The twitch of her lips in each corner of her mouth shot hope through his veins like adrenaline—but even better was the tiny light of amusement far and deep within her eyes.
She’s alive! Alive! He heard Colin Clive’s voice from Frankenstein’s laboratory in his head.
“No. Just if I happen to see one I don’t recognize.”
He heard a period on the end of her sentence so he had to think quick.
“I’m guessing that having you over to check out the birds in our barn is out of the question, but maybe you’d loan me your book sometime?” Her expression was quizzical. “Well, I like knowing what’s flying around my farm, too. And you know how it is when you don’t know something, it starts to bug you a little and then after a while it makes you crazy, right?” She looked at him a full ten seconds and was completely unreadable. “Really.”
She wore her backpack loose and near empty but slipped it around to her chest, unzipped it, and reached inside. She withdrew a small 4x8-inch hardbound book and held it out to him through the open window.
“If it’s not one I’ve seen already, will you mark it?”
“Sure.” He took the shiny bird-covered book in his hand and almost flinched with feelings he wasn’t sure he could identify. Feelings he’d heard about in church like humility and honored and blessed; compassion and gratitude. Sharing a book was not a big deal, he knew that, but sharing anything with Hannah Benson was a rare thing for anyone.
She gave him a satisfied nod and started slipping the straps of her pack back in place.
“Bye.”
“Wait. Damn.” He took his foot off the brake again. “Wait a second. You loan me your book, but you won’t let me give you a lift into town?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
Without stopping she looked at him, then at his truck and back again. “Well, for one thing you’re driving backward.”
There it was again, that infinitesimal spark of humor that came and went so fast it might have just as easily been a play of the early morning light. Still, he was so dumbfounded by it, he could think of nothing to say so he pulled away from her slow and easy not wanting to cover her in road dust, drove to the top of the hill, and made a tight U-turn.
This time he pulled up beside her with only the driver’s side door and a foot of air between them.
“Is this better?”
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. I didn’t think you’d turn it around. And I still can’t ride with you. My parents wouldn’t like it.”
“Oh,” he said, and yet in spite of all the brain cells he’d destroyed drinking the night before, he came up with, “You mean riding with me or getting a ride, period. That’s two different things there.”
Again she stopped to look at him and again he’d have given anything to know what she was thinking.
“With you, yes. Riding with anyone, I guess.”
“But there’s riding up here with me and just riding, say, on the tailgate, which is as far from actually riding with me as you can get and still be riding. See the difference?”
She searched his face for deception, for the slightest trace of trickery, then looked over her left shoulder for the first time since he’d come upon her. He hadn’t thought about her still being visible from her house and whether or not her parents might be watching her—so he followed the direction of her gaze and nearly went limp with relief to see that none of the house was visible from this point on the road.
With one last considering look, she turned and walked to the back of his truck. He put it in neutral, set the brake, and jumped out.
“Wait a second. I’ll put the tailgate down for you. Unless you want to ride in the bed.”
She put up a hand to stop him. “The bed’s fine. Thanks.”
And she was up over the end before he could lend her a hand. Of course.
“Okay then. Hold on to your hat.” Her eyes widened with fear and immediately she started to struggle to get up. “I’m kidding. I promise.” He waited for her to settle down again. “And don’t try to talk to me a lot because you’ll get bugs in your teeth.”
Caught off guard, she laughed out loud, a quick, sharp hoot of pure merriment that she tried to cover, too late, with one hand over her mouth.
He wanted to call her on it, tell her that her laugh was the nicest sound he’d ever heard, but he knew instinctively she’d hate it and never laugh for him again.
He cursed the dust again as he maneuvered around potholes and drove barely fast enough to hide the fact that he was stalling for more time.
Glancing back in the rearview mirror it was like watching something private and forbidden when she closed her eyes, tipped her head back, breathed in deep, and sighed. In that moment of peace with tiny wisps of black hair dancing around her face, the healthy hue of her skin looking warm and soft, she was about the prettiest thing he’d seen in all his life.
