2
2
brOTHER FROM ANOTHER MOTHER
M ikey and I were dressed and ready to go right after lunch, even though we weren’t due to leave till three on account of Ranger’s Weston-Davies meeting. We were wearing almost identical outfits: navy shorts, navy tees with gold lion’s head, and requisite hoodies for the unpredictable pockets of chill Northern California surprised you with. And, of course, the trustee bright white trainers. I had assumed beach until Ranger informed me otherwise, via text.
Dr. D would’ve said we had “ants-in-our-pants.” A better use of my time would’ve been working the botanical garden instead of the varnish off the floor. I was a little worried about my rib situation so snuck into the bathroom to tape them up. I’d just finished tearing the last strip from the roll (a mental image of Pete doing this very thing had me feeling a sharp pang of another kind) when I heard a hearty knock on the door. That brought me round. I jumped up, my heart doing a little jig of excitement. I hustled to the door after Mikey.
It swung open to reveal two tall, dark, and handsome officers, one a little darker than the other. My smile faded, and my heart plummeted.
“Wanguh!” Mikey propelled himself into Ranger, so I was left staring at a pair of khaki-green eyes.
“Slater” fell from my mouth. The follow up: What are you doing here ? I managed to zipper closed.
He shot me an ironic smile. “Cadet Connelly.”
I flashed betrayed eyes at Ranger, who tried to ignore them, acting as though nothing were amiss. As if wishing it so could make it so. He set Mikey down to bustle around checking backpacks for appropriate supplies. “I see you’re all set to go. Go ahead and grab your windbreakers too. It can get pretty windy where we’re going.”
“Where we’re all going,” I said, gesturing around the outline of Slater as if I could erase him from the picture.
Slater lifted a cheek. “That’s right. I’ve been roped into babysitting duties today.”
My eyes sliced him. That was a barely veiled reminder of the rope he threw around my brother’s neck before proceeding to choke him—almost to unconsciousness. Meanwhile, Mikey, either clued in to who Slater was by memory or by intuiting my malice, was cowering behind the fortress of Ranger’s legs.
Ranger looked irritated by our exchange. He hooked an arm behind him to nab Mikey and haul him up. “Hey, buddy, I want you to meet a friend of mine. Mikey—Slater. Slater—Mikey.”
Mikey stared back from the safety of Ranger’s arms but didn’t say anything—unusual behavior from the chattering six-year-old in his arms.
“Hi, Mikey. It’s nice to finally meet you,” Slater said. “I feel a little star-struck . . . you’re practically famous around here.” He used the same confident tone a big-city politician uses in a small town.
That got Mikey to giggle nervously.
I was glowering at this little exchange. “You know, Mikey, you’ve actually already met Officer Slater before . . .” I let that one hang in the air.
Ranger shot me a warning look.
“I did? When? I don’t wemembuh.” Mikey looked to me for answers that Ranger supplied.
“Yeah, buddy. It was when you first got here. Slater helped bring you in. You were still asleep, so you might not remember.”
“Yeah, I was part of the rescue team,” put in a helpful Slater.
Ranger was starting to look aggravated again.
“Wescue team?” Mikey looked to me to help him remember what the cocktail they injected him with helped him forget.
I huffed and I puffed, and began unpacking my backpack.
Again, Ranger took up the slack. “You know what I call Slater?”
I had a few choice names in mind but remained focused on the task of unknotting the ties of my windbreaker. Mikey shook his head.
“My brother-from-another-mother,” Ranger replied. An unsure giggle trickled from Mikey’s mouth. “Yeah, Slater and me go way back . . . all the way back to when we were pre-cadets, marching around together playing soldier. Now he’s a real one, one of the best, and one of the good guys.”
I let a snort slip at that one. This drew Ranger’s blazing blues my way again. “What are you doing?”
I bit back the sarcastic “ What does it look like I’m doin’?” to go with the more succinct, “Unpacking.” I felt sure Ranger wouldn’t let any insubordination slide in front of a peer.
His eyes narrowed. “Why?”
“I think two babysitters for one boy is quite enough.”
“I went to quite a lot of trouble to set this up,” Ranger informed me. I could hear a couple of different emotions in there.
“Katie, you haft to come!” Mikey pleaded.
