Chapter 4
The whimper turned into a wail and Doug rolled over in bed. “Harley’s crying,” he mumbled, elbowing Kaye to get up.
But his jab struck thin air, and it all came rushing back. The terrible thing that had happened to him. To them.
For twenty-four days now, the sun had risen and set without his wife and daughter. It seemed like an eternity. Christmas was still ten days away, and he wore Trevor’s “just get through it” as if it were a life jacket.
He tried to push away the awful images…calling home after Thanksgiving dinner that day to check on Kaye and Rachel. Not getting an answer. Leaving the kids—thank God—with Kaye’s mom and running home to check on his sick girls. Pushing open the door between the kitchen and the garage…the odd silence that met him. Then entering the living room and seeing them curled together on the couch, cuddling, the way he’d left them a few hours earlier.
His relief at the poignant sight turned to a horror he would spend the rest of his life trying to erase. When he’d come closer, spoken Kaye’s name, he’d recognized the angry, unnatural color the poison of carbon monoxide had painted their skin….
He threw his legs over the edge of the mattress and sat there, struggling to catch his breath. He stayed that way for a while, trying to wipe the haunting images from the slate of his mind.
In the dim glow of the night-light, he watched Harley pull herself up on the crib mattress and stand there in her flannel nightie, whimpering.
He rose and stumbled to the end of the bed, where she stood gripping the rails of her crib, her pudgy face shiny with tears. “What’s the matter, punkin?”
She raised her arms, begging to be picked up. He scooped her into his arms, relishing her warmth, relishing the life in her. “You want a drink, sweetie?”
“Mama?” Harley looked over his shoulder to the empty bed, a question in her sleepy eyes.
Doug’s knees went weak. He slumped into the rocking chair beside the crib. “You wanna rock with Daddy?” he murmured, trying to ease her head onto his shoulder, praying she would go back to sleep.
She pulled back and smiled at him, reaching again for the bed. “Mama?”
Kaye was always the one who got up with the kids when one of them had a tummy ache or needed a drink. But he worked two jobs, getting up at the crack of dawn to work for Trevor in the pressroom—earlier on the days the Courier came out, or if they had a contract job to fulfill—then home and to the fields till dark. And if that wasn’t enough, he’d been a volunteer firefighter and EMT for the fire department.
I’m sorry, Kaye. He whispered into the dark, “Oh, God, I am so sorry.” If he could only have her back, he would spend a lifetime making up to her what he’d not been able to provide in the thirteen years she’d been his. She’d deserved so much more than this little rundown farm. He’d hung on to it out of pride. It was where he’d grown up. The only inheritance his parents had left him.
And though it took a second job and Kaye going to work to do so, he’d managed to hang on to the 240 acres his father had left him. Dad had always believed times would get better. Doug chose to believe the same.
But for most of their marriage, what the crops brought in barely paid the bills, and he’d had to work “a real job,” as Kaye’s mother called it, to make ends meet. For a long time now, it had been his day job and Kaye’s that supported them, with an occasional dip into the small trust fund Kaye’s father had left.
Harley squirmed in his lap and tried to get down. He carried her back to the crib. “It’s time to go night-night, Harley.”
The second her feet touched the crib mattress, she let out a wail. “Mama!”
“Harley. Stop it. Lay down, and Daddy will pat your back.” It was a trick he’d heard Kaye use, but the baby was having none of it tonight.
She toddled across the mattress to the far corner of the crib, turning up the volume. “No! Mama. Want Mommy.”
“Mommy’s not here, Harley.” He scooped her out of the crib again and started down the hall. “Let’s go get a drink.”
In the kitchen, he got her sippy cup from the refrigerator, but she knocked it out of his hand and shook her head like a rag doll.
He took her back to the bedroom and eased into the rocker with her again. “Come on, Harley. Shhh…”
Any other night, the whole routine would have merely frustrated him. Tonight her cries broke his heart. How many nights would this go on before Harley got used to her mommy being gone? Before he got used to it?
He blanched at the thought. Trevor had been right. He didn’t want to get used to it.
