Riverbend (13 page)

He headed towards the house, the two bouquets in his hand, coming into the kitchen moments later. “For you,” he said, setting the pink and yellow blossoms on the counter. The buds were tightly closed. By this time tomorrow, they would have opened, just as the
bouquet currently displayed on the kitchen table had.

“Thank you,” she said, reaching for one of the many vases stored in the cabinet.

The other bouquet he kept in his arms. “Same time today?”

“Yes, three,” she said. “Do you mind terribly?”

“What's that?” he asked, looking blank.

“Going off the mountain every day to take me to work. You know, because of your thing.”

“It's important.”

“You know how much I appreciate it, right?”

“Yes.” His voice and gaze were gentle. “You don't have to thank me anymore. I know.”

“I won't stop thanking you until this is over.” Her voice caught.

“I'll see you at three,” he said. With that, he headed towards the other end of the house, holding the roses in his arms. She would not see them again. Where he put them, she could not know. His bedroom? Or one of the secret rooms?

Otis was in his usual place by the backdoor steps when Drake dropped her at the restaurant that afternoon.

“Staying cool?” she asked him. He wore his overcoat, despite the heat.

“Sure am, Miss Annie.”

“You hungry?”

“A little peckish, I must say.”

“I'll bring something as soon as I get settled in,” she said, unlocking the door of the restaurant and waving to Drake and Alder, who watched from the car.

“Be mighty fine,” he said.

Billy and Cindi were at the bar waiting for her with the cup of espresso, on ice today because of the heat. After they finished but before she began her prep work for the daily specials, she fixed Otis a steaming plate of spaghetti and icy lemonade. “You shouldn't be dressed in that coat,” she said, handing him the bowl of pasta. After setting the lemonade next to him, she sat on the steps with her arms around her knees. “It's at ninety degrees today.”

He attacked the bowl of pasta while shaking his head. After swallowing, he looked over at her. “Can't take off my coat. It's my shield against them.”

“Them?”

His eyes darted around the parking lot. “You know, them.”

“Is there someone after you?”

“They're always watching. They know everything I think.” A bit of stray tomato hung in his beard.

“How do they do that?” She handed him a napkin from her apron pocket.

He pointed at his head. “They put a bug in here.”

“Who did?”

“The aliens. When they came for me.”

“Did they take you somewhere?”

He shook his head, wiping his mouth with the napkin. “No. People think that's how it happens but it isn't. They came to my house in the middle of the night when I was sleeping.”

“When was this?”

“When I was in college. I had to leave after that because the voices were so loud. They're quieter here. They like me to live in quiet places.”

Poor Otis.
He was schizophrenic. It had to be. At culinary school she had a friend with a brother diagnosed when he was a young adult. It was a common age to discover it, she remembered her friend telling her.

“Otis, where do you stay at night?”

“Miss Annie, no need to worry about me. I have a place out by the river. It's nice. Very quiet at night. No one knows where it is.” He paused, looking about once more. “And they can't hear my thoughts when I'm there. It's the only place I'm safe.” He finished the rest of
his pasta and then gulped the lemonade in one continuous swallow. Smacking his lips, he handed her the bowl. “Thanks for supper. I was hungry today.”

“You just knock on the back door anytime you're hungry. Okay? We always have something for you.”

“Appreciate that.” He peered at her, his eyes burning bright in a dirt-smeared face.

“Take care, Otis. I'll see you tomorrow.”

“Will do.”

That night she awakened, screaming, from another nightmare. She brought her hand to her mouth, heart still pounding. Her pajamas were soaked through. She turned on the bedside lamp and changed into fresh pajamas before going to the window and drawing back the curtain. She was met by glowing eyes. The coyote. He did not howl tonight but merely moved his head to one side, looking at her. “What do you need?” she whispered.

He raised his head and howled once, long and almost sweet, as if in greeting. And in the notes from this beautiful creature came a sense of serenity. She was safe here, for now, as was Alder. Nothing could penetrate the fence except for this beautiful animal that roamed the mountain as no man could. This friend, with his shining eyes, looked back at her for one brief, brilliant moment, before loping towards the forest and disappearing once again into the night.

The thought came then. The coyote was stuck inside the fence. He wouldn't be able to get in or out, just as humans couldn't. He was trapped. Just like her. Was this why he howled?

What time was it? Three a.m. Wide awake now, she knew it might be hours before she fell asleep again. Her mouth was dry. She'd forgotten to bring a glass of water to bed and would have to go to the kitchen. She padded across the room and out into the hallway. Perhaps she should choose a book—something thick and
boring. Then, she heard a strange noise. What was it? It sounded like two pieces of hard plastic hitting together. Where was it coming from? One of the forbidden rooms? She turned to look. Yes, indeed, there was light under the door. The other secret room. The noise came again. And then it occurred to her. It was the sound of two billiard balls hitting one another. It was a game of pool.

