Hannah was feeling the tumor on Scarlet’s leg when her cell phone rang. Reaching across her stomach with her left hand, she unclipped the phone from her jeans and stared at the screen.
Which was more ridiculous—the thrill at seeing Will’s name pop up on her phone or the sudden wave of motion sickness when she was standing still? Her heart rate had definitely increased, her palms were sweaty and she had tinnitus in her ears. It was as if she were floating.
“Did you take my dad somewhere?” Will said.
The lack of greeting provided an instant cure. Anger was not an emotion she wanted to own, but yes, she was ever so slightly pissed. Pissed that she had developed a ridiculous crush; more pissed that her crush hadn’t said hello.
“Good morning to you, too.”
Will blew into the phone.
Hannah mouthed, Excuse me, to Andrew, Scarlet’s owner, and walked out onto the screened-in porch.
“Have you lost Jacob?” she said to Will.
“Maybe. Yes. Should I call 9-1-1?”
“No. I can be home in half an hour. We’ll find him together.” Hannah grabbed her wrist and pinched. Together was a loaded word.
“Don’t you think I should issue a silver alert or something?”
“You’re overreacting and he’ll resent you for it.” As thirteen-year-old Liam had done when she hadn’t been able to find him and had called the cops. Afterward he insisted she knew he’d been sleeping over at a friend’s and blamed her amnesia on the latest pet emergency.
“Suppose he’s in trouble?” Will said.
“I think it’s more likely he’s gone for a wander in the forest.”
“Exactly. Where he could get hurt. The forest is a place of a thousand and one dangers.”
“Not my forest. If he’s on the mountain, he’s safe.”
“Can you come home any quicker?”
“Sure,” she said, and hung up.
In the small backyard, submerged beneath drifts of leaves, crows cawed. A squirrel practiced acrobatics on the plastic bird feeder; a robin flitted in and out of a large pot containing deer-mutilated pansies; and her secret crush burst wide-open. The boys had always criticized her inclination to trust people, but this need to be needed was far more dangerous. It could turn fantasy into love.
Andrew opened the door. “Is everything okay out here?”
“Fine. Just fine. Sorry for the interruption.”
Hannah walked back into the living room cluttered with mementos: china cats, stuffed cats, pictures of cats, needlepoint cushions of cats. In the two years since his wife’s death, Andrew had devoted himself to the care of her seventeen-year-old cat. Now Scarlet had cancer.
The tragedy of a couple who had shared a lifetime was that they rarely shared death. One of them was destined to end up alone, and that had been enough to push her dad over the edge. What would happen to Andrew when Scarlet went? Last Christmas he’d had only two cards on display. One of them was from Hannah.
The window air-conditioning unit rattled as Hannah squatted down to where Scarlet was curled up in a nest of towels rank with cat pee. Her right knee crunched, and not for the first time, Hannah wondered if knee replacements were in her future. See? She should be contemplating aging gracefully, not daydreaming about a younger guy.
“When was the last time she ate?” Hannah said.
“Yesterday.”
“How much?”
“Half a can.”
Scarlet purred.
“She’s still drinking?”
Andrew nodded and rubbed one of his watery eyes.
Hannah eased herself back to standing. “You’re giving her the immune support?”
“Yes.” His right hand began to tremble.
“Let’s keep taking it day by day. It’s not her time yet, but when it is, I can help her along.”
Hannah stared at one of the cat pictures. “You know, I have a friend who’s an artist. Would you like her to come with me tomorrow and sketch Scarlet?”
“Thank you kindly.” Finally, Andrew smiled. “I used to draw, back in my younger days. That charcoal of the Siamese? I did that for the wife.”
Perfect. In the middle of darkness, there was always hope.
* * *
Hannah did something she hadn’t done in years—drove at seventy miles per hour on Redbud Road with no thought for deer or for the sheriff’s car that often tucked behind the trailer park mailboxes. She ignored the rattling under the hood and sped down the driveway, bouncing in her seat as the old Ford thumped in and out of potholes.
Yet again Will was pacing, and the large sweat stain on the chest of his snugly fitting T-shirt suggested he’d been at it for a while.
