by N L Hinkens
“Wow, thanks. I really appreciate that,” Ray said. ”I dropped my GPS and cracked the screen. I’ve been trying to figure out where I’m at from my map, but I can’t make much sense of it.”
“My condolences on your mother’s passing,” Buck said, gesturing to Ray to follow him.
“To be honest we weren’t … close,” Ray said falling in behind Buck as he waded deeper into the undergrowth. “We hadn’t spoken in years.”
“How about Tom?” Buck asked.
Ray puckered his brow. “I think he kept in touch with our mother. I didn’t realize it until I was going through her things and found the coordinates for his cabin. He and I were pretty tight when we were kids, but we lost touch when we were teenagers.”
“Brace yourself. He might not be too happy to see you,” Buck warned. ”He’s a strange one. Keeps to himself.”
“Tell me about it,” Ray replied. ”I hired a private investigator years ago to try and find him but he even stumped her.”
“That’s kind of the point of living here,” Buck retorted with a grunt.
They fell silent for the rest of the way until Buck came to a halt and pointed up ahead. ”That’s Tom’s cabin straight through that clump of trees.” He tipped his fingers to his forehead. ”Good luck. And watch your back.”
His forbidding tone sent an icy shiver down Ray’s spine. Did Buck know something about Tom that he wasn’t telling him? Was he dangerous? Had he become a raging alcoholic like their father? Whatever the case, Ray intended to take the warning to heart. He hadn’t even considered the possibility that he might be endangering himself by dropping in on Tom unannounced. He almost wished now that he’d packed a weapon. It had been twenty years since he’d set eyes on his brother, and he knew nothing about the man he’d become.
He waited until Buck disappeared into the wooded mountainside and then took a few deep breaths. He couldn’t back out now. He needed to muster his courage and go knock on the cabin door. The fact that his brother was alive was enough to propel him forward. Surely the bond they had once shared would guarantee a heartfelt reunion, despite the divergent paths their lives had taken. It was unlikely after all these years that Ray would be able to talk Tom into returning to civilization. But with the money he stood to inherit from his mother, that option was open to him.
Ray approached the cabin cautiously, his heartbeat ratcheting up several notches with each step. He wasn’t sure how he was going to react when he actually set eyes on Tom. The well of suppressed emotion inside him ran deep. He blinked to clear his vision as he padded quietly toward the front door. Evidently, Tom didn’t have a dog to alert him to the presence of strangers. He stepped up onto the porch and peered through the small window to the right of the door. His eyes widened, the breath leaving his lungs at the sight that greeted him. Despite the unkempt hair and bristly beard, there was no mistaking the man hurriedly shoving items into a leather hunting pack laid out on the table. Tom!
Abandoning all caution, Ray depressed the wooden door handle, and swung the door open.
Time rolled to a standstill as their eyes met—each drinking the other in.
“Ray?” Tom blurted out at last. His voice was rough and resonant, nothing like the thin, trembling voice of the broken child Ray remembered.
He took a step forward to embrace him, but Tom drew back. He threw a skittish glance at the pack in his hand, his expression hardening. ”You shouldn’t have come here.”
Ray winced at the caustic tone—so like their father’s—that cut to the core. He gave an embarrassed laugh in a vain attempt to hide how hurt he was. “What kind of a welcome is that after twenty years?”
Tom sniffed and ran the back of his hand under his nose. “What do you want, Ray?”
”I came to tell you that our mother passed away. I found the coordinates to this place when I was going through her stuff.” He paused and swallowed the lump scratching at his throat. “I thought you were dead all these years, Tom. Did she know you were alive?”
He grunted, avoiding Ray’s penetrating gaze. “I sent her the coordinates when I built the place. Figured someone should have them.”
Ray gestured to the hunting pack on the table. ”You didn’t know she was dead, did you? Is that where you’re going, to visit her?”
A dark look settled on Tom’s face. ”I haven’t set eyes on her since the day I left. You of all people should know better than to think I would want a relationship with her.”
