The Waterfall

by Carla Neggers

  “I’m not dressed for a hike—”

  “There’s a short path off the road. It’s a little longer than the path along the brook, but it’s easier.”

  The girl seemed so eager. It was because of this pitiful life she led when she should be at a quality summer camp or studying abroad for the summer. Barbara had to contain her fury. If she could get Jack to tear down his wall of denial and see what she offered him, she could have influence over his grandchildren. She knew he hated to see them turning into country bumpkins.

  She manufactured a smile as she got to her feet. “Go on, then,” she said. “Lead the way.”

  Madison skipped down the deck steps, Barbara following at a slower pace. As a senior staffer of a United States senator, she was dressed professionally, appropriately, in dark slacks, a crisp white shirt and loafers.

  They took a gravel path to the front of the house and walked along the edge of the dirt road. Since the house was the last on the dead-end road, Barbara didn’t worry too much about a passing car spotting them. This was a risk. But it was a tolerable risk, another act of strength on her part. Madison needed a break from the dull rituals of her summer life.

  Barbara knew her way around the woods and paths of the hills above Lucy’s house better than she dared let on.

  Last night, she’d returned to the rented house alone, even before she’d completed the paperwork with the real estate agent and gotten the keys. The screened porch was unlocked, and when Barbara slipped inside, a bat flapped in front of her face.

  It was very early in the evening for bats, and she’d thought it might be rabid.

  Then she’d thought of Lucy.

  Barbara didn’t know anything about bats. She wasn’t a killer of helpless animals. She could have left it alone, coaxed it outside in case it meant to make a home for itself on the porch.

  But the impulse had taken hold of her, refusing to let go until she’d found a stick, dealt with the bat and tucked its carcass into a bakery bag from her morning coffee.

  She’d parked her car under a pine tree on the side of the dirt road and slipped across the brook to her perch on the opposite bank, then looked out across the yard behind the barn. She saw Madison leave with friends, J.T. go off with his grubby little friend. When Lucy finally took off across the field with her binoculars, Barbara weighed the risks and the pleasures. She knew she wouldn’t stop thinking about the bat until it was deposited in Lucy’s house for her to find, wonder about, scream about. But what if Lucy spotted her with her binoculars?

  She came up with a foolproof cover story. Lucy! You caught me. Jack sent me to rent a house for him for August, and I couldn’t resist peeking in on you and the kids. I thought I heard something, but it was nothing.

  If she’d already deposited the bat, she could argue it was the intruder she’d heard. If not, who would ask about her bakery bag?

  Lucy hadn’t caught her.

  She’d found the dead bat and screamed.

  Barbara, lurking in the woods on her way back to her car, had heard her. Her satisfaction was almost physical. She’d acquired seven mosquito bites. More little purple hearts.

  Barbara and Madison came to a massive hemlock, its roots spreading like thick, spidery veins over the ground. The girl scooted down the narrow path, turning and motioning to Barbara with one hand. “This way,” she said. “We’re almost there.”

  Yes, Barbara thought. The risks were necessary, and she had the courage to meet them. Colin’s children—Jack’s grandchildren—deserved a better life.

  Jack Swift sank into a quiet corner booth at his favorite restaurant. The past few days had been excruciating. He hadn’t asked Sidney Greenburg to join him for lunch. They’d argued last night when she’d realized something was wrong and he’d insisted there wasn’t. Now, he just wanted a martini, a plate of Maryland crab cakes, a good salad and the dark comfort of the traditional, no-nonsense restaurant.

  He knew, at least figuratively speaking, he was a man hanging over the abyss by his fingernails. Blackmail. Dear God.

  And Colin. His only son, his only child. Had he been the sort of man who fooled around on his wife? Jack had never thought so, but who knew what went on between two people? And the truth really didn’t matter. He didn’t want to see any “proof.” He just wanted this sordid business to go away.

  “Senator Swift.” Darren Mowery greeted him with a warm, phony smile. “Fancy meeting you here.”

