Wind Chime Wedding (A Wind Chime Novel Book 2) (17 page)

Spraying up water
from the still slick roads, Colin steered his truck around a fallen branch and took in the long stretches of corn and soybean fields through the windshield. Farmhouses and oak trees dotted the flat, rural landscape, and early morning sunlight filtered through the rows of crops, glistening green from last night’s rain.

He was only a few miles away from Heron Island, but the two hour drive from Annapolis had done nothing to calm him down. As soon as Grace had told him last night that she was running the article without a quote from Annie, he knew his plan had backfired.

He had tried calling the café all evening, but Annie had refused to answer, and he didn’t blame her. The press was having a field day at the notion of another public battle between Nick Foley and his ex-wife, and the real story—the one about Taylor and the other children potentially losing their school—had gotten buried in the frenzy.

He would have driven down the night before, as soon as the article had released online, but Will had already been on his way home by then. As soon as Colin had called his friend and filled him in on the news, Will had dropped everything and headed back to the island to be with his fiancée and future step-daughter, not only to make sure that they were okay, but to run interference if any reporters came to the café.

Will had been pissed at Colin, understandably, for not telling him right away. Colin knew now that that had been a mistake. He had wanted to take care of the situation, to fix it before anyone else found out. He hadn’t wanted the islanders to know that he was responsible for those budget cuts, that he was the one who was responsible for shutting down their school.

Now that everyone knew the role he’d played, he wasn’t sure where he stood anymore. His whole life he had felt like an outsider. He had never fit into his father’s political world. He had been an afterthought to his mother as soon as she’d given birth to a child of her own blood. Even on the SEAL teams, when he’d finally found the family he’d never had before, he had unintentionally gravitated toward a specialty that had set him apart, that had isolated him behind the scope of a sniper rifle.

It shouldn’t have surprised him that that was where he’d felt most natural—alone, separated, detached. Even if it hadn’t been what he’d wanted. Even if all he’d ever wanted was to belong, to be accepted, to be recognized—not for some political role he could fill, not for his skill with a firearm, not for the way he’d looked in his uniform—but for who he was.

He had hoped, maybe foolishly, that Heron Island could be that place for him. But what if the islanders didn’t see him the same way he saw them? What if they still saw him as an outsider?

What if they would always see him that way?

A thin grove of white pines blocked the sun, casting long shadows over the road. When he came out on the other side of the trees, the land narrowed and wetlands wove in and out of the freshly planted fields. A flash of bright orange caught the corner of his eye, and he glanced out the passenger side window, spotting a figure walking along the edge of the water. His first thought was that it was probably one of the farmers checking his crops, but when he took a closer look, he saw that it was a child wearing a backpack.

Glancing in the rear view mirror to see if there was a yellow bus lumbering down the long road to pick him up, he realized that he hadn’t seen another vehicle on the road for several miles. It seemed odd that the kid was walking toward St. Michaels instead of Heron Island. If his family lived all the way out here, wouldn’t he go to school on the island? And shouldn’t he be heading that way fairly soon?

Slowing the truck, Colin scanned the fields for a home that could belong to the kid’s family, but the only farmhouse he could see was on the opposite side of the road. Trusting his gut instinct that there was something wrong with this picture, he veered onto a dirt road reserved for tractors and farm equipment. His truck rumbled over the deep grooves and ruts filled with rainwater. Mud sprayed up from the back tires and sunlight streamed through the rain soaked leaves of the sycamores bordering the fields.

When he was a few hundred feet away, the kid stopped abruptly and turned, meeting his eyes through the windshield. Colin got a good look at his face for the first time. The kid couldn’t be more than seven or eight years old. He was wearing a fleece jacket that was a few sizes too big. His ripped jeans were splattered with mud and his blue eyes seemed vaguely familiar.

Colin rolled to a stop. “Hey,” he said, leaning his arm out the window and keeping his tone light and friendly. “You need a ride somewhere?”

The kid shook his head.

Colin cut the engine and opened the door, stepping out of the truck. As far as this kid was concerned, he was probably no more than a stranger. He understood why he might be wary of getting in the car with him, but he wasn’t going to let him wander off alone into the wilderness on a school day. If his parents hadn’t realized he was missing yet, they would probably be worried sick when they did. “Where are you going?”

The kid started walking again. “Nowhere.”

Colin closed the door and started after him. “What’s your name?”

The kid said nothing. He simply adjusted the straps of his pack and continued to tromp through the muddy field toward the next line of trees where he would be able to disappear from sight for a while.

“My name’s Colin Foley.”

“I know who you are,” the kid shot back.

Interesting, Colin thought, taking in the shaggy brown hair and the bright orange backpack that was crammed so tight that whatever was inside was straining the tattered seams. If this kid knew who he was, then he was probably from the island. “Where do you live?”

The kid jerked a thumb over his shoulder, pointing back toward the island.

Colin kept his steps light and soft, maintaining a comfortable, nonthreatening distance between them. “Shouldn’t you be going to school soon?”

“I’m not going.”

“Why not?”

The kid shrugged. “The school’s closing anyway. What’s the point?”

Colin let that sink in. “It might not close,” he said after a few moments. “And even if it does, you’ll still have to go to school somewhere, even if it’s in a different town.”

“Whatever.”

Colin continued to follow him through the rows of soybeans. “What grade are you in?”

“Second.”

Second, Colin thought. That meant he was in Becca’s class. Looking down at the kid’s shoes, he saw that they were soaking wet. The laces were untied, dragging behind him, tangled in mud-caked knots. From the look of things, he’d probably been walking for a few hours. How could have gotten so far from the island without anyone coming after him yet?

