Larkspur Cove (24 page)

Bonnie was right. I was no fun. I was like a spool of thread wound so tightly that even I couldn’t find the end of the string.

The unproductive mental dialog haunted me all the way home, nipping at my heels like one of Len’s guard dogs, taking painful little bites of skin and bone. When I reached the lake house, my car was in the driveway, which meant that my mother and father were there. My stomach clenched immediately, and it occurred to me that I should have driven by the car wash on the way home. Len’s mudhole was all over my father’s car.

Inside, my parents were serving up chicken nuggets from the Waterbird – a nice gesture, really. They and Dustin were gathered around the table eating when I walked in. Dustin looked like he was strapped to the dentist’s chair having a cavity drilled.

“I can’t see why he should have to attend some . . . water safety course.” Mother started in before I’d even set down my purse. “We don’t own a boat anymore.” She pointed toward the empty boathouse, as if to support her argument.

“It’s the arrangement we made with the game warden,” I said flatly. I really didn’t need this, but the chicken nuggets did smell good. I helped myself to a plate. “Thanks for bringing supper.”

Mother nodded.“When we called about returning the car, Dustin said we shouldn’t come. He said he didn’t know when you’d be here – that you’ve been late getting home at night. We thought we’d at
least
drive over and bring him some supper.” Which meant, of course, that I’d left my son alone and starving, night after night, and I should be ashamed of myself.

The truth was that I’d only come in after six thirty the one evening that I’d gone to Len’s cabin with Mart and Reverend Hay. When I’d arrived home that night, I’d found Dustin in a foul mood because his grandparents had stopped by and criticized his yard work, then embarrassed him by starting yet another argument with the neighbors. No wonder he’d tried to stave them off tonight by telling them I might not be here.

Patience. Patience. We are living in their house, and they did bring fried
chicken.
Undoubtedly, this was only the beginning of many drop-by visits. At thirty-eight, I was moving backward in life, once again being raised by my parents. But pride goes down like milk of magnesia when you have to build a new future using your half of the bank account that has been run dry by divorce lawyers, legal fees, and a husband who was carrying on a double life.

“I only worked late one night.” For a half a second, I had the crazy impulse to tell them about my trip to Len’s place and the situation with Birdie. Maybe they’d be . . . interested, even impressed, that I was doing something important – protecting a child who couldn’t protect herself. The thought flitted away like a sparrow hopping from tree to tree. Actually, I’d be opening myself up for a grilling. They’d point out that the situation could have been dangerous, and I had no real idea what I was doing.

The phone rang, and I was relieved to have the distraction. Megan was on the other end. “Hey, Sis. You had enough of Mom and Dad yet?”

Bless her, Meg was the best person I knew. She was adorable, kind, beautiful, and she could read minds. “Yes, thank you.”

She laughed softly into the phone, and my mother’s head whipped toward the sound. “Is that Megan?” She scooted to the edge of her chair. “Ask her if the twins are home yet.”

Meg could read Mom’s mind, too. “Tell them Gloria just dropped off the twins. They can come by and bring the balloons from the bank now, if they want to. The twins are pretty tired after the zoo trip. I think it’ll be an early-to-bed night.” The sentence ended in a sigh. Lately, Meg had been the wishbone in a silent granny tug-of-war between Oswaldo’s parents and ours.

“Super,” I said, which was code for,
You are the best sister in the
world.
“I’ll let them know.” Meg and I exchanged
I love you
s, and then I hung up and told the folks that Meg wanted them to head on over before the twins fell asleep. Mother popped up like she’d been shot from an ejector seat, and my father was close behind. On the way out the door, I thanked Dad for helping me with the tire problem, argued with him about letting me pay the bill, and apologized for having left his car in such a mess. Fortunately, they were in too much of a hurry to be worried about any of it. I helped them transfer the freebie one-hundred-year-anniversary bank balloons from my car to theirs, and they climbed in with little commentary. Rolling down her window, Mother pointed out that she had replaced the blocks in the suet feeders, and there were more in the garden shed. Then she rolled up her window, and they left to win the twins’ hearts with helium-filled Mylar.

