Touching Stars (11 page)

“They probably have no idea how much I enjoy having them in my life.”

“You should have been a father.”

“Chloe and I were waiting for the right time, but we knew kids were important.”

“That’s part of why you do the camp, isn’t it? Because you want kids to know how important they are.”

He didn’t usually open up about his feelings, even to her, but this time he surprised her. “Middle-schoolers are so vulnerable. They take the word of their peers about who they are. I want to set them on fire about something other than whether their jeans are the right brand or their braces are going to come off in time for the next dance. I want them to understand the difference between what somebody tells them and the truth.”

“And you hope they apply that to their own lives?”

“It’s a step in the right direction.”

She never thought of Travis as passionate. He never fought to be heard. But there was passion in his voice when he talked about his teaching. He was a man of hidden depths.

She smiled at him. He smiled back. The sun was warm on her head, and she felt the radiance of it, the simple pleasure of being with an attractive man she admired and enjoyed.

She heard a shout upriver, and both she and Travis turned. Dillon had climbed onto the suspension bridge and was now halfway across the river. Caleb was looking on from below. Caleb was a quiet boy, an unlikely match in some ways for Dillon, but they had become friends over the past year. Caleb was older, but not by much, a loner, a wanderer.

“Come on, Caleb. It’s fun up here,” Dillon shouted.

Caleb showed no signs of moving.

“Not everybody’s comfortable that high,” Gayle said. “And Dillon isn’t always very sensitive.”

“I bet he’ll catch on.”

She wondered if Dillon would think less of Caleb if he didn’t join him, but Caleb handled the situation well.

“No,” he shouted back. “Somebody’s got to stay with Rusty.”

If Dillon suspected his friend was afraid, he didn’t flaunt it.

“Caleb’s good for Dillon,” she said when Dillon started back down off the bridge.

“I understand the Claibornes are adopting him.”

Gayle knew that Caleb was Cissy Claiborne’s brother, but he lived with Cissy’s in-laws, who had welcomed him into their family with enthusiasm. Gayle’s sons, and Leon, too, had taken him under their respective wings and made sure Caleb was finding a place in the school community.

Suddenly Gayle raised her palm to the side of her head. “Good Lord. Cissy…”

“I’m sorry?”

“Caleb’s Cissy Claiborne’s brother. And I forgot to interview Cissy for a job at the inn. I don’t know why I didn’t think about it when Caleb came over this morning, but I’ve just been so busy. She gave me a résumé a full week ago. I need to call her.”

“I’ll let you get back to work.” Travis stood and held out his hand to help her up. “You’ll let me know about the catering? I promised the counselors lunch at their training session on Wednesday. It’ll be a good test run.”

His hand was warm from the sun, and strong. She enjoyed the sensation of letting someone help her for a change. “No matter what, I’ll do that for you.”

“You’ll spoil me for anybody else.”

She squeezed his hand before she dropped it. “Let’s hope you never have to look elsewhere.”

Eric was recovering. The steps were small, but the signs were unmistakable. He no longer felt as if he had to will body parts to do their job. His grip was stronger; his legs held up the rest of his body without threat of collapse. Pain now was fleeting and sleep welcome. He still had nightmares; he still took sleeping pills. But he awoke feeling rested, and always ravenous. Gayle and the boys were good cooks, and food was plentiful.

With the small steps came small annoyances. He was bored. He had a stack of reading material a foot high, but he was tired of reading. The inn was filled now with guests, and wandering the halls or watching television in the parlor invariably resulted in a conversation. And he didn’t want to talk about the best area fishing spots or his favorite hike.

As if she knew he needed entertainment, Ariel called from California first thing each morning—which, luckily for him, was three hours later in Virginia. The conversation was always brisk and funny. She told him stories about the local news anchor, whose jealous wife accompanied him to the station every day on a different pretext. And the weather reporter who was directionally challenged and called east west at least once during every broadcast.

“Anyone else would get the ax, but Weather Woman’s the reason the anchor’s wife comes to spy on him,” Ariel had related that morning. “He’s smitten, poor guy. Pretty much caught between a hurricane and a tornado.”

Eric didn’t want to discourage Ariel, but the television chatter only made him lonelier. He probably still had a job if he wanted one. After all, he was a national symbol of triumph—even if he had fallen into his captors’ hands out of stupidity and been rescued through no efforts of his own. His agent was fielding offers. Yesterday he had called to say that so far Eric could write a book and/or produce a made-for-television movie.

In a stab at humor, Eric had said he would only take the television deal if Brad Pitt was cast for the part. His agent—whose sense of humor was hooked to dollar signs—had promised to look into it. Now he wondered if they would tap Angelina Jolie for the role of the saintly ex-wife waiting and praying at home as she doled out saccharine advice to the three teenage sons, played by the former stars of
Malcolm in the Middle
?

Under the circumstances, he knew his annoyance, his short temper, his dissatisfaction with every part of his life, were normal. After his rescue he had been so overwhelmingly grateful to be safe, he’d been sure he would never feel a shred of negativity again. He would float through life on gratitude, attend whatever church was closest, and perform daily good works in Howard’s name until he was on his own deathbed.

But once he was out of danger, once the psychologists had begun to probe, the military had attempted to debrief him and the network had dug for every detail, he had slammed up against a wall of anger so thick, so tall, that he wasn’t sure he could ever scale it to see what was on the other side.

He also knew that his maladjustment was showing and poor Dillon was catching the brunt of it. The child he had not wanted was not-wanted again. When he’d been frozen on that narrow ledge, thoughts of Dillon had filled more than a few hours, and regret had filled the others. But once again faced with the real child who only wanted to be loved, he was incapable of it.

