Larkspur Cove (23 page)

She cracked a wide smile and laughed a little, then got back to thinking. “Considering the backlog of CPS cases, we probably have time to think about it. Surely we can come up with something, if need be.” Her stomach growled so loud that if there’d been any black bear left in these woods, she would’ve attracted one. The problem was contagious, because my stomach rumbled, too.

“How about we talk it through over lunch?”

She frowned at the deserted picnic grounds. “Did I miss the drive-through window?”

I chuckled. She could be funny, when she wanted to be. “I’ve got a sandwich from the Waterbird and some canned drinks in the boat. I’ll go halves.”

She looked temped at first, then shook her head. “I can’t take your lunch.” But her gaze drifted toward the boat, and she had hunger in her eyes.

“Got a date somewhere else?”

She turned away from the lake, and we were close together. Close enough that I saw a question in her eyes, but I didn’t know what the question was.

“No. I don’t.” The words were soft, like she was breathing them out without meaning to.

“Good,” I heard myself say. “I hate to eat alone.”
What a joke,
Mart. All you do is eat alone. She can probably tell that, just by looking.
The talking in my head stopped then, and out of the blue, I had the thought that it seemed like the natural thing would be to kiss her.

I had the feeling she was thinking that, too.

A Sea-Doo raced by on the river, the noise echoing against the cliffs, and we jerked apart. My brain sputtered like an engine with water in the gas line. “I’ll go . . . uhhh . . . grab the . . .”
The what . . .
the what . . .
Clearing my throat, I slid off the table. “The lunch,” I said, and headed off to the boat.

Never give up listening to the sounds of birds.

– John James Audubon

(Left by a J. O., birdwatcher on a
    pilgrimage to the eagles’ nests)

Chapter 15

Andrea Henderson

The picnic with Mart was surprisingly nice – an oasis in the middle of an otherwise disjointed and confusing Friday. Alone in the park, with the river passing lazily and the mockingbirds singing an endless repertoire of songs, it was easy to forget the appointments ahead, the reports that remained unwritten, the uncertainty about Birdie, the way she looked at me, her face filled with questions she couldn’t or wouldn’t voice. That was the hardest thing about children. So often, you had to learn their stories from the things that weren’t said – piecing together their lives like puzzles, so that you could figure out what was missing.

“I’ll do some more checking on Len’s background,” Mart offered as we ate our sandwich halves and cookies. “It may take me through the weekend, but I’ll let you know what I find out. I’ve got a friend in Ft. Worth who does investigations for a credit agency. She’s good. She digs up more than the usual information.”

“All right.” I noted that this friend and the friend who’d given him the information about Birdie’s medical clinic visit were both female.That caused a nagging curiosity. I popped out another question without really stopping to consider why I was asking.“Do you think she’ll be able to find Birdie’s mother?” In reality, I was fishing for the
she
connection, wondering why
shes
everywhere were willing to do favors for Mart – wondering if he was . . . was . . . involved?

The realization hit me like one of those Gatorade baths that coaches get after winning a big game – cold and sticky. An unpleasant shock in the middle of a perfectly wonderful picnic lunch. I was enjoying being here with him, listening to the river, watching the shade filter through the trees and dapple the grass underneath. It was surprisingly cool under the thick canopy of branches, considering that August was right around the corner. I’d let my mind go adrift, felt myself relaxing and enjoying the moment. I’d relaxed too much, apparently. I’d forgotten that we were working together, not . . . not . . . What? Having a date?

The idea compressed my stomach tightly around my ham sandwich and pecan cookie from the Waterbird. One of the things I couldn’t even begin to envision when divorce became my reality, was ever cycling around to the idea of dating again. I’d never really even dated in high school, and then Karl and I got together the summer after I graduated.The rest seemed to follow a natural progression. By the time college graduation drew near and the wide world loomed large, I was watching my friends get engaged and plan weddings. I wanted that for myself. Karl did, too. Life seemed to be falling into place. I was happy to be settled down, to have someone.

