Howl of the Sequoia (Secrets of the Sequoia Book 1)

by Deidre Huesmann

  Sheila sat up straighter in the bed, reaching over the nightstand to turn down her music. “Hello, my little lamb.” She patted the bed beside her. In spite of Rachael’s earlier trepidation, she eagerly curled up next to her mother, laying her head on the thick comforter cloaking her mom’s boney lap.

  Stroking Rachael’s hair, her mother asked, “Other than visiting the principal’s office, how was school?”

  “Fine,” Rachael mumbled. Across the room, her parent’s closet door mirrors reflected the image of a sickly mother comforting her perfectly healthy daughter. Guilt jabbing her, Rachael averted her eyes.

  Soothingly, her mom told her, “Don’t mind your father, honey. I was a little concerned, but I knew you weren’t in any serious trouble. Daddy is just under a lot of stress.”

  “I know.” Rachael wiggled to look up at her mother. “It was just bad timing. I’m not in trouble.”

  “Even if you were, it won’t kill me,” her mom said so cavalierly that Rachael flinched. “I wish your father would worry a little less. I intend to be around for my family for quite some time.”

  Intention and reality oftentimes did not coincide, Rachael knew. Still, her mother’s confidence gave her the courage to grasp on to that firefly glow of hope. If anyone could beat this, it would be her mom.

  “I love you, Mama,” she said in a small voice.

  “I love you, too, little lamb. Very much so.”

  Blinking back tears, Rachael said, “Even if I do get in trouble, I don’t want you or Daddy to worry. Jackie will be there for me.”

  Her mother chuckled. “In his own overprotective way, yes.” Smiling fondly, she added distantly, “Your father and I raised you well, I think. I’m not worried more than any other mom out there.”

  Rachael took comfort in that and snuggled wordlessly with her mom a while longer. This was something she was going to miss terribly. Sick or not, frail or not, her mother was always warm and inviting. Rachael wanted to remember those traits most of all. One day, if or when she decided to have children, she’d do her best to be exactly as understanding and accommodating.

  The peace of her mother’s arms was disrupted when the bedroom door opened. Henry Adair strode in, kissed his wife on the forehead, and then turned to his daughter. “You have company at the door. Don’t talk too long. You still have homework.”

  Puzzled, Rachael gave her mom a final hug before leaving her parents to enjoy each other’s company. Their voices were soft when she closed the door. At least her father wasn’t agitated anymore.

  Halfway down the stairs, she realized the front door was wide open. And on the porch were troublemaker Holden and the heavily clove-scented Aaron just behind him.

  Aaron’s eyes widened in surprise when he saw her. “Oh,” he said.

  Uncertain, Rachael kept a foot’s distance from the door. “What’s up,” she replied awkwardly.

  Holden’s face was unreadable but for the uncomfortably thin line his mouth was set in. In his stead, Aaron spoke. “I did not realize you were the one he hit.”

  “Oh—no!” Rachael blurted, stepping forward before she noticed what she was doing. “No, that wasn’t me. She hit him first. I mean he didn’t touch me at all. Holden was just trying to help. Sort of.” Embarrassed by her blathering, deepened by the amusement in Aaron’s dark eyes, she turned her gaze to Holden. “Why are you here?”

  “To give you this.” Holden handed her a folded slip of notebook paper, his fingers stiff as Rachael accepted the puzzling offer. “And to apologize for getting you in trouble,” he added wearily. His words seemed wooden, almost rehearsed. “I shouldn’t have reacted. It’s my fault you got involved.”

  Heavy feet on the stairs sounded Henry’s return. His voice was unusually muted in what was to Rachael an obvious attempt to keep his wife from hearing. “What happened, now?”

  Aaron nudged the younger man forward. His tone turned sharp. “Explain to this poor girl’s father why you felt the need to trouble her and her family.”

  Blotchy redness that Holden didn’t appear accustomed to wearing spread across his face and to his ears. He seemed to fight it down before raising his eyes to Rachael’s waiting father, his voice muted with humility. “I got involved in a fight with someone I shouldn’t have at school. Rachael is a classmate of mine in environmental science, and instead of being a gentleman, I let my temper get the better of me and accidentally involved her. The entire situation was my fault. I am sorry for my part and am here to offer any assistance your family needs during the duration of my suspension from school.”

