Light the Hidden Things

by Don McQuinn

  There was no reason to suspect someone else might be allowed inside.

  He trusts me. I can say what I need to say.

  Lila told him, "I'm glad you can talk to me. It's what I meant about being friends."

  The old suspicious withdrawal spread across his features like a wound reopening. She pressed ahead. "I told you I didn't sleep. I did some homework on the computer. About PTSD."

  "I deal with my own problems."

  "You're not solving them, though, are you? You're being unbelievably strong and brave. It makes me proud of you. But you do, too, need my help. Maybe someone else would be more or better help than me, but I'm the one you say you trust."

  "I may have made a mistake."

  "That's nuts. We've made a couple of mistakes about each other, but we're friends and you know it. I'm asking you to let me do what a friend does. Is that such a big thing?"

  Crow shrugged. At first she took it as dismissal, but body language - the way he turned away, looked down at his dog - she was certain signaled admission he was in the wrong. Gritting her teeth, she plunged on. "Can I at least tell you what I learned?"

  "I can't stop you."

  She ignored that. "Recovery's a matter of empowerment. You have to know you can beat the thing."

  "I know that. I'm doing it all the time."

  "See? 'All the time.' It keeps coming back. Sure you win the battles, but war goes on. Nobody beats it if they're isolated. You're the most isolated man I ever saw. All you're proving is you're too strong for your own good."

  He was out of his seat before she could move. Major lurched to his feet, alarmed. One step took Crow to the window. With his back to Lila, he said, "You know why I don't talk about any of it - not just the dreams, but her. Even if I wanted to talk to you about the dreams and all that, I'll never say more about her than I did last night. Don't ever ask me to."

  Lila drained her coffee, used the time to collect herself. Then she rose to step toward the door. Talking to Crow's back, she said, "I didn't ask, remember? I never will. And I repeat nothing, so relax."

  She opened the door. Zasu hopped down to join her. She inhaled deeply, savoring air so crisp it seemed to crackle, and added. "I don't really know that much about PTSD. I know you can't win in isolation."

  Crow said, "I'm not staying here long enough to be mixed up with doctors. That's final."

  Not trusting her voice to push past bitter disappointment, she nodded and left.

  She was at the front steps to the house before it hit her. She'd said nothing about looking for professional help. He brought it up.

  He thought about it. Maybe he's still thinking about it. Maybe...

  She took the steps in a rush, turned to look out over the lake to the mountains. It was a far prettier day than she expected.

  Chapter 28

  The scream of the saw couldn't get past Crow's protective earphones. Neither could his off-key whistling of "Wichita Lineman." When the saw's clamor ended, however, he continued. Lila and Herman rolled their eyes at each other.

  With the angle cut, Crow rested the last piece of window frame trim against the wall. He turned off the saw and stripped away the headgear, unconsciously bending away from the earlier head injury. The bandage was gone. A multi-colored bruise and a stubbly burr marked the spot. Straightening, hands on hips, he surveyed the store. His vision dismissed the litter - the sawdust, the paint and varnish cans, the work table - everything but the completed work. New cabinets yawned empty, eager to be filled. The rod racks waited. Bake's politically incorrect antler chandelier, waxed to a sheen, seemed to drift above him, ready for its new life, new light.

  Lila stopped polishing the other picture window, already completed, and joined him. She said, "I can't believe it. The end. At least it'll look like a real store now when people peek inside. Once we get rid of all the trash."

  Her pleased look disappeared under a swift wash of sadness that took color from her face, made her makeup garish for the moment. Crow turned away, disguising a wince. He was accustomed to her lightning-quick mood changes by now, but far from willing to accept them. Ever since their agreement she'd been this way - there were moments when she was enough like the Lila he knew to lull him into thinking she was content with their arrangement. Then, like just now, what was underneath would crack the surface.

  It had taken him two days to realize she was simply unhappy. His fault, and he was helpless to do anything about it.

