A Stillness of Chimes (29 page)

She lay still, her breathing easy and slow. For a moment he tormented himself with the idea of kissing her as she slept, but the kind of kiss he was imagining wouldn’t go unnoticed. She’d wake up and claw his eyes out.

He gave her foot a firm squeeze instead. Still no reaction.

He was bone tired too. He never turned in so early, but maybe he’d at least lie down for a while. But where? Not in Laura’s bed; a man just didn’t fall into a woman’s bed without her permission, even if she wasn’t in it. And the guest bed was piled high with clothes she planned to donate somewhere.

Jess’s room? No, he wasn’t sleeping in a dead woman’s bed. He was too spooked already, for a variety of reasons.

Once again, his truck would be in the driveway overnight. He didn’t care about the old hens and their gossip, but Elliott might be out there somewhere, watching. A classic case of the overprotective father. He might be upset that his baby girl had a man staying in the house.

“Keep your hands where they belong,”
Elliott had warned Sean years ago.
“Some men might not protect their daughters, but I’ll always protect my little girl.”
In the next breath, Elliott had made Sean promise to take care of her.

“I’m trying, man,” Sean said quietly. “I’m trying.”

He found a sleeping bag in the hall closet and spread it on the floor by the couch. It was better than the night before, when he’d slept on nothing but the hooked rug. He felt sorry for himself, a little, until he thought of Elliott in the wild.

Sean shook his head. The game of Let’s Pretend had already contaminated his mind.

He went outside, pausing to look and listen for anything unusual, and retrieved his gun from the rack in the truck. Back inside, he slid the weapon under the couch. He would still obey Laura’s no-guns rule if he could, but he wanted to be prepared for anything.

Lying on the sleeping bag, he listened to the new silence. He’d never realized how much the chimes had been a part of every storm.

A single night-light shone on the wall, casting a faint reflection off the gleaming wood of the grandfather clock as it ticked. Knowing he wouldn’t be able to stay awake, he closed his eyes and hoped for a guardian angel or two. Not effeminate Hallmark-style angels, but the real McCoy with flaming swords in their hands and the power of God behind them.

Laura woke to the aroma of fresh coffee. Everything was blurry without glasses or contacts, but she saw a sleeping bag rolled up and sitting on the floor. Sean’s boots lay cattywampus by the front door.

Now the coffee made sense. Long before bedtime, she must have fallen asleep on the couch. She’d slept straight through, and he’d camped out on her floor again.

The old ladies would have a field day with that. Not that it mattered. Gossip wasn’t important anymore, unless someone had a new rumor that held a grain of truth.

But the truth was simply that her dad had been lurking around his own house. Cutting down the wind chimes he’d given his wife. He wasn’t hiding in the mountains. He was somewhere within walking distance. The thought made her pulse quicken with excitement.

She sat up, running a hand through her messy hair, and squinted at the white glare of the new lights outside. They ruined the sunrise.

Wearing jeans and a black shirt, Sean walked out of the kitchen carrying two identical green mugs, part of a set she’d given her mom for Christmas a few years ago. “You awake, sweetheart?”

“Just barely.”

He’d already moved on to
sweetheart
, and she’d answered without even
thinking. It was as if they’d time-traveled back to high school. Except everything had changed.

He set both mugs on the coffee table, then sat on the floor beside her and leaned against the couch. He picked up his coffee, took a sip, and yawned.

Out of his line of vision, she brought one finger close to his hair and imagined playing with it. Or cutting it. She’d have to talk him into a haircut. He needed a shave too.

She sat up straighter and wrapped both her hands around her coffee to keep them out of his hair. The security lights assaulted her eyes through the curtains.

“I hate those new lights.”

“I knew you would, but relax. They’ll go off as soon as there’s enough natural light.”

“Or as soon as I hit the switch.”

“I see,” he said in a weary voice. “I went to all the trouble of installing them just so you can be your usual uncooperative self.”

“I’m sorry, Sean. I really do appreciate your efforts to take care of me.”

“It’s only what I promised your dad.”

She stared down at the top of his head. “You did what?”

“When we were seventeen, he gave me the ‘keep your hands off my daughter’ lecture, and then he made me promise to take good care of you.”

Suddenly she was wide awake. “You mean … like he thought he wouldn’t be around?”

“No. More like he thought we’d marry someday. Which is a fine idea.”

“Sean, stop it.” Once she’d conquered the lump in her throat, she dared to speak again. “You should spend the day in your workshop. If I need you, I’ll call. You can be here in three minutes.”

He was silent for a little while. “All right. I’m not too worried about what might happen in broad daylight. As long as you keep your doors locked, you can kick me out during the day, but I’m staying here again tonight. Like it or not.”

“Ooh, the rumors will fly. People will say you’ve moved in.”

“I don’t care. I’m not leaving you here alone at night.” He rose, leaving his coffee on the table, and looked down at her. “I’ll be back.”

“See you later, then.” She gave him a little wave, then closed her eyes, deliberately shutting him out. Afraid of what he might say or do next.

“Later,” he echoed. “Behave yourself.”

He crossed the floor, his boots making a heavy tread. His keys jingled. The door shut firmly, and the lock clicked.

Still keeping her eyes closed, she listened to the sounds of his departure. Once the sound of the truck’s engine had faded into the distance, she opened her eyes. If he’d flashed his lights again, she’d missed it.

It was Sean’s favorite time to be in the shop, when the slant of the late sunlight gave the room a dramatic glow. Dale had arrived just in time to spoil it.

