Noah heard the phone ring inside the house, followed by Rachel's melodious voice. She had been upstairs showering, but she must have come down. She had a date tonight with the dentist, Jeremy Cary, but that was about all he could get out of Rachel. Not that it was any of his business.
The porch door opened and Noah heard Rachel's voice clearly. "No, I understand, Amanda. Your mom's right. If you have a fever, you should stay home." She paused. "Not a problem. Thanks for calling, and please wear your sunscreen next time you go to the beach, OK?"
Noah heard Rachel's footsteps, and she appeared around the corner of the porch. "Mal—" she started to call. "Oh, there she is." She halted, phone in her hand.
"There she is," Noah repeated, taking a quick look at the short khaki skirt, lavender T-shirt, and heeled sandals Rachel was wearing. She looked ten years younger in the outfit and about as good as he had ever seen her. With some women, age and childbirth wore them down, but it seemed as though his Rachel only got prettier as the years went by.
Noah turned back to watch Mattie and Mallory. "I think it's a horse and buggy."
"Tutu goes nicely."
"As do the fuzzy purple bedroom slippers," Noah piped in.
Rachel smiled and then looked down at the phone.
"What's up?" he asked. "Babysitter sick?"
"Went to the beach with some friends and apparently attempted to get sun poisoning."
He grimaced. "Ouch."
"Yeah. So, I guess I spent all this time getting dolled up for nothing. I'll have to cancel with Jeremy."
He glanced at her, then back at Mallory. "Why don't you just let me keep an eye on them?" As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he wished he could take them back. Was he crazy, making it easier for Rachel to go out on a date? He didn't want her dating Dr. Jeremy Cary. He didn't want her dating anyone.
"I don't know," she hemmed, still cradling the phone.
"Come on. I don't know why you got a babysitter to begin with," he continued with his good-guy shtick. "I'll be here anyway. It's not like I can go anywhere."
She twisted her mouth. She was wearing a sheer pink lipstick. "It's kind of weird, isn't it? You babysitting Mallory while I go out on a date?"
"What's not weird about us these days, Rachel?"
She chuckled, seeming to catch his drift. She, too, had been noticing the subtle changes in their relationship. "You have a point there."
"Go on, go out with the dentist. Just don't have too good a time."
"OK." She smiled. "Thanks."
He looked away, not fully trusting himself not to betray his true feelings. He watched as Mattie pulled the wagon around the apple tree. "No problem."
"Say, what did Dr. Carson have to say when he called earlier?"
He shrugged, still not looking at her. "Not much. I need to go over to Beebe and get a CAT scan and some other equally ridiculously priced tests."
"So he didn't seem too concerned?" She moved to lean on the porch rail, standing directly in front of him, blocking his view of Mattie and Mallory.
"No, not really. But you know how he is—if you walked in with your head tucked under your arm, he'd be calm. Said it was nothing to worry about." He hesitated. "What did you tell him? Your appointment was before mine yesterday."
She shrugged. "I didn't tell him anything about you. Don't be so paranoid. He had a cancellation and I thought I'd save myself a trip if he could see both of us in the same day. I needed new allergy medicine."
He wasn't sure he believed her, but he had no evidence to support the suspicion. It was just that Dr. Carson had looked at him oddly a couple of times during the exam. He wondered what Rachel had seen the doctor about if it wasn't to discuss him, but didn't know how to justify asking her.
Out of the corner of his eye, Noah caught a glimpse of Mallory's blond ponytail, bobbing higher on the horizon than it should have been. He got to his feet to get a better look. "Mal! No standing in the—"
Just as Noah spoke, Mattie lunged forward, pulling the wagon, and Mallory, standing up and reaching for a tiny green apple, was hurled backward off the end, her red cowboy hat flying off her head.
Noah pressed his hands to the porch railing and vaulted over it, landing in the grass on the far side of an old rhododendron bush.
Mallory squealed in pain as she hit the ground.