  Rachael thought her jaw would hit the floor.

  Henry moved to stand in the doorway, blocking Rachael’s view of both boys. “My family is not a charity case. Although we do appreciate the apology.”

  Curious, Rachael quietly inched over until she could catch sight of Aaron. Holden was still dwarfed by her father’s broad build.

  “Please excuse my insistence, sir,” Aaron said. His dark eyes were fixed up at Henry, unafraid and not in the slightest intimidated. “Holden here is under my care for the time being. Since his parents’ passing, I am acting guardian.” The manner in which Henry’s shoulders hardened didn’t escape Rachael. “To him, as well as a younger sibling and a girl I all but babysit. It is my firm belief that if Holden causes undue trouble out of his own rash behavior whilst under my care, that he pay his dues back to the entire family he chose to disrupt.”

  Henry folded his arms over his chest. “I understand where you’re coming from. But I am the caretaker of my family.”

  “Yes, sir,” Aaron said modestly. “And I would not even ask you allow Holden to step foot in your home. However, if he can assist you even with something as simple as yard work, I humbly request you allow him to do so. He will have no further contact with your daughter outside of school, if you so desire.”

  Irritation began to swell within Rachael. An apology she understood, but forcing Holden into labor? And telling both him and her that they couldn’t speak to each other? Who did this man think he was?

  If she was upset, she could only imagine how furious Holden must be.

  To her shock, Henry grew quiet as though seriously considering the offer. “Only if you will oversee him. I can’t be here all the time and I absolutely do not want my wife disturbed.”

  “Of course,” said Aaron smoothly.

  “He’ll have to bring his own tools. I don’t want either of you in my house at all.”

  “Fair is fair,” Aaron agreed.

  Henry nodded. “Very well. Don’t be seen or heard, show me results, and I have no issues with it.” His voice grew stark. “But if I find a single thing wrong, I won’t bother calling the cops. I handle my own business. Mister . . . ?”

  “Aaron Moreno.” The two men shook hands. “And my charge is Holden Cavanaugh.” Rachael’s father grunted in acknowledgement.

  Rachael opened her mouth, wanting to protest, but the words caught in her throat. Something about the pleasure flickering in Aaron’s eyes unsettled her. As before, she couldn’t find justification in voicing her thoughts.

  In the end, she didn’t get the opportunity. Already Aaron was ushering Holden away, and her father was shutting the door. Henry then turned to face his daughter. His thick brows furrowed together as though he couldn’t decide if he wanted to be thoughtful or angry. “Did you tell that boy where we lived?”

  “No,” whispered Rachael. Even if she’d wanted to, she knew better. Nobody could visit their home without her father’s express permission.

  Part of her wondered how Aaron and Holden had found her house. But there were dozens of easy explanations for that, ranging from school to the internet. What really concerned her was why. Holden had clearly wanted to be anywhere but her house. Her father had sounded as though he’d felt the same in spite of his acceptance of Aaron’s offer. And it was Aaron who had blatantly taken some sort of delight from the encounter.

  But why? Rachael thought desperately. To her dis
may, she came up with no answers.

  “Good man,” her father mused aloud, jolting Rachael back to reality. “Responsible. Presentable.” Henry rubbed his overgrown beard almost self-consciously. Then his eyes focused and his voice became stern again. “Do your homework.”

  Bewildered, Rachael complied. Her walk back up the stairs was carried out in a daze, until she closed a door behind her and found herself in the second-safest haven she had after the majestic sequoia.

  Modest furniture set the tone of the room, from her thirteen year-old white framed twin bed to the hand-me-down bookshelf and desk jammed into the far corner. The few books she owned were on local hiking trails, wildlife, and a handful of fiction that had caught her fancy.

  Other than that, the room was bare and painstakingly cleaned. Rachael used to throw her clothes on the floor in misshapen piles. Now, if her father noticed even one sock astray, she’d be grounded for a week and punished by cleaning the house in her spare time.

  Everything had to be perfect now that her mother—and slowly, her family—was falling apart.