He held his daughter to his chest, even while she struggled, and rocked her the way he’d seen Kaye do. After a while she stopped fighting him, her sobs changing to stuttered whiffs. The sound did something to him. Paralyzed him. How would they ever make it without Kaye?
There was no way by himself that he could keep the farm afloat, keep his pressroom job, keep the kids fed and clothed.
His strength drained out of him, and he held onto the baby as if she might somehow support him.
Kayeleigh lay flat on her back, staring at the ceiling fan as it turned languidly overhead. Languidly. She’d come across the word in the library book she’d been reading before turning out the lamp tonight. For once she hadn’t hurried over the sentence, trying to figure it out in context. It wasn’t a word they’d had in seventh-grade spelling yet, so she’d gone to Dad’s computer to look it up. Drooping, sluggish, listless, flagging. Then she’d had to look up flagging. She hated it when the dictionary used one hard-to-understand word to define another. Tonight, at least, it kept her from thinking about Mom and Rachel.
She rolled over on her side. In the matching double bed on the opposite side of the room, she heard the twins’ even breaths. But the empty space beside her felt like a black hole. Rachel’s side of the bed.
Grandma said they should talk about what happened. Remember stories about Mom and Rachel so they’d never forget them. Like that was going to happen. Sometimes she wished she could forget. It hurt too much to keep remembering. Most of the time she didn’t know who to cry for. When she thought about Rachel and sobbed for her, she felt like she was betraying Mom. And when she cried over Mom, she worried that Rachel would feel jealous. It helped a little to picture them together in heaven. At least they weren’t lonely up there.
Or were they? She still had Dad and Landon and her other sisters down here, but if anything, that made what had happened seem worse. It killed her to see the faraway look in Dad’s eyes, to never see him smile. To see Landon curling up into himself. To hear the twins constantly asking questions about Mom and heaven.
Could Mom see them from up there? She couldn’t be happy in heaven if she saw how sad they all were down here.
She wondered if Mom had remembered her birthday. Nobody else had. Kayeleigh Jane DeVore had turned twelve three days ago, and still no presents or balloons or the usual birthday girl treatment Mom had always been in charge of. Grandma brought over a card with a check for ten dollars, and Dad had pulled a twenty-dollar bill out of his wallet and handed it to her the morning of her birthday.
Maybe there’d been a big celebration in heaven. Mom always said the angels in heaven had a party when it was your birthday. But it would have been nice to have a cake down here.
A noise from downstairs made her sit straight up in bed. Harley. Crying for Mommy. Kayeleigh held her breath, waiting. Dad would get up with her.
She put a pillow over her ears and drifted back to sleep. But a few minutes later, she started awake to a low-pitched wail. Harley was still crying. Why wasn’t Dad getting her? He had to hear her. The crib was two feet from his bed.
She slid from beneath the quilts and sat on the edge of the mattress. The moon outside the second-story window cast a wedge of light on the wood floor, and Kayeleigh followed its path, picking her way through the maze of stuffed animals and Barbie dolls littering the floor.
She tiptoed down the
stairs, avoiding the places where the old steps creaked. But there was no need to tiptoe. Harley was crying loud enough to wake up the whole house.
Crossing the living room, she tried not to think about the empty corner where the Christmas tree should have stood. They’d always put up their tree the Sunday after Thanksgiving. She knew there would be no tree this year. No Christmas. She didn’t want one.
The door to Mom and Dad’s room was ajar, and from the hall she could see the empty crib. She stopped for a minute, suddenly feeling the way she had that early morning last summer when she’d walked in on Mom and Dad kissing and giggling, their shoulders naked above the sheets while Harley snored softly in the crib right next to their bed. A flush of heat crept up her neck at the remembrance.
But Mom was gone. Something made her stop and listen harder. Her breath caught. It wasn’t Harley making that awful sound. Her little sister had stopped crying.
Trembling, she peeked around the corner. Dad was sitting in the rocking chair with Harley on his lap. She was cuddled up against his chest, sucking her thumb like she did when she was about to go to sleep.
