by Norah Wilson
If anything had happened to that little girl, he never would have forgiven himself.
There was a bump on the kitchen door behind him. Automatically, he cupped his cigarette in his hand, hiding it down by his leg. The noise came again and he recognized it as Axl scratching to be let out.
He crossed the porch and opened the door. Axl lumbered across the porch and down the wide steps to the lawn, sniffed a bush, and then peed.
Scott lifted his cigarette and took another haul. God, twenty-eight years old and still sneaking smokes.
Arden always pointedly ignored the lingering scent in the air or the grinding of boot to ground to extinguish a suddenly dropped cigarette. That was guilt-inducing enough, but it was the wrath of his doctor sister he most wanted to avoid.
It wasn’t like he lit up all the time. Just when he had something on his mind.
It was a wonder he hadn’t smoked a pack since yesterday. Or that he’d slept at all. What little sleep he’d gotten had been filled with dreams of April.
He thought he’d left those behind when he left Montreal this last time. The dreams had persisted for the nearly two weeks he’d been home, but he’d put that down to knowing he was going back to Montreal to finish things up. His brain wouldn’t let her go, knowing he’d see her again. But when he’d said his final goodbye, he’d fully expected to be on his way to April-free sleep.
Then Sid had popped up from beneath that tarp like a jack-in-the-box, and his mind had hopped right back on that treadmill.
He took a final haul from the cigarette, then bent and ground it out in the dirt. Picking it up to dispose of in the garbage, he called to Axl. “Come on, boy. Let’s go inside and I’ll feed you.”
The dog glanced at him, chuffed out his own breath of white vapor, then moseyed to another bush.
“Fine. Stay out then.”
Axl swished his tail, then headed toward the barn and whatever mischief he could get into at this early hour. Hopefully, he wouldn’t surprise a skunk.
Scott glanced at his watch again to check the time.
She’d be here soon.
The thought filled him with an anticipation that scared the shit out of him.
Scowling, he turned on his heel and went inside.
♥ ♥ ♥
The sound of an approaching vehicle brought Scott’s head up, but even before he saw it, he realized it wasn’t a car’s engine. A few seconds later, the milk truck lumbered into view, headed out to Escher’s dairy farm.
There wasn’t much on the Shadow Road—just Standish Farm, a few scattered homes, and near the end, Bram Escher’s dairy farm—but it was a through road, so it did get a little traffic. This morning, with each car that passed, he’d looked up from what he was doing outside the old storage shed to see if it was April.
So had his sidekick.
Sid had bunked down with Ember last night and had crept down the steps, fully clothed, at six o’clock. Scott had made her poached eggs on toast, which she’d devoured. Afterward, with a cup of milk, she’d demolished a handful of Mrs. Budaker’s gingersnaps, which she pronounced “really quite good.” And Scott hadn’t even had to pry the cookies from Titus’s cold, dead hand. He’d handed them over to Sid voluntarily. Wonders would never cease. The whole head-over-heels-in-love thing had had amazing effects on his big bro.
Titus wasn’t the only one who’d mellowed. Sid was positively civil this morning. And very talkative. Probably a product of nerves. She was definitely a little bit anxious, knowing her mom was coming.
April had decided to make it a two-day trip, stopping for the night in Rivière-du-Loup. Mother and daughter had spoken on the phone last night. Judging by Sidney’s demeanor, that second conversation had gone better than the first. Scott had overheard Sid’s end of the latter talk, and while it was clear April couldn’t wait to be reunited with Sid, the kid was definitely in hot water.
At least Sid was talking. Not about why she’d run away; she still refused to discuss that topic. But everything else under the sun was apparently fair game as they sorted through the cans of exterior paint Titus had bought in the spring with such good intentions.
“So why’d you name him Axl?” Sidney asked.
“Who?”
She rolled her eyes. “Axl, silly.”