Blazing sunlight reflected off his golden hair and washed out his skin, making it ethereal. He was caught in the daily half hour when the sun reached the space between the house and the cottage, but as he swung around, his body entered solid shadow. The shade was near-perfect for picture taking; the expression and beauty of the subject were perfect. This should have been his author photo. If she had her camera, she would light his face with her flash and snap his portrait. Capture this moment on film and store it in her keepsake box with her wedding ring and the handmade Mother’s Day cards.
He took off, running toward the truck, and certainty punched her. Unequivocal certainty. She had always hoped to fall in love again, but not like this. Not now. Not while Galen was struggling to crawl through each day. Not while she had to help an eighty-year-old who may or may not be in danger.
No.
An invisible force clutched her heart, grabbed and squeezed. Stole her breath.
No.
She gasped. Will’s head had thrust through her open window.
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to make you jump. Are you sure I shouldn’t have called 9-1-1?”
Don’t look at his eyes, don’t look at his eyes.
Hannah took small, quiet breaths and stared at her clogs. She did this every day—set aside personal feelings to do her job. Will was no different than a client who needed her expertise, her ability to take charge. He needed her to be the person in control. She needed to be the person in control. She took a bigger, slower breath. Filled her lungs with warm air so she could breathe again, so she could be the person they both needed her to be.
“How long has he been missing?” she said.
“I don’t know. I overslept.”
Hannah kicked off her clogs, then retrieved her hiking boots and shook out the socks stuffed inside. She waved Will back so she could open her door.
The dogs whined a welcome, but they needed to stay in the house with Galen. Hannah tightened the laces on her boots and slowly created two perfect, knotted bows. She centered her thoughts and released a quick prayer.
Let Jacob be safe.
As she eased herself out of the truck, the back of her neck prickled with sweat. The mercury would hit eighty before noon. Once again, Saponi Mountain was imprisoned under brilliant blue skies and a blistering sun.
Will flicked his hair back from his face. “Ready?”
“Do you have your phone?”
He nodded.
“Good. That way we can split up if we need to. Once we find him—”
“If.”
“Trust me, we’ll find him.”
His eyes settled into a look she couldn’t decipher, then he turned to watch a pair of black vultures circling over the dead rat snake in Miss Prissy’s pasture.
“I don’t trust,” Will said. “It’s what keeps me alive as a rock climber.”
“Since you’re not dangling off a rock, now might be a good time to start trusting. No one knows that forest better than I do.”
“Sorry.” He drummed his fingers on his cheek. “I’m amped up and losing it.”
“I can tell,” she said. “But I need you calm so we can focus on practicalities. Can you manage that?” She nearly added, For me.
He breathed heavily. “Calm I can do. I’m an expert on calm. Lead the way. I’m right behind you.”
She blocked the image of spooning with Will. “Follow me,” she said.
And he did.
Dodging a large cobweb, they entered the forest through a clearing behind the concrete well cover. Years earlier, Hannah had considered carving out a path from this spot down to the creek, but enough generations had crisscrossed Saponi Mountain with trails. Besides, she loved her daily game of never repeating a route into the forest, of knowing her destination but allowing the journey to be a surprise. If this were her first time in the forest, she would head straight, aim for the crest of the hill and the old trading path. Jacob had likely done the same. But if he didn’t want to be found, he wouldn’t be. An experienced woodsman knew how to lose himself, but that was not a thought worth sharing.
She stopped and waited for Will to catch up. “You might want to consider this free service the local sheriff offers for tracking seniors with electronic bracelets. A couple of my clients use it with great success.”
He shot her another look, but this time the meaning was clear.
“Yeah, like he’s going to agree to that,” Will said.
“You know, it’s not the information that matters so much as the presentation.”
They started walking again.
A pileated woodpecker with a crown of red feathers scooted up a dead pine and began hammering. How long before the drought weakened the more vulnerable trees and brought them down? As if they hadn’t lost enough trees, thanks to the planned McMansions on the ridge. All spring she’d listened to logging trucks rumble up the private road leading to the land-for-sale sign, polluting with noise and fumes, aiding in the rape of the forest.
Hannah stepped onto a rotting log and paused, watching for copperheads. Will did the same.
“With a transmitter, he can have more freedom,” she said. “And we can have less worry.”
