The Journey is Our Home

by Kathy Miner

  Hades heaved out of his spot in the shade and ambled over to her, resting his head in her lap and gazing up at her, his back end shifting from side to side as he wagged what little tail he had. Naomi smoothed her hands over his big head, then leaned to scratch his chest, making him rumble happily. He hooked his jaw over her shoulder and squeezed, pressing the side of his head to the side of hers. As always, his version of a hug made her smile, made her chest ache with the joy and warmth of him, wrapped around her heart. Naomi had loved animals all her life, and had enjoyed close bonds with many, but Hades was different. He had become as foundational to her as breath, as the pulse of blood through her veins. She laughed and sat back, ruffling his ears, which made him grin his big, drooly grin.

  “You and me, we are peas and carrots. Our relationship, I understand.”

  She rose and headed inside. She was packed and ready for their trip, though she couldn’t say she was looking forward to it. Martin had been meaning to travel over Rampart Range Road, the way Quinn and Lark had arrived, and they would combine that scouting mission with a visit to the people at Bear Creek. She and Martin already had an in with the group, so they were the logical people to go. Whether or not they would learn anything about the helicopter they’d seen was questionable. Naomi doubted it, but they had to try.

  She had tried and failed to avoid thinking about Grace’s recommendations for their community. The thought of leaving this place rendered her breathless. This had been Scott’s family home. Macy’s fragile bones lay in this soil. And most importantly, Piper would return here when her wandering days were done. Leaving would mean severing the only physical link she had left with her gypsy girl. Naomi’s hands moved automatically through the motions of preparing vegetables and dried venison for a soup she would set to simmer for dinner, even as her mind rubbed over and over the justifications she’d already worn smooth. Valid reasons, all. Except for one thing.

  That one thing had come to her in the middle of the night. She had opened her eyes, disturbed perhaps by the movement of an animal outside, or Hades twitching in a dream, but as soon as she had focused on the dimly lit ceiling, a soft voice in her mind had asked a question: What’s best for you, Naomi?

  She hadn’t been able to answer that question. Not then. Not now.

  A sudden thump beside her made her jump. Ares prowled towards her, looking for a handout and ignoring the “no cats on the counter” rule with arrogant disdain. Naomi hissed and shooed him down, then waited a few minutes before she “accidentally” dropped a sliver of venison on the floor. Hades’ ears shot to full attention, but he’d long since learned to keep his distance from the rangy tomcat. Ares spent as much time out and about as he spent in the cabin these days, and wore the scars of his survival with imperial pride. Only during the worst of the winter snows had Naomi needed to supplement his diet. She stroked along his spine, then moved to give Hades a taste of venison as well. Outside, she heard the sound of the ATV approaching, so she cupped Hades’ chin, met his eyes, and touched his mind with a silent command to “Stay.”

  She stepped out of the cabin just as Martin pulled up. He kept the ATV idling, and Naomi narrowed her eyes as she walked towards him, trying to analyze what was different. Not until she caught an unfamiliar scent did she figure it out.

  “You shaved?”

  “Twice.” He rubbed a hand along his jaw, which usually sported a light stubble. “When Grace and Benji were babies, their mom got me in the habit. I don’t have much of a beard and I’ve gotten lazy about shaving, but I don’t want to whisker burn Lark, if I hold her.”

  Naomi looked down and swallowed hard, overwhelmed by the sudden need to cry. Scott had done the same thing when the girls had been tiny, shaving as soon as he’d gotten home from work. Their little heads had always smelled of his aftershave when Naomi put them to bed. She climbed onto the ATV behind Martin and secretly wiped her eyes behind his back. “Let’s go.”

  She used the trip to get a handle on her feelings, focusing on the scenery streaming by: the huge, grey boulders in the forest along Rampart Range Road, the slow decay of the deserted buildings in town, the wide-open sky above Highway 24 when they left the city. By the time Martin pulled up at Ignacio’s ranch, she had achieved a measure of control. This wasn’t about her, and no one involved needed her emotions thrown into the mix.

