"Egrets," said Adam, pointing downriver, and a white flock of birds drifted away on the opposite bank, seemingly no heavier than dandelion fluff caught by the wind.
As they stood motionless, a brown turtle poked its head out of the reeds near the shore and stared at them suspiciously with beady eyes.
"He resents our presence," Sage said softly. "He'd rather have the riverbank to himself."
"We'll turn it over to him," said Adam as they went back inside the cabin. "I'm ready for breakfast."
"Does that mean you'll cook?"
"Sure," he said easily. "Scrambled eggs are my forte."
"Mommy?" Joy called sleepily from the bedroom.
"I'll be right there," she called, pulling Adam's robe even closer around her. She pushed the door open a crack and smiled at her daughter, who sat in bed rubbing the sleep from her eyes with pudgy fingers. Joy looked so innocent and sweet as she moved over so Sage could sit on the bed beside her. In that moment, Sage felt a wave of gratitude for Joy. She felt truly blessed to be her mother and always had.
Sage gave Joy a quick hug. "We'll get you dressed," she said, "and we'll get your face washed, and then we'll have breakfast."
"I want Adam to help me."
Nonplussed, Sage glanced at Adam. He stood leaning against the door and watching the two of them together.
"I'd like to help Joy," he said to Sage. "Really."
Joy began to bounce lightly on the bed.
"Adam, Adam," she began to chant, her eyes sparkling.
"Then I guess that means that I'm stuck with scrambling the eggs."
"Right." Adam was laughing at her as she left the two of them alone and headed for the kitchen.
As the fragrance of bacon filled the air, Sage broke eggs into a bowl and whisked them, exploring her feelings about the way Joy had taken to Adam. Sage was used to Joy's preferring only her help. True, Joy had been brought up to accept Irma or Hayley or Poppy or any of the family when Sage wasn't around, but when given a choice, Joy clearly preferred Sage.
Until Adam came along. Somehow, though, Sage had not felt uncomfortable when Joy had just now asked for Adam. Sage felt warm and good about it. Joy's wanting Adam seemed natural and right.
As soon as the three of them had eaten their breakfast, and after Adam had, at Joy's insistence, helped Joy brush her teeth, Adam dressed to drive to Jacksonville to spend the day at the research plant.
"I hope you won't be lonely here," he said before kissing first Sage and then Joy good-bye.
"Joy and I are going to spend as much time as possible in the sunshine," Sage told him. Sage still didn't like the sound of Joy's nagging cough.
"You'll be my sunshine girls," said Adam lightly, kissing Sage one extra time before climbing into her pickup and bouncing incongruously away on the rutted road toward the highway.
Sage and Joy made a game of cleaning up after breakfast, and then Sage spent most of the morning helping Joy learn how to bounce a big ball against the outside wall of the cottage. When Joy took her nap, Sage took one, too. Altogether it was a relaxing and peaceful day, and the two of them welcomed Adam enthusiastically when he came home.
Adam's eyes twinkled and his mustache twitched as he pulled Joy into his lap after dinner. "Joy, what would you think about taking a fishing trip tomorrow?"
Joy clapped her hands together as she so often did when she was pleased.
"Tomorrow? When we wake up from sleeping?"
"Yes, when we wake up from sleeping," affirmed Adam, with a glance over Joy's head at Sage for her approval.
"I thought you'd be going to work every day," said Sage.
"I'd planned to," he said. "But the man I need to talk with tomorrow will be out of town most of the day, so I thought I'd take the morning off. We could get an early start on our fishing expedition."
Sage's eyes met Adam's over her daughter's delighted gaze. "It sounds like a good idea to me," she said softly. "You catch, and I clean."
"And I eat," Joy said succinctly, and all three of them laughed.
* * *
The day was new, and the last mists of the river slowly faded as the three of them started out in the small boat the next morning. Joy could scarcely contain her excitement when she saw the strong pole and assortment of lures with which Adam stocked the boat. Sage had to restrain her daughter from taking Pink on this jaunt, but Joy seemed to understand when Sage explained that fishing was not a stuffed unicorn's favorite pastime.