  The same two days it took for him to penetrate his own misery. He only recognized her discomfort when he allowed himself the honesty of looking inside himself. Twice there had been opportunities for him to tell her of the storm in him, of how much he wanted to live what he now thought of as a real life. Twice he hadn't been man enough. Once he'd admitted both of those things, there was nowhere left to hide from his truth, nor hers. His selfishness shamed him. It didn't convince him. He argued inwardly - and constantly - that their bargain was the only choice they had. He told himself she'd never understand, that he'd made decisions he couldn't undo.

  Even as he thought about their strange magnetic poles relationship that attracted and repelled with equal force, her personality reverted. She was bright and pleasant again. "You ready to nail the frame in place?"

  He nodded. "After I lay it out on the deck to be certain it's square."

  The game went on. She grinned, shook her head. "It's a floor, jarhead. When're you going to stop that?"

  "Can't. It's in the rule book. If I forget to say 'deck' instead of 'floor,' somewhere a bulkhead falls on an angel."

  She laughed out loud. "Hopeless."

  It sounded wonderful.

  Herman had joined them. He said, "It's been a good week, you two. Be proud of yourselves. The best part is the living section's completely done."

  Lila said, "I am pleased with what we've done. I'm even prouder of the help from you and George. Crow and I would've need weeks."

  Herman snorted dismissal. "You're a team. Makes me think back to when me and Ericka were just starting out." His eyes widened. The leonine silvery head tilted back. He peered through the oddly perched glasses. "Oh."

  A grinning Crow draped an arm across Herman's shoulders. The older man's gaze dithered between Lila's sober stare and Crow's camaraderie. He quickly settled for the latter. Crow told him, "Lila and I are good friends. Nothing more. We know the two weeks I've been hanging out here have some people's tongues sizzling like campfire bacon." He glanced at Lila. She looked back, cool. Crow continued to Herman. "Major's about in shape to saddle up. Me, too." He touched the bruise. "No headaches, no vision problems, no dizziness. Another couple of days and I'm gone. The gossips will have to find another way to poison the air."

  Herman was so anxious to compensate for his earlier gaffe he babbled. "Especially since Van hasn't said one word against Lila bringing Bake's Place back to life. He's been real supportive, you know?"

  It was as devastating as hearing a small child prattle about Mommy hugging and kissing an uncle. All warmth fled the room. For a moment Crow couldn't decide if Herman was malevolent or terminally unobservant. A look at the innocent features almost disappointed him. The torment hiding in him was roaring, demanding violence.

  Lila spoke into the rigid silence. Her voice was measured, the words aimed at Herman. Her eyes focused on Crow's. She said, "Van's been very attentive. I'm not sure supportive's the right word." She glanced at Crow, then away. "I don't need his support. Marge's offered me a job. He acts like he can barge in here whenever he wants, day or night. It's not comfortable."

  Unpersuaded, Herman blundered on. "He's just being helpful. Like Crow was saying, people gossip. Him coming by like he does, everybody knows you and Crow are just friends, working together, like he said. Van's just trying to keep people from talking. You know?" The slight pause just before the last two words hinted that Herman might finally realize he'd stepped in something.

  Once more, Lila handled the silence. "So let people talk. They'll believe w
hat they want." She turned abruptly, headed for the living room. Behind her she heard Crow's booted footsteps. The screech of the still-unreplaced screen door followed, and the slam of the new front door. A shiver racked her as she dropped into her aunt's chair. Zasu leaped into her lap to stare into her eyes. Throat tightening dangerously, Lila whispered, "Practice does make perfect, little friend. The lies come easier now. 'Let people talk,' I said, like it doesn't bother me what people believe. I told poor Herman that and never blinked. It hurts when people think you're sleeping with somebody, especially when you aren't. And wish you were. So why can't I lie to me? Why can't I just tell myself I don't care if he leaves?" She scowled. "Why can't I even say when he leaves instead of if?"

  Herman shouted her name from the store area. She jerked her head around, rank with guilt, as if her secretive confidences had carried into the other room. He repeated the call, adding, "We've got company. Don't recognize the car. You expecting anyone?"