“You mean I can have less worry.”
“Why do you find it so hard to accept that Poppy and I like your dad?” she said.
“Frankly? He’s not that likable.”
“Oh, come on. He’s a sweet old guy. Surely he’s earned the right to live the remainder of his life with dignity?”
“You don’t think I treat him with dignity?” Will’s voice betrayed nothing.
“No. I’m saying Hawk’s Ridge didn’t. The second time around, you’ll get it right.”
“You’re an optimist, aren’t you?”
A branch snapped under his khaki-colored Converse.
“I’m a realist who assumes someone as smart as you is unlikely to repeat his mistakes.”
“How do you know I’m smart?”
“You wrote an international bestseller when you were, what—twenty-five?”
“Twenty-four. But that doesn’t mean squat.”
Was he insecure or fishing for compliments? Either way, she wasn’t arguing the point. “How’s the search for a retirement home coming?”
“Frustrating. I’ve found a decent place called Azalea Court, but I’m on the wait list. Basically I’m hoping some poor bastard croaks so an apartment opens up. In the meantime, I’m back to checking out facilities in New York.”
“Without visiting them?”
Will kicked at a small, mossy-covered outcrop that rose through the leaves. Another week and none of the stones on the path would be noticeable. Maybe he wasn’t smart enough to avoid repeating mistakes. Yes, Azalea Court was a decent retirement home. Flashy, but well kept. It was also close to the Durham county line, which, for Jacob, was as alien as New York.
They passed a huge root ball from Hurricane Fran and trudged onto the old trading path. The undergrowth rustled, and Hannah raised her face into a rain of falling leaves.
“I suppose,” Will said, “that now might be a good time to talk about Poppy’s plan.”
“What plan?”
“You don’t know?”
“Know what?” Hannah fanned her T-shirt against her chest. If not for the drought, she would consider it a two-shower day.
“Poppy and my dad want me to buy the cottage.”
“But it’s not for sale,” Hannah said. Although, for less than a second, the idea of Will staying...
“Don’t worry, the plan sucks balls.”
How eloquent.
“Poppy has no medical training and my dad needs to be in assisted living with the option to upgrade to hospice care.”
“Upgrade?”
“You know what I mean.” He scratched through his hair. Clearly he hadn’t combed it since he got up, but he wore the disheveled-writer look well. The phrase morning-after bed head slotted into Hannah’s mind, and she picked up her pace, marching toward the carpet of periwinkle up ahead. At some point there must have been a garden here, a woodland garden. Showy perennials that flashed fat, garish petals in the sun did nothing for her. Flowering shade plants, however, spoke of magic.
She grabbed a spindly dogwood tree and hauled herself up a bank.
“Just like Occoneechee Mountain, this is another big hill with a grandiose name,” Will muttered behind her.
“I figured it was once part of something more majestic, probably the ancient Sauratown Mountains to the west. The view from the ridge is stunning. Sadly they’re opening it up for development. One house is already finished and occupied. This time next year, there could be ten families living on Saponi Mountain.” She sighed. “I’ll have a community of neighbors.”
Their footsteps crunched through crispy yellow and brown leaves, his echoing hers.
“The forest is surprisingly open here,” Will said.
“It changes dramatically once you’re over the ridge and descending into the wetlands.” Talking about nature with Will was safe. She could almost pretend he was just another stray wandering through her life. “The creek’s dry, of course, but there are ferns and wildflowers everywhere on the other side. And each spring a wave of daffodils marks out a long-forgotten homestead. I like to picture an old woman with threadbare gardening gloves planting the bulbs, never imagining that they will endure and outlive both her and her house.”
Will gave a soft huh. “There’s a writer in you.”
“Hardly, but I do like to create stories that bring the past to life.” She stopped and turned. “I like to believe that people who die never really leave us.”
* * *
The forest had sunk its claws in once again. Dragged him back as if he were easy prey. And where was Hannah heading with this conversation? Could they not just find the old man and get out?
Will bent down to brush aside the leaves, to touch the hard, compacted dirt under his feet. Dirt never lies, his dad always said. Young Will couldn’t figure out whether that was Occaneechi lore or Jacob lore. The lines were fuzzy because his dad was good at making stuff up—almost as good as his mom had been. Except she’d been flat-out delusional.
