Creighton's Hideaway (12 page)

“I forgot it, anyway. It doesn't work out there.”

Creighton released Shana and reached to shake his brother-in-law's outstretched hand.

“Sorry for the alarm,” Ray said, “but I knew you'd want to know.”

“I'm glad you called. I imagine you were pretty shook up,” Creighton responded.

Shana wove her way in front of the men and between Rita and the wall. She leaned over to hug her friend. “I was so worried.”

“I'm fine, really. Just need to keep my feet elevated and not work the rest of the week. Which is just today and tomorrow, so no big deal.” Rita's smile faded as she turned to Shana. “I feel bad to tear you away from your little retreat. The question now is, how are you?”

She's practicing up on her Scrabble.” Creighton answered. “I won't let her leave until I beat her in a game.”

“Very funny.” Shana screwed up her nose at Creighton before facing Rita again.

A nurse entered the room with Rita's release papers.

Ray asked Creighton if they'd like to come to the house for lunch. Creighton raised his eyebrows in question as he looked at Shana.

“You're driving,” she said with a shrug.

“Speaking of driving,” the nurse addressed Ray, “would you like to pull up to the door and I'll meet you there with Rita?”

“We'll walk down with her,” Creighton added.

Creighton tuned out the women's conversation as they wove their way down the hospital corridor. Hospitals all smelled the same, and he was glad to put this one behind him. He had already silently thanked the Lord for Rita's health through her crisis. He thanked the Lord for Shana's friendship. God must have a plan for her being in his life.

And, please show me just how close we're supposed to get.

When the elevator stopped on the main level, a man stepped through the door smelling like a brewery.

I thank You again, Lord, that You give me strength when I have the desire to drink. Please be with this stranger and show him that You are the way to recovery.

 

****

 

While the men prepared lunch, Shana helped ease Rita onto the sofa in the cozy living room of Rita and Ray's southeast Lincoln home.

The low resonance of Creighton's voice drifted from the kitchen, along with the smell of grilled cheese sandwiches. Before long, the guys carried in trays with sandwiches, tall glasses of water, oyster crackers, and tomato soup.

Shana cleared the Noah's Ark music box from the adjustable coffee table to the end table. Then she stepped back and studied the occupants of the room.

No one appeared anxious. She couldn't put a finger on it. Wasn't this pretty much a situation with a baby's life in the balance?

Rita looked up at Ray from her pile of mounded pillows.

Ray set a bed tray across her lap.

“Thank you,” she said. “If this is what motherhood is all about, we should have had a baby years ago.”

“Nothing's too good for the baby who takes first place in my heart.” Ray kissed her and sagged onto the couch beside her. Ray spoke a heartfelt prayer, and they shared a pleasant meal. They even laughed a few times.

Soon after they finished, she and Creighton left so Rita could rest.

Shana sneaked glances at the relaxed and quiet Creighton. Could prayer do this, make him so calm?

Her duplex was located in the Near South residential area of Lincoln. The large frame home, painted an inviting yellow, bordered the edge of a rising crime area. In recent months, homeless loiterers and police sirens had frequently disturbed Shana's evenings.

Creighton walked her to the door and handed her the canvas tote.

“Do you want to come in?” Shana invited.

“Thanks, but I'll pass. All of a sudden I'm drained. I'll hike it back to Rita's and crash. Any special time you want to hit the road tomorrow?”

“Not especially. I plan to make my calls. Get that bank thing out of the way. I'd better check in at work, especially with Rita gone. Can you call me midmorning?” She already missed him, just talking about saying good-bye.

“No problem. Maybe I can do a little to help Rita before we head back.” With that, Creighton turned and leaped down the steps in two bounds. He hesitated and shot a glance at her from the front walk. “Uh, thanks for being with me through this. Having someone to share my concern for my sister made it easier.” His fingers dug into his jeans pocket and fished out his keys.

