Butterfly Lane (30 page)

Chapter Fifty-Four

Z
anny took a full week to gird herself to the idea of opening the box. During that time, she went back to work at the studio and tried to focus on the new path her relationship with John had taken.

He spent most nights at the house, but hadn’t moved his belongings back in yet. She wasn’t quite ready for that, and John understood. She also hadn’t asked for her ring back yet, though she felt she was getting close to that.

And then there was the revelation about Noah.

When John had told her about Moira, she was torn between disbelief and dismay.

“He’s just a baby. John, there’s no way he understands what she is. If she’s even real.”

“Dad thinks she is. He’s been doing some research, and from what he’s been able to find out, it looks like there might be some truth to the whole ‘psychic’ thing. I mean, you see it on TV all the time and in books, but he says it’s like being a shifter. Like Ben’s thing with plants.”

“Where does it come from?”

“I don’t know.” John was in bed, propped up against the pillows, watching her as she paced.

“I could deal with it if he was a shifter. If he had something like what Ben has. But the ability to communicate with dead people? I don’t like that, not at all. What if someone like my dad visits him? Or some evil murderer? How can we protect him from something we can’t see? He’s my baby, and I can’t keep him out of harm’s way.” She stopped next to the bed and wrapped her hands around the tall post, clinging tightly.

John pushed back the covers. “Come here.”

Zanny went to him and let him draw her into his lap. He arranged her so that she was lying between his legs, then drew the covers up over them both. He was so solid and so warm that just touching him eased a little of her anxiety.

“You know I’ve never had a problem with what your family can do. And I still don’t. But this is different. This is dark.” Sighing, she smoothed the fabric of his T-shirt out over his chest.

“I know. And I’m no happier about it than you are, sweetheart. But if it had to happen, of all the families in the world that are equipped to deal with this sort of thing, we’re probably near the top.”

“True.”

“We could be overreacting. Dad says a lot of the time, it seems to fade as the child gets older.”

Zanny rose up, her head tilted to the side. “I don’t feel like that’s what will happen with Noah. I don’t know why. There’s no logical explanation for me feeling that way. But I do. My gut is screaming at me this is part of who Noah is.”

John’s brow furrowed lightly. “I hope you’re wrong. But if you aren’t, we’ll deal with it. We’ll help him deal with it. Dad has a pretty extensive underground network of shifters and people with other abilities. Once we’ve had a chance to catch our breath, we’ll put him on it.”

“There’s no one better.”

The statement was plain truth. Zanny knew that, and she took comfort from knowing someone like Owen would have her son’s back. That comfort was no small thing.

When she gathered the courage to open the box and go through it on Saturday morning, she had John’s full support. Since she didn’t have to work, she sent him and the boys out for a few hours.

“Let me do this on my own. I don’t know if I can read those letters with you all here.”

“Then why don’t I take the boys to Mom and Dad’s? They’ve been wanting some baby time.”

“That would be great. Maybe let them spend the night, if Owen and Sarah are okay with it?”

John grinned. “Have you ever known my parents to say no to that offer?”

He’d gone, and after piddling around in the kitchen for twenty minutes, trying to calm her nerves, Zanny got frustrated with herself. “You’re being ridiculous. What’s it going to change, reading those letters?”

The bin was sitting on the coffee table in front of the couch. Taking a seat, Zanny opened it and laid the plastic lid aside. She lifted all the bundles out and arranged them on the table, setting the box on the lid.

She found the bundle with the earliest date and untied the ribbon holding it together. “Here goes nothing.”

The first letter was dated right around the time Zanny had gone to live with her Gran. It was written in a woman’s shaky hand and was only one page long.

Dear Suzanna,

I write this letter with great difficulty. I hardly know what to say. You’re so young, I doubt you’ll understand the implications of our decision to separate. All you’ll know is the pain.

It breaks my heart to know that I’ll not be there to see you grow up, but I can’t. At least, not now. I know that you won’t understand this, but I’m so tired from carrying all this weight. It’s bearing heavy on my mind, and I can’t rest. All the voices, all the noise, and I can’t get any peace. I can’t make it quiet. So I have to go away for a little while and hope I can find that which I seek.

In the meantime, your father has promised he would find you a safe place to stay, with someone who would love you and care for you. I know Ruth Franks is a good woman, and kind. She’s always been nice to me and dotes on you when we visit. You behave, mind yourself, and follow her instructions.

It is going to be a while before we see each other again. But you will never be far from my heart, or my mind. Please believe that.

Suzanna mine, you are the light in my life, the sun that warms my world. Never forget that, or doubt my sincerity.

With all my love,

Mama

Zanny was crying openly. Far from what she’d thought and remembered, the woman who had written the letter was full of warmth and love. She folded it and carefully slid it back in the envelope, then placed it with the rest of the bundle. She grabbed some tissues and blew her nose.

She didn’t remember much about her mother or her parents’ relationship. She had only snippets here and there of a laugh and a woman’s soft perfume. Stronger images of fighting and overwhelming sadness were etched more firmly into her memory. Her impression of her parents together was not happy—not by far.

Nothing Dennis or her Gran had ever said suggested her mother had walked away from her with difficulty. They’d made it seem rather the opposite. Dennis had always said it was too easy for Molly Dean to walk away from them and that she’d never looked back, not even once.

But the letter Zanny had just read… It didn’t fit. With the tears under control, she opened the next letter and started reading, trying to piece together her picture of her mother.

John had been at the farm all day and was in the living room with his parents and the boys when he heard the car pull up outside. He figured it was Amelia and Rachel, returning from the lake. But no one came in, even after the car door slammed.

Owen stepped over to the window and glanced outside. “It’s Zanny. But she’s not at the car.” Frowning, he looked at John, who was already heading to the door. “Think something’s wrong?”