When I came back inside, the chicken nuggets remained, but Dustin was gone. He’d moved to his room. I went in to try to lure him into going for a walk down the shore with me, but he wasn’t having any of it. “I don’t feel good.”

“Did you hang out with the Blues’ granddaughters today?” I asked, noticing a lemonade cup and a half-eaten cookie on his desk and hoping to pull forth a reluctant confession that a little something good had happened while I was gone to work. On the way in, I’d spied a Frisbee lying in our front yard. Not much chance that he’d been playing Frisbee by himself.

Dustin didn’t want to admit to any outdoor fun, of course. He wanted me to know that he’d been slaving away, as usual. In prison, in complete misery, a hostage of an unreasonable grounding and the evil chore list. “Pppfff! Yeah, right. I’m still only halfway down the chore list, I’ve got all the junk for English, and Grandma wanted the flower bed cleaned out, where the plants got smashed and stuff. I’m just everybody’s
slave
. That’s all I am.” He delivered an icy stare over the top of the book, letting me know this wasn’t a joke. “Did Dad call about August? I can’t wait to get outta here. When’s he coming to get me?”

I took a patience breath before answering. “I’ve e-mailed and called, but I haven’t heard anything yet.” It galled me to be making excuses for Karl day after day, but what else could I do? The alternative was for Dustin to feel completely unwanted. “Hey, but speaking of August, there’s a new production starting up at the community playhouse – the Tin Building. The pastor from Lakeshore Community is in charge, and he asked if you might like to help – he has some parts for teenage boys, but you also know how to run sound and put together sets. You’re good at all those things.”

Dustin raised the book again, so that I couldn’t see his face. “I won’t be here in August. I’ll be with Dad.” He shot the words across the room like arrows, intended to wound. They hit the mark, and I had that prickly here-come-the-tears feeling. I hated Karl in a way I’d never hated anyone – in a way that most certainly wasn’t healthy.

“All right. Well, I guess we’ll just see what August brings,” I managed to croak out, and then left the room. I headed outside on my own, needing fresh air, an escape . . . something. Standing under one of the pecan trees, I braced my hands on my hips, tried to catch my breath and swallow the urge to cry. Karl wasn’t getting one more tear from me. He wasn’t.

As I propped up my determination, Sydney and Ansley came trotting out Mrs. Blue’s backdoor with sandbox pails and shovels. They were headed for my mother’s conveniently empty flower bed. They stopped when they saw me and stood frozen, like deer in the headlights. “It’s all right,” I told them. “You can play in the flower bed while there aren’t any plants in it. Just don’t do it while Dustin’s grandmother is here.”

Smiling, they skipped on over to the freshly tilled bed at the edge of the pecan shade.

“We didn’t dig up her flowers,” Sydney offered, squatting over the dirt and filling a shiny green bucket. “The deer ate ’em.”

“I guessed as much.”

Ansley plunked down beside her sister and began pulling up earthworms and dropping them in her bucket. Their heads bent, blond hair falling over their suntanned shoulders, they looked perfectly content in the flower bed – a calendar-photo scene. I couldn’t help contrasting it with the picture of Birdie scratching in the weed-filled dirt in front of Len’s cabin. Sydney and Ansley were only a few years older, yet their lives were so different, their childhoods what childhood should be – new sand toys, days on the lake, summer fun at Grandma and Grandpa’s house. Visits that didn’t happen in the middle of the night. A suitcase and toys instead of a nightgown and bare feet.

“Deer like to eat roses,” Ansley interjected. “Grandma says if the witch had half a brain, she’d plant lantanas out here.”

“Ssshhh!” Sydney spat, and gave her little sister a mortified look.

“It’s all right,” I told her. “My mother thinks the deer ought to read the
No Trespassing
signs.”

Both girls giggled. “Somebody oughta tell her deer can’t read,” Sydney interjected.

“Nobody tells my mother anything.”

Ansley flashed a mischievous grin at me. “That’s what my grandpa says.”

Sydney swatted her in the arm, and they argued for a minute.

