A Promise of Fireflies

by Susan Haught

  Natalie sat on the four-poster, bouncing once before settling. “Take it from the top.”

  Ryleigh propped the pillows in a heap. “Where do I begin?” she said, burying her head in a towel.

  Nat kicked off her shoes and tossed a mountain of pillows on the bed. “We’ve got all night.” Telling secrets to their pillow was a ritual started long ago—a place to muffle giggles or a soft landing for spilled tears.

  Ryleigh lapsed into her storytelling voice, pausing awkwardly at times when emotion threatened to take over.

  Natalie digested the story in silence as afternoon slipped quietly into dusk, a shaft of sunlight bathing the room in a warm glow before it winked and melted into the twilight.

  Ryleigh rocked back and forth, pillow clutched in the folds of her arms, embracing a comfort neither she nor Nat could provide.

  “What do I say?” Nat swiped at tears collecting on her cheeks. “I never dreamed—”

  “Sometimes words get in the way.” Ryleigh got to her feet and shook two sleeping pills from the vial. “I can’t disappear like Frodo or Bilbo, or Ambrose for that matter, but I can escape into sleep.”

  Natalie knew the feeling—broken dreams could punch a hole in your heart so huge the wind seemed to whistle straight through it. When the doctors told her she would never carry a child, Ryleigh held her up when she’d been too devastated to stand alone. It had been Ryleigh who’d saved her from sinking into quicksand, gave her air, and helped stitch her wounds. Sometimes words weren’t necessary. Knowing someone was there beside you, to offer the simple reassurance of a touch was enough. Mitch had been her rock, but he couldn’t know the grief, the guilt and emptiness of a barren womb. Ryleigh never pretended to know; she simply helped absorb the pain. “Sleep is what you need right now, Riles. But first, can I have your plane ticket?”

  “Why?”

  “So we can fly back together.”

  “The sooner, the better.” Ryleigh handed her the ticket and slipped beneath the blankets. “I’m glad you’re here, Nat.”

  Without a word, Nat reached over and squeezed her best friend’s hand.

  “One redeeming thing has come from this whole ordeal,” Ryleigh said as she yawned.

  Nat drew her laptop from its case. “What’s that?”

  She yawned again. “I know how my book ends.”

  “Get some sleep. I’ll take care of everything.”

  Ryleigh closed her eyes, her breaths slow and deep.

  Nat air-pumped a fist. “Yes!” Clicking away at the keyboard, she turned to her friend. “It’s about time, Riles. You’re a writer. It’s who you are.” But her words fell on deaf ears.

  Natalie’s heart ached for the journey her friend would need to face. The climb would be as difficult as scaling the Grand Canyon with a hundred-pound backpack. And she’d help carry the load. But for now, she scanned the flight schedules and booked their flight. “Perfect.”

  She checked her e-mail and read a note about the opening of a resort her friend Rose managed in Colorado. Nestled at the base of the Rocky Mountains, the new owners wanted to attract the skiers, snow bunnies, and anyone else who thought frolicking in knee-deep snow was their idea of fun, and they were interested in incorporating Il Salotto’s services as part of their amenities. The idea was intriguing. Accepting the invitation, she clicked the Send button and closed her laptop. She tucked the blankets around Ryleigh’s shoulder and then sent Mitch a goodnight text. Setting her phone to vibrate, she leaned into the mound of pillows and considered Ambrose’s story, now Ryleigh’s story. Her past. If her best friend hadn’t been thrown into a whirlwind of unfathomable emotion, it would have been a touching story of profound love. She pressed the phone to her heart. “Love you, Mitch, but Riles may kill me before I ever see you or Arizona again.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “RISE AND SHINE, sleepyhead.” Natalie’s voice echoed from the bathroom.

  Ryleigh groaned, pried one eye open, and poked her head from beneath the blankets. “Everything’s fuzzy,” she said, the words heavy with sleep. “I need caffeine.”

  “I brought coffee from the breakfast room.”

  “Thanks, Nat.”

  “Jet lag. Calls for desperate measures.”

  Ryleigh pressed her palms against her eyes.

  “You slept okay?”

  Ryleigh tossed the covers, set her feet on the floor, and aimed for the coffee. “No dreams,” she said, the sleep hangover beginning to fade. “Double dose of artificial suspension of consciousness.”

