Ours for a Season

by Kim Vogel Sawyer

  “About an hour ago.”

  Her voice and face reflected weariness, and Anthony wanted to be sympathetic. But she’d been back for an hour and was only now letting him know? It took some effort, but he held the accusatory question inside. No sense in starting a fight. “How’s Brooke?”

  “Sore. Tired. Overwhelmed. The cancer spread further than they realized. She’s got a tough battle ahead.” Marty sighed, and her gaze drifted to the road leading to the trailers. “She’s sleeping right now. I’m going to take a bath, change my clothes—”

  For the first time he noticed she was wearing the same dress she’d put on Tuesday morning. Had she really worn it for three days?

  “—and then go over and wait for her to wake up. The doctor said she shouldn’t try to pull herself out of bed without help for another couple days. To give the incision a chance to heal.”

  Anthony zeroed in on another couple days. “Does that mean you’ll stay with her day and night?”

  She jerked her gaze to meet his. Her lips formed a stubborn line. “Yes, I plan to. At least until Saturday.” She folded her arms over her chest. “But I’ll be right next door if you need me.”

  He caught the barb. The I missed you and really want you with me hovering on his lips went unsaid. “Will you at least help Charlotte with cooking for all of us? She’s had a hard time doing it all herself while you were gone.”

  Something flickered in Marty’s eyes. Hurt or resentment? He couldn’t be sure. Both emotions rolled through him. Sure, he felt bad for Brooke. Cancer was scary and he wouldn’t wish it on an enemy, let alone someone his wife counted as a friend. But Marty was his wife. Supposed to be his helpmeet. Why couldn’t she understand the heavy burden he carried bringing this old town to life, being the spiritual leader for his work team, and worrying about the unknown person who’d apparently slept in the bank building last night? Yes, Brooke needed Marty, but so did he. Shouldn’t he come first?

  He sent a quick look in both directions to be sure no one was watching. Then he pulled his hand free of his pocket and reached for her. “Marty, I—”

  “If Brooke is up to walking to our trailer later this afternoon, then I’ll be able to help Charlotte. But I want Brooke where I can keep an eye on her to make sure she doesn’t try to do too much. It’s really important that she gets plenty of rest before the chemo treatments start five weeks from now. But don’t worry. I’ll make sure you and the men are taken care of, too.” She turned her back and sighed. “I’m tired, and I don’t have a lot of time before Brooke’s pain pill wears off. I better go.” She took off before he could finish his sentence.

  Grinding his teeth, Anthony pushed the door open and then bent over to wedge a chunk of two-by-four under it as a doorstop. When he straightened, he found Lucas nearby, leaning on the wooden handle of a push broom.

  The young man grinned. “When I saw Marty out there, I thought maybe she’d brought some cookies. Isn’t it snack break yet?”

  Anthony glanced at his wristwatch. “It’s only a little after two. We’ll go up for a snack at three thirty.”

  “Aw…” Lucas made a face. “I hope it’ll be something better than crackers and peanut butter. I’ve missed Marty’s cookies and brownies.”

  Anthony had missed more than his wife’s cooking. He snapped, “We’ll eat whatever Charlotte sets out without a word of complaint when the time comes.”

  Lucas drew back, both hurt and puzzlement on his face. “I wasn’t complaining, Anthony, honest. I know Charlotte’s doing her best. I was trying to pay Marty a compliment. She’s a really good cook.”

  Anthony closed his eyes for a moment. He shouldn’t take his frustration with Marty out on Lucas. He put his hand on the younger man’s shoulder. “Thanks for saying something nice about Marty. I’m sorry I barked at you. Will you forgive me?”

  The boy’s face flushed, making his pimples glow. “It’s okay. I know you didn’t mean it. My dad sometimes barked when he was tired or worried. I figure you’re probably both.”

  Anthony couldn’t deny the statement. He hadn’t slept well, partly because Marty wasn’t there and partly because he hadn’t gotten used to his new surroundings quite yet. And worry? The ratty blankets he’d found folded and stashed in the corner of an upstairs room made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. Who was hiding away in this little town?

