Light the Hidden Things

by Don McQuinn

  Was it in her heart to capture Van? Was that any way to think about a man?

  As if aware of her thoughts had taken, he reached out to lay a casual hand on her thigh. Just as casually, she took it in hers. He said, "I'd ask to come in for a cup of coffee, but I'm afraid you'd think I might be trying to take advantage of you or something. That cognac seems to have been one too many."

  "Are you saying I'm drunk?" She detected a stink of masculine condescension in his tone. He was dangerously close to ruining everything. She tried to make her reaction light banter. It came out with a sizzle.

  "You had a rough day. Sometimes the stuff gets to you when you're depressed."

  Why couldn't he just leave it alone?

  "I'm not drunk, I'm not depressed, and I'm not worried about being taken advantage of. That's insulting. I'm way beyond the age of consent. I don't do anything I don't consent to. They don't make that much cognac. You can be a real chauvinist when you want to."

  He laughed softly. "Well, forgive me all to hell. I'm trying to tell you, in my chauvinist way, when we finally come to an understanding I don't want any doubts before or regrets after." Disengaging his hand, he raised it to head level, cradled the back of her neck.

  The pressure drawing her closer was so slight, so subtle, she wasn't sure if it were intentional, or simply the weight of his arm. She didn't object. She didn't want him thinking she was some skittish girl. Anyhow, it was nice.

  It was silly to get angry over such a small thing. He meant well.

  For someone whose brain seemed to have turned to smoke, her head felt strangely heavy.

  The blunt male-ness of the man. She'd been aware of it from the first. This was the first time she'd actually let herself experience it. She liked it. Her body stirred. Parts of her warmed, her knees had an uncertain, failing feeling. She watched his other hand leave the steering wheel, felt the movement of his body as he turned. He leaned closer, his left hand a pale swath across her vision. The right increased pressure and turned her head his way. When his reaching hand settled against her cheek she wanted that additional pull, wanted him to want her, wanted to feel the heat coursing her body turn to fever.

  He kissed her. The second time today. This one nothing like the first. This was passion.

  Again, he shifted his weight. The armrest between them creaked. His left hand slipped across her cheek, downward. Heavy fingers coursed her neck, the warmth of that touch setting off yearning as the hand moved onto the fabric of her blouse. The hand at the back of her neck was suddenly fierce, closing like a metal band. It drew her closer.

  Alarm clanged. What was happening was conquest. The kiss had no more romance in it than the planting of a flag. She had no idea how she knew, but she knew. There would be no giving, no sharing here, not tonight. This was a taking.

  Squirming, unfastening the seat belt, she was outside so quickly Van was still leaning into the passenger's side when she bent to tell him, "You're right; this isn't the time or place." She wanted to say something about being sorry. The words wouldn't come. She said, "I can't even start to tell you how grateful I am for getting me through today. I won't forget it."

  Van straightened. She couldn't see his face when he said, "I'm glad to hear that. For a second, I thought you already had. And I understand about just now. I promised myself I wouldn't do something like that. My mistake."

  She walked behind the car, came to his window. He rolled it down. She leaned a bit closer. "I need to get myself in order, Van. I've been messed up. It takes time to get back to normal."

  "Does that mean you're re-thinking this whole rebuild thing?"

  "It looks like I have to."

  He turned on the headlights. "We'll work everything out. Between us."

  She thanked him, reaching to touch the strong line of his jaw, then stepped back. He rolled out slowly. She watched until his lights traced around the bend.

  A whining, wriggling Zasu welcomed her, yipping breathless excitement. It always made Lila laugh. Zasu raced away, hurtling back seconds later. Turning the table lamp at Aunt Lila's chair on low, Lila settled in. Zasu flew up beside her. Lila held her tight. "Don't try to con me, scamp. I know Crow fed you." The dog seemed to shrug, quieted, and wedged herself between Lila and the chair's arm.

