Heartbeat of the Bitterroot

  I touched his sleeve. “Michael?”

  He turned and looked at me for a moment, unseeing, then passed his hand over his eyes and walked to his desk.

  “What is it?” I asked with concern.

  “I … I’m sorry. Shall we go? We can take my car.”

  I was mystified. “Sure.”

  In the car, he sat quietly behind the wheel for a moment. He said nothing, but I could see the tension in his jaw. I was afraid to ask him what was wrong, to invade his private thoughts, but was more afraid to watch him suffer alone.

  “Michael, what was it? What was it about the kite?” I felt like I was reaching across a long, gray chasm, feeling after him, searching for where he had fallen.

  He stared ahead, his hand on the key in the ignition. He sighed and began. “The summer before Lisa died we took a trip to the coast. We bought two kites, the kind that are shaped like a box. There is almost always wind on the beach in Oregon and I flew them for hours, their bright colors dancing against the sky. Emma was little but she loved it. Lisa tired so quickly then, really all she could do was just watch.” He cleared his throat. “It’s just that sometimes it all comes back in a flood. There’s nothing I can do to stop it. At first it was like living with a knife in your chest that no one could see and only you could feel.” He ran his fingers through his thick, dark curls. “It wasn’t supposed to happen. Not to someone as young as she was.” His voice was hollow. His hand on the gearshift was white at the knuckles.

  I laid my hand over his and we sat in silence for a moment. I struggled for something, anything, meaningful to say. What words can salve a heart so wounded?

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “This isn’t fair to you.”

  “It’s OK. I understand.” I said. “It’s hard to lose someone you love.”

  He turned and looked at me with gratitude and dropped his eyes to my hand. He gave my fingers a squeeze, started the engine, and pulled into traffic.

  A few minutes later, we crested the hill by the Missoula Carousel. The brown brick building’s domed roof glinted silver beneath the six-foot-tall, horse-shaped weather vane.

  The massive door on one side of the building was flung open to the outside air, and when Michael opened my car door, the blare of the pipe organ greeted me. Children spun by astride handmade wooden horses—a vibrantly colored blur.

  As I slung my camera bag over my shoulder, I noticed Emma and Michael’s mother in Dragon’s Hollow, the massive playground complex next to the Carousel building. Emma sat high in a wooden tower ready to slide down the spiral slide. Michael’s mother, Lynn, stood at the foot of the slide waving for her to come down.

  “Time for the party, Emma,” I heard her say, but Emma turned a deaf ear. She gazed at the scene from her vantage point until she spied us, then launched herself down the slide. She ran to me and threw her arms around my knees.

  “Well, look at who gets the first hug,” Michael said.

  I gave her a squeeze, then she darted to Michael, who scooped her up and gave her a kiss. Just as quickly, she was off again and joined a little boy by the long pipe xylophone. They pounded on the tubes, generating a cacophony of sound that whipped them into a frenzy of delight.

  Lynn stopped to talk to a mom and her little daughter who carried a brightly wrapped gift box. She pointed the way to the party room at the back of the Carousel.

  We walked over and Michael hugged his mother. “Mom, you remember Jenna Clark?”

  “Certainly,” she said and gave me a brief hug. She looked lovely in a soft green sweater with a bold beaded necklace.

  “It’s nice to see you again,” I said, shifting my camera bag to my shoulder.

  “Come on Emmy Lou, birthday girl,” Michael said. “Time for the party to start, Samuel.”

  We walked around the Carousel, admiring the hand-carved horses and magical creatures being loaded with excited children.

  “I want to ride the one that’s bucking!” Samuel exclaimed, pointing to one whose black, genuine horsehair tail flowed almost to the floor.

  As the Carousel began to move, Emma pointed eagerly at a white horse with a full, curly mane. “Oh, I want the pretty one with the red ribbons,” she said.

  “Hang on a minute. Let’s go in the party room and see your friends,” Michael said.