“But you were quite happy to take her money,” Ray shot back.
“I don’t care about her money—you can have it!” Tom darted an uneasy glance at the door. ”You should go. I can’t do this right now.”
“Why not? When should we do it?” Ray protested. “I spent the best part of two hours hiking up this mountain, not to mention getting lost, just to see you. He unhitched his backpack and dropped it on the floor. I thought I could spend the night. We need to talk—get reacquainted.”
Tom wet his lips in a nervous fashion. ”You can’t stay here. It’s too dangerous.”
“What are you talking about? You live here. You’re not making any sense,” Ray replied. “Look, I don’t know what’s going on with you, Tom. I don’t know what you need the money for. Maybe you’re hitting the bottle like our father, But, whatever it is, I’m here for you now. I want to help.”
Tom closed the flap on his leather pack and pulled the drawstring tight. ”You can’t help me, Ray. I don’t need rescuing anymore. I need you to leave, now.”
“What? You can’t be serious! I only just got here. Are you really going to throw me out?”
Tom reached for the rifle on the wall behind him and fixed a cold gaze on Ray. “I will if I have to.”
Ray held up his hands in front of him. ”Okay! Easy, Tom. Look, I realize I sprung this visit on you. But we need to talk—not just about the estate, about everything that’s gone on in our lives since I saw you last. How about I leave you my number and you can call me from town when you’re ready? I’ll come and pick you up.” He rummaged around in his pack for one of the pens he always carried with him in case he ran across a story. He tore off a corner of the map and scribbled down his number. “Don’t wait too long,” he said, setting it on the table. “It’s been far too long already.”
He swung his backpack onto his shoulders and turned to go, hesitating at a rustling sound above him. Glancing up at the loft bed, he let out a sharp gasp.
A small boy with terror-filled eyes was peering down at him.
25
Ray blinked up at the loft bed in disbelief. “Am I ... seeing things or is that a child up there?”
Tom flapped an arm angrily at the boy. ”I thought I warned you not to show your face!”
Quick as a fish darting into a reef, the boy vanished beneath a blanket.
Aghast, Ray turned to his brother. “Tom! What’s that kid doing here?”
Tom sniffed hard, his eyes shifting all around the room. ”He’s my son. Not that it’s any of your business.”
“You … you have a son?” Ray shook his head, incredulous. “I can’t believe this. First, I find out you’re alive, now I learn I have a nephew. How … I mean, who’s—“
“His mother left us,” Tom said abruptly. “It’s nothing I want to talk about, so don’t ask.”
“Can you at least tell me your son’s name?” Ray asked, fighting to keep his tone calm.
Tom scowled and reached for a coat hanging by the door. “His name’s Henry.”
“Henry Jenkins,” Ray muttered, trying to collect his thoughts. He couldn’t wrap his head around the idea that Tom was a father. Was that the reason Celia had been sending him money each month? It made sense that she would be concerned about her grandchild’s welfare, especially knowing where he was living. But something didn’t add up. Looking around the humble surroundings, it was apparent Tom wasn’t spending the money on taking care of the kid.
Beyond that, the more pressing question on Ray’s mind wa
s whether Tom was a fit father for a young child. It was alarming to think the boy was up here in the mountains without his mother, or access to healthcare, or education, or any friends his own age. Tom didn’t even have a dog for him to play with. Ray gritted his teeth. He needed to make his brother see sense. But he had to tread carefully. Judging by the way Tom had snapped at the boy, he was basing his parenting style on habits he’d learned in his own childhood—none of which were healthy. ”Did our mother know about Henry?” Ray asked.
Tom looked surprised by the question. ”Course not.”
“How old is Henry?”
After a beat of silence, Tom answered, “He’s … four.”
Ray’s heart sank a little further. He had a sneaking suspicion “four” was Tom’s best estimate. Talk about being a negligent father. Was he not keeping track of his own son’s age? History repeating itself. Their father had never known when their birthdays were—nor had he cared.
