by Frankie Love
Her husband, Wilder, comes up behind her, looking at me, and he smiles. "You making my woman cry?"
"I was just telling James that he has the sweetest babies." She pushes out her bottom lip. "I miss mine being so small."
Wilder scowls playfully. "Woman, you have plenty of babies in the house."
She shrugs, pouting. "But none so tiny. Mine talk back now."
"You’re not allowed to get baby fever, you understand," he tells her, wagging a finger at her, with a smile on his face.
Stella raises an eyebrow. "I know ways to make you change your mind."
"Uh, I think I'm gonna go check on Jonah," I tell them, not wanting to be here when they start getting all hot and bothered.
Stella twists her lips. "He's busy."
I narrow my eyes. "What's he doing?"
"He went to town with Josie. Something about needing supplies?"
I shake my head, having noticed the way Jonah looked at that waitress. She's a sweetheart but damn, she has that glazed over look that screams I want a baby, and I want you to be the daddy. There are too many kids up here, and she's been helping babysit all of them—I won't be surprised if she has Jonah wrapped around her finger by the end of the winter.
That weekend, the cabin is done. With more space to spread out, we've put the babies in their own cribs in one bedroom, set up another room for me, and the third is a guest room where Jonah is crashing.
Today, though, Josie came over to hang out on her day off. She and Jonah are in the babies’ room installing a closet organizer and I'm loading the dishwasher. It's like we're a big happy family—except we are missing the one person I need for this to work.
I close the dishwasher door, and head to the record player, I ordered it online, a copy of Pet Sounds too—Cherish's favorite—and let the song Let's Go Away For Awhile fill the low rafters of the cabin, and I add a few logs to the fireplace. I'm guessing a winter snowstorm is going to come in the next few weeks, and the chill has already come through.
I'm handing Jacob, who's in a Jump-a-Roo in the living room, a teething biscuit when there is a knock on the door.
Frowning, I walk over and pull it open, not expecting anyone, and not having heard a car pull in.
When I open the door, I find a young woman who looks like she's seen better days.
Much better days.
She wears a long dirty dress, a bulky winter coat about three sizes too big, and a pair of sturdy boots, and her hair's in a long braid.
"James?" she asks, her eyes filled with exhaustion.
My eyes narrow. "Who are you?"
She swallows, then reaches into her coat pocket. "I'm a friend of Cherish. And she asked me to give this to you." The woman unfurls her hand, and in her palm, is the guitar pick that has crisscrossed the country.
"You know where Cherish is?" I ask, my hands shaking as I take the pick from her.
She nods. "Yes. And she needs you. Now more than ever."
Chapter Eighteen
Josie, Jonah, and I each have a baby in our arms. The woman who looks like a train wreck personified stands before us, all of us slack-jawed and shocked.
"Where is she?" I ask, pacing the room. "Tell me, I have to go, I have to get her."
The woman nods. "I know. Cherish needs you. I hitchhiked here because she needs your help. I left last night and traveled all night. I'm just so tired. And so, so..." She covers her face, heavy sobs escaping her.
"Oh sweetie, let me get you some tea, and some food," Josie says, setting Jamie in a Pack n Play, and heads to the small kitchen and turns on the electric tea kettle.
Jonah and I eye one another anxiously, trying to understand the deal. "Where did you travel from?" I ask again. I can't just sit around here if she knows where my woman is. I need to go get her. Bring her home.
"In eastern Montana. It's about 11 hours from here, way out in the middle of nowhere."
"We've been going to Montana every week for the last five months," I tell her. "Where exactly were you?"
“A few hours east of Circle." She shakes her head as if trying to remember details. "The property is so far out, and I've lived there all my life. I didn't even know where I was on a map until I got in a car last night and asked the couple who picked me up for directions." She takes a crumbled piece of paper from her coat pocket. "This is the closest I could come to an address. The compound is off the grid, but there are a lot of us out here. At least six hundred."
Jonah whistles slowly, and I take the paper from her hand and then head to the hallway where I have a giant map of Montana, red lines drawn over the routes we've taken, the land we've scoured. We never made it to Circle, but we weren't too far off. We were looking in the right state at least.
"I gotta go get her," I tell them.
Jonah stands. "You aren't going alone."
Josie hands the woman a steaming mug of tea, casting a scowl at Jonah and me. I have no fucking clue what we did wrong, but Josie is letting us know there is something we missed.
"Sweetie, what's your name?"
Oh, I guess asking that would be the polite thing here—but I honestly don't have time for polite.
"Grace," she says, then biting her bottom lip, she looks at us worriedly. "Look, I understand you want to go find her, and you need to, but it's very dangerous there. You'll need guns, some sort of protection."
"I don't need anything but my own bare hands," I say as I turn to go to my bedroom and start shoving clothes in a duffel bag. "Can you stay here, Josie, with the babies? Call Harper, ask her to come too."
"Should we call Jax first? He can go with you," she says, walking toward my bedroom, worry stretched across her face. "James, maybe we should hear Grace out."
