Just needed to get myself centered.
"Had a few other things I needed to do," he said, glancing past her frowning. "Where's Celia?"
"She was playing on the couch, but then she went upstairs. I hope that's okay."
“I guess.” The idea that Celia was up in the bedroom didn't bother him as much as it did the first time.
Baby steps, he figured. Slow incursions into protected places.
He paused at the kitchen island as Miriam tucked her hair behind her ear and set the oven mitts she'd been wearing on the counter. "So you're leaving?"
It was on the tip of his tongue to ask her to stay awhile. Stay for dinner. The thought of eating by himself, though he had done it countless times before, suddenly seemed depressing and pathetic.
"I should go. Celia needs to get to bed on time. I'll get Celia, and then we'll be out of your hair." She walked around the island, and his feet seemed to move of their own accord, taking him closer to her. She stopped as well, and for a breathless moment, they stood facing each other. Expectation hung between them, and Duncan's breath quickened. He wanted to touch her. To connect.
She didn't look away, either, and then before he could stop himself, his hand lifted, touched her cheek.
He saw her throat work as she swallowed.
Did he imagine her leaning in?
But then she lowered her eyes, took a step back, and walked away from him and up the stairs.
He pulled his hand over his chin, trying to get himself back to center. Miriam was leaving. He felt he had to remind himself of that.
And you've got your own stuff.
He busied himself, tidying up the living room, waiting. But Miriam didn't come down. A few more minutes passed and then, curious, he went upstairs.
He found them in Tasha's room.
As his eyes adjusted to the gloom his breath quickened and his heart began a slow, heavy thudding. Miriam was crouched on the floor beside Tasha's bed.
And Celia was sleeping in it.
No. This was wrong. No one slept in that bed.
He wanted to hurry over and snatch Celia out of the space that had been his daughter's.
His breath caught in his chest as he calmed himself. It was just a bed. And Tasha was gone.
He clenched and unclenched his hands, composing himself as Miriam glanced back.
"She won't wake up," Miriam said.
He swallowed down another knot of pain as he came closer, looking down at Celia sprawled out on the bed, her one arm curled around her doll, the other laying stretched out, palm up.
And he remembered what Miriam had told him the last time they found her here in this room. How poorly Celia slept at her home. She looked so peaceful and he knew he couldn't wake her, no matter how much it bothered him. She had as much right to be there as his memories did.
"It's okay. She may as well sleep awhile," he said.
"Maybe if you carry her down the stairs?" Miriam said, giving Celia another shake.
"Let her sleep. I'm sure she can use it." And from the dark rings under Miriam's eyes, she looked like she could, as well.
For now, however, he was hungry, and the tantalizing scent of the casserole was wafting up the stairs.
"If she's sleeping anyway, you may as well stay for supper."
"The casserole won't be ready for half an hour or so," she said.
"Then let's sit downstairs and wait. If she wakes up in the meantime, then you can leave."
She looked at Celia, as if hoping she would magically get up, then nodded and got up. As he followed her down the stairs, he felt a flicker of anticipation. It had been a long time since he'd had female company for an evening.
Slow down. She's only here because Celia is sleeping.
"I'll check the casserole," he said as they came to the bottom of the stairs. "You go sit in the living room."
When he came back into the room, Miriam was standing by the wood stove, her arms crossed, and a frown furrowing her brow.
"May as well sit down. It's not done yet," he said.
She gave him an awkward smile, then dropped onto the couch by the stove, tucking her legs under her.
Duncan looked over at his recliner, but knew if he sat down there he'd be asleep in minutes. The love seat was covered with books of parts for the buncher and limber. The only place left to him was the other end of the couch.
Would it look weird if he sat down there?
Stop overthinking this.
So he dropped into the opposite corner of the couch, and put his feet on the coffee table in front of him.
The silence was surprisingly comfortable, and he eased out a sigh.
"Thanks again for the horse ride," Miriam said, wrapping her arms around her knees. "I enjoyed it."
"I'm just glad the horses behaved," he said.
Another moment of silence followed, punctuated by the sound of wood snapping in the fireplace.
"This house? How old is it?" she asked, looking around the large, open room.
"My Uncle Bert built it."
"Uncle Bert?"
"He doesn't live here anymore. He and Aunt Amanda moved away about five years ago."
Miriam nodded. "Do you have any other family here?"
"My mom used to be a Greidanus so we're tied in with that family. Jim Greidanus is my cousin."
This netted him a puzzled look from Miriam.
"Jim. He's married to Kathy. They've got two kids. They were in church on Sunday, sitting a couple of pews ahead of us? He's tall. Reddish hair. She's got this short, spiky, black hair and a bunch of studs in her ears. Sat by Leslie and Dan and their kids."
"I’ve met Leslie but I don’t remember Jim and Kathy."
Duncan laughed. "Sorry. I've lived here so long I forget that when new folks like you come to town, you don't actually know everyone like the rest of us do."
"Nope. I don't speak Holmes Crossing," she said with a wry grin.
"Anyhow, Jim's brother, Lester, works with me in the bush. If that helps. And I can see from the growing confusion on your face it doesn't."