The gentle putt-putt of the boat's motor did nothing to diminish the pristine beauty of their surroundings. The water's surface shone mirror-smooth, reflecting the unclouded blue sky and the images of their own faces before those images dissolved into the boat's wake.
A mile or so down the river, Adam found a nameless little cove, quiet and peaceful.
"This is where they tell me you can catch big fish," he told Sage and Joy.
While Adam adjusted the reel on his fly rod, Joy watched fascinated as a pair of mallards swam along the shore, four fluffy, downy offspring paddling after them. The mallard family disappeared into the sedges as Adam prepared to cast.
"I didn't know you were a fisherman," said Sage.
"We'll see how good a fisherman I am," he told her, narrowing his eyes at the lily pads. "I bet there's a big bass lurking somewhere, waiting for me to take him." He spread the bend of the hook on the fly just a bit more before carefully and quickly cast it toward the lily pads, aiming with precision, so that it landed in the water exactly where he wanted it.
"Come on, you big fish, grab it," he muttered, and Joy laughed out loud.
"Come on, great big fish," shouted Joy.
"Shh," Sage warned. "You don't want to scare the great big fish away."
Joy pressed her lips together and watched intently as Adam twitched the line.
A few more casts, and Adam decided to try another lure. When he flicked it through the water, all of a sudden something big and dark struck at the lure.
"Oh!" said Joy, standing up in the boat, but Sage pulled her down again so that the boat wouldn't rock.
"Have you got him?" she shouted in excitement.
"He's heading for open water," Adam shouted back. "Grab an oar and turn the boat around!"
Sage did, keeping an eye on the fish, which was giving Adam a run for his money.
"He's a big one," said Adam, playing the fish skillfully. The bass lunged to the top of the water, jumping out, and they heard his gills rattle.
"Adam caught a fish!" cried Joy. "He caught a fish!"
At last, when it could fight no more, Adam hauled the fish, a big black bass, into the boat. "A good fourteen-pounder, I'd say," said Adam with satisfaction.
"Do I have to eat all of it?" Joy asked dubiously.
"No," Sage said wryly, taking in its size. "But it looks as if I have to clean all of it."
That evening they baked the fish with tomato sauce and bacon strips to disguise the too-pungent taste, and Joy declared it the best fish she ever ate.
"You caught a fish, Adam," she said sleepily that night when they tucked her into bed. "You really did."
"Yes," he said gently. "I really did. Just for you."
"I love you, Adam," whispered Joy just before Sage turned out the lamp beside the bed.
"I love you, Adam," Sage echoed in her heart, but she did not say the words.
* * *
Adam and Sage assiduously avoided speaking about Jim, but secretly Sage wondered how the cleanup and repair work at Kalmia Hill was going. Over the next few days she was sure that Adam was in communication with Jim, but Adam took care never to mention it. Sage was still not sure in her own mind how she felt about the boy being at Kalmia Hill and working on his own. But it was as though she and Adam were in conspiracy to avoid mentioning Jim, as though his name was an ugly spell that, once mentioned, would spoil things. And yet their unspoken conspiracy cast a shadow on the almost-perfect time that the three of them were enjoying together.
I won't
think about Jim, Sage told herself resolutely. And so she didn't.
* * *
On Thursday morning Sage and Joy bade good-bye to Adam as usual. Sage switched on a morning news show on the television, watching in a desultory fashion until a weather report caught her attention.
"A Canadian cold front is headed in this direction," said the too-friendly TV weatherman with a wink, "so bundle up in your woollies."
"When's that cold front due to arrive?" asked the local newsman, filling in time.
"Oh, it'll start getting colder in late afternoon, but we'll start feeling the full force of the front sometime around seven o'clock tonight," replied the weatherman. "So you tourists had better enjoy this balmy weather while you can."
Sage switched off the TV, casting a glance outside. Birds sang and sunlight sparkled off the water. No sign now of an approaching cold front, she thought. She decided that she and Joy would go on a picnic in case the weather prevented outside activities for the next few days.
They packed a picnic lunch of leftover fried chicken, peanut-butter sandwiches and a few cans of cola.