“Tom,” Ray said, doing his best to keep his voice level, ”You can’t raise a small boy out in the mountains alone like this. It’s not good for him. He should be in school. He needs to have friends. What if he gets sick or something?”
Tom’s eyes glinted with anger. “Don’t stick your nose into my business. I know what’s best for him. I’m taking care of him.”
“Really?” Ray motioned to Tom’s leather hunting pack. ”Looks like you were getting ready to head out alone when I arrived. Henry was in bed. Do you leave him here by himself when you go hunting? Is that what you call taking care of him?”
Tom jutted his chin out. “I’m bringing him with me.”
Ray frowned. “Didn’t look like it—the way he was hiding under the blanket like that. Regardless, he’s only four years old, way too young to take hunting. It’s dangerous to have a small child around guns.”
“You have no idea of the kind of danger he’s in.” Tom threw him a dark look as he yelled up to the loft area, ”Henry! Get down here, now! We’re leaving.”
“Tom!” Ray gasped. “Quit threatening him like that! He didn’t do anything.”
“Hurry up!” Tom barked up the ladder.
Stewing in a mixture of anger and helplessness, Ray watched as the little boy’s face reappeared from under the blanket. He stared solemnly at Ray but made no attempt to climb down.
Tom muttered something unintelligible under his breath, then stood on the bottom rung and grabbed the boy around the waist. Henry wriggled in his arms, whimpering.
“Knock it off!” Tom snapped as he set Henry down on the floor. “We have to go. And you can’t make a sound.”
Trying to mask his shock, Ray took stock of the boy’s neglected appearance. His dark curls were filthy and matted, his face so engrained with dirt that his eyes looked like marshmallows set in mud. He was wearing pants that were way too big for him, held up at the waist by a piece of string. Judging by the dried stains on the front, he was having difficulty undoing the string quickly enough to relieve himself.
Ray rubbed a shaking hand over his jaw. This was child abuse. If the authorities knew the conditions Henry was living in, they would remove him immediately. He had to do something. Kneeling in front of the boy, he smiled gently at him. ”Hi there, Henry. My name’s Ray. Nice to meet you.”
Henry jammed his thumb into his mouth, his eyes flitting anxiously between Ray and Tom.
”Where are his toys?” Ray fumed. “Doesn’t he have a teddy or something? He looks half scared to death.”
Tom frowned as he reached for his hunting pack. ”You best get out of here now. Me and the boy have stuff to do.”
“The boy?” Ray echoed. ”Is that how you refer to your son when he’s standing right here in front of you. Can’t you at least use his name? Don’t you remember what it felt like when dad yelled at us, get over here, boy?”
“I never had a dad,” Tom growled, elbowing past him. He gripped Henry by the shoulder and stared defiantly at Ray. “Whether you like it or not, Henry’s none of your business.”
“He is my business, Tom. This is my nephew we’re talking about. I’ve never seen a more neglected child in all my life. You ought to be ashamed of yourself. How can you call yourself a father? You’re depriving him of everything a kid needs to grow up happy and secure.”
“You don’t understand,” Tom hissed. ”I’m doing the best I can.”
“Well, your best isn’t good enough,” Ray fired back. ”He’s not being properly taken care of, not by a long shot. This isn’t right.”
Tom reached for his gun. ”I’m not gonna warn you again. Get off my property!”
“Are you crazy?” Ray asked. “Put the gun down! You’re scaring Henry.” He bent down and picked the boy up in his arms, trying not to gag at the stench of him. He smelled as if he’d been steeped in four years of filth and never been bathed. “Is your daddy scaring you, buddy?”
Henry started sobbing so quietly it was almost as if he’d been trained not to make a sound even in the depths of despair. Ray’s heart ached for him. He knew how that felt. “It’s okay,” he soothed, rubbing Henry’s back in small circles.
“I … m-m-miss Mommy!” he sobbed.
Ray pinned a steely gaze on Tom. “Where is his mother?” he demanded. “Have you tried to reach out to her at all?”
Tom raised his rifle and pointed it at Ray. “It’s time for you to leave. Put the boy down.”
