Chapter 17
Seventeen
Dan
“Did she get in okay?”
The question comes from the office when I pass by. I backtrack and poke my head around the door. Ama is sitting behind the desk, working on the computer. Sully is nowhere to be seen. He’s probably in the stables or the breeding barn.
“She did. She’s putting her stuff away.”
Since we used that room last night, Sloane and I ended up quickly changing the sheets and opening the window to get some fresh air in there this morning. There was no lingering evidence of what went on in there when I carried in Isobel’s bags earlier.
“So what are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be working on your house?”
“I’ll head over there shortly, but first I was hoping to pick Aspen up.”
Ideally, Sloane would introduce the baby to her mother, and I’m probably way out of line, but the woman has traveled a long way. I’m not sure if she’s aware the baby is here at the ranch right now, but even if she’s not, it doesn’t seem right for someone else to be looking after the child.
“You were, huh?”
“I think there’s some time to make up for,” I reason. “Isobel is Aspen’s grandmother, she came here to look after her, and the sooner she can start doing that the better it is for everyone.”
Ama regards me with her head slightly tilted, making me wait.
“You may have a point,” she finally concedes. “She’s been down for almost two hours, I was gonna wake her up soon anyway. Don’t forget to change her diaper, and she should eat soon,” she yells after me when I duck back down the hallway.
Aspen sure is a sunny baby. She definitely wakes up in a better mood than her mother, even with a full diaper. She’s happily babbling, her little fist tugging on my beard as I carry her back to Sloane’s cabin.
Isobel must’ve heard me come in because no sooner have I put down the diaper bag on the couch, when she walks out of the bedroom. Then she freezes on the spot, her hands covering her mouth, and her eyes wide and shimmering with tears.
Before the waterworks are released, I quickly cross the room with the intention of handing Aspen over, but the baby holds on to my facial hair for dear life.
“Hey, Peanut, you need to let go so I can hand you to your grandma,” I mumble, trying to dislodge those little digits from my beard.
“Come here, beautiful girl,” Isobel coos, carefully taking her from my hands.
“Clothes and diapers for her in the top drawer. There’s a can of formula, bottles, and some other baby stuff in the top cupboard to the right of the sink, and I’m sure there’s stuff in the diaper bag I put here.” I point at the couch.
Isobel’s eyes narrow over Aspen’s downy head.
“You seem quite at home here,” she observes.
And there’s my cue to leave, before the statement turns into an inquisition.
“I’m sorry, I’ve gotta run. I’ve got work to do.”
“What the hell? What happened here?”
I can’t find a single spot to focus on, there are bright red streaks wherever I look.
Fucking spray paint on my beautiful logs.
James drops the brush he’s holding in the bucket, just as JD comes around the corner.
“It’s coming off,” the older man assures me as I try to take stock of the damage. “Takes a little elbow grease, that’s all.”
“You didn’t call me.”
“To what end?” JD pipes up. “We handled it. Called the sheriff’s office, waited for the deputy to stop by to take a report and some pictures, and now we’re cleaning.”
He’s probably right but I’m still taking it all in, trying to wrap my head around it. My eyes catch on something through the door opening.
“Inside?”
I’m already rushing up the porch steps and through the door.
Fuck .
“Most of it’s going to be covered with either drywall or flooring,” James points out behind me, clapping a hand on my shoulder. “What’s left we can fix.”
“Did you piss anyone off recently?” I hear JD ask.
“Probably, but I can’t imagine anyone who’d do something like this. I mean, why?”
“Vandals? Bored teenagers blowing off steam?” James suggests.
“I’m a bit off the beaten track here though. At the end of a dirt road. Not like I get traffic.”
“You had trucks coming in here with the lumber though. Big-ass trucks with those logs would’ve drawn attention.”
I guess that’s true, but this doesn’t feel like teenagers tagging a place and snickering about it later. For one, there’s nothing recognizable in the angry red slashes, other than perhaps rage. This is someone conveying a message.
My mind keeps wanting to go to the one person I know has strong negative feelings toward me, but I simply can’t see Shelby sneaking out here in the dark of night, wielding a spray can. That said, she threw me for a loop before, and I’d be a fool not to at least consider the possibility she had something to do with this.
“Did you guys happen to check with Sully, see if he noticed anything?”
When James shakes his head, I grab my phone out of my pocket and dial.
“Yeah.” Sully sounds preoccupied.
“You busy?”
“Why? What’s up?”
“Someone spray-painted my house last night or overnight.”
