Mammoth Secrets

  “It takes more than birth to make a mother.” Jake settled back and took her by the hand, brushing his thumb a slow circle across her palm.

  Waterfalls of sensation erupted at his touch. She tilted her head down, studying his face through the curtain of her hair. The fullness of his mouth, the concern in his bottle-green eyes, to the hard line of his jaw at his obvious disapproval of what her grandmother had considered what was best for her.

  “Do we need to talk about them?” She rubbed her arms, skin dappled and warmed by sunlight raining through the oak leaves. “Can’t we just fish?”

  He glanced to the silent rods, slanted a grin, and edged closer still. “Apparently not.”

  “What else did you have in mind, Pastor Gibb?” Lilah blinked, brows raised.

  “Fine time to start calling me pastor.” His laughter ricocheted off the rock steps. He shifted toward her with full, smiling lips, and touched hers with the softest of kisses.

  Every cell in her body focused on the sweetness, the subtle charge of heat, longing, wrapped in the embrace of a man intent on understanding her. Something no one else in the world had ever bothered to do.

  As if on cue, the fish started to bite, interrupting any chance of a romantic interlude. Two hours later, with the time to relieve Eden of her duties weighing on his mind, Jake heaved the tackle, rods, and cooler of filleted fish in the truck bed. A stringer full, just as Papaw promised.

  “Hot.” Jake shook the near-empty water bottle. “Fill this up?”

  “Here.” Lilah unscrewed the cap, stepped to the hose bib by the boxy river house. Paint peeled off the sagging front porch, under which no less than twenty litters of kittens had been born to this world.

  Water gushed. Filled, she handed it to him, then filled another, giving a peek through a gap in the under-house latticework. Choked with weeds, nurtured from the slow drip of a water spigot. Life found a way, even in the harsh, rocky hills of the Ozarks.

  Her ears perked at the slight sound beyond that of rushing water. High pitched, sporadic. Then, silent.

  “Ready?” Jake slammed the truck gate.

  Cotton candy clouds spun overhead in the painfully blue, late-afternoon sky.

  “Just a second.” She tilted her head, listening, then ducked down to the hole of the fading lattice, and spied under the porch. “I think there’s something under there.”

  Jake knelt and brushed back his tumble of bangs. “Too dark to see. Got a flashlight in the glove box.”

  But she’d already wriggled her shoulders and torso underneath by the time he returned. Cobwebs, dust, and something else, something familiar. “Hello?”

  “Lilah!” Jake tugged her ankle. “Should you really be under there?”

  She saw the old box, a wood crate with a dark green lining. She had to stretch but managed to drag a corner. The mewing grew louder. “Kittens! Look.”

  Commando crawling, she backwards-dragged the box of skinny, scrawny creatures out into the waning daylight. One suckled the tip of her finger, its gray eyes blinked up at her.

  “Better check that we got them all.” She took the flashlight and headed back under the porch.

  “What about their mother?” Jake frowned at the malnourished kittens she’d shoved at his midsection.

  “Abandoned them, probably.” Her heartbeat kicked up a notch, thinking on how many litters of kittens didn’t make it. Instantly, she was back to river girl again, fishing until dark, presenting her grandmother with lost dogs, stray cats, even injured birds. Each one, taken in, loved, and brought back to good health by Nana’s subtle grace. How much about this place had she forgotten, chosen to ignore by blocking with bad memories?

  “Great.” Jake snorted. “We’re going home with trout and a box of cats.”

  Back under the porch, the beam of light aimed at dark corners, light overtaking gloom. Pipes, dust, block stacked to level the floor above. No animals. Nothing. Except...She angled her beam to the propane tank, the gas line attached to it.

  That was new. Her heart jogged. “Someone’s been here.”

  Jake’s reply was muffled as she disappeared back underneath the porch, headed to the tank, and spun it closer to her.

  She frowned at the label. Milton’s Gas ‘n’ Go.

  Dragging herself back out, Lilah hoofed it to the front door. The knob turned easily in her hand, lock broken. “Squatters.”

  “Wait.” Jake returned from the truck, cats properly stored. “You can’t just go barreling inside. What if...”

