Hearth Song

by Lois Greiman

  “Funny,” she said.

  He grinned a little, settling his hips against the counter behind him.

  At seven years of age, she had decided he was the handsomest man in the world. The years since then had done little to alter that opinion.

  “There have been other times when I wasn’t hungry.”

  “Name one.”

  “Remember when I got the flu in sixth grade?”

  “And you threw up on … what was the kid’s name?”

  “Lizzie MacKenzie.” Maybe she’d had a little more of a vendetta against Lizzie than she had realized. But Dane had been attracted to her girly ways even then.

  “Didn’t you burn off her hair, too?”

  “That was an accident!”

  “And the puking wasn’t?”

  “The point is, there have been other times when I wasn’t hungry.”

  “Only when you were pregnant.”

  “Man, you are hilarious today,” she said, tone dry as she wildly counted off days in her head. It had been nearly a full month since her last period. Hadn’t it? But she’d only had sex once in the last … millennium, and that was a few days ago. On the other hand, if she had learned anything it was that once was enough.

  “I’m thinking of starting a standup routine. Lily Bird,” he yelled. “What do you want for supper? Lasagna or tuna casserole?”

  “Hot dogs.”

  He shook his head and reached for a pan.

  But no, wait. She was wrong. Her period wasn’t due for another four days. She was sure of it.

  Relief flooded her and was followed by a quick wash of guilt. Would it be so bad to have another baby? Lily was the light of her universe. And Dane was back. Back and ready to start over.

  “You okay?” Quinton asked, and turned on the oven.

  She punted. “What are you doing?”

  “I found a place that sells ready-to-bake hot dog buns.”

  She stared at him.

  “Lil likes them better than off the shelf.”

  “Tell me the truth,” she said, trying to find the easy rhythm she had shared with her father for as long as she could remember. “If she suddenly took a liking to fresh swordfish, would you be out fishing the high seas?”

  “She’s my only grandchild.”

  She grinned. The room settled into silence as he pulled a bag of organic broccoli from the bottom drawer of the refrigerator. When she was a child, more than one determined divorcée had threatened to move in with them if he didn’t serve his “adorable daughter” something green every once in a while. Thus the institution of peppermint ice cream … served every weekend without fail. But apparently, he took his nutritional duties more seriously since grandfatherhood had struck.

  Her mind wandered, shambling down lanes filled with laughter and tears and a hundred lonely ladies. Had he fought off their advances because they could never live up to her mother’s memory, as he had said, or had he remained single for her benefit alone? The question made her feel teary again.

  She cleared her throat.

  He glanced at her from the corner of his eye.

  Rising restlessly, she rummaged around in a nearby drawer until she came up with a knife. She had no idea what she planned to do with it.

  “Hey, Dad …” She paused, not so much to get his attention as to quiet her jumpy stomach.

  “Yeah?” he asked, and began chopping broccoli. “Hand me that colander, will you?”

  “Colander?” She raised her brows. “When did you start channeling Martha Stewart?”

  “When I realized Lily was in peril of dying of malnutrition. Here …” He reached out. “Give me that.”

  She passed him the sieve. “I’ve got something to ask you.”

  “Okay,” he said, and handed over a stainless steel pot half-filled with water. “You can heat that up without burning the house down, can’t you?”

  Normally she would have been able to manage a snappy comeback, but her smart-“asterisk” side wasn’t feeling very chipper. He sobered a little.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Nothing.” Coward, she thought, and closed her eyes. She’d already been avoiding this discussion for days, but it was time to jump in, to prove she would do whatever she could to make her marriage work. “Dane needs … Well …” She paused, already botching it. “I need a favor.”

  “Oh?” His salt-and-pepper brows dipped a little. Was there censure in his expression, disappointment in his tone?

  She pursed her lips. No good could come of reading more into the situation than necessary. “Isn’t it awesome that he’s back?”

  He tilted his head.

  Geez! Awesome? She sounded like a tween on happy pills.