"Let's eat our lunch on the dock," suggested Sage when she had slung the bag containing the food over her arm.
"No," said Joy. "Pink says he wants to have a picnic in the woods."
"Joy, honey, we can't take Pink," Sage said.
"But he loves the trees. He says he wants to go."
"No, Joy." Gently she removed the stuffed unicorn from her daughter's arms. "Come with me to put him on your bed."
Obediently Joy trotted after her. She pulled a light blanket up to cover Pink.
"Time for his nap," she told Sage solemnly.
"Of course," said Sage, wishing she'd thought of that.
"Are you sure you wouldn't rather eat our picnic on the dock?" Sage asked anxiously as Joy pulled her toward the trail through the woods.
"Yes, Mommy. I like the trees."
Sage sighed and followed her daughter into the big stand of live oaks, their branches trailing with beards of Spanish moss. It was so warm today that she wore a sleeveless blouse, and she shuddered as an unexpected strand of the moss brushed her bare shoulder.
Joy danced ahead of her on the path. Streamers of sunlight gleamed on her bright hair, and in spite of her irrational dislike of the woods, Sage was glad they had decided to eat their lunch there instead of on the dock. Joy loved nature so, and these woods with their hanging moss, their winding paths of dried leaves and crackling twigs, were different from the woods at home.
"Oh, look, Mommy, a squirdel!"
"Squirrel," Sage corrected automatically. Joy was entranced. At this time of year, squirrels at home were curled up in their nests, keeping warm until spring.
Joy ran ahead, chasing the squirrel until it disappeared up a tree. Her gait really had improved tremendously, thought Sage with satisfaction. All their diligent attention to Joy's exercises had paid off.
"Don't run so far away, Joy," she called. She felt anxious when Joy was out of her sight.
"Mommy? Can we eat here?" Joy had chosen a spot beneath a huge oak tree with low hanging branches, and the dense loops of gray hanging moss curtained the area around the trunk from the sunlight. Sage ducked under the moss. It really was an enchanting place, with its gentle light and its soft bed of leaves.
"We'll probably have a fine case of chiggers to show for it," Sage said gamely, "but if you really want to eat here, I guess it's okay."
"Oh, yes," said Joy gazing around her in delight. "It's like a little house in here."
Sage spread the blanket over the leaves and opened the cans of soft drinks. Joy nibbled on a chicken leg.
"How about a peanut-butter sandwich?" offered Sage.
"Okay," agreed Joy. She had eaten about half the sandwich when her eyelids began to droop.
"Getting sleepy?"
"Yes," said Joy, trying not to yawn.
"Here, let me wrap that sandwich for you." Sage slid the sandwich into a small plastic bag, and by the time she'd folded and fastened it, Joy was curled on her side, breathing evenly, her eyes tightly shut.
"Little sleepyhead," Sage said affectionately, caressing Joy's smooth cheek. She leaned back against the tree trunk, studying Joy. It was time for Joy's nap, but there was no reason why she couldn't nap here rather than at the cabin. With satisfaction Sage noted that Joy's color had improved each day they'd been here, and her persistent deep cough was almost gone. Joy would likely be fully recovered by the time they headed back to Willoree.
Sage focused her eyes on the swaying moss above her, watching it weaving back and forth in the gentle breeze soughing through the tree branches. It was quiet here, so peaceful and restful. She'd needed this rest, needed it as much as Joy, and Adam had been so kind to ask them to come with him. Adam... Adam. His name seemed to sigh through the trees, lulling her into a state of blissful remembrance and peace.
She jerked awake. She hadn't meant to fall asleep, just meant to relax while Joy napped. Her eyes flew to Joy—but where was she? Joy was no longer sleeping on the blanket beside her.
Sage sat bolt upright. "Joy?" she called, trying to think. She was confused, she didn't remember falling asleep, she just remembered Joy napping after lunch—and where was the sun?
Frantically she lurched to her feet. With one trembling hand she spread the curtain of Spanish moss and scanned the clearing. No sign of Joy. Where was she?
The sky had clouded. How long had they slept? Sage glanced at her Piaget, the watch Adam had given her. Two hours. They must have been asleep two whole hours! It seemed impossible, but numbers don't lie.