He was getting cagier. He must have parked around the corner, and when Sean walked to the street for his mail, the old man slipped through the side yard and into the shop.

Sean was packed up and itchy to return to Laura’s place before nightfall, but Dale never stayed long. He’d been roaming around for five minutes now, examining everything and fingering most of it, but even in his half-tanked state he had the sense not to open the door to the spray room and wood storage.

He swayed on his feet as he pointed vaguely toward the window. “Isn’t your sign a little too, you know, fancy-schmancy?”

Sean shrugged. When he made the sign, he’d taken great pains to keep the style simple, but he should have left off his middle name. “Sean Michael Halloran, Luthier,” sounded pretentious. The sign didn’t even show from the street, though, so it didn’t much matter.

“It’s my name and my occupation,” Sean said. “That’s all.”

“It’s a pansy kind of occupation.”

“I know, I know. That’s why you’ll leave me the pansy gun when you die. It’s something to look forward to.”

Dale slurred an ugly curse.

“Why, thank you,” Sean said, earning himself another one.

Dale laughed. “Where’d you learn to be so polite, boy? I sure didn’t teach you that.”

“You sure didn’t.”

As Dale made a slow, unsteady circuit of the shop, he kept glancing back at Sean as if to gauge his mood. Sean knew what was coming next.

“You got any cash?”

“If you want to sell me the pansy gun, I do.”

“I ain’t a gun shop. I ain’t selling.”

“And I’m not a bank.”

Dale rubbed his eyes. “They put out any reward money on Gantt?”

Sean almost laughed at the absurdity. “No. And they won’t, so forget it.”

“That’s all right. Just findin’ him will be enough for me. He’s back. I know he is. Once he has the guts to show his face, I’ll get even.”

“Get even for what?”

“That call.”

“What call?”

“You know, idiot. The phone call. When you were a kid.”

“The one that saved my life?”

Dale snarled another curse. “Why do you always exaggerate?”

“I don’t. And Elliott couldn’t have made the call. He was too busy patching me up. Don’t try to get revenge for something he didn’t do.”

Dale cracked a smile. “I wouldn’t hurt him. I’d just kick him around a little. Pay him back for stealing my son. It ain’t right for a man to do that. Gary Bright too. He did the same.”

“They never stole a thing from you, Dale. Sure, they helped me. They both did. You wouldn’t believe all the ways Gary has helped me, and he never asks me to pay him back. Pay it forward, he says. You, though? You’re always begging me for cash. And sympathy. Poor, poor Dale, always the innocent victim.”

Sean ducked just in time. Dale’s fist hit air and he reeled.

“Get out.” Sean seized him before he could catch his balance and frog-marched him to the door. “Get off my property and stay off. Stay off Laura’s property too.” With one final shove, Sean evicted him, then nipped back inside and drew the deadbolt.

Dale howled, probably not in pain but in rage, then stumbled and fell face first on the grass. He lay motionless in the same spot where Sean had assembled the kite so many years ago.

About the time Sean was getting worried, Dale picked himself up and limped toward the front yard. Leaning like a tree in a strong wind, he disappeared around the corner of the house he’d once owned.

So angry he could hardly form a coherent sentence, Sean called 911
to report the DUI in a black pickup truck. Once again, the dispatcher said they’d be on the lookout.

After he’d hung up, Sean nearly called back to report Dale’s illegal ownership of a handgun. It wasn’t hurting anyone in a closet in Dale’s cramped apartment, though. It probably hadn’t been fired in a generation or more. He was afraid to fire it, afraid to take it out of its case, even afraid to admit that he had it. The last remnant of the Halloran family’s wealth, it was his only remaining treasure.

Sean moved around the shop, touching his fingertips to the instruments he loved. Dale hadn’t harmed anything yet, although there was always the chance that he’d set the place on fire some night. Or show up with a sledgehammer and start swinging.

The workbenches and the pegboard walls held instruments in all stages of gestation. Some were held together with clamps and vises. Some awaited their final finishes. Some needed nothing more than price tags and new owners.

He inhaled the smells of varnish, glue, and wood and savored the satiny sheen of the instruments. The utilitarian beauty of the tools. The clutter of strings and picks and capos. Elliott had introduced him to all of it—the world of music—the day he’d handed him a broom and said, “Sweep. I can’t pay much, but I’ll teach you everything I know.”

Sean had swept like crazy. He would have swept a path to the moon for Elliott. Or for Laura. Still would.

He’d better get over there. She might feel a little too secure with those new locks. There were ways around them, including a simple knock. She wouldn’t open the door for just anybody, but she might open it for her dad. Or someone who claimed to be him.

Choosing only one mandolin and one guitar that still needed breaking
in, Sean tucked them into their cases and locked up. As he backed the truck out of the driveway, he saw the albino raccoon inching his way down the trunk of the big oak. Sean hadn’t seen him in a couple of days and was glad the little guy was still around.

He rolled down his window. “Casper! Get back in that tree. Don’t come out until dark.”

Casper froze, hugging the trunk, but didn’t retreat.

“Good luck to you, then.” Sean rolled up his window and hit the gas. He must have gone nuts. He was giving survival advice to a baby raccoon.

By the time he reached Laura’s house, a healthy sense of victory had crowded out the anger he’d felt toward Dale. Sean slowed at the curve, his eyes drawn to the graveyard. All over the cemetery, the wind had toppled real and artificial flowers. Laura’s tall tin vase had fallen, spilling pink azaleas across the grave. He hoped she wouldn’t notice. He didn’t want her in the graveyard at nightfall.