Retreat to Love (16 page)

Brandon’s work was about as derivative and uninspired as, well, Brandon himself. He’d even included some of those dumb tree prints digitally tinted mauve and orange, and didn’t even try to justify them. I mean, even a blind pig will occasionally snuffle up an acorn, but this stuff was unredeemed.

Rafael didn’t bother to show—I was beginning to respect his judgments. Angelica, meanwhile, was fluttering around straightening things and Theo was standing against the back wall as if Spackle pasted him to it, arms across his chest. And then it happened.

Brandon, mid-drivel about how he’d started out because of rave reviews of his sister’s wedding portraits, turned and said, “Where is my shot of the bride and groom by the cake, Angel?”

And Angelica said, “Oh I think you left it on the bed after you showed me. I’ll get it.” And she darted through the study door.

Theo, I don’t know how to say it. He imploded or something. He had a bowling ball to the gut look, arms unhinged at his sides. Angelica gave him a long stare then pointedly turned away and handed the photo to Brandon. Theo nearly fell. Caleb caught hold of his arm and, hand on his back, walked him outside, Lizzy at their heels.

Angelica just stared after him. “What is his problem, anyway?” she shrugged at Wren, and Wren shrugged back. We glanced at the wedding photo—sharp focus on icing flowers, blurred be-jeweled hand feeding mustache-framed face—and fumbled out farewells. Angelica stayed behind.

“Okay, I know Theo was a jerk with his painting and all,” I said to Wren as we hit the back path to my cabin, “but did she just pull a stone cold move or what?”

“No shit.” She sounded stunned, too.

“What a pair.”

She barked a laugh. “What a
ménage
. Can they suit each other less and deserve each other more?”

Then we were both laughing in the clearing and I hugged her and asked, “You will tell me if I piss you off, won’t you?”

“No.”

I stared at her, unable to figure if the laughter had washed clear the air between us, or if it was just a break in the storm.

She squeezed my arm. “Well, maybe. Only if it’s enough to make a difference.”

It felt sincere. “Fair enough. But you have to promise.”

“I promise.”

“Good.”

I brought her in and showed her the sketches for
Nine Patchy Men
, which she was, predictably, very helpful about. By the time we’d rearranged the layout and tightened up the lines, she had to go make dinner. I offered to help, in case Rafa was MIA.

Caleb came up behind us on the path and put an arm around both our shoulders. The barometer spun as happy warmth at his touch collided with the cold front of Wren’s reaction to his peck on my cheek. Men can be so stupid.

She joked it off, but didn’t make us welcome in the kitchen, already crowded with Rafael in there, wrist-deep in some dough and muttering something about stirring the tomato sauce before it scalded. Caleb and I headed to the computer room.

Zach finalized our plans for Friday—he would pick me up at the May-family version of bright and early, which put us in Houston in time to have a visit with Gran before the birthday party. Frank was in on our attempt at surprise, and would bring her to their favorite Tex-Mex joint, where we’d arranged for candles in a tray of her favorite spinach enchiladas, since Bernadette wouldn’t eat the refined sugar in a cake.

Zach replied to my reply right away—he must have been frustrated or bored with his current project, ‘cause normally he won’t stop what he’s doing for fear of losing his groove—and asked why Caleb and I were both in the lab instead of working.

“Hey, quit writing my brother.”

“Quit writing my friend,” he countered.

“What did you tell him? Did you tell him about us?”

“Oh, you’re ashamed of me now?”

“No.”

“Then what’s your problem?” He grinned and muttered as he hunted and pecked with the hand not resting on my leg, “What is your sister’s problem? Send.”

A moment later, from Zach: “What is your problem? Is there a problem all the sudden?”

So I copied Caleb on my reply: “The only problem is people trying to interrupt my creative juices.”

From Caleb: “I’d never interrupt your juices.”

From Zach: “I think I don’t want to know.”

From me: “I give up on you both.” And I logged out.

When Caleb and I looked at each other, we burst into giggles, just in time for Wren to pop in and announce dinner. By the time we closed ourselves in Caleb’s cabin, I was shy again. His turf continued to disorient me, despite the stern talking-to I gave myself: why was I having mini anxiety attacks when we’d had a couple of nights together and he had yet to reveal latent axe-murderer tendencies? Being in LakeFire was hardly a step too far from home. And ValeSong wasn’t even my real comfort zone; it was just a place I’d been sleeping for a couple of weeks.