Even back then, I’d felt sorry for friends who were floundering in the dating pool. But now, with the baggage of an entire life dragging behind you? What would you talk about that wasn’t tied to that other life, that other person?

I hoped Mart knew that we were only professional acquaintances. Perhaps even friends, but nothing more. Why would he want anything more? A guy like Mart – an alpha type with a uniform and an impish grin – undoubtedly had women throwing themselves at him everywhere he went. All those
she
friends, who did favors for him. He wouldn’t have any reason to be interested in a frumpy, thirty-eight-year-old single mom.

“She should be able to dig up some things, but I have a feeling that Birdie’s mother doesn’t want to be found. I already tried the phone number she put on the form at the medical clinic, and they’ve never heard of her.” He watched me curiously, his eyes narrowing, as if he’d sensed my change in posture and wondered what was behind it. “You going to be home later? I’ll stop by and let you know what I find out.”

A thrill of anticipation bounced around my chest, a racquetball shot, hard off the back wall. I hunted it down and swatted it out of the air. “I’m not sure, but you have my cell number, right? Dustin and I might need to . . . There might be something . . . ” I was, indeed, the world’s worst liar. I never could think on my feet, which had gotten me in trouble with my mother more than once. Megan could make invented reality sound so convincing that even she believed it sometimes. “Something at the school. Tonight. An open house . . . for new students.” Then I wondered if he was aware of the school schedule. For all I knew, he might even have kids and an ex-wife living right here in Moses Lake. He’d never mentioned anyone, but perhaps leaving behind the old life was part of the divorce code. Karl had done it. . . .

“I’d better go.” I slid to the edge of the bench, and Mart drew back, undoubtedly surprised by the abrupt shift. I probably seemed strangely schizophrenic to him – borderline flirtatious one minute, one foot out the door the next. The people-pleaser in me couldn’t just thank him for the sandwich and head to the car without cracking open the door I’d just slammed. “I’ll be anxious to hear what you find out about Birdie. Thanks for keeping me in the loop.”
Keeping me in the loop
. . . Good grief, how stupid. I sounded like I was talking to Taz.

But wasn’t that what I was trying to do – keep this on a business level?

Mart snagged his hat from the bench and dropped it onto his head.The shadow shielded his eyes, so that I couldn’t see the expression in them. “I’ll let you know when I hear something,” he said, then waited for me to get in my car before he headed for the river. As I started the engine and backed away, I watched his boat slip into the current and disappear along a diamond-dust path of sunlit ripples. A part of me wanted to be beside him in the boat, surrounded by miles of open water, experiencing whatever the day had to offer. Not a care in the world.

Cares crept in as soon as I began contemplating my afternoon schedule, of course. But as the day wore on, I found myself thinking about lunch, and then about Mart and the raccoon. I wondered where they were and what they were doing.

Driving back to the office after my last appointment, I wondered again about the
she
Mart was contacting to dig into Len’s background. Who was she? Was he talking to her now?

I did my best to exit that train of thought in the office parking lot, leaving it outside the door as I went in. Taz’s door was already closed and locked for the weekend when I passed by. Either the family trainer or the substance abuse counselor was having a session in the counseling room, and Bonnie was wrestling with a spreadsheet on her computer.

“So did you talk to the game warden guy?” she asked, watching me from the corner of her eye, with more than idle curiosity.

“I did.” It occurred to me that I could end up in trouble for going off on my own while I was technically on Taz’s clock. I could have classified the visit to Len’s and the subsequent river picnic as my lunch hour, but it was way more than an hour. I’d taken up almost all the time yielded by the cancelled morning appointment, and my reports still weren’t done. “I’ll finish my session log tonight and turn it in on Monday.”

“Oh, whenever.” Bonnie moved a folder on her desk, looked under it, and moved it back. “The game warden guy has a nice voice.” The eyebrow quirked upward, followed by a look. Clearly, she wondered what was going on.