“You’re shitting me.”
“Nope. You wouldn’t have seen or heard anything would you?”
“Last night? I don’t think so. I’m in the barn right now, but when I get back to the office, I can pull up the feed from the security camera I have on the front of the house. Maybe it picked up something.”
“I appreciate it.”
“Who’d do something like that?” Sully wants to know.
“That’s what I’m trying to find out.”
“Well, until you do, I have a couple of GoPro cameras here we can put up for the time being. I can pop over on my way home.”
“That’d be great.”
Tomorrow the windows and doors arrive. They probably won’t be able to get them installed in one day, but the downstairs should be possible. At least I’ll be able to lock it.
In the meantime, I guess I’ll be setting up camp here tonight.
As shock wears off and anger takes its place, I take another look around. Fuck , they really did a number on the place. So much for finishing the framing today. That’s not going to happen.
“Do you have an extra brush?” I ask James.
“Back of JD’s truck. He picked up a bunch of cleaning stuff in town.”
The next few hours I take my frustrations out on the red paint inside while JD and his dad are scrubbing outside. By the time I hear someone drive up outside, I have blisters from scrubbing so damn hard. Tossing my brush in the bucket, I head out to see who it is.
I walk over to Sully, who is standing by his truck, chatting with James. When he sees me approach, he lifts his chin in greeting.
“I got something on the camera, but it’s not much. At two forty-seven in the morning there’s a glimpse of what looks like a pickup passing our house. No headlights, nothing that stands out.”
Since two-thirds of this county drives a damn pickup, unfortunately, that doesn’t help me narrow down who it might have been.
One person I know who definitely does not drive a truck is Shelby Vandermeer. Of course, that leaves the rest of the population, but it still is a bit of a relief.
Sloane
Today’s search was frustrating.
Of course we got a bit of a late start, plus we had to wait for the pulley system to be secured and tested before Jillian went down. Then we were supposed to lower Emo, but the poor dog was frantic the moment she lost sight of her handler, so Jillian had to come back up and a second line had to be secured so the dog could be lowered along with Jillian.
All that took a decent chunk of time, leaving us with just a small window of searching before we had to pack it up for the day. Hopefully tomorrow—with an early start and the logistics already in place—will be a bit more productive.
You’d think we should be able to find the rest of the two sets of remains. Although, Jillian pointed out, it’s not that unusual to find parts of the same body spread out over a large area if wildlife gets a hold of it. She also warned that in cases like that, more often than not, some parts stay permanently lost.
My hope is we’ll at least find something more of the man’s body. Anything that could identify him, but best-case scenario would be his skull, which would give us the option of comparing dental records, and be an alternative method of identification to just DNA.
It’s not until I turn onto the driveway to High Meadow, the realization my mother is waiting at the cabin hits me full force.
Yikes .
I’d fantasized about having a soak in the tub once I put Aspen to bed, but I doubt I’ll have a chance, given the big talk I know is waiting for me at home.
Blowing out a big breath, I park my Jeep, grab my bag, and head inside.
I don’t see anyone when I walk in, but I can hear splashing and my mom’s voice coming from the bathroom. She must’ve picked up Aspen from the big house. I really wanted to be there when she met my daughter for the first time, but I guess it wouldn’t have been fair to keep her waiting even longer.
I drop my bag and take off my hiking boots before I poke my head into the bathroom.
Mom is sitting on her knees on the floor next to the tub, focused on Aspen who is sitting in the bath insert, kicking her little legs in the water and having a good time. She loves her bath time and, frankly, so do I, and I feel I’ve already missed too many.
“Hey.”
I’m greeted by my daughter’s wide smile when she spots me.
Then my mother turns her head, and I’m treated to one of her mom-stares. I remember it well, the kind that tells you your life is hanging in a precarious balance. It immediately launches me into a nervous damage control mode.
“I’m sorry I didn’t come to pick you up, but I had a cadaver dog team come in from Missoula today and I had to go out to the search area with them to?—”
“You not picking me up doesn’t even register on the list of things I’m upset with you about,” she cuts me off. Then she barks out a harsh laugh. “Although, upset seems too benign a word for the storm of emotions I feel.”
Yeah, I wasn’t really expecting Mom to go easy on me, but one can hope.
“Fair enough,” I concede. “Why don’t I get her bottle ready and throw something easy together for dinner while you finish up her bath.”
I only have the basics in the fridge, I haven’t had a chance to do groceries yet so it’s slim pickings, but I can always whip up an omelet.
