A Whisper of Danger (33 page)

The eerie wail woke Rick from a dead sleep. He sat up, fumbled for a lamp, and then remembered that Uchungu House had no electricity. What on earth was that noise?

“Aaa-aaa-aaa!”

His spine prickling, Rick swung his feet over the side of the couch in Jessie’s downstairs living room and stood on the cool concrete floor. Moonlight poured through the long arched windows. Outside, the distant sound of waves crashing against the cliffs mingled with the rustle of palm leaves blowing against the glass windowpanes. Rick groped for his jeans, realized they were wet, and yanked them on anyway.

“Maa-aaa-aaa!”

It was a cry of desperation tinged with terror. Rick grabbed the first thing he could put his hands on—a carved ebony sculpture about the size of a baseball bat. Perfect.
Thank you, bin Yusuf.
For once, the man’s artwork might prove useful. Pulse hammering, Rick followed the wail through the front of the house toward the courtyard. If anyone was hurting Jessie, he would—

“Maa-aaa-aaa!”

The sound was coming from Splint’s bedroom.

“Maa-maa! Maa-maa!”

Rick took the back staircase two steps at a time. Emerging from the enclosed stairwell, he nearly ran full force into Jessie. At that moment, Hannah flung open the door of the next room.

“Splinter! I’m here,” Rick shouted. “Stay back, Jessie.”

He burst into the narrow room, and the door smacked against the wall. Brandishing his weapon, Rick looked around. No intruders. No thieves. No murderers. On the bed, inside a ball of wadded blankets, Splint groaned. Rick dropped the ebony sculpture and bounded to Splint’s side, gathering up the damp tangle and cradling the boy against his chest.

“Hey, now. What’s wrong, Splinter?”

“I want my mom!” he said, his voice trembling. “Mom!”

“I’m here, sweetheart.” Jessie stepped into the room and sat next to Rick on the bed. She pulled the hood of blanket from around her son’s head and kissed his cheek. “Shh, now. It’s okay. I’m here.”

Two long skinny arms snaked out from the blanket and wrapped around her neck. Rick looked up in time to see Hannah disappear from the doorway, a moonlit smile softening the lines on her face. As Splint lay half in Jessie’s arms and half in his, Rick let out a deep breath.

“Whew,” he murmured.

“I had a bad dream, Mom,” Splint choked out. “These two bad guys were chasing me, and it was like one of those video games, you know, where the villains are throwing bombs and stuff at you? They were throwing pots and vases at me, like that one I found in the storage closet.”

“Oh, sweetheart, it was just a dream.” Her hand smoothed over his sweaty hair. “I know it must have been scary.”

“Yeah, and I ran and ran, but they kept on throwing pots at me. Then the pots would explode.
Boom!
I was going down all these narrow hallways, and then I ran outside and jumped into a little boat. But then a storm came, and these huge waves were crashing onto me just like . . . just like . . .”

“Like this afternoon.”

“Yeah.”

For a moment Rick thought the realization of the dream’s source had calmed Splint. Then the boy burst into a fresh round of sobs. His body shook, and he pressed his head against his mother’s neck.

Never in his life had Rick felt so completely helpless. He had faced sharks. He knew what to do with an angry eel. He could handle a sea snake or a puffer or a stonefish. But a frightened little boy? His whole heart poured out for the child, and he felt the strongest urge to nestle Splint close and kiss his downy cheek—but what right did he have? For all Rick knew, something like that might scare him even further.

“The worst part of the dream, Mom . . .” Splint said in a strangled voice, “was that you were chasing me.”

“Me?” Jessie looked up at Rick, her eyes alarmed. “I was chasing you, Splint?”

“Uh-huh. You weren’t throwing pots, but you were after me. You weren’t like my real mom. You were different. You were scary. You kept calling me, but I kept running away from you because . . . because I didn’t trust you.”

“Oh, Splinter!” Jessie hugged her son more tightly, burying her own face in his blankets. “Splinter, you know I would never hurt you. You can always trust me, honey. I’ve always taken care of you, haven’t I?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m always here for you. I always tell you the truth. Don’t I?”

“I guess. Except when you think I’m too young to know it.”

“Splint, we’ve talked about this before.” Jessie tucked her hair behind her ear. “Now, I want you to settle down and try to get back to sleep. Hannah’s right next door. I’m just down the hall, and Rick is in the living room. Nothing’s going to hurt you, okay?”

“Okay.” Sniffling, Splint detached his arms from his mother’s neck. Then he lifted his head and gave Rick a quick peck on the cheek. “I wish you wouldn’t have to go back to your apartment tomorrow. I wish you would stay here with us.”

Flooded with warmth at the boy’s need for him, Rick had to force out his words. “This is a good safe house, buddy,” he managed. “If I didn’t think it was, I wouldn’t leave you and your mom alone here for a second. You’re going to be okay.”

“What if I have another nightmare? Will you sleep in my room, Rick?”

“You don’t need me looking over you. God is always with you, Splint. How about if I say a prayer and ask him to keep an extra-close watch on you tonight?”

“I’d like that.”

Rick prayed words his own father had spoken when he was a little boy frightened by scary dreams. As he prayed, he could feel the tension ebb out of Splint’s body. When he tucked the boy back into his bed, those long arms slipped around his neck once again.

“Good night, Rick,” Splint murmured. “I love you.”

A lump formed in Rick’s throat. “I love you, too, Splinter.”

He made it out of the room before the tears that had welled in his eyes spilled down his cheeks. Jessie caught up with him before he could make it down the stairs. Her hand fell on his arm, and he stopped. He leaned on the balcony rail and stared down at the courtyard, unwilling to let her see his face.

