by Grace Greene
There was one room with some space. Other than her own, of course.
She climbed the stairs and walked down the hallway. She worked a hand out from under the stuff she was carrying and was able to turn the doorknob.
The easel and cart looked pushed aside, abandoned. The half-squeezed tubes of oil paint looked dried-up and dusty, as did the paint dabs on the palette. Surely her aunt wouldn’t mind if she used this room for storage, too.
Sandra used her hip to push aside the cart so she could reach the bed. She intended to drop the armload of Barbara’s stuff there, but her foot caught on something, and she fell instead, landing on the already jumbled mattress.
She started to sit up, and the tickle began in her chest, almost like a faint pain, and then she started laughing. The discomfort kept growing until the tears started, then she fell back onto the bed and into the pile of stuff. She laughed harder until finally she was gulping, and she began to calm down. She was a So Silly, just like Aunt Barbara had said.
She wiped the tears from her eyes. What had she found so hilarious? Something had tickled her long-lost funny bone. Was it one more room being used for storage? The question of whether her aunt would mind? Or her own slapstick descent into the mess?
Somebody needed to seriously rethink what was worth keeping and holding onto and what wasn’t.
It was early afternoon when Colton and Aaron arrived. Aaron held a metal clipboard. Repairmen sometimes carried those, and Aaron meant business. After a courteous hello, he set to work measuring with a long yellow tape measure. He noted numbers and made comments on a pad of graphing paper. Sammy trailed in his shadow, his faithful helper.
Sandra looked at Colton, and he smiled back at her.
“Need help with that, Aaron?” She stepped forward.
“Well, if you don’t mind . . . could you hold the end of the measuring tape? There at the corner?” Beyond helping him get a few measurements, he needed no other assistance. “I’ll have final numbers for you shortly.”
So very grave and serious. He was too young for that.
“How about some lemonade?”
He nodded. “Thank you, but not until I’m finished with the layout.”
“Yes, that’d be great,” Colton said.
As she returned with two glasses and a bowl of water for Sammy, Colton appeared from around the corner carrying some canvas folding chairs. “I’m sure your aunt has some of these, but no need to go searching when I have mine handy.”
They picked a nearby shady spot and sipped their drinks while Aaron worked. Sandra noticed Colton was wearing jeans but had changed his T-shirt for a collared button-down shirt. Plaid. Thin blue lines on a cream background.
“I like your shirt.”
He looked down as if he’d forgotten what he was wearing. “This?” He shrugged. “Nothing special, but thanks.”
She nodded toward Aaron. “He’s very industrious. And very serious.”
“He’s a good kid. He likes projects.”
“Does he get that from you?”
“Maybe by association.” He must have seen her confused expression because he dropped his voice. “He’s not my son. Not biologically. Feels like my son, though.”
“I assumed . . .” She let the words trail off.
“He’s been with me for a couple of years now. His mother and I were involved. She got sick and made me his guardian. I assumed it was temporary, that if she didn’t make it other family would come for him, people who knew about raising kids. Grandparents, aunts and uncles . . . She said there weren’t any around. I thought she meant no relatives lived in the area, but apparently she meant there weren’t any at all.”
“Wow.”
Colton stared across the distance at Aaron. “He had an accident last year. Became a daredevil for a while. The therapist said it was a response to losing his mother. I don’t know, but he hurt his leg when he tried to impress some kids with skateboard skills he didn’t have. The doctor said he’d heal. He’s been checked, and the doctors say there’s no physical problem, nothing to account for the limp. They think it’s psychological, probably tied to his mother, with her getting sick and passing.”
“How did she die?”
Colton ran his fingers roughly through his hair. His voice dropped to almost a whisper. “Heroin.”
“Oh. I’m so sorry.”
“She was clean, and then she wasn’t. Calling it ‘getting sick’ is a euphemism, I know, but it’s simpler. She went to get treatment and left him with me.” He shook his head. “She arranged the documents for the guardianship and everything before she went. I did what she asked.