"Drawing yet another blank."
"Les is my partner. We've been working together for years now."
She nodded, her intertwined fingers locked around her knees as she looked back at the stove.
The silence fell again between them, the fire snapping and crackling in the stove. Duncan got up and tossed another couple of logs in, closed the door and sat down again.
Miriam was chewing at her lower lip, her frown even deeper as she watched the fire through the stove's tempered glass window.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
She looked up at him, and then shook her head. "Nothing. It's just…nothing."
"Doesn't look like nothing. You look sad."
"I was just thinking about Jerrod." She caught the corner of her lip between her teeth, resting her head on her jeans-clad knees, strands of hair slipping around her face. "I still can't believe he's gone."
His own heart gave an answering pang. "Were you close?" he asked, preferring to talk about her sorrow. His brought out too many other memories.
"At one time we were. But since Celia…well, since they adopted Celia, I haven't seen a lot of him. I wasn't around much, mind you, but over the past year we'd been texting and emailing more. I was hoping to see him more and now…" her voice trailed off as she fought back a yawn.
"And now you can't." Duncan rested his head against the back of his chair, weariness pulling at him, creating a fuzzy feeling in his head. Her yawn triggered one of his own. "I know what you mean. I had a fight with Francine just before she and Jerrod went out. Before she died." He released a mirthless laugh. "Can't believe that's the last thing she heard from me."
"What did you fight about?"
Duncan stifled another yawn, his jaw cracking with the effort. "Them going on that snowmobiling trip. I thought it was irresponsible for them to do something so risky. They weren’t familiar with the mountains and just got those high-po
wered machines. The one time in my life I didn't wish I was right."
"If it's any consolation, I thought it was irresponsible, too, and if I had been able to talk to Jerrod before they left I would probably have said the same thing."
Her response made him feel somewhat better.
"Francine was fairly emphatic,” Duncan said. “She told me that she had to do this. That it was important for her and Jerrod to do this together," Duncan said. "Would you know what she meant by that? Did Jerrod say anything to you?"
"I didn't know they went out on this trip until I was told they’d died."
He had hoped she might have been able to help him. Ever since Francine threw that statement out at him, a hint of desperation in her voice, it had stayed, skulking at the edges of his thoughts, making him wonder if he shouldn't have pushed harder.
"The last year, I got the feeling that things hadn't been that great between them," he said. "Maybe she thought the trip would help." He rubbed his eyes, fighting down the weariness washing over him.
"Francine struck me as an intense person. Am I right?"
He wondered what triggered the question.
"Actually, yeah. She could really lay it on when she was ticked about something. Never really held back."
"Jerrod is…was the same way." Miriam sat up, pushing her hair back from her face, her expression suddenly intent. "Were she and Jerrod having difficulties in their relationship? Is that what she meant when she said it was important for her and Jerrod to take the trip?"
"Could be. But I didn't visit a lot with them after they moved here. I meant to. It just didn't happen." He could still feel guilty about that as well. "As for the difficulties, I'm not surprised. I'm sure they overextended themselves. Once the lawyer finishes settling the estate, we’ll know for sure."
Duncan didn't want to think about the repercussions of that situation. The last time Phil spoke to him, he'd said that a previous partner of Jerrod’s was making a claim against the estate for work he had done and not been paid for. On top of that the insurance company had been balking at paying out, given what Francine and Jerrod were doing when they died. Which meant that the house might need to be sold to pay the mortgage off.
"Just trying to put some things together," Miriam said. "Celia hasn't been sleeping well at night. She's always talking about voices. How noisy her Mommy and Daddy are. That they keep her awake. I'm just wondering if Jerrod and Francine were fighting in the house, and if Celia was hearing that."
Duncan frowned, trying to process this. Put it together with what he knew about his sister. "Esther's made some comments about Francine too. What a witch she could be. How she didn't appreciate Jerrod enough and was always making ridiculous demands. I just thought it was jealous sister stuff. Esther and Francine didn't always get along, which made it seem kind of weird when she got all excited that Francine and Jerrod were moving closer. I thought it was because of Celia."
"I don't want to put down people who aren't here to defend themselves, but I just want to figure out what's causing Celia to sleep so poorly. I wonder if some friction between Jerrod and Francine could be the reason."
"Well, she's sleeping really well here."
Miriam gave him a smile that slipped too easily into the empty and lonely spaces of his life. "And for that I'm thankful. I know you're not comfortable with the idea of her in your little girl's…the bed," she hastily amended. "I don't know why she decided to sleep there—"
"Maybe she knew her mother slept in it."
"Francine slept in it?"
"That bed has been in the family for years. My dad's father made it for him. My dad slept in it, as did my Uncle Bert. I did, Francine and Esther did, as well. Francine asked for it when they adopted Celia, but Kimberly and I had counted on using it for…" He stopped a moment, his throat thickening, but he swallowed and pushed through. "We figured on using it for Tasha." The memory brought about the familiar ache and sorrow, and he struggled to push it down.
"I think it's amazing to have an heirloom like that,” Miriam said, her voice quiet. “I'm sure…I'm sure it was hard for you…to see it empty."