“Ama brought over a lasagna earlier. It’s in the fridge, it just needs to be heated,” she says, her back already turned.
Ama has her shit together, that woman deserves an award. I should probably take notes because I want to be like her when I grow up. Talk about capable. She raised two kids, juggles two households, works in the High Meadow office, offers babysitting services, and manages to make sure everyone is fed.
I only have my job and one child to worry about, and I have trouble doing that.
Aspen’s bottle takes me a few minutes to get warmed up, and by the time I have the lasagna in the oven, Mom already has her out of the tub. I look in the fridge for something to drink and wish I’d had the foresight to make a stop for some beer and wine. I have a feeling I might need it.
“Here we are,” Mom announces. “All clean and nice and drowsy.”
She has Aspen propped up on one arm, the baby looking up at her grandmother with sleepy adoration. It’s such a sweet image, it hits me right in the feels, and when Mom hands her to me, it takes me a moment to react.
“Hey, baby girl,” I mumble, burying my face in her little neck for a moment as I compose myself. “Are you ready for your bottle?”
I sit down on the couch and feed her while listening to my mother clean up the bathroom. Aspen falls asleep about halfway through her bottle and I carry her to the bedroom, easing her down in her crib. Then I turn on the noise machine I borrowed off Pippa, which helps her stay asleep. Unless, of course, her incoming teeth bother her again.
Like a coward, I linger in the bedroom, picking out a change of clothes, and wishing I could access the bathroom from here so I could hop in the shower without having to face Mom. Instead, I remind myself I’m a thirty-three-year-old woman and not a teenager, leave my clothes on the bed, and walk inside to face the music.
“Did you see Sully yet?”
Mom is in the kitchen doing a few dishes, and only quickly glances over her shoulder before answering.
“Briefly, yes. I went over to the house earlier to say hello to Thomas and Ama.”
“Did you see Jonas or Alex?”
I’m curious to know if they made it home yet.
“They weren’t there.”
She turns and dries her hands on the kitchen towel, then she dives into the fridge and digs a bottle of champagne out of the vegetable drawer.
“Steve got this bottle for us. He suggested we needed a good bottle so we could celebrate and hash it out at the same time.”
She sets it on the kitchen counter and starts digging through the cupboards for glasses.
These cabins are just the basics so it’s safe to say this kitchen isn’t exactly outfitted to serve Dom Perignon. I think we’re lucky Mom finds two wineglasses. While she tackles the champagne, I set two places at the table and grab our dinner from the oven.
A few minutes later we’re seated across from each other, and Mom raises her glass. I follow suit.
“To Aspen,” she toasts.
“To Aspen,” I echo, and we clink glasses.
“She is absolutely the most beautiful baby I’ve ever laid eyes on.”
I smile at Mom’s words. Of course, I agree wholeheartedly, but it’s nice to hear someone else say it.
Except, it shouldn’t come as a surprise my mother would think that. In fact, I bet Mom loved her even before she laid eyes on her.
I feel so stupid.
“Mom, I’m so sorry.”
She nods. “I know, but damn, it hurts. You’re gonna have to give me some time.”
Nothing for me to say to that, really, so I stay silent.
“What happened to us, Sloane? I remember a time we were like peas in a pod. We did everything together.”
The question is rhetorical. We both know damn well what happened.
I was sixteen, I found my mother beaten to within an inch of her life, and my dad with his brains blown out. My dad could never quite settle at home after he returned from his last deployment. He never wanted to acknowledge he likely suffered from PTSD, and it was a source of friction between my parents. His outbursts of anger became more volatile until one day the darkness took over. When he saw what he’d done to Mom, he killed himself.
The years after, I struggled with anger. I guess most of it I took out on Mom—who’d been lucky to have survived—but it was aimed at my father. Mom and I both went through counseling, both individually and together, but we never really got back to where we were before.
Any bumps we hit in our relationship took a lot of work to overcome, and I guess at some point it was just easier to minimize interaction. Mom was building a new life with Steve, my stepdad, and I was setting my own course.
“He’s been gone for seventeen years,” I point out.
There’s no need for me to explain who I’m referring to.
“I know,” she acknowledges. “And it would kill him to know after all this time we still carry the marks he left on us.”
She’s right. “We need to let him go, let the anger go.”
“Yeah,” Mom agrees. “That beautiful child of yours deserves a loving family.”
She gets up and rounds the table, where I’m already on my feet, waiting.
It’s been years since I’ve cried in my mother’s arms.
But this time the tears are healing.