“There must be graves near here.” Even though he couldn’t see any markers. The forest was keeping its secrets, which was fine. He wasn’t that interested. Really.
“There’s an old burial plot up ahead. The boys found it when they were younger and frightened themselves silly. I told them it spoke of peaceful death in old age.”
“Did they believe you?”
“Until Galen realized one of the nameless markers was considerably smaller and undoubtedly belonged to a child.” Hannah sighed. “How did you know, about the graves?”
“Periwinkle.” He pointed. “Planted on graves to suppress weeds. My dad taught me to read the land. He also encouraged me to play wherever I saw vinca growing, since it doesn’t provide enough cover for snakes. Come to think of it, I spent most of my childhood playing on graves. Which makes it totally impressive that I didn’t end up as a serial killer.”
She gave a laugh.
Her hair was gripped back today, but a blond curl had escaped to frame her jawline. How would it feel to grab that hair and pull her lips to his, to feel her mouth yield? Despite the faded jeans and tatty T-shirt, she was a babe. He’d never dug an older woman before, although she wasn’t that much older. Just a decade. Hard to decide whether her ass or her legs were more distracting. She had great legs. Long legs. Did she ever wear skirts and heels? Of course, heels would make her taller than he was. No, please no. He was getting a boner.
So not the time, Will.
She had a great figure for the mother of two grown sons, but maybe that’s what happened when you popped out babies while you were still one yourself. Were you ever ready to be a parent, though? And once you’d discovered that elation and terror, were you ever ready to stop? You didn’t just walk away from parenthood because your son was dead—or because he wanted to be.
“Your plant knowledge is so like your dad’s,” Hannah said.
“I’m nothing like him.”
“Your mother, then?”
“No.”
She shrugged, and he looked at the ground. There she was again, making things easy. He called and she came; she asked questions but didn’t push for answers. Hannah pointed to an area that looked as if a giant had taken a bite out of the land.
“This was the site of an old grist mill,” she said. “That’s the headrace, and on the other side is where the wheel would have been. The dam was destroyed in the yellow fever epidemic.”
“To kill off mosquitoes?”
“Exactly. There are so many memories on this piece of land, piled up top of one another. So many lives.” She exhaled. “So many deaths.”
Will followed her gaze and could have sworn he glimpsed someone watching them from down near the headrace. He nearly called out, Dad! But no one was there. The forest grew still.
“This is a beautiful spot.” Suddenly chilled, he rubbed his arms. “Peaceful, but the air feels heavy.”
“You feel it, too, the sadness?” Her voice rose.
“I wouldn’t go that far.”
“Do you believe in ghosts?” she said.
“Not really.” He was not going to talk about the dead, the spirit world, any of it....
“I do.” She smiled. “My mother taught me to believe in them.”
“Yeah, well, lucky you. Mine taught me to believe in human monsters.” He glanced back at the headrace. Again, the feeling of being watched. “Your mother liked a good ghost story?”
“She was psychic.”
“No shit.”
“Your mother liked a good horror story?”
“She was insane.”
“No shit,” Hannah said.
Will laughed and was surprised how good it felt, as good as mountain air on naked limbs. But then he saw Freddie curled up beside him during a June thunderstorm. Remembered the smell of his shampoo, the heat his little body generated in sleep, the softness of his Buzz Lightyear pj’s.
The laughter died in Will’s throat. His breath burned; his heart was on fire. He wanted to sink into the leaves, let the forest devour him, but no. He did what he always did: he kept functioning, kept moving, his legs and his brain on autopilot.
Leaves snapped and crackled to their left, and Will jumped. Hannah seemed not to notice.
“What happened to your dad?”
Hannah stared. “Why do you ask?”
“We’ve covered my trust issues, the scenery, my dad and our dead mothers. I’ve heard a couple of things about your father from Galen. I guess I’m curious to know more.” And it had been months since he’d taken an interest in anything or anyone.
“So that’s what you guys talk about in your nightly therapy sessions.”
“What happens at the cottage after midnight,” he said, “stays at the cottage.”
