by Toby Neal
“Is it Roan?”
This is the first time Luca has mentioned him to me.
“Yes.” In the quiet of the new day, honesty feels easier.
I think my family must have had a meeting where they decided not to bring him up, but I’ve heard whispering. They’re worried about him, where he might have gone to, what he might be doing—if he’s even alive. Anger and despair twist together in my guts, bringing a wave of nausea.
“You want me to go find him and kick his ass?”
I hiccup a laugh and glance over at Luca. “I think you’ve got your hands full.” But even with his daughter sleeping on his chest, Luca manages to look dangerous—his arms thick with muscle and eyes glinting with banked violence. But I don’t think Roan fears him. The only thing that man is afraid of is…me.
“You know I’d do anything for you, right, sis?”
Luca holds my gaze. Jade stirs and he kisses her head to settle her without breaking eye contact.
“Yeah, I know. But I’m okay. Really.”
He nods slowly, clearly not believing me.
I spend my days staying busy, doing anything I can to keep the thoughts at bay. It’s not just Roan that haunts me. The memory of Dwight Kane’s anger and hate assaults me when I least expect it. The trauma roars up out of nowhere and my brain directs it at Roan…even though I know he left me out of some twisted idea of love.
What a freakin’ idiot. All Roan did was break me, break me the way he’s broken.
I take a deep breath, rubbing the stump where my ring finger used to be. Tingles of pain and harsh memories radiate from it.
Closing my eyes, I remind myself that there are three new lives under our roof I get to love. I’m surrounded by my family, and I can offer help to those in need in North Fork. I have a purpose, things to do, people who love me.
That’s what I try to hold onto, but it’s so hard sometimes.
Luca and I sit in silence, our wooden rockers creaking against the porch as the day brightens, casting a golden glow across the sprouting green fields. The sound of my mother bustling around in the kitchen pulls me to my feet. Shrugging off the blanket, I head inside to help her. The more I help, the less it hurts.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Roan
The reservation is a wide, flat stretch of high desert cupped by mountains. The homesteads I pass are deserted—or occupied by skeletons. Buzzards are the only creatures thriving among the rugged brush, scrubby trees, and hardscrabble farms gone to seed.
Our numbers were already small. Now they must be infinitesimal, if not completely gone.
Approaching Phil Standing Rock’s metal barn workshop, I see a man’s back, his head and shoulders buried under the hood of a white Chevy truck. The long braid on his back is twined black and white. Good and evil, summer and winter, man and woman. Lucy and Roan.
I’m tempted to call out, to use my voice for the first time since I left Lucy. Instead I whack the leather hat that Alice gave me, a relic of her husband’s, on the scabbard of the rifle tied to Mist’s saddle.
Phil bangs his head on the propped-up hood, cursing, and spots me. He stares for a long moment, then shakes his head. “Roan! Winterboy!”
Phil’s the only person to ever give me a nickname.
I slide off Mist, dropping his reins, and walk toward Phil. He never visited me in prison; my grandfather said he was too disgusted with me to come. But he used to let me come work on cars at his place, and as I look around, I’m surprised at how little has changed.
Phil embraces me. He’s as hard and sinewy as am I. The familiar scents of motor oil and sweat drag me back to our years together, and for a brief moment I’m a teenager again and Phil is a spot of kindness in a harsh life.
“Your grandfather told me you died, killed in prison,” he says, grasping my shoulders to look into my eyes.
Shock strangles my voice, adding to my muteness, and I cough to free the words. “Grandfather told me you were too shamed by me to visit when I was in there.” My voice is sore and rusty as the creak of a forgotten gate. “So, I didn’t come see you after I got out.”
“Your grandfather was a mean bastard,” Phil says. “I cried for you, Winterboy, when I heard you were gone.” His eyes hold mine, dark and warm, filled with kindness. The lines on his face are deeper, his skin darker. So much time lost.
I shake my head, mute again. He points to his house, a ramshackle affair with a bench on what passes for a porch.
