Indelible (25 page)

“That’s it, big guy.”

He was only about four feet off the ground, and Trevor obviously had hold of him, but more people had gathered to watch the one-armed tot on the climbing wall. Cody didn’t seem to notice or care that they stared. He wanted to climb the wall.

With her limited childhood, what did she know about a normal child’s needs and desires? Okay, so one arm wasn’t normal, but Cody didn’t know it. He thought he could do anything. And why shouldn’t he?

“Almost there,” Trevor said. “Grab the blue one.”

Instead of the blue one, Cody pushed hard with his opposite foot and
clutched the red bar at the top of the kiddie wall. The people watching applauded. Trevor beamed. She didn’t know which of them was prouder, tot or teacher.

“Now push off and ride it to the ground,” Trevor told him.

Her nephew rappelled with a chest laugh that put tears in everyone’s eyes. When Trevor unbuckled him, she swooped him into a hug.

“See me, Aunt Nattie?”

“I saw you. You are absolutely the best I ever saw.” She had to stop being afraid for him. His awful thing had happened. Surely, the rest of his life would be blessed.

He squeezed hard, his little arm tight around her neck. People came around, congratulating him, and the looks on Cody’s face and each of theirs implanted. She had planned to go right to Fleur’s, but when the crowd dissipated, Trevor took Cody and said, “Go work it out.”

“You’ve already kept him.”

“Do what you need to do.”

She went back to the studio and sculpted Cody, beatific in triumph. Those who’d shared the moment formed the sides of the wall, Trevor prominently—again. Back once more, she found Cody snoozing in a tot-sized sleeping bag on the floor of Trevor’s office. “I’m so sorry.”

“Why?”

“You’ve had him for hours.”

“Only three.”

She was beginning to doubt her ability to care for her nephew. She loved him so much, but she’d never had sole responsibility. Eyes moist, she glimpsed the cherubic sleepyhead, curled like a caterpillar poised to sprout wings.

Trevor followed her gaze. “He looked a little hollow-eyed. How’d he sleep last night?”

“He loves the tent, but … he’s restless. He cries out. I probably do too. Nights aren’t our best time.”

“Nightmares?” She nodded.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“He’s only been here—”

“About yours.”

She raised and dropped her shoulders. “Hard to work into conversation.”

“Not that hard.”

She could feel him staring. “It’s a normal response to trauma. That was a terrifying ordeal.”

“Doesn’t mean there aren’t ways to work through it.”

She leaned against the desk. “I would have texted you the last time, but you were out of range.”

He took her hand. “Let’s take Cody for a hike.”

Her mouth parted.

“Revisiting the scene under peaceful conditions can mitigate the fear.”

“I’m pretty sure Paige would be horrified.”

“With all respect, Nattie, she’s not here. And I’ve worked people through it.”

“Three-year-olds?”

“Don’t you think that’s especially critical?”

She chewed her lip. “What about the snow?”

“Have you looked outside? Most of it’s blown off and the sun’s making quick work of the rest.”

“I have to meet with Fleur now.”

“After that, then.” He rubbed her fingers with his thumb. “Trust me?”

She nodded, but the thought of seeing the place that kept wrecking her sleep was not a good one.

Fleur looked up when Piper stepped into the sun porch even though her sock feet made hardly any sound. The air had shifted.

“Found someone on the doorstep,” Piper said.

“Natalie.” Fleur laid down her brush.

“How can you possibly know?”

She shrugged. “My superpowers. You have something good to tell me.”

Natalie laughed. “I suppose you can tell me what it is?”

“That’s beyond my skills. I’m not psychic, you know.”

“Well, prepare yourself. Mr. Carter Granby wants to commission a mural for the Granby Fine and Dramatic Art Center.”

She shook her head. “A mural. How would I get it in and out of my porch?”

“He wants you to paint on location. And … he’d film it.”

Fleur heard but could hardly believe as Natalie rushed on, telling her everything. “Your performance would play alongside the mural continuously.”

“The blind artist at work.”

Natalie came closer. “Fleur. You’re an amazing person. You’d be amazing if you weren’t blind. But you are.”

Simple, blunt, and true. “I’m sorry. I wish I didn’t have to wonder whether they’d notice if I could see like everyone else.”

“What difference does it make?” Her friend took her hand. “My defect contributes to my work.”

“It’s not a defect.”

“Oh, but it is.” Her grip was cool from being outside. “Your art speaks. And the fact that you can’t see it with your eyes makes its message more powerful. You can’t fault people for responding to that.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Natalie covered their clasped hands with her other. “I can’t say if this is right for you. Just don’t let being blind determine it.”

“Would you let him film you sculpting?”

“My nature works, maybe.”

Fleur chewed her lip. “I don’t know how I look. When I paint. And something so large …”

“It’s a big decision. Take your time.”

“When I brought you the paintings, I wasn’t looking for fame. Just a place for people to see them.”

“Excellence shines.”

Her friend was dear to think so. “Will you show him your faces?”

“This isn’t about me, Fleur. It’s your opportunity.”

“But a video.”

“Unusual, and in my opinion distracting. But it’s a changing world. Attention spans are truncated. Many have lost the ability to discern and interpret, to quietly observe.”

“So it’s performance, not art, they want.”

“It’s both.”

“I find it faintly horrifying.”

Amusement filled Natalie’s voice. “I thought you might.” They laughed.

