Rainbow's End (8 page)

“Thank you.”

“Have you always been a carpenter, Keith?” Until now, Dominic had been too busy eating to pay much attention to the adult conversation. But as he started on his second helping of turkey, his pace slowed. He'd been following Keith around all morning, awed by the man's deft handling of tools and lumber. Now, it seemed, he was Deb's ally in the interrogation. Except his interest was innocent.

Turning his attention to the youngster, Keith smiled. “Not always.”

“How did you learn to do all that stuff?”

“My dad's a carpenter. He was a great teacher.”

“My dad's a lawyer. He works in an office and goes to court to talk to judges and help people who are in trouble.”

“Good for him.”

“Jill sure could have used your help when she first moved out here,” Deb joined in, directing her comment to Keith. “Rehabbing this house was no small job.”

“You rehabbed the house?” Keith angled his head toward Jill.

“The whole place, top to bottom,” Deb answered for her. “It was a wreck. She stripped wallpaper and woodwork, refinished the floors, replaced siding, painted. She did an amazing job.”

Impressed, Keith looked over at her. No wonder she had such a well-equipped toolshed. “I agree.”

A flush rose on Jill's cheeks. “It was mostly cosmetic.”

“It was a lot more than that. You couldn't have gotten me to tackle this for all the tea in China,” Deb declared.

“This is really good, Aunt Jill.” Her nephew was buttering his third roll.

“Thanks, Dominic. And we have brownie sundaes for dessert.”

“Awesome!” He tilted his head and inspected her as he
chewed, then gave her a gap-toothed grin. “Hey, you know what? Your face looks better this year.”

“Dominic!”

Deb's reproving tone had little impact on the youngster. “Well, it does.” There was a stubborn tilt to his chin as he responded to his mother before turning back to Jill. “And your eyes are happier, too.”

At the sudden speculative look on Deb's face, Jill decided to clear the table. “Okay, on to dessert.”

Rising, Keith reached for Dominic's plate. “Let me help.”

“You don't need to do that.”

“I want to.”

Rather than argue, Jill gathered up a stack of dishes and headed for the kitchen, Keith close on her heels. When she'd deposited her load on the counter, she took a deep breath and faced him. “I'm sorry about that.”

A grin teased his lips. “Your sister missed her calling. I think the FBI or CIA could use her for interrogation work.”

“She can be a little pushy.”

“At least the trait doesn't seem to run in the family.”

An answering smile played at the corners of her mouth. “I think I inherited my mom's diplomacy. Deb got my dad's inquisitiveness.” Then her expression grew earnest. “But she's a wonderful person. I couldn't have survived without her after the…” Her voice choked, and she clamped her lips shut.

“Hey, I like your sister.” He laid a reassuring hand on Jill's slender shoulder. “I wasn't offended.”

The warmth of his fingers seeped through the fabric of her blouse, and her heart skipped a beat. “I'm glad. But I think I also owe you an apology for this morning. I'm sorry we both…that we stared. You just looked…different.”

This time he gave her a full-fledged grin. “It's okay. I'm flattered…assuming different means better.” Without giving her a chance to confirm or deny, he rubbed a hand over his clean-shaven jaw and spoke again. “I have to admit I feel more human again since I ditched the refugee look.”

“Why did you do it?”

He considered her question. “I suppose I didn't want your sister to think you'd taken in a derelict. And it was time.” Before she could ask him to clarify that ambiguous comment, he glanced over her shoulder and changed the subject. “Nice glassware collection, by the way. I've been meaning to compliment you on it. The pieces really catch the light.”

Half turning, Jill surveyed the rainbow-colored vases and bowls that were displayed on the shelves above the half wall that separated the kitchen from the living room. “I rescued them from garage sales when…when I was first married. It was inexpensive entertainment, and I found some great buys. They're all flawed or damaged, but I could see their beauty, even if the owners couldn't. I figured they'd be relegated to the garbage heap if no one rescued them.”

“Sort of like that baby bird.”
And the mysterious little boy
.
And me.
But Keith left the latter thoughts unspoken.

His soft comment, and the warmth in his eyes, played havoc with Jill's equilibrium and her voice deserted her. But he didn't seem to expect a response. Instead, he headed for the door. “I'll gather up another load of dishes,” he called over his shoulder.

Forcing thoughts about her reaction aside, Jill returned to the table. She needed all her wits about her to deal with Deb's barrage of questions. But to her relief, the conversation stayed on impersonal subjects for the remainder of the meal. Nevertheless, by the time Keith went back to work, Dominic
trotting along behind him, Jill was exhausted. She hoped this wasn't a preview of meals during the rest of Deb's stay. She couldn't handle the tension.

The dishwasher was almost loaded when Deb wandered in from the table, nursing the last of her coffee. Jill gave her a quick look, then went back to work.