Hannah watched him. “Okay, then, I’ll tell you about my father.” She unclipped her hair, brushed it with her fingers and reclipped it. “They were close, Galen and Dad. And so alike. Both quiet, easy to be with, sensitive. Eager to hide from the world.”
“It’s an unusual diagnosis—death by broken heart. Is it true?”
“In a sense, yes. My mother’s death broke him.” Hannah paused. “My father killed himself. Here, in the forest.”
Jesus. Will’s spine tingled. Through the trees, the cottage was hidden, but if he went straight, he could make a run for it.
“Few people know. Poppy, my brothers...and now you.” Hannah spoke as if she were placing a takeout order for pizza: Thin crust, extra cheese. Ready in fifteen minutes? Yes, that’s fine. Thank you.
“Why me?” His voice squeaked. Didn’t he have enough secrets of his own?
“Galen’s already curious about the genetics of depression. I was trying to figure out how to tell him when you and your dad showed up. My mother taught me that everything happens for a reason. And here we are—you and I, standing on the spot where my father died.
“I didn’t want my sons growing up under the specter of damaged DNA, but I always planned to tell them after Liam turned twenty-one. The past month just sped everything up. There’s quite a story to tell, though—my grandfather had holes drilled into his skull, and my father struggled against bouts of depression his whole life. He hid them, of course, as his generation did, but I often saw him huddled in the garage in the evening, crying. After my mother died, he fell apart. I thought if I brought him here and smothered him with love, everything would be fine. But love isn’t always enough. You can love someone, but that doesn’t mean you can keep him safe.”
Amen. You could plant yourself in every corner of your kid’s life, research the heck out of every piece of kid equipment on Consumer Reports before you bought it, and still not make a difference.
“As a doctor, he knew how to kill himself,” Hannah continued. “He took pills.”
“And I thought I had family baggage.”
“It’s good to know there’s someone worse off, isn’t it? But please don’t feel sorry for me. I’m not someone who peddles regret. I’m someone who believes the present exists because of the past. It’s a symbiotic relationship.”
He loved the word symbiotic, loved the way it sounded in his head.
“Do I wish my father were still alive? Of course I do. I miss both my parents every day. I talk to them all the time.” Hannah smiled her easy smile.
If he could talk to Freddie, what would he say? I’m sorry, I love you, I miss you? Or would there be no words—just one last hug?
“My father didn’t commit suicide to hurt me,” Hannah continued. “He killed himself because it was the only path he could take. I like to believe he found the peace in death that he couldn’t find in life. But I also need to believe a part of him stayed behind—” she stared at the headrace again “—as my guardian angel. As Galen’s savior. I’m not a kook, but I like to believe my father’s spirit lives on. I know that’s selfish, and I know my mother would say I’m holding him here on earth, preventing his soul from moving into the light, but I do feel him sometimes. In the forest.”
No one knew what happened once a family retreated inside a house, pulled the curtains and locked the front door, and life rarely made sense. But standing among the hardwood trees, surrounded by squirrels that were noisier than a bunch of preschoolers in Central Park, Will understood. Despite the talk of angels and light and crap he didn’t believe, he understood this woman who, like him, had lied to protect her broken family. Maybe he wasn’t the only person who needed to bury the truth in a story.
Had he known Hannah before, things might be different. She might be a confidante, someone who wouldn’t abuse his secrets. But in the trajectory of secret keeping, he’d passed the point of no return. For the first time, he hadn’t shared with Ally or consulted with his overpaid, pit bull publicist. No, this was his mess and his alone.
“I’m not sure what to say,” he said.
“You don’t have to say anything. But I do want to ask a question.” She sucked on her lips. “How do you think he’s going to react?”
“Hannah, he’s your son. You know him better than I do.”
“I’m not sure I do these days.”
Please don’t lay this on me.
Her phone rang and she turned her back on him, shutting him out. Thank God.
Will followed the path onto a rickety old bridge over the dry creek bed and jiggled the railing, testing it. A fall from this height could bust an ankle, and then he and his dad would be even more dependent on Hannah. The last thing she needed.
On the other side of the creek, the ground rose sharply. Would they make it up to the ridge? He wanted to experience the view she’d mentioned; he wanted to be up high looking down on the world.