  “It’s my house—my family’s, anyway. Hello?” She pushed her way inside, anger swelling in her blood. “Anyone here?”

  Darkness pressed against the threadbare, fully drawn curtains.

  Jake halted her forward attack, his hand firmly on her shoulder. He shoved past, voice authoritative. “Me, first.”

  She followed as he swept room to room, mimicking what he’d probably seen on cop shows.

  The counters were swiped clean of dust. Furniture, undraped of the white sheets. A dog-eared, weeks old People magazine rested on the coffee table. In the kitchen, a pan, plate, and dishes, washed clean and dried, lined the dish rack.

  Jake returned from the small bedroom, hand in his hip pocket. “Someone’s staying out here.”

  “They’re trespassing!” she spat. “We’ll go tell the sheriff.”

  “Now, wait.” He took her by the wrist. “They’re not hurting anything. In fact, it looks like they’re taking good care of the place. Maybe they’ll listen to reason.”

  “Jake!”

  “Let me handle this, will you? You’ve got other things to worry about.”

  He edged her back to the truck.

  They could be anyone, growing pot or cooking up worse, using the place she remembered the most joyous for heaven knew what purpose.

  “Think about it. Your papaw told us to come out here. Maybe this is the reason.”

  Jake’s sincerity dispelled all the fight from her heart. Just like Papaw, to give all strays shelter. “Fine.” She sat with a thump and looked over at the mewing kittens. She stroked the tiny, yawning orange tabby’s back, it stretched tiny claws into cardboard. “I’ll get these guys settled and go back to the hospital. You get until tomorrow to figure out what’s going on here, and put a stop to it. Any longer, I’m calling the cops.”

  40

  Eden pocketed her mobile, no news to offer Lilah. “What the heck’s she doing out at the old river place, anyway?” At her right, Papaw’s monitors beeped and hummed. The numbers didn’t mean anything to her, only something for the nurses to frown at, then jot down on Papaw’s chart.

  Where was Luke? He’d know...if he’d speak to her. He’d never answered her message. Not even a text back. Nothing. Here, in her hour of need, Eden was completely alone.

  “If Nana knew where she was, she’d tan Lilah’s hide.” Eden straightened the thin white blankets over her grandfather’s frail form. “She’s always hated that house.”

  The whiz-shush of the leg balloons squeezed and released, keeping blood clots from forming, they said. Some sort of medieval torture device.

  She sniffed, swiped and smoothed over the covers yet again.

  Still and sleeping, her grandfather snored with his mouth slack like a child in deep slumber, yet there was nothing childlike in that husk of a body he clung to. Like that river house.

  “You loved that river place, though.” Eden crossed her arms, fingernails clacking. “Was it the little dock we worked so hard on? Or happy memories, maybe? Why’d you keep it, Papaw?”

  But, she knew the answer.

  The river was everything to him. Eighty-some-odd years of fishing those waters, he knew them better than anyone. Its moods. Its dangers. Its blessings. The river house was testament to a time before, filled with hand me downs and cast offs. He’d threatened, many a time, to go out there and cool off when Nana had one of her tirades. “Nothing like the river to cure all ills,” he’d said, whether it was running beyond the house, o
r under the cliffs, he’d told her once while they’d watched the sun set over the falls, amber light behind misty oak and boulder dotted hillsides. They’d watched the cows on the opposite bank drink from the quiet spot, just beyond the little island where she and Lilah spent so many happy summer days as children. Where they’d sneaked off to as teenagers when they wanted to be alone.

  His words echoed in her mind as she ran a thumb over his calloused hand.

  “God gave us this place to remind us how beautiful life could be, to remember where we came from, how little we really need to survive, and how much we all need each other.”

  “I need you, P-papaw.” She wiped her tear-damp cheek with her shoulder. “I’m no good at being alone. How many times’ve you told me that?”

  A nurse padded by in the hall without pausing.

  “Can you hear me?” Eden leaned in close, whispered, chills floating over her arms. “Do you even know I’m here?”

