Indelible (13 page)

“Do you need your studio?”

She nodded. In the passenger seat, she held her hands over her face as the miles passed. It didn’t hide the images behind her eyelids, but kept her from trying to see like a normal person. “I’m sorry.”

“Hey.” He squeezed her knee. “I shouldn’t have forced it.”

“You didn’t force anything.”

“I could have told you what it was.”

“I’d have chosen to go. You saved me the angst of worrying the whole way.” She looked, and his face came over the others, surprisingly dulling Paige just a little. “Now I know Aaron doesn’t blame me. He’s trying to hold his family together. And I got to hug Cody.”

“He seemed fine until his mom arrived.”

“Paige has nothing to help her through this. No faith, no fortitude. She’s never fought for anything in her life. I don’t know if she can.”

“So everyone gives in?”

“That’s her baby in the bed, her husband in a cast. If she doesn’t want my comfort, who am I to force it?”

He rested his wrist on the wheel and said nothing. He didn’t know what a strain she had put on her own family with her limitations. Aaron loved her, she didn’t doubt that now, but he had spent enough years helping her. He had to set his priorities, and he’d done it right.

“I’m sorry we had to rush back,” she said as they entered the studio.

“That’s all right.” He sounded sincere. If anyone understood duress, it was this man.

“You can go now. I’ll be fine.”

“I’m not really comfortable with that.”

“Why not?”

“You were wandering like a punch-drunk fighter.”

Great image for him to have of her. “I’m here now. I just need to work it out.”

“If it’s all right with you, I’ll camp on that stool until I know you can see.”

He sat with his forearms resting on his thighs, his posture pensive, while she worked. The clay felt like mud in her hands. Too wet. Too soft. It wouldn’t hold the shape. She worked it so long and hard her arms ached by the time the clay stiffened enough to model.

A great surge of love and sorrow flooded her as she shaped Paige’s misery. Next she formed Aaron, his loyalty torn between them. She didn’t want that. He needed to be whole. And finally Cody, who would receive a “wobot” arm. She molded the precious features just as she had braced his soft, warm face and kissed the curve of his head.

Finished, she staggered back, arms and heart aching, into Trevor. She felt wrung out—and hated that he saw. Now he wouldn’t believe she could handle anything.

He steadied her. “Mind if I look?”

She sagged. “You saw the real thing.”

He let go and studied her sculpture. “You were kinder than I’d have been. Especially on Aaron. He should have stood up for you.”

“I know it seems that way, but you’re not married, Trevor. Aaron’s heart is in the right place.”

He turned. “Can you see me?”

“Yes.”

“Then can we get some food? I’m starved.”

She swallowed the tightening in her throat. “You’re not getting out of here as fast as you can?”

“I played that scene—not a great performance. The Summit’s open, but Jaz hangs out there. The other spots stop serving at nine.”

“Take me home and I’ll make us something.”

He scratched the back of his neck. “Some date, huh?”

“I’m not much of a dater.”

“I’m usually a rock star.”

She laughed. “Well, I’ve thought Titan and hero and archangel, but—”

“Archangel?”

“The first sculpture.”

He shook his head. “Nattie …”

“I have some roasted chicken and asparagus.”

“Now you’re the rock star.”

“I might be too tired to warm it.”

He beamed. “Cold chicken is my favorite.”

Before they reached his car, Trevor checked his phone. “Hold on, I need to call Whit back.”

“This late? With a baby?”

“He tried six times, but I turned my phone off for our trip.” He held up a finger. “Yeah, Whit. What is it?” A pause, then, “Now?” He glanced at her. “Okay, I’m coming.”

“Change of plans?”

“We need to swing by their place.”

“Is something wrong?”

“Something weird, I guess. Whit wouldn’t say.”

If then his providence
Out of our evil seek to bring forth good,
Our labour must be to pervert that end,
And out of good still to find means of evil.