  Lila told herself she wasn't going to let depression rule her. She'd think of something besides the house, money, wasted time. That left her with one thing; the moments with Van in the car. If she was truthful with herself, she'd admit she'd known that scene was waiting to unfold when she met him for the first time. Sometimes a man looked at a woman once and almost an entire novel passed between them. It had happened to her before. It was exciting. The trouble was, one had to live the book to find out exactly how it ended. The story might have a sound beginning and middle but the end was always written while it was taking place.

  That's how her only long-term relationship went. A long time ago.

  Mrs. Vanderkirk.

  No sparks there. It had solidity, though. Rang with stability.

  Be honest; there's promise in it, as well.

  Her flighty, uncontained thoughts took her to the strangeness of the presence - frightening, reassuring - that came to her the day she watched Crow leave.

  I thought he was gone for good.

  The woman who was the presence said love is created.

  Within each of us is the gift to create a thing that refuses any defeat.

  Bake's place was a defeated project. She was a defeated dreamer. There just wasn't enough love in the world to make all the dreams come true. It was time to concentrate on the interior of her life. Maybe it was time for another try at that last chapter of the book.

  Lila Vanderkirk.

  It could happen.

  Zasu leaped to the floor and trotted to the door leading into the shop and thus, outside. An expectant look over her shoulder explained. Lila muttered, pushing herself upright. "What if I hadn't come home, Miss Gottago? Ok, then, but not without your leash."

  Crossing the darkened store area and stepping outside, Lila reached back to turn on the porch light. It popped and died. "Oh, great." She frowned at the waiting blackness, debating if she should get another bulb. She attempted a compromise, turning on the worklight inside. The pale splash barely touched the night. "Nuts. Come on, let's get this over with." Darkness didn't trouble Zasu. She did her best to drag Lila deeper into it. Lila was having none of that. The two stalled about twenty paces from the house. "That's it. Pee or bust. It's dark."

  While Zasu snuffled about, seeking a worthy place, Lila discretely immersed herself in her surroundings. The lake was an erratic spangle of reflected moonbeams. The nervousness of the surface suggested her own myriad uncertainties. It was more relaxing to tilt her head back and stargaze. She tried to remember constellations. The Big Dipper was easy. She thought she recognized Orion. The rest was just gorgeous jumble.

  The sudden slackening of the leash alerted Lila. Zasu sat at her feet, leaned against her, floppy ears cast forward. Her head bobbed as she sniffed.

  Lila took a slow step back, pulling her reluctant, strangely silent pet. Another step in retreat and she though she heard something. She bent quickly, lifting Zasu. The dog squirmed, still making no sound. Lila froze, listening.

  Something moved, out toward the road.

  She turned and ran. The expensive, painful shoes threatened to send her sprawling. She took the stairs in two steps, was inside the house in another, the door slammed behind her. She locked it, leaned against it. Kicked off the shoes.

  She'd almost convinced herself she was imagining things when she heard boards squeak on the porch. Something heavy, slow. She moved to look through the storefront window and stopped abruptly. The faint light inside created glare on the glass. Whatever was out there could see in better than she could see out.

  A bear - or a man - would simply crash through.

  The thing was moving along the porch again. Then slow, heavy movement going away.

&n
bsp; Lila wanted to scream. In her arms, Zasu panted, shaking violently.

  Silence returned, worse in its way than the shuffling footsteps.

  She had to see. She slipped off her shoes, stepped away from the door. Crawling to the window, she peered out at its lowest point. She saw something. Or imagined it?

  A dog barked in the distance.

  Major.

  Of course. She'd call Crow.

  She scrambled awkwardly into the living room and grabbed her purse with its cell. Only then did she realize she was still carrying the shoes and had no idea what Crow's number was.

  The shout from outside startled her so badly she dropped everything. Even as it all thumped on the wooden floor, she'd recognized Crow's voice. "Lila? Are you all right?"

  Darting to the door, she almost threw it open. The thought that there was something, someone else out there checked her. She peered through a small gap, instead. "Be careful, Crow. Something was on my porch. I don't know..."