We sit.
“Your feather’s broken.”
I nod. The break seems prophetic now. So much else is broken too. “I need your help.”
“You look like you’ve seen a long stretch of bad road—as have all of us who are left.” Phil has a powerful interior compass, and he’s never steered me wrong. “What is it, Winterboy? What brought you back out here after all this time?”
“I need to know what’s next for me.”
Phil’s dark-olive eyes crinkle as he smiles. He’s leathery as an old boot, a survivor when most of our tribe is gone. Somehow, he lives alone out here, unmolested.
He eyes the hashmarks on my belt, then holds my gaze again. “Love found you?”
I jerk away, almost tipping off the bench. Phil reaches out and grabs me. “That’s pain on your belt, Winterboy.”
I shake my head and swallow, psychic agony throbbing under the gray numbness pressing against my insides, begging for release. Phil thumps my shoulder and grins. “Don’t worry, we’ll get you sorted out.” He winks. “Well, maybe you should worry.”
I smile, and it feels as unfamiliar as speaking. He stands and disappears into his house, leaving the door open. I scan the horizon, a blue line following the dips and crags of the mountains. “Come on in, Winterboy!” Phil calls from inside. “Time’s a-wasting.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Dad
Nani’s first day back working in the clinic means that the waiting room is full. Sitting behind the check-in desk, smiling and screening people to be seen, is a new experience.
I always had a staff that kept things organized for me. To be the person of service rather than being served is new…but I like it.
Revealing my deepest secret to Elizabeth changed me more than I realized it would. I knew the secret kept me contained, kept my life in a state of constant falsehood, but I didn’t realize how good it would feel to be free of that.
Now, as I listen to the chatter of the waiting patients, I’m at peace.
Through the window, I can see Deputy Gummer standing by the front door, his rifle ready, badge shining in the sun.
While the direct threat of Kane and his men has been removed from the immediate area, danger still exists, and it always will.
“Have you heard about the Gray Man?” A blonde woman asks her friend, large with pregnancy and sweating even in the mild temperature of the waiting room.
She shakes her head, appearing uninterested.
“They say he’s a member of the Resistance. That he’s killing skinheads.” She lowers her voice and I lean forward to hear her. “Cutting out their tongues before they die.”
A shiver passes over me. That’s the kind of darkness that lurks in this world. At least the Gray Man appears to be on our side. But Great Nation America cannot be destroyed by one man.
We must work together.
One thing my time as a politician taught me is that consensus is never easy to find, but is the only way to move forward. Maybe all of this could’ve been avoided if we’d listened more closely to each other, worked harder to find a middle ground everyone could live with. Can hate be subdued by acceptance? By exposing ourselves?
“Excuse me.” The women turn to me. “I couldn’t help overhearing, what’s this about a Gray Man?”
The chatty woman, with short blonde hair and sparkling brown eyes answers. “I’ve heard he’s going all over the area. Clearing it out of the cultists. Feels safer, doesn’t it?”
“JT and the sheriff, all the de
puties, they make me feel safe.” The pregnant woman chimes in and takes her friend’s hand. Their fingers lace together, and I see that they are wearing wedding rings.
They’re not friends, they’re wives.
My heart beats harder. Great Nation America would kill them in a second. They’d kill me, too. Shame rumbles through me. If I’d been real about who I was, joined the coming-out movement, would it have made a difference? Would some of the men in the Senate who respected me have changed their minds even a little bit about what it meant to be gay? Would any of the people who voted for me have seen homosexuality in a different light?
That’s the past. What we need now is a brighter, more honest, more accepting future.
Gummer stands up taller and moments later JT and Cash come into view. He salutes JT who nods gravely before opening the door.
Maybe JT is the answer. My son-in-law’s a strong, natural leader. But so serious. I don’t know that he can give a rousing speech and get men to take action, convince women to risk their lives for something bigger than themselves.