It wasn’t like he’d been that hard to spot from the road.

“Don’t you think your friends are going to wonder where you are when you don’t show up at school today?” Colin asked.

The kid shrugged, picking up his pace.

“What about your parents?” Colin asked. “Don’t you think they might be worried about you?”

“No.”

“No?”

The kid shook his head.

“I doubt that,” Colin murmured.

“Really?” The kid spun around, facing him for the first time since they’d left the dirt road. “I bet no one’s even noticed I’m gone.”

Colin stopped walking. If that was true, then they had a much bigger problem. “Why would you think that?”

The kid squeezed his hands into fists at his sides. “I know it.”

Colin studied the kid’s face again. There was definitely something familiar about his features, but he still couldn’t place him. “Look,” he said, switching tactics. “Maybe you’re right, but how about I give your mother a quick call anyway, just to let her know you’re safe?”

The kid shook his head. “My mom’s at work.”

“That’s okay,” Colin said, pulling out his phone. “Where does she work? I can look up the number.”

“She can’t take calls at work.”

Colin paused. That seemed unlikely. “Does she have a cell phone?”

“She never remembers to charge it.”

“Okay,” Colin said slowly, “what about your dad?”

“My dad’s dead.”

Colin lowered the phone back to his side, the words hanging between them. He’d lost enough friends to know there was nothing anyone could say to make the grief feel better, so he just stood there, watching as the kid swiped at a tear.

A bluebird trilled from the branches of a flowering dogwood at the edge of the field as he tried to remember who had died recently on the island. When he recalled that Jimmy Faulkner’s brother had lost a short and sudden battle to pancreatic cancer over the winter, he took a closer look at the kid. Yeah, that was why he looked so familiar. He must have seen him hanging around the inn from time to time when Jimmy was working. “Are you Luke Faulkner?”

The kid nodded.

“Is Jimmy Faulkner your uncle?”

He nodded again.

“I know Jimmy pretty well,” Colin said. “I could give him a call. Maybe he could take the day off and you guys could hang out for a while.”

Luke looked down, shaking his head.

“Why not?”

Luke jammed the toe of his sneaker into a row of soybeans. “He and my mom had a big fight last night.”

“About what?”

Luke lifted a shoulder, like he didn’t really care, but Colin knew he cared. He cared a lot—enough to run away because of whatever had been said during that fight. “There’s this thing at school on Friday.”

“What kind of thing?”

“We’re supposed to bring a parent with us.” Luke glanced up, then back down, embarrassed. “You know, like to spend the day with us.”

“Your mom can’t go?” Colin guessed.

Luke shook his head. “She has to work, so she asked Uncle Jimmy if he could go with me.”

“What did he say?”

“He said, no.”

Colin reached out, laying a hand on Luke’s shoulder. “Hey,” he said gently, “don’t worry. We’ll find someone to go with you.”

Luke’s gaze flickered back up. “Who?”

“I don’t know yet, but trust me. We’ll find someone.” Colin squeezed his shoulder, frowning again when he felt how bony it was. Eyeing the bulging pack hanging off Luke’s back, he nodded toward it. “Do you have any food in there?”

“I have a jar of peanut butter.”

“Did you eat anything before you left the house this morning?”

Luke looked back down at his feet, lowering his voice. “I usually eat breakfast at school.”

“What time do they serve breakfast?”

“Seven forty-five,” Luke said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Colin checked his watch. “It’s almost eight o’clock. If we leave now, we might still be able to catch it.”

Luke looked back up at him hopefully.

“Come on,” Colin said. He kept his tone upbeat to mask the anger building inside him. “I stopped at a fast food restaurant on drive over. I might have a leftover hash brown in the car. It’s probably cold, but—”

“I like hash browns.”

Colin nodded toward where his truck was parked, and Luke followed him back across the field. They climbed into the cabin and Colin handed him the bag with the cold hash brown. By the time they got back to the main road, Luke had already wolfed it down. They drove in silence as Colin thought about the conversation he was going to have with Jimmy soon. It wasn’t long before he could feel the kid’s eyes on him.

He glanced over and Luke looked away quickly.

Gazing back at the road, Colin waited a few beats, then glanced back. The kid was staring at him again.

“What’s up?” Colin asked.

Luke’s gaze dropped to where he was fiddling with the fast food bag. “Is it true?”

“Is what true?”

The paper crunched and crinkled. “That you lost your leg.”

Ah, Colin thought. The missing leg. Of course. Adults were usually too polite to ask, but most kids hadn’t learned to mask their curiosity behind manners and propriety yet. The first time he’d seen a kid staring at his prosthesis with confusion and maybe even a little bit of fear, it had caught him off guard.

He was numb to it now. He’d gotten used to the way kids looked at him when he was wearing shorts. He respected their honesty. It was actually kind of refreshing that they didn’t try to avoid it. He wished more people would ask him about it, would talk about it, would just get it out there in the open instead of sneaking glances when he wasn’t looking.

“You want to see it?” Colin asked.

Luke nodded hesitantly.

Colin hiked up the bottom portion of his jeans, revealing the long metal pole that connected his prosthetic foot to the socket where his stump rested just below his left knee.

“Whoa,” Luke said, his eyes widening.

Colin let the hem fall back down.

“Did that happen…in Afghanistan?” Luke asked, his voice filled with awe.

Colin nodded.

“How?”

“A grenade.”

Luke lifted his gaze back to Colin’s face. “Did it hurt?”