  He interrupted. He was within the faint light from inside the house now, coming closer, more distinct at each step. The bandage seemed to glow. It surprised her that he was fully dressed, but she dismissed that in the face of what he was saying. "I think it was coyotes. Major and I, we were..." She heard a pause so slight she wasn't sure it was there. When he continued the drawl was more pronounced. "...He was restless. We went for a walk. Something spooked him. He about dragged me back here. He's still upset."

  She opened the door wide, pushed the screen aside. "So am I. I hope we didn't bother him. Van and I - we just got back."

  Why did that sound like a confession?

  It didn't. It sounded perfectly normal. It just felt like a confession.

  I don't have anything to be guilty about. What I do is none of his business.

  "We heard you. That wasn't what bothered him." He pointed, laughing quietly. "I see you got barefoot once you got home."

  After her own chuckle an awkward silence closed on them. It lasted too long. Crow cleared his throat and said, "Well, if you're ok, I guess I better let you get some sleep."

  "I'm glad you were here." It came out flat, empty. She tried again."Nothing like that's ever happened before. When I first started this project I worried about being alone. I got used to it, quit thinking about it. Now this." Her hands fluttered up, fell back.

  "Yes. Well, I'm glad we could help settle things." He looked down at patient Major and touched the dog's head. It ignored the contact, continued to focus on Lila. Crow shifted from foot to foot.

  He knows you just got back. How long I was in the car with Van. Was he...?

  He broke in on her thinking. "Don't worry about anything. We're here. Being alone's not for everyone."

  Something stirred deep inside her. It felt alien, like something coming to life. She said, "I don't think it's for anyone. Not even you." The words were out before the thought was fully formed.

  She'd have sworn his eyes sank back into his skull and his lips thinned. He stared. Through her.

  Instinct urged her to leave, run away. She knew her emotions were racing far ahead of any logic. Worse, as driven as she was to speak to him, she was deathly afraid she'd say something inappropriate. She said, "You tell me - and yourself - you're alone because that's when you're happy. I'm not sure I believe you. I believe you were once. I think something happened and now you think you can't ever be happy again. You just go through the motions of being alive, pretending there's no past and no future. That life - the one you had before you became who you are today - must have been wonderful. Don't you ever think about building new memories, just as wonderful?"

  It took a while for him to say, "Yes," and it came like a slap. What followed was almost plaintive. "Don't go yet. I want to... Maybe I... Can we just talk? Just a while?"

  Her throat tightened. She nodded, afraid to breathe. If she was ever to help him free of his isolation, this was the why and how of it. Her very soul told her it was true.

  If I fail him he could be lost in his never-ending present.

  Lost to me.

  Confession seized her heart and squeezed. She gritted her teeth against outcry.

  What about Van?

  What about me?

  Now's when you tell him he's not the only one who ever got hurt.

  Don't be a fool. He needs somebody.

  He needs me.

  She wished this day had never started, wished there was no loan application, no hollow, fun evening with Van, and especially no inexplicable need to help this inexplicable man

  Was it really that sudden? Had a part of me always known that this was inevitable? Was it meant to happen, like the scene in the car with Van?

  Van's kiss. How long ago had that been? Half an hour? Half a lifetime?

  What's happening to me?

  Crow was saying, "She was my one constant happiness." There was another pause, then, a bit more strongly, "After a while, a man learns to expect things to go wrong, you know? But if you're lucky, there's always one thing that no one can mess up. You find someone who knows your happiness and your hurt even more than you do. They take on your hurt and give back comfort. They share your happiness and multiply it for you. I had that." He leaned forward as if pushing his words at her. "There was an accident. A stupid, stupid car crash. I was overseas. The last time we said goodbye..." He stopped, shook his head as if he'd been clubbed.

  "Oh, Crow, I'm so sorry. I've done nothing but complain since I met you, and my troubles are so insignificant. I wish so much I'd known her. But would she have wanted you to close yourself off from everyone? I'm sure she was someone who reached out."

