Firefly Island (21 page)

I thought of dust, paint fumes, germs, mouse droppings . . . babies. “Oh, I . . . I can't tomorrow. I . . .” I tried to come up with something other than,
My sister made me promise not to, because she thinks I'm pregnant. Isn't that ridiculous?
“I want to write something up for the blog about Keren's supper
garden program. Some of my friends in DC have deep pockets, or they know people who do. I thought if I went back to the summer enrichment class tomorrow and took some pictures . . . I don't know, I thought I might be able to help find some funding. If I do a good write-up on the blog, I can send out emails and point some of my parents' friends to it, too. Quite a few of them could pop for a whole greenhouse and not even think twice about it. I know Nick's going to wake up and want to go to the class tomorrow, too. He really liked it.”

Al looked away, and I sensed something. Disappointment, maybe. I wondered sometimes how Al felt about her life, if she was happy being by herself with all those animals. The few times I'd tried to ferret out details about her past, about whether she'd ever been married or had a family, I hadn't learned much. Once, she'd mentioned that a French guy she dated in college had introduced her to polo, and for a while she'd been pretty serious about the sport. Polo didn't seem like Al at all, but I suspected there had been a different Al at some time. I wondered how she'd ended up here, alone, living on this land that had been passed down through her family.

“Daniel working tonight?” she asked.

“I'm sure he is. He's never home for dinner, unless Jack's out of town.” Given the way Daniel and I had left things, he probably wouldn't go out of his way to hurry back tonight, either.

Al nodded, and surprisingly, she refrained from kibitzing about Jack. Complaints about Jack had bonded Al and me like glue. Jack was as lousy a neighbor as he was a boss. He'd actually taken legal action against Al over a fence that had been in place for forty years. Al had won the dispute. Now they liked each other even less.

“Might as well stop off for a burger at the Waterbird, then,” she suggested.

Nick, who'd been busy in the backseat playing with turkey feathers and fossils Len had given him, tuned in and repeated, “The Water-burb? I wanna some fwies and a candy!” Nick never missed a chance to visit the Waterbird and collect a free sucker from Pop Dorsey. He'd also become attached to the collection of old men who hung around playing dominos, drinking coffee, and talking about fishing.

“Sure, that sounds good.” The thought of going home to another long, quiet evening on rat patrol wasn't all that tempting, really. The vermin problem in the house was better than it used to be, but we hadn't obliterated it yet and wouldn't until we'd finished the last closet. We couldn't finish the closets until I made good on the promise I'd given Trudy.

The ancient, flickering sign on the front of Hall's Pharmacy caught my eye. “You know what, drop me at my car, and I'll meet you over there. I need to grab something in the pharmacy. Nick can just ride to the Waterbird with you, if that's okay.” I held my breath, hoping Al wouldn't suddenly remember that she needed something in the pharmacy, too. I didn't even want Nick with me for this little purchase. He watched too many TV commercials. I could picture the two of us in the female aisle, Nick calling out,
Two lines pweg-nant, one lines not!

“Sure, no problem.” Al steered toward the curb and let me out at Hall's. Like a spy on a clandestine mission, I waited for her to round the corner, pretending to have been drawn in by a rack of tourist magazines out front. Inside the pharmacy, I did my business as quickly as I could, thankful that Chrissy worked at the pharmacy in Gnadenfeld, not this one.

The elderly woman behind the counter smiled at me as she picked up the test and turned it slowly over and over and over
in her hands, looking for the price tag. She leaned toward the microphone for the store PA.

“It's thirteen ninety-five,” I blurted, then pulled out a twenty and shoved it at her.
Keep the change. Really. Just put that thing in a sack. Now.

She opened a sack, then paused and looked up as the Binding Through Books sisters came in the front door. I shifted impatiently, glancing at the box, watching it disappear slowly into the bag. The minute she slid it my way, I grabbed the sack and shoved it under my arm like a man forced to buy feminine products for a wife who's home sick.

“Well, hey!” Paula greeted me. I thought she gave the bag a curious look, but maybe I was just paranoid. “How about that little blurb about
The Frontier Woman
on the
Woman's Day
Web site? That was pretty neat.”