I could feel Mikey’s special kind of energy wafting my way so avoided his gaze. “Sides . . . my ribs are botherin’ me,” I confessed.
“Since when? I thought you were fine. You even went for a jog yesterday morning,” Ranger reminded me.
“Since then. I even taped them. See.” I lifted my shirt a fraction to show him.
He pursed his lips and stared me down. Finally, he set Mikey down to grab his backpack. He handed it over to him and said, “Go on out with Slater. Your sister and I will catch up with you in a minute.”
He tossed keys to Slater, who shook his head at Ranger like he couldn’t believe he wasn’t slamming me down for my insubordination, or, at the very least, just leaving me to my sour mood. After the door closed, Ranger used up that minute to not say anything. I used the time he spent weighing his words to stare at my trainers, which weren’t getting enough use these days.
“You’re going to have to get over it,” he stated.
I shook my head, lifting my eyes to his. They weren’t glacier cold but they weren’t warm either. “Ranger, he almost choked Andrew to death. I’m supposed to just let that go?”
“He did what he had to do to get me out. That’s what we do for each other . . . that’s what we did for you .”
My spine stiffened. My body had been working overtime healing and suppressing memories of that God-awful day. I didn’t appreciate the reminder. I set my trembling hand on the back of my desk chair to steady it.
Ranger didn’t let up. “That’s what Slater did for you . . . while he was bleeding out one eye.”
When I brought my eyes back to his, they were already glittering. “W-what?”
Ranger nodded at me. “That’s right. I didn’t even need to ask him. He was in because that’s what we do for each other. And you, whether you like it or not, are one of us.”
I swallowed hard, feeling speechless. I managed a head nod. He seemed to understand my need for dropping it, moving on to another sore subject. “Now about those ribs . . . you’ve got about a half-mile trail—somewhat steep in some parts—ahead of you. Do you think you can manage it?”
I nodded again.
He nodded back. “Good.” A grin broke out that had hitherto been contained due to the drama. “Because I pulled a few strings to procure a private showing of one of the Bay area’s best views. I think it’ll be well worth the hike.”
I gave him my Mona Lisa smile and proceeded forward. He held the door for me, and together we headed out to greet the kind of sunny day California was known for. We made it silently to where the gargantuan garage was located. Slater and Mikey were already pulled out in front of the entrance, waiting for us in one of The Academy’s SUVs that looked like a fancy Jeep. Mikey was bouncing around in the back chatting animatedly to Slater, who was behind the wheel, peering over his shoulder. I stalled out a second to stare and realign my internal paradigm.
Ranger set a hand on the small of my back. “Come on, Connelly. Your Man Upstairs fixed our weather problem, I know you’ve been cooped up too long, and I couldn’t pull this off without Slater’s help.”
I fought the sun’s beams to peer up at him.
“You have the power to turn Mikey against us and make a getaway with”—he paused to air quote—“’our greatest weapon’. Today would be the ideal time for you to do that,” he explained. “I’ve been working on Weston ever since I told you I would arrange it. It is arranged. Don’t let an old grudge ruin Mikey’s day for him,” he finished with a stern look I realized I totally deserved.
I nodded at him.
He arched a brow. “Use your words, Connelly.”
“You’re right.” I bit out, exasperated he was making me admit it.
“I bet that hurt worse than the ribs,” he smirked.
I huffed out a chuckle and jabbed him in the ribs.
“Assault on an officer!” he yelled, ducking my next punch. After a moment more of this, he tugged on my backpack. “Okay, let’s move it forward. I’ll even let you ride shotgun.”
“Think I’ll take a pass on that one, Officer” was the last word on the subject.
After winding our way around a tumble of neighborhoods, with their quietly imposing estates set upon hills the color of money, we hit the highway, then took the Sausalito exit just before the Golden Gate Bridge. Mikey sorely protested, wanting to drive over it. Ranger just turned around to flash his dimples at us. I’d opted out of shotgun mostly because I wanted to hold Mikey’s hand as he witnessed the national monument for the first time. His eyes almost bugged out of his head. I used my handy-dandy phone to snap a commemorative shot of the experience. The bridge was a little bit more than awe-inspiring.
We passed through a couple of checkpoints where Slater flashed some kind of magic badge and we got waved through. After a series of stomach-flipping curves and roller coaster hills, we circled a crowded parking lot before spying a minivan with Montana license plates debarking.