  “We can get breakfast after you’re dressed.” Nat glanced at her watch and counted forward. “It’s seven o’clock here. Our flight doesn’t leave Albany until eleven thirty.

  “Seems like I’ve been away for a lifetime. By the way, how’s Kingsley?”

  “As obnoxious as ever.” Nat grinned. “I swear that cat hates me.”

  Ryleigh chuckled. Her companion through mishaps, nightmares, and dreamscapes, Kingsley never offered an opinion. Not an oral one anyway. “He doesn’t hate anyone. He’s just, different.”

  “Arrogant feline.”

  “Can’t wait to see him. We should be back in Phoenix around five or so, right?”

  “No,” Nat said, adding the back to her earring. “I’ll explain later. We have two rentals to return and a layover in D.C.” She scrunched her nose. “Now get moving. It’s early, but we’ve got a long day ahead of us. And I want to see Ballston Spa.”

  Ryleigh came fully awake and sat up. “What?”

  On Nat’s insistence and with time to spare, the women drove into Ballston Spa. Ryleigh had agreed, sputtering a few choice words under her breath as she tapped the navigation screen. Barnabas came to life.

  Nat’s eyes widened. “Step away from the dash, Barnabas Collins, vampire extraordinaire—and come to Mama,” she said, waggling her fingers at the dash and then turned to Ryleigh. “And you thought you had no relatives.”

  Ryleigh slowed as they entered the village, Soldier’s Monument looming directly in front of The Simmering Skillet. Ryleigh parked and together they walked to the window, but the sign indicated the restaurant didn’t open until lunch.

  “So much for breakfast here.” Natalie rubbed her hands together. “We passed a place called The Koffee Kettle.”

  “That’s where Megan works.”

  Nat smiled and skipped her long legs into high gear.

  Ryleigh shook her head and hurried to keep in stride, their breath ahead of them in puffs of fog. “Sometimes you drive me nuts, Natalie Jo. I do not want to do this.”

  Christmas wreaths hung from streetlamps, and the storefronts competed for the best in holiday finery. Bells tinkled as shoppers moved in and out of the doorways, and the spicy aroma of gingerbread wafted through the brisk air.

  The Koffee Kettle offered a welcomed retreat from the outside chill. Nat chose a table by the window.

  The metallic clink of Megan’s bracelet collection preceded her to the table. “Hell’s bells, didn’t think I’d see you again,” she said, raising a studded eyebrow. “I see you brought reinforcements.” She squinted an eye, clicked her tongue, and pointed to Natalie. “Now, what can I get for you two?”

  Megan took their order and retreated behind the counter.

  “She’s exactly as you described, Riles.”

  “I’m extremely uncomfortable.”

  “Be good for you. You’ll see.”

  Megan returned, steam rising from their mugs in lazy swirls. She set a caramel latte in front of Ryleigh, handed Natalie the white cloud mocha cappuccino and gave them each a bagel topped with egg and cheese. Ryleigh’s taste buds awoke and her stomach sounded a pleased alarm. She raised her mug, sipped and wiped the foam from her lip.

  Megan pulled up a chair between them, swung a leg over, and rested a hand and her chin on the backrest. “You can slurp the foam ya know,” she said, waving her free hand at their mugs. “It’s not forbidden, or even rude. It’s a right of passage in a coffee house.”


  Natalie took a noisy sip. “Good to know.”

  Megan turned to Ryleigh. “So, did you find the old guy?” she asked, wiggling her eyebrows.

  Ryleigh nearly choked. Her mug dropped to the table, the half-filled contents a coffee and caramel flavored tidal wave.

  Megan flicked the feather earring off her shoulder. Her hair was darker and a purple streak had appeared over her left ear. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to blindside you.”

  “Fine.” Ryleigh swallowed. “I guess.”

  “He’s a bit perplexing.”

  “That’s an understatement.”

  Natalie’s head bobbed from one to the other to keep up with the conversation.

  Megan’s dark eyes squinted. “And creepy,” she whispered. Hiding behind a feigned grimace, she quickly brightened. “It’s so cool to know someone who knows him like I do. So, what’d you guys talk about?” When Ryleigh didn’t answer, Megan pursed her lips into a fine line. “Hey, I spilled my guts—it’s only fair you spill yours.”

