India leaned over the deck and watched a small finch try to coax a last bit of seed out of the bird feeder she’d nailed to the tree last winter. She’d have to remember to pick up some bird seed when she went to the store.
And some India feed might be a good idea, she mused. She couldn’t remember when she’d last been to the supermarket. She probably needed everything. Her coffee was cooling rapidly in the frosty morning air, and she wrapped her sweater around her. Days like this called for a plate of Aunt August’s waffles. Bowls of warm applesauce. Or, better yet, warm apple pie, like the one Aunt August made. Or the one Nick had made to share with her.
Sighing, she thought back to the night they’d sat on the deck overlooking the bay, watching the moon and listening to the sounds of the night. It had been romantic, and that had made it scary; she could admit that now that there was more than a mile’s distance between them. Nick Enright was everything a man should be. Everything she needed a man to be. And it scared the hell out of her. It was hard enough to take on Corri, bringing a child into a life that had been, up until now, pretty much unencumbered, without taking on Nick too, hard enough to learn to parent the one without worrying about becoming lovers with the other. Learning to love one at a time would be enough. Surely Corri needed her more than Nick did.
But still the question nagged at her: Which did she, India, need more, the child or the man?
Both, she acknowledged. She needed them both. Nick and Corri. But one step at a time. Walk before you run, she cautioned herself. Her life was here now, Nick’s was in Devlin’s Light for however long his research might take, and then who knew? Better to be cautious. Why set herself up for a fall—set Corri up for a fall—if she didn’t have to? They could be friends. They could keep their relationship platonic.
Who was she kidding?
India poured the cooled coffee over the railing and sighed. It had never been platonic, right from Ry’s funeral when he had sought her out and found her on the swing on Aunt August’s back porch. It had only been a matter of time.
And what to do now, she wondered. She had a child to raise, a child she was still getting to know. And a job to do. Alvin Fletcher was coming to trial in two weeks, and she had to be ready for him. She had looked into the eyes of a shell-shocked father and promised him that she would do whatever it took to put Alvin Fletcher away for the maximum number of years permitted by law. She owed that much to the young girl who had been the victim of a brutal rape and beating at Fletcher’s hands. How could she keep her promises if she couldn’t keep her mind on the facts of the case?
Maybe it would be better to put distance between herself and Nick than to watch an Alvin Fletcher walk, better to lose Nick than to lose a conviction. It was more important—wasn’t it?—that she put the bad guys away? Someone’s life could depend upon it, the life of his next victim, should she fail.
But what about her life?
All this early morning deliberation was giving her a headache, and she rubbed her eyes behind her fisted hands.
India sighed and pushed it all away, choosing to leave it all outside on the deck with the fallen leaves and the half-eaten acorns discarded by the neighborhood squirrels. She’d deal with it later. Right now she had work to do.
At ten o’clock on the following Saturday morning, India was preparing to leave the house to drive to the train station to pick up Corri, who was to be accompanied on her travels by Amelia Johnston, a friend of Aunt August’s, who was coming into the city to visit a sickly sister. She stepped out onto the small front porch, thinking about how much she had missed the little girl. She was just imagining how Corri’s tender face would light up when she spied India in the station when she turned on the top step to see Corri pop out of the passenger seat of a white utility vehicle.
“What on earth …”
“Nick was coming to see his sister. She’s a dancer and her name is Georgia.” Corri made a beeline for India, her mouth moving as quickly as her feet.
“What about Mrs. Johnston?”
“Oh. Her sister died. So they shipped her to Buffalo. Isn’t that a funny name for a place, ‘Buffalo’? If I was naming a city I’d never call it ‘Buffalo.’” Corri hugged India, wrapping her arms around her neck.
“Well then, what would you call it?”
“I’d call it ‘Zebra.’ Or ‘Antelope.’” Corri giggled and squirmed to get down, her feet already itching to get on with the day. “Can we have lunch?”
India watched as Nick approached her uncertainly, as if measuring the distance and finding it too far but not sure of the best way to breach it.
“How did you get roped into a trip to Paloma?” She raised her eyebrows, following his every step, watching him as he watched her, his pale brown eyes seeming to drink her in.
“Well, I had told August I’d be coming in this weekend,” he said, swinging Corri’s bag over his shoulder, “since Georgia’s in town and I promised my mother I’d make it to at least one performance. So when Mrs. Johnston changed her travel plans, I offered to bring Corri.”
“She talk you to death in the car?”
“Nearly. Not as bad as Halloween, however. She had plenty to talk about that night, I can assure you.”
India laughed and unlocked the front door, swinging it open for him to enter behind Corri.
“Old Mrs. Leamy gave quarters instead of candy,” Nick told her as he passed into the warmth of her house.
“So I heard.”
“But the Andersons gave out caramel apples, which made up for it.”
“Heard about that too.”
“I really missed you, India,” he said softly, and he stopped her in her tracks by placing a feather of a kiss right below her left ear before whispering, “Don’t tell me you heard that from anyone else.”
Grinning, she closed the door behind her.