"It's OK," Noah assured her, sprinting across lawn grass, reaching her a moment later. He went down on his knee, wrapping his arms around her. It was only a minor tumble, nothing serious, but he was terrified of losing her. Maybe it was the death of his sons, or the murders in town, or how far he had fallen in life, he didn't know. All he knew was that this little girl, this family, was his world now.
Mattie just stood there, wagon handle still in his hand, staring with wide, dark eyes.
"It's OK, sweetie," Noah soothed, lifting Mallory out of the grass. "What hurts?"
"My head," she cried, laying her hand on the back of her head.
Noah found an egg rising quickly.
"What are you doing out here?" Rachel asked, squatting beside them, phone still in her hand. Her voice was calm, but she'd come running. "There's no diving into the grass, Mal, only into pools."
Noah brushed a stray lock of blond hair out of her eyes. "I give you an 8.5 for that backward somersault, though, Missy."
Mallory laughed, then grimaced, bringing her hand to her head again. "Owww! It hurts."
The sound of tires in the driveway resonated in the still twilight air.
"Shoot. He's early." Rachel stood.
"It's OK. Go. She'll be fine." Noah stood, Mallory still in his arms. "A bag of frozen peas on your head, a Popsicle in your tummy, and you'll be all better, won't you?"
"Grape. I want grape."
Rachel looked at the black BMW pulling up behind the garage and then back at Mallory.
"Go," Noah insisted. "It's just a bump."
Jeremy the dentist got out of his car. Waved. He was dressed in khaki pants and a peach-colored polo shirt, making Noah feel self-conscious in his dirty jeans and T-shirt.
"Go," Noah insisted. "We'll be fine." He shifted Mallory onto his hip so she could sit up. She'd already stopped crying. "Won't we, Princess Buttercup?"
"We'wwll be fine," Mallory mimicked, holding on to Noah's shoulder.
"I won't be late." Rachel leaned to kiss Mallory, and Noah caught a faint hint of her perfume. It was light, airy, fruity rather than floral. It suited her.
"Stay out as late as you want." He took the phone from her hand and watched her hurry across the grass.
"Rachel." The dentist's face lit up and he flashed teeth that were entirely too white not to be man-made.
Noah turned away. "Let's get those peas on this head." He started for the porch. "You coming, Mattie? Grape Popsicles," he called over his shoulder.
It wasn't until Noah had gotten Mallory settled into the easy chair in the living room, TV on, bag of peas on the back of her head, and Popsicle in her hand that he realized Mattie hadn't come inside. He set the remote control on the arm of the chair and readjusted the kitchen towel he'd tucked into the neckline of her Little Mermaid bathing suit. "I'm just going to run out and check on Mattie, OK?"
She craned her neck so she could see the TV screen, not in the least bit interested in where he was going.
He covered her hand with his, raising the bag of peas from where she had let it fall to her neck to the blue-green knot appearing on the back of her head below her ponytail. "Be right back."
Outside, the light was beginning to fade quickly. Fat, iridescent green june bugs buzzed, hovering over the grass. Gazing in the yard for any sign of Mattie, Noah walked over to the yellow water sprinkler, moved it ten feet down along the flower bed next to the house, and then walked around to turn on the faucet.
Water sprayed in a semicircle arc, falling on the new zinnia seedlings he and Mallory had planted two weeks ago. "Mattie?" he called, walking around the front of the house, to the garden side.
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br /> The wagon sat where they'd left it. He walked over to pick up out of the grass the jump rope that Mallory had been using for reins and dropped it into the wagon. He added the red cowboy hat, forgotten in the commotion. "Mattie? You here?" He grabbed the handle of the wagon and pulled it around to the garage. The weather channel was calling for possible thunderstorms this evening.
He opened the side door and pulled the wagon into the semidarkness of the garage. Just as he was turning to go, he halted, gazing back over his shoulder. The garage was quiet and smelled faintly of gasoline and mouse droppings. He felt like someone was there, though. "Mattie?" he called again.
He saw a flash of motion out of the corner of his eye and turned to the Volvo parked in the single bay. The doors were closed, no interior lights shone inside, and no one appeared to be in the car, but that was the direction of the movement he knew he had seen.
