Then a small boy’s scream.
Heart shooting to her throat, Poppy sprinted from the room. Maybe she flew, because it only seemed a second passed before she found Linus and her son. The brooms were discarded, and her little guy was sitting on the floor in his stocking feet, crying hard as Linus held his hand to Mason’s forehead.
Blood seeped beneath his fingers.
Be calm, she told herself, though she felt as if she were choking on her swelling heart. Don’t let Mason see your fear.
“Sweetheart.” She hurried to kneel beside her boy. “Shh. You’re all right.”
He launched himself toward her, and she caught him in her arms, twisting so she could sit on the floor and cradle him in her lap. The movement dislodged Linus’s hand and she took a hard gulp as a new gush of blood poured from a cut on Mason’s forehead. Realizing she still held the kitchen towel, she placed it gently against the wound, then applied pressure. Head wounds bleed a lot, she reminded herself.
“God, I’m sorry,” Linus said, his face pale. “We were playing and he slid too far and hit his head on the edge of that table.” His bloodstained hand shook as he pointed toward a narrow table set against the wall. The lamp on it was toppled, and the glass shade that surrounded the bulb was shattered.
Mason was still sobbing. “You’re going to be okay, honey,” Poppy said, pushing down her initial panic. She lifted the edge of the towel to get another look at the injury.
Linus pulled out his phone. “I’ll dial 9-1-1.”
“Wait.” Poppy scrutinized the cut, her breath coming easier. “It’s not that bad. It’s really not that bad at all.” The wound wasn’t life-threatening and looked to be well within her mom-set of medical skills, thanks to a course she’d taken a few years ago for new mothers. Pressing the towel back to the wound, she glanced up at Linus. “Do you have butterfly bandages?”
“I’ll check.” In moments, Linus was back, with a large first-aid kit in hand. “I’m sure we’ve got everything you could need,” he said, rummaging through its contents.
Poppy drew Mason closer, rocking him a little. His sobs were quieter, and she pressed a kiss to his hair, still with the towel against his wound. “Okay, honey. You’re doing great. So brave.”
“The bathroom across the hall has good light,” Linus said.
“That’s where we’ll go then, okay, sweetie?” She pressed another kiss to the top of her son’s head. “We’ll go into the bathroom and Mommy will fix you right up. Linus will help.”
“Noooo,” Mason began crying in earnest again, thrashing a little so that she had to tighten her hold on him. “Noooo.”
Poppy’s chest squeezed and she felt the sting of tears at the corners of her own eyes. No matter what, it was so hard to see her child in pain. “It’s okay, baby. Mommy and Linus will be right there with you and it won’t take long at all.”
“Noooo,” Mason wailed, his sobs tearing at Poppy’s insides. “I-I n-need the su-superspy. I n-need D-Duke.”
Poppy rocked her little boy. “Mommy and Linus—”
“I n-need Duke!”
“I’ll get him,” Linus said quickly.
She lifted her gaze to meet Linus’s. “I don’t know. I don’t think he’d appreciate—”
“He’ll come,” Linus said, already backing away. “I’m guessing he’s in the basement since he seems to have missed all the commotion up here.”
Poppy bit her lip. “Linus—”
“He’ll come.”
She managed to get Mason into the bathroom and seated on the counter beside the sink. The sound of two sets of quick footsteps coming toward them made uneasiness join the roil of anxiety and worry in her belly. How would Ryan take being forced into service like this?
“Hey, kid,” he said, standing at her shoulder. “You took a header?”
Poppy sent him a sidelong glance. His face devoid of expression, he brushed her hand away to take a look at the damage beneath the stained towel. His face registered no reaction to the seeping wound.
Mason whimpered, “Am I gonna die?”
From his place by the door, Linus made an odd, strangled sound.
“Of course you’re not,” Poppy hurriedly said.
Her boy didn’t even seem to have heard her. His drenched eyes stayed glued on Ryan. “D-Duke, am I g-gonna die?”
“No.”
At the one syllable, Mason’s small frame seemed to relax a little. His gaze shifted to Poppy. “Okay, Mommy. Let Duke fix me up.”
She slid another look at Ryan. It was impossible to ignore the tension coming off him in waves. Maybe he was squeamish, she thought. Maybe he was afraid he would go green and pass out. “Duke will be standing right outside,” she said, “while you be a brave boy and let Mommy put the little butterflies on your poor face.”
“Duke will do it,” Mason said, his voice laced with stubbornness.
“Mason—”
“Duke will do it,” Ryan confirmed.
“Are you sure?”
He dropped his big hand to her shoulder. “Poppy.” Just her name. But that and his reassuring touch were enough to weaken her knees. The stress of the past few minutes made her light-headed, too, now that she had the luxury of someone to take on the bandaging task.
“Linus, come in here and hold the boy,” Ryan said.
“No.” Poppy stiffened her legs, knowing she couldn’t afford to be weak or lean on anyone. “I’ve got it.” Positioning herself behind Mason, she drew him into her arms. “I’ll hold you tight, sweetie. Just close your eyes and don’t be afraid.”