“I’ll find out. Keep the boys inside?”

His parents knew the task Zanny had set for herself, and they’d all discussed what the existence of the letters could mean. None of them thought it was good. Half a dozen times, John had almost left and gone home to check on her, but she’d wanted space to go through the letters, and he’d promised her that. Stepping onto the porch, he was scared to death he had made the wrong decision. She was heading toward the barn, walking fast.

“Zanny! Wait up.”

She didn’t turn around, just raised her arm and kept going.

He left the porch at a jog, his heart pounding. She got to the barn and went inside before he could reach her, and he had to stop once he was inside to let his eyes adjust to the dimness. She was already to the other end, opening the door. When John saw the long-handled axe in her hand, he gulped.

“Oh, this definitely isn’t good.”

Owen spoke from behind him. “I thought you might need some backup.”

John shook his head once. “I’m almost afraid to find out.” An axe hit something solid with a dull thud, and muttered curses followed. They hurried over to see what was going on.

Zanny looked up when they stopped in the open doorway. “There’s a trick to this, isn’t there?” She was jerking on the axe handle attached the head buried deep in the old stump Owen still hadn’t managed to completely remove.

John hurried to stop her. “You’ll hurt yourself if that jumps loose. Here, let me get it out.”

She stepped back, spreading her hands wide. Her face was set hard, and John could feel the anger coming off her. “I need to break something. I need to break a lot of somethings. This was the only place I could think of to come to, to be safe while I do it. And I need to make some noise.”

“How about one of the boys’ old aluminum bats?” Owen offered. “Still does quite a bit of destruction, and it’s less dangerous than the axe.”

“That sounds wonderful. Thank you.”

He retrieved it from inside the barn and handed it to her, handle first, without a word, followed by a pair of safety glasses.

“Do you have anything in particular you’d like me to take apart for you?” Zanny offered as she put on the glasses.

“Some old fence posts over there. The ones that have ties on them.”

She nodded and stomped off to the posts, where she lined up a swing that would have made a baseball pro grin with pride and took the top off the first post.

John thought her voice had been much too calm. Her face was pale, and her eyes were nearly black against her skin. He watched her, his hand still on the axe handle. His father let out a silent whistle from beside him as she made short order of the post.

“I can’t get the axe out,” John told him, keeping his eyes on Zanny. “She buried it too deep.”

Owen’s eyebrows shot to his hairline. The stump was from an old oak tree, and the wood was still solid.

John stepped aside as his father tested the axe. He didn’t have any better results than John’s.

“Given what all she’s been through in recent months, I think she’s hit her limit,” Owen told him quietly. “If she still needs something to hit after she finishes with the posts, let her have at the stump.”

They both winced when she took off half the second post with her first swing, sending it flying deep into the woods. She started cursing her father and used words John hadn’t even realized she knew with an impressively virulent eloquence.

“As much as Dennis did to her, as much as he hurt her, and as angry as she’s been with me the last few months, I can’t imagine what’s so bad, it would do this to her. What if she doesn’t calm down? She’s going to make herself sick in this heat.”

Owen squeezed his shoulder. “That kind of anger can’t last too long. It will burn itself out soon enough. But she’s going to need to get cooled down once it does. I’ll make up some ice water and bring it out to you. Maybe some towels and a washcloth or two, and you can use the sink out here to wash up when she’s done.”

“Some tissues might be a good idea, too. I have the feeling we’ll need some. Thanks, Dad.”

Owen left him then, and John moved into the shade of the barn to wait while Zanny finished with the posts. It didn’t take long. Her face was red with exertion when she turned around and wiped the back of her arm across her forehead. She was breathing hard, but some of the harshness had faded from around her eyes. Not all of it had, though.

“What else?”

“Stump. That other side is softer.” John stepped into the barn as pieces of the old tree started flying through the air. He had never seen anyone so angry. He never would have believed Zanny had that kind of anger inside her.

Owen came in with a small basket of supplies, including the thermos. He sat it on the crate next to the empty stall where the boys liked to play. “She’s still going?”

“Yeah. Winding down a bit.”

His father ran a hand over his head. “Wow. I’ll give you some privacy. Holler if you need…anything. I’ll be on the porch, just in case.”

“In case she turns on me?” John clarified.

Owen shrugged. “In case either of you needs me.”

Before he could leave, Zanny came in. “Wait.” She handed John the bat and glasses, then walked straight over to his father, breathing hard. Hands on her hips, she stopped in front of Owen and stared up at him. “Do you know, do you have any idea how special you and Sarah are? I mean that,” she said as Owen protested. “Your children are so damned lucky. If I can be half as good a mother as you all have been parents, I’ll die happy.”

When she put her arms around Owen and hugged him hard, John could see the emotion on his father’s face. Owen hugged her back, then ruffled her hair.

“I brought some ice water out. You should sip it slowly, okay? Let John wet a towel and put it on your neck. The last thing we want is for you to have a heat stroke.”

John hurried to get a towel from the basket and run it under the cold water from the tap, as Owen eased Zanny to a seat on the crate. While he folded the towel into a narrow strip, Owen poured some ice water.

Zanny took a sip, her hand shaking hard as she lifted the cup. “He lied. My father,” she clarified as they sent her questioning looks. “He lied about my mother. She didn’t abandon me. Not the way he said she did, anyhow. He let me think all this time that she walked away from us, and he’s the one that walked away from her. If the son of a bitch was still alive, I’d kill him for that.”

John took the cup and used a little of the water to dampen a washcloth. Hunkering down in front of her, he blotted the sweat from her face. Zanny closed her eyes and leaned into the touch.

“Please tell me the boys didn’t see me like that.”

“They didn’t,” Owen assured her. “Sarah has them inside, baking cookies.”