Noah walked around to the passenger side of the front seat and opened the door. Mattie laid face down on the seat, obviously trying to hide, the keys to the car in his hand. Noah could have sworn he'd seen them earlier in the day on the kitchen counter.
"Mattie, what's going on, buddy?" He drew back to give him a little space.
Noah waited for a minute and then hooked his thumb over his shoulder. "Come on, out of the car."
Mattie looked up at Noah and then, with obvious reluctance, crawled across the seat and out of the car. Noah waited until Mattie closed the door and then he put out his hand.
"Let's return those keys to the kitchen before both of us get into trouble, OK?"
Mattie stared at his feet. He knew what he'd done was wrong.
"Come on," Noah said. "I need to go inside. You come too. We'll talk."
Head hung, Mattie followed Noah obediently into the house. In the kitchen, Noah dropped the keys on the counter where Rachel had left them and pointed to the kitchen table. "Sit. I'll make popcorn."
Noah turned his back to Mattie and squatted to fish the heavy aluminum pot out from under the counter. He knew Rachel bought microwave popcorn, but he still liked making it the old-fashioned way, the way he'd done it as a kid with his parents. "You've got to tell me what's going on, buddy. You know you're not allowed to drive the car. Just like me." He stood, pot and companion lid in hand. "Either of us gets caught driving Rachel's car and we are in serious trouble."
He put the pot on the stove and walked to the pantry, coming out with a bag of popcorn and a plastic bottle of vegetable oil. "So why were you trying to take off? Not because Mallory took that little tumble, right?"
Mattie had pulled the chair up to the table and sat, meaty hands palms down. He didn't meet Noah's gaze.
Noah groaned inwardly in frustration. He wondered if he needed to take Mattie to see a psychologist, a psychiatrist, someone. Obviously something was going on here. Mattie's behavior was becoming more and more erratic... unpredictable. If Noah couldn't reach him, maybe someone with more experience dealing with adults like Mattie could help.
"Because that wasn't your fault, you know. It was just an accident. If anyone's at fault, it's Mallory, because she knows better than to stand up in the wagon."
"Wasn't my fault," Mallory said, entering the kitchen. She deposited her wooden Popsicle stick in the trash can and walked to the refrigerator, opening the freezer side. "It was an accident. Accidents happen."
"Yes, it was an accident, but you need to be more careful." Noah poured a little oil into the pan and lit the burner beneath it.
Outside, Chester began to bark. It was a strange bark, though, as if someone was there. Except Noah had not heard a car in the driveway. "What's up with him?"
"What's up with him?" Mallory repeated, depositing the bag of peas in the freezer and walking to the kitchen table. She placed her elbows on the table, her chin to her hand, and looked up at Mattie. "What's up?"
Chester continued to bark.
"Stay away from the stove," Noah warned with a finger, cutting the flame off beneath the pot. "Both of you." He stepped outside on the porch, and the screen door slapped behind him. It was almost dark, and though he could still hear Chester, he couldn't see him. "Chester, here boy," he called walking down the porch steps.
Oyster shells crunched under his sneakers as he walked down the driveway. The security lamp in the barnyard was just beginning to come on, emitting a soft, luminescent green glow but not yet providing light. It sounded like Chester was near the largest of the outbuildings, the barn where Mattie made his home.
"Chester, come on boy!" He spotted the dog. The dog spotted him, but instead of loping in Noah's direction, he ducked into the barn. Mattie must have left the door open, which in itself was odd. Mattie was a creature of habit. He wore the same clothing each and every day. He ate his meat before he ever ate anything else on his plate. He closed doors he opened.
"Chester," Noah called, annoyed now. "What are you doing, dog? Have you lost your mind?" He opened the door and stepped into the dark barn. "You come when I call, you hear me?"
Chester stood three feet away, between two old milk staunches. He was staring into the darkness, deeper in the barn. Suddenly uncomfortable, Noah halted. "What's up, boy?" he said softly.
The dog surprised him with a rumble deep in his throat, the closest thing Noah had heard to a growl in the old retriever since his return home.