“We’re here?” Mikey butted his head between the two officers up front.
“We’re here,” Ranger confirmed, his eyes finding mine.
My stomach did another weird flip. I decided it was a good time to unclick my seatbelt. We all got out to swooping calls from seagulls, and matching ones from Mikey, and a brisk wind set against a beautiful blue sky. The lush foliage was newly perked up from yesterday’s rain, the sun warming our backs as we faced the state park dotted with wildflowers, BBQ grills, and an array of locals and tourists out enjoying their summer day.
I thought this was to be a private viewing?
We shouldered our backpacks and proceeded up a blocked trail, past a sign indicating it was the path to Point Bonita Lighthouse. Apparently, it was open to the public only on Saturdays, Sundays, and Mondays. Today was Tuesday. I shook my head at Ranger, who was looking at me like a dog who had just performed a neat trick for his master and deserved a treat. He had to settle for my smile of approval.
This elicited the kind of laugh from Ranger that was rarer than these little outings were for me. And it had his buddy looking sideways at him. A few minutes into our walk, and I dug around in my backpack for my phone to snap pics of some of the gorgeous wildflowers brightening the trail. I proudly recognized a few and wanted to identify the ones I couldn’t with my borrowed botany book when I got back.
“Look, Mikey.” I pointed at some shriveled-looking flowers. “These are called Mission Bells.”
A few more feet had me stopping to snap another picture of him next to a bundle of white flowers. Ranger turned around to see where his mentees had got off to.
“These are called White Milkmaids,” I said, taking in the spectacular view of the crashing waves below us.
Slater, a backyard length ahead of us, looked back with resigned tolerance and stopped his already slow progression so we could catch up. Ranger told Mikey to “look out for seals up ahead,” an obvious attempt to get us moving again. We were poking our heads down to do that, when I spotted some gorgeous brushy flowers the color of wet garnets.
“Look, Mikey!” I pointed.
He ran over squealing. “Did you find seawls?”
“No. Sorry, hon, just some Indian Paintbrush. See them? Aren’t they pretty?”
“They’re weal pwetty, Katie,” Mikey responded, clearly disappointed.
“Indian Paintbrush? White Milkmaids?” Ranger gave a chuckle. “That sounds like a good Indian name for you—Indian Milkmaid.”
“Ha-ha, very funny” was my clever comeback from the poke at me and my hobby.
“I was being serious.”
“Well, I saw some Blue Dicks earlier that would make a good Indian-starter name for you,” I shot back, then regretted it immediately. My cheeks began to do the burn.
Ranger barked out a laugh at my poor attempt at botany humor, and was about to say something, when Slater cut in. “More like blue balls ,” he corrected.
I only had an inkling of what he meant by that until he smirked at Ranger. Ranger shook his head at him. “’Snot like that, bro.” He clapped him on the shoulder and moved on.
“Whatever you say,” muttered Slater, shooting me a look I was starting to recognize—disapproval.
Mikey tugged on my arm. “What’s a good one for me, Katie?”
We spent the next few minutes coming up with increasingly outrageous ones. We had just settled on “Little Champ Bull” when we came upon a tunnel in the mountain and stopped. Ranger informed us it was man-made and hand-dug. He turned back just in time to catch me holding my side and suddenly declared “water break.” I gave him a grateful smile. Gusts of wind were starting to penetrate my hoodie, so I slipped on my windbreaker and unzipped Mikey’s to coax him into it.
“But Wanguh and Slatuh aren’t wearing theirs,” he argued.
Ranger came to his defense. “Yeah, Little Mac’s a stud like me.” They began flexing muscles together.
I would’ve laughed and protested this, but something flickered around in my mind, preoccupying my thoughts.
“Come on, let’s keep the Brownie troop moving forward.” This from Slater, who looked like he had ants in his pants.
We moved it forward all the way to the white iron suspension bridge, swaying in the wind. The lighthouse was on the other side of it. Of course, it was. I peeked down at the sharp, black pillow basalt rock formations below us. My stomach roiled.
“Y’all go ahead. Think I’m gonna sit this one out.” I leaned my hands on my knees, deep breathing.
Ranger turned around with a half-amused, half-annoyed look on his face. “Heights, Connelly? You’re afraid of heights?”
I nodded weakly. “Accidentally forgot to check that one off on the questionnaire.”