“That was Galen. I asked him to let us know if your dad showed up at the house. He hasn’t.” Hannah joined him on the bridge, and they walked across side by side.
Will glimpsed an abandoned squirrel’s dray hanging from a huge white oak. It looked like Spanish moss attacked with a flamethrower.
“Have you read any of Galen’s poems?” she said.
“I’ve offered, but he seems reluctant to share.”
“He has a gift. First published at eight, and in high school he won a national competition that’s been going since the twenties. Sylvia Plath was a previous winner. How’s that for irony?”
“The Scholastic Art and Writing Awards? Did he win a senior writing portfolio?”
“Yes. How did you know?”
“Past recipient. Why are you smiling?” His dad was really, really right about that smile.
“I finally get why you and Galen are friends. You’re so similar,” Hannah said. “Both self-contained, both writers, both kindhearted.”
“I’m not sure anyone’s described me as kindhearted before.”
“You dropped everything for your dad. That says something.”
“It’s not like I had a choice,” he said.
“Actually, you did. Poppy tells me you were the one who pulled him out of Hawk’s Ridge. If you’d agreed to play by the director’s rules, Jacob could have stayed.”
“Yeah. I guess the ultimate screw-up was mine. Thanks to me, Dad’s close to being homeless.”
“Maybe we should consider Poppy’s plan,” she said.
“No. It’s not fair on anyone. Least of all, you.”
“See? You do have a big heart.”
Could she not cool it with the compliments? A hawk screeched overhead, its usually assertive cry weak, scared, desperate. Lonely.
“What if we struck a deal?” Hannah said.
Deals were to be avoided. There was always a catch.
“You come straight to me if Galen tells you anything that you feel I should know, and I’ll do the same for you with your dad.”
“You want me to break a confidence?” he said.
She began twisting her silver ring around and around her index finger.
Realization came slowly, but then he normally bailed before the conversation got this intense. And she was recruiting him for the front lines. Or was it more of a press gang maneuver? “You mean that I should come to you if I think it’s a matter of life or death.”
She took a deep breath. “Yes.”
“Jesus, Hannah. I’m way out of my depth here.”
“So am I.”
He rubbed sweat from the back of his neck. There wasn’t a wisp of a breeze in the forest. If he were alone, he would strip off his T-shirt. Although, the thought of being half-naked and near Hannah was enough to make him reconsider.
“I haven’t thanked you,” she said, “for not judging Galen.”
“I haven’t thanked you for not judging my dad.” Or me. People were always making assumptions, thinking they knew him. But no one did, except for Ally.
Maybe Hannah was right. Maybe things did happen for a reason. An experienced climber knew when to shake out and conserve strength. When to rest so he could make it to the top and back down. Maybe being at the cottage was like reaching a solid hold on a difficult route and pausing to rest. Maybe he needed to be here while he gained strength to move forward with his life. A life without Freddie.
“We need to find the old wagon trails,” he said. “My dad will be following them.”
“You do know that your dad would be miserable in New York.”
“Of course I do. But I might not have a choice. If I can’t find a local facility, he’ll have to come north with me. And maybe that would be better. At least I could see him regularly. I can’t just abandon him when he’s the only family I have left.”
“Aren’t you forgetting your son?”
“Freddie’s with me always. I didn’t mean that.”
But she didn’t look as if she was buying it.
“How do you know about the trails?” Once again, she was letting him off the hook.
“Not hard to figure out. Lots of people were trying to scratch out a living around here, and they settled near the fords so they could stay connected—establish communication and trade routes. Every group had its own road—wagoners, people with pack horses. There were even black roads.”
“Black roads?”
“African-Americans had their own roads just as Native Americans did.”
“I don’t understand.” She shook her head slowly. More curls bounced free of the barrette. God, she was adorable.
“What don’t you understand?”
“You belong here just as much as your dad, but you walked away to live in New York.”
“I didn’t walk, I ran. Shhh.” Will held up his hand. “Did you hear that? Dad? Dad, is that you? It’s me, Willie!”
“Willie?” she whispered, but her voice had turned playful.
“Family nickname.” Just another squirrel, not the old man. “Didn’t you have one?”