“But it might be fun. It’ll certainly be different, an experience you won’t have here.”

Her stool scraped on the ceramic tile as she leaned forward. “I guess I could talk to him.”

“That’s a good place to start. See how comfortable you’d be working with him.”

“But you have to do one thing.” She pushed her hair behind her ear.

“What?”

“Show him your model of me.”

“It’s not even fired.”

“Finish it and show him.”

Natalie groaned. “Why?”

She truly didn’t get it. “Because your faces transcend.”

He’d half expected Natalie to back out, her reluctance understandable. But this was her community, and that trail one of the most accessible in the area. He didn’t want fear to dominate her as much as it might Cody if unchecked. Getting up from a bad fall, going back to the top, and taking the run again made the difference between winning and losing. He’d never have that chance again. But he wanted a win for them.

After disembarking at the trailhead, Trevor hoisted Cody to his back in a pack designed for long-distance trekking with toddlers.

“You’re going to carry him?”

“Gives me the chance to test this pack.” The contact and containment
should also give Cody a greater sense of security. He’d been on his own little legs the last time, no concept of danger. That concept was now alive and real. “Okay, let’s do it.”

They started up the trail, and where it narrowed to single file, he motioned her in front to focus on the vista ahead instead of her nephew in the pack. More than half the aspen had turned yellow, seemingly overnight. Snow clung to the crevices and shady sections of trail, but the rest was sun drenched in slanting rays.

He doubted the scenery meant anything to the child on his back. His own mind spun between Jaz’s warrior-angel drawing, kids in danger, Cody’s fear, and Natalie marching staunchly ahead, facing down her own nightmares. Did he know what he was doing? He’d better be completely sure this was right.

He said, “Warm?” when she unzipped her parka. It amazed him how much the weather could shift in such a short time, one extreme to the other, like life.

“You were right about that.” Her neck looked taut, her motions jerky. No doubt an onslaught of memories and emotions. She loved mountains, but this trauma could make it a strictly visual experience if she let it. This would help. He knew it would. So why did he feel so uneasy?

Something rustled. She spun.

“Just a magpie.” He saw the fear in her face and blocked Cody’s view with a shift in position.

“That, um,
threat
is gone, right?”

“It’s gone. And they’re territorial, the chance of another extremely remote.”

“But”—she slid both hands into her hair—“you have your g-u-n?”

“Holstered. Safety engaged.”

“Would you use it this time?” Her voice held an edge of doubt and … recrimination?

“No sense having it otherwise. Want me to lead?”

“No.” Her brow puckered. “It’s only that none of us saw it coming.”

“And we’re having a good time here, aren’t we, Cody?” He jostled the carrier.

Catching his point, she drew herself up. “Of course we are.” She pivoted on one heel and pointed. “Look, Cody. That gray bird is called a catbird because it mews.”

Cody mewed at the bird.

“My friend Fleur’s taught me all about birds and their songs. Want to sing like a blue jay? It’s not pretty, let me tell you.” She demonstrated that truth, Cody joining in.

Trevor smiled. She was taking a good stab at normal. But as they neared the point of attack, Cody’s noises stopped. The arm holding on tightened around his neck.

“I want to go back now.” Cody spoke in his ear.

“Don’t worry, little guy.”

“I want my daddy.”

Natalie was far enough ahead she didn’t hear and kept walking, even though she was probably suffering too. He should have thought this through better.

“If we do this, Cody, it won’t be as scary next time.” He gripped the little wrist beneath his chin. “Remember how you climbed the wall? All the way to the top?”

“I want my mommy.”

“I know.”

“I want my Nattie.”

“Okay. Hey, Nat?”

She turned, a false luster in her eyes.

“Cody wants a hug.”

While she soothed the tot, he searched the slopes, more affected than he’d expected by revisiting this—or was it something else? Spending time in the wild developed senses more acute than most people’s, a sense, for instance, of being watched—or stalked. For the last quarter mile, he’d felt it. If that cub had still been attached to its mother, there could be another cat—unlikely as he’d thought it before.

He carefully reached down and released the safety on his handgun. Time to complete the mission. He motioned Nattie ahead once more. Following, he said, “Cody, I know this is scary because something bad
happened. But you were brave, and you’re even braver now. You know what brave means?”

Cody pressed his mouth against the back of Trevor’s neck. “Means I don’t cry.”

He felt him quiver. “Means you don’t let getting scared stop you.” He stroked the child’s arm. “We had a hard time here.”

“Bad lion.”

“That lion was confused. Most are too smart to grab a guy like you.” He went a few more paces and a few more.

“Now see? We’re past it.”

“No bad lions,” Cody whispered.

“That’s right. Just pretty mountains. And birds and squirrels. Your aunt Nattie, who loves you, and me.”

The child’s eyes went over everything, sober and searching, his brows pressed low. The rapport they’d established helped, but this wasn’t easy. Cody’s hand gripped his shirt, and the memory came back of wrapping him in his other one, containing the arm they lost anyway, stanching the blood. He couldn’t help staring down at the creek far below where blood might still mark the spot.

“It’s getting dark,” Natalie murmured. “And cold.” She zipped her coat. She was smart and tough and brave. So many things he respected and—he’d almost thought loved.

“Okay.” He turned around, scanning again. Whatever had them in its sights had moved on or was never there to start with. He clicked the safety back in place. “Let’s go.”