Always on My Mind (29 page)

“Tiger.”

“I don’t care!”

He took off at a run, his Power Rangers backpack bumping against him.

“Tiger!”

But Janelle Ingstrom was frowning at Darek from her Chevy Blazer, so he watched until Tiger disappeared into the building, then climbed into his truck. Closed his eyes.

Lord, I don’t know what else to do.
He didn’t really mean to pray; it just trickled out. In fact, he hadn’t prayed much over the past few months
 
—so wrapped up in frustration, fatigue, and anxiety that he didn’t have time for it.

But what could he do? He put the truck in gear and pulled away from the curb before Janelle started honking.

Just a quick stop for his gear and he’d be on his way. If he drove all day and through the night, sleeping at truck stops, he might get there by tomorrow night.

Two weeks. He promised that to Ivy this morning as he kissed her good-bye. She had two weeks left until her maternity leave anyway, and then it was just sit around and wait.

Maybe he could stay a week longer
 
—after all, Ivy didn’t really need him.

Maybe Tiger didn’t either.

In fact, Ivy and Tiger seemed to be moving forward without him, adapting to his decision to leave as if he were already gone.

He pulled up to the cubicle rental house, parking his truck in the drive, climbing the cracked steps to the house. The snowpack on the roof had melted into the gutters, trickling down the side
of the house. Before he left, he’d make sure the sump pump in the basement was running.

He’d packed last night, so he grabbed his bags from inside the door and loaded them into his pickup. Then he toed off his shoes and headed to the kitchen to make a sandwich.

He got out the bread, then turned to the fridge.

Ivy had dug Tiger’s artwork from the bag, smoothing it and taping it onto the cool green surface. He paused, looking at Tiger’s handprint, colored the hues of the rainbow. On a piece of construction paper, yarn formed a stem and seeds created a flower.

And below that, a picture, words scrawled under it. He removed the magnet that held it to the fridge and read the paper.

My Favorite Superhero

He studied the picture, realization coming slowly. A man wearing a green shirt, a yellow hat, holding a hammer. Behind him, the log structure of a house. Pine trees.

For a seven-year-old, Tiger had sketched a recognizable likeness of his father.

In large, misshapen letters, it was labeled
My Dad
.

Darek braced himself with one arm against the fridge as he read the essay.

My dad is my hero.

He is happy.

Silly.

Stinky.

Good.

Old.

Muscley.

Funny.

And most of all he loves me.

“Most of all he loves me.”

Oh, Tiger.

The page was stapled behind another, now turned over, so Darek flipped it forward. Apparently this was one of those pieces of artwork he was supposed to sign.

More than that, it was an announcement about career week, the teacher asking for volunteers.

He looked at the dates.

“Most of all he loves me.”

Yes, he did, except maybe he’d forgotten, a little, how much.

The school was locked, but he pleaded his case with the school secretary and she issued him a pass. He found Tiger’s classroom already in session. He’d met Mrs. White
 
—a short woman with dark hair and kind eyes
 
—on the first day of school, his hand laced with Ivy’s as they toured the classroom, helped Tiger find his desk. Animal-themed alphabet letters ran around the top of the room, and a sum chart hung on the wall next to a computer station. A reading nook with beanbag chairs and baskets of early-reader books encouraged a time-out inside the pages.

He spotted Tiger sitting with his back to him, bent over a workbook, writing. Stepping into the room, he caught eyes with Mrs. White, who looked up from where she helped a child with her letters and came over to him.

He put his finger to his lips and gestured her into the hall.

“Hello, Mr. Christiansen.”

“Darek, please, and I’m wondering if I’m too late to sign up?”
He held out the pink flyer. Then gestured to his red Nomex helmet, his Pulaski ax.

She appeared impressed. “I think we can make time for you. Stay here.”

He watched as she walked to the front of the classroom and brought the students to attention.

Tiger sat in his chair, his feet barely touching the ground, his blond hair tousled
 
—oops, Darek had been in charge of combing it today.

“I have a surprise for you, children. One of our parents is here to talk about his career. Mr. Christiansen, please join us.”

Darek smiled as he walked to the front of the room, wearing his hat, his ax over his shoulder. “Hey, gang. My name is Darek Christiansen, and I’m Ti
 
—Theo’s dad. I’m also what they call a hotshot. Which means that when there are wildland fires, I join a team of other firefighters and we try to put the fire out using tools like this one.” He held up his Pulaski.

Only then did he look at Tiger.

He expected a smile or at least something of fascination. But Tiger’s eyes had filled, his bottom lip quivering.

Darek frowned, trying to continue. “We have to wear these hard hats, and they have this liner inside called Nomex that protects us
 
—”

Tiger put his head down on his desk.

Darek’s heart fell. He glanced at Mrs. White, who leaned over her desk, then started toward him.

But he couldn’t help himself. “Tiger, buddy, what’s the matter?”

Every head turned to look at his son, and he wanted to wince at his mistake. But evidently Tiger didn’t care because he lifted his head and stared at Darek. Shook his head, his brown eyes wet.

“You’re saying it all wrong. Tell them about the new tire swing. And the basketball court. And . . .” Tiger looked around the room. “And the big fire and how I got to go up on the roof and hammer. And then Dad let me use a chain saw
 
—”

“No, actually, I didn’t
 
—” He glanced at Mrs. White, who seemed to be hiding a grin.

But Tiger had risen now. “Then we made this giant box and poured cement into it
 
—”

“For the foundation of cabin twelve
 
—”

“I stirred it with a long stick and then put my hand into it. And it made a mark.”

Darek smiled at that, remembering how he’d held Tiger over the foundation wall, how he’d pressed his hand in beside Tiger’s.