  Ignacio appeared in the doorway of the barn, and lifted his hand in welcome. Martin parked and shut off the ATV, and together they walked into the dim, dusty stable. Ignacio had returned to currying Ben, who nickered when he caught sight of Naomi. Shakti stuck her head out of her stall as they walked past, chuffing a hello. Naomi hugged Ignacio first, then leaned into Ben’s shoulder, wrapped her arms around his neck, and shut her eyes. He folded his head around her while she soaked in the warmth of his beautiful, enormous heart. After a moment, Ignacio’s hand landed on her back, light and warm.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Naomi opened her eyes and smiled at her friend. “Don’t ask Martin that. He’ll accuse you of being ‘annoying.’”

  Martin shot her a look which reinforced that very opinion, then turned sober eyes on Ignacio. “Is Quinn around? And Lark?”

  It didn’t surprise Naomi a bit when Ignacio understood the implications of Martin’s question immediately. “Go slow and careful with the boy, Martin. He’d die for that little girl, and his deepest fear is that someone will take her away from him.”

  “He told you, then? That Lark is Grace’s daughter?”

  “He didn’t tell me anything. I have eyes, don’t I? He’s pretty near as defensive about Grace as he is about Lark – won’t tolerate so much as a single word against her. He and the twins have churned around with the town kids about it more than once.”

  Martin nodded. “I owe him, then.” His voice strangled thin with emotion. “For taking care of both my girls.”

  Ignacio nodded towards the house. “They’re inside. Quinn was going to feed her lunch then put her down for a nap.”

  Naomi straightened. “Do you want me to come with you?”

  Martin nodded, which surprised her, and held out his hand. When she took it, he squeezed so hard she yelped. He murmured an apology and loosened his grip, and she could feel that his hands were shaking. By the time they reached the door that led to the mudroom and the kitchen beyond, he was sweating. He gestured for her to precede him. Naomi knocked softly, then stepped inside.

  Quinn was seated at the kitchen table. Lark was tucked in the crook of his arm, drinking from a bottle, her dark eyes locked on his face as he murmured to her. They had both grown since she’d last seen them, which made her want to cry again. Quinn looked up and smiled when he saw her. Then his eyes flickered behind her, and the smile vanished. He stood up, and the boy vanished as well. In his place, a hard-eyed man stood holding a sleepy baby, all the muscles in his face tensed and tight.

  “I won’t let you take her away from me,” Quinn said. “If Grace sent you, you tell her I’m sorry, but it’s too late. Lark is my daughter now.”

  Naomi took a deep breath, and spared just a moment to long for the time before, when they could all pretend that this was just a casual visit for a little while, and ease up on Martin’s reason for being here gently, slowly. But, no. All of the social niceties she had so excelled at were useless now, and Quinn, it would appear, could be as direct as Martin. Well, she could be direct, too.

  “We don’t want to take her, Quinn, and Grace didn’t send us.” She stepped to the side, and reached back to pull Martin forward. He hadn’t taken his eyes off the baby or made a sound since they had stepped into the room. Naomi turned back to Quinn. “Martin just wants to know his granddaughter and help you in any way he can. She’s some of the only family he has left.”

  “She’s the only family I have, period.” Quinn’s arms tightened around the baby, and she started to squirm and fuss. “We don’t need any help.”

  Martin’s eyes shifted to Quinn. “Did you know your grandpa when you w
ere a boy, Quinn?”

  Quinn flinched, and looked away. “Yes.”

  “Did you love him?”

  Quinn scowled at the floor, and the boy was back. “That’s not fair,” he muttered.

  Naomi tilted her head to the side. “It is fair,” she said gently, insistently. “Martin wants to give his love to Lark, just like your grandpa gave his love to you.” She let that sink in for a moment. “He’s not trying to take anything away from you. He wants to add to the love and support around his granddaughter.”

  Quinn shut his eyes, his expression pained. Then he opened his eyes and stared at Martin. “What did Grace tell you?”

  “Nothing. But I know, about how Lark was conceived.”

  “It’s not her fault!” Quinn burst in before Martin could finish speaking. “And I won’t have people thinking that, do you hear me? Lark didn’t ask to be born. What happened to Grace isn’t a part of her. I won’t let it be!”