M
iles and miles by car had not dulled the throbbing wound of senseless death. It abscessed and putrefied, filled him with silent keening as he perused this fallen world, his domain. After leaving one gasless vehicle, he searched for another and heard, like a whistle to canine ears, an infant wailing.

From a frame house begging drafts through dingy window screens came wail upon wail. How could no one hear?

Drawing close, he saw. Their ears were not deaf, rather blocked by carnal desires consuming them. Selfish passion sated; helpless need unheeded.

Deftly, he slipped through the farther window, lifted the bawling babe from his bed as their lusty coupling covered the sound of his retreat. With a mouth like a bird’s, the young one’s cries sought sustenance. A nest, then. A lofty perch for this featherless fledgling. Act Three.

Eight

W
hit and Sara’s two-story cabin stood in tall pines with ruts for a driveway. At almost midnight, the other houses around them were dark and quiet. A herd of elk bedded down on the side lawn, their coats silvery gray in the moonlight. They lifted their heads as she and Trevor passed by.

He knocked once and walked in. “Whit?”

Whit came toward them, surprised, not to see Trevor in his house, but that he’d brought her.

Sara hurried behind, then halted. “Natalie.”

Even by glimpses, she could see them shifting course. Whatever was happening, she was out of place in it.

Whit said, “Where were you?”

“Denver. Nattie’s nephew is getting a robot arm.”

“Yeah?” He looked intrigued.

“It’ll connect to his nerves at the shoulder, move when he thinks, and even send touch sensations back to his brain.”

Natalie turned. “How do you know that?”

“Your brother told me while you were hugging the little guy.”

That one-armed squeeze tugged her heart, but there might have been no hug at all and a funeral instead. “It keeps hitting me that Cody’s alive because of you two.”

“Oh yes,” Sara said. “They’re superheroes in disguise.”

“I’m in disguise,” Whit said. “Trevor doesn’t bother.”

Trevor gripped Sara’s shoulders. “Got food?”

Rolling her eyes, she slid her arm through his and pulled him to the kitchen.

Natalie chewed her lip, her disconnected feeling growing. “That’s a good friend. I hope she knows he’s starving.”

Whit shrugged. “She’s used to it.”

“You’ve all been friends awhile?”

“Big T and I have. Sara was more of a nuisance.” He rubbed a hand over his short-cropped hair. “She never lets me forget I told Trevor to ditch her.”

“He didn’t?”

“Not having sisters, unlike
moi
, he let her tag along—which, as I could have told him, only lasted until she took charge.”

“And then you married her.”

“There’s a lot of story in between.” Whit’s eyes crinkled, the stubby black lashes dipping over coffee brown irises. A small scar rode high on one cheekbone, and a slight cleft made a shadow on his chin. “It’s better when Sara tells it.”

Natalie doubted it. Whit was pretty amusing, while Sara … There’d been near hostility in her greeting. She wished Trevor could have waited to eat. He was like Pavlov’s dog thinking food when he glimpsed Sara’s kitchen.

“I like your house.” She glanced around. The walls had a faux treatment that made them look marbled, cream and tan in the living room, shades of gray blue in the dining room. In the teakwood mirror over the matching buffet, she caught a reflection of Sara and Trevor in the kitchen.

“What?” Trevor spread his hands.

“You know what.”

“Enlighten me anyway.”

“If you’re never going to commit, you shouldn’t lead someone on, especially—”

“So.” Whit led the way in before it got really embarrassing.

Natalie tried for a light tone. “I love your walls. I was going to paint before I unpacked, but it didn’t happen.”

“Must not have told Trevor.” With yellow-flowered mitts, Sara pulled two plates from the microwave and set them on the table. “Leftover veggie lasagna.”

Feeling like a new stray tagging along, Natalie squirmed. “Sorry to trouble you.”

“Oh, please.” Sara laid out forks and knives. “Trevor has no qualms.”

“Su casa es mi casa,” he agreed.

“Well, if my house is yours, you can do the dishes.”