JT strolls through the door and walks toward me after a quick look around, but Cash is talking with Gummer. They’re shaking hands and Cash slaps Gummer on the back. I hear his voice through the window. “Great to see you, man. Keep up the good work.”
Cash enters, and Gummer turns to watch him, a grin on his face like a little boy acknowledged by a superhero.
Cash scans the room as he walks in, catching everybody’s eye and smiling at them, giving nods of greeting and acknowledgement. Energy seems to flow from him, lifting everyone’s spirits, and it’s as natural as breathing for Cash. Effortless. “Star power,” says Susanna’s voice in my head.
Cash stops to speak with the women I was talking with. He leans down towards them, his brows raised, clearly interested in what they have to say.
This is the guy. He’s a natural politician in the best sense of the word, exactly what we need to counteract the Great Nation America agenda.
JT stops in front of my desk, rapping his knuckles on the wood as he smiles at me. “How’s it going, John, enjoying your new job?”
I wrench my eyes away from Cash and look up at my son-in-law with a smile. “We’re all good here. Nani’s working steadily, but taking time to rest.”
“Luca asked us to come by and check on things,” Cash says, striding up to my desk. “Of course, he wouldn’t leave Jade or bring her out of the compound yet.”
“Well, as you can see there are a lot of people here in need.”
“Yeah, we’re lucky to have two doctors to serve the town, and it seems to be working out to have Avital and Nani taking turns while the guys care for the babies.”
Cash laughs. “Those guys are both pretty overwhelmed but Mama’s like a pig in mud. Happy as a clam.”
JT nods and smiles at his brother. “You’re mixing your metaphors, bro, but you’re right. I don’t know where we’d be without her.”
“We better get back at it,” Cash turns towards the door. “See you at dinner tonight.”
JT raps his knuckles on my desk again before leaving, his eyes growing serious. “Don’t let Nani work too hard, okay?”
“I’ll do my best,” I promise, but Nani’s will is mightier than mine and we both know it.
The two head out the door, continuing whatever mission they are on today: something to help rebuild the town, to help everyone around them, something to keep their family safe.
The fact is, that in this vacuum of power someone will rise up—and I believe it should be a Luciano.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Lucy
Avital’s in town doing her doctor day, and Baby Nando is sleeping in his rocker in the kitchen while his brother Joseph screams with unknown distress. Dolf turns to me, offering the little red-faced bundle. “Help me, please.”
I’d laugh, except that the tears on Joseph’s face make it too sad—whatever’s upsetting the baby is very real to him. But seeing my stern, powerful billionaire older brother Dolf undone by a baby so like himself is just too good.
I take Joseph and put him against my shoulder, patting his back until he lets out a whopper of a burp. It immediately settles him and his soft cheek comes to rest on me as he falls asleep.
Dolf sighs with relief. “He’s so fussy. If he’d just relax, those burps wouldn’t be so painful! You’re so good with him, Lucy Loo.”
“Thanks.” The compliment warms me.
Heavy footfalls in the hall precede JT entering the kitchen, the sheriff on his heels.
“Hey, Lucy.” JT leans over and presses a kiss to my cheek, then another one onto Joseph’s head, bending last to leave a peck on Nando’s brow. The sheriff smiles at me and tips his head in greeting. He’s ruggedly good-looking in a Tommy Lee Jones kind of way, with salt-and-pepper hair and a wiry build. The little paunch resting on his belt, laden with a gun and the other tools of his trade, gives away Hal Osgood’s love of good food.
It’s nice for JT to have Sheriff Hal in his life. I never got a chance to miss our father since I was only four months old when he died, but I know the boys think of him often.
Especially with these little ones around.
I sense that Dolf and Luca worry about dying and leaving their children behind, abandoning their wives to struggle to raise a family alone like our mother did.
“Sheriff’s gonna stay for dinner tonight. Think there’s enough?” JT asks with a grin. Every night we prepare a feast, enough food for a whole village… JT takes a lot of it into town for those who are not doing as well as we are.
