by Lisa Wingate
I was still muttering to myself as I turned the corner to cross through Uncle Herbert’s office. The rustling of papers caught me off guard, and I stopped short, slapping a hand to my chest, a breath hitching in my throat.
There was a strange man behind the desk. He was young, maybe in his twenties, dressed in a sport coat and slacks. He seemed to be making calculations, using a graph paper and an antiquated adding machine. Apparently he was unconcerned with my passing.
I had the fleeting thought that he was a ghost. A fully solid ghost whose breath ruffled the adding machine tape, as he peered at the numbers. A ghost who chewed Juicy Fruit. I could smell it.
I stopped just past the desk and turned to look at him. “What are you doing in my uncle’s office?”
He glanced up, seeming surprised that I had addressed him, but not alarmed. “I’m with the auction company.”
“For the estate sale?”
“Right.” He turned back to his work, indicating a lack of interest in engaging me. He punched in a few more numbers, studied them.
“You’re getting stuff ready for the estate sale?”
“Right.”
“My uncle knows you’re here?”
“Right.”
The one-word answers fanned the burn in my stomach. With the exception of the visit to Ruth’s, it had been another upside-down and backward, down-the-rabbit-hole day, filled with events that, lumped together, made no sense. “The estate sale, which is . . . when, exactly?”
He punched in more numbers, snorted softly, erased something on his graph paper, rewrote in the spaces. “You’d have to talk to Herbert about that, ma’am.”
“But I’m asking you.” My inner dragon lady, the one who sent interns scurrying against walls, was rapidly coming to the surface. I’d been way too much of a wimp since my bedraggled arrival in Moses Lake.
“I don’t have any information. Your uncle would be the one to talk to.” He began furiously punching numbers, muttering, “Mmm-hmm . . . mmm-hmm,” to himself, as if I were no longer in the room.
“Might I ask what you’re doing, exactly?”
“Calculating.” The answer was flat, intentionally off-putting, meant to let me know that he wouldn’t be divulging anything.
Clenching my teeth over a snippy retort, I continued on toward the basement. The red tags, if they were there, would at least be proof of something. I wasn’t exactly sure what, but . . .
Outside, a pickup truck was coming up the driveway. As it popped over the hill, a soft, sweet feeling, like a dusting of powdered sugar, fell over my churning inner self. Blaine. I needed a friendly face at that moment.
But in reality, I had no solid reason to believe Blaine was a friend. However interesting, different . . . all right, even magical last night’s dance at Blue Moon Bay had been, Blaine was somehow wrapped up in this business with my mother and my brother, and he wasn’t willing to divulge any secrets.
Maybe if I told him what I’d seen today in Gnadenfeld, it would make a difference. Blaine really appeared to be a decent guy. Surely he had just been taken in by Clay’s enthusiasm and the high energy of Clay’s current manic interest in Moses Lake. All I had to do was make Blaine see the truth.
Grabbing a jacket, I hurried out the front door as his truck tooled into the circle in front of the house—moving rather fast, actually. Gravel flew as he skidded to a stop, and I hung back until the dust died down. Blaine leaned across the front seat to throw open the passenger door. “You up for a little adventure?”
I hesitated at the base of the porch steps, the voice in my head saying, Who cares about the land deal, the family’s financial stability, or the future of your career. Get in the truck with the hunky guy. “Where are we going?”
“Just trust me. This’ll be worth the ride.”
“That’s what you said last time.” I moved a few steps closer.
His smirk broadened into a devil-may-care grin, unabashedly confident. “And was it?”
Heat traveled from my head to my toes. There was only one answer to that question, and we both knew what it was. Call me coy, but I couldn’t quite bring myself to admit to it. Grabbing the door, I dragged myself into the passenger seat, trying to appear reserved so as to not make evident my inner voice cheering, Yee-haw! Let’s go, cowboy!
Moving his foot from the brake to the gas, he grinned, his eyes sliding over me in a way that made my stomach flutter. All thoughts of my brother and my frustrating afternoon flew out the window. I remembered last night’s dance and the kiss.