  Jack called upon his many years of public service to manufacture a return smile, even as every muscle in his body seemed to twist in agony. “Mr. Mowery.”

  “Mind if I join you?”

  The restaurant was also a favorite with reporters and senior congressional staff, all perpetually at the ready for good, fresh gossip. There was no graceful way out. Darren had known it when he’d walked in here. Jack felt his smile falter. “Please do.”

  Mowery dropped onto the opposite red leather-covered bench. “Did you order the crab cakes?”

  Jack nodded. Mowery was making the point that he knew the senator’s habits, his likes, his dislikes, and that the supposed information he had on Colin was only the beginning. Which was exactly what Jack had feared—what he’d known—when he’d transferred ten thousand dollars into Mowery’s specified account.

  “I did as you asked,” Jack said in a low voice.

  “You sure did. And in short order, too. Much appreciated.”

  The waiter appeared. Darren ordered a beer. No time for lunch, he said. Jack felt no relief.

  “Here’s an address and a password.” With one finger, Mowery passed his business card across the table. “They’re for a secure Web site. You might want to take a look.”

  Jack snatched up the card and dropped it into his suit coat pocket. “Mowery, for God’s sake, if you’ve posted pictures of my son on the goddamn Internet—”

  “Relax, Senator. It’s not that simple. Nothing ever is, you know.”

  “People are already asking questions about your visit to my office the other day. This won’t help.”

  The beer arrived. Darren took a sip. He shrugged. “So?”

  “What do you want from me?”

  He drank more of his beer. “Check out the Web site. Then we’ll talk.”

  Lucy relished the mundane routine of deadheading the daylilies and hollyhocks in front of the garage. After the dead bat incident, she’d loaded up everyone with chores. J.T. and Georgie were pulling weeds, Madison was cleaning the kayaks and canoes and wiping down the life preservers. Lucy had asked both her children to stick close to home today. She was still debating sitting down with them tonight and telling them why. But she didn’t want to act precipitously, scare them unnecessarily.

  A shadow fell across her, and she looked up at Sebastian. “God, you keep materializing out of thin air.”

  He touched her elbow. “I came across the side yard. I don’t think anyone saw me. Lucy, I need to talk to you.”

  “In here.”

  She ducked into the garage and moved to the back, among the shadows, out of view. The room smelled of old wood and grease and was exactly as Daisy had left it. Lucy hadn’t touched a thing, from the half-century-old wooden wheelbarrow to the cleaned, oiled tools hanging from rafters and lined up on shelves.

  Sebastian seemed attuned to every nuance of his environment. He’d grown up here, Lucy reminded herself, and knew this place and its history better than she did. She was aware of his closeness. He could move with such silence and speed, his presence immediate and overwhelming. She never had a chance to brace herself.

  “What’s going on?” she asked. “Is something wrong?”

  “Did you let Madison go off into the woods on her own?”

  Lucy was stunned. “What? No! She and J.T. are both doing chores today. She’s out behind the barn cleaning canoes and kayaks.”

  “No, she isn’t. She skipped out. I just saw her up in the woods.”

  Lucy clenched her hands into fists. “That little shit.”<
br />
  “Kid’s got initiative,” Sebastian said.

  “She didn’t tell me. I had no idea.”

  “I thought about going after her.” His eyes seemed distant, calculating. “I decided to check with you first. I don’t like coming between parents and their children.”

  “She got a phone call from one of her friends. I debated making her call back after she finished—” Lucy huffed, furious with her daughter. “Where is she?”

  “On her way back. I got ahead of her.”

  “You wanted to make sure I wasn’t letting her and J.T. run around on their own when I’ve got some bat-killing lunatic on my case.” Frustration and fear welled up in her, and she kicked at an oil stain on the concrete floor. “I’m not an idiot.”

  Sebastian stayed calm. “I can get a counter-surveillance team in here by morning. Plato can spring a few guys loose. If someone’s conducting surveillance on your place, they’ll know it.”

  “Oh, come on.”