“Well, you’re crossing this thing one way or another. I’ve arranged a private tour, an early dinner, and the best damned view you’re likely to see your whole life.” He peeked up at the gathering clouds. “So . . . get to marching while there’s still a view to see.”
“Fine,” I said. “But y’all go ahead. I need a minute.”
“Fine,” he said. “But just one.” Then to Slater: “See that she comes.” He took Mikey by the hand and started down the bridge.
Meanwhile, Slater informed me, with a smirk on his face, that the bridge was suspended 124 feet above sea level. Which was the very sea coiling and crashing below us now.
“You know I’m tryin’ to like you, right?”
Slater was in the midst of laughing when I felt it. Some kind of bariatric change in the atmosphere, a certain feeling that prompted me to look up. The clouds were beginning to eclipse the sun, but it was the swaying bridge that attracted my attention. My stomach dropped. I took a step forward, one hand out.
“Ranger!” I called out.
He and Mikey simultaneously swung around at the panic in my voice. Identical creases lodged between their brows. And that’s when I saw it. That thing that had been niggling at the recesses of my awareness all day. I noticed, for the first time, the right angles of their jaws, the same block shape of their heads, the wide frame of their solid bodies.
And then I fainted—right into Slater’s arms.
I was brought round by water trickling down my face, and was so momentarily confused I almost called out for Pete. My eyes cracked open to see neon white trainers—mine—propped up on a familiar backpack—Ranger’s. Awareness rushed in as quickly as it had rushed out.
I bolted up. “Ranger!” And then almost passed back out.
He clamped a wet sweatshirt on the back of my neck. “Take a few deep breaths, Connelly.” After a few of those and a forced sip of water, he said, “Why didn’t you tell me you were overdoing it?”
I was still too dizzy to speak so leaned my head between my legs.
“Is she gonna be alwight?” This, in a wee little voice.
“I’m alright, Mikey,” I auto soothed. “Just need a minute.”
Mikey started crying in the interim.
“You heard your sister, she’s fine.” This, with a side of annoyance from Slater.
I grabbed Mikey’s arm. “Don’t worry, hon. Nothin’s wrong with me.”
“Well something’s wrong with you,” Ranger contradicted. “Because you just passed out. . . . Are you eating meat?”
Even with my ears ringing, I heard the anger in his tone.
“You’re lucky Slater was here to catch you, or you might’ve ended up shark-bait down there.”
This caused Mikey to start wailing, and Ranger to start cursing, and me to snatch the wet sweatshirt from Ranger and throw it over my face. I leaned over, feeling sick to my stomach. Mikey leaned over my back and squeezed. Deep breath in, deep breath out, I reached for his hand and squeezed back. Ranger pulled Mikey off me, and Mikey pushed back.
“Mikey, get back,” Ranger ordered.
“No,” Mikey countered. “I’m stayin’ with my sistuh!”
“Mikey, she needs some breathing room. Back away.” After a beat, “Now! That’s an order.”
“No!” Mikey roared. “And you can’t make me!”
Uh-oh . I threw off my sick-soaked shirt the same time Ranger grabbed Slater’s hand. “He has to have eye-contact,” Ranger informed him.
“Some fucking weapon if all you gotta do is close your eyes,” Slater replied, re-holstering his gun.
“Yeah, but once he’s got you, he’s got you,” countered Ranger.
All this was going on like swirls of weightless snow around the spinning globe that was my head. My brother stuck his head in my line of vision. I viewed him with new eyes. Ranger pulled the hair off my neck.
“How we doing?” he asked.
I turned to look at him with new eyes. He must’ve seen something scary reflected back through the black because he swallowed.
“What is it?”
I tilted my head towards Slater.
“Slater, take Mikey for a granola bar break.”
“Come on, little man.” Slater hauled Mikey to his feet and ushered him a few feet ahead of us.
“Slatuh, why do you have a gun?” Mikey wondered, trying to slip his hand into Slater’s. He ended up with an unwilling pinky.
Ranger didn’t wait for the answer before getting back to business. “ What ? What is it?”
I stared at him, having a hard time forming the words.
He shook me a little. “Tell me.”
“Mikey . . .” I said. Something akin to panic immediately flooded his face. He gripped my shoulders while he waited for it: “. . . is your brother.”