"I don't have time. And I don't need anyone's help. I know where Cherish is." I turn to Grace. "You said she needed me—is she in trouble? I mean, beyond the ‘kidnapped by a group of psychopaths’ part?"
Grace nods. "She needs a doctor. Soon."
My heart pounds in my chest. I remember when they tried to kill me, left me for fucking dead. If they have laid a finger on my woman—there will be hell to pay. "What's wrong with her?"
Grace bites her bottom lip. "I'll let her tell you that."
I throw the duffel bag over my shoulder, ready to go. Ready to claim what is mine.
"Hell, no," Jonah says. "You can't go alone. That's insanity, James. We know better than anyone how insane those people are."
I slam my fist in my other palm. I don't have time or room in my head for their negativity. I have a singular focus: getting Cherish home. "Dammit, I have to go."
"Jonah," Josie says, reaching for his hand. "Go with him. He's not thinking straight.”
"Maybe I'm not," I shout. "Maybe all I can think about is that I need her and I need her now. I look around my cabin, at my beautiful children, and I remember that when they were brought into this world Cherish thought I was dead—and for the last five months I've feared that she was. Now I know we’re both alive, but that isn't enough. I want more than that for us, for our family. I want to fucking flourish. I want to put down roots, and I want to make this mountain our home."
I can't do any of that without her.
My words hit them hard. Josie wipes tears from her eyes, and dammit, so do I.
Jonah fills a duffel bag, Josie asks again if we will tell Jaxon where we are headed, says we shouldn't go alone.
But I don't have time to wait. I need to go now. While I know I said my bare hands would save me, I think it through and open the gun safe in the back of my closet. We're living in the wilderness and I have two .357 Magnums for protection. I add them to my bag and lock the safe back up.
Grace explains exactly where Jonah and I are to go once we get outside the compound. She tells us what fence to crawl under, what path to walk on—how we need to do this in the dead of night. She says people might be on guard, considering she escaped, but, who knows, maybe no one will have realized she is missing yet.
"And
where do we go once we get through the guards?" Jonah asks, writing this all down on a piece of paper.
I grin, loving his optimism.
Grace explains where Cherish sleeps, tells us she's in a fucking pantry, sleeping on a cot. Imagining my woman like that tears me up again, but I don't have time to get angry about that now. I'll get my vengeance later.
Once Jonah and I understand the basic layout of the compound, I thank Grace for all she has done for us.
I lean over and kiss my sons, kiss my daughter. Running my hand over my beard, I'm all torn up inside. I hate that I must leave this mountain, the place my children call home.
The woods that made a father out of me.
But I have to.
Cherish needs us and we need her.
"Thank you, Grace," I say again, as I pull open the door to go. "Thank you for coming here. For finding me. I owe you everything."
She shakes her head, her eyes filled with tears. "Go get her, and bring her home."
I swallow hard, blinking back tears like a baby—forget that—I let the tears fall like a fucking man.
Because tears don't make me weak. Tears prove I've got something to fight for.
Someone to live for.
And it's time I brought her home for good.
Chapter Nineteen
My stomach is in knots. And it isn't because of the baby—thank goodness. It is because Grace has been gone twenty-four hours, and I don't know if she made it out alive.
Sitting up on my cot, I exhale, trying to remain calm.
I go to the bathroom, flicking on the light, I look at my face in the mirror, trying to remember who I am. It's been so long since I have seen my babies, my James. I press a washcloth to my face, trying to stop myself from hyperventilating at the thought of something happening to them.
Something happening to Grace.
If she was stopped... then my hopes of escape are narrow.
I can't think this way.
I run my hand over my blossoming belly, resting my forehead against the mirror, wishing I could float away to a world where there was sunshine and smiles and the promise of a bright tomorrow. Instead, I'm here, peeling potatoes and washing laundry and scrubbing floors. I'm here, attending services where I am lectured for hours on how to be holy.
I never used to know what to believe in. It took so long for me to believe in myself—my power to choose my own destiny.
But I waited too long before... and I fear I waited too long again.
I should have been the one to try and escape—I shouldn't have let Grace go for me.
When I press on my hands on my belly, I feel a kick.
A tear falls down my cheek. This baby needs its father.
I need my James.
I feel myself falling into the dark place I've spent so much of my life. I don't know if the right word is depressed, or prone to sadness—but I do know when things are hard it's hard to keep my chin up... it's hard to be bright when the world feels gray.
For so long I believed James would always be my sunshine.
But now he might just be a memory.
Closing my eyes, I imagine the life for myself that I've dreamed of.
If Grace was successful, James could be coming for me any moment.
I can't let myself spiral into a place of weakness again.
Not now.
I open the bathroom door, and head to my cot, slipping my dress over my nightgown, tying on my apron, and rebraiding my hair. I put on socks and shoes. There is no one else here, no one watching me.
When James comes—because I know he will—I will be ready.
Breathing deeply, I try to quiet the fear bubbling inside of me. And just when I think maybe I can get through this, I feel a sharp pain in my abdomen.