I settle Joseph back into his bassinet. “Yeah, I think Mama’s got it covered.”
She walks in the door as I speak, her apron filled with zucchinis. When she spots the Sheriff, her cheeks go pink.
He hikes up his belt and tips his head to her. “Ma’am. Hope you don’t mind that JT brought me home again.”
Ana Luciano, the most nimble woman on the planet, trips as she heads to the sink to wash the zucchinis. The sheriff reaches out and steadies her with a hand. “You’re always welcome, you know that.” She moves away from him quickly, smiling.
They like each other. Mama’s not even admitting it to herself yet, but I can tell.
Over the last two months I’ve managed to get my version of the Sight a little more under control. The emotions of others don’t batter me the same way they did in Kane’s stronghold; it is more of a gentle knowing rather than an invasive sensation.
I’m chopping onions at my cutting board, the happy sounds of my family around me, when a wave of nausea overtakes me. I run to the bathroom and hug the bowl, retching up my lunch, mortified.
Roan’s absence, no matter how much I try to ignore it, no matter how much I try to be free of him, still hurts. It’s even making me sick. Sick at heart, sick to my stomach, listless and ridiculously weepy—I cried over a glass of spilled milk yesterday. Spilled milk! Could I be more cliché? It’s so annoying! Why can’t I just move on?
Because he has my heart.
The nausea passes and I splash water on my face, brush my teeth, and then sit on the closed lid of the toilet, holding my head in my hands.
Will I ever be free of him? Of this trauma?
A knock at the door. “Lucy, it’s Avital. We need to talk.” I’ve noticed my former ER doctor sister-in-law watching me with concern.
“Come in.” The door creaks open and she enters, closing it behind her. A small woman with a big presence, Avital reminds me of my mother in that way. Her green eyes examine me like I’m a problem to be solved, a clock that won’t tick, a wound that won’t heal.
“When was your last period?”
“What?”
She raises her eyebrows. “Your period?”
I swallow, my throat burning as nausea tickles my jaw again. Fear and confusion war inside of me.
“Either you’ve got some sort of persistent parasite, or a baby inside you.”
“But…” Oh my God. She’s right.
“No way. We only did it one time!” I touch my hands to my waist, shocked but also relieved in a weird way. My symptoms suddenly make sense: wine disgusts me, I can’t sleep but am so damn tired, and I puke every day. I wrote my illness off as trauma, but I was wrong: these aren’t symptoms of deep pain, but of new life.
Tears spill from my eyes, streaking down my cheeks. Avital embraces me, patting my back. She’s thicker than she used to be: rounded, softer yet stronger—a mother. And I will be too. I don’t need a pregnancy test to find out—I know the truth of it.
“Hey, it’s okay.”
I suck in a breath and let it out on a sob. “It’s…it’s wonderful.” I dreamed of having babies with Roan—but not by myself!
Still…it is kind of wonderful. Another sob wrenches free.
“Roan’s the father?”
I nod against her shoulder, incapable of speech.
“And you’ve no idea where he is?”
I sit back, looking into Avi’s green eyes. Her gaze is sure and strong. “No. He just…left. I think he thought he was doing the right thing. He’s got some messed-up idea that he’s not good enough for me.”
Oh, my God. I’m a single mother! Mama’s going to be so pissed.
Going to Catholic school, I certainly knew my fair share of teenage moms. I always swore that would never happen to me. I’d never have sex for some guy, let him use me for his own pleasure and end up with the baby, or the hard decision not to have it.
“Don’t worry, we are all here for you.”
“Thank you. I need you all.” Gratitude for my family, my nieces and nephews, for the life growing inside of me wells up as powerful as a sob—but this is just wrong.
Roan should be here. Maybe, if he knew I was pregnant, he’d come back to me.
Unless he really is broken. Then there’s nothing that can bring him home, not even the proof of our love growing inside of me.