He loosened the lid on a full can of red exterior barn paint and popped the top off, depositing it beside the can on the makeshift sawhorse-and-plank table. “Titus suggested the name and we went with it. He used to listen to this metal band—”
“Guns N’ Roses! He’s named after that Axl? Axl Rose?”
Scott’s eyes widened. “You know Guns N’ Roses?”
She propped her hands on her hips, a gesture so like her mother’s that she must have picked it up from April. “I’m not a child.”
“Of course not. You’re a…hmmm…”
“A kid.”
He grabbed a stir stick and started to stir the paint, gazing down into the can so she wouldn’t see his grin. Apparently, there was a critical distinction between being a child and being a kid that he’d failed to comprehend.
“How long before we can paint?”
“Soon. But I’d like the wood to be a little dryer.” He kept stirring. “When the temperature drops at night, there’s some condensation that forms.”
“Dew, you mean?”
“Sort of. But when it gets as cold as it was last night, it’s more of a light frost. I’m using latex paint, and it’ll stand a little water, but the dryer the surface, the better.”
“The sunny side looks dry,” she observed.
“It probably is, but generally, we try to stay out of the sun when we’re painting so the paint doesn’t dry too fast.”
“So you move around the building with the sun?”
“You could do,” he agreed. “But we’re a small crew, and it’s a tall barn. We’ll finish that north side first, probably over the course of a few days, then I’ll move the staging around to the west side. When we finally make our way around to the east face, we’ll probably paint later in the day, when the sun has moved around.”
She frowned. “There’s a lot more to it than I thought there’d be.”
“Yeah, but it’s such a big job, you want to do it right. Otherwise, you’ll wind up having to do it again sooner than you want to ’cause the paint didn’t adhere well and starts peeling, or just plain looks crappy.”
“I hope the painting is more fun than the scraping was yesterday.”
He laughed at her scrunched-up nose. He didn’t enjoy scraping off the old paint either. It sucked. “Yeah, it’s way more fun. And really cool to be able to see your progress. But like we talked about, you can only do it for short intervals and you have to take frequent breaks.”
“Right. ’Cause repetitive stress injuries are really bad for growing bones.”
“Exactly.” He was glad to know that she’d absorbed Ember’s lecture. He’d taken it to heart too, as witnessed by the egg timer he’d swiped from the kitchen so he wouldn’t forget to enforce the breaks. His ass would be grass if he let the kid hurt herself.
“Yup, it’s a big job.” Her gaze went to the Far South Barn, the job in question, and she nodded in a determined way—one he was familiar with. “Good thing I’m here, huh?”
“You bet.” Truthfully, he was glad she was here—not so much for the help, but for the company. It also made it easier to keep tabs on her.
“Wanna help me carry some of this stuff down to the barn?”
“Load me up.”
He handed her two paint brushes, two paint pails with plastic liners in them, and some well-spattered drop cloths, which she tucked under her arms. Usually he didn’t bother with drop cloths outside, but with a kid painting, he figured the risk of a spill probably went up.
“Race ya!”
Sidney took off toward the barn, her brown hair swinging behind her. He grinned, then scraped off his stir stick and replaced the cover on the paint can. She was such a lit
tle live wire. And she was charming Uncle Arden too.
Yesterday, after her short stint at scraping the barn, Arden and Faye had driven her to Crandler. They’d treated her to lunch at Chloe’s Back Porch. She’d come home raving about the biscuits, but opined there’d been too much basil in the sausage soup. Her foodie critiques had cracked everyone up, but they’d all had the good judgment not to laugh. Even Titus.
Titus still wasn’t Sid’s biggest fan—he couldn’t fathom why she wouldn’t explain her reason for trying to run away, or more to the point, why Scott accepted her refusal. The guy could be a bit rigid sometimes. Still, even he was warming up to the kid. Uncle Arden and Faye had stopped by Titus’s new bike repair shop and Sid had come home with a temporary tattoo of a motorcycle on her right bicep. She’d flexed it proudly. It looked a lot like his old Bonneville, actually. Sid explained it was a custom temporary tattoo his brother had ordered for promotional purposes, a redundant explanation, considering that the words Classic Bikes by Titus were emblazoned beneath the bike image.