Shana couldn't help herself. She whisked him a playful grin and blew him a kiss. Mortified at her spontaneity, she turned before reading his reaction. She picked up her tote and entered her rented home. She went down the hallway between kitchen and bedroom, feeling disconnected, as though she wasn't at home here any longer, where she'd lived for five years. She tossed the tote on the bed.

She took the contents of her bag down the hall and put them into the washing machine. She picked up an olive polo and coordinating capris on the floor and put them in the washer, too. Funny. She didn't recall leaving them there. In her room, she dressed in comfortable, baggy gray sweats. She pulled a couple warm outfits from a drawer, and stuffed them into her bag.

“What in the world?” She puzzled over three empty hangers in her closet, dangling on the rod. Usually the hangers went to the laundry basket with the dirty garments. “I'm losing it. I must have really been distracted when I left for those sessions in O'Neill.”

And where's my tailored beige jacket?

She sniffed. She hadn't been gone long enough for her room to smell so stale. She rolled her shoulders and found a sore spot in her neck as she turned from the room. In the kitchen, Shana rummaged through the crisper drawer of the refrigerator. She grabbed a very ripe pear. She didn't remember eating the baby carrots, but they were gone.

At the sink, she reached for her fruit wash. Her hand stilled, frozen in the air. Her heart skittered up to her throat. “No way did I drink orange juice and leave a dirty glass.” She spoke out loud trying to convince herself she wasn't imagining things. Her skin crawled along her spine.

She dropped the pear. It
smoosh
ed against the sink.

Turning slowly, Shana grasped the edge of the counter. She noted details in the kitchen. Nothing else amiss. She wandered through all of the rooms, struck anew by how foreign and closed-in the duplex now seemed.

The corner of the rug fringe under the coffee table was curled up. The throw pillows were not in their given place on the couch. Worry rose up and threatened to close off her throat. Fear wormed through her being. Her body shook with tremors as her imagination took flight.

 

 

 

 

10

 

In an effort to calm her pounding heart, Shana pressed both hands over her chest. She closed her eyes and concentrated on deep breathing.

One more thing to check. She crossed to the back door. The welcome mat rested off kilter. Heart in her throat, ears buzzing, Shana knelt to peek under the corner. No key.

She swallowed, lifted her gaze to scan the small fenced-in yard. No place for an intruder to hide, nothing but her bench and a few browning flowers. She'd never felt so alone, and was more ill at ease than her first night on the ranch.

She wasn't going to turn to Creighton. Yet.

The freaky sense that someone had been in her home had her re-checking the front and back doors, the window above her kitchen sink, and the one in her bedroom.

It was time to call her parents.

Mom picked up on the first ring. “Hey, I thought you were in town, honey. I could have sworn I saw you drive by a couple days ago. I was going to chew you out for not stopping.”

“Not me, Mom. I've been communing with nature. Must have been wishful thinking on your part. I just got back today.” It took concentrated effort to keep her voice from trembling. “Um, Mom, has Dad been in my place since I went to the ranch?”

“Oh, I don't think so.”

“Is he there so we can ask him?”

“Sorry to disappoint. He's down at Sorensons' and you know those two pass the time like a couple gossiping old ladies.”

Shana did not join her mother's rich laugh.

“Listen, I insist you come over right away. Spend the evening and tell us all about your adventures.”

“Sounds good to me, Mom. Give me enough time to put my clothes in the dryer.” How could the mundane be so difficult to maintain?

There was nothing mundane about her mother's love.
Will I ever be a mother, have the chance to love my own child?
Creighton came to her mind, unbidden. There was a man made for family.

Before long, Shana was engulfed in the welcome of her parents' hugs. Homemade vegetable stew and biscuits right out of the oven warmed her insides.

Her father had no answers for why her extra key had gone missing. “Remember to check in at the bank, Pumpkin, before you leave town.”

Claustrophobic in the cramped house she grew up in, Shana was amazed the wide open spaces outside her cabin in the hills called to her. How could one feel so at home after only a few days? The city, the home she grew up in, seemed foreign.