  “Lucy, whoever put that bat in your bedroom knew you weren’t around. That means you’re being watched.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest, tapped a foot in nervous frustration. She wore a sundress today, with sandals and tiny gold earrings. Her hair was pulled back with a twisted red bandana as a head-band. Madison had liked the look, said it was” retro.” Retro what, Lucy didn’t know.

  “I hate this,” she said.

  Sebastian didn’t answer.

  “If I have a ‘counter-surveillance’ team in here, I might as well call the Capitol Police and be done with it. I don’t care how discreet your guys are, Sebastian. People will notice. You know they will. We don’t get many guys with no necks and earpieces skulking around the woods.”

  “Is that a no?”

  She dodged his question. Wasn’t this why she’d gone to him in the first place? So he could be the judge? She didn’t know anything about surveillance, counter-surveillance, dangerous lunatics.

  She headed to the front of the garage, then turned back to him. “Do you know what route Madison’s taking?”

  “The brook path.”

  “I’ll intercept her. She can find out what cleaning a kayak with a toothbrush is like.”

  Sebastian grinned. “Good. I was beginning to think you were too soft on those kids.”

  “If I want your opinion, Redwing, I’ll ask for it.”

  “You did, as I recall.”

  “And as I recall, you sent me packing—and it had nothing to do with my parenting skills.”

  He moved to the front of the garage, but still in the shadows. She was in full sun and couldn’t make out his eyes. His expression was serious, and she wondered if he ever really laughed. “No,” he said, “it was about who’d leave a dead bat in your bed.”

  She clamped her mouth shut. The dead bat, somehow, bothered her more than the bullet hole in her dining room window.

  “It didn’t die of natural causes,” Sebastian added.

  “Big surprise.”

  “Lucy…”

  She faced him. “No counter-surveillance or whatever-it-is team.”

  “I can’t be everywhere.”

  She nodded. “I know. I have to think. Give me…” She squinted, warding off an oncoming headache. “Let me find my daughter.”

  “Stay with J.T. and his friend. I’ll see to it Madison gets back okay.”

  “She’s a good kid, Sebastian. She’s just fifteen—”

  But he was gone, and Lucy walked out back to the vegetable garden, where J.T. and Georgie were busily weeding the rows of beans. They’d picked up their pace when they saw her. They hadn’t touched the pumpkins. She went over to the raised bed, little green pumpkins hanging from their prickly vines. She started pulling weeds, the big scraggly weeds. She’d yank them out, shake off the excess dirt, toss the cast-off plant into a pile. One after another. Not breathing, not thinking.

  “Mom, geez,” J.T. said.

  She didn’t break her pace. “I’m mad at Madison. Steer clear.”

  He didn’t need to be told twice. “Come on, Georgie, let’s go down to the brook—”

  “No!” Lucy swung around at the two boys, a pig-weed in one hand. “Not now. Go into the kitchen and get yourselves something to drink. I bought Popsicles.”

  “What kind?” Georgie asked dubiously. “My mom always buys the fruit juice popsicles. They stink.”

  Lucy forced herself to smile. “These are the gross, disgusting kind with added sugar and artificial color.”

  He laughed and clapped his hands. “Okay, J.T., let’s go!”

  In another minute, she saw Madison walking up from the brook. She came in behind the barn, looking oblivious to the trouble she was in. Lucy abandoned her weeding and made herself take three deep, cleansing breaths before she confronted her daughter.

  The air was warm, with a light breeze. A gorgeous summer afternoon, the grass soft under her feet. She made herself pay attention to everything her senses were taking in, not just her anger and frustration and fear.

  Madison was in a good mood. “Hi, Mom. I only have two more canoes, then I’m done.”

  “Where have you been?”

  “I took a break after I finished the kayaks. I walked up to the falls. Don’t worry, I didn’t get too close.”

  “Madison, I asked you to do a job. You didn’t do it.” Lucy took another breath, tried to be direct, firm, reasonable. “If you wanted to take a walk, you should have told me.”

  “Mom, what’s the matter with you? I always go off into the woods alone.”