  What was a man so bent on meeting his Maker doing clinging to this world? She dared, for the first time, to ask the question that haunted her for months. What if the Alzheimer’s robbed that peace that passes understanding from Papaw, along with everything else? A spear of worry pierced her heart. Her mouth had gone dry as she knit her fingers through her grandfather’s, pressed her forehead to his flesh.

  Lord, if you’re listening, he loves you. He just might not remember...

  She blinked up at Papaw’s rattling breath. Still nothing.

  Her throat clutched and she rubbed it. So hard to watch the man who’d been strong enough to lift timbers, build barns, set fences, and wrangle cattle one step from six feet under. Eden’s shoulders did a shimmy-shake with the notion. Her fingers brushed that golden cross so often buried in Marty’s ring. Papaw gave it to her the day they’d full dunked her and Lilah in the spring. Full of the spirit, dripping, all of ten years old, and loving every minute of it.

  A knock at the door. She glanced up, startled to see Luke’s tall blond form leaning against the frame.

  “Hey.” Eden backhanded the corners of her leaky eyes. “Wondered where you’d gone off to.”

  “Busy night.” He rubbed his jaw. “Just came in on a stork run and wanted to check on that accident victim.”

  “Prayer chain’s been texting about it all day. The girl with Andy?” Eden’s curiosity got the better of her. “They know who she is yet?”

  “Someone recognized her from the carnival. It’s Maya Randall, the carnival owner’s daughter. Nurses called him. He laid into Andy right good. Not a pretty picture from what I hear.”

  Her mind spun. She’d seen the sassy looking teen, and the way the town boys watched her walk. Teenagers did what the teenagers will do.

  “Here we all thought Charla and Andy were one step from the altar.”

  Luke’s silence spoke volumes. At last, he cleared his throat. “They’re kids, Eden. Not that it does that poor girl any good. It wasn’t anyone’s fault. A big rig came around the curve too fast...you know the story.” He shook his head. “Folks said they hadn’t seen an accident that bad since your mama’s.”

  “Sweet Jesus...” Eden closed her eyes, saying a quick prayer for that poor girl. “She’s what, all of sixteen?”

  “About that. What a mess.”

  “Is she gonna be alright?” Eden’s heart raced as she grabbed out her cellphone, quick texted the prayer chain into action. “We need to call. We need to pray for her. Maya?” She squeezed her eyes shut, heart surging with her fervent prayer. Lord, save Maya.

  Luke shrugged. “She’s in surgery. They’re taking her spleen. I don’t know much else.” He shifted his weight, one foot, then the other, seemingly undecided about whether to go or stay. “Everything else all right?”

  “I took Nana home hours ago, and the nurses just come and go.” She sniffed. “Can you tell me what’s going on?”

  Papaw stirred, muttered under his breath.

  “I’ve asked some questions.” Luke stepped into the room, looking like a skittish colt rather than a uniformed paramedic. “Not many answers to be had. Even if he does wake from this, he’ll be—well...”

  Papaw’s frail arm lifted, pointed to the ceiling tiles, and fell back to his side, limp.

  “But, he does that.” She pointed at Papaw’s restless slumber. “He tries to talk. He reaches.”

  “It’s reflexes, from what I know.”

  “They’ve got all that danged stuff all over him. What if he wants to tell me something...”

  “Even if he did, it wouldn’t make any sense.” Luke wiped a hand over his face, and then met her gaze. “They’ve told your grandmother. She’s coming back in the morning. They’ve called in hospice. To let nature run its course.”

  “Wh-what?” Eden choked, mouth desert-dry.

  Luke hitched his belt, fiddled with the knobs on his walkie.

  “Don’t people just die? Like in the movies?” Eden pushed out of the chair, anger surging at her breast, pointing at her grandfather. “What kind of a way to go is this?”

  He laid his palms on her shoulders. She wanted to pound at him. Scream and cry. Instead, she allowed him to anchor her in this storm.

  Warmth radiated at his touch, from shoulders to her core, where she’d been so frozen. Eden leaned her full weight against him and let him prop her up. Her rock. Guilt surged through her with an oily wave at all she’d done to him, all she’d said. How could Luke have possibly forgiven her? How could he still want her?