  Lark’s fussing escalated into fretful crying. Without missing a beat, Quinn shifted the baby to his shoulder, rubbing and swaying in a baby-soothing dance as old as time. He glared at both Martin and Naomi, his expression as fierce as his hands were gentle. “People suspect, you know, about Grace and Lark. You can’t hide something like that, not with the way people have changed. They think I’m the father, that Grace abandoned both of us. For Lark’s sake, they can keep right on thinking that. I won’t have them talking behind her back, calling her ‘bad blood,’ or worse, telling her someday about the ugliness she came from. I’ll die before I’ll let that happen, do you understand me?”

  Martin hung his head for a moment. When he lifted it, tears were running freely down his cheeks. He shrugged to wipe them on the shoulders of his shirt, but didn’t try to hide them. “As far as I’m concerned,” he said hoarsely, “I couldn’t ask for a better father for my grandbaby. I can’t promise I’ll never interfere because I’m a man of strong opinions, but I swear to you I will never try to take her away from you.” He held out his hand. “On my honor, I swear it.”

  Quinn measured him, the man once again in full possession of his features. Finally, he reached out to clasp Martin’s hand. They shook, hands locked. Then Quinn returned to patting Lark’s back. For long moments, the only sound in the kitchen was the baby’s softly diminishing fussing. Then, Quinn shifted Lark in his big, confident hands and offered her to Martin.

  “Would you like to hold her?”

  Martin’s face twisted. He took the baby without a word, turning away as he tucked her against his chest. Naomi could see his shoulders shaking, and she turned away to give him some privacy in this intensely intimate moment. She looked up at Quinn.

  “Thank you.”

  He nodded, his face reddening softly in the dim light of the kitchen, all boy again. “Yeah.” He met Naomi’s eyes, his own eyes troubled. “So Grace never told him? Nothing at all?”

  “No.” Naomi paused, searching for words that were both gentle and truthful. “She’s so confused, Quinn. She doesn’t talk about it, but I can feel it. Her instinct is to love Lark, but she can’t separate the baby from what she went through. I don’t know if she’ll ever be able to.”

  “I know.” Quinn glanced over his shoulder at Martin and Lark, then lowered his voice for Naomi’s ears only. “We went through so much together, Grace and me. I wanted us to be a family. I wanted her to learn to love me, like she loved William. Like she’d love a husband.” His face flushed red again. “You know what I mean.”

  “I do.” Tenderness for this sweet boy just swamped her. She touched his forearm, fingers light. “But I don’t know if she’ll ever be able to feel that way for any man. Not for a long time, at least.”

  “That’s what Ignacio says.” Quinn hung his head. “I didn’t tell him what happened to Grace, but he knows. You know how he just figures stuff out, without you saying anything. He says when a horse has been broke badly, with violence and fear, sometimes it’s damaged forever. Its trust is broken.” Quinn looked down again, and his voice shook. “He says Grace is like that. He says her trust in people was broken, not just her trust in men. No one stepped up to help her when those men were hurting her. Night after night, and not one person even tried.”

  “You helped her. She said you saved her life.”

  Quinn shrugged. “Only after she got herself away from them. I didn’t rescue her or anything.”

  “There are many ways to rescue someone,” Naomi said. She looked over her shoulder at Martin. He was holding Lark in the crook of his arm, and they were gazing at each other, transfixed. “You were there for both Grace and Lark when they desperately needed you, and I know one person, at least, who is very grateful.”

  Martin looked up and met her gaze. “Come look at her eyes, Naomi. Have you ever seen such eyes?” He turned to the side as Naomi approached, tilting and tucking his shoulder into her as she leaned close. Together, they gazed down at the baby, who regarded them both with an ancient solemnity. “It’s like she looks right into you. Like she sees into your soul.”

  “Hello, Lark,” Naomi greeted her softly. “Bitty baby bean.”

  The baby smiled at Naomi’s playful tone, proudly displaying two teeth. Both Naomi and Martin beamed back at her, then smiled at each other. Martin leaned his forehead against Naomi’s for a moment, his dark eyes inches from hers, and Naomi felt the connection between them deepen and wrap around her bones.