“You don’t mind, do you?” he asked when he reached the living room. “If I’m intruding into your plans …”
“Not at all. I’m grateful that you brought Corri. To tell the truth, I was worried about her taking the train with Amelia Johnston. She takes her knitting everywhere she goes, but as soon as she starts clicking those needles together, she falls asleep.”
“Are you afraid that someone would snatch Corri from the train?” He stopped in midsentence, her face having darkened suddenly and her eyes for the briefest second turning wild.
“Things can happen when no one’s watching,” she told him, brushing past him to follow Corri into the kitchen.
“Can we have pancakes? Are we going to the museum? Nick said we could go to the ballet tonight to see his sister dance. Can we, India?” Corri propped herself up on her knees on the edge of a kitchen chair. “I never went to a real ballet.”
“Corri, I said you should see if India had plans for tonight,” Nick reminded her. “Maybe she has made other plans to do something else.”
“Actually, I had plans for today but not for tonight,” India said, leaning back against the counter.
“Coffee?” Nick pointed to the carafe which rested on a hot plate.
“Help yourself.” She handed him a purple mug with “Paloma Jazz Festival ’96” written on one side in pale pink letters. To Corri she said, “The Museum of Natural History has an exhibit based on an archeological dig from central Asia.”
India searched through papers on her kitchen counter to find the brochure she had received some weeks earlier and had held on to in the event that a break should occur in her schedule that would permit her a free day.
“Here.” She waved the buff-colored flyer in her right hand before smoothing it out and skimming the text. “The exhibit features fossil exposures of the Gobi Desert. Dinosaur bones. Apparently the Gobi had been a nesting site for dinosaurs called protoceratops.” She looked up from her reading to explain, “This says that protoceratops were dinosaurs that were six to seven feet long and had claws, a wicked-looking beak …”
Nick nodded. “The American Museum of Natur
al History sponsored an expedition to the Gobi back in the twenties that resulted in a huge find. When the photographs of the protoceratops fossils were published, some scientists actually thought that they were the remains of griffins.”
“Really?” India poured herself another cup of coffee.
“What are griffins?” Corri asked.
“Mythical creatures with heads and talons—claws—like eagles and bodies like lions.”
“Are they real?” Corri made a face.
“No, sweetie. That’s what mythical means. Something made up, out of stories from long ago. But not real.”
“Ummm, is there anything else at that museum?” Corri asked warily.
“Maybe it doesn’t sound as interesting as I think it might actually be.” India smiled apologetically at Corri, mentally berating herself for forgetting that she was, speaking to a six-year-old. She should have made the subject matter sound as appealing as she suspected it really would be once they got there to view the exhibit. “I really think you will like it, Corri. Are you willing to give it a try?”
“Okay.” Corri did not sound convinced. “Can Nick come too?”
“That’s up to Nick.” India turned her back to rinse out her cup. “Maybe he has other plans for the afternoon.”
“None.” He smiled, and India realized that he had intended on accompanying them all along. “And since you’re kind enough to let me tag along, lunch will be on me.” He turned to India. “Does the museum have a restaurant?”
“Actually, it does. And it’s quite good, but you don’t really have to—”
He dismissed her protests and took her arm. “My pleasure. Are we ready to go?”
“I’m ready.” Corri bounced off her chair.
“Do you have a sweater, Corri?” India frowned. The child was wearing only a long-sleeved T-shirt.
“In my bag.” Corri took off in search of her overnight bag, which she found in the front hallway, where Nick had left it at the foot of the steps. She unzipped it and began to rummage through it until she found the dark blue sweater with green stripes across the front. Pulling it over her head in one motion, she announced, “I’m ready.”
India chuckled and smoothed the child’s hair where it had become mussed from the sweater dragging over it. She turned to grab her purse from a nearby chair and caught Nick staring at her, the corners of his mouth upturned in just enough amusement to free the killer dimples that lurked in the hollows of his cheeks.
Corri had opened the door and sped down the steps.
“Okay.” Searching her pockets for her house key to lock up behind them, India motioned for Nick to follow Corri out. “What’s so funny?”
“Just observing you with Corri.” Nick flashed a heartwarming smile. “You are just naturally maternal.”
“Me? Maternal? I think you have me confused with someone else, sir.”
“Making sure she understands what you’re talking about without talking down to her. Making sure she has her sweater. Fixing her hair before she goes out. Worrying about her safety on the train.”
She lowered her eyes and brushed past him without a response.
He caught up with her at the car.
“Indy, did I say something that upset you?”
“Let’s just drop it and go.” How to explain to him that a child was never really safe?
He unlocked the car and she got into the front seat after just the slightest hesitation.
“Corri, can you get your seat belt?” She turned to the child, who was situating herself in the backseat.
“Sure.”
Corri chatted nonstop for the entire twenty-minute drive to the museum, much to India’s relief, since it spared her from having to make small talk, which she didn’t feel up to all of a sudden.
Soon they were on the steps of the museum, Nick and India arguing over who would pay for the admissions. India won, since Nick had already committed to buying lunch.
