by Dana Mentink
Toby popped a fresh chocolate-dipped marshmallow into his mouth. “There’s some doings over on the set.”
“Yeah?” Bill said. “Like what?”
“Dunno what it’s about, but there’s an awful lot of barking.”
He wondered if Tinka had snuck over. Leaving the shop in Gunther’s hands, he pocketed his cell phone and trudged up the gravel path. As he approached, he heard Jellybean’s high-pitched bark and saw Larry sprint across the lot and up the steps into his trailer.
Larry slammed the door and hollered out the window. “Get that monster away from me.”
Misty ran into view and grabbed the trailing leash. Panting, she yelled, “Sorry, Larry. I lost track of him for a minute.”
Bill’s heart jumped at the sight of her. She spotted him and ducked her chin.
“Hey,” he said, pasting on a smile he did not feel. “I thought maybe I could find Tinka here. Have you seen her?”
She opened her mouth to answer when Lawrence rounded the corner, his face tinted with stage makeup, garbed in a soiled infantry uniform.
Bill gaped. “Mr. Tucker? Where did you come from?”
“He was holed up at Nana’s house,” Misty said. “She was providing soul bolstering and home cooking. She couldn’t leave me a message because she was afraid the phone might be bugged.”
Bill stared from Misty to Lawrence. All he could do was laugh. This would happen to no other lady, in no other town, in no other corner of the universe.
“So I guess the festival is on then?” Bill said when he’d stifled his laughter.
“I guess that’s what it means, all right,” she said.
“Did you say, my good man, that Vivian is missing her Tinka?”
“Yes, as far as I know.”
The phone in Bill’s pocket rang. He answered.
Catherine’s panic-stricken voice was audible even to the others. Bill listened, horror flashing through him. In the time it took for Catherine to get the words out, the bottom fell out of his world again.
“I’ll be right there,” he said, then he ended the call.
“Bill, what is it?”
“Fiona’s lost.”
Misty did not skip a beat. “We’ll take Gunther’s car. I’ll drive us back.”
“Come on,” she said to Lawrence. “You can come and help look since your shooting is done for the day.”
“But…” Lawrence started.
Misty didn’t give him time to answer. She just hauled him by one arm and Jellybean by the leash. If he wasn’t so worried, Bill would have stopped to admire the way she had taken charge of the addled star and his dog.
As it was, he raced to the passenger seat and willed the vehicle to move faster as they sped back to Albatross.
Catherine met them at the door of Chocolate Heaven with the Barnyard Boogie book clutched in her hand. “We came back here to get her a pair of dry shoes. I took a phone call, and when I was done, she was gone. We were going to read a story.”
Bill bolted up the stairs to check the bedrooms, returning in moments, face tight with fear. “Not there.”
“The back door is unlocked. She could have let herself out,” Misty said.
“I’ve looked in the yard already,” Catherine wailed.
They piled out anyway. There was no sign of which way the child might have headed imprinted on the rain-soaked grass.
Bill checked the gate that led to the empty field. “It’s not fully closed, so she might have gone this way.” He yanked it open and charged out, shouting Fiona’s name.
The only reply was the breeze blowing across the tall grass.
“Fiona!” they yelled, fanning out and looking in all directions.
“The beach,” Catherine said. “You don’t think she might have gone there herself, do you?”
Misty considered the roiling surf, and her skin went cold with terror.
Catherine dropped the book and set off at a run toward the sand. Lawrence picked it up as if it might be a clue to Fiona’s whereabouts.
It suddenly occurred to Misty that they had among them a searcher with better skills than any of them. She unclipped Jellybean. “Where’s Fiona, Jelly? Can you find her?”
He bounded off immediately, cutting a path in the wet grass, his bark carrying through the wet air.
Misty tried her best to keep up, stopping breathless about fifty yards away, where Jellybean parked himself, barking at something she could not see. Bill and Lawrence pulled up next to her.
“Where?” Bill said.