Never in my life had a kiss brought such an onslaught of emotions that I couldn’t even think straight while it was happening. That kiss wasn’t like any other kiss. I still wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was the night, or the magic of Blue Moon Bay.
Or the dance.
Or maybe it was the man.
That prospect bothered me. I reeled my mind in like a Macy’s balloon, pulled too high by a stiff wind. If I was going to hang out with Blaine, I had to be smarter this time, more in control.
That thought took wing as Blaine glanced over at me, a little dimple forming in his cheek when he checked for traffic before pulling onto the road, and turning left, away from town. “Don’t look so worried. Last night’s surprise worked out all right, didn’t it?”
I felt hot, despite the relatively cool air wafting through the vents. “Maybe I was just playing along to make you feel good.” My cheeks twitched upward, making it tough to keep a straight face.
A knowing smirk answered. “Tell me you’re not the kind of girl who would mess with a guy’s heart.”
Tell me, I thought. Tell me you’re not that kind of guy. But I felt my little balloon head floating up and up and up. I wanted to lose myself in the moment again, throw caution to the wind, abandon all sense of reason, gamble like a high roller.
“Last night was nice.” The admission surprised me. It felt vulnerable and raw. Whatever else happened, I would carry that dancing lesson with me. My chance to finally visit the Blue Moon on a dream date. It had only taken me sixteen years. “Never know when the two-step will come in handy, back in Seattle.”
His face straightened, as if the mention of my going home bothered him. Maybe I was just imagining it. Wanting it. It was silly, of course. Leftover high-school emotion, more than anything.
“Hang around awhile. I’ll teach you a few more steps.”
My heart tumbled, pressing against my chest. I let my eyes close for a moment, tried to collect my thoughts. “I wish I could.” The words were just a whisper. I didn’t realize I’d said them out loud until I heard them.
“They construct big buildings in Texas, too,” he pointed out quietly.
I didn’t reply. I didn’t know what to say. Everything was so up in the air. Depending on what was going on with Clay, I might be around for a while. If I couldn’t convince him to face the problem and go back to Seattle with me to seek some kind of treatment, I’d have to take an extended leave of absence from my job and stay in Moses Lake. What would Mel say? He would have to replace me with a new second in command. Temporarily. But temporary could quickly become permanent. I’d become Mel’s second when his last right-hand man had taken off to nurse his wife through cancer. All I’d seen at the time was my opportunity.
There were dozens more just like me, waiting in the wings. Looking for a big break.
If Mel doesn’t understand, after all you’ve done for him, after all you’ve put in, then forget him. There are other places to work.
Were there? Would I really do something that drastic?
If Clay was willing to consider some kind of treatment here, I could look for a position in Texas—Dallas or Austin—maybe help get myself into a firm by telling them I had a line on designing a group of dental clinics in the area. . . .
I felt the colors bleeding outside the lines, racing in directions I never thought they’d go. Texas? Staying in Texas?
Outside the chaos in my mind, I heard the grinding of the tires on
the pavement, a rattle in the air conditioner fan, the keys jingling as we passed over a pothole. I realized how quiet the truck had become. Had Blaine somehow picked up on the crazy track my mind was taking? Could he see it, just by looking? When I glanced over at him, he was focused on a trailer load of new speedboats passing by. Oblivious, thank goodness.
“Blaine, I have to ask you something, and I just . . . really need the truth right now.” Breath cramped in my chest, feeling solid and painful.
“All right.” His tone was wary. “I’ll answer, if I can.”
I pulled in air, then let it out with words laced into it. Dangerous words. Words that could change everything. “Do you know what’s going on with my brother? Do you know what kind of a . . . a problem he has?”
“Problem?”
There was no choice but to lay it out now. “Drugs, Blaine. I found . . . things in his clothes, paraphernalia. A vial, a ziplock bag that had some kind of powder in it. Then today I saw him sneaking around in some alley over in Gnadenfeld . . . making a transaction of some sort. He knocked on a door, and someone gave him something, and he hid it in his coat.”