  “It looks like we are in for a wild party,” I said, scanning the room filled with wiggling children. Some were trying on party hats and others bounced brightly colored balloons up and down on their strings.

  Some of the parents were Michael’s coworkers, I learned, and some were neighbors. Elizabeth and Jordan came in, Jordan proudly toting a big purple gift bag. She put it on a nearby table with the other gifts, and then ran to give me a hug.

  “We’ll all ride the Carousel first,” Lynn told the children. A stampede ensued as the kids ran for their favorite steed. They kicked their feet in anticipation as their parents strapped them safely in place.

  “Are you coming?” Michael looked expectantly at me, eyebrows arched. “These are big enough for adults for a reason, you know.”

  “Oh, of course! I am an experienced horsewoman after all.” I hopped onboard the hardwood flooring and found a silver horse near Emma. It had a bright blue blanket and a spray of yellow roses cascading over its rump.

  “Hang on tight,” Michael said as he checked Emma’s safety belt. “Watch yourself,” he warned me solemnly, “Remember, this thing really moves.”

  Emma released her grip on the gold pole in front of her long enough to wave at her grandmother, who waved back smiling. “Hang on!” she said.

  The ride gave me a dizzying sense of freedom. The wind blew through my hair and lights blinked in rhythm to the organ music. Bright colors spun around me. Jordan stretched her hand from her seat on a white horse decorated with apples on its tack, trying to snatch the gold ring and win a free ride.

  I looked back at Michael riding a black horse with knight’s armor carved around its shoulders. He laughed at one of the children as she flailed the side of her horse with an imaginary whip to speed it forward. I felt a pang then, like I was stretching, too, reaching for something elusive, something that dangled just beyond my reach.

  When the Carousel slowed to a stop, Michael set Emma down on the floor. He had to hold onto her for a minute until she regained her balance. “Again!” She demanded and ran around to the metal dragon by the token taker for another turn, her flock of friends in her wake.

  Michael waved for me to join them, but I pointed in the direction of my camera bag.

  I set the lens to my liking and snapped a few shots of Michael and Emma before the Carousel started spinning again. The vivid colors and fairy tale shapes of the horses were beautiful, showcasing the creative genius of the volunteer woodcarvers.

  The fast speed on the camera captured Jordan laughing, her hair flying in the wind, frozen against a blur of action behind her. A picture that would look great on my mantle, I thought.

  “I’d like some of those for Jordan’s album,” Elizabeth said from behind me, and I promised to send them.

  I raised my camera and panned for a shot of Emma coming around from the left, but I was distracted by a face in the crowd that showed up in the lens. I stopped. Thin face, haggard blond hair. Where had I seen him before? He was standing apart, beyond the smiling families of the riders, a grim look on his face, staring in my direction.

  A woman with a stroller bumped me from behind and my hands jerked down. “Oops, sorry!” she said.

  When I turned back, the man was nowhere to be seen. Was he the man at the river when Zee and I went there to talk? The man on the bank. But that was clear down the valley. Why would he be here? And was he staring at me, or was I imagining things? I craned my neck but could not catch sight of him.

  After the ride, Michael came up beside me. “Is there something wrong?” he asked, noting the concern on my face.

  “There was a man, over there. I saw him at the river when I was there with Zee, and a
gain down at the ranch in a red truck when I gave her a ride home. What would he be doing here?”

  He pulled me close protectively and scanned the crowd. “That’s strange. Do you think he is following you? Maybe I should go and look around.”

  I shook my head. “It’s probably nothing. After all, this is a public place. But he didn’t seem like someone who would be here with kids.”

  Elizabeth beckoned us to the party room. “We are going to need a hand,” she said.

  Michael looked unconvinced but followed me into the room.

  The cake was Hello Kitty, of course, with four large candles. Michael handed me a lighter and said, “You’d better do it. I’m dangerous with fire.” I laughed and he said, “Not kidding. When I was ten, I played with matches and ignited my hat. I burnt off both eyebrows. Scarred for life.”