It was . . . magic, maybe, the way her features changed when she let her guard down; when the sharp edges of caution and distrust drained away, smoothing out and softening her fine features.
A careful glimpse at the road, and when he looked back—their eyes met and held for a long second.
“You okay back there?” he hollered out the window, wanting to seem casual and relaxed. She nodded and he kept his rearview mirror watching a little more furtive after that.
It took eleven minutes to drive to the old Phillips house on Dempsey Street. Pulling up at the curb in front of the sidewalk, he knew better than to make an effort to help her out. Instead he waited, watching in his side mirror to see what she’d do next—smiled to himself when he saw her approaching his window.
“Thank you for the ride.”
“You’re welcome.” He was desperate for something else to say. “Doesn’t look like it turned your hair gray or anything.”
“No.” In a very self-conscious, un-Hannah Benson moment, she looked down at her shoes and the grass she stood on. “No, it didn’t. It was a fine ride. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” he said—once more!—back at square one. The sun was getting higher and higher in the morning sky and his head was starting to feel thick again. “I have to go. I’ll return your book.”
She nodded.
“I’ll see ya.”
“Bye.”
Needless to say he watched her as he drove away, so quiet and self-contained with no idea of the influences she’d had on his life over the years. What a puzzle she was to him. She stepped into the street and sat down on the curb as he turned the corner at the end of the block. And she’d sit there until seven thinking God knew what in that head of hers . . .
The temptation to circle the block and sit with her nearly overwhelmed him—and if he could have thought of ten different things to say to her that he thought she might respond to with more than a nod or a shake of her head, he would have—his parents and his chores notwithstanding . . .
Letting the memory go as he released the auto-lock on his cruiser and opened the door, he had to remind himself that things for Cal were different. His grandmother didn’t sleep as sound as she once did, for one thing; and he was the son of a cop, for another. Cal was well aware that there was no slack in his rope, that if anything it was shorter than everyone else’s because of who he was.
Their father-son-clunker revival was a bust because there hadn’t been a lot of free father-son time to work on it; Cal hadn’t been interested in it, and the whole family depended on him to run errands, taxi Lucy, and to generally fill in for a dad who was, it must have seemed like sometimes, everyone’s dad.
The car hadn’t had time to cool off since he’d gone inside. He sat for a moment with the keys in his lap thinking two things: One, he needed to give Cal some recognition this week for being the kid he was—he knew for a fact that there weren’t many parents who had fewer complaints about their kids than he did. And two, were the secrets to finessing Hannah different than they used to be?
Ha
nnah stood in a corner of the room until they got Anna off the stretcher and into bed, took her vital signs, adjusted her IV monitor, and started her antibiotics. By then, she’d fallen asleep again and looked so young and pale and . . . so defenseless, it brought tears to her aunt’s eyes.
She approached the bed in silence and sat in the chair provided. She was nervous. Frightened, if truth be told. The last time she’d gone beyond the emergency room of a hospital was the night after she’d retrieved Ruth’s hair ribbon from Josh Greenborn; after the police and Principal Samms from Turchen County Elementary School had come to talk with her parents and after her daddy had blackened her eye, cracked three ribs, broke her arm and her wrist, and then told the doctor she’d fallen down the cellar steps. She’d been admitted for observation of a possible concussion and released the next day—though recalling it now, that one night of feeling safe while she slept was hardly worth the verbal beating she got when the hospital bill came in the mail a month later.
She sighed, blowing air out like it was smoke from old memories best left burning to ash and then into oblivion.
“I’m so sorry, Aunt Hannah.”
The sigh had aroused her. The girl looked exhausted. And worried. More worried than any child ever should look.