Mason leaned his head against her shoulder. “Not afraid. Duke’s on the job.”
She could almost smile at that. “Duke’s on the job” was a quote from the superspy movie. And Ryan was as efficient as his character. It seemed as if it took no time at all for the wound to be cleaned, then bandaged with the strips that pinched the edges of the cut together. Linus found another bandage, a large square, to place over them. And when her son wondered if there were any dinosaur ones in the first-aid box, Linus managed to gently draw a passable triceratops on the flesh-colored plastic with a marker.
Ryan had exchanged places with his brother for this part of the process. In silence, he stood in the doorway. There was something almost feverish in his eyes, and though not a muscle moved, Poppy sensed a dangerous edginess about him.
It didn’t seem to bother Mason, however, because when she suggested it was time for him to get on his pajamas and go to bed, he held out his arms toward the dark-haired man.
At that, Linus inhaled a sharp, audible breath. Alarmed, Poppy glanced at him, but he was staring at his brother. She had the weird sense that he was prepared to jump between her son and the man who’d bandaged him.
She moved to take up her child, but Ryan got there first. Without a word, he plucked Mason from the counter and strode with him toward the stairs. Following behind, she glanced back to see Linus was trailing the pair, as well, his expression anguished.
But there was no time to grill him about it. Already they were in the room assigned to Mason and she went about helping him with all the before-bed duties, which this time included a dose of children’s pain reliever. When they emerged from the bathroom, Mason in pj’s and already yawning, Linus was lounging at the foot of the bed. Ryan again hovered in the doorway, as if eager to escape.
“I’m sorry about your fall, Mace,” Linus said as Poppy situated the boy under the covers then sat beside him on the mattress. “I think your mom’s going to put me in the penalty box over it.”
Mason eyes rounded and he glanced at Poppy. “Don’t put Linus in a box!”
“It’s an expression, baby.” With gentle fingers she brushed his hair away from the bandage. Now that the crisis had passed, she still felt jittery, her nerves that had been
pulled taut now cut loose and jangling. “It’s time to say thank you and good-night to Linus and, uh, Duke.”
He repeated the words obediently, but she could tell he was fading. No books tonight, she realized, and turned off the bedside lamp. Now the only illumination came from the night-light in the bathroom. Linus moved to join Ryan at the doorway and Poppy continued to play with Mason’s hair as he drifted into sleep.
Crises like the one just weathered could make a single mother feel very alone, she mused. There wasn’t a dad with whom to make emergency decisions. No one was usually at her side when she had to cope with anything parental, whether an injury or a discipline issue.
There wasn’t someone to steady her when she was bowled over by her deep, deep devotion for the little person she’d brought into the world.
The feeling welled inside her now, and it put her heart, it seemed, on a torture rack, pulling it, stretching it, causing an ache that brought more tears to her eyes. Love. It made your heart bigger and yet so much more vulnerable.
Mason was the only one in the world she was willing to risk all that for.
There was the sense of something shifting in the room, and she looked over to see Linus alone in the entry. Ryan had gone, but his brother remained in place, and even in the meager light she could see the worry settled over his features.
“What is it, Linus?” she asked, now more concerned. “Is there something wrong?”
“I...” His deep sigh sounded loud in the room. “I think... Look, would you go to Ryan?”
“Oh, if there’s something bothering him, it’s not my place,” she protested. She might have wanted to know his secrets before, but now she was scared off by the deep concern on his brother’s face.
Linus didn’t ease up. “Would you to go to him, anyway? I think he could use you right now.”
Poppy opened her mouth to protest again, then heard Linus’s voice from earlier in the night echoing in her head. He’ll come.
And Ryan had. Didn’t she owe him for that?
With slow movements, she rose to her feet and headed for the doorway. Linus sidestepped to let her pass and her intuition screamed at her to think twice, to go back, to get far, far away. But she pushed on despite it, down the stairs and then toward Ryan’s suite, supremely aware there was something awful up ahead.
Aware that, while she’d intended to avoid him altogether before making her final escape, now she was approaching him instead. As she drew closer to his room, she sensed the trouble in the air—it made the small hairs on the nape of her neck rise. She could see it in the long shadows in the hall, feel it in the weighty, ominous silence captured between the thick walls. It was the acrid taste of brimstone on her tongue.
Her heart wobbled in her chest as she drew near to the man who just wouldn’t stay a stranger.
* * *
FROM YOU SEND ME, a screenplay by Linus Hamilton:
INT. CHARLIE’S BEDROOM—NIGHT
Though the room is dark, we can see that it is very small and dominated by a brass bed. Beaming through the window, the summer moonlight illuminates LINUS and CHARLIE entwined on the mattress. He hovers over her, the bedclothes are bunched at his waist, exposing his naked back.