She made her way to the kitchen, her mind reeling. Was he playing pool by himself? And if so, why would that room be forbidden?

After she grabbed a glass of water, she scanned the bookshelf in the dining room for something that might interest her.
Jane Eyre.
She'd read it in high school English class, she was fairly certain. But she couldn't remember a thing about it. She grabbed it, tucking it under her arm, and turned to go back to her bedroom.

She gasped. There, at the edge of the table, watching her, was Drake Webber, dressed in sweats and a T-shirt. His hair was disheveled, sticking up in several places.

He put his hands up, almost like one might if they expected to catch someone in their arms. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to frighten you.”

“Well, you did.” She felt angry—the kind of anger that comes after a scare. “What're you doing?”

“I heard footsteps. I came to investigate. To make sure everything was all right, I guess.” He cocked his head to the side. “Is it?”

She shivered, pulling her pajama top tighter with her free hand. “I had a nightmare. And I was thirsty. Then I thought I might try a book to help take my mind off it.”

“
Jane Eyre
?”

“What? Oh, yes. Right.
Jane Eyre
.”

He continued to watch her. She couldn't think what to do next. Moving towards him and subsequently passing him seemed impossible just then. So she simply returned his gaze, trying desperately to think of something to say.
A dance of sorts
, she thought. Neither could move without the other.

“I'm sorry I scared you,” he said, finally. “It's just I don't sleep much.”

“I know.”

He flinched, his eyes registering understanding. He knew she knew of his wanderings in the dark night.

“Your nightmares are bad, aren't they?” He stuffed his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants. “I hear you scream out. Every night now for a week.”

She flushed, feeling miserable. How could he hear her from all the way down in his room? Unless he was up every night in the rooms close to her own. “Yes. Since the phone call.”

“I have them, too.”

Shocked, she stared at him. A piece of personal information?

“It gets to where I almost hate to go to sleep for fear of having one,” he continued.

“Yes. Exactly. Do you always have the same nightmare?”

“No.” He said it without expression, staring at his hands. “When I wake from one it takes me hours to recover.”

As if he asked the question, she said, “Mine are mostly the same. Just a replay of the night he almost killed me.”

“How do they let a piece of shit like that out of jail?”

“He served his time, I guess.” She glanced towards the window, thinking of the coyote. “If I wasn't here I don't know what I'd do. Honestly. I'm scared out of my mind but at least I know he can't get us while we're here.”

“You'll stay until this thing gets solved. End of story.”

“Thank you. It's all I can think to say.”

“You're welcome.” He gestured towards the couches. “Do you want to stay here, in the front room and read? I'll stay with you. Maybe you'll fall asleep.”

I'll stay with you.

“Would you?”

“Yes.”

She followed him into the front room. There was an open paperback book on the coffee table. Some kind of spy novel, she suspected, given the title and cover.

“Wait here,” he said. “I'll fetch some blankets. In case you fall asleep.”

Sinking onto the smaller couch, she curled into a semi-circle with
her head on one of the soft throw pillows. She opened the book to page one and began to read. A few minutes later Drake came back, his arms full of blankets, placing a soft blue one over her. It smelled of fabric softener. He picked up his book and plopped on the other couch, his feet on the coffee table.

Right away, her eyes felt heavy. She let the book fall to the couch and closed her eyes.

The next thing she knew, it was morning and Alder was standing over her, looking perplexed. “What're you doing out here, Mom?”

“I fell asleep reading.”

“Oh. Okay, well, that's weird.”

Yes, indeed. Falling asleep in the same room with a man she barely knew, while reading a book. Perhaps she should read
Alice in Wonderland
instead of
Jane Eyre.
Because apparently she'd fallen down a rabbit hole right into Drake Webber's world.

Chapter Eleven

THE NEXT NIGHT,
after work, Billy drove her home. By now he knew the code, 0336, and punched it in without Annie having to say a word. They didn't talk, both tired after a long shift, as he drove her up to the house. Once there, he waited until she was safely inside before turning the car around and heading down the long driveway. Drake was asleep on the couch. Not wanting to wake him, Annie locked the door as quietly as she could and then tiptoed across the front room. She was almost to the hallway when he called out to her. “Everything all right tonight?”

She turned towards him. He was upright now, his arm hanging over the back of the couch. “Nothing unusual. Other than Billy was jumpy all night. Kept glancing at the back door every couple of minutes.” There was an empty wineglass on the coffee table. Had he been drinking? Her jaw clenched, and she retreated back a few steps towards the hallway. “Did Alder behave himself?”

Drake rubbed under his right eye with his index finger and yawned. “He was great. I took him down to the river this afternoon. After dinner, we played checkers and then read. Here on the couch, actually. He's a great kid, Annie.”