“Friend?” Peggy raised her brow. “If your goal is friendship, you may have given her the wrong impression when you climbed on top of her.”
“Whoa…” Barbara’s almond eyes rounded into big circles of surprise again.
“I lost my head, Peg.”
“That you did.”
“And my mind.”
“That, too.” Peggy sucked her teeth and rested her chin in her hand, then let out a big sigh of resignation. It was hard to stay mad at Riley. And it was hard not to feel for Fiona and Edy. Their situation tore her up inside. “But how exactly do you plan to set her free? Play superhero? Rescue the victims from the perpetrator? I will do anything within our legal limits to get Fiona and Edy out of there. But I’m telling you now, Riley, the most dangerous thing you can do is get yourself trapped in a love triangle with a sociopath.”
“Worse things could happen.”
“I can’t think of anything at the moment because…” Peggy stopped when she felt herself choke up and struggled to compose herself. “I don’t know what we’d do if something happened to you.”
“I know what I’d do,” Barbara chimed in. “I’d knock that motherfucker unconscious and impale him on a—”
“Enough,” Peggy said. “You’re both making me anxious. If any harm came to Riley, I’d impale Jim Barrett myself.” She reached for the smudge of dirt on Riley’s cheek and rubbed it away with her thumb. “You’re family, you know. We love you.”
Riley shot her a kiddish smile. “Thanks, Mom. I mean Moms,” she said, looking at Barbara, and Peggy saw the deep affection in those strangely human eyes. “I love you, too. And please don’t worry. Let me do the worrying for now. Everything will turn out fine.”
* * *
Fiona sat on the edge of Edy’s bed, looking at her in the dim glow of a night-light. A cool breeze blew through the window. She pushed Edy’s bangs away, kissed her forehead, and then reached across her to pat the two big lumps under the covers. “Are you sure you want to sleep with these two?”
Edy didn’t trust her father not to finish what he’d started and had insisted on keeping Gomez and Morticia safe in bed with her. The temperature had dropped from the high eighties to the low sixties—one of the things Fiona loved most about summer nights in the country—and she suspected the turtles were enjoying the warmth emanating from Edy. They hadn’t moved, but just in case, Fiona had tucked the cotton blanket under the mattress all around, to keep them from falling out of bed if they woke up before her.
“Did you say your prayers?”
“Yep.” Edy made a face. “I asked Jesus to make Daddy really tired so that he’d just fall asleep and leave us alone.”
“I think it worked. Do you hear that?” They stopped talking and listened to the snoring.
“He sounds like a walrus,” Edy said.
Surprisingly, a visit from the chief of police had calmed Jim right down. He’d seemed scared after that, oddly subdued, even though he’d managed to talk his way out of it. Jim had a talent for getting over on people. And Chief Foster had no reason to question what went on. After all, their window was broken, and he’d seen the rock on the kitchen floor while taking a report.
As always, Fiona had substantiated Jim’s story, while Edy knew enough to go to her room with Gomez and keep her mouth shut. Jim didn’t say a word after he left. And he wasn’t hungry either. He took a shower and went straight to bed. Hearing him snore now was a relief. Usually after being away, he came home wanting to be fed and serviced, and Fiona complied with her wifely duties, her mind going somewhere else, far away, as he ravaged her.
“We don’t have to stay here,” Edy said. “We could take the turtles and go live with Riley.”
“Shhh…” Fiona put a finger to her lips. “Don’t say her name.”
“Daddy can’t hear us.”
“Still…it’s not safe to ever say her name in this house.”
“Then why don’t we just go stay there?” Edy whispered.
“Where?”
“In her house.”
“Because we live here. We can’t move in with someone else.”
“Why not? Riley’s got room for us,” Edy said, her voice so hushed Fiona could hardly hear her. “She lives all by herself. She’s probably lonely. I know she wouldn’t mind us being there. And she’d let us bring the turtles.”