“Don’t be silly, Anna. This isn’t your fault. And, I must tell you that much to my relief, it isn’t mine, either. I was seriously worried that I might have to go out and buy some sort of protection for myself against Lucy when she found out it was an ulcer and that my coming here might have caused it.” This didn’t produce the levity she’d hoped for. “Did the doctor tell you about the bacteria and that you’ll only need to be out of school a couple of days. And maybe start running again in a week or so, if all goes well?”
She nodded. “I saw your face.”
“My face? What. When I walked into the bathroom?” She tried to think back. “Did I look horrified?”
“Pretty much.”
“You would, too. I mean, you don’t get to see people vomit blood very often.”
“And you haven’t known me four whole days yet.”
“Oh. I see.” She was still apologizing. “That’s true but you and I . . .” She reached through the bed rails to take the girl’s hand. “We don’t have the luxury of taking our time to get to know each other. We have to get acquainted on the run, as we go along. This was terrible for both of us at first, but not as bad as it could have been. And I learned a lot about you in the process. Like . . . you’re allergic to bee stings and you’ve had your tonsils out; you have a fairly high tolerance for pain if you’ve been running around with that burning in your belly for a while like the doctor said; and, best of all, you’re not a whiner.” Anna smiled at that. “Now, I am a bit of a whiner myself, I have to warn you, but other people who whine make me crazy.” She paused a moment because the next part was gravely serious. “I hope that if nothing else you’ve learned that I can dial 911 faster than anyone else you know.”
“And you’re a good hand holder.” Anna held up the evidence between them. “You can hold tears in your eyes without crying, and I especially liked it when you told the ambulance driver to shut up and drive or you would, when he told you to follow us in your car. I didn’t want to be alone.”
Hannah nodded. “Me neither. And I talked to the sheriff downstairs. Either he or Mrs. Steadman will come for us in the morning after you’ve been released.”
“You’re going to stay here all night?”
“Of course. There’s nothing like a night in a straight-backed chair to help you appreciate sleeping in a very narrow twin bed.”
“I think it reclines a little.”
“Even better. I’ll get a pillow and blanket from one of the nurses and we’ll sleep like a couple of lumberjacks in here. I’m pooped, aren’t you?”
Anna nodded and grinned and wiggled into the pillows until she was comfortable. She was sound asleep when Hannah returned; and as she stood there looking down at her, one thing as simple and real as anything she’d ever known became clear to her. It may have been a sense of obligation or responsibility . . . or even a guilty conscience that had gotten her there, but it was Anna, the girl, who was keeping her here. It was Anna who was subtly moving into her dreams of the future and making it look . . . not so isolated, not so lonely.
Maybe, if everything worked out, next winter on Christmas Eve they could dress up in pretty dresses and go somewhere amazing—a play maybe or a Nutcracker ballet—come home and open one special gift in front of a fire in their pajamas; wake up the next morning and open some more; invite Joe and a few others to Christmas dinner . . .
Slipping off to sleep she started a list. She was going to need to buy a new, larger set of dishes . . . and get a new apartment or a house with a fireplace . . .
Chapter Eleven
As March sprouted into April, watching the pallor in Anna’s cheeks dissipate was as gradual and lovely as watching spring arrive.
The day after Hannah brought Anna home from the hospital, Thursday, Grady showed up in the afternoon, backing a small U-Haul up into the front yard, opening the back and lowering a ramp to the ground.
“Relax. You don’t have to fill it. I just want to make sure you have plenty of room for the things the two of you want to take with you.” His eyes twinkled at the horror on her face.
“I was thinking the trunk and backseat of my car.” She put her hands on her hips. “Who’s going to drive that thing back to Baltimore?”
“Cal offered, but I think it might be wise if we both went. I feel obligated to make sure I’m delivering Anna into a good home environment—as a family friend and as sheriff.” She turned to him with a look of outrage on her face, but he didn’t give her a chance to speak. “And if Cal and I both go, Lucy will claim a greater right to the trip than either of us so I suspect she’ll come; and if all three of us go I’m sure my mom won’t want to feel left out—”
“Good home environment?” she sputtered.