“Now I feel like I've had somebody famous in my lake house,” Alice added. “We might have to bronze your lawn chair.” She nudged Cindy, and the two of them giggled, the way sisters do when they get each other's jokes.

“We'll add a little plaque.” Cindy drew an imaginary frame with her fingers. “
The Frontier Woman sat here
. We can sell tickets to see it—help pay for renovations on the lake house.”

They giggled again, and I laughed with them. “I don't think we're quite to that point yet, but the magazine coverage did bring in a bunch of new followers on the blog. It was pretty exciting. I thought my techie friends were going to pop a cork. I'm hoping I can parlay that into some support for the supper garden program.”

“That's a great idea. Just remember us one of these days when you're on
Good Morning America
talking about your adventures.” Alice winked. “Tell them you need three extra tickets to New York. We'll stand out front and hold a
We Love the Frontier Woman
sign. We can tell everyone we knew
you before you were The Frontier Woman. We loved the story about the cattle roundup, by the way. And the one about making goat's milk soap. I never knew how the pioneers did it, or that they put yucca in the soap. That was interesting.”

Paula nodded, jumping into the conversation. “We look forward to seeing what The Frontier Woman's doing every morning. Now, instead of just talking about books, we talk about what you're doing. We're your groupies.”

“Keep it up,” Cindy added, and for a moment their enthusiasm was a little overwhelming. I'd never imagined, the night I wrote that first story about this wild, off-the-map life of mine, that anything like this would happen. I had actual groupies. How cool.

“I will, thanks.”

The sisters and I parted ways, and I hurried to my vehicle in the alley. Safely inside, I tucked my package beneath the seat where Nick wouldn't ask what it was. Throughout dinner at the Waterbird, a little visit on the dock with Nick's favorite crew of fishermen, and then the drive home, I felt the presence of the pregnancy test. Contraband, right behind my feet. The Waterbird burger I'd nibbled on during dinner began churning in my stomach as we turned into the driveway.

Ten minutes. In ten minutes, I could know for sure, put this fear to rest. As soon as we were in the house, I'd give Nick a quick bath, settle him in bed with his night-night book, grab my secret package from the pharmacy, and slip off by myself . . .

But Daniel's ranch vehicle was waiting by the yard fence when we drove up. The lights were on in the house. I had the momentary thought that Trudy had called him about her suspicions—that she'd ratted me out. It was silly, of course. Trudy wouldn't do that.

Tucking the package and my phone into my purse, I zipped it shut, my mind hurrying ahead as I wrestled with the sticky buckle over Nick's lap. What was Daniel doing home? Was something wrong?

Scenarios spun to life. I imagined walking in, hearing Daniel say,
He fired me today,
or
I've had enough, I quit. I'm not doing this anymore.

I imagined,
This thing, us, it isn't working out, Mal. We jumped into it too fast. . . .

Stop,
I told myself.
Stop already. You're being ridiculous.

But when I opened the door, Daniel was striding across the kitchen toward it. He looked strangely wide-eyed and wild-haired, edgy and frazzled.

“Daddy!” Nick cheered. Daniel collapsed to his knees and scooped Nick up, his arms wrapping around so that Nick's tiny body disappeared into Daniel's.

“Hey, buddy.” Daniel's voice was thin and choked. His lips pressed together, holding back some emotion. His lashes brushed his cheeks momentarily.

“What's wrong?” My mind conjured up more scenarios—death in the family, sudden world crisis, a call from back home. Cancer, heart attack, tragedy. Something must have happened for Daniel to be waiting for us in such a wild state, and for him to grab Nick and hang on as if the world were coming to an end. “Daniel, what's wrong?”

“Where have you guys
been
?”

“What?” I deposited my keys into my purse, heard them land against the pharmacy bag before I closed the zipper again. Most of the time lately, Daniel didn't have a clue where Nick and I were, nor did it seem to bother him. If Nick and I had plans of our own—house projects with Al, shopping in Gnadenfeld, or spending time down at the lakeshore with Chrissy and McKenna, it took the pressure
off Daniel. He was free to be wrapped up with Jack and his work.