The sound, the terrible sound, was Dad. He was crying. Sobbing and moaning—like the noise Frisky had made when he got hit by a truck out on the highway. They’d had to put the puppy to sleep after that.
Kayeleigh’s heart was beating so fast she was afraid she was dying. In all of her eleven years, she’d never seen Daddy cry. She wanted to fall into his arms and cry herself. But her legs wouldn’t work right.
She stumbled backwards. Would Dad be mad if he knew she’d seen him? Breathing hard, she stood there, frozen to the spot, terrified he’d see her, and yet, wanting him to see her—wanting him to stop.
But he stayed, clutching Harley to his chest, his sobs coming like hard hiccoughs.
“Dad?” she whispered.
He didn’t seem to hear her.
She choked out his name again.
This time, he stopped crying, lifted his head, and stared out into the hallway. Even in the dim yellow glow of Harley’s night-light, she could see that his eyes were red and puffy. But he looked past her, and she somehow knew he didn’t see her. Something in his face frightened her.
She slunk farther into the shadows of the hallway, trying to figure out what to do.
Everything was quiet in the house now. Kayeleigh stood in the darkness, her shoulder blades pressed against the cold doorframe, knees locked. She waited. For what, she wasn’t sure. To hear Dad put Harley back to bed? To hear him crawl back into his and Mom’s bed?
But the only sounds now were the baby’s ragged breathing and the creak of the rocking chair. Back and forth. Back and forth.
Finally, careful to avoid the creaky boards again, she crept back up the stairs and crawled into the empty bed. But sleep never came, and she lay there until the sun rose, red and bright, over the top of the white eyelet curtains Mom had sewn for their room.
She knew then that nothing would ever be the same.
Chapter 5
Mickey scurried around the classroom, taking down the last of the Christmas decorations and watering the jungle of plants on the sunny windowsill that spanned the width of the room. She’d neglected them over the Christmas break, but a little water and some fertilizer and they’d bounce back.
There was something exciting about the start of a brand new year. But the tragic events of the holiday season tempered her enthusiasm this morning. Keeping one eye on the window to the street, she put away the watering can and laid out paper and supplies for a finger-painting project.
The DeVore kids would be back today, and she was nervous about how to help them adjust. She hadn’t talked to Doug DeVore since before the funeral, although he’d left a brief message on the answering machine at the daycare, asking her to hold the kids’ spots.
Mary Harms, the librarian, told Mickey that Doug had pulled the kids out of school for the whole month of December, and Kaye’s mother had come back from Florida, where she wintered, to stay with them.
What a sad Christmas it must have been at the DeVore house. And today, while everyone jumped into the new year, Doug and the kids were learning to go on without their mom and sister. She shook her head. Sometimes life didn’t make sense at all.
Pushing a toddler-sized chair under the puzzle table, she recited the feeble words in her mind once more. A dozen times she’d rehearsed what she would say to Doug and to the kids when they came back. But now nothing sounded right. How could she offer anything that didn’t sound trite and hollow?
She looked up to see the door open and a ball-capped head bobbing above the bookcases that hid her view. A current of nerves shot through her, then subsided when she realized it was just Mike Jensen, dropping his kids off.
She’d dared to hope the DeVores might get here before the other children arrived so she could spend a little time with them and assess how the kids were adjusting.
She stopped to greet Brett Jensen and his little sister, Hallie. They gave their dad distracted good-bye hugs, then chattered to Mickey about the presents Santa had brought them. She steered them toward the reading corner and helped them settle in with some books and games.
By the time she got back to the front, Brenda Deaver, her main teacher, was making coffee.
“Hi, Mickey. How was your New Year’s? You do anything special?”
“Not really…same as every year…went to my brother’s.” She knew Brenda’s real question was, “Did you have a date?” She was getting tired of disappointing everyone with her love life—or rather the lack thereof. She might be forced to deck the next person who felt the need to tell her, “You’re so beautiful…I can’t believe you’re not married.” As if beauty were some magic key to wedded bliss.