Sage pressed her hands to the sides of her head and tried to think over the painful throbbing of her pulse. She had slept two hours, but that didn't necessarily mean Joy had. Joy's naps had been ranging anywhere from an hour to an hour-and-a-half long lately. So Joy could have been missing for an hour or half an hour. How far could one small four-year-old wander in half an hour?
"Joy?" she called. Silence. And then she called more loudly, "Joy?" Panicky now, she ran from one side of the clearing to the other, looking and listening for some sign of her daughter.
But she saw nothing, and all she heard was the wind in the trees.
Chapter 16
Adam, summoned from the Jacksonville facility by Sage's phone call, careened through the thickening dusk on the unpaved road as fast as the pickup would allow. He was horrified that Joy was lost. He knew how devastated Sage must be. He rushed to her, cursing the pickup for not being a Lamborghini, cursing the road, cursing the woods, cursing the clouds overhead that heralded the arrival of the rain, which in turn preceded the cold front. Joy was lost! He knew how vigilant Sage always was. How could this have happened?
The cabin was surrounded by sheriffs' patrol cars and people yammering into cell phones. An officious brute tried to restrain him from getting out of the pickup until he identified himself impatiently, and a deputy said, "It's all right. He's the woman's boyfriend."
Boyfriend? What an inadequate word to describe his relationship with Sage! Adam bit back a sharp retort and strode toward the cabin.
Then he saw her, bundled in an old navy pea coat borrowed from somebody, with an incongruous navy-and-green-checked toboggan cap pulled down over her curls. She walked at the edge of the woods, scuffing at dry, dead leaves, her head down, her shoulders stooped. Her nose was red from crying and her cheeks were pink from the encroaching cold, and even though her lovely hair was bundled into the cap and her figure was obscured by the shapeless pea coat, to him she was beautiful.
He approached slowly, willing her to look up and see him, but she did not. She was walled inside her grief, far away from the world and from him.
"Sage," he said, stopping about ten feet away.
She lifted her head, startled. He moved toward her, and nothing else mattered except that he had come to her when she needed him. She floated somehow, lighter than air, lighter than light, until she was encompassed by his embrace.
/>
In the instant before they touched he saw it. Transcending the pain of Joy's disappearance was an emotion so real and so beautiful that he could not for a moment doubt its honesty. She loved him. He was sure of it. He didn't know how it had happened or why, but he had caught her in this off-guard moment, a moment of need, and the love, though unspoken, was so eloquent that there was no need for words.
"We'll find Joy, my darling," he said, his arms sure and strong around her.
"Oh, Adam, I'm so worried. It's all my fault," and Sage blurted the story of how Joy had wandered away from their picnic.
She was exhausted, her nose clogged from crying and the skin around her eyes puffy and red. She hated having Adam see her like this, but he didn't seem to care how she looked. He tilted her face toward his so that she could see his eyes, so dark and so comforting. In them she saw kindness and decency and deep caring. Even though she had lost the one thing she'd always placed before everything else in her life, her child, Adam was there. His presence could not make up for Joy's absence, but it comforted her.
Adam pulled her close once more and bent his head to nestle his face into her shoulder, making himself believe that they would really find Sage's daughter. Her vulnerability where Joy was concerned had always touched him, but this broke his heart. Sage's grief turned him inside out, leaving his emotions raw and bleeding. She had suffered enough. The injustices in her life already seemed too much for one person to bear. She'd rallied after each blow, had picked herself up and dusted herself off and overcome whatever setbacks life had thrown in her way in order to succeed in her work and with her family and as a mother. She didn't deserve this—she didn't!
The cold wind pressed in on them with all the weight of the world, and a fine misty rain began to fall.
"Let's go inside," he said finally, when he decided the weather was too biting for them to stay outside. He'd take care of her, stand by her through all of this, whatever happened.
She pulled away, then pressed her hand into his and, for his sake, dredged up a reluctant smile.
"That's my girl," he said, sounding more optimistic than he felt.
As soon as they entered the house, it began.
Handyman Special Page 22