  She yelled back, "No," and hurried to join him. Together they joined Crow on the porch, watching a nondescript black Honda slow to a stop by the gas pump island. Garza stepped out, grinned up at them. Crow was less than welcoming. He said, "What's this all about?" in a mumble, then louder, "Welcome back, Doc. What brings you here?" Garza practically jumped up the steps, grabbed Crow's hand and pumped it.

  Before Garza could answer, Crow continued. "You're a long way from home. This better not be some goofy house call."

  Lila let herself breathe. Crow's manner was himself. The fury she'd seen moments earlier was burned out.

  Garza looked past Crow, nodded. "Ms. Milam. Good to see you again. Everything ok?"

  She came forward, shook his hand. "Fine, thanks. Not perfect, but good enough. How about you? What's up?"

  To Crow, Garza said, "I don't get it. Lady like this, she lets you hang out on her property? That just ain't right, man."

  Crow said, "I'd tell you to mind your swabby manners, but swabbies don't have any, so we'll press on. Answer the question."

  The broad grin tightened a bit. Crow noticed. "Let's hear it, buddy. Something from Doc Newton?"

  "Nothing like that." Garza shook his head. As he did, he reached to turn Crow slightly so he could examine the damaged area. He pursed his lips approvingly. "Healing fast. Good." He spoke to Lila again. "You ever notice how animals heal faster than people? 'Course, the First Sergeant's older, and that slows things down. Ten years ago even the hair'd be grown back by now. Never mind; he's doing real well."

  "Well enough to kick your scrawny butt up behind your Adam's apple. Quit messing with me. Why're you here?"

  "I only needed a little excuse to drive over and see for myself how you're doing. The excuse is this: Some dude came poking around the clinic, wanted to know if you were a patient, how you behaved - stuff like that."

  In the instant, Crow was chillingly serious, chin raised, head thrust forward. He spoke softly, precisely. "What did you tell him?"

  Garza blinked. Lila reached to touch Crow's arm. He ignored her. Garza said, "I told him I wouldn't give him nothing but directions back to Seattle. He talked to Doc Newton, too. Newton told him to get off the property or he'd..." A glance at Lila, then, carefully, "...or he'd do some wicked bad surgery on him."

  Crow said, "And so?"

  "Funny thing. He laughed when Doc said that. Then he just left. It bothered both of us, though; someone poking around about you. It's not right."

  Lila said, "It certainly isn't," and slipped her arm under Crow's, holding on to his hand. Crow tightened the arm, pulled her into closer contact. He told Garza, "You and Doc Newton are friends. Just so you know, I'm not in any trouble."

  Garza was dubious. "Then why?"

  Lila seconded that. "Yes, Crow. Who'd be checking up on you? And why?"

  He made a face. "I believe I know. Something that should have been over and someone won't let it go. No problem."

  Behind them, still on the porch, Herman said, "Well, something's going on. That's George's car turning in here, and I'm sure that's Martha beside him."

  The others turned to look. Lila said, "It's a convention. I don't understand. "

  With an agility that would have stunned many high school cheerleaders, Martha popped out of the car as soon as it stopped. She rushed to the stairs and onto the porch where she brushed past Crow to embrace Lila. The blur of her actions couldn't hide her concern. She stepped back quickly, looking into Lila's eyes. She said, "It's Pastor Richards. They've called a meeting."

  Crow said, "The Pastor's called a meeting? Of who?"

  Lila said, "Is he all right?"

  Herman stepped onto the porch. "Who's 'they?'"

  Garza quietly retreated off the porch to stand with George. Neither spoke.

  Martha waved her arms. "Van says Andy's a criminal. He says he's got proof. It's just awful."

  Crow caught one of her flying hands. "Hold on, Martha. Just hold on. Take a deep breath. Start at the beginning. Did Van tell you this himself?"

  Nodding vigorously, Martha struggled for control. A twitchy hand patted her hair while the other tugged to straighten her skirt. She straightened. "The church board," she said. "Van called every one of us. Told us he had proof."

  Lila asked, "Proof of what? What's Pastor Richards accused of?"

  Martha shook her head. "Van won't say. Andy won't talk to anyone. Van says it's something the board has to know. He said the Sheriff'll be there."

  Crow turned to Lila. "Andy Richards is a good man. I'm on board for that meeting."