Her voice held such a plaintive note that it created an answering twang in him. It was as if she understood exactly what he was dealing with.
He would have asked more, but he was hanging on to his own control by a thread.
It was the situation, he told himself as he fought to regain his equilibrium. Alone with an attractive woman who seemed to genuinely understand what he had been dealing with. The fire, the low lights, the smell of supper in the oven all combined to create an intimate atmosphere.
A sense of home.
He shifted to get up, to create a distance between him and Miriam, when he felt her hand on his arm.
He swung his gaze to her, curious.
"I never met your wife or little girl, but I'm sorry for you. Sorry for the emptiness I'm sure you've had to deal with."
The melancholy tone in her husky voice, her trembling smile, the way her eyes seemed to drift into his soul all wore at his already flimsy defenses.
"It was a while ago," he managed.
"But not enough to lose the pain. Three years isn't that long ago."
Duncan expelled a harsh sigh. "You're the only one who doesn't think so. I keep hearing that I have to move on."
"To where?"
"Exactly. Especially hard to find a place to go when I feel like God has abandoned me."
"It's hard to see His hand in our lives when we're stuck in the dark and can't see ahead."
He acknowledged her comment with a tight nod.
"But I know from my own experience that no matter how large the turmoil in my life, God is larger than that,” she continued. “And that even though my life didn't turn out the way I thought it should, I could still feel God's provision. His care."
"That's quite a confession to make," he said. "I wish I could share your conviction."
"It's not mine," she said, resting her chin on her knee as she glanced beyond him, as if looking into her own past. "The conviction comes with the reality that though my life may change and be tossed around, God is still faithful. His love endures. He's the only constant in my life."
The certainty in her voice caught his attention as much as her words did.
"You really believe that," he said, his own empty soul longing for what she had.
"I do. And I think, deep down, you do as well. I know you were raised as a Christian. It's hard to walk away from a relationship with Jesus once He's been a part of your life."
"It's not as much a matter of walking away as figuring He just doesn't care.”
“He’s never promised us a life without problems,” she said, turning her sincere gaze back to him. “This is still a sinful world. But he does promise that we can count on God's extravagant love for us. He knows loss and pain. He went through it, too."
Silence followed that statement, and Duncan felt a stirring in his soul. An old desire for an old relationship with the God she spoke so easily of.
"Tell me about your wife and daughter," she said, suddenly, tilting her head to one side, the gesture inviting his confidences. "Tell me about Kimberly and Tasha."
Miriam spoke softly, as if recognizing how carefully she had to ask.
Duncan was about to shake off her probing and leave the memories buried.
But a sudden and unexpected weariness dropped on his shoulders. He had been fighting down thoughts of his family for so long. He looked over at Miriam and caught the sympathy in her look. Caught a puzzling shimmer of tears in her eyes.
And he sensed here was someone he could confide in.
It was the haunted look in Duncan's eyes that made me gently prod and push.
I wanted to talk to someone who knew. Who understood the loss of a child.
"Kimberly and I were high school sweethearts, though we'd known each other most of our lives," Duncan was saying, laying his head back against the couch, his long hair framing his rugged feat
ures, a bright contrast to the dark leather. "We'd dated since we were in grade ten. We were a walking cliché. I was on the football team. She was a cheerleader." He gave me a brief wry smile. "Except I was something like third-string running back, and she was just a backup. But we figured we had it all. Even went to prom together."
I sat back against the armrest of the couch, wrapping my arms around my legs, listening to Duncan's story with a mixture of envy and curiosity. To have been so settled in life that you married someone you knew so well. To be so ingrained in a community.
What was that like?
As he spoke, his features seemed to take on a curious hardness. As if he was still fighting his own emotions.
"She got a job here, and I helped my dad on the farm with a plan to take it over. Had life all figured out. But we had a huge fight." He emitted a harsh laugh. "She wanted to move. I wanted to stay. So we broke up. Then Jerrod and Francine got married, and I met you…"
"So I was the rebound," I said with a light laugh though the thought bothered me.
He grabbed my hand, squeezing it as his eyes delved into mine. "No. You weren't that at all. I was genuinely attracted to you. You were fun and easy to be around. I thought you felt the same but…" Then he shook his head, pulling his hand away, breaking the momentary connection. "I guess that wasn't meant to be, either."
His words made my heart hurt. I wanted to explain, but knew that meant revealing more than I was ready to.
"Anyhow, I got back together with Kimberly at my parents' urging. She accepted that I wanted to stay, and we settled down. Then Tasha was born, and I discovered a whole new meaning to the word love."
I couldn't stop the stab of jealousy. The 'what ifs' that had often plagued me when Jerrod had texted me after the wedding. Warning me away from Duncan. Telling me that maybe I wasn't good enough for him.
What if I hadn't believed him? Would I have answered Duncan’s texts? Would I have ended up not dating Gregg and getting caught up in the mess of his life?
I thought of Celia, sleeping soundly upstairs, knowing that she would never have been born.
And I wouldn't have experienced the bittersweet pain I was feeling now.
This Place: Holmes Crossing Book 3 Page 16