“Well, yeah. You didn’t expect me to dump your niece on just anybody, did you?”
“Dump her?” His stupid dimples dipped briefly as he enjoyed her loss of composure. He was teasing her about a very serious subject. “You ass.”
“You said yourself you didn’t have any experience with children.”
“You said I didn’t need any. You said she wasn’t a child.”
Backed into a corner he grinned. “So I did. But I also promised my kids we could drive up and see your place. Lucy says she needs a place smaller than all of Baltimore to picture Anna in when they e-mail each other.”
“IM,” she said, turning to go inside, then coming about when she heard a car on the gravel road. “They’ll probably instant message each other. And text. It’s faster. Who’s that driving your patrol car? Cal? Is that legal?”
“It is today.” He shrugged. “He and Lucy stopped to get boxes at the Food Lion. I’ll come back for them—the kids, that is—before supper. I wasn’t sure how much arm wrestling I’d have to do to get you to accept the truck. It’s on the county, by the way.”
“That’s not necessary.”
“Part of the adoption package.”
“The one that hasn’t been decided on yet?”
“Of course.”
“Hm.” Now what was he up to, she wondered, watching the kids park and get out.
“Anyway, I thought Lucy could help Anna pack while she’s got these few days off from school, but as I understand it she isn’t supposed to lift anything heavy for a while yet.”
“We go back for a checkup in a week. Everything is on hold until then.” She reconsidered the everything. “For her anyway. I feel so bad for her. She misses her running and she’s afraid she’ll lose her edge. Can that happen in a week?”
“Maybe. A little. But she’s a strong, usually healthy girl, she’ll get it back.”
She nodded and smiled at Cal and Lucy as they came across the still brown grass with awkward stacks of boxes in their
arms.
“Anna’s going to be so happy to see the two of you. She’s been bored silly all day.”
“Daddy, I left Anna’s homework in Cal’s truck. Could you swing home and bring it with you when you come back for us?”
“Sure.”
“Also we brought milk shakes.” Her glance at Hannah only slightly defiant. “That’s okay, right? She likes strawberry, but we brought her vanilla just in case.”
“She’s avoiding acidic and spicy foods for a while. Milk shakes are perfect.”
“Did you happen to think Hannah might like one, too?” Grady asked his kids, as a reminder to be respectful, she suspected. They looked hesitant.
“Oh, God. I hope not.” She stepped in to put them at ease, still hoping to win their favor her way. “Stuff like that goes straight to my hips, so don’t you worry about me. Go on up to Anna now. I’m sure she heard you drive up.”
She watched them push and jostle through the door with their boxes and was already frowning when she turned back to Grady only to catch him lifting his gaze upward from her hips. He smirked his appreciation of the confectionary sacrifices she’d made over the years.
“Oh, please,” she said, her voice full of exasperation, her face filling with heat. “Go arrest someone.”
He laughed out loud and it was just as infectious as she remembered. She lost control of her scowl but biting down on her lower lip kept her smile at bay as she turned to go inside.
“Use Cal to help you move things; it’s his excuse for hanging out with the girls.”
She hesitated with the screen door in hand, glanced over her shoulder to see him bound off the front porch and stride with purpose toward his cruiser. He needed to get back to work, clearly. But stepping into the house she wondered if reminding him that telling Cal to steer clear of Anna was, at this age, essentially the same as telling him to try harder to be with her for whatever time they had left.
Even she knew that.
Would it ring a bell to tell him that any adversity, be it her move to Baltimore or his disapproval of the relationship, would only increase the romantic notions between the two young sweethearts? Couldn’t he recall that it was the danger, the physical and emotional danger that had made their own love so much an adventure—that it heightened the excitement . . . and that it was fundamental to the trust and confidence that slowly formed between them?
What Happened to Hannah Page 13