Blaine didn’t look at me but remained focused on the road as he piloted the truck into a scenic turnoff high on a bluff overlooking the lake. “Heather, I don’t think . . .”
“Do you know, Blaine? Do you know what he’s into—what he’s using?”
I felt the truck settle into Park, heard the engine die. Blaine’s hand slipped over mine, his fingers a warm, reassuring circle. Meeting his gaze, I searched for lies and secrets, but I couldn’t see any. There was only the soft brown of understanding, of kindness and concern. “Heather, I can promise you that your brother’s not on drugs.”
“But how . . . I . . . I found things . . .”
He swiveled toward the front window before I could repeat myself. “There they are.” He motioned to draw my attention, and I turned just in time to take in something so beautiful it chased away all other thoughts. Silhouetted against the bluffs, two bald eagles floated on the mingling air currents over the lake. They moved effortlessly, rising and falling, circling one another and cartwheeling through the sky, consumed by the joy of the moment and the freedom of flight.
Blaine exited the truck silently, and I followed, even the soft click of the door seeming too loud. The eagles dipped out of sight, and Blaine moved toward the edge of the overhang.
“C’mon,” he whispered, stretching a hand toward me. I slipped my fingers into his, and he led me through a tangle of cedars, the two of us creeping one step at a time, like photographers stalking the perfect shot in some remote Discovery Channel location. Overhead, the eagles’ shrill cries sliced the crisp winter air, sending a primal shiver over my skin, the instinctive reaction of predator and prey. They seemed closer now, as if their wings were beating the air just above the cedars. Blaine continued to pull me with him until we were crouched side by side on the edge of a bluff, an arch of thick, green cedar surrounding us.
The eagles swooped past, so close I drew back out of reflex and caught a breath. Blaine glanced at me and winked as the birds dipped near the water, then soared upward in tandem, their massive, powerful wings pumping long, even strokes as they rose against scattered winter clouds.
“That’s amazing,” I whispered, exhilarated and at the same time feeling a lump in my throat. I’d been all over the world, had helped to design buildings that seemed to defy gravity and meld into the surrounding expanse of sky, but I’d never seen anything so incredible as the eagles in flight over the lake. Nothing man-made, no feat of engineering could even begin to compare to this.
At the apex of flight, the birds circled, then seemed to hesitate, almost suspended in midair.
“Watch.” Blaine squeezed my hand, leaning close to me so that he could see around the fringe of cedars. I felt his nearness. The sensation and the spectacle overhead sent electricity surging through me, bringing to life every inch, every fiber of my being, capturing every thought and breath into the moment.
“What are they doing?” I whispered.
“They like each other.” Blaine’s breath rustled my hair. I felt myself tumbling over the edge of the abyss, floating and swirling. “It’s a courtship dance.”
I thought of last night, of gliding across the rocks at Blue Moon Bay in Blaine’s arms, the two of us moving as one to the tinny strains of music drifting across the water. That moment was like this one—an instant of being completely present, swept into an experience so powerful that nothing else could compete with it.
I’d never been drawn in that way before. It was at once impossibly alluring and frightening.
“There they go.” He stretched a hand up, pointed, and in one sudden, powerful collision, the eagles locked talons and spiraled downward, their bodies whirling, the white feathers on their heads glinting like the fins on a windmill, spinning impossibly fast. The velocity increased as they tumbled downward in free fall, spiraling toward the ground. I’d heard of eagles locking talons in a death spiral before, even seen it once on the nature channel, but I’d never expected to witness it in person.
I felt myself spinning along with them, felt the fear and the elation of something so free, so dangerous, so wild. Every muscle in my body tightened. I realized I was holding my breath, clutching Blaine’s hand, afraid to watch but unable to stop as the ground raced closer. They surely wouldn’t survive the fall. . . .