“Rick,” she whispered, “thank you.”

“For what?”

“For being here with us. For going to Splint. For your prayer.”

He nodded. It wasn’t enough. He wanted more than the occasional afternoon visit with the boy. More than childlike hero worship. More than the rare “I love you.” He ached to become a part of Splint’s daily life—to share with him not only his knowledge but also his values. He wanted to have a hand in molding Splint, in creating a strong man capable of becoming everything God intended him to be.

But what right did he have to desire any of that? Jessie might be his wife, but they didn’t live together. They’d had no relationship for ten years. He had forfeited his rights with her—and with her son.

Jessie had been correct that night she had lashed out at him in the kitchen of Uchungu House. Splint was
her
son, and only hers. Rick had no idea who the child’s father really was, and what difference did it make anyway? Even if Splint was his own flesh and blood, Rick had no right to him. For the first time in his life, he fully understood Jessie’s anger and bitterness toward him. And he knew he deserved it.

“Looks like Dr. bin Yusuf ’s artwork is doing a lot of double time as weaponry these days,” Jessie said.

Rick tried to smile. “Yeah. I guess you grab what’s available.”

“Are you available?”

He lifted his head. “What?”

“You’ve been coming in awfully handy these days.” She took a step closer to him and slipped her arms around his waist. “Maybe I’d better grab you while I’ve got the chance.”

Rick stared down in paralyzed shock as she laid her head on his chest. His heart felt like it was going to hammer its way right through his ribs. Uncertain, unwilling to risk breaking the spell of the moment, he gingerly laid a hand on her back. She let out a deep breath.

“I am so tired of fighting everything,” she said. “Just when things seem to be falling into place, they get out of whack again.”

“Yeah,” he said. Not exactly eloquent, but it was about all he could manage. Her hair smelled like rain-washed lilacs, and he struggled to keep from burying his face in it and drinking the scent like a famished man. She was thinner than he remembered, and her skin felt warm through the fabric of her robe. He let himself run his fingers up to the ends of her hair and touch it gently. She tightened her arms around his chest.

“All these years,” she murmured.

“Mm-hm.”

“I’ve been doing the best I could all these years.”

“You’re wonderful.”

She laughed a low husky laugh. “I’m talking about Splint here.”

“Oh, yeah.” He sifted his fingers through her hair, reveling in its silkiness. “Splint.”

“He’s just such a handful, you know. One minute he’s spouting off words like he’s Daniel Webster himself. The next he’s sobbing about nightmares. It was always okay, just the two of us. Somehow I was all he seemed to need. Mommy this and mommy that. But as he gets older, he’s so complicated. He’s either brave or scared to death. He’s angry or he’s dancing up and down. He’s sullen or he’s talking a blue streak. You know what I mean, Rick?”

He tried to pull himself back from the heady ecstasy of holding Jessie tightly against him, smelling her skin, touching her hair, feeling her arms pressing him close. He needed to listen. Needed to hear what she was saying. But he needed her, too! It had been so long since he’d held this woman in his arms, and now it felt so very right.

“Splint’s growing up,” he said. “I remember how that felt. Things get crazy when you’re ten, eleven, twelve. Thirteen and fourteen—I don’t even want to think about those years. Hormones zinging and zanging. Voice up and down like a Swiss yodeler. Hair sprouting on my chin—”

He sucked in a breath as Jessie reached up and touched his jaw. “I don’t think you were this bristly ten years ago.”

“Maybe not.”

“Definitely not.” Her fingers stroked toward his ear, grazing the dark stubble he had to shave off every morning. “I don’t know what I’m going to do when Splint starts into his teenage years.”

“Pray,” Rick said. “Pray hard.”

She fell silent for a moment. Then she looked up into his eyes. “That’s another thing. All these years I thought I was doing such a great job as a mother, and I failed to give Splint the most important foundation he needs to succeed in life. I rarely took him to church. We almost never prayed together. He doesn’t know . . . he doesn’t know the Lord, Rick.”

“It’s never too late.” Dismayed at the tears glistening in Jessie’s eyes, he pulled her closer. “You can always—”

“No,
you
,” she said. “You showed me how important faith is. You convinced me it can change a person. You taught me how to let go, how to forgive.
You
teach Splinter, Rick.”

“Me . . .”

“You heard what he said about his dream. He can’t trust me. He doesn’t think I tell him the truth.” Openly crying now, she swallowed down tears that threatened to choke her. “He’s right. I haven’t told him the truth.”

“Jessie . . .”

“No, I mean it. He has to know!” She pushed back from him. “Splint is your son, Rick. You’re his father. You tell him about Christ. You help him into his teenage years. You be there for him when he’s scared and angry and sullen. Show him and teach him. I can’t do it all. Not anymore. Not since he found you. Splint needs you, Rick. . . . Will you be his father?”

Breathing hard, Rick gripped Jessie’s shoulders. “I’m his father? Are you sure?”

“Yes. I was pregnant when you walked out on me. I found out a week later. Mama Hannah stayed with me.”

“Hannah knows?”

“Everything.”

“Does Splint know?”

“He suspects.” She took a step backward and gave a laugh that was half sob. “The two of you look exactly alike, Rick. You walk the same. You talk the same. You like the same things. It’s so obvious! I’ve been so scared you would both find out—and tonight . . . in Splint’s room . . . I suddenly knew you both
had
to find out. You need each other so much.”

“Jessie . . .”

“Be a good father to him, Rick,” she said. Then she turned and ran down the hall to her bedroom.

Splint is my son!
Rick thought.
My son! Oh, God, how I need him.
He heard the bedroom door shut.
I need her, too, Lord. I need my wife so much.