  “How’s his job search going?” he asked.

  Pulling a banana from the bunch on the counter, she busily peeled and sliced it, dropping the little discs into a bowl. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

  He nodded thoughtfully and opened the bag of frozen rolls. “Well, my crew’s full, Hobgoblin. But I guess I could ask around. See if anyone else is hiring.”

  “That’d be great. Thanks. But …” She cleared her throat again. “Maybe Dane’s not really cut out to be a”—she squirmed a little, then gritted her teeth and told herself to get a grip—“a blue-collar laborer.”

  He wiped his hands on a tea towel given to them by some long-forgotten female and faced her. His expression had changed, just the slightest degree. Hardened a little.

  “I mean, he’s good at so many things,” she said. “And …” She shook her head. “He wants to make a better living … you know … for Lily and me. So I was thinking … wouldn’t he make a great lawyer?”

  His hands went still. The kitchen fell like a stone into silence, but finally he spoke.

  “How much does he want, Bravura?”

  Chapter 25

  By the time Vura reached home, she felt strangely old, oddly worn.

  Lily yawned like a sleepy cub as she was lifted from her car seat.

  Vura squeezed her tight, drawing from her little-girl resilience for a moment.

  Lily stirred sleepily. “What’s wrong, Mama?” Weren’t children with Asperger’s supposed to be oblivious to others’ emotions? It was just one reason Vura was certain her daughter had been misdiagnosed.

  “Nothing.” She eased up her grip a little. “Nothing’s wrong, honey,” she said, and chastised herself for her neediness as she carted the drowsy child to the house. The screen door stuck for a second, but she managed to pry it open. From the over-cowed living room, an aging sitcom’s laugh track guffawed emptily. The sound set Vura’s teeth on edge, but she scolded herself for her moodiness.

  Every tread groaned as though it carried the weight of the world as she made her way upstairs. Lily groused for a moment about goslings growing up without her, books that would go unread, and teeth that surely didn’t need to be brushed every night, but finally she scrubbed them desultorily then tugged her nightgown sideways over her head. By the time she was tucked into bed with a decidedly un-snuggly stick horse, her eyes were already dropping shut.

  The steps whined again as Vura made her way back downstairs. Dane was settled into the secondhand recliner she’d purchased from Re-Uzit. The TV prattled on.

  “Did you lock up the chickens?” Vura asked, and did her level best to be congenial. Or perhaps she really only tried to sound affable.

  He sat up with a sleepy start. “Oh, hey, I didn’t even hear you come in.”

  “Looks like it’s a good thing we’re not in a high crime area,” she said. He stared at her for a moment, then chuckled as he rose to his feet.

  “Yeah, sorry. I guess I’m not much of a watchdog when I’m wiped out like this.” He stretched, knocking over one of the three empty beer cans beside his chair.

  “Are the chickens locked up?” she asked again.

  “I thought maybe it was still too early.”

  She didn’t bother glancing outside. It ha
d been dark for an hour and a half, but Dane wasn’t a farm boy, she reminded himself. Then again, it was impossible to tell how long he had been sleeping. “Are you familiar with the phrase, ‘go to bed with the chickens’?” she asked, and managed a smile to take off the biting edge of her tone.

  “No, but it sounds kinky.” He prowled toward her. The freshman girls had called it the Lambert swagger. His arms felt strong and warm when he wrapped them around her waist. “Tell me more.”

  “It implies that poultry roost early,” she said.

  “Ahh, sage advice,” he crooned and bumped his hips against hers. “Wanna hit the hay and teach me all about the birds and the bees?”

  “I’d love to,” she said, and wasn’t sure if it was absolutely true. She did know, however, that she would have given her liver to sleep for a week. “But I’ve still got some things to do.”

  Things, her bitchy side snidely whispered, that he could have done hours before.

  “Okay, well, I’ll tell you what …” He kissed her neck, then settled his lean hips against the wall behind him, drawing her between his spread legs. “You go take care of the beasts of the field, and I’ll fill the tub so you can have a nice long bath when you get in.”