  He gave Lucas’s shoulder a squeeze, then stepped past the broom. “Finish sweeping, and then go across the street and give Elliott and Todd some help with the porch roof, okay?”

  “Sure thing, Anthony.”

  The afternoon passed quickly, and Anthony and the team put away their tools and closed up the buildings at six. They headed to their own trailers to clean up for supper. A good aroma—something rich and savory—floated on the breeze, making his stomach growl in anticipation. He pulled the key from his pocket as he bounded up the steps to the back door, but he didn’t need it. The door was unlocked, and Marty wasn’t inside. He stifled a growl and reminded himself she’d been gone for a couple of days. She was tired and stressed and had probably forgotten his instruction to keep the doors locked.

  A cool shower revived him, and he set the table with eight plates. Enough for himself, his workers, Charlotte, and Marty. Charlotte and Nate carried over two tater-tot-and-hamburger casseroles and a big bowl of salad at six thirty. Marty hadn’t come in, but the men were hungry, so Anthony blessed the food and they started eating. By the time they finished, Marty still hadn’t come in, and she didn’t show to help with the cleanup. She finally knocked on the front door a little before nine.

  He let her in and gave her a reminder about keeping the doors locked. She apologized and promised to do better, then headed to their bedroom. He followed, hoping for some conversation, maybe even something more than conversation, but he caught her putting her nightgown into a bag.

  He frowned. “What are you doing?”

  She glanced at him, her brows low, like she didn’t understand the question. “I told you earlier. I’m going to stay at Brooke’s in case she needs something during the night.” She passed him and entered the bathroom.

  He leaned against the bathroom doorjamb and watched her put her toothbrush, her hairbrush, and a couple of other items in with her gown. “You’re going right now?”

  She shot him an impatient look. “Yes.”

  “You can’t even stay here for an hour? So we can talk a little bit?” She turned toward the door, bag in hand, and he stepped aside to let her out. He followed her into the living room. “What about your supper? Charlotte left a bowl of casserole for you. Why not heat it in the microwave? I already ate.” Of course he had. It was almost bedtime now. “But I’ll sit with you while you eat.”

  “Brooke had some canned soup, so I heated that for us.”

  Canned soup. They’d had a supper of canned soup not so long ago. He’d hoped coming here would take them away from the cloud of tension and regret that hung over their house in Pine Hill, but apparently the cloud had come with them. “So you’re going right back over there.”

  “Anthony, she just got out of the hospital. She’s very weak and shouldn’t be left alone. I—”

  He held up his hand. “All right, all right, go back over. I’ll be going to bed soon anyway.”

  She stared at him, unblinking, for several seconds and then sighed. “I’ll get up in time to help Charlotte with breakfast. Okay?”

  He shrugged in reply, fearful of what might come out if he opened his mouth.

  After another few silent seconds, she opened the door without a word and left. But she hadn’t turned the lock in the door handle. Grumbling under his breath, he stomped to the door and reached to flick the lock. As his fingers connected with the silver button, a woman’s scream pierced the air.

  24

  Anthony

  Anthony’s blood ran cold. He threw o
pen the door and leaped off the porch. “Marty!”

  Marty fell against his sturdy frame. Her shoulders heaved and her breath puffed out, as if she’d just finished running a race. She pointed up the dirt road. “He…he took my bag!”

  Anthony glanced over his shoulder and saw a shadowy figure disappear into the bushes. He’d deal with the thief later. He curled his arms around his shaking wife. “Are you all right? Did he hurt you?”

  Tears brightened her eyes. “I’m fine. He scared me. Came at me so fast.”

  She shuddered and pressed her cheek to his chest. He hated her fear, but it felt good to hold her. He cupped the back of her cap-covered head, the mesh scratchy against his palm, and placed a quick kiss on her forehead. “Your scream probably scared him off.”

  “Well, good! He deserved to be scared! But he took my bag, Anthony. My nightgown and toothbrush…” She pulled loose and peered up at him. “Why would he want those things?”

  Anthony rubbed her back. “He couldn’t know what was in there. Probably thought it was food. What did he look like?”