Rubbing my hands up and down my arms, I tried to smooth away the uneasiness. “I took Nick to the summer enrichment class in town today, then we rode with Al way up into Chinquapin Peaks to drive one of the kids home—you wouldn't believe that place, by the way—and after that, we had supper with Al at the Waterbird and did a little fishing with the Docksiders. Why? Is everything okay? You look like . . . well, I don't know . . . like someone just held you up at gunpoint or something.”

Nick started to wiggle, and Daniel squeezed him into another hug before letting him shimmy down and trot away. Daniel faced me with his hands on his hips. “For heaven's sake, Mal, I've been trying to call you for hours. I thought something had happened to you . . . or Nick.” He motioned to a phone book open on the counter. “When it got later and later in the evening, I started calling hospitals. I called Al's house and Keren's. She said you and Nick should have been headed home hours ago. I drove back and forth to town, looking for your car. I went down to the shore to make sure you weren't there. I've been going out of my mind.” He flipped a hand toward the counter, in a motion that somehow reminded me of my mother.

My instant reaction was to get indignant, to say something like,
Well, welcome to my world. We sit here and wait for you every single day. We never know where you are. Half the time I call you, and you don't pick up the phone. . . .

His frenzied gaze met mine, and I looked into his eyes, those soft, beautiful eyes, and the fire in my belly went to mush and spawned little butterflies. “You were looking for us?” The words came in a soft coo, tremulous and tender. I set my purse on the counter, thinking that I wanted to slip
into the strong, warm spot that Nick had just vacated. The oven was hot when my hand brushed it. “Why is the oven on?”

Daniel's shoulders stiffened again, and he threaded his arms. “I made supper for you. I've been trying to keep it warm all this time, but you never came.”

The butterflies inside me lined up and did a Disney-movie dance. I was twitterpated. “That's so sweet.” Taking a step toward him, I added a little
I'm sorry
pout lip.

“Oh
no. No, no, no
 . . .” He kept his arms crossed, barricaded. “You are not forgiven. You took at least two years off my life tonight.”

“I love you.” I added the goo-goo eyes. “My car was there in town, but it was parked around back in the alley all day. I had my phone plugged into my car charger and I forgot about it. I'm sorry we scared you.” The man of steel was about to crumble, I could tell. “We were at the Waterbird later, but you must have come back home by then.”

“You make me crazy, woman.” But he was unlocking those big, strong arms, reaching for me.

“You make me crazy, too.” Slipping into that space that I craved, I stood on my toes for a kiss, whispered against his lips the words that my mother had advised me should always come shortly after an argument, “I'm really sorry. Forgive me?”

“You're still in trouble,” he whispered back, then kissed me fiercely.

We made out in the kitchen like a couple of teenagers until we heard Nick pushing one of his toy cars across the icky yellow carpet in the dining room. When Daniel released me, I was on fire from head to toe. I fanned my face as Nick crawled through the kitchen, making motor sounds and pretending he was Al, driving to Chinquapin Peaks to pick up a mule.

Turning off the oven, Daniel poured coffee for us, and we sat on the porch swing, enjoying the night breeze and gazing
at the stars while Nick and I told the story of the day. By the time we were finished, Nick was more than ready for a bath and bedtime. Daniel did the honors while I cleaned up what was left of dinner—chicken, rice, baked potatoes, and the green beans I'd bought the day before. It hadn't even occurred to me that Daniel might know how to cook them.

After Nick was in bed, we took a blanket outside and lay under the stars, just talking. Nick and I had been so busy telling the story of our day, I hadn't asked Daniel about his. “So, how in the world did you manage to get away from Jack early enough to actually cook dinner?”

“Jack went to Houston. He got a phone call and took off in a hurry this afternoon. Something about his son.”

“His son?” I repeated incredulously. According to Chrissy, Jack and his son didn't speak, and if Chrissy said it, it must be true.

Daniel's shoulder shifted under my head. “I didn't ask him too much about it. He wasn't in the mood.”