Misty dropped to her knees. Almost overgrown with grass was a wooden cover, the rotted middle broken out. Misty pushed away some bits of wood and used her phone’s flashlight to peer through the gap. It was barely sufficient to pierce the gloom, but Misty knew without a doubt what lay at the bottom.
“Here!” she yelled. “Fiona’s fallen into some sort of drainage pipe.”
Bill crouched down and stuck his head in the pipe. “Fiona!” he shouted. “Are you in there?”
Far away from down in the darkness came the sound of a child crying.
Twenty-One
The opening to the drainpipe was wide enough to allow Bill to attempt to shove his torso in, with Misty and Lawrence holding on to his legs to anchor him.
“I can’t reach her,” he said, as they dragged him out. “I’m going to have to get a rope. Gunther’s got some. I’ll be back as quick as I can.” He gripped Misty’s arms. “Stay with her?”
“Yes. We’ll call 911 and keep her calm.”
He squeezed her shoulders, and she kissed him. “We’re going to get her out.”
She saw his Adam’s apple move as he swallowed convulsively, and tension radiated through his touch into her.
Another moment and then he raced away.
Misty leaned over the hole. “Fiona, we’re up here. Uncle Bill has gone to get a rope to pull you out. We’ll stay with you till he gets back, okay?”
Jellybean was barking hysterically, and Misty could hear Fiona wriggling.
“Stay still, honey.” She wasn’t sure how deep the drainage pipe went, but if the child slipped any farther, they might not have enough rope to reach her. They had to do something to calm her down. What tools did they have? She was a musician without a violin, and Lawrence a man lost so deep in pretense he had to run away from the real world.
Her gaze wandered to Lawrence, who appeared completely befuddled, gripping the storybook and shifting his weight from foot to foot. Maybe, she thought, just maybe it was time to let Lawrence do the thing that God made him to do.
“Lawrence,” she commanded, pointing to the Barnyard Boogie book he held. “You have to act it out for her.”
“Huh?” he said blankly.
“The book,” she said. “It’s Fiona’s favorite. Read it with all your acting tricks and make it come to life.”
“But…”
“We have to keep her still so she doesn’t fall farther down.”
He looked from her to the book and back again. “I’m not really a hero, Misty. I’m a fake. I pretend.”
“Then pretend for all you’re worth, Lawrence.”
“I’m no good at real life.” The gloom made him appear so much older, the dim light catching each crease and wrinkle.
“You’re going to be great now, Lawrence.”
“How do you know?”
“Because there’s a little girl’s safety at stake, and somewhere down inside you there’s a real-life hero.” She put a hand on his shoulder. “Please.”
Lawrence stared at her. Jellybean barked and pawed at Lawrence’s shin. He looked down at the dog as if he’d never seen him before.
Misty nodded in encouragement. “Go on.”
“Do you really believe I can help?”
“Yes, Lawrence, I do.”
Slowly he lay belly down on the wet grass, holding the book over the edge of the hole.
“Fiona, it’s Mr. Tucker,” he said softly.
“Louder, Lawr
ence.”
He gave her another tentative look and then sucked in a deep breath.
“Fiona, stay still,” he boomed in a voice that echoed and made Jellybean stop in his tracks. “And listen to the tale unfold.”
Misty thought for a moment that she had made a mistake. Maybe Fiona would be even more scared at this strange turn of events, but Lawrence continued, voice loud and reverberating as if he were performing Hamlet at the Globe Theater. “The barnyard was full of fun,” he began, “the day the cow came to play.” And then he launched into a performance complete with various accents, including a Southern drawl for the cow and even snatches of song in his surprisingly pleasing tenor.
“ ‘Hooray!’ said the horses, munching their hay,” he intoned.
Jellybean sat enthralled, and Misty would have as well if she had not been so worried about Fiona. She peered into the hole, and she could just catch the white gleam of Fiona’s upturned face as she listened to her favorite story being told by the world-famous star of stage and screen.
Misty’s vision blurred as she watched him read, emotions rolling across his face like the storm clouds as he put everything he had into the performance.