“You're mad at me, aren't you?”

“I asked you not to push.”

“I didn't push. I just asked a few questions.”

“You pushed. And why did you have to bring up the rehabbing? And my family?”

“I figured he knew at least some of that already. You eat lunch with him every day. Don't you ever talk about yourselves?”

“No. I'm not nosy—unlike some people I know.” Jill gave her a pointed look.

“The word is interested. And all Italians are like that.”

“You're not Italian.”

“After twelve years of being married to Tony, I'm Italian by osmosis. But I have to admit that I didn't do very well today. Your guest was quite adept at sidestepping most of my questions. We found out he's a widower, but not much else. How did his wife die? What did he do before he was a carpenter? And did you notice how evasive he was when I asked where he was from? That Missouri answer was vague.”

Shaking her head, Jill shut the dishwasher and turned it on. Then she faced her sister, folding her arms across her chest. “Leave it be, Deb. If he wants to talk, he will.”

“Sometimes people need a little coaxing.”

“If you keep on ‘coaxing' he may stop coming for lunch.”

A faint furrow appeared on Deb's brow as she mulled that over. “You may have a point. Okay, I'll back off a little.”

“A lot.”

“Yeah, yeah. By the way, Dominic was right about how you look, you know.” She dumped the dregs of her coffee in the sink and rinsed the cup.

A melancholy look stole over Jill's face as she reached up to touch her cheek. “My face is never going to look even close to normal, Deb. We both know that.”

“I wasn't talking about your face. I was talking about your eyes. They do look happier. I wonder why?”

Without waiting for a response, Deb deposited her cup on the counter and headed upstairs. It was clear she already had her own theory. One that involved Jill's unexpected visitor.

In all honesty, Jill couldn't dispute her. Since Keith had walked into her life, she'd felt more alive than she had in three and a half long, lonely years. Of course, it might not be him so much as the fact that she was simply hungry for human contact. Perhaps anyone would have had the same effect.

But if she said that to Deb, she suspected her sister would laugh and tell her to stop kidding herself.

And deep in her heart, Jill knew that Deb was right. Keith Michaels was special. And for as long as he inhabited her world, whether it be four weeks or four months, she was determined to savor every moment.

As for when it came time to say goodbye…she wouldn't think about that just yet. Nor would she analyze why the very thought of his departure made her feel empty and sad.

H
e was back.

Since Deb and Dominic's arrival, Jill had seen nothing of the mysterious little boy. But now, two days into their visit, he was hovering at the edge of the field, watching as Dominic searched for insects to feed Homer. She'd turned over the baby bird's care to her nephew, who had taken on the responsibility with conscientious diligence.

As she watched, Dominic spotted the boy. She'd told him and Deb about her young visitor, so Dominic didn't seem surprised. Though he was too far away for her to hear, she could tell he was talking to the youngster. When he walked toward him, Jill prepared herself for the inevitable fast exit.

But much to her surprise, the little boy didn't run. In fact, as Dominic drew closer, he came out from behind the boulders and took a few tentative steps toward him. Well, well, she mused. So that was the secret to coaxing her mystery visitor into the open—another child his age!
Praise the Lord,
Jill rejoiced in the silence of her heart, confident that Dominic could draw him out. Like his mother, he was a people person
with the gift of gab. If her nephew couldn't earn the little boy's friendship, she doubted anyone could.

Side by side, the contrast between the boys was telling. Dominic wore casual but clean clothes, sized to his frame. The other boy was still dressed in grimy, mismatched attire that hung on his slight physique. Where Dominic looked robust and nurtured, the mystery boy seemed underfed and neglected. It was hard to judge his age, but Jill considered Dominic to be about the normal size for a seven-year-old, leading her to speculate that her shorter, more delicate-looking young visitor was about a year younger.

Dominic held out the jar of bugs to his new friend, and the boy leaned close to examine it. Then, with a nod toward the toolshed, Dominic took off. After he'd gone several steps, he turned and gestured for the boy to follow. Jill could sense his indecision—as well as his yearning to accept Dominic's invitation. Finally, with a furtive glance over his shoulder toward the woods, he trotted after him.

The two boys had to pass Keith, who was laying out some of the framework for the studio walls flat on the ground while the cement cured. Dominic didn't even slow down as he passed, but the other boy hesitated, walking a wide circle around Keith.

Jill could see Keith's surprise as he straightened up to stare after the duo. He looked toward the house, almost as if he was wondering whether she'd noticed. When he caught sight of her in the doorway, he smiled. Though he didn't say a word, Jill interpreted his expression to mean, “Looks like there's been a breakthrough. And I'm happy for you, because I know how concerned you've been about the boy.”

Then she chided herself for reading far too much into his
look. For all she knew, Keith was just glad that Dominic had found a friend who would keep him out from underfoot.