  Marty scrunched her face, as if struggling to remember. She shook her head and blew out a breath. “I can’t really say. He wasn’t very tall—no taller than me. And pretty thin, I think. But I didn’t really see his face or…or anything else. It all happened so fast.”

  Nate trotted up to them. Worry marred his brow, visible even in the dusk. “We heard Marty scream. What happened?” Before Anthony could answer, the other four men pounded up, all barefoot and Elliott in baggy pajama pants and no shirt. They added their questions.

  Anthony raised his hand. “Someone grabbed Marty’s overnight bag. He ran toward the town. Nate, get Charlotte and have her stay with Marty and Brooke.” Nate darted off. “Everybody else, get dressed, put your shoes on, and grab your flashlights. We’ve got to find him and get him out of here.” If he was brazen enough to grab a bag right from Marty’s hand, what might he do next?

  “Sure thing, Anthony,” Myron said. The men ran toward their trailers.

  Anthony turned Marty toward Brooke’s trailer. “Let’s get you inside. Then I’ll—”

  Marty clung to his shirtfront. “No. Don’t leave us by ourselves.”

  Her fear made her want him. He understood that. But it still felt good to be wanted. He guided her to Brooke’s little porch. “You’ll be all right. Just lock the door, okay?” Marty didn’t release his shirt.

  Brooke’s door opened and light spilled across Marty and Anthony. “What’s going on out here?”

  Marty broke free of Anthony and bounded up the steps. “Brooke, why are you up?”

  “I heard someone scream. Was it you? Did you see a snake or what?”

  Marty slid her arm around Brooke’s waist. “Let me get you back to bed and I’ll tell you.” She eased Brooke inside and shut the door.

  Anthony stood for a moment, staring at the closed door. She’d done what he wanted her to do, so why was he aggravated?

  Nate and Charlotte jogged up to him, holding hands. Nate kissed her on the lips and gave her a quick hug. “Go on in, honey. I’ll come get you when we’re done searching.”

  Charlotte nodded and scampered up the steps. She opened Brooke’s door—which the women hadn’t locked. Anthony called after her, “Lock that door behind you.” She nodded. Anthony waited until he heard the dead bolt turn. Then he grabbed Nate’s arm. “Let’s go.”

  The men headed up the road in a group, their flashlight beams bobbing like a gathering of ghosts. When they reached the cluster of buildings, Anthony instructed Todd and Elliott to search the main-street buildings and Myron and Nate to explore around the old houses west of town. He chose to look around the houses on the east side of town with Lucas as his partner. “Give a shout when you find the intruder. Hold him down, and we’ll all come running.”

  They all nodded grimly. Except Lucas. The youngest of the team couldn’t stop grinning, as if they were playing some kind of cops-and-robbers game. Anthony pushed through the bushes close to where he thought he’d seen the thief disappear, and Lucas ducked in behind him. Lucas kept his flashlight beam straight ahead, but Anthony scanned his back and forth, his gaze seeking any movement.

  The company Brooke had hired to clear the area of dead growth had done a good job, making it fairly easy for them to cross the ground even in the dark. They were noisy, though. Years of accumulated dead leaves and small twigs littered the ground, and their feet crunched with every step. Anthony both bemoaned and welcomed the sound. They might alert the thief to their presence, but if he took off running, they’d hear him.

  Lucas came to a sudden stop. He held his flashlight steady. “What’s that?”

  Anthony squinted through Lucas’s flashlight’s bright beam. His pulse leaped. A plastic shopping bag, one identical to the one Marty had used to carry her nightgown, lay at the base of a large maple tree. So the thief had come this way. He double-stepped to the bag and picked it up. It still held Marty’s overnight items. He tied the handles into a knot around his belt loop.

  “Good find, Lucas. Let’s keep—”

  Lucas put his pointer finger to his lips.

  Frowning, Anthony fell silent. He crunched across the ground to the young man. “What?” He kept his voice soft so the slight breeze rustling leaves in the trees would cover it.

  Lucas didn’t answer, but he slid the beam of his flashlight upward. Anthony followed its path along the tree trunk to the branches above them. Lucas moved the beam slowly back and forth, then nodded. “Yep. I was right.”