  “Thank you,” he said softly. “For helping make this happen.”

  Then he bent to kiss Lark’s downy head, rubbing his freshly-shaven cheek against the baby’s face. Lark reached up to pat his cheeks, and their eyes locked once more. Watching them fall in love, Naomi went right over the edge of that cliff herself. For both of them.

  SEVEN: Grace: Woodland Park, CO

  Grace scooted in the door of the cabin she shared with her dad right on the razor’s edge of curfew, which wasn’t all that different from the time before. In those days, she had taken great pleasure in slicing it as thin as possible, always managing to avoid triggering the consequences by the narrowest margin. Curfew, then, had been “9:00 pm on a school night, midnight on the weekend.” Curfew now was “before dark,” which was considerably later during the summer than during the winter, but she still had that narrow margin down pat. The last sliver of brilliant orange sun slipped behind the mountains just as she closed the cabin door behind her.

  Often, her dad had already gone to bed by the time she returned home. He was up before dawn most days, and adequate sleep, he always joked, was one of the fundamental human rights he’d fought for during his years with the Marines. Just like in the time before, she was expected to check in and let him know she was home, and Grace headed through the small living room on tiptoe to do just that. A light flared by the dark fireplace, and she squealed, clutching her chest where her heart pounded.

  “Dad! Geez, you scared the crap out of me!”

  Martin adjusted the wick on the hurricane lamp he’d lit, then settled back in his chair, just gazing at her, not speaking. Instead of slowing down, Grace’s heart picked up speed. Oh, this did not bode well. Not well at all. For three days, she’d used every trick in the book – faking sleep, rushing out the door for a nonexistent meeting with Anne, staying out as late as she dared – all to avoid the conversation she feared was inevitable. And imminent.

  Rather than let him take the lead, she launched with the first thing that came to mind. “I’m glad you’re up, actually. Anne and I have been researching possible locales to check out for relocation, and I think we’ve narrowed it down to two. Anne likes the idea of Crested Butte, but I think Pagosa Springs is a much more viable option. She has friends in Crested Butte, and that’s swaying her opinion. Pagosa Springs, though, has a much more temperate climate, and it’s –”

  “Grace.”

  She faltered for a moment, then pressed on. She could feel something huge rising up in her, something terrible that would change everything. “It’s nearly 2,000 feet lower i
n elevation, which means a longer growing season, and then there are the hot springs to consider –”

  “Grace, stop.”

  “Dad, just let me finish, okay?” She was nearly babbling now but couldn’t do anything about it. “It’s really important. People need to understand the consequences of staying here. They need to think in terms of isolation and defense, just for a generation or maybe two, until the danger passes. Then…”

  Her dad stood up and walked to stand right in front of her, and her voice faded into silence. He hesitated, then put his hands on her shoulders and squeezed. “I know about Lark. I know she’s your daughter, and how she was conceived.”

  Grace’s insides went cold and still. She stared up at her father for what felt like a lifetime. Then she pulled her shoulders free and backed several steps away from him. She couldn’t stand being close to his warmth, to the sound of his breathing. His face was twisted, but she couldn’t identify the type of pain he was feeling. Remorse? Disgust? Guilt?

  “Gracie, I am so sorry. I should have known, but I didn’t want to. I convinced myself Quinn was the father. Or maybe William, I thought, before he died. Naomi said–”

  “She told you. After I asked her not to.” Grace latched on to the betrayal, fanned the flames of it, and anger began to warm the ice inside her. “She promised. She broke her word–”

  “No. That’s not how it was,” he interrupted, voice firm. “I guessed that Lark was yours. How could I not, Gracie? Do you have any idea how much she looks like you? I asked Naomi, and she confirmed it. She also told me I was wrong about Lark’s father.”

  “Don’t use that word!” The simmering anger flared and snapped. “Don’t ever use that word! She doesn’t have a father. Whichever one he was, he was a rapist, and a murderer. A sub-human, unintentional sperm donor.”