  Rachael had more than enough homework to keep her up through her bedtime, but first she unfolded the paper Holden had slipped to her. In precise handwriting were three bolded words: pairs, pictures, art. Below that was a hastily written addendum, Would be easier in twos. Keep simple but fun.

  His idea of helping was to give her a riddle? Frustrated, Rachael sat in the creaky chair, smoothing out the creases in the paper as though doing so would give her the answer.

  Nothing but a void was the notebook sheet’s response. Rachael reluctantly dragged out her textbooks. Since the algebra assignment would be quickest, she began with that. Hours ticked by. Throughout her work, her mind went back to those three elusive words Holden had given her.

  It wasn’t until well after dinner, while she was brushing her teeth in an oversized T-shirt and sweatpants, did Rachael realize what she could do.

  Chapter Seven

  The next four days had a touch of surreal quality to them. When Rachael went to school, Holden’s absence was uncomfortably marked. Students stared but wouldn’t speak to her, except for Vera whose flute solos were audibly cheerier without Coleen beside her. By the time classes ended and Rachael got home, there would be proof of Holden’s handiwork—a freshly mowed lawn, weeded yard, visibly cleaner gutters—but no sign of the boy himself.

  It wasn’t until Sunday, after Henry Adair had left for a late shift, that Rachael finally saw Holden again.

  Mid-afternoon found her on the couch with her mother. Outside was just cloudy enough that the threat of rain was palpable. Rachael and her mom watched a movie while Jackson remained in his room, playing video games online as he always did.

  Rachael didn’t think much about the sound of a car pulling up until three doors shut one right after the other. Voices, distinctly male, became louder as they drifted around the house and into the back yard.

  Sheila raised her head when she noticed her daughter’s distraction. A faint smile played on her pale lips. “Sounds like your friend is here,” she remarked.

  Murmuring an excuse, Rachael stood and made her way through the kitchen and into the dining room, where a sliding glass door gave her opportunity to peer into the back yard. Just beyond the porch was a stretch of grass. Cement blocks created three lengthy layers of land, each layer a different area Rachael dedicated to gardening. The first level was all flowers—currently zinnia, aster, and marigold—while the second was her seasonal vegetables, and the third and highest was sparsely decorated with small trees backed by a fence drenched with ivy.

  With their backs to her were Aaron, his shirt and jeans crisp and pressed, Holden with his casual T-shirt and worn sneakers, and a smaller boy with unruly blond hair. Aaron was gesturing between Holden and the garden.

  My garden.

  Unthinkingly, Rachael unlocked the sliding glass door and pushed it open. She strode onto the porch and said, “You can’t work on that.”

  The boy turned first, clutching a soccer ball in pleasantly tanned hands. Rachael momentarily forgot her irritation. All she could do was stand awestruck by how pretty he was. Small build, a sweet round face, and stark black eyes greeted her, followed by a smile that showed he was still growing in his adult teeth.

  “Hi,” he quipped. Tucking the soccer ball beneath one arm, he extended an eager hand. His fingers wriggled in disproportionate excitement. “I’m Nathan. Nice to meet you.”

  Taken aback, Rachael stood dumbly for a couple beats before accepting his offer. “I’m Rachael. And . . .” She looked back at Aaron and Holden, who were watching her with different levels of interest. Frowning, she directed her words to Aaron. “You can’t work on that. It’s mine.”

  “All of it?” inquired Aaron mildly. He glanced over his shoulder. “It is quite a project.”

  Before Rachael could think of a response, a small hand was grasping hers again, demanding attention. “I play soccer,” Nathan insisted, his guileless eyes drawing her in. “And I can do tricks. Wanna see?”

  “Not near the garden, Nathan,” said Aaron in gentle tones. “You promised you would behave.”

  “I am.” Nathan turned back to Rachael, grinning, and then tilting his head back and placing the soccer ball on his forehead. “Watch this, Miss Rachael!” As she opened her mouth to protest he didn’t have to call her “Miss,” Nathan began juggling the ball. At first Rachael was impressed. The kid had skill.