  About fourteen feet up, highlighted by the beam of light, someone huddled on a sturdy branch. Even though it was summer and the night was plenty warm, he wore a military-type jacket, a stocking cap, and what looked like hiking boots. The crisscrossing of smaller leaf-covered branches partially shielded him, but Anthony noted that Marty’s “pretty thin” description fit.

  Lucas bumped Anthony with his elbow. “Guess you could say we treed our prey, huh?”

  Anthony nodded, but oddly he experienced no sense of elation. He couldn’t stop staring at their intruder’s pale face nearly overtaken by a pair of wide, fear-filled eyes.

  Lucas kept his beam in place but turned his head and cupped his mouth. “Found ’im! Everybody, we found ’im!”

  While Lucas gripped his flashlight in both hands, Anthony reached toward the intruder. “Come on down from there.” The person shrank against the trunk, as if trying to hide. It was too late for that now. “I’ll climb up and get you if I have to, but I’d rather you came down on your own.”

  The boy—because Anthony was now pretty sure this was a boy and not a man—buried his face in the bend of his elbow. Anthony sighed. He hoped he wouldn’t have to climb the tree. They’d had a long day, he was tired, and all of a sudden he felt twice his age.

  Myron and Nate broke through the bushes. Moments later, Elliott and Todd joined them. They all stood in a half circle under the tree and gaped at their intruder. Nate shook his head. “I expected somebody bigger. Bet he’s even younger than Lucas.”

  Anthony put his hands on his hips. “Last chance to come down before I come up.” The kid didn’t move a muscle. Stubborn kid, anyway. Anthony sighed and took a step closer to the tree. “Nate, gimme a boost, would you?”

  As Nate stepped forward, the boy stood on the branch. Hugging the tree, he sent a frantic look across the men on the ground. “All right, mister. I’ll come down.”

  Anthony froze. His voice…Could he be a—

  Nate clamped his hand on Anthony’s shoulder. “That sounded like a girl.” Behind them, the men muttered their agreement.

  The boy—or was he really a she?—blinked down at Anthony. “But you gotta promise not to turn me in. I don’t wanna go back. Please…” The flashlight beam glistened on twin tears sliding down the girl’s grimy cheeks. “Don’t make me go back.”


  Brooke

  Marty had done her level best to coax Brooke back to bed, but she wasn’t budging from the sofa until Anthony returned and she knew whether or not the men had caught the thief who’d had the audacity to accost Marty not ten feet from her front door. After a good twenty minutes of fussing, Marty had finally settled at the opposite end of the sofa, but Charlotte still paced, casting uneasy glances at the stereo with each pass.

  Brooke knew she shouldn’t find the young woman’s angst amusing, but really, what was the harm in listening to Ronnie Milsap croon “I Wouldn’t Have Missed It for the World”? Now, if she were playing one of her mother’s acid rock eight-track tapes, Charlotte’s consternation would be understandable. But Brooke never listened to acid rock. Occasionally classic rock. The Beatles lurked somewhere in her stash of CDs. But she used music to soothe herself, not drive herself into a frenzy. Life did that well enough on its own. Tonight’s activity coupled with the message Tim Park had left on her cell phone—drat Marty for keeping the phone from her!—was proof of that.

  Charlotte stopped midstride and turned her gaze to the window. “I see flashlights. Two of them. Looks like Nate and Anthony are back.”

  Brooke hit the mute button on the stereo remote and braced her arm against her midsection, preparing to stand.

  Marty bolted over and took hold of Brooke’s arm. “Stay put. You don’t have to get up. Charlotte will let them in.”

  Brooke sagged against the cushions. As much as she wanted to argue, her muscles still ached from getting herself out of bed less than an hour ago.

  Charlotte unlocked the dead bolt and swung the door open as feet clomped on the metal porch. Nate came in first, his expression unreadable. He went straight to Charlotte, and she melted against him, as if they’d been apart for weeks instead of an hour. Brooke experienced a quick, unexpected prick of jealousy. What would it be like to have someone welcome you after an absence?