He’d reached the last page, and Misty was about to tell him to read it again when Bill sprinted up, rope in hand, Catherine trailing behind along with a panting Gunther.
Gunther tied one end of the rope around his own skinny waist, and Catherine, Misty, and Lawrence grabbed hold too, bracing themselves as Bill looped the other end around his own middle.
“I’m coming down to get you!” Bill shouted. “Hold on, Fee.”
He let himself down into the hole headfirst as the others strained against the taut rope.
The fibers cut into Misty’s fingers as she held on for dear life.
“We’re slipping,” Catherine gasped.
They leaned back, their feet digging into the wet ground, struggling to anchor their shoes in the soaked grass. Gunther was nearly lying flat on his back, his skinny arms tensed with the effort. Time ticked on as they strained to hold their position.
“Pull us up!” came Bill’s muffled shout.
“He’s got her,” Gunther gasped. “Heave-ho on three. One, two…”
They yanked against the weight, but the rope didn’t seem to move.
“Again, on three,” Gunther grunted, and once more they hauled. This time the rope began to yield. Slowly, inch by painful inch, they pulled.
When it seemed to Misty that her trembling muscles could not hold out any longer, Bill was pulled clear of the hole. His face was turned away from her, his hair tangled with dried leaves.
Misty blinked against the drizzle that had begun to fall, not daring to let go of the rope. She did not see Fiona. Her pulse jack-hammered. Had he not been able to reach her? Had he lost hold of her during the ascent?
In the distance came the faint sound of sirens. Would the emergency responders be too late?
Finally, she saw why Bill did not straighten and get to his feet immediately. He had both hands locked around Fiona’s wrists as he slowly pulled her from the drain.
When they were clear, Gunther dropped the rope, and Lawrence and the women did the same. Fiona was cuddled in Bill’s arms, sobbing aloud while he sat cross-legged, rocking her.
“It’s okay, baby,” he crooned. “Uncle Bill’s got you.”
His hair was standing up, dirt caking his cheek and a dribble of blood snaking from a scratch on his chin. But nothing could hide his relief or the desperate love he felt for Fiona.
Catherine knelt next to them, crying, one hand stretched out to touch Fiona’s head, yet stopping short of the contact.
“I’m so sorry,” she said. “She could have…”
The thought was better left unsaid, Misty figured.
Jellybean yipped and licked every part of Fiona he could reach. When he was done, he circled back and pawed Lawrence’s knee. The medics arrived, parking on the road near the shop and then hurrying across the uneven ground. Bill stayed by Fiona’s side as they evaluated her while she was strapped onto a gurney. Misty scooped up Jellybean, and she and Lawrence edged back to stay out of the way. Bill left with the medics, insisting that he accompany Fiona in the ambulance.
“Lawrence,” Misty said, kissing him on the cheek. “You were magnificent with that story.”
He smiled a shy, innocent smile so unlike the smug Hollywood grin. “I guess I was, wasn’t I?”
“Yes, you were.”
He laughed. “I must call Bett and tell her all about it.”
Misty joined in the laughter. “Absolutely,” she said.
She gathered Jellybean, and they returned to the shop before piling into Catherine’s rental car to follow the ambulance with Bill and Fiona back to the hospital.
Catherine drove, her expression stricken.
“I didn’t know what to do, but he did,” she whispered.
“Yes,” Misty agreed. “He’s a good dad, and he loves her.”
“It’s not just about love…”
Misty hefted Jellybean. “Yes,” she said without hesitation. “Yes, it is.”
Bill was relieved beyond belief that Fiona had not suffered any serious injuries. Catherine, Lawrence, and Misty waited the long hours with him at the emergency room after securing Jellybean at Chocolate Heaven. Catherine deciphered the forms and insurance information. He should have been mortified that he could not deal with the paperwork himself, but he could feel nothing but profoundly thankful to God. It was a new sensation to not bother hiding his illiteracy.