“Okay, okay,” Ray said in a placating tone. His heart thudded against his ribs. He needed time to think this through. He couldn’t leave the child here, but he couldn’t push Tom to the breaking point either and risk Henry taking a stray bullet. He set him down in a rocking chair—the only seating in the shack, apart from a storage bench—and reached for his backpack, sick to his stomach. Did Tom make the kid sit on the floor to eat? Or was he forced to stay up in the loft bed? Ray couldn’t decide which was worse, eating on the floor like a dog, or being a virtual prisoner in your own bed. A chill passed over him. Tom wasn’t right in the head. He couldn’t in good conscience leave Henry here with him one more day.
Tom slowly lowered the rifle and laid it on the table. He folded his arms in front of him, a sullen look on his face as he waited for Ray to exit the cabin.
“I’m leaving, but I’m taking Henry with me,” Ray announced. “He needs medical attention. What you’re doing to him is criminal.”
“Don’t you dare threaten me,” Tom snarled, reaching for his hunting pack. ”If you’re so concerned about his welfare, maybe you should think about the fact that Henry’s been through enough already losing his mother. How do you think he’s going to feel if you rip him away from me too?”
“You’re not a fit father, Tom,” Ray said. ”Open your eyes and take a good look at your son. He looks like a refugee. You’re every bit as bad as our father was—you’re full of pent-up rage. Are you hitting the bottle too? Henry’s terrified of you. I saw it in his eyes the minute he peered down from the loft. After everything we went through as kids, I can’t believe you would bully and abuse an innocent child.”
“You’ve no idea what you’re talking about,” Tom spat back, dropping his pack at his feet. “You don’t even know me anymore.”
“You’re right, Tom. I don’t know you. And I don’t like what I see now that I’m here.”
Fists flying, Tom lunged for him, spittle flying from his mouth. Instinctively, Ray threw a defensive punch, catching him square on the chin. Tom stumbled, clearly dazed, before toppling backward over his hunting pack.
The last thing Ray heard before Tom hit the floor was the crack of his head as he slammed against the storage bench.
26
Ray stood frozen in place, eyes planted on his brother sprawled motionless on the cabin floor. His shoulders sagged in relief when Tom moaned softly and stirred. Ray stole a glance at Henry, his little body trembling in the chair, before making a split-second decision. Any minute now, Tom would be back on his feet, more enraged than ever. He couldn’t leave Henry here with h
im. It wasn’t safe. Neglect was one thing, but Henry’s cowering demeanor suggested Tom was also physically abusive—he’d lunged at Ray, after all. At the very least, he was unstable, and unwilling to listen to reason. This was no environment for a small child.
Before he could change his mind, Ray hurriedly threw on his pack, picked Henry up in his arms and fled. With a bit of luck, Tom would be too dazed to follow them—at least until they had got enough of a head start to make it safely out of his reach. Ray had no idea how to get back to the Deep Creek Campground where he’d left his truck, but if he could just get down the mountain, he could figure out his bearings after that.
He set off at a jog in the direction he thought he’d come from but was soon forced to slow to a walk. The brush was too thick and the terrain too treacherous to risk a spill with Henry in his arms. He considered abandoning his pack and putting Henry on his back, but the child was clinging to him like a limpet, and he feared peeling him off his chest might only traumatize him further. Instead, he focused all his efforts on putting as much distance as possible between themselves and the cabin.
Fifteen minutes in, Ray was feeling the strain of his load. After checking over his shoulder to make sure they weren’t being followed, he searched for a hollow to rest in. Sinking down on a lichen-covered log, he pulled out his Hydro Flask and offered Henry a swig of water. The child stood there staring at him with a bewildered look on his face, a tell-tale tremble revving up in his bottom lip.
“It’s okay, buddy,” Ray soothed. “I know you’re scared, but everything’s going to be all right.”
He dug a granola bar out of his pack and held it out to Henry. After a moment’s hesitation, he grabbed it and clutched it in his fist like a lollipop.