  “Not today. I specifically asked you—”

  “I know. I’m getting the stupid job done. It’s boring, that’s all. I thought you’d be happy I wanted to go into the woods. I mean, it’s not like I could go to a mall for a break.”

  Not that old song today. Lucy gritted her teeth.

  Madison kicked the ground. “There’s no pleasing you.”

  “Look, this isn’t getting us anywhere.”

  Lucy blinked up at the sky, trying to figure out what to do. Lock her daughter in her room? Level with her about the intimidation? She didn’t know. There was no playbook for this one. She wanted to protect her children. That much she knew. But how?

  She looked back at Madison, noticed the scratches and dirt on her arm from thrashing through the woods. Two weeks ago, Lucy would have been thrilled at the idea of her daughter making an effort to enjoy her surroundings. “I want to be kept informed on your whereabouts, that’s all. And for the next few days, I don’t want you or J.T. in the woods alone.”

  “Okay, fine. Fine! I’ll just stay here and rot.”

  “Madison—”

  But she stormed off to the house, pounding up the back steps, yelling at her brother and Georgie in the kitchen. A minute later, loud music emanated from her room.

  Lucy resisted the urge to march up there and turn down the music herself, lace into her daughter about her behavior. But that wouldn’t make either of them feel any better, and more important, it wouldn’t help the situation. She’d overreacted to Madison’s understanding of her transgression. And then Madison had overreacted.

  Lucy started back to the house. Had Sebastian witnessed that little mother-daughter scene?

  Just then, Rob and Patti Kiley’s ancient car pulled into the driveway, and Patti jumped out, waving happily. She was an active, smart woman with graying hair and a bright, crooked smile that inevitably soothed those around her. “We brought dinner. We decided you were looking just a tad stressed. So, dinner on the porch, then a walk to the falls. Maybe we’ll throw caution to the wind and take a dip.”

  Lucy couldn’t hide her relief. “You’re a godsend.”

  Rob got out of the car and nodded at Madison’s room, the house practically vibrating with her music. “You want me to go up and agree with her that her mother’s a crazy bitch and doesn’t understand her?”

  Patti glared at him. “Rob.”

  He grinned. “Well, isn’t that what all teenagers
think of their mothers?”

  “No, it’s not. That’s pure prejudice.”

  “Okay.” He shrugged; it was often impossible to know when he was serious and when he was pulling everyone’s leg. “I’ll just go up and offer to take her driving. Lucy?”

  Lucy could feel herself beginning to relax. It wasn’t just Madison and whoever was trying to get under her skin. It was Sebastian, too. His intensity, his seriousness. He was one for worst-case scenarios. She understood—her business required her to plan for worst-case scenarios. But that’s not how she wanted to think right now.

  She smiled. “Great idea, Rob. Thank God for good friends.”

  Seven

  The path along Joshua Brook hadn’t changed much since Sebastian was a boy. He preferred this route. When he’d visited his grandmother, he’d always made a point of walking up to the falls. Daisy never joined him. For her, the falls were a place of tragedy, danger and loss, not beauty and adventure.

  He remembered visiting her late in her life, when the strenuous hike up to the falls was beyond her capabilities. “I sometimes think I’d have been better off if I’d gone up there right after Joshua died,” she’d told him. “But I waited too long. Sixty years.”

  “You’ve had a good life, Gran.”

  “Yes, I have.”

  But she’d never remarried, Sebastian thought now as he ducked under the low branch of a hemlock. What she’d tried to tell him—he’d been too thickheaded to see it—was that by refusing to go to the falls, she’d allowed at least a part of herself to stop time and refuse to acknowledge that Joshua Wheaton was dead. She’d buried him, she’d gone on with her life. But there was still that place deep inside her where her husband was on his way up into the woods on a wet March day after a boy and his dog. He was the young man she’d married—and she wasn’t a widow, even sixty years later.

  The path narrowed and almost disappeared as it went up a steep hill. Sebastian had to grab tree trunks and find his footing on exposed roots and rocks. The brook was fast-moving after last night’s thunderstorms, coursing over gray, smooth rock down to his right. He was below the falls, close now.