Light the Hidden Things (17 page)

As soon as Zasu saw her mistress upright, she streaked for the kitchen and resumed her dance until Lila opened the door. A last whirl launched the dog.

Lila wondered how even an animal could be chipper in the face of so much gray. The distant mountains were shrouded in clouds. Peering through the door's window, the sight of the lake's surface stippled by autumn's cutting breeze made the back of her neck prickle. Closer to the house, the last of summer's flowers cowered.

Watching Zasu dart, patrolling her empire for evidence of night-time intruders, Lila was reminded of the little dog charging Major. She drifted from that to hoping Crow was enjoying a prettier day.

Mission accomplished, Zasu was eager to come inside and get with the serious matter of breakfast. Lila got dressed, not feeling up to regular behavior. She examined the kitchen. It was already cozy. She couldn't remember flicking the thermostat on the way to let Zasu out. The realization gave her pause: She was beginning to simply do what needed done, cruising on automatic. The world was foreclosing on her, leaving nothing but dilemmas to fill her time.

Had she crossed the line between determination and obstinacy? Was Crow's wandering really the best way to deal with the world? The people encouraging her weren't able to help, not really. They had no money to lend, no time to spare from their own lives. Pastor Richards had stepped up to the plate once. His loan was the difference between trying and giving up without even starting. Lila winced, hoping he didn't need to be paid back any time soon. She regretted taking the money. Still, when a dream glitters right in front of one the need to reach for it can be overwhelming.

Was the dream wrong? If Van was right, it was time for the old Lupine to grow even larger. She dreamt and scrambled. He built and stormed ahead putting up solid, sturdy things. Like him. A man who wanted to rebuild his life. They also said the divorce was his fault, but it was Van who got custody of their son. The wife was the one who moved away. That was another of Van's qualities; determination. He saw things through. Nothing like that odd Crow person. Told her to fight for goals, but spent his own life as restless as wind. The image held her mind: That's what he was, a wind that comes into lives from nowhere, stirs them up, then wanders off to a different nowhere.

It sounded exotic. It must be awful. Lonesome, no matter what he said.

That crazy moment, that "other woman" thing, happened when she was watching a lonely man go searching for more loneliness.

An emotional imagining, that's all it was. Right next door to hysteria. Forget the whole thing.

The ease of the conclusion and the relief at having it cleared up was practically euphoric. So reasonable, when one actually analyzed it. Still, the direction of her thoughts shifted to her past.

Her own life with a partner hadn't been all that bad. She really believed she was in love. It was untrue then and impossible to imagine now. Lila unconsciously frowned as she remembered how depressed she was the first time she looked in the clothes dryer and saw her clothes tumbling around with his. That alone should have sent her screaming down the road to somewhere else.

They never had a real fight, not even a good air-cleaning shouting match. But he nagged. And complained. Whenever irritation got the best of her and she struck back, he was either apologetic (
I didn’t mean it that way. I should have said it differently, shouldn’t have mentioned it at all.)
or little-boy defensive
(I was just trying to be helpful. I thought we were a team?)
. It was like wrestling fog. The deeper one plunged into it, the colder it grew.

Why hadn’t she seen that side of him sooner?

Yapping coyotes snapped Lila out of her reverie. The imposing Major came to her mind again. It was really quite impressive the way the animal obeyed. Disapproval twitched her nose; pets should to be spoiled and enjoyed. Reluctantly, she admitted that Crow and Major enjoyed a fine bond. And the dog did behave like a gentleman. So did Crow; she might as well admit that, too.

Yet there seemed a hidden violence in him. When he'd spoken of the way he acquired Major it was as if he was picturing the event in his mind and enjoying what must have been a terrible confrontation. She was sure that, at the time, he
wanted
to explode.

Suddenly, in the depth of her heart, she knew that someday he would again. To her surprise, she found herself feeling sorry for him. Not merely sorry, but terribly saddened.

Not that he was her concern.

The woman who appeared when he left spoke of what we can create in ourselves, how it can last forever. What was Crow creating? If there was no one aware of it, no one to share it, how could it last at all?

The coffeemaker bleated readiness. She welcomed it, told herself it was just what she needed to break this silly introspective mood and get to the reality of the day. Her mind wasn't quite ready to dismiss Crow, though. She frowned as she filled a mug.

He was exactly what she’d needed when she wanted to talk. He said he’d listen and leave. That’s what he did. She’d always owe him for that. If he’d stayed any longer, she’d probably have said too much.

What would he have said in return?

Don't go there.

Zasu whined impatience. Lila seized the distraction. By the time the dog was fed and her own oatmeal cooking, she was in a better mood. Things weren’t all bad, she decided. If nothing else, the phone conversation with the loan officer with the other bank in Seattle was encouraging.

That was the sort of sunshine that could burn off any old gray day.

*          *          *          *         *

Edward Lawton strode into his bank. Customers making eye contact received the requisite cheery nod. He'd practiced it with a mirror until he was reasonably sure he could bring it up in front of a firing squad. Nor did he kid himself about those he greeted. Speaking of firing squads, plenty of people would be delighted to see any banker staring at one.

Movement to the side caught his eye. Sydney was craning past a customer seated at her desk to gesture Edward closer. Teeth gritting, he maintained the false front. Sydney knew how he disliked having his entrance interrupted. Nevertheless, he changed course.