“You know it.” He took a gooey bite of lasagna. “This is excellent.”

Better than cold chicken and asparagus. “A family recipe?”

“The Internet.” Sara leaned back against the counter, arms folded.

Whit got himself a can of root beer and offered the same. Trevor accepted. Natalie just wanted to see what they’d come for and go home. Before that happened, Braden’s cries came through the baby monitor on the counter.

An almost frantic look passed over Sara’s face. Clamping her jaw, she threw down her hands. “Guess I’m the food source for everyone tonight.”

Trevor watched her go out, then turned to Whit. “Is she upset?”

He was only now noticing?

Something moved through Whit’s eyes. “Finish eating.”

Natalie focused on her food, trying to force the expressions to fade. If she stopped looking, she might get away without needing to sculpt them.

Trevor gulped his down, gathered their plates and forks and slid them into the dishwasher. “So what’s up?”

“Have a seat.”

Puzzled, Trevor got back into his chair. Whit set an envelope on the table.

That was it? Mail that couldn’t wait until morning?

But Trevor sobered. “Where’d you get this?”

“It came to the store. Sara opened it before she saw it was addressed to you personally.”

Trevor slid two snapshots out. Glimpsing the first across the table, Natalie frowned. It looked like a toddler in the middle of a street. Sliding that to see the next, Trevor went horribly still.

“What is it?” She leaned forward.

“Don’t.” He put his hand over the pictures.

“Is that child in the street? Is it someone you know?”

The skin of his neck had lost two shades. His veins bulged. “I don’t know who it is.” He turned to Whit. “Did Sara see?”

Whit nodded grimly.

“Trevor,” Natalie probed. “What is it?”

He shoved the photos into the envelope and stood. “Let’s go.” To Whit, “Tell Sara thanks and … sorry.” With a hand gripping her elbow, he
walked her back through the sleeping elk to the car. He started the engine. “Do you need the studio?”

She couldn’t believe it entered his mind. “No.” She’d manage without that if it choked her.

Outside her house, he parked and got out. He didn’t have to walk her to the door, but he did. “Sure you’re okay?”

“Are you?”

He dropped his chin.

“Maybe that child’s lost, and they want you—”

“He’s not lost, Nattie.” His voice rasped.

Her chest stilled as she realized what the second photo must have shown. “My God.” That toddler was close to Cody’s age. Where was his angel?

Trevor leaned on the door frame. “Are you okay?”

Of course not. How much worse for him? She looked up, but he angled his face away.

“Please don’t.” He turned her toward the door and gave a gentle push. “Go inside.”

“Trevor.”

“Please.”

The ragged request left her no choice.

Eyes burning, Trevor drove back to the office and searched through the recycle bin for the first photo. He hadn’t believed it anything but a postcard in poor taste. Now he realized it was real.

Laying it and its envelope with the new mail, he fought the blackness seeping in. Two little boys in danger. One of them—

The shaking possessed him like an evil spirit. Who knew the private hell those photos pierced? Who would exploit it?

He pressed his hands to his face. Both mailings had come to the store, but the second had his name on it. He wished to God that Sara had noticed. She’d been sharp as sour milk tonight and no wonder. He swallowed the knot in his throat. Nothing he could do about that now.

He gathered it all up and drove home. As soon as morning came, he hit the shower, then picked up the phone. His sister-in-law answered.

“Hey, Suzie.” They shared some small talk, then, “Is Conner there?”

“Let me see if he’s up.”

If he was in process, he’d be taking a five-minute power shower, donning his uniform, and grabbing a travel mug to tide him over to the drive-through breakfast he’d eat on the way in. He had a long drive through Beltway traffic.

“Big bro.” Conner came on.

“Sorry to interrupt your routine.”

“No problem. Talked to Mom lately?”

“Last week.”

“So you know she got tenure.”

“It’s excellent.”

“But you didn’t call for that.”

“I need to run something by you.” He took out the photos. “Can you receive a fax?”