  “That’d be great,” she admitted. “But I’ve got to get right to bed.”

  “Well …” He waggled his brows at her. “If you insist.”

  “To sleep,” she corrected.

  He grinned sheepishly. “You do look tired, baby,” he admitted and slipping his hand up her spine, gently kneaded her neck. “But hey, at least I can give you one of my patented rubdowns, right?”

  The massage felt great, but the problem with Dane’s back rubs was that they generally avoided her back and concentrated on areas he found more appealing. Areas that did not ache from a day of hard labor.

  “You know what I’d like even more?” she asked and, bending her neck, eyed him from a crooked angle.

  “You name it, I’ll rub it.”

  “Could you lock up the birds?”

  He sighed. “Maybe you’d better do that, baby. I don’t want to goof anything up.”

  “It doesn’t take a genius to count a few chickens and shut a door, Dane.”

  He stiffened. “So you’re saying that even I could do it?”

  “Well, that hasn’t really been proven. Last time, half of them were still on the loose when I went out the next morning.”

  “Oh …” He pulled away from her, already bristling. “So now I’m stupid and lazy?”

  “No.” She pursed her lips. “I’m sorry. I’m just tired,” she said, but he had already backed away, eyes narrowed.

  “You know what I think?”

  She had to forcibly keep from wincing at his tone. “Dane—” she began, but he shook his head and continued.

  “I think you don’t want your old man to give me that loan. That’s why you haven’t asked him. You enjoy lording it over me. You like having everyone see how successful you are while your husband …” He threw a wild hand at her. “Poor old Dane Lambert can’t find a decent job to—”

  “I asked him.”

  He paused, brows still lowered. “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.” She nodded and moved past him. Fatigue had turned to an ache deep in her bones.

  He followed her into the kitchen. Four cups, a half a ham sandwich, and a pan of cooling soup had been left on the counter. She gritted her teeth and toted the dishes to the sink. Above her, countless chickens looked on in disapproval.

  “Well, what’d he say?”

  Plugging the drain, she ran hot water into the stained stainless steel. “He said he’d think about it.”

  “What do you mean, he’ll think about it? What’s to think about?”

  She paused to stare at him, fingers dipping in the water. “It’s a lot of money, Dane.”

  He made a scoffing noise.

  She swung toward him, anger popping up unexpectedly, but he raised his hands as if in self-defense.

  “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, baby. You’re right. Of course you’re right. I shouldn’t have even asked him.”

  “You didn’t ask him. I did,” she said, and wasn’t that what really rankled?

  “I know.” He shook his head and exhaled heavily. “And I know it rubs you the wrong way, but aren’t I worth it?” He grabbed her hands, suddenly animated. “Aren’t we worth it?”

  She pursed her lips and tried to let go of the tension. “Can’t we talk about this later? After I finish up with the chores?”

  “No, we can’t.” His tone was belligerent. She beetled her brows at him, ready for battle, but he chuckled. “Because I’m going to do the chores for you.”

  She considered arguing out of spite, but perhaps she should leave childishness for those who didn’t have children of their own. “Thank you,” she said finally and felt suddenly silly, then grumpy, then guilty. The panorama of emotions was exhausting. “That’s nice of you. But listen, I’ll take care of the outside stuff if you’ll wash the—”

  “I’m doing the outdoor chores, too.”

  “But what if—”

  “Doesn’t take a genius, remember?” Kissing her softly, he turned away. “Go to sleep,” he ordered, glancing over his shoulder. His hair, wheat straw gold, fell charmingly over one brow.

  “Okay.”

  “And dream about what I’m going to do to you when you’re not so tired,” he said and, winking, left the room.

  Bravura awoke and stretched. Beside her, Dane was sprawled out on his stomach. She eased out of bed and wandered toward the window, doing her best not to disturb him.

  Outside, the sun had just crested the eastern horizon, but she felt surprisingly rested, wonderfully refreshed. Mist shrouded the world, casting it in a film of mystery.

