they both knew it.

  “The only place I can go tomorrow is the hospital. I could say, ‘I’ll come to New York in the future.’ But why lie? You don’t find too many country vets in the city. You, on the other hand, are a writer. You can work anywhere.”

  “I can’t. I need silence and solitude.”

  “And that’s why you live in one of the busiest cities in the world?”

  Put like that, it sounded stupid. “Yeah.”

  “People rarely go to New York to find silence. I’m betting you’re no exception. Perhaps you went there to lose yourself among strangers.”

  He’d been right all along about Hannah. She was too intuitive. Another reason to leave.

  “You can find silence here.” She swept her arm around in an arc and pointed to the sleeping forest behind them. Despite her father’s death, she found nothing but peace in the very place that spoke to him only of unwanted memories.

  “I am curious, though,” Hannah continued. “Why are you so terrified of commitment? Is it because of your mother—or because of Ally?”

  Will bent down to pick up and wring out his boxers. “I should get some dry clothes on, and we should both get some sleep.”

  “Want me to bring your dad over later?”

  Jesus. He’d forgotten his dad again. Will scratched his forehead.

  “It takes a family, doesn’t it?” Her voice was soft, the sort of voice he used when Freddie woke after a nightmare.

  “You’ve lost me.”

  “I mean, it’s hard to look after an aging parent alone. You need the support of an inner circle.”

  “Or a really good care facility such as Azalea Court.”

  “Poppy would be cheaper.”

  “This isn’t about money—this is about making good, solid decisions.” Like he did that so well. “Azalea Court is the best possible alternative to Dad coming to New York. I can return to work, and he can stay in Orange County, be near the forest. What more could he want?”

  “He wants to stay here, on Saponi Mountain. And I can make that happen. Jacob doesn’t have to be as lost as my dad was after Mom died.”

  “The two situations aren’t the same, Hannah. Yes, my dad’s mind is dying, but he’s not going to kill himself. I learned something today, at the Occaneechi village. Revisiting the past doesn’t give you a better outcome. It doesn’t give you a road map for the future. The only way to move forward is to forget.”

  She hugged herself, and he felt like a jerk.

  “A few months from now, Dad probably won’t even know who you are. He certainly won’t care where he lives. You have to let this go. We both do.”

  “Would you consider a trial run?”

  “No. Azalea Court wants an answer in the next twenty-four hours. Less than that. Look, my dad needs care 24/7.”

  “Poppy and I can give him that.”

  “You can’t take him on. You have Galen to think about. And Poppy has zero medical training.”

  “I won’t give up on your dad.”

  Silence had always been his weapon of choice with a woman, and staying relaxed was the key to staying alive on a rock face and in a relationship, but Hannah was way out of bounds. “You think I’m giving up on my own father?”

  Dead leaves rustled in the darkness and the tree frogs croaked. They both stood still.

  “No, of course not, but we can fix this together. Together we can mend our families, help them heal. Maybe your dad was right all those years ago to shut out other people.” She looked up into the night. “But shutting out the rest of the world means shutting you in. Here, with us.”

  “I can’t do this, Hannah. Don’t ask me to do this.”

  “I’ve seen plenty of wounded animals, Will, and you’re no diff
erent. You might think you wear your scars on the inside, but they show. How can you ask me to move halfway across the country and yet not let me in—not tell me what it is that keeps you prowling around out here at night?”

  He didn’t dare breathe. “Leave it alone.”

  “So that’s it? We had sex and now you’re walking away?” She turned sex into a hard, ugly word.

  “You’re the one who more or less threw me out this morning, Hannah.”

  “I know. How many times do I have to say I’m sorry? Please, don’t go.”

  “I have to. It’s complicated.”

  “No shit, Will!”

  Her spike of anger was confusing, disorienting. He had never imagined her capable of raising her voice and yet here she was, yelling. Yelling at him.

  “I remember every detail of the first time I saw you—every sound, every smell, every emotion. I don’t understand our connection. I can’t figure out what binds us, but I feel it in here.” She slapped her heart. “I’ve had the whole day to think. I’ve done nothing but think—about my mistakes with Galen, with you. Our connection through Rosie. You were right this morning. We do need each other. I know our families are linked. I know you’re meant to be part of Galen’s recovery, and I know I can help with your dad. We can do this together. I want us to do this together. I need you to stay for my son. And I need you to stay because, because...” Her hands shot to her mouth.

  “Please don’t cry.” Face-to-face breakups had never been his forte.

  “I’m not.” She moved her hands up to cover her eyes.

  He glanced toward the main house, where his dad peered out from one of the living room windows. But when Will turned back, Hannah was walking away, the dogs at her heels.

  If he’d wanted to say, I love you, he’d missed the whole moment. But maybe that, too, was unfolding as it should.

  * * *

  Been a while since he’d heard a woman’s voice raised in anger. Although Angeline, woo-wee, she could raise the roof with her fire. Poor Willie, he used to cower under the kitchen table when his mama started. Sometimes, he had to lock Willie in his room. Just to be safe. Never seen eye-to-eye, those two.