But in her heart, she knew that her interpretation was correct. And that made her feel good. Too good. She didn't want to start relying on other people to stoke her happiness. Especially transient people. For two years, since the day she'd stepped onto Orcas Island, she'd been self-contained, content with her seclusion, finding satisfaction in her painting and comfort in her faith. She didn't want that to change.

Yet it was. For whatever reason, Keith's arrival had disturbed her placid, secluded world. Stirred up emotions that were best left undisturbed. Awakened in her a restlessness, a sense that some essential component was missing in her life. The feeling was not only unsettling, but growing.

And there didn't seem to be a thing she could do to stop it.

 

When they gathered for their noon meal, Deb had to call Dominic three times before he appeared at the door of the toolshed.

“Lunch is ready!” She motioned for him to join them on the porch.

Ducking back inside, he reappeared a few seconds later, tugging on the arm of the reluctant young boy.

“Hey, Mom, can George eat with us?” he called.

Just then Jill stepped out on the porch, carrying a large platter of poached, fresh-caught salmon that Deb had brought back from the market after a morning foray into town. “Of course,” she responded. “We have plenty.”

Indecision flickered across the boy's face, and Jill held her breath. When the youngster took a step in their direction, her heart soared with hope.

But it was short-lived. When Keith appeared around the corner of the house, the boy pulled his arm free and took off across the field without a backward look.

His shoulders drooping with disappointment, Dominic trudged toward the porch, arriving at the same time as Keith.

“Hey, buddy, what happened to your friend?”

“He doesn't like grown-ups much, I guess.”

As they settled into their places, Jill offered a blessing before turning her attention to Dominic. “Did you say your friend's name is George?”

“That's what I call him.” Dominic helped himself to a generous serving of Jill's oven-fried potatoes. Keith wasn't too far behind, she noticed.

“Didn't he tell you his name?”

“Nope. He doesn't talk.”

Deb cocked her head as she speared a bite of salmon. “What do you mean, he doesn't talk?”

Shrugging, Dominic dipped a potato in ketchup. “Like I said. He doesn't talk. But he was real good with Homer. He got him to eat a bunch more bugs than I did.”

“Are you saying he didn't say one word?” Jill stopped eating and looked at Dominic.

“Nope.”

“That's odd,” Deb remarked. “Usually you can't get kids to
stop
talking.”

“I guess he just didn't have anything to say,” Dominic reasoned in a matter-of-fact tone.

So much for her hopes of learning any more about her mysterious visitor, Jill thought. If anything, his interaction with Dominic had raised more questions. Why didn't he talk? Was it because he couldn't—or wouldn't? Why was he
afraid to get close to adults? Why did Keith in particular frighten him?

No answers were forthcoming. But Jill was determined to find them—sooner or later.

 

In between whale-watching outings and hikes in Moran State Park, Dominic spent every spare minute with George while Deb relaxed on the back porch, catching up on her reading while keeping an eye on the two boys. Though Dominic tried every day to coax his new friend to stay for lunch, the invitation was always rebuffed.

Then Jill had an inspiration. If the little boy wouldn't come to them at the house, they could go to him on territory where he felt more comfortable. “How about a picnic in the meadow today?” she suggested to Deb and Dominic at breakfast. “Since you'll be leaving tomorrow morning, we should make our last lunch special.”

“Cool!” Dominic enthused.

“Okay by me,” Deb seconded. “As long as we don't have to sit on the ground. My sacroiliac can't take that.”

“Don't tell me you're getting old,” Jill teased.

“Mom's already old,” Dominic offered.

“Thanks a lot!” Deb gave Jill a disgruntled look. “Let me tell you, there's no hiding from the truth when you have kids around.”

“Well, I think we can accommodate your old bones,” Jill assured her, stifling a smile.

And so, at twelve-thirty, Jill and Deb carried the fixings of a gourmet picnic out to the field, near the boulders where Jill had first seen George. They enlisted Keith's help in setting up a portable table and chairs, and while Deb began unpacking
the food, Jill spread a checkered cloth on the ground a dozen yards away.

“What's that for?” Deb queried.

“I thought Dominic might be able to convince George to join us if they kept their distance.”

“It might help even more if I made myself scarce. I could eat at the house,” Keith offered, his gaze fixed on Jill.

She gave him an appreciative smile but shook her head. “No. Let's see if this works.”

“Okay, we're set.” Deb surveyed the table, cupped her hands around her mouth and called Dominic.

“I'll be right there, Mom!” He poked his head around the side of the toolshed and waved. Keith had given Dominic some scrap lumber and shown him how to sand and hammer and measure, and Dominic in turn had shared his new knowledge with George. The two boys had been occupied all morning on the far side of the shed, building a display shelf for Jill's new studio.