“No. My family was excruciatingly serious about everything. There were no shortcuts, even with names. I guess that’s why I was so wild as a teenager.”
Hannah, a wild teenager? How improbable. Although she did have her own quiet way of approaching life, much as he did, and he’d certainly had a few wild years—smoking at twelve, drinking at fourteen, sneaking around with Ally. By junior high, though, nothing mattered beyond safeguarding his ticket out of Orange County: his GPA.
“Did your parents ever call you William?”
“No.”
“It’s such a beautiful name. Can I call you William?”
He whirred around, pushing aside the memory of Cass’s voice: I shall always call you William. “No.”
“Another off-limits?”
“Yeah.” Was she keeping a running tally?
“Wait.” Hannah grabbed his arm and he felt it again, an exchange of energy passing between them. Although this time it was definitely lust, since it landed squarely in his groin.
His dad materialized about twenty yards ahead of them, like a deer appearing by the edge of the forest on a foggy morning. And he was smiling. Smiling? Will ground his teeth together.
“What you two young’uns doin’ up here?” Jacob said.
Will wanted to speak, but his jaw refused to unclamp. Hannah, however, didn’t miss a beat.
“I came to invite you and Will for lunch,” she said. “I made pumpkin soup for my son last night and have enough to feed half the county. I was hoping you guys would help eat it.”
The old man held up a Ziploc bag with a limp sandwich inside. Un-friggin’-believable. He’d packed lunch?
“Brought along some PBJ, but I reckon homemade soup sounds a whole lot better.” His dad grinned.
Will rolled his head back to look up at the crows. How much longer could he play nanny to a grown man while his life collapsed around him?
“Why don’t we all go back to the house and have a little feast.” Hannah moved toward his dad, and they linked arms. “I’ve been out since six this morning, and I’m starving. Did you find anything of interest up here?”
Will wasn’t sure what to say or do, since he’d clearly become irrelevant to the conversation. He kicked a dead branch across the forest floor as if it were a soccer ball. Okay, so that was just childish.
“Found me a coyote den.”
“Yes, we avoid that,” Hannah said. “The coyote bit Daisy’s bottom last time she sniffed around there.”
“It were probably the male coyote, bein’ all protective. Found a small cemetery, too. And my mind’s been seein’ all manner of ghostly figures in them trees.”
Great. Hannah and his dad were going to exchange ghost stories now. It was a mystery that people didn’t find real life frightening enough.
“Did I ever tell you I were a grave digger, Hey You?”
“You certainly did, Jacob. Do you have any stories to share?”
And the moment turned almost as quickly as if Will had snapped his fingers.
His dad glanced at him, his forehead furrowed. “You young’uns been out on the mountain again? How’s your mama, Ally?”
“This isn’t Ally, Dad.” Too late he blushed and realized Hannah was staring. He wanted to explain, to shout, No, it’s not what you think. Why? Why should he care?
“Best thing you two did, Willie, bring me back to the woods. Had me a fine ol’ time.”
“Dad, you can’t wander off by yourself and get lost. We were worried.”
“Lost? I ain’t lost. I reckon you’re the one who’s lost, son. You been livin’ in the city too long if you think your daddy could get hisself lost in the forest. Me, lost in the forest,” Jacob mumbled. “I was fixin’ to come home before sundown.”
“I get lost up here all the time,” Hannah said.
This whole conversation was about as fun as squatting in a tick nest. Will needed a drink—a good stiff one. He might have to dip into his dad’s Wild Turkey, set some bad examples for his aging father. Maybe just a single, anesthetizing down-in-one shot. Except he could hardly turn up at the afternoon’s retirement home appointment stinking of liquor.
“Since you don’t have a cell phone,” Hannah continued, “Will might have to get you a small electronic bracelet to wear. So we know where you are when lunch is ready.”
“You buying this, too, Angel? About me being lost?”
“No. But you want the freedom to wander the forest by yourself, right?”
“I sure do, Angel.”
“Well, this will allow you to do that without Will calling out the National Guard when he can’t find you. Right, Will?”
Ever the peacemaker, ever the force of calm and reason.
“Yeah, right.” Then Will fell silent and concentrated on finding his own calm, his own quiet place between anger and desire.