  With a mouth full of egg, Ryleigh glanced at Natalie, who nodded indiscernibly. She swallowed, giving herself another moment to collect her thoughts. “We talked about my mother.”

  “Way cool!” She straightened. “So he did know your mom. What else?”

  “I was definitely born here.”

  “That’s not so cool,” she said, her face squinting as if she’d bitten into a lemon. “At least you escaped.”

  “And so will you. Ambrose assured me you’ll do well for yourself.”

  Megan smiled briefly and her head ricocheted toward Natalie. “So, who’s your friend?”

  “Megan, this is Natalie. We’ve known each other for almost forty years.”

  “Boy, you have strange friends if they’d follow you to this dumpy town.” Megan turned to Natalie. “Sorry. No offense meant.” Nat smiled in response. “But I can’t say there’s anyone in this crap-hole I’d want to know that long, except the old guy.” She leaned in. “Hey, did you ask him how old he is? I never did.” She shrugged. “And he never volunteered.” Her eyes sparkled, matching the glitter in her hair. “But my vote says he cast a ballot for Abraham Lincoln.”

  Natalie pressed her knuckles against her mouth, and Ryleigh bit her lip to contain a giggle.

  “Nice to meet you, Megan.” Natalie brushed her hand against a distressed pair of True Religion jeans and then offered her a crumb-free hand.

  “Likewise,” she said and turned to Ryleigh. “Guess you didn’t ask either?”

  Even though she had, Ryleigh shook her head, reluctant to go into details of his odd reply. Megan’s head bobbed back to Natalie. “You from Arizona too? Cool place.” The bell on the door tinkled. “Customers.” Megan stood and returned the chair. “Gotta go.” She bounded off, feather earring bouncing to the zip in her step.

  “Good-bye, Megan. And good luck to you.”

  “Thanks,” she said with a quick wave over her shoulder. Her bracelets plunged to her elbow, the chime of clinking metal following her to the counter.

  Natalie swallowed the last bite of her bagel. “Was that so bad?”

  “You were right.” Ryleigh leaned into her palms. “As always.”

  “Better get going,” Natalie said and took a hurried gulp of her mocha. “Airplanes wait for no one.” She rose and left enough money to cover the bill and a generous tip. With a quick wave to Megan, they left the coffee shop.

  “Nat, do you mind if we make a stop before we leave?”

  “Need to make it quick.”

  “I’ll only be a minute if you want to wait in the car.”

  Nat waved for her to go ahead and Ryleigh tossed her the keys.

  Minutes later, Ryleigh returned and slipped into the driver’s seat. She glanced down the road and turned onto Ballston Avenue.

  Natalie frowned. “I don’t remember this street.”

  “There’s something I need to do.”

  The stone pillars guarding the Ballston Spa Village Cemetery entrance came into view. She turned in and followed the path Ambrose had taken. As the engine died, apprehension rose from somewhere deep in her belly with no less reservation than she’d had on her last visit here.

  “Please come with me?”

  Entwined among the leafless trees, evergreens stood statuesque despite the apathy of winter, but the great maple dominated the tiny grave. Ryleigh removed the wrapping from a simple Christmas wreath and placed it against the headstone. Brother, it said.

  Kneeling alongside her twin, new words to an old verse spilled from her lips. “I placed a piece of me today, alongside you as you rest—I placed my everlasting love, with you my brother, in whom I’m blessed.” Aware of an indescribable absence all these years, a quiet shiver found a path along her arm as her finger traced her brother’s name, the bond complete—as if she’d reached out for him, and he for her.

  The plane’s tires kissed the asphalt with a screech and a bump. The aircraft landed safely, which was more than she could say for the ride she’d taken over the last year. They disembarked quickly and Natalie hailed a cab. With a three-hour layover, why were they in such a rush? And why’d they need a cab? Nat traveled all over the world, so Ryleigh trusted her for the connection to Phoenix. Wouldn’t be the first time she’d been kept in the dark.

  After speaking briefly to the cabbie, Natalie scooted beside her, checked her watch and took a resigning breath. “Plenty of time.”

  “For what? And why’re we leaving the airport?”

  “A slight detour.” Natalie raised her hand. “Don’t ask.”

  “I’m really beginning to hate surprises, but whatever,” she replied with a sidelong glance at her friend. “This has been a screwed up couple of days anyway; I might as well sit back and enjoy the ride. It’s bound to get ugly.”