“Thanks for sharing your cookies and lemonade with Dustin,” I offered, before the argument could go too far.

Both girls turned their attention to me, now that Dustin was the topic. Ansley dusted off her hands and smiled. “We gave him s’mores, too. Grandpa helped us make some on the grill, down at our boathouse. Dustin ate
four
, and two root beers. It was hot out while we were swimming.”

“I didn’t know Dustin went swimming with you today.” This was news, since Dustin had told me he’d been too busy working to have any fun.

“Kinda,” Sydney took up the conversation. “He went on and jumped in, since he was down there hammering the nails in the dock anyhow.”

“Oh, well, it was nice of you to share your s’mores.” I felt the weight on my shoulders lift a little. It seemed that Dustin’s miserable days weren’t entirely miserable. He was beginning to participate in life here, at least a little bit.

Unfortunately, what he really wanted and needed was his father. He needed to know that even though his parents weren’t together, he still had a father who loved him, cared about him, and would be there for him.

One way or another, I had to force Karl to live up to his responsibilities and make plans for August.

I spent the weekend leaving phone messages for Karl, and filled in the gaps on Monday by sending texts from hilltops while traveling to field appointments around the county. Karl finally got annoyed enough to respond in a text, but the answer wasn’t helpful –
Job busy.
Check sent 2 U today.

He didn’t answer my return message –
What about Dustin &
August?
I knew he wouldn’t. The check would probably come, though, as Karl’s guilty attempt to end the conversation.

I went to lunch at the state park headquarters and sat outside on a picnic table, trying to decide whether I should tell Dustin the truth or keep leading him on in hopes that Karl would come through at the last minute. Mart pulled in as I was tossing my brown bag in the trash, and we stood by his truck, talking about the situation with Birdie. Mart was still digging into Len’s background, trying to piece together the family history. Birdie’s mother remained largely a mystery, and so far I hadn’t had any response to the e-mail I’d sent to CPS.

“Reverend Hay gathered up some clothes and toys from the clothes closet at the church, and we took them up there yesterday,” Mart informed me. “Len was working in his garden, and Birdie was sacked out right there in the dirt, under a shade tree. She seemed all right, though.”

“Thanks for checking on her.” I was reminded again that Mart was a nice guy. A softie, really. He was headed into the park gift shop to buy a stuffed raccoon to take to Birdie.

“She still doesn’t like me too well. I took a picture of the little coon to her over the weekend, just to let her know he was all right, but that didn’t fix things, I guess.” He shook his head and smirked a little, his green eyes crinkling at the corners. “I should’ve left the coon with her, anyway. My wildlife rehabber is out for gall bladder surgery, so I’m stuck with the little chatterbox on my porch, for now. He keeps long hours.” He rubbed his eyes and yawned, and I laughed.

For a moment, I forgot all about Karl, and how angry and hurt and worried I’d been. My concerns about the new job flew right out the window. Even though I needed to be leaving for my next appointment, I drew out the conversation a few more minutes. Being there with Mart felt comfortable. Safe. “Hey, listen, I’ve been meaning to ask you – can anyone sign up for the water safety course next week?”

Mart quirked a brow. “You been out climbing the Scissortail, too?”

I chuckled. “No.” Although, considering the issues with Karl and Dustin, I might be looking for a high building pretty soon. “I have a client family – a grandmother raising several grandkids. There’s a ten-year-old boy who just . . . needs something positive to do with his time. I thought an activity like the water safety course, where he’d largely be around people who are older than him, might be a good fit. He wouldn’t have the opportunity to bully anyone or pick fights. He’s not doing too well in his own age group right now. Is it too late for someone to sign up? Is he too young?”

“Not if you’ve got the right connections.” A grasshopper buzzed by and landed on Mart’s shirtsleeve. He glanced at it and then just left it there. “I’ll drop a form by your house later. He can bring it with him next Monday. I’ll let the Corps of Engineers boys know to expect him. They run the class. I just help out.”

“Sounds good.” I found myself hanging momentarily on the words
by your house later
, looking forward to it.