  Then he miscalculated one of the bounces. As Nathan struggled to catch up with the ball, it thumped off his head one more time and into the garden. In her periphery, Rachael saw Holden make a grab and miss. The soccer ball landed on a cluster of zinnia before it rolled, squished a couple marigolds, and stopped.

  “Nathan!”

  Aaron’s rebuke made both the boy and Rachael jump. Guilt flashed across Nathan’s face. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Aaron.”

  Aaron’s arms folded across his chest, his features displaying nothing. “I know you are. But I am not the one you need to apologize to.”

  Reddening, Nathan looked down at Rachael’s feet. “Sorry, Miss Rachael.”

  It had all happened so quickly that she hadn’t found time to react to any of it. Now, she felt a little bad for the kid. Gingerly, Rachael walked over and plucked the ball from the bundle of marigolds, crouched closer to his height, and handed it back to Nathan. She smiled. “It was an accident. Don’t worry about it.”

  Though Nathan shared the same dark eyes as Aaron, they glimmered with a childlike sweetness that his elder brother missed.

  “Come on.” Aaron put a hand on Nathan’s shoulder, steering him around the house. “You will wait in the car, now.”

  Nathan seemed to know when he had gone too far. Rather than argue, he simply looked over his shoulder and said, “Bye, Miss Rachael.”

  Rachael waved.

  As they rounded the house, Holden spoke for the first time. “He’s a brat.”

  Rachael clambered up the stone wall to the damaged blooms. She cradled one of the marigolds and said, “It was an accident. It’s okay, really.”

  Holden hoisted himself to sit on the wall a couple feet from her, his lanky legs allowing his feet to dangle just an inch above the grass. His eyes zeroed in on the zinnia, a grimace playing on his lips. “Still. Sorry about your garden.”

  A small pang pierced her gut. “I planted these for my mom. She’s always liked flowers, too.”

  An awkward silence fell while Rachael waited for him to ask the obvious. Finally, he managed, “Is your mother . . . ?”

  “Sick? Yeah.” Rachael didn’t move from her crouched position, furrowing her brow over the golden blossom with more scrutiny than necessary. “She’s been sick a few months now.”

  “How bad?”

  Unbidden tears welled, but she managed to blink them back. Her shaky breath betrayed her, and she didn’t reject him when he placed a hand on her forearm. “She’s a fighter,” Rachael finally choked out.

&n
bsp; Holden gave her arm a brief squeeze. “So are you.”

  This was almost nice, she noticed. It seemed as though everyone knew about her mother’s illness, but few ever asked about Sheila’s well-being. Even fewer inquired how she was doing. For a brief, hysterical moment Rachael wanted to pour her heart out to this boy.

  Don’t. He’ll leave eventually.

  Rachael sighed deeply, only glancing up when she felt in control. “Thanks.”

  His hand fell away from her arm, and that respectable distance was between them again. Holden delicately fingered one of the zinnia’s crushed stems before plucking it free from the root. Wordlessly, he offered it to her. Puzzled, Rachael accepted it.

  “It’ll get easier,” he assured her. “When the time comes. It always hurts, but the good will outweigh the bad.”

  Nervously, Rachael tried to change the subject. “Did I tell you Mrs. Whitley liked the project we came up with?”

  “We?” asked Holden wryly. “Pretty sure that was all you.”

  “Well . . . I gave you twenty percent of the credit,” she confessed. “I wrote it up for her and she’s going to use it as the official guideline.”

  Holden’s heel bounced off the stone. “So what’s the idea?”

  “A class collage.” She was actually somewhat pleased with this concept, even if she hated group projects. “We’ll bring disposable cameras and try to take pictures of all the different plants we find and make a big poster out of it. Mom helped me get a few boards so each period can make one for their class.”

  The smile that lit Holden’s face revealed a couple crooked bottom teeth she’d never noticed before. “That’s pretty good. And smart. Give a camera to a bunch of people our age and everyone thinks they’re a photographer.”

  She lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “I honestly just thought it was easy. I can probably label everything eventually, too.” She also secretly hoped to take one home and hang it in her room, if her father would allow her. If she could get a photo of the sequoia and manage to work it into the center of the collage, Rachael could have her second home with her all the time.