  He pointed to the L-shaped scar over his left eye. I reached over and traced it with my finger, a narrow, embossed line. I tried to imagine him at ten. A trace of that innocence still lit his face. What was he like before time etched its sorrows across his handsome features? He took my hand and kissed it. It struck me that some scars show and some do not.

  I lit the candles and Emma grinned while everyone sang. She was about to plunge her fingers into the pink icing but a warning look from Michael stopped her.

  Lynn handed me a spatula and I sliced the cake and passed it out. Elizabeth stepped in and we spent the next several minutes filling cups with punch, wiping up spills, refilling cups, wiping up more spills and scraping ice cream off of children’s fronts and faces.

  Presents were opened and “ohhhed” over. I had brought a soft doll with yarn hair and a pink dress sprinkled with tiny rosebuds. There was a backpack to carry the doll in which Emma immediately strapped on. After a significant pile of wrapping paper had been accumulated, people began to say goodbye. They slipped away into the crowd that leaned against the black iron railing, watching the Carousel whirl.

  I walked beside Emma out to the car, her fingers wrapped around mine. “So, did you have fun at your party?”

  She nodded vigorously, clutching the doll I gave her. “I am going to name my doll Cupcake.”

  I smiled. “That’s a delicious name.”

  “I’m four now. Are you four too?”

  I laughed. “I’m a little older.”

  I watched Michael help Emma strap herself into her booster seat. It didn’t seem that long ago when Zee was that age. She would ride around in the back seat pointing out all of the wonders of the world. Wonder had given way to an early cynicism, a world shrunk to a shell close about her, a shortsighted vision of life.

  Michael saw my furrowed brow.

  “You OK?” he asked when we got in the front seat.

  “I was just thinking about Zee.”

  “What’s going on?” he asked as he started the engine.

  “I’m just worried about her. I had to give her a ride home yesterday. She was in Missoula with some friends. I don’t think she was even supposed to be this far from home and it was long past the time she was to be home. I get the feeling she’s spinning out of control. She’s on a carousel all her own. I’m not sure how long my uncle will put up with it. I’m afraid one of these days she’s going to go too far. I wish I could help. She has so much potential, and it’s all being buried under the craziness of her life.”

  He drove in silence for a while. “Didn’t you say Zee is really into art?”

  “Yes, she’s very talented. She won a blue ribbon at the fair in Hamilton last summer. Her piece was incredibly ingenious and beautiful.”

  “One of the guys I work with—his wife is a professional artist. She’s really amazing. Really colorful stuff, lots of vibrant images of animals. I think Zee would like it. Anyway, the woman is having a show pretty soon. How about we take Zee—spend a little time with her. I could arrange for her to meet the artist. What do you think?”

  “That would be great. I think she’d love it.”

  “I’ll let you know when it is,” he said.

  By the time we got to my house, Emma was asleep in the back seat, a Carousel token held tightly in her little fist.

  “Thanks for coming,” he said. “Sorry, I promised you Pin the Tail on the Donkey and we never got to it. I’m sure you are disappointed. Maybe we should have had darts.” He smiled with a sly look. “I hear from Jack that you are quite the darts champion.”

  “Jack is just a poor shot,” I laughed. “Thanks for inviting me. It was fun and I got some great shots of the Carousel horses,” I said holding up my camera.

  He smiled then turned serious and took my hand. “Good luck with Zee. She’s a neat kid. I hate to see her struggle like that.”

  “It’s frustrating trying to figure out how to help her. I find myself saying things that sound so trite, like ‘You’re a good person. Just hang in there. It will work out all right.’ Like the cheerleader, you know. ‘Rah, rah! You can do it!’ I’m afraid what we all say is getting drowned out by the shrill voices of her friends anyway.”

  “She’ll probably figure it all out. She’s got a great family.”

  When Michael came around to open my door, a car pulled up behind us. It was Grant. Suit and tie on a Saturday. I wondered what he was working on.