  His hands slid around to her back, holding her close, her tether, lest she float off into the blackness of despair. “Eden, it’s his time.” His words broke the spell.

  She shoved at him. “N-no. Don’t you say it.”

  “Someone has to.” He clung tight, his words floating through her hair, soothing through her tears. “Your Papaw’s lived. He’s loved. He knows where he’s going. Isn’t that enough in this life?”

  “What’s gonna happen?” She looked up through a wave of tears, her breath hiccupping, grief surged, rocked her shoulders. “What happens next?”

  Luke just shook his head, but made no move to step away.

  Together, they watched the machines and prayed.

  41

  Jake pulled into Milton’s Gas ‘n’ Go off the state route into town. Milton, he supposed, was the man whose boots stuck out from under an old seventies station wagon, spouting “dag-nabbits” and “cotton-pickin-foreign-cars!” Jake cleared his throat, bringing the mechanic to pause.

  “Kin I help ya?” The man rolled the low cart out from under the car. A greasy orange shirt with straining buttons covered the mechanic’s paunch-belly.

  Tucking hands into back pockets, Jake quick explained his reason for being there. As he spoke, Milton’s face ran the gamut of emotions. He and Lilah were on to something.

  “Yeah, I still deliver out there, got lotta folks at Taylor’s place.” Milton stood with an oomph of breath. “No gas, you know, not on that rocky top. Danged hard to get to in the winter time. That’s why he comes out this-away. Picks up tanks hisself.”

  “Who?” Jake attempted to spy over Milton’s stooped shoulder as the man smeared greasy fingers across yellow bills of sale.

  “That carnival feller. The one who does the glass figures. Here it is.” He rattled the fingerprint covered page for emphasis. “Sam Guthrie.”

  ~*~

  Lilah tromped up the hill having left the box of kittens safely under Dr. Underson’s watchful care. The tabby had yowled at her, as if she were its mama. It tugged her soul to walk back out of that swinging door, even as the vet tech cooed over the warm, wiggly bodies. She wasn’t any good with living things. The last thing that tiny life needed was her to watch over it.

  Still, she wondered. Maybe she would find a place of her own, somewhere within throwing distance of Eden’s house. They needed space before they killed one another. Another sign of God’s cosmic sense of humor, she supposed: The need to be near the ones who’ve known you forever and the undenia
ble notion that you’ll be driven slowly mad the longer you stay together. She trudged to her driveway with a glance to the chapel. Jake’s beat up old truck was tucked neatly in its carport.

  Pastor Jake Gibb.

  Or was it Jacob Gibson? As if that even mattered anymore. No sad stories. He was the man who’d stolen her heart. The first one who’d ever done the job proper. All it took was a touch here, a look there, and a handful of kisses that shot her over the moon. Guilt doused her joy. Should she be so happy when Papaw was dying? When Eden had been laid so low by her pitiful mistakes?

  Love is all that matters...

  The still voice spoke to her. Cured her of the mire she’d dragged with her for so long.

  Love.

  She loved Jake. Hand hesitating over the mailbox lid, she glanced back over her shoulder toward Jake’s place. At that moment, she couldn’t wait to tell him.

  A hollow sound emanated from the pastor’s apartment. Was that Jake singing? She paused to listen. His living room windows flung wide, the shower water rushing, she could hear his baritone rough-belting out an off-key Third Day song.

  Yep. She’d fallen for a pastor who sang in the shower. A furious blush heated as she spun back toward Eden’s bungalow. Laugh bubbling out, even as the rich tones of his gravelly voice melted her soul. So far removed was Jake from her ex. Night and day. She slow-strolled down Eden’s walkway, between the fragrant geraniums and begonias, she headed to the front porch. A hand-painted sign requested shoes be left at the door. Her sister made a nice little life for herself here, quaint, country, in the shadow of their grandparent’s home.

  Eden never once asked her for rent, or grocery money, or anything else for that matter. She’d merely taken in her wayward twin, tucked her under her stable wing, and asked nothing at all. Neither, for that matter, had Nana. Almost as if everyone in the whole blasted town expected her to come back with her tail between her legs.