  Natalie raised a perfectly groomed eyebrow.

  The havoc of the airport gave way to the busy streets of the nation’s capital. Not unlike Phoenix freeways, the cabbie found every excuse to fume about everyone else’s shoddy driving.

  Delighted at the view from the cab’s window, Ryleigh sat upright. “Natalie Jo, we’re driving beside the Potomac River. Where’re we going?”

  “We’re on George Washington Memorial Parkway and soon we’ll cross the Potomac over the Arlington Memorial Bridge. It’s quite a drive.”

  “You didn’t answer my question.” Distracted by the sights, Ryleigh allowed the question to fizzle.

  “We’re headed to Henry Bacon Drive, right?” Natalie asked the cabbie via the rearview mirror.

  The cabbie nodded. “That’s right.”

  “We aren’t going to see much of D.C. in an hour,” Ryleigh said.

  “We haven’t much time. It’s a great trip, but for another visit. We only have one stop today.”

  “But this is D.C. There’s the Washington, Jefferson, and Lincoln Memorials, the Museum of Natural History, the White House, veterans memorials.” Ryleigh turned and glared at her. “The Wall.”

  “Please don’t be mad.”

  A response curdled in the back of her throat. Of course Natalie would put two and two together and assume if Ryan had been killed in Vietnam, his name would be permanently etched in the Vietnam Veteran’s Memorial. And only Nat would think to fit it in on the return trip to Phoenix. How could she be angry? Natalie was one of those rare individuals who wore the shoes of compassion—for her, or for anyone who touched her life.

  The cabbie pulled to the curb. “Here you go, ladies. It’s straight ahead across the lawn.” He stretched an arm across the seat, the marquee of a faded tattoo covered the spotted skin of his wrist. He turned to face them, the lines of a weathered face announcing his age. “Vietnam was a nasty war, the longest in history—until Afghanistan.” His piercing eyes were the color of the D.C. sky. “The way the panels are set, from eight inches to over ten feet and then back to eight inches, signifies the beginning, middle and end to a long, unpopular war.” The cabbie adjusted the bill of his hat. “It’s co
nstructed of black granite, signifying death and sadness, but it’s highly polished, so it reflects life—trees, sky, friends. Family.” He tipped his Redskins cap, his hairline hidden beneath the bill, and tufts of unkempt gray hair peeked from the bottom. He handed them each a small American flag. “It’s a healing place.”

  “You know it well?” Ryleigh asked.

  “I come here often. To visit friends.”

  They thanked him with a discriminate nod.

  Natalie tapped the back of the cabbie’s seat. “We won’t be long.”

  “Take your time.” The cabbie winked and tipped his cap. “I’m not going anywhere without you.”

  The solitude of The Wall surrounded her, the urgency of its embrace as intimate as a lover’s caress. Vast slabs of polished black granite rose, peaked, and then narrowed again, as if born from, and given back to the earth. Ryleigh approached the monument, apprehension threatening to collapse her legs. Giving in to instinct, she closed her eyes. A breath of wind brushed her cheek. And she stood, silent, allowing the cold air to clear away everything except the moment before her.

  She opened her eyes and glanced around at the other visitors. Some prayed. Some wept. Mementos, flowers, and flags were left at the foot of the stone in dried puddles of forgotten tears. But she watched young and old alike reach out to something beyond reality, lives linked with each touch of skin to stone.

  Natalie withdrew a scribbled note from her purse. “Here. Let’s find your father.”

  Ryleigh read the note and frowned. “Where’d you get this?”

  “The Internet. There’s a website,” Nat said, pausing. “I looked him up after you fell asleep.”

  Ryleigh curled the paper around a finger as they searched the location. “When you changed the flights?”

  Nat nodded. “He’s a well-decorated soldier.” She pointed ahead. “There.”

  Ryleigh’s eyes fixed on the etched name honoring the soldier she knew only as the man who’d given her life. Her fingers curled around the dog tag that hung from her neck, the metal warm as if they shared something more than a name carved in a stone wall. Drawn by an unseen tether, she reached out, her fingers hesitantly meeting the cold stone. The icy sting dissipated into an odd warmth as she mapped the letters, each one a missing piece, each one a distinct reminder of a headstone that also bore his name, each one a footprint on her heart.