"Something there, boy?" Noah hesitated, then took a step back, reaching for the light switch. His hand hit a cobweb, and he resisted the urge to pull back. He felt along the wall, his fingers finding the cold plate of the industrial switch box. He flipped the switch, and two light bulbs suspended from wires from the ceiling came on. There were at least three more toward the back of the barn, but they were apparently all burned out.
Noah studied the shadowed interior of the barn for a moment. He couldn't see anything or anyone that didn't belong there, just the piles of stuff that really needed to be sorted. "See, nobody's here. Come on, Chester." He slapped his thigh. "You chasing cats again? I told you that was bad for your health, a dog as old as you are and already missing one leg."
The dog finally turned to Noah.
"That's right, come on boy." Still feeling a little unnerved, even with the lights on, Noah stepped out the door, flipping off the switch as he went. Chester followed in his awkward gait.
"Good boy. That's right." It wasn't until Noah nearly reached the porch that he glanced back at the barn. There's nothing there. So why did he feel like there was?
Shaking off the foolishness, he crossed the porch and entered the kitchen, Chester following in his wake. "OK. Let's make some popcorn." Noah clapped his hands together.
Mallory was still standing beside Mattie, who stared straight ahead at the basket of napkins and vase of wild flowers in the center of the table.
"Mattie knows it wasn't his fauwlt I fowled," Mallory announced.
Noah turned the flame on under the pot again. "He knows it's not his fault you fell?" he repeated, unobtrusively correcting her grammar. "That right? How do you know?"
"He towld me," she said matter-of-factly.
"Told," Noah repeated, putting the emphasis on the l. "Say it."
"Tooold," she repeated.
"Excellent." He swirled the oil around in the pot, glancing back at her. "And he told you this out loud, like with words."
She crossed her arms over her chest stubbornly. "He toll-lled me."
Smiling to himself, Noah reached for the bag of popcorn kernels and poured some into the pot. "Did he tell you why he had the keys to your mother's car?"
"He says he was afraid. He was going to drive away."
Noah still didn't know if he believed Mattie told Mallory anything, but the possibility that he might be communicating with her, communicating this kind of information, was alarming. "Mattie knows he's not allowed to take the car. It would be dangerous. What's he afraid of?"
She groaned with exasperation as only a four-year-old could. "I told you before. He doesn't know." She spoke each word slowl
y as if Noah might better understand her that way.
"But something is scaring him."
She nodded. "Bad dreams at night. Bad dreams in the day sometimes. I don't have bad dreams," she continued, now in a singsong voice. "Because I have my pwastic sword under my bed, and if any bad dreams come, it cuts them up."
"That's nice, sugar bear." He slid the pan back and forth across the burner, securing the lid with his other hand, and was rewarded with the first pop. "Can you tell me anything else about what Mattie's afraid of?"
"Um-hmmm." She was walking leisurely around the table now, dragging her hand. When she reached Mattie, she drew her hand across his T-shirt, reconnecting with the table when she reached the other side.
"And?" Noah prodded.
"And what?" Mallory started around the table again. She'd removed her tutu but was still wearing the green Little Mermaid bathing suit and the purple fuzzy slippers.
"And what else is Mattie afraid of?" Noah took care to show no impatience in his voice. For Mallory, this was all matter-of-fact, and he knew he needed to keep it that way too. Kids had a way of knowing when adults were getting anxious, and that was the time they often chose to clam up.
She stopped beside Mattie and put her small arm around his broad back. "He's afraid of the voice too."
"Whose voice?"
"He doesn't know." She leaned over to look at him. "You don't know, do you, Mattie?" she crooned as if he were a small child or one of her baby dolls.
The popcorn had begun to pop in earnest now, and Noah had to raise his voice to be heard over the din. "How about you? Do you hear the voice?" he asked, not even sure why he would ask such a thing.
"No, but Mattie says he wiwll protect me from it if it comes, won't you, Mattie?" She peered into his face. "Mattie says he wiwll kiwll anybody with a sword that tries to hurt me."
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