A Promise of Fireflies (22 page)

Megan’s dark eyes squinted. “And creepy,” she whispered. Hiding behind a feigned grimace, she quickly brightened. “It’s so cool to know someone who knows him like I do. So, what’d you guys talk about?” When Ryleigh didn’t answer, Megan pursed her lips into a fine line. “Hey, I spilled my guts—it’s only fair you spill yours.”

With a mouth full of egg, Ryleigh glanced at Natalie, who nodded indiscernibly. She swallowed, giving herself another moment to collect her thoughts. “We talked about my mother.”

“Way cool!” She straightened. “So he did know your mom. What else?”

“I was definitely born here.”

“That’s not so cool,” she said, her face squinting as if she’d bitten into a lemon. “At least you escaped.”

“And so will you. Ambrose assured me you’ll do well for yourself.”

Megan smiled briefly and her head ricocheted toward Natalie. “So, who’s your friend?”

“Megan, this is Natalie. We’ve known each other for almost forty years.”

“Boy, you have strange friends if they’d follow you to this dumpy town.” Megan turned to Natalie. “Sorry. No offense meant.” Nat smiled in response. “But I can’t say there’s anyone in this crap-hole I’d want to know that long, except the old guy.” She leaned in. “Hey, did you ask him how old he is? I never did.” She shrugged. “And he never volunteered.” Her eyes sparkled, matching the glitter in her hair. “But my vote says he cast a ballot for Abraham Lincoln.”

Natalie pressed her knuckles against her mouth, and Ryleigh bit her lip to contain a giggle.

“Nice to meet you, Megan.” Natalie brushed her hand against a distressed pair of True Religion jeans and then offered her a crumb-free hand.

“Likewise,” she said and turned to Ryleigh. “Guess you didn’t ask either?”

Even though she had, Ryleigh shook her head, reluctant to go into details of his odd reply. Megan’s head bobbed back to Natalie. “You from Arizona too? Cool place.” The bell on the door tinkled. “Customers.” Megan stood and returned the chair. “Gotta go.” She bounded off, feather earring bouncing to the zip in her step.

“Good-bye, Megan. And good luck to you.”

“Thanks,” she said with a quick wave over her shoulder. Her bracelets plunged to her elbow, the chime of clinking metal following her to the counter.

Natalie swallowed the last bite of her bagel. “Was that so bad?”

“You were right.” Ryleigh leaned into her palms. “As always.”

“Better get going,” Natalie said and took a hurried gulp of her mocha. “Airplanes wait for no one.” She rose and left enough money to cover the bill and a generous tip. With a quick wave to Megan, they left the coffee shop.

“Nat, do you mind if we make a stop before we leave?”

“Need to make it quick.”

“I’ll only be a minute if you want to wait in the car.”

Nat waved for her to go ahead and Ryleigh tossed her the keys.

Minutes later, Ryleigh returned and slipped into the driver’s seat. She glanced down the road and turned onto Ballston Avenue.

Natalie frowned. “I don’t remember this street.”

“There’s something I need to do.”

The stone pillars guarding the Ballston Spa Village Cemetery entrance came into view. She turned in and followed the path Ambrose had taken. As the engine died, apprehension rose from somewhere deep in her belly with no less reservation than she’d had on her last visit here.

“Please come with me?”

Entwined among the leafless trees, evergreens stood statuesque despite the apathy of winter, but the great maple dominated the tiny grave. Ryleigh removed the wrapping from a simple Christmas wreath and placed it against the headstone.
Brother
, it said.

Kneeling alongside her twin, new words to an old verse spilled from her lips.
“I placed a piece of me today, alongside you as you rest—I placed my everlasting love, with you my brother, in whom I’m blessed.”
Aware of an indescribable absence all these years, a quiet shiver found a path along her arm as her finger traced her brother’s name, the bond complete—as if she’d reached out for him, and he for her.

The plane’s tires kissed the asphalt with a screech and a bump. The aircraft landed safely, which was more than she could say for the ride she’d taken over the last year. They disembarked quickly and Natalie hailed a cab. With a three-hour layover, why were they in such a rush? And why’d they need a cab? Nat traveled all over the world, so Ryleigh trusted her for the connection to Phoenix. Wouldn’t be the first time she’d been kept in the dark.

After speaking briefly to the cabbie, Natalie scooted beside her, checked her watch and took a resigning breath. “Plenty of time.”

“For what? And why’re we leaving the airport?”

“A slight detour.” Natalie raised her hand. “Don’t ask.”

“I’m really beginning to hate surprises, but whatever,” she replied with a sidelong glance at her friend. “This has been a screwed up couple of days anyway; I might as well sit back and enjoy the ride. It’s bound to get ugly.”

Natalie raised a perfectly groomed eyebrow.

The havoc of the airport gave way to the busy streets of the nation’s capital. Not unlike Phoenix freeways, the cabbie found every excuse to fume about everyone else’s shoddy driving.

Delighted at the view from the cab’s window, Ryleigh sat upright. “Natalie Jo, we’re driving beside the Potomac River. Where’re we going?”

“We’re on George Washington Memorial Parkway and soon we’ll cross the Potomac over the Arlington Memorial Bridge. It’s quite a drive.”