Fiona couldn’t help but laugh to herself. Kids always had simple solutions at the ready. Probably because their brains couldn’t fully grasp cause-and-effect relationships or understand how solving one problem can create others. It was interesting that Edy would suggest this solution, though. Children usually had a difficult time with divorce, and here her child was more than willing to pack her bags, leave her dad, and move in with her mom’s long-lost friend. It made her think about what Riley had said about raising Edy with her. If only…
Reuniting with Riley, kissing her yesterday and spending the afternoon today, had left her with a desire for a life she couldn’t have. It brought to mind her former neighbors who couldn’t stop their dog’s incessant barking when it was out in the yard. Their fence was wire, and all the dog did was run back and forth, yapping at cars, people, and other dogs passing by. A trainer they’d consulted called it the frustration barrier—being stimulated by things you see and want but can’t access. The remedy was to put up a solid fence to block the view and eliminate the dog’s frustration. That had worked.
Sitting there, Fiona realized that was what she’d done: put up a solid fence around her mind so she couldn’t look out and see the things she couldn’t have. But now the fence had fallen. Long ago she’d come to terms with the idea that Riley had stopped loving her, that she’d gone on with her life and never looked back. Somehow that was easier than knowing she’d been wrong, that Riley was right here, single, available, that her feelings had never waned. Talk about frustration barriers.
Edy looked up at Fiona, her head on the pillow, and motioned with a waving hand for Fiona to come closer.
Fiona bent her head, bringing her face closer. Edy moved the hair away from Fiona’s ear and whispered, “We have to at least go over there tomorrow. Just for a minute. To thank her for breaking the window and saving Gomez.”
Whether Jim would have eaten the turtle, Fiona didn’t know, but he had intended to boil Gomez alive. As soon as the rock had come through the window, she knew Riley had stuck around after seeing Jim’s truck. And she knew Riley had called the police. As soon as Jim had gone off to take a shower, she had texted Riley to say thanks and let her know they were okay, but told her not to respond. Then she’d deleted the text for fear Jim would see it. “We can’t go there, baby. Not tomorrow.”
“Why not? Don’t we have to go grocery shopping tomorrow? Daddy won’t come. He’ll be doing stuff in the barn…plus he’ll be shopping online for cameras.”
“Did he say that?”
“You didn’t hear him? He said he’s putting up cameras around the house.”
“No, I…I guess I wasn’t paying attention.”
“I need to warn her…I mean…”
“Warn who? Your coyote?”
“Sort of,” Edy said.
“Does she have a name?”
“She does…but it’s a secret.”
“A secret between you and her?”
“I think so…sort of. But you can look at the picture I drew of her.”
“Really?”
“Uh-huh. It’s on my desk.”
Fiona got up and wandered over to it, turning on the desk lamp and pulling out the spiral sketch pad from underneath a bunch of colored pencils held together by a rubber band. Edy wasn’t as good an artist as Fiona had been at that age, math and science being her strength, but her drawings were pretty good.
Fiona flipped open the sketch pad and marveled over the illustration. This one was certainly above average. On either side of the paper was the white-and-black bark of birch trees, and peeking out between the trunks was the partially hidden f
ace of a coyote.
“You drew this tonight?”
“Yep.”
“How long did it take?”
“About two hours.”
“It’s really very good.” And it was. Very realistic. Except for the shape of the eyes. They looked a little too human. Their color was amazing, though. Edy had spent a lot of time detailing the irises with brown and gold and yellow pencils. The colors reminded Fiona of Riley’s eyes, and she smiled as she thought back to that time on the dock, when it had struck her that Riley’s golden eyes were the same color as her sun-kissed hair, both blending so well with her tanned skin that she would have been perfectly camouflaged standing in the woods. That was the same day she’d whittled Riley’s animal spirit…the one that still hung on her keychain.