Banking was largely mind-crushing paperwork. He hated it. Sydney handled most of those chores so well he couldn’t afford to be excessively offensive. If she ever got angry enough to stage a slowdown she might discover how he depended on her. It helped that she was a single mother. They were all desperate to hang onto any job and almost embarrassingly grateful if it was a decent job. There was a downside, of course; they aired their troubles as freely as if they were hanging laundry. And their sad little faces when salaries were discussed were simply not to be believed.

Sydney hurried away from the customer to meet Edward halfway. She whispered dramatically. “Mr. Vanderkirk called. He said you should call him as soon as you came in. He was agitated.”

Edward’s morning slumped. Van’s call was trouble enough. He didn’t need words like “agitated.” Who did she think she was?

“And?”

“He just said you should call. He sounded...”

A cutting gesture stopped that. “Didn’t you ask what the problem was?”

She blinked. “You said I shouldn’t ask people that. I was just...”

He sneered. “I’ll take care of it.” Typical female literalism. Now he’d have no way to prepare for the discussion.

Van answered on the first ring and wasted no time on pleasantries. “I told you she had help from someone.”

“You’re talking about Lila?”

“Who else, damn it?”

Edward swallowed his first answer, then, “Yes. Well, that's very interesting. Quick work, too. No need for that detective now, right? Who's the benefactor? What're the details?"

There was a pause. "The detective's the one who made the find, not me. Turns out she's got a trust fund. Her aunt and uncle set it up. I don't know how she gets by on it. And that preacher loaned her money."

"Why isn't the trust money sent directly to her account? And how much has Richards loaned her? Is he charging interest? How's he explain it on his tax return?"

"The detective's looking into the things you mentioned - plus my strong suspicion that our holy man drained off church money to give to a friend. "

"I'd think hard about this. Even if he did embezzle some money, it can't have been much. And putting the law on him won't make you popular with her, that's for sure."

"Edward, you live in a very tiny world. I don't want to expose the old man. Maybe I'll just convince him to talk to Lila about selling. He does that, and his little secret's safe."

Edward snorted. "That's called blackmail. He won't buy it."

"If he doesn't, then I will expose him. And I'll find someone on that church board who'll insist she pay back the loan immediately. I don't want it to fall out that way, but someone's got to win this argument. I mean to be the one."

"You'll lose her. You know you will."

"Not if I offer to help her finish her project the way she wants."

"That's wishful thinking. She'll spit on you."

"I don't think so. I'll be apologetic. I'll be ashamed. I'll do anything to make things right for her."

"I don't believe a damned word of it."

Van laughed. "Neither do I. But she will. She wants things her way bad enough to believe anything that looks like she's getting what she wants. Once she buys my repentance act it won't take her long to figure out that joining up with me is the only way she can make it work."

The silence stretched past Van's patience point. He said, "You still there?"

Edward answered slowly. "Yeah, I'm here. I was just thinking. You know, you just may get away with it."

"I will. We're going to end up building the nicest little resort in the Cascades."

Edward made a face. "I wish you wouldn't talk about 'we.' I'm not involved."

"The hell you're not. If I can't build on that property I can't borrow money from you. You need the business. Or I could go somewhere else. My credit's good."

Van's sudden defensiveness lit up all of Edward's professional warning lights. More than that, it gave him a quick touch of satisfaction to realized he was now in charge of the conversation. Still, Van was by far his largest customer; there was no place for petty gloating. But it was important Van understand he couldn't just snap his fingers and everyone obeyed. He said, "I'm sorry, Van - I'm a bit confused. You say Richards contributed to Lila's project, but you don't know how or how much money's involved. That's pretty tenuous information. "

Van went on. "Let me worry about that. Look, you've always been a team player. I need you to give me information if my detective hits a wall."

"Within legal limits. Fiscal advice based on public information. The law's very strict."

“Whatever.” Van hung up.

Edward lowered the handset to its cradle. The whole game seemed to be degenerating into farce. A tiny smile ghosted across his face.

*          *          *          *          *

Lila’s improved attitude grew through breakfast. Slathering a wedge of oven-warm cornbread with jam gave her ridiculous satisfaction. Picking the blackberries for that jam cost her a sweatshirt. A zillion thorns tore a zillion holes. Then came cooking the berries down. Heat and steam meant memorably bad hair. Now, however, the glassy shine of the jellied fruit, the intense flower-and-spice aroma, and the dark sweetness of the end product made it all worthwhile. When all that married with the sweetness of corn and the sharper bite of fresh coffee she closed her eyes and smiled the plainest and best sort of satisfaction.

She filled the thermos with the remainder of the coffee; she'd keep it by her side as she worked. Done with that, she scanned her surroundings. The kitchen looked right. Pretty soon the rest of the place would match it. Optimism welled in her. The man at the bank in Seattle talked about government stimulus money and greater appreciation of small businesses. Nothing like Edward's constant moaning about recession and gun-shy senior bankers.

Gray days and cold mornings and crabby bankers weren't the stuff of her life. Homemade blackberry jam, a precious little dog, a fireplace warming two big old leather chairs - that was what she was about. Good things were going to happen. She'd make them happen.

Crow woke to sullen pain. It filled his head, infected every muscle in his body, made him clench his teeth to avoid vomiting.

Opening his eyes, he looked up into a pale yellow void. The color brought a jolt of fear. He expected sky, clouds; bland emptiness was wrong. With rising alarm he realized he had no sense of place. Increased pain made him grunt. He rolled his eyes. To his right, a sink. A utilitarian chair, dingy brown. On his left, an open door.

Scent gave him his first orientation. Floral-masked disinfectant. Laundry.

Hospital.

Moving his hand to his head was a project. There was a bandage on the right side, above his ear.

Fire. Explosions.