Time to change the subject. “Listen, Brenda, would you mind doing story hour this morning? The DeVore kids will be back today, and I want to stick pretty close.”
Brenda frowned. “Of course. Those poor kids…”
The door opened again and Doug walked in, a bundled-up Harley in his arms. He herded the twins toward Mickey and Brenda, nodding a greeting, then lowering Harley to the floor.
Mickey wiped her palms on the knees of her pants and went to greet them, watching the children closely. The twins seemed cheerful, like it was any ordinary weekday morning. They shrugged out of their coats and followed Brenda to the reading corner.
But Harley stood there, droopy-eyed, trying to put a mittened thumb in her mouth.
Doug squatted and pulled off her mittens, then sat back on his haunches and went to work at the knotted strings tied under the toddler’s chin. He glanced up at Mickey. “She’s not quite awake yet.”
“Here…let me get that.” Micky knelt beside him and reached for the dingy white ties, asking permission with her eyes.
“They make these stupid strings too short. Or else my fingers are too big.” He inspected his hands as if he’d never seen them before. Dark circles rimmed his eyes, and his face looked thinner than she remembered.
Mickey swallowed hard and busied herself with the soggy knot, training her attention on the toddler. “How are you this morning, Miss Harley? We missed you. Did you have a good Christmas?” Her heartbeat faltered, and she silently begged the thoughtless, stupid words to evaporate.
Instead, they hovered between her and Doug. Did you have a good Christmas? Was she a complete idiot? Somehow her carefully rehearsed speech had disintegrated, and she’d spouted the same lame greeting she’d given her other students as they came in.
Her cheeks burned while she finished working out the tangled ties on Harley’s hood. She unzipped the little coat and slipped off the hood to reveal blond curls in dire need of a comb. She rose to find herself eye level with the collar of Doug’s flannel shirt.
Her throat swelled. Forcing herself to meet his eyes, she croaked out an apology. “I’m so sorry,” she muttered, then realized he probably thought she was apologizing for her thoughtless comment. She couldn’t leave it at tha
t.
Clenching her fists, she started again. “I’m so sorry about…what happened. We’ve been praying for you and the kids. We’ll––miss Rachel so much. And Kaye, of course,” she added quickly.
Words that had sounded compassionate in her head came out clunky and cold. Shut up while you’re ahead, Valdez.
She recognized his effort to paste on a smile, but it didn’t work, and for a minute she was afraid he might break down.
His jaw worked and he bent to pick up Harley again. “Thanks.” He hitched the little girl up on his hip and kissed the top of her blond head before setting her back down.
But she scrambled after him, lifting her hands. Her face crumpled. “Daddy!”
“Bye-bye, Harley. You stay with Miss Mickey. Daddy will see you tonight.” Doug gave Mickey a pleading look and backed away. He turned and walked purposefully toward the door, but Harley toddled after him, sobbing now.
It broke Mickey’s heart. She raced after Harley. “Come on, honey. You come with Miss Mickey. Let’s go find your sisters.” She scooped the toddler into her arms, but Harley only screamed louder.
“Daddy!”
The shrill cry pierced Mickey’s eardrums and she winced, but Doug kept on going. With one hand on the door, he turned around and gave Mickey a look that said, “Help me out here.”
But she’d never seen Harley like this. Usually the little girl was all sunshine and giggles. How could he walk away from her like this, after all she’d been through? She hurried to the door, Harley screaming in her arms. “Are…are you sure you want to leave her like this?”
Doug stared at her. “I don’t have a choice. I’ve missed enough work as it is.”
She nodded. “All right then.”
Poor Harley. Her face was rosy and tear-stained, but her crying subsided a little. Sniffing, she looked between the two of them, suddenly interested in their conversation.
Mickey bounced the toddler on one hip. “She does seem to be calming down a little. Maybe I can distract her. I’m sure she’ll be fine.” She nodded in the direction of the reading corner, where Sarah and Sadie were sitting quietly. “How are the girls doing? Is there anything I should know…anything they’re especially struggling with?”
Yesterday's Embers (Clayburn Novels Book 3) Page 3