  Lila's head jerked as if she'd been slapped. "You? What can you do? The stress..." Her mouth snapped shut. A quick fist covered her mouth, too late to block what had just been said.

  Crow stared at her for a long moment before turning away. He asked George, "This meeting - where and when?"

  Startled at the sudden attention, George stammered. "It's a... You're not a board member. Are you allowed?"

  "Yes. Answer me."

  Grabbing Crow's arm, Garza said, "Don't cook off on me, First Sergeant. Not me. I'm going with you. Keep it together or, so help me God, I'll put a chokehold on you that'll put you to sleep for a week. I swear I will."

  Crow glared. At the far end of the porch Major rose silently, padding stiff-legged toward the scene. Then Crow laughed. Threw back his head and roared. When he slowed to inhale, he controlled it, told Garza, "I believe you. I do. I'm glad you're here."

  Uncertainly, Garza nodded. Lila said, "I won't let you hurt yourself. There's been enough of that. I won't let it happen again."

  The face Crow turned to her was flint. Eerily, she felt she was looking through it. It thrilled her so strongly she was afraid her knees would buckle.

  I see fear. Red mist, swirling. That's fear. And there's anger. Despair.

  There's more than that.

  The presence. Again. I see his mind. I hear hers. Trying to speak to me.

  She cries.

  I can't understand you.

  A word. "Forgiveness." One word? What can that mean? Tell me something!

  Fear. Why is she afraid?

  Chapter 29

  Single file, the group entered the church, grim and apprehensive. Pastor Richards sat in the front pew, head down. He made no effort to see what was going on behind him. He was alone, the other members of the church board scattered throughout three pews behind him. They formed tight knots of threes and fours, about twenty people in all. They stared at the newcomers with a mix of confusion and concern. A white screen on a stand shielded the altar. Between it and the Pastor, Van watched the latecomers arrive. He stood with his arms folded, posing his triumph. Lila led the entering column. Van sent her a smile. It was unpleasant.

  A second man, a stranger, nondescript as dust, busied himself at a card table with a projector aimed at the screen.

  Crow brought up the rear of the group. Van's attitude changed as soon as he saw him. He stepped forward, practically bumping into the Pastor. An imperious finger aimed at Crow, he declared, "T
his meeting's for people from Lupine. We don't need outsiders. And get that mutt out of here. You can't bring a dog in a church."

  Pastor Richards hunched tighter, still not turning.

  Everyone in front of Crow stopped. He maneuvered past them, Major trailing. When he was beside Lila, Crow planted his feet. "Me and Major are staying. And if it's only locals welcome, explain him." He nodded at the second man.

  Before Van could answer, the man faced Crow, saying, "My name's Piers, Jason Piers. I'm a private detective. Mr. Vanderkirk hired me to..."

  Van practically shouted his interruption. "I'll tell them what they need to know."

  Lila said, "Let him speak, Van; are you embarrassed?"

  Piers raised his hands, palm out. "Never mind, Ms. Milam. It's okay. I don't mind."

  Crow unconsciously raised his chin. His eyes narrowed. He said nothing, continuing to watch Piers closely until Lila nudged him. "Don't you want to hear what he has to say?"

  "I believe that's why we're here, actually; to hear Van tell us what Mr. Piers's been up to."

  Garza hurried in from parking his car as if entering on a cue. He grinned apology until he spotted Peirs and blurted, "You. You're the guy who came to our clinic."

  Lila said, "Him? The one asking about Crow?" Even as she spoke, she noted Crow's completely unaffected attitude. It was so unlike him she frowned her surprise.

  Garza, moving to join Crow, said, "That's him." Then to Piers, "What are you doing here? You're not finding out anything about him. Get that straight." He jerked a thumb at Crow.

  Van blustered. "This's got nothing to do with you, whoever you are. Nobody gives a damn about this trailer trash."

  At that, Pastor Richards finally reacted. He stood, jabbed a finger into Van's chest. There was enough force to send the larger man a step back. The Pastor said, "You don't swear in here." Van reacted by cocking a fist. The look on his face made it clear he intended to strike.