Drawing a drink from the water cooler, I attempted to appear nonchalant. “I hadn’t noticed.”

She focused both eyes my way. “Really?”

Shrugging, I sipped my little cone-shaped cup of water. The giant bottle burbled, then whined as the air pressure adjusted. The sound made me think of the river and the Wailing Woman.

“So what’s he look like?” Bonnie wanted to know.

“Who?”

“The guy on the phone.”

I tossed the cup in the trash and watched it settle. “Like a game warden, I guess.”

“Ooohhhh,” Bonnie purred, leaning over her desk, suddenly rapt with interest. “Really? Like all woodsy and everything? Is he single?”

“Bonnie!” Her name came out in an undisciplined squeal, and suddenly I felt like a high-school girl. I cleared my throat before continuing. “How would I know?”

Bonnie huffed a breath. “Well, you’ve met him in person.You’ve got to learn to read the signs – like, does he wear a ring? Does he drive a family car? That kind of thing. It’s important information.”

“He’s giving Dustin a ride to the water safety class the week after next. That’s it.” I was talking to myself as much as to Bonnie.

Her answer was an interested hum and a fanning of eyebrows. “Mmmm, so you’ll be seeing him again.”

“You have such a one-track mind.”

She actually looked shocked and mildly offended.“You are absolutely no fun.” Giving me a snide look, she went back to work.

I took my no-fun self back to my office to wrap things up, check the upcoming appointment schedule, and look at the most recent referrals. While I had the CPS e-mail addresses in front of me, I sent a message, apprising them of Birdie’s situation and my concerns about it.

While I worked, Bonnie’s assessment,
You are absolutely no fun,
played a repeating loop in my head, even though I was trying to ignore it. There was a time when I
was
fun . . . wasn’t there? When I was a little less like me and a little more like Bonnie – impulsive, free-spirited, a little fanciful?

The answer to that question was, quite frankly, a bummer. I’d scorned impulsivity for as long as I could remember. My parents had thoroughly convinced me that the way to peace, prosperity, and the blessings of a work-for-reward God was to live up to expectations in both word and deed. I focused on being competent, measured, controlled, an intelligent decision maker and dependable daughter worthy of love and praise.

When I married Karl, those skills came in handy. Even though Karl’s eventual goal was a professorship and then university management, we both knew that, at least while he was working his way through his doctoral degree, he’d be serving on the pastoral staff at a church. Minister’s wives need to be perfect. When you have a whole congregation eyeballing your life, you can’t afford to leave the house without your lipstick on.

During the divorce, Karl told me that was part of the problem – he was tired of trying to live up to everyone’s standards. Especially mine.
You can’t ever just . . . let go a little,
he said.
I’m suffocating.
Suddenly, it was my fault that he’d been an unfaithful husband and a dishonest employee. I’d driven him to it by being
no fun
.

Stop,
I told myself as I closed my office and left for home.
Just
stop.
Rehashing the past, analyzing it, trying to decide what had gone wrong was pointless. Maybe Karl had changed. Maybe I’d changed. Maybe once he’d made his climb up the life ladder and secured his dream job, it wasn’t all he’d thought it would be. Maybe he’d needed another challenge.

I reminded myself again that I wasn’t to blame for his decisions. He was. I’d held up my end of the bargain. Done everything that was expected of me, even when I was lonely, when I sat in Bible study groups pretending our lives were perfect, when I tried to talk to Karl and he acted like nothing was wrong, when I felt hollow inside and it seemed that Dustin’s little-boy love for me was the only true thing in my day.

I’d done what I thought was right for our marriage, for Dustin, for the commitment I’d made before God and everyone. I’d held up, even when Karl gave speeches, and sermons, and wrote thesis papers about healthy relationships and faithful marriages, and then came home and passed by me without so much as a word on his way to the TV room to decompress.