The exhibit was every bit as enthralling as India had suspected it might be. Corri asked a million questions of no one in particular, and, much to Corri’s delight, Nick responded nearly as often as the guide, revealing an extensive knowledge of dinosaurs and fossils and prehistoric times. Corri’s curiosity led her to continue her questions right through lunch.
“But what did they eat? What did their babies eat? Why did they all die in their nests like that?” She trailed behind Nick, through the cafeteria-style line that was the order of the day on weekend afternoons, due to the number of families that visited on Saturdays.
Nick turned his attention from the steam tables to answer her as India’s eye was caught by their reflection in the long mirror on the wall next to the cash register.
We look like any other family here, she thought, awed by it. We look like a normal mom, dad, daughter, out for an afternoon together. There’s no difference between the three of us and that family sitting at the table right there.
India studied the mother, a good-looking woman in her midthirties, as she caught her daughter’s jacket as it started to fall from the back of the chair onto the floor. The girl was older than Corri, maybe ten or so, and appeared to be at that brief but fragile place where childhood and adolescence met, where doing something on a Saturday afternoon with your mother and father is still fun but totally uncool. She was torn between having a good time and not wanting to, and it showed in her face. Dad was obviously amused by it; Mom had clearly had all the amusement she could take from that quarter for one day. Dad lowered his head and began to talk, perhaps about something they had seen there that morning, and slowly the girl began to respond, her face becoming more animated, the you-people-bore-me-to-tears-and-God-forbid-that-I-don’t-see-anyone-I-know look beginning to fade as she spoke.
India smiled weakly at the mother, who had caught her staring, glancing at Corri and smiling back at India, as if to warn that the day would in fact come when Indy too would join the ranks of women who, by simple virtue of their motherhood, knew absolutely nothing about anything. Sighing, the woman turned back to her husband and child.
“India, I asked you what you wanted to drink.” Nick had touched her arm.
“Oh. Iced tea is fine,” she told him absently.
“Nick, I see a table. It’s over there.” Corri pointed across the room. “Can I go get it for us?”
“Sure.” He nodded. “Good idea.”
He slid the tray holding his lunch and Corri’s toward the cash register with one hand while the other dug into his back pocket for his wallet. India craned her neck to watch Corri weave through the crowd, unaware that Nick was watching her.
“Nick, you shouldn’t have let her go by herself,” she told him.
“India, she’s going fifty feet away in a crowded room. What are you afraid of?”
She continued to watch Corri but did not answer.
“Someone’s talking to her. Why is that man talking to her?” The deep creases of a frown dug into her forehead. She shoved the tray toward him and took off briskly toward the table where Corri was arranging paper napkins at each of three places and chatting to a man in his forties who appeared to be very interested in what she was saying.
“Excuse me.” India placed herself between Corri and the man.
He smiled at her and was about to speak, when he glanced at her face and backed off a step or two.
“I was just discussing the dinosaur exhibit with your little girl,” he said softly. “I write children’s books. I’ve been working on a book about dinosaurs and I just wanted to know what she found most interesting about the exhibit.”
“And I’m certain she was more than happy to tell you.” Nick came up behind India, deposited the trays on the table and placed a steadying hand on her shoulder.
“Actually, she was.”
Before I came up and near blew him off his feet, ready to call security and Paloma’s finest and the FBI. India inwardly grimaced.
“I’m sorry,” she told him, “but she’s been taught not to sp
eak to strangers.”
“I understand.” The man nodded, backing away as if he’d been slapped.
An awkward silence hung over the table, until finally Nick pulled out the chairs and directed everyone to sit. He slid India’s tray across the table to her, then turned to Corri and asked, “Do you need help in opening that soda bottle?”
Corri nodded her head, her eyes downcast toward her lunch. Slowly, quietly, she began to unwrap her sandwich from the cellophane wrapper, as if afraid to make noise, afraid to call attention to herself.
“Corri,” India began, “you do know not to talk to strangers, don’t you?”
“I didn’t think Mr. Carson was a stranger.” Corri looked up at her with doleful eyes.
“How do you know his name was Mr. Carson?”
“Because I asked him. He was in our group when we were upstairs with the guide. And he writes books. I read the one about the grasshopper. Kimmie gave it to me for my birthday last year.”
India held her breath, torn between embarrassment and fear. It was so easy to get to a child, to earn their trust, to make them believe you were anyone you told them you were.
“If Mr. Carson had asked you to come back to the exhibit with him, what would you have said?” India tried to force a calm into her voice.
Corri looked at her as if she had two heads.
“I would have said I had to ask you first.”
“What if he had said he had already asked me and I said it was okay?”
Without the slightest hesitation, Corri said, “I would say that you didn’t tell me I could go, and I couldn’t, unless you told me.”
“You are a very smart young lady.” Nick patted her on the back with great affection, all the while watching India’s eyes. “India was just concerned that maybe you didn’t know to do that.”
“I know. Aunt August told me. And so did Ry. Ry told me that no matter what anyone said, if he didn’t tell me okay, or Aunt August or Darla, it was not okay.”
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