Thinking about it brought a wave of sadness. And looking at this portrait of Edy’s coyote friend brought concern. Dr. Spencer had said that, during times of stress or after traumatic events, children cope by regressing to an earlier emotional age—the brain’s way of protecting itself, she supposed. Edy was now turning eleven, so emotionally she might feel more like eight, which would explain this imaginary coyote who’d become her nighttime visitor and confidante.
Not that there weren’t plenty of coyotes around. She often heard them yipping and howling in the distance. But it was highly improbable that one would have the nerve or inclination to sit outside a little girl’s window and listen sympathetically to her woes.
Fiona put down the sketch pad, closed the window against the chill, and went back to Edy’s bed. “You should hang that up.”
“It’s not for me. I made it for Riley. It’s important that I give it to her tomorrow.”
“Not tomorrow, baby. I’m not even sure where she lives. You can take it with you to Dr. Spencer’s office and leave it there for her.”
“But I know where she lives. I looked it up in that old phone book in the pantry. We don’t even have to go in. You can wait in the car while—”
“Shh…” Fiona put a finger to Edy’s lips. “Keep your voice down.”
“Sorry, Mom.”
Fiona leaned down and kissed her forehead. “You are relentless.”
“What’s that mean?”
“You don’t give up.”
“Then if you give in, does that mean you’re relentful?”
“Relenting.”
Edy grinned. “That means you’ll take me?”
“You’re trying to trick me. I didn’t say I would relent.”
“But—”
“No buts. Go to sleep now.” Fiona sat there, tickling the palm of Edy’s hand, her fingers moving in light circles. That always seemed to soothe and quickly knock her out. Edy closed her eyes. Fiona kept at it for a few minutes. When she heard her breathing change and knew she’d fallen asleep, she tiptoed out of the room.
How she dreaded going into her own room to crawl in bed beside Jim—the walrus, as Edy called him. She would have much preferred to curl up with a real walrus. It was wrong to hate but, God forgive her, she despised that man.
Chapter Eleven
Riley had asked Peggy to let her do the worrying, and now she had plenty of it to do, especially after driving back to retrieve her phone at the first hint of daylight and finding it gone. She was sure Jim had gotten ahold of it. If he did, he’d have seen that a call had been made to his wife’s number. Maybe he’d come after her. Or maybe he’d take it to the police. That scared her more than anything. Paul Foster wouldn’t know what to make of Riley’s phone being found on the property.
She just wanted to sleep. The recent lack of it, combined with these frequent and uncontrolled changes, had her exhausted, running around on nervous energy. After returning from the farm, she’d flopped into bed again, hoping to grab another hour of rest before it was time to get dressed and head to campus to give her final exam. At least she wouldn’t have to lecture today. She could sit quietly in the room and ruminate over things.
Riley had just drifted off when the smell of coffee wafted into the bedroom. Her machine was programmed for eight o’clock, and the stimulating aroma was enough to get her up. It was the last day of class, and she’d make it a casual one. She showered, slipped into jeans and a short-sleeved white shirt, and was pouring coffee when the phone rang. Her heart pounded as she went to the landline on her night table, half expecting to see POLICE on the caller ID, but it was Tom. A tremendous relief.
“Good morning.”
“And it’s a good one,” he said, sounding a little too happy. “Guess what?”
“I heard. My results are in.”
“Barb told you already?”
“I had dinner with them last night. She said you’d stop by later in the week when you drop David’s kittens off at the church. Nice maneuver, buddy.”
“I know.” Tom laughed. “Is that a perfect excuse to visit or what? He’ll have to invite me in, and I’ll get to learn more about him…how he lives…how he decorates.”
“Decorates?”
“Sure. You can tell a lot about a person from their personal space. I want to get a better sense of who he is…what he likes.”
“Let’s just hope he likes kittens as much as you like him.” Riley cradled the phone in her shoulder as she poured milk into her coffee.
“I’ve been thinking about adopting one, too. The solid-gray one. If I do, maybe the reverend and I can schedule playdates.”
“Playdates for the cats or for you and David?”