  “Hey, Jenna,” he said. He looked at Michael, and I could practically hear the wheels clicking in his head.

  “Grant, you remember Michael? He was there the night of the break in at my house.”

  He scanned Michael out of the corner of his eye, his glance resting where Michael held my hand. “Sure. How’s it going? You guys been out celebrating something?” He has clicked into his detective mode, I thought.

  “Birthday,” Michael said pointing to Emma.

  “Hmm,” Grant responded. He looked Michael over again, then smiled at me.

  “Thought I’d just give you an update on those threatening texts you asked me about. It’s taking some time, but it looks like it may have been a track phone. Hard to trace. You get any more of them?”

  I shook my head. “No, but there is something else. Remember I told you that the day I got the second text, there was a strange man watching Zee and me when we were talking down by the river?” A chill ran down my neck as the man’s face with the scraggly goatee came to my mind. “I’m sure I saw him again today at the Carousel.” I hesitated, feeling like an amateur detective. “He was just staring at me from the back of the crowd. I know it sounds far-fetched, but do you think Jeremy Hunsaker could be involved with this man in some way? Maybe this guy is working with him?”

  Michael’s eyes narrowed. “Wait, was this a blond man? Skinny? I saw him at the door. Something just didn’t seem right about the guy. Seemed really tense. Not like he was there to enjoy the Carousel.”

  Grant’s mouth pulled into a grim line. “Do you think you could identify this man if you saw a sketch of him?”

  “I’m not sure, but I almost got a picture of him with my camera,” I pointed to my camera bag.

  Grant rubbed his square chin. “Well, it seems unlikely there is a connection, but I’ll do some checking. At any rate, as I told you before, Hunsaker has been settled firmly into Warm Springs. Incommunicado. It looks like he will be spending some extended time vacationing there at the state mental hospital. He won’t be bothering you or anyone else again.”

  I blew out a breath. “That’s a relief.”

  “Well, let me know if you see the blond guy again or if he approaches you. You have my number.”

  “Thanks for coming by,” I said.

  Grant nodded at Michael and turned to go.

  When Grant drove away, Michael squeezed my hand and walked me to the door.

  “Listen, you can call me anytime you are worried about either of those guys. I’m just minutes away, you know.” His face was serious.

  “Thanks.”

  He put his arm around me and drew me onto the bench on the porch. My neighbor’s fragrant pot of peppermint-striped petunias spiced the
air with their scent. The day was cooling off but Michael’s polar fleece felt warm against my shoulder.

  “Try not to worry about Zee too much,” he said. “There is an African proverb: ‘It takes a village to raise a child.’ Zee is lucky that she has a great family. She has you for an example.”

  I laughed. “Well, if she’s looking up to me, heaven help us all. But, I was very lucky to have Martin and Ann when I was young. They saved me. I can never repay them for that. I only wish …”

  “What do you wish?” He pulled me close and ran his fingers along my wrist.

  “I wish I could have known my real father. How would that have changed my life? He could have been a great example.” I paused. “Or maybe he would have been a complete nightmare. I wonder if I’ll ever know. I wonder if I’ll ever find him.”

  “You’ll find him. Just don’t give up.”

  I nodded, still doubting. I looked at Emma sleeping peacefully in the back seat.

  “Just think of all those teenager challenges ahead of you with Emma,” I said with a wry smile.

  He looked through the car window at her curly dark head. “No, I think I just won’t let her grow up. I like where she’s at now.”

  “I think she’ll fight you on that.”

  He sighed. “She probably will.” He smoothed the hood of my jacket back away from my neck. “I’m glad you grew up though,” he said and kissed me.

  A flood of warmth washed over me and for a moment I felt pleasantly dizzy, filled with the smell of him—a mixture of cologne and chocolate cake.

  “I’ll call you tomorrow,” he whispered.

  I watched him walk away down the sidewalk to the car. He tapped on the window where Emma sat. She had awakened; she turned to him and laughed. And as she did, laughter sprung in my own heart.