“You didn’t answer my question.” Distracted by the sights, Ryleigh allowed the question to fizzle.

“We’re headed to Henry Bacon Drive, right?” Natalie asked the cabbie via the rearview mirror.

The cabbie nodded. “That’s right.”

“We aren’t going to see much of D.C. in an hour,” Ryleigh said.

“We haven’t much time. It’s a great trip, but for another visit. We only have one stop today.”

“But this is D.C. There’s the Washington, Jefferson, and Lincoln Memorials, the Museum of Natural History, the White House, veterans memorials.” Ryleigh turned and glared at her. “The Wall.”

“Please don’t be mad.”

A response curdled in the back of her throat. Of course Natalie would put two and two together and assume if Ryan had been killed in Vietnam, his name would be permanently etched in the Vietnam Veteran’s Memorial. And only Nat would think to fit it in on the return trip to Phoenix. How could she be angry? Natalie was one of those rare individuals who wore the shoes of compassion—for her, or for anyone who touched her life.

The cabbie pulled to the curb. “Here you go, ladies. It’s straight ahead across the lawn.” He stretched an arm across the seat, the marquee of a faded tattoo covered the spotted skin of his wrist. He turned to face them, the lines of a weathered face announcing his age. “Vietnam was a nasty war, the longest in history—until Afghanistan.” His piercing eyes were the color of the D.C. sky. “The way the panels are set, from eight inches to over ten feet and then back to eight inches, signifies the beginning, middle and end to a long, unpopular war.” The cabbie adjusted the bill of his hat. “It’s constructed of black granite, signifying death and sadness, but it’s highly polished, so it reflects life—trees, sky, friends. Family.” He tipped his Redskins cap, his hairline hidden beneath the bill, and tufts of unkempt gray hair peeked from the bottom. He handed them each a small American flag. “It’s a healing place.”

“You know it well?” Ryleigh asked.

“I come here often. To visit friends.”

They thanked him with a discriminate nod.

Natalie tapped the back of the cabbie’s seat. “We won’t be long.”

“Take your time.” The cabbie winked and tipped his cap. “I’m not going anywhere without you.”

The solitude of The Wall surrounded her, the urgency of its embrace as intimate as a lover’s caress. Vast slabs of polished black granite rose, peaked, and then narrowed again, as if born from, and given back to the earth. Ryleigh approached the monument, apprehension threatening to collapse her legs. Giving in to instinct, she closed her eyes. A breath of wind brushed her cheek. And she stood, silent, allowing the cold air to clear away everything except the moment before her.

She opened her eyes and glanced around at the other visitors. Some prayed. Some wept. Mementos, flowers, and flags were left at the foot of the stone in dried puddles of forgotten tears. But she watched young and old alike reach out to something beyond reality, lives linked with each touch of skin to stone.

Natalie withdrew a scribbled note from her purse. “Here. Let’s find your father.”

Ryleigh read the note and frowned. “Where’d you get this?”

“The Internet. There’s a website,” Nat said, pausing. “I looked him up after you fell asleep.”

Ryleigh curled the paper around a finger as they searched the location. “When you changed the flights?”

Nat nodded. “He’s a well-decorated soldier.” She pointed ahead. “There.”

Ryleigh’s eyes fixed on the etched name honoring the soldier she knew only as the man who’d given her life. Her fingers curled around the dog tag that hung from her neck, the metal warm as if they shared something more than a name carved in a stone wall. Drawn by an unseen tether, she reached out, her fingers hesitantly meeting the cold stone. The icy sting dissipated into an odd warmth as she mapped the letters, each one a missing piece, each one a distinct reminder of a headstone that also bore his name, each one a footprint on her heart.

Natalie pulled a sheet of fine linen paper and a pencil from her purse, placed a hand on Ryleigh’s shoulder, and handed her the items. The image formed with each unsteady stroke, consummate and palpable and undeniably real.

Natalie handed her a pair of white roses.

Ryleigh tilted her head. “Where—”

Nat put a finger to her lips. “Lobby of the Inn,” she said and handed Ryleigh the tiny flags the cabbie had given them. And then she nodded, the faint smile a silent missive between the two, the message understood without the privilege of words.

Ryleigh placed the roses with stems crossed directly under Ryan’s name at the base of the black granite, and then did the same with the flags. The flowers would wilt and die, the flags taken away, but her father’s name would remain indelibly etched in the stone, a simple remembrance of a life given selflessly.

Ryleigh stepped back, her eyes mirrored in the polished granite at the spot where Ryan’s name had been carved so long ago, and for a fleeting moment, her father’s eyes (her eyes)—the color of the inside of an ocean wave—reflected from the black stone and held hers. And for that one moment, the past united with the present.

Afraid to blink, to move, to breathe, Ryleigh grabbed Nat’s arm.

After forty-three years, father and daughter were together for the first time.

ACCEPTING THE JOB
as general contractor for the expansion of Il Salotto Salon & Med Spa of Scottsdale amounted to a sizable commercial job Chandler hadn’t attempted since Evan’s birth. Remaining in Hidden Falls had been his main focus, and the lifestyle change afforded him the luxury of remaining close to home to raise his son, stick a pair of cold feet in the investment pool and solidify his reputation as a quality home builder.