“Just saying his name gives me the chills. David…” he said dreamily.
“Oh, jeez, Tom.”
“What can I say.” He laughed again. “I used to live for Friday nights at the bar. Now I live for Sunday service. He’s all I think about.”
“You mean in between your hookups?”
“I haven’t had any since seeing his picture on that website.”
“The picture you think was of him.”
“I know it was him. And believe you me, if I were with him there would be no more hookups. I’d marry that man.”
“You might want to hold that thought until you see how he decorates. The wrong decor, an incompatible taste in furniture or color schemes might be a deal breaker for you.” Riley spooned some sugar into her cup and stirred her coffee. “Anyway, about my results…”
“Well, you know this was a very tricky and covert operation. Nature seriously tinkered with your genes, so I had to tinker with my tests. I used a few, like autosomal and mitochondrial. Obviously, I couldn’t do a Y-line because that’s between father and son, and I can’t connect you to descendants from any of your ancestral lines because I couldn’t save you in a database. But I put did put together two pages of information—privately, on my home computer. I was thinking of picking up the kittens from Miriam Friday evening after work. Will you be in the office?”
“Not after four o’clock. I have two clients away on vacation.”
“Then I’ll stop by the house after David’s.”
“Come for dinner. I’ll invite Peg and Barb and grill some steaks.” Despite her usual avoidance of red meat, she’d been fighting an intense craving for it. “But tell me now what I have in me. I need a distraction.”
“Now? You sure?”
“Yep.”
“Okay, but only because I’m having a hard time keeping it to myself.”
“Shoot.”
“Well, extracting DNA from your cells was easy enough, but running genetic markers through algorithms from totally different databases was a big challenge. I owe my genetic-genealogist friend big-time for letting me use a canine database that included wolves and coyotes. I told him my sister had a dog mixed with coyote, and since it’s sort of illegal to keep a coydog as a pet, she was super paranoid about having its DNA stored in a database. I didn’t have to worry about your human DNA showing up because there’s no reference for it in a dog-breed database. I’m at work now so I don’t have my laptop, but on your canine side you are coywolf. Mostly coyote. My best
estimate is around twenty-three-percent Canis latrans. Less than seven-percent Canis lupus.”
“Wow…” It shouldn’t have come as such a shock, since she’d been turning into said animal for over twenty years now, but having it confirmed, knowing it was spelled out right there in her DNA made her a little light-headed. Hearing it was harder than she’d imagined.
“Riley? You still there?”
“I’m here.” She walked to the dining-room table, pulled out a chair, and sat facing the doors, staring out past the deck at the treetops swaying gently in the morning breeze.
“What’s wrong?” he asked. “You’re not surprised, are you? I mean, considering the eastern coyote is mixed with gray wolf, I suspected both would show up. Didn’t you?”
“I guess.”
“Also, I was doing some more reading on the coywolf. You know from your own research that the eastern coyote runs about twelve-percent wolf, so ratio-wise, that gives you a bit more wolf blood—or should I say a bite more—than your coyote friends.”
“Huh! So, I really am part eastern coyote…coywolf.”
“Confirmed. And now for the shocking part…you might want to sit down for this.”
“I am sitting. Just spill it, Tom.” Riley held her breath.
“Well, you’re forty percent Scandinavian. Looking at your mitochondrial genome, it appears your biological mother was Northern European.”
“Interesting…”
“Which is not to say she wasn’t American born, but in terms of her lineage…”
“I get it. And the rest?”
“Well, so here’s the shocker. At least it was for me. You’re about twenty-five percent Native American.”
“What? Indian?”
“Yes, Native American Indian.”
“That can’t be right, Tom. My features…my coloring…I don’t look Native American at all. How can this be possible?”
“Well, it’s there. But don’t let Donald Trump know. He might do what he did to Elizabeth Warren and change your nickname from Wiley Riley to Pocahontas.”
Coyote Blues Page 21