A couple of minutes later he appeared, with George close on his heels. Since Jill had positioned the picnic near the spot in the woods where George entered and exited, he had to walk near them in order to leave. She hoped, when he saw the cloth set apart on the ground and got a good look at the food, he'd be tempted to stay.

When they drew close enough to talk without shouting, Jill spoke. “I set a place for you and your friend over there, if he'd like to stay.” She gestured toward the checkered cloth on the ground. “We have plenty of fried chicken and potato salad and biscuits. And I baked brownies for dessert.”

“Aunt Jill cooks real good,” Dominic told George, tugging him along behind him. “Come on! After we eat we can feed Homer and work on the shelf some more.”

When the boy hesitated, Keith moved to the portable table, choosing a chair that put his back to the young boys. Touched by his sensitivity, Jill sent him a grateful look. The smile he gave her in return warmed her heart.

Once Keith was seated, George seemed more inclined to stay for lunch, though his posture was in marked contrast to Dominic's. While her nephew flopped down and reached for a chicken leg, his focus on a V of Canada geese high above, George kept a close eye on Keith, crouching more than sitting, as if he was prepared to bolt at the slightest provocation.

His nervousness did diminish during the meal, however. The tense line of his shoulders eased a bit, and once he started eating, Jill was amazed at the quantity of food he consumed. Dominic had to come to the main table to replenish their supply more than once, and Jill's biscuits disappeared as fast as ice on a hot summer day.

Although she was grateful that the boy had ventured closer, the trick would be to sustain his comfort level once Dominic and Deb left tomorrow. Perhaps Homer was the key, she speculated. If George was still willing to come and care for the abandoned bird, then maybe…

“Kyle! I been lookin' everywhere for you, boy. Git back to the house. Now!”

Startled out of her reverie by a voice as rough as the heavy-duty sandpaper she'd used in her rehab project, Jill turned. A grizzled, older man stood at the edge of the woods, his ill-fitting clothes grimy and tattered on his burly frame. His eyes were hard and angry, the stubble on his chin coarse, his gray hair uncombed and greasy. He wore a dirty felt hat that looked as if it had been punched and shaken and slapped so often that all the stiffness had come out.

In the few beats of silence it took for Jill to assess the man, the mystery boy sprang to his feet. She transferred her gaze to him at once, noting the sudden fear in his eyes before they went flat. His expression reminded her of a cowed animal. One that had been beaten into submission and expected to be punished for any transgression—or perceived transgression—and left with no choice but to comply with its keeper's wishes,

As the boy darted toward the woods, his half-eaten brownie forgotten, Jill started to rise. But Keith laid a hand on her shoulder, pressing her back into her seat. Then he stood instead and faced the man, his posture daring him to lay a hand on the boy as he scurried past.

Whether the man had intended to touch the boy or not was uncertain. But if he had been entertaining such thoughts, Keith's look stopped him. After giving the younger man a defiant stare, he turned without another word and clumped off into the woods.

For a few moments, stunned silence hung over the small group in the meadow. Dominic scooted toward the adults, his own brownie compressed in his hand, squeezed almost beyond recognition. “W-who was that?”

Deb pulled him close, enfolding him in a warm, comforting hug. “I don't know, sweetie. But he's gone now. You can sit here by me while we finish our lunch.”

Except no one felt much like eating, Keith noted in one discerning sweep. The brownies lay untouched on the plates, and a heavy silence hung over the table. Dominic was upset, Deb was concerned and Jill's distress was almost palpable. Someone needed to try and salvage the situation, and it looked like the task fell to him.

Doing his best to smile, he tousled Dominic's hair. “Why
don't you go show your mom that great shelf you're building while your aunt and I clean up the picnic?”

Relief flooded Deb's features. “That's a great idea, Dominic.”

She rose, but Dominic held back, his face troubled. “Is George going to be okay?”

“I think his name is Kyle, honey. And that might be his grandpa. He was probably just late for lunch and his grandpa came to find him.” Deb's explanation was weak, but Jill hoped Dominic would buy it. She didn't want her nephew to be distressed by the encounter. She was upset enough for both of them.

“He looked mad.” Dominic cast a worried glance toward the woods. “And he didn't look like a grandpa.”

Picturing Tony's gregarious, nurturing, jolly parents, Jill saw Dominic's point.

“You can't always judge people by the way they look,” Keith interjected. When Jill turned to him, she was disconcerted to find him looking at her, not Dominic. “He might be a very nice man.”

“Yeah. Maybe.” Dominic didn't sound convinced, but neither did he seem as upset.

“So are you going to show me that shelf?” Deb prodded.

“Sure. Come on. Keith showed me how to put the nails in straight, and he said Aunt Jill could use it to hold her supplies, or she could put a picture of me on it to remember our visit and…”

As his voice receded, Jill drew a shaky breath and turned to find Keith watching her.