This morning he had gone back to his room to read the paper after breakfast in the kitchen. But now he was feeling almost as trapped as he had in captivity.

He decided to go for a stroll around the grounds. If nothing else, he could sit outside in the sun, maybe find a spot with a cooler breeze from the river. Or maybe for once Jared had stayed home, and they could muddle through some male-bonding ritual together. Talk about sports. Throw a fishing line in the water. Try to figure out women.

Outside his room, no guests were around. The reception and dining areas were cleaned and cleared, with fresh flowers on display and oatmeal cookies in an apothecary jar on the table beside a coffee urn. He took a cookie and resisted the urge to put several more in his pocket.

Outside, he headed for the room over the three-car garage where Jared lived.

He rapped lightly on the door, but there was no response. He went back down the outside stairway and crossed to the carriage house. No one answered there, either. Everyone in the little world of Daughter of the Stars seemed to have a place to go except him.

He was on his way back to the inn when he saw Noah coming out of the former garden shed with a cardboard box. Gayle had told him that renovations were in progress so she would have a rental for families. Judging from Noah’s hangdog demeanor and his scruffy jeans and shirt, he had been tapped to do some of the work this morning.

Eric crossed the distance between them. He saw Noah hesitate. Even from twenty yards away, he could see the boy gird himself for their encounter.

“It looks like your mom’s got you helping out over here.” Eric nodded to the building beyond. “Want to show me what you’re doing?”

“Nothing interesting. Just cleaning out what was left here so the carpenters can get in next week.”

“Trash, or stuff you plan to keep?”

“Stuff to keep. I’m storing it in the old fruit cellar.”

“I’d offer to help but—”

“I don’t need help. I’ve got most of it taken care of. I’m just going to see if I can make a path through the boxes after I drop this one off.” He left without looking back.

Eric debated, but in the end he trailed his son across the lawn to the steps leading to the cellar, which was just below the kitchen. He followed Noah down.

Eric had expected cobwebs and the smell of mildew, the normal attributes of an old fruit cellar, but of course, Gayle hadn’t allowed that. The room, about ten by twelve, was free of dust, and the air smelled fresh enough. The walls were stone, and several old metal utility shelves stood against them, along with a pile of boards and stacks of concrete blocks. Eric wandered over and saw neatly labeled boxes.

“Juice glasses, dessert plates,” he read out loud.

“Mom buys in bulk so she’ll always have extras in case stuff gets broken.”

“Smart woman, your mom.”

Noah didn’t reply. He set the box in his arms on a towering pile in the corner.

“I hope that was it,” Eric said. “One more and…kaboom.”

“Yeah, that’s it. It’s just kitchen stuff, and odds and ends. We’re tearing out the old kitchen and putting in something more efficient that takes up less space.”

“Sounds like a big job.”

“Mom says it’ll be worth the cost in the long run.”

Eric knew Gayle did a good job of making ends meet. If she thought the space was better used this way, it would be. He also guessed the up-front costs would set her back for a while, as would giving him one of her better rooms for the summer. He was paying her, of course, but she would only accept a percentage of the usual summer rate.

“Maybe we could organize the boxes a little,” Eric said, eyeing the pile. “Instead of just pushing them into a corner.”

“I don’t see why.”

“What if your mom needs something? How will she find it?”

“She didn’t say anything about organizing them.”

Eric felt a prick of enthusiasm and wanted to hang on to it, since it was an increasingly rare sensation. “Those boards and blocks in the corner were probably a shelf system at one time. We could set them up again and put boxes on them so they’re not all piled together.”

“I don’t think she cares.”

“Work with me on this, okay? What could it hurt? And it might save her some trouble.”

Eric knew the last sentence would hook Noah. Noah was Gayle’s champion. How could he refuse to make her life easier?

Noah still looked wary. “I’ve only got about half an hour.”

“We can do it in less. I’ll help but I’m afraid you’re going to have to do the heavy lifting.”

“Yeah, okay.”

Ten minutes later the blocks were in place against one wall, with two-by-sixes layered across them. Eric was sweating, even though they were underground, where the temperature was ten degrees cooler. They had worked without talking, but at least there’d been no arguments or recriminations.

“You still have time to move the boxes to the shelves?” Eric asked. “I can get the lighter ones. It’s good exercise. I’m supposed to be building up my strength.”

“Yeah, okay.”

Noah started at the top, grabbing boxes and setting them on the bottom shelves. Eric brought what he could to set beside them.

Since the silence had gone well, he tried a question. “This will be the year you start thinking about which colleges you want to apply to, won’t it?”

“I guess.”

“Do you have any thoughts on where you might want to go? Want to join your brother in New England somewhere?”

“I’ve been thinking about the University of Virginia.”

Eric wasn’t surprised Noah wanted to remain in Virginia. He would be an easy drive from home if he wanted to come back for weekends.

“It’s a great school,” Eric said, “but I hope you’ll consider my alma mater. USC’s another great school. And I have friends on the faculty.”

“I don’t want to go to school in California.”

“You have to leave home sometime,” Eric said, without weighing his words.

“Yeah? Well, I’m not in as much of a hurry as you were.”

For a moment Eric couldn’t even imagine what to say. Then anger suffused him. He threw the box he’d been carrying onto the shelf and grabbed his son’s arm, digging his fingertips into the boy’s soft flesh.

“You know, you may not like me, and sometimes I may not like you, but you are my son. You will not speak to me that way, do you understand?”

Noah wrenched his arm away. His eyes narrowed, and he glared at his father, but he didn’t argue.