Back in her duplex, Shana's wandering mind kept her from settling in for a good night's sleep. She missed the night owls at Creighton's ranch. She smiled at the memory of her childish fear over new sounds, as if some monster was ready to jump out of the shadows and carry her off.

Who in the world had been in her house? Nothing was missing. Maybe she'd loaned the jacket to Rita. Shana picked up the phone. There was no real proof. Only her fastidiousness to back her up. She set the phone down.

Am I crazy?

“No. Think pleasant thoughts. And quit answering your own questions.”

Creighton.

She remembered how the small confines of his pickup truck had shrunk air space.

Am I afraid to take a chance on love? And why am I thinking of love? Help me, here, Lord, if you hear me. I'm off-kilter.
Who was he exactly?

She pictured the ranch landscape and Creighton, talking to the Lord.
Her thoughts ranged from creek bottoms to the uppermost branches of aged cottonwood trees. Creighton's ranch, his hideaway. No streetlights there.

Shana relaxed in the shadows of her city bedroom. Is that how one became a transplanted country girl, by comparing the gamut of her sensations to the land?

Through the restless night, Shana awoke from dreams of some stranger hiding in her duplex. She jumped at imagined grinding noises and thumps. She got up to shove chairs under the door knobs. The last dream she had, some unknown presence had even chased her through the trees on Creighton's ranch.

Shana woke to sunlight and thoughts of Creighton, along with a mental picture of the ranch. More accurately, a future room in the ranch house that she and Creighton had turned into a nursery.
That would be enough to keep anyone awake
..

Did she want to pursue the enigma of Creighton?

Shana lumbered into the kitchen and brewed coffee. She leaned over the sink and splashed cold water on her heated face. Creighton invaded her thoughts. She could never consider him just a friend. Her senses had become fine-tuned to his warmth. His scent brought the piney outdoors inside, and then there was his laughter, his compulsion to somehow protect her.

She appreciated how much Creighton loved Rita. That observation solidified what a decent man Creighton was. His respect for women came out in the way he opened doors for her and treated her as an equal.

She stared through the window. Buoyant birds sang with joy.

What was Creighton doing at the moment?

If she wanted to get close to him, she had to find out more about his God. She had a feeling Creighton's God was as important to him as breathing.

Drying her face, she caught a strange scent. An odd smell, like those strong perfume samples stuck in magazines. She washed her hands again and reached for the towel. And caught the smell again. The towel smelled different, not at all like the mild-scented laundry detergent or dish soap she used. She tossed it in by the washer and went through the cleansing ritual again.

Someone has been in my home.
The thought shattered her peace. With shaking fingers, she finally dialed 9-1-1.

While she waited for an officer, Shana poured a mug of coffee. Her hand shook when she raised the coffee to her mouth. She set it down again and the hot drink cooled while she leaned against the sink, focused again on the carefree songbirds.

Officer Young introduced himself at her door.
He looks old enough to drive, not old enough to take a report.
She methodically took him through the apartment, showing and explaining everything she noticed the night before and that morning.

The officer scribbled on a notepad and said in parting, “I'll turn this in, Ms. Arnold. But since you found nothing missing, I'm afraid to say we'll just put the information on file.” On the way to his cruiser, he stopped and turned. “Have you checked the garage?”

“I drove my car last night, but didn't look around.”

“Why don't you open her up and you can take a look. I'll wait.”

She retrieved her key, then without looking, hit the overhead door button.

“Ms. Arnold, where's your vehicle now?”

Her car was gone.

 

****

 

After the policeman left, Shana called her father with the news of the stolen car.

“I'll call the insurance company. I'll also stop at the hardware store and get some new doorknobs, too. You need to change all the locks.” He paused, as if aware of her unease. “I'll take care of it, Shana. You get that thesis done. Mom and I will see you later. Love you, bye.”

Shana longed for the quiet of the cabin's front porch, the leaves fluttering in the breeze and the birds twittering in the trees. She decided to check in at work and picked up the phone. A coworker caught her up on all the latest news. When she hung up, uneasiness stirred concerning the details of visiting board members and possible audits.