“She seemed better when she came back. She was good for two days, and I thought she and Aaron would be moving on, but I was worried about him. By then, we’d spent a lot of time together. Anyway, she went missing. They found her downtown. Too late.”
Colton leaned forward and looked down at the grass. “He changed. Became moody. Had some problems in school. Got hurt. After he’d supposedly recovered from his injuries, he was still limping. We tried physical therapy, but Aaron didn’t deal well with it. In my opinion, anyway.” He looked up. “I know—who am I to overrule doctors and psychologists? But I am his guardian.” He shrugged. “So I made the decision to give him time. He’s homeschooled, and I have tutors work with him. He’s smart. Smarter than me, that’s for sure.”
Sandra was amazed. “I had no idea. I assumed you were father and son. He calls you ‘Dad.’ What a wonderful thing you’ve done for him.”
“No. It’s been wonderful for me. It settled me. Single guys aren’t supposed to like the idea of settling down, right? I was wild.” He looked at her again. “Did lots I’m not proud of. His mother was wild, too. When I found out about the drugs, I told her to leave. She asked for time to get clean. What was I supposed to do? Kick out the woman and her little kid? To go where? She was already living in my house. But I couldn’t accept the drug use. I did what I could and gave her the chance to get clean, but I don’t deserve any credit for it. Like I said, no fake modesty here—I never thought he’d still be on my hands.” He took a long sip of lemonade. “When I agreed to be his guardian, I didn’t have much time to think it through. I’m glad. I might’ve made decisions I would’ve regretted for the rest of my life.”
Such honesty. It overwhelmed her. Her eyes burned. She coughed to clear her throat. She wanted to speak but was glad she couldn’t right away because she didn’t know what to say.
“Is something wrong?” he asked.
“No. I was thinking.”
He looked curious. “Thinking about what?”
“That planning doesn’t really pay, does it? It seems like we’re luckier sometimes if we don’t get what we thought we wanted.”
“That’s often true.”
“Hey, I remembered something I wanted to ask you.”
He looked curious again.
“Nothing big or serious, but last night someone was walking through the front yard with a flashlight. I thought it might be you looking for Sammy. It unnerved me a bit, seeing that flashlight bobbing along.”
“Wasn’t me.” He looked around. “I can’t imagine what anyone would be doing out here at night except maybe walking through.”
“Well, no harm was done. I assumed whoever it was didn’t want to disturb me or alarm me by knocking on the door after dark. He walked down the road, and then I heard a motor. I thought of your truck. I was going to say you should call whenever. Don’t worry about the time if you need to speak with me, but if it wasn’t you . . .” She shrugged.
“It was probably someone cutting through on their way to the main road.”
“On foot? Then why the motor? Sounded like a truck.”
He shook his head. “I don’t have an answer, but whoever it was probably never thought they were disturbing anyone.”
“Yeah, probably.”
He added, “That works both ways, you know.”
“What does?”
“Thanks.” She smiled as she asked, “Why did you come over this morning?”
“Oh, that.” He grinned. “Your umbrella. I was going to drop it off. You left it in the truck yesterday. It’s still there. Don’t let me drive off with it again.” He called over to Aaron. “Are you almost done?”
“Yeah, Dad.”
Colton turned back to face Sandra. “I’ll be back in a day or two with an estimate on the project.” She must’ve inhaled audibly because he added, “No worries. I understand about the budget.”
The day had started out so iffy after a crazy night, but sunshine and a visit from Colton had changed it to a day of promise. She wasn’t fixing her attention on Colton like a daydreaming schoolgirl, but she was grateful to him for more than his offer of help. To see that she could feel this way again, still be open to friendship and love after a decade with Trent, was so amazing, she could almost cry. Instead, she wanted to hold it close. To think about future possibilities. Life after Trent. It was out there waiting for her.