  His face could have been metal. "I made her stop wanting to live. My profession - we leave the people we love, go kill other people. They kill some of us. The ones we love wait and worry. When we come back, we're different. Those loved ones - the wives, in particular - they surround us. Like a fortress, you know? They hold off everything that wants to break us. Sometimes they..." He choked. The metal mask cracked for an instant. Reality swept across his features. What Lila saw made her gasp. He went on. "Some take on too much of us. It's what happened to my Patricia."

  "She never said that." Again, Lila spoke without thought. The words shocked her, visibly shocked him.

  Crow hesitated, then, defensively, "The life I made her live is what brought that on."

  "She chose you. She knew who you were and what you did. She wanted to share it all with you. Help you. She'd hate that you're blaming yourself for everything. She loved you. Remember that. Honor that. Her life was so much more than the tragedy that ended it. You helped each other create something that'll live forever."

  Sharp, barking laughter startled her. "Live forever? Can you imagine a place where every day's just another small death to get through while we wait for the big one? The need to rush the cadence can be almost too much sometimes. We forget to hope."

  She gathered herself. "No one forgets hope. Forever starts with hope. Come inside. I'll make coffee. We'll talk more."

  Chapter 26

  He sat in the leather chair next to Lila's. The dogs slept on the hearth at their feet, companionably close together. The light from the lamp was dim. It set a mood of expectancy.

  Crow spoke to the darkness of the empty fireplace. He almost believed he could see the story of his life smoke-swirling into that void then up the chimney into the night. Lila listened without comment and he was so full of the wonder of her that his need to make her understand him goaded him away from all the past silences. He told of Patricia - of picnics, parties, Christmas gifts. More than that, the trivia that makes love a treasured bond. He spoke her name. He writhed as his carefully constructed solitude eroded like sand castle walls. Yet he felt freedom at their collapse. And comforted. Because Lila's silence wasn't that of an interested listener. It was an almost tangible cloak of caring.

  The past refused to give way entirely. It forced itself into recalling things he'd never spoken of to anyone. The red force sang of dea
th and fear and pain, mocking. It told him he had no right to a life without those things. Once upon a time, perhaps, but he forfeited that long ago.

  No matter if the world cast him out or he cast himself out.

  Could he survive that world - or himself - again? Did he want to?

  Patricia. I said her name, several times, out loud.

  That's not like putting her aside.

  Guilt gnawed at his resolve, urged him to retreat into familiar solitude.

  Lila reached, trapped his gesturing hand and instinctively breached his sudden silence. "I wish I'd had a partner like your Patricia in my life. I already told you I wish I'd known her. Now it's more than that; I regret that I didn't."

  He blinked. She went on, feeling an almost euphoric fullness. "As awful as your loss was - is - what wonderful things you have to remember."

  Crow stammered. "We had a good life."

  Lila said, "I've always known that. Our dinner at Martha's? All your talk about being a loner? I was sure I knew where it came from."

  "I never talked about us - Patricia and me - before. Not because I'm crazy, either. It's... Everything that happened... All I ever asked was to crawl off and heal alone."

  "Crawl off? Warriors don't crawl."

  "I tried. Booze. I failed to fail. I learned I need to live, but I can do it only inside myself. That's who I am."

  She nodded agreement, but looked away. "Not many men can say 'That's who I am' and believe it."

  "I don't believe it. I know it."

  "If you say so."

  He straightened. Lila felt defensiveness clang down around him like a cage. His glare - practically a snarl - only heightened the wild animal impression. She'd seen that look, just a flash before he hid it. That alone had frightened her. This was unrelenting. She steeled herself, absorbed it. He said, "You think I don't know the combat and what happened to my family are tied together in my head? I'm not stupid. Don't be one of those people who thinks they know what goes on inside us. If you had just one of my dreams, you'd have a small idea what it's like. Until you do - and I hope you never will - don't judge us. All I'm telling the world is let me be and I won't trouble you."