A burst of air escaped my lips, then a laugh as the eagles released one another within inches of the bluffs and swooped upward. I slapped a hand to my chest, catching my breath. “Oh, wow. I’ve never seen anything like that in my life. That was . . . was . . .” Emotion stole away the words. Moisture welled in my eyes, pooled and spilled. Some moments are beyond the capacity of words, beyond the measure of any earthly comparison.
I turned to Blaine and saw a reflection of everything I was thinking, a mirror of everything I was feeling. His eyes, his smile seemed to tell me, You don’t need to say anything. I get it.
I kissed him, or he kissed me. It didn’t matter. The feeling of being there with him, of sharing something so profound, carried me away from myself.
When our lips parted, he reached up and gently wiped the trail of moisture from my cheek with the backs of his fingers. Then he let them sink into my hair and trail down my arm until he was holding my hand again. The mat of last year’s leaves rustled underneath him as he shifted, resting on one elbow and looking at me. I wondered what he was seeing, what was in his mind. I wanted to know everything. I wanted to tell him everything.
“I used to think about you, you know,” he said, then cleared his throat and looked away, as if the words made him too vulnerable.
“What?” I had to know what was behind the revelation. “When?”
“Back in chemistry class.” Smirking a little, he picked up an acorn and tossed it over the bluff. “I used to think about you.”
“You did not,” I teased, but I wanted to believe it was true.
“Second row from the wall, second seat from the back. I remember.” A little twist of his head added, Yeah, take that.
I tried to recall where I’d sat in chemistry class. He was right, actually. “You never said anything.” I couldn’t blame him, but I wished he had. It wasn’t his responsibility to save me from myself during those dark months, but someone like him could have made such a difference. I needed a friend back then.
“I should have.” His chest rose and fell in a sigh, like he was admitting to something he was ashamed of. “I wanted to. I mean, I was little when my mom died. I didn’t remember that much about her, but I still knew what it was like to miss her, to wish she were here. Every time I saw you around school, I felt like I should tell you that. I was just . . . embarrassed to say it, I guess. I shouldn’t have been. Ever since I was little, Mama B told me stories about how my mother was always headed someplace or other to help someone out with food, or offering to babysit somebody’s kids, or staying up at the hospital t
o look after folks, or starting a prayer chain. I always felt like she’d expect me to do the right thing for people, but to tell you the truth, it was easier just to keep my head down and stay off my stepmother’s radar.”
My perspective shifted, new depth filling the profile of Blaine Underhill, like one of Ruth’s drawings suddenly becoming real, taking on three dimensions from two. I’d never even considered that he and I had something in common—then, or now. I’d never considered that anyone could understand the pain I felt after losing my father, or that maybe, growing up in a blended family, he felt like a bit of an outsider himself. I’d never seen him as someone who might have an empty place inside, just like I did.
“Thanks,” I said, toying with his fingers, watching his skin against mine. “But I don’t blame you. I didn’t exactly try to be approachable. I know I wasn’t Miss Congeniality.”
“What . . . you?” Both eyebrows shot up into the curls over his forehead.
The deer-in-the-headlights expression pulled a snicker from me. “I wanted to be one of those life-of-the-party girls. I just wasn’t.” I’d never admitted that to anyone until now.
“Yeah, me neither.” His chin dipped downward, his lips curving into a little smirk.
“You can’t even say that with a straight face,” I pointed out, swatting his arm, almost like one of the fun girls. He made me feel like one of those giddy, silly types. Like Marilyn in algebra class, knowing she had everyone, including the teacher, hanging on her every pout and twist of the pinky finger.
Blaine tossed another acorn into the abyss, then flashed a look at me from beneath thick, dark lashes. “Looks to me like you turned out all right.”
A hot flush started in my cheeks and seeped over my body.
The funny thing was, I’d been thinking exactly the same thing about him.
A little water clears us of this deed.
—Shakespeare, Macbeth
(Left by Dustin Henderson, writing an English paper on the run)
Chapter 16