When Colton and Aaron drove away, it was still afternoon. Blue sky, a distant ridge of clouds on the horizon, and the air provided an interesting mix of warm and chill. Sandra went outside to the porch but grabbed a lightweight jacket and tied the arms around her waist, in case. She liked the porch and the open view in front of it, thanks to the fallow field across the road. Long fallow. She remembered a corn crop there long, long ago. The forest was a solid bank of dark green beyond the field, and woods stood on either side of her and the house. From this vantage point, she couldn’t see the Blue Ridge, but that chill in the air made her think of the mountains, and that gave her comfort. Perhaps in the sense of place it offered. Storms were forecast, though, and this afternoon’s chill was about to be displaced by warmer air.
The goose bumps on her arms predicted a sudden, imminent weather change.
She leaned against the porch railing. If this were her place, her home, the first thing she’d do would be to fill in the worst of the ruts and trim back the growth in the high places. Improve the approach—and the experience of the approach. She’d pull down those vines and plant azaleas and rhodos. That’s what Dad had called them back when he cared about such things. Rhodos.
She must be feeling like a person again, rested and fed and secure, otherwise she wouldn’t be standing here letting her thoughts linger over vines and fixing dirt roads.
It felt, smelled, and tasted a lot like hope, but hope might be premature.
Honey. If she was sick, she could be lying out there somewhere. In the cornfield. In the woods. If a car had hit her, she’d be lying beside one of the winding roads.
Tomorrow she’d get an early start. How lost could she get? There were only so many roads in the county. She was going to drive up and down every road she could find. It had been several days now, and she had to find Honey. Wherever she was, she might be running out of time.
Sandra rested her face against the post and closed her eyes.
On impulse, she pushed away from the porch rail, opened her eyes, and yelled as loudly as she could, “Honey! Come home!” That got her exactly nothing. Until the weeds in the old cornfield stirred. “Honey?”
Some birds took flight.
Hope to discouragement in a split second.
Sandra descended the steps and crossed the grassy area of the front yard, stopping where the dirt road began. A shallow drainage ditch ran between the road and field, and it nourished a thick natural fence of sticker bushes and saplings and poison oak and ivy, probably. Maybe a little sumac. She couldn’t recognize it and wasn’t interested in acquiring the ability—or the need for the ability. But the heavy rain during the night still filled the ditch and puddled on the road. And in the unstable air and growing bank of clouds, there was the promise of more.
“Honey?”
No response. She walked a few yards along the edge of the road, keeping to the higher ground, stopping and listening along the way, and occasionally calling Honey’s name, more out of stubborn persistence than with hope.
The clouds that had been hovering on the horizon were moving in, surprisingly quickly. Winds aloft? That sounded like a weather phrase she’d heard somewhere. Watching the bank of clouds roll in and eat up the blue sky, she wasn’t conscious of her footing and caught the edge of a puddle. Her poor sandals were taking a beating.
What had happened to the dozens of pairs of shoes she’d left behind in Martinsville? Were they still in her closet? Maybe Trent had made a bonfire with them.
As she walked, her thoughts were in Martinsville, rummaging in her shoe closet. She shook it off and called out Honey’s name again. As she reached the old schoolhouse, thunder boomed. She stopped and stared at the sky. Dark, billowing clouds were overhead. The air tingled and had a greenish tint. A raindrop hit her nose. A big, fat one.
There was the porch and the corner where she’d sat with her uncle while they chatted about squares and circles and fitting in. The roof of the porch made a triangle of sorts, a dark cubby where she might shelter to avoid the imminent rain. If the roof held, it might work. If it chose today to cave in the rest of the way, she was in trouble.
The wall of rain moved like a solid force. The first drops hit hard. They hurt. She sprinted, heedless of puddles, hoping there was no hail to come. The jacket she’d tied around her waist loosened as she made that last great dash. It snagged on the wooden upright, hung there, and was drenched within moments as the wind blasted through and the rain sheeted down. Sandra was snug, or relatively so.