He’s breathing hard and his hair is damp around the edges. He kisses her nose, then on a soft groan keels over, landing supine beside her. His forearm covers his eyes. CHARLIE pulls up the sheet to conceal her nakedness and sends the blind LINUS a secret look of adoration.
LINUS
How was that for you?
CHARLIE
Are you asking for a simple thumbs-up or thumbs-down?
LINUS
(smiling)
A more verbose review would be much appreciated.
CHARLIE appears to think for a moment.
CHARLIE
Bolstered by a strong performance from the male lead, this unpretentious coming-of-age story is creatively rich, even though the audience can anticipate the happy ending from the very first line of dialogue.
LINUS lifts his arm and rolls his head to look at CHARLIE.
LINUS
Pretty clever, coming-of-age. But about the first line of dialogue. Was that when I said, “Wanna screw?”
CHARLIE
I believe you were a tad more polite. I think it was “Wanna screw, please?”
LINUS laughs, then closes his eyes again as he stretches.
LINUS
(sleepily)
Have I mentioned how much I love this little room?
CHARLIE
You don’t even know what it looks like.
LINUS
Not true.
CHARLIE turns over, goes up on one elbow and covers LINUS’s eyes with her hand.
CHARLIE
What color are the walls?
LINUS
Uh...
CHARLIE
The curtains?
LINUS
Um...
CHARLIE
(with a bit of impatience)
Can you describe any one thing in this room?
A grin overtakes LINUS’s face.
LINUS
Oh, yeah. She has hair the color of morning sunlight. Plump little breasts that nestle in my hands like tame doves. And then there’s the sweetest-tasting p—
CHARLIE’s cry of faux rage drowns out the last word. She launches herself at LINUS and, laughing, he takes her into his arms, twisting so she’s under him again. He kisses her, and she beats lightly at his back with her fists. As the kiss gains in intensity, her fingers unfurl and she clutches at his back.
* * *
LINUS RAPPED HIS knuckles against the door of Charlie’s tiny house. He hadn’t been there since summer, but the one-bedroom cottage looked much the same, including the red-painted Dutch door, the panes of the window on the upper half covered by white lace. Footsteps sounded from inside, and the outside light flipped on. He saw her peek around the curtain edge, then the lock snicked and he was looking at his Charlie, dressed in sweatpants and sweatshirt, with a pair of strawberry-shaped slippers on her feet.
Just the sight of her soothed him a little. There was a pencil behind her ear and she had her bangs pulled off her face with a stretchy headband covered in question marks. He remembered that she’d told him she’d be busy all night with homework for one of her online classes.
“Linus? What is it?”
“Can I come in?”
She hesitated. “I told you I have a paper to write.”
“I won’t interrupt. I...I had to get out.” He couldn’t have remained another minute at the lake house. Not only was he upset by Mason’s injury, but Linus could also tell his brother’s mood was on the fast train heading from bleak to black. He thought Poppy might be able to derail him before the big crash, but if not, Linus needed a bit of space before going back to gather up the pieces.
Charlie glanced around, as if needing to check in with her homework. Over her shoulder he caught a glimpse of her bed, the site of many summer joys. Was that what worried his Sal?
“I’m not here to pressure you about sex, Charlie. You made clear you didn’t want to rush into that. I respect your choice.”
Of course, he didn’t like her choice, but at least she’d agreed to see him again. One step at a time.
She took another quick look back, to where her laptop sat open on the mattress. “It’s just that there’s only the one room and the one place to sit.”
“I’ll find something to occupy myself and then keep to my side of the bed. You won’t even know I’m here.”
Her brows rose, as if doubting that very much, but she allowed the door to swing open. Linus stepped inside, reacquainting himself with the cozy room. There was an adjacent tiny bathroom and an alcove
opposite it that acted as a rudimentary kitchen with sink, hot plate and microwave.
He waved her toward the bed. “Get back to work, Sal.”
Wearing a little frown, she obeyed and he tried to ignore the familiar squeak of the bedsprings as she climbed into place. From the corner of his eye, he saw her position herself against the pillows and pull her computer onto her lap. The staccato clack of keys told him she was determined to ignore his intrusion.
Good. That would give him time to look around. Now that he was here, it occurred to him he could find out about Saint Steven. Not that he should care about the idiot who gave someone as beautiful as Charlie Walker a free pass while he was away, but Linus was a curious sort.
There was a bulletin board hanging on the wall near the kitchen area. He crossed to it and with his hands shoved in his pockets, ran his gaze over what she’d pinned to the surface. A calendar from the real estate office in Cold Brook. The dried remains of a wrist corsage.
Then three pictures. One of Charlie at twelve or so, hugging another girl. They were dressed as matching scarecrows. Maybe Halloween? A second photo showed them older, arm-in-arm, and seated on the hood of a beat-up sedan with a big bow on the roof. Sixteenth birthday, he’d bet. Yet another showed the two wearing matching glitter-and-marabou birthday crowns that were topped with 21 in silver numbers. They had cocktails in hand and wore the glassy grins of girls on their first legal binge.
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