After Fiona had been properly checked out, Misty gave Bill a tentative kiss on the cheek and called a taxi to return to Albatross and escort Lawrence and Jellybean home to their trailer.
Bill and Catherine finally arrived back at Chocolate Heaven with their sleepy charge. He carried Fiona to her bed and lay down on the floor, letting her twirl his hair to her heart’s content. He said a prayer out loud, thanking God for keeping her safe, his child, his precious angel.
Her little fingers kept up their hair twirling. “Amen,” she said softly.
He could not hold back tears, though it was his turn to be stricken mute. In his silence, he thanked God again, for the one precious word that promised she would recover and rediscover her voice someday.
After Fiona was soundly asleep, he returned to the kitchen and fixed Catherine a cup of tea.
“I am so sorry,” she said for the millionth time. “I should not have taken my eyes off her.”
“It’s okay. You made a mistake, but you won’t do it again. It’s part of the parenting learning curve. Trust me, I’ve made plenty of wrong choices since I started taking care of her. You just learn, one mistake at a time.”
“Bill,” Catherine said, “I think maybe I’ve made another mistake too. A big one.”
He raised an eyebrow.
She nodded. “When we found her in the bottom of that drain, I was paralyzed, but you weren’t. You knew exactly what to do.”
He shrugged. “I just reacted, that’s all.”
She traced a finger along the rim of her mug. “What I saw out there in the field was not an uncle helping his niece. It was a father taking care of his daughter.”
His heart beat hard in his chest. “I know I can’t be what Dillon was in a lot of ways, but I love her like a father. That much is certain.”
“Yes.” Catherine wiped at her eyes. “And it would be wrong for me to take Fiona away from you.”
Bill stood, hands clasped around his own mug, unable to comprehend what he was hearing.
“Are you saying…”
“That you are the one who should raise Fiona. I will help however I can, and I will be on call twenty-four-seven for anything you need read or deciphered or…or for anything, really, but you are her father.”
“I—” he choked out. “I will try every day to be the best father I can be.”
“I know.” She gave him a tremulous smile. “I’m sorry I put you through all this.�
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He could not help himself. He put down his mug, picked her up, and whirled her around. She laughed and hugged him until he deposited her back onto terra firma.
“I’d better go. You have a big festival here tomorrow, and I have a flight to catch.” She paused at the door. “You know, for a guy who can’t read, you taught me a lesson today, and I’ll never forget it.”
He watched her go, and his heart was so full he didn’t think he could get a sufficient breath. The single light burnished the little shop in a soft golden glow, and he was pretty sure his soul was lit up with exactly that same tint.
He sank to his knees, hands clasped. “Thank You, Lord,” he whispered. “How can I ever be worthy of such love and blessings?” His eyes traveled to Fiona’s sodden book, lying on the counter where Lawrence had left it.
A smile spread slowly across his face as he understood, finally understood, what a colossal fool he had almost been.
Friday dawned with a partially clouded sky and a note from Lawrence tacked to Misty’s trailer door.
“Will be there for speech at nine. Must run an errand first.”
An errand? He’d taken Jellybean and the leash. She sat up, groggy, checking the time. It was eight thirty. In a state of panic, she dressed, grabbed Lawrence’s speech, and jogged toward town, worrying as she went. It was not possible that Lawrence had made a break for it again, was it?
She made it to the Lady Bird in a record ten minutes, hoping to find that Lawrence had finished his mysterious errand and shown up for the kickoff. A crowd of some forty people were seated on white folding chairs in front of a podium set up on a makeshift dais in the front yard. Silver cloth draped the podium, and a large picture of Lawrence adorned the front.
More people were filing off a tour bus and standing behind the erected chairs. Misty’s skin prickled at the nape of her neck. She scanned the crowd, catching sight of her grandmother and several of her pals in the front row. Nana waved to her. There was no sign of Lawrence. Her cell phone told her it was ten after nine.
Vivian approached, dressed in black, her eyes shadowy with fatigue.