I press my hand to my stomach again, feeling the beginnings of contractions. The familiar pain of labor.
But this is much too soon.
I fall to my knees, eyes closed, head to the ceiling. Please let my baby be okay.
I start to pray for a miracle, but instead, I get a savior.
I'm on my knees, biting back the ache.
I've almost lost all hope, not believing he would find me.
But he is here.
"Cherish?" James whispers from inside the kitchen. My James. Here.
I gasp and call out his name. My deepest wish, my only desire—he is here.
He pulls off a ski mask, a gun in his hand. He reaches for me, but before I can fall apart in his arms—another contraction rips through me.
"I need a doctor," I tell him.
"What's wrong?" he asks, worry in his eyes, his hands refusing to let go of me.
"I'm pregnant," I tell him. "But it's too soon."
He lifts me into his arms, looking like a man on a mission. I'd be terrified of getting caught, but right now I'm more terrified of what will happen to our child if we stay put.
As we leave the kitchen, not knowing what we’ll find—a SWAT team surrounds us.
Police lights blaring, officers with guns in the air.
James raises a hand and drops his gun.
A shot goes off in the dark and something warm blooms across me.
It's not me, though, that has just taken a bullet through the chest.
James.
My James.
He's been shot.
Chapter Twenty
The trip to Montana was blurry eyed and Red Bull fueled. It was loud music keeping us awake and our eyes on the prize.
Cherish.
Finding her. Bringing her home.
Finally closing the chapter of our lives that took up more space than it should.
When we get to town Jonah and I stop and assess the plan, our route. We get some food, and buy a few ski masks, and get ready to crawl on our hands and knees into the compound. We park the car and hike in a little ways so as not to draw attention to ourselves.
Jonah is my backup, and with swift movements, we make it inside the compound. The property is large, but we've memorized the hand-drawn map from Grace and find our way to the kitchen. We don't see anyone, or hear anyone, and thank God for that. But as I walk through the back door, into the place Cherish supposedly lives, a sense of dread washes over me. It's all too good to be true.
The first thing I think when I see her on her knees, head back, chin lifted, is that she’s praying. Which surprises me in and of itself. I stopped believing in the God of our childhood a long time ago. It's not that I don't believe in some higher power now... but it certainly isn't one carved from the cross our fathers wanted us to believe in.
No. If I believe in anything anymore, it isn't found on my knees with my eyes wide shut. No. What I believe transcends that small-minded idea of making women weak to feel powerful, it's more than judgment.
I believe in grace and I believe in forgiveness and, most of all, I believe in the power of love.
So, when I see Cherish on her knees, for a split-second I wonder if she and I have lost our way on the long stretches of distance over the years. We've had a singular afternoon, a much-too-short night... What we need is a lifetime, a repeat of our childhood. We need never-ending lengths of time to learn about one another, to laugh and grow as one.
But the idea that she and I grew apart is fleeting because when she turns and sees me, I see she wasn't praying to the God of our childhood at all—she was praying for a miracle.
Cherish is in pain. Her beautiful face is written in it. Her hands shake, she clutches her stomach.
She calls for me and I come to her. I will always come to her.
With her in my arms, I leave the kitchen, hearing her plea for a hospital, understanding the urgency in her voice.
But before I can get her anywhere, we see police vehicles surrounding the premises, Jonah is in the distance with his arms behind his back. And I drop my gun, needing the officers to understand that I’m on their side. The lights are blindingly bright, but before I can shield my eyes, a shot fills the night.
Now I’m the one praying for a miracle.
"James," she sobs, "James," she cries. Her hands are on my face, and then she reaches for my hand, pressing it to her belly as blood pours from my body. "Don't let go. Don't give up. Feel this, it's your child. I'm carrying your baby, James, and you need to hang on. For us." She clutches my face again, staring into my eyes, as my world goes black. "No," she cries, as more bullets are shot around us, as I fall to the ground, and she hovers over me, her own body seizing as she cries out—because she is carrying her own pain.
On the ground, the night goes dark and Cherish looks into my eyes, wracked with sobs, ripping at my shirt. Begging me to hold on.
Hold on.
Hold on.
God only knows what I'd be without you.
Chapter Twenty-One
In the hospital bed, I wake with a start. Screaming before my eyes adjust to the light in the room.
"James?" I scream. I clutch the bed sheets. Blood on his shirt. A hole in his chest. His eyes closing. Being pulled away.
Kicking and screaming as my body contracted.
Body.
Contracting.
I press my hand to my belly.
Is my baby still with us?
I shake, terrified. Alone. Screaming for a nurse. "Help me. Help," I call. An IV is in my arm, I am attached to all sorts of machines.
"It's okay," a soothing voice tells me. But they don't understand. Nothing is okay.
"Where is James? I need to see him." I try to get out of the bed, but the nurse is at my side, pressing a hand on my arm, trying to settle me. But she doesn't understand. This can't be settled with a whisper, with a calming tone—I need James. James alone.
"I understand," the nurse says. Her nametag reads Betty but her name means nothing to me right now.