That was yesterday. She’d been glad to escape the bulk of the scraping. Today, Sid was all his.
And that was kind of okay.
He grabbed some supplies, snagged the gallon of paint and headed toward the barn. By the time he caught up to her, she’d put the stuff down carefully on the ground and had opened the smaller paint brush. He’d bought it new for her, knowing the bigger ones they usually used would be too heavy. She was running the soft bristles over the palm of her hand, back and forth. She’d done the same thing at the Boisverts’ once, peeling the cardboard cover off a new paintbrush for him. Of course, there he hadn’t been able to let her help for obvious reasons, liability being chief among them, but she’d watched from a safe distance. She’d become his shadow.
“Mom’s here!” The new paintbrush hit the ground and Sid took off running toward the familiar Hyundai with Quebec plates that had pulled into the yard.
April.
Scott put his own burdens down and wiped his brow. Ran a hand through his hair. Then did it again. And though he didn’t run like Sid had, he was glad to see April. More than he should be. Oh, hell, way more than he wanted to be.
He walked over to the two Morgan women, who were still hugging beside the little car.
April finally drew back from her daughter.
“Hi, Scott.” She met his gaze over Sid’s head. “Thanks for taking care of my girl.”
“No problem. Good to see you again, April.”
“You too.”
Her smile was genuine, despite the long haul she’d just made in that tiny Hyundai. It didn’t boast a lot of room at the best of times, and right now, it was jam-packed. He leaned closer to see what was taking up all the space.
What the hell? It looked like she had her whole world packed up in there. If she was going to head straight back to Montreal today or tomorrow, there shouldn’t be anything more in the car than an overnight bag on the back seat, and maybe a bag for Sidney too. But the car had been efficiently packed to the top of the seat in the back with boxes. A clean plastic bag with winter coats was stuffed down into the footwell of the front passenger side. Scott guessed if he popped the small trunk, he’d find it full too.
He looked back at April, a question in his eyes. With her daughter still wrapped in her arms, she bit her lip and shook her head slightly. Enough that only he’d notice.
After one more squeeze, Sidney pulled back from her mother. “So how much trouble am I in?”
April looked down at her daughter. As happy as the two had been to reunite—and Scott could only imagine April’s relief—there would be consequences.
“A fair amount, Sidney Kathleen Morgan.”
Yikes. Three-name trouble.
“And not just for running away,” April added. “I know about the credit card you borrowed.”
Credit card? This was news to Scott.
“The Boisverts were pretty unhappy—Dr. Boisvert especially.”
“They were going to kill the dog if they didn’t get enough money for the surgeries he needs! I had a…moral responsibility to save his life.”
“That’s not going to wash,” April said. “Moral responsibility and stealing credit cards? They don’t go hand in hand.”
“But Dagwood…”
“I get it, Sidney. And I know how much you love dogs, but what you did was wrong.”
“Sorry, Mom.” She said it like she meant it.
“We’ll talk. And we’ll figure out how you’re going to pay me back.”
Sid’s eyes widened. “Pay you back?”
“Every last cent. Who did you think would be footing that huge bill, Sid?”
“So Dr. Boisvert was pretty mad?”
“Wouldn’t you be if someone stole from you?”
Sidney’s’ bottom lip trembled as she looked from her mother to Scott. She blinked back the tears and lowered her head. “Will I have to go to…youth jail?”
“No. But Sid, this is not a path you want to be traveling.”
Scott felt sorrier for April than he did for Sid. She didn’t like this situation—this discussion—any better than her daughter did. But she had to be tough. It wouldn’t do Sid a bit of good to be let off the hook.