  Pulling on jeans and a sweatshirt, she tapped down her ancient staircase and stepped silently outside. The air felt chill and damp, but there was a secret stillness to the foggy morning that never failed to thrill her. Off to the left, Tonk’s tired Jeep stood silent. A meadowlark warbled to the uncertain morning, and from somewhere in the muffling haze, hoof-beats tattooed a loping pattern against hard-packed earth. Vura turned, searching for the source.

  For a moment the entire world seemed suspended. Then a horse galloped from the mist. She was as silver as mercury, dark eyes wide, nostrils flaring. Her mane, alabaster white, flowed in the wind like silk, and upon her bare back, a dark warrior rode. His hair, long and black as midnight, streamed behind him. The two flew as one. For a moment they were stamped against the hoary sky and then they were gone, swallowed by the mist and the long-sweeping hills.

  Goose bumps shivered up Vura’s arms. But she shook herself free of her silly imaginings. It wasn’t as if she was some giddy schoolgirl who fantasized about brave warriors and swift steeds.

  Laughing silently at herself, she hustled toward the chicken coop, but something burst from the fog ahead of her.

  Bravura gasped and the horse, startled by her movement, reared. Stumbling backward, Vura nearly fell, but Tonk was already slipping to the ground, already rushing toward her. Grabbing her arm with one powerful hand, he steadied her.

  “You okay?” His voice was graveled with worry.

  “Yeah.” It took her a moment to gain her balance, longer still to control the waver in her voice. Memories of forbidden dreams stormed in. “Of course. I’m just … You scared me.”

  “I am sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” she said, and pulled self-consciously from his grip. “I wasn’t thinking about …” … his hands, gentle as sun-warmed waves … bare skin against bare skin … his voice as deep as midnight against her ear. “I should have been looking where I was going.”

  “Where were you going?”

  She glanced around, vaguely wishing she could remember.

  “Bravura?” he coaxed.

  She shook her head and laughed at herself. “To feed the chickens.”

  He raised a dubious brow. “Early risers, are
they?”

  “I’ve got to get to work.”

  “On Saturday.”

  “I’ve got a job that needs to be finished before Monday.”

  “I am sorry about that, too.”

  “It’s good to have work.”

  He nodded, but his gaze never left hers. “Are you doing okay?”

  “I’m fine,” she said, and felt uncomfortable with the half truth, her breathlessness, his nearness.

  “And Lily, she is well?” His eyes bored into hers, pinning her as if he could read her thoughts. The fantasy of them together, moonlit waves soft as dreams against her skin, slipped slyly through her mind.

  His brows notched up another quarter inch.

  She cleared her throat and assured herself she was being ridiculous. He could not read her mind. “No life-threatening injuries yet today,” she said.

  “Well, you’ve made it to dawn,” he said, and she laughed.

  “Listen …” She glanced at Skylark. The mare’s eyes were dark and enormously wide. Faint wrinkles were etched above them, giving her an expression of anxious wisdom. “I wanted to apologize for the other day.”

  “What day is that?”

  Vura scowled. Did something in his tone suggest that there were any number of days from which to choose? “I shouldn’t have yelled at you for letting Lily ride,” she said and, reaching out, stroked her hand down the mare’s gray-satin neck.

  The silence stretched out.

  “So I can put her back up?” he asked finally.

  “What?”

  He scowled, looking surprisingly tense. “I will understand if you say no.”

  She blinked at him. “You want to teach Lily to ride?”

  “Ai.”

  “Why?”

  He inhaled deeply, and for reasons unknown she couldn’t help but remember the day at the rodeo, when his chest had been bare, his hair adorned with feathers. “I think you know,” he said.

  She scowled, wondering if the man had ever yet given her a simple answer.

  “Know what?” she asked.

  He paused, scowled, and then looked away, the stoic warrior persona firmly in place. “That she is special.”

  Her irritation washed away in a rush, leaving a strangely ashy residue in its place.