The building groaned and shifted when the wind hit. Sandra curled up, hugging her knees, almost in an air bubble, as the rain solidified outside, in the open area around her dry place. The sound, and the sharp, pure smell of the pounding rain filled the air. She breathed in deeply, amazed she wasn’t short of breath and nothing hurt despite the sprint. Despite the threat of the building possibly falling down around her, she felt OK, and that blew her away. She was marveling about feeling good when she heard the noise.
To be able to hear anything over this rain meant that it must be inside and nearby. She listened intently.
Something moved a few feet away. A muddy sound.
A whimper.
And she knew.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“Honey?”
In response, there was another whimper. A tiny noise.
Behind Sandra, the upright door frame still supported part of the front wall and roof and created a narrow opening. It was dark, especially with the heavy clouds overhead. She twisted to peer into the dim interior.
No sign of anything moving back there.
Danger, her brain whispered. The building creaked again, and she almost backed out of that now hellish space, but then the whimper, almost a whine, sounded again. A giving-up sound.
“Honey?” Sandra spoke more strongly this time.
Was that a bark in response? No, but definitely a noise.
The rain was heavy. She could wait until the storm passed, maybe investigate from the outside of the building. It would be very wet and muddy, but it would be safer.
She was already here, inside. She could hear drips within the structure, but it was relatively dry. It wouldn’t hurt to look. She maneuvered her shoulders through the awkward triangle of the opening behind her. Once her shoulders and chest were clear, she twisted to work her hips through.
More than dim inside, it was dark due to the storm. She heard running water. It was a separate sound from the pounding rain. Cub Creek was well over its banks.
Sandra felt her way around an obstruction, and as she worked her body through the maze, her hand fell upon emptiness—a jagged opening where the floor had been.
“Honey?” she whispered.
This time there was a soft but definitive bark from below. Sandra heard the mud sound again, a sucking noise that made her think of sliding or of being stuck, like in the movies where someone ste
ps into quicksand and can’t pull free.
Her eyes had adjusted, or maybe the clouds had lightened, but now she could make out the boards around her and the dark area below. Additional light filtered in via the building’s open foundation. It fell upon the animal’s eyes, and they glowed for a brief moment before dimming again.
This had to be Honey. She wasn’t moving. She was in deep trouble but not gone, not yet.
The floor was about two feet above ground level where the hole, like a dark pit of unknown depth, had been dug into the earth. Sandra pressed her chest and shoulders flat to the floor and reached down, her fingers stretching and searching. She repeated Honey’s name over and over so she wouldn’t think about reaching blindly into that dark, nasty hole, toward an animal she’d never met and who didn’t know her.
The tips of her fingers brushed the living creature, but barely. She couldn’t help the dog from up here. Sandra pulled her arm back and rose to her elbows.
“Honey,” she said. “Hold tight. I know it’s you, and I’ll get you out of there.”
She could run back to the house for her phone, but how long would it take for help to arrive? Honey had been trapped here, enduring several days of repeated storms and chilly nights. Or Sandra could ease through this opening and drop gently, softly, into that dark space. She visualized it. From inside the pit, she could push Honey up over the edge and onto the level ground. From there, it would be simple. At least the dog wouldn’t be trapped in the mud and the fresh onslaught of rain runoff and creek water.
“I’m coming, Honey. Hold on.”
Sandra crouched, kicked off her sandals, and rolled up the legs of her jeans despite the awkwardness of the cramped space. Rain still hit the tin roof, but the onslaught had lessened. Perhaps it was wishful thinking, but she also heard soft, labored breathing.
Sandra dropped her legs through the opening, avoiding the splintered edges. With one hand positioned on each side, she pushed up, straightened her body as her legs and butt lifted over the edge, and then descended. As her waist passed the level of the edge, she felt cold mud on her toes, then her feet, swallowing her ankles as she descended into it.