God, this whole situation reminded Scott of the time he and Vaughn Lewis had borrowed his grandmother’s scooter. School had just let out for the summer and the boys were thirteen and bored. It was a lax time for chores; spring activity on the farm was behind them and the harvesting activity was yet to come. Girls were out of reach. So taking Vaughn’s grandmother’s wheels for a spin out to Rockland Lake while she’d gone to play bingo at the Legion had seemed like a great idea. Not so much, as it turned out. They’d wiped out half way there—the bike’s front wheel was completely ruined, the rim bent beyond repair.
Grandma Lewis had laughed it off. No harm—she was getting too old to drive it anyway, she assured Arden when he’d come to retrieve Scott. But that wasn’t the way his uncle had seen it. For the rest of the summer, every Tuesday right after lunch, he’d driven Scott over to Mrs. Lewis’s house to mow and rake her lawn. It took him all afternoon.
And every Tuesday that summer, as he’d sweated and swatted at the clouds of mosquitoes that rose up from the grass, he’d chafed at his punishment. It wasn’t like the old lady would be missing that ancient scooter.
Then there was his first year of high school, the year he’d gotten into so many fights with Dundas Bloom. It seemed like Uncle Arden got called to meet him at the principal’s office a lot that year. But this time, the activity had been extracurricular. Scott had found himself on the town’s train bridge with a can of orange spray paint and too much time on his hands. The trains rarely ran through Harkness anymore, the bridge over the Prince River seldom used. So he’d decided to spruce up the black-painted bridge with a dash of orange.
Who’d ever know it was him?
Arden knew. He’d noticed Scott’s orange fingertips that night, and seen the train bridge art the next morning. Scott really was sorry, embarrassed—it had seemed like a good idea at the time. Though the railroad crew had painted over it within hours the next day, Scott was still in trouble. Still had to be responsible. He had to apologize in person to the stationmaster, pay for the paint used to cover it up. Oh, but that wasn’t all. He was grounded for a week, missing his first-ever high school dance.
He’d learned his lesson—do the crime, do the punishment.
He’d been pretty pissed at his uncle on both occasions. And though the anger wore away, it had taken a few years before he got it—until he understood it all. And only now did he get a glimpse of how Arden must have felt.
“Dr. Boisvert’s gonna kill me, isn’t he?” Sidney said.
“No, he won’t.”
“Bet he’ll yell at me.”
April bit her lip, looked at Scott as she answered Sidney. “He won’t.”
They weren’t going back. Scott knew it and marked April with a serious, que
stioning look. She shook her head in a don’t-say-a-word way. Her eyes were filled with worry, tiredness. Almost an air of defeat.
“Sid, do me a favor?” Scott said.
“What?”
“There are a couple more paintbrushes—yellow-handled ones—in the storage shed. I was thinking they might work better on those shingles. Think you could go ask Uncle Arden to help you find them?”
“Sure.” She started to bolt again but stopped herself. She turned to her mom, her face serious. “I really am sorry, Mom.”
April nodded. “I know.”
As soon as Sid was out of earshot, April turned to Scott. “Yellow-handled ones, huh? That makes a difference?”
“Thought we could talk.”
“So you sent her on a wild goose chase?”
He shrugged. “They’re really there, stashed away somewhere. But when Sidney goes in and tells Uncle Arden I sent her looking and that you’ve arrived…”
“Ah, a delay tactic. He’ll know to not find them too quickly.”
“Yes.”
April smiled weakly. “I’ve been so worried. I was scared she’d try to run again, and not knowing the area…I’ve been imagining the worst.”
“We’ve kept a good eye on her. Dad’s in the kitchen, and then there’s her shadow.” He nodded toward the back step where a tail-wagging Axl got up and followed Sidney into the house. “He keeps an even closer watch than we do.”
“She’s always loved dogs.”
“Maybe they’ll let her have one wherever you’re going?”
“Where we’re going? What makes you think we’re going anywhere?”
Scott put his hand on the hood of the Hyundai. “I know this isn’t just packed for a road trip.”