“We signed it, too,” Darek said. “‘Theo and Dad.’”

“And then we went fishing!” He was climbing on his chair now. “And I caught a fish.” He held his arms out as if he was regaling them with a whopper tale. “And then Butter tried to eat it . . .” He frowned. “Except Butter died.”

Tiger caught his lip in his teeth. Glanced at Darek.

He walked over to his son, meeting his eyes. “Yeah, Butter died. But . . . Theo is getting a brand-new brother or sister any day now.”

“Yeah. My mom’s tummy is this big.” He held out his hands, and the class laughed.

So did Tiger.

The sound wrapped around Darek, weaving through him, stealing from him his breath, his resolve.

Oh, God, what have I done?
He saw it then
 
—the times he’d crawled in so late, so many days in a row, that he hadn’t seen Tiger for over a week. And the moments he did, he’d barked at him, annoyed.

No wonder Tiger crumpled up his artwork. Because every time he turned to his father, he got hurt.

Darek, there are many different definitions of success. I’m not sure that any of them are stamped with the Evergreen Resort logo.

No, they weren’t. They were stamped with Tiger’s smile and Ivy’s kisses and their sweet baby moving under his hand.

He’d forgotten that with the stiff brutality of the winter. By trying to simply survive, he’d lost sight of the reasons he wanted to.

“But Dad’s building us a new house,” Tiger was saying, still talking. “And I’m going to get my own bedroom and a swing set and maybe even a dog!”

Oops, he’d better pay attention. “Whoa, let’s start with the baby and go from there.”

But Tiger had turned to him, such a wide smile on his face that Darek could deny him nothing. “But probably.”

“And we’ll name it Scooby-Doo!” Then Tiger launched himself off the chair.

Darek should have expected it
 
—did, really, and his instincts caught up in time to catch him. “Whoa, Tiger
 
—”

But his son flung his arms around his neck, squeezing. He put his lips right up to Darek’s ear and whispered loud enough to be heard in Canada, “I love you, Dad.”

Darek didn’t care that every kid in the room might be watching. That he looked like a fool with tears edging his eyes. He wrapped his arms around Tiger, buried his face in his neck, breathing in the sweetness of his brilliant son. “I love you too, buddy.”

He leaned back as Tiger took Darek’s face in his hands, his own face solemn. “Don’t go, Dad. Please don’t go.”

The room hushed then. Darek could hear his heartbeat as he nodded. “Don’t worry, pal. I’m not going anywhere.”

He set him down, tousled his hair.

“Mr. Christiansen
 
—Darek
 
—would you like to stay for lunch? I think we’re having fish patties.”

“Yum,” Darek said, winking. Except his phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out and read the text. “But actually I think I have a prior engagement.”

Casper could admit harboring an unreasonable joy with Raina riding behind him on the snowmobile, her arms wrapped around him, just like she had that day when he’d pulled her out of the mud, nearly a year ago.

He didn’t know the reason for the sadness that shadowed her eyes, but he could light a fire with the sudden flash of passion at his suggestion. He couldn’t exactly account for why he’d stopped earlier, either, driving out of the Java Cup with his morning jolt. He’d turned onto Main Street and the person on the bench caught his eye.

He stopped without a thought as if his inner psyche was so in tune with her, he couldn’t help it. And as he did, he prayed, an act so habitual now, it embedded his thoughts.
Please, Lord, ignite joy in her.

He didn’t exactly mean to invite her along on his quest. The words simply spilled out.

Or maybe he recognized too well the expression on her face. Lost? Discouraged? Yeah, he’d lived with that feeling long enough to understand the compassion that rose in him.

Faithfully loving anyway.

His father’s words lurked inside and he heard them again,
embracing them, perhaps:
And what does love do? Forgives. Comforts. Protects. Saves. Renews.
Loves.

Regardless of the cost.

Except, right now, he didn’t know what price he might be paying, with the sun high, turning the snow into a texture perfect for snowball fights and ice forts. He followed the dirt road that led back to the old town, the evergreen trees low and treacherous, conspiratorially forcing Raina to hang on to him as he ducked and dodged their grasp.

Under the thaw, the forest seemed to come alive, a rebirth in the air with the trickle of water flowing down rocky streams and birds scattering at the roar of his machine.

“Do you really think we’ll find something?” Raina shouted over the motor. She had braided her hair when they stopped by her house for her to change, adding the pink fleece headband that only softened the amber-brown in her eyes. She’d clearly regained her figure, her ski pants clinging to her in a way that brought back images of last summer and her tanned legs. She wore the powder-blue jacket and a pair of woolly mittens and might be the prettiest treasure hunter he’d ever seen.

Do you really think we’ll find something?

He already had. And lost it. However, maybe over the past few weeks he’d put enough of it back together that she’d listen to him. He didn’t hope for more than that
 
—just a chance to warn her away from Monte and suggest that she wasn’t alone. He might even go for the gold and remind her that God loved her.

He slowed, cutting the engine noise. “I think most of the town has decayed, but I did read that Thor’s curio shop still stands, along with the attached apartment. Maybe they left something behind. Hold on.”

She tightened her mittened grip around his waist, and he gunned the machine. He’d tracked his mileage, the map tucked into his pocket, but guessed correctly when they happened upon the ghost structures on the outskirts of a main thoroughfare. He slowed the machine again, searching for his bearings.

The town sat in a depression in the forest, a valley under the shadow of Eagle Mountain, which rose in the west. The high afternoon sun crossed shadows through an overgrown swath of what must have been the main street. The skeletal foundations of brick and wooden structures betrayed the former prosperity, with a few buildings still standing. At one end, a tiny church’s steeple caved in a wooden roof. Next to it sat a log schoolhouse, the timbers rotted and one wall collapsed.