Caleb, though, was a doll. A big sexy doll. He didn’t even ask me why I was so jittery, just wrapped me in a bear hug and suggested we take a shower to relax. A brief
Psycho
image phased out to the rhythm of his fingers across my shoulder blades, circling and testing the knots, gradually convincing them—and me—to relax.

Once we were clean, calm, dry, tense again, wet again, dirty again, and dry again, I was feeling at ease. The endorphin buzz and the way Caleb’s hand moved up and down my spine like it was frets on a jazz guitar had me at maximum zoned out.

That, of course, is when it happened. It could have been twenty minutes earlier, and neither of us would have cared, but in the quiet it made quite a racket.

“What is that?” Caleb asked me, sitting up. “Who is that?”

I listened. It was eerie enough I tucked the sheet protectively around my torso—
Psycho
visions again, perfect—but I eventually deciphered it. “I think it’s Theo. He’s calling for Angelica.”

“Why?”

“I guess he misses her.” Obviously.

“No, why here?”

“He’s probably at Brandon’s, not here.” He was still confused. “They’re sleeping together.”

“What?”

I got out of bed and found some of my clothes. “Just for the past couple of days—but I guess he figured it out at the studio visit today.”

Caleb dressed, too, and I gave him credit for not asking me more, though he clearly didn’t know how I knew, or how Theo knew.

Theo, meanwhile, continued sobbing. By the low gold light of the moon, we found him right at the edge of the woods, staring in Brandon’s dark bedroom window. “Hey, Theo,” Caleb started, but it didn’t do much.

I sat next to him in the pine needles. His flannel shirt didn’t hide the way his arms trembled. “Sweetie, I don’t think they’re in there.”

He just looked at me. His eyes were freaky-shiny and unfocused.

“I don’t think they’re in there,” I repeated, the image of patience, a calm palm on his shoulder. “Do you want to come inside?”

“Uh,” Caleb began. Shrugged. “Let me help you up.” He offered his hand.

“Am I at your cabin?” Theo asked me, slowly.

“No, sweetie, I was visiting Caleb. Will you come in?”

“Where’s Angelica?” It was hard to make out his words, what with the mucous drain and all—but every syllable compressed the available space in my lungs.

I worked on keeping my voice smooth and focused. “I don’t know. She’s probably at home.”

“I went there!” He stood up and threw his arm towards the north. “No answer.”

“Come on inside. We’ll figure it out.”

Finally he started nodding, and Caleb led him inside. I got him some tissues and a glass of water, and he swabbed at his face. A couple of ragged breaths later, he met my gaze.

“You okay, sweetie?”

“You don’t know where she is?”

“Uh-uh.”

“You promise?”

“Uh-huh.”

“But she’s with him?”

I nodded. “Probably.”

“I guess it’s okay, then.”

Caleb looked quick at me. “What did he say? What’s okay?”

Theo just sighed. My own breath wasn’t coming so readily.

“What’s up, Theo?” I asked, rubbing his upper back. “Tell us what’s going on?”

His eyes were totally bloodshot, the rims shadowed. “I thought she’d come back, but she didn’t. And then she went with him. Him! Of all people; he has no soul. We laughed about him.” Theo closed his eyes and slumped against the back of the chair. My hand was trapped. “I took some pills. Aspirins, a lot. I didn’t want to tell anyone but Angelica, but she’s not there, and I think I need to tell someone.”

“My God.”

“You what?” I pushed him to sitting, felt his cheek—why, I don’t know, but I did. It was clammy. “Theo, are you serious?” But I knew he was. He’d gone beyond tears and into some interior whirlpool of depression.

Caleb crouched at his feet, shook him. “My God, you idiot. How much did you take?” Theo didn’t look at him. “Can you throw up? If I help you, can you throw it up?”

He shook his head. I said, “I don’t know if that’s safe. Is it safe?”

“I think he should.”

“I don’t think he even can.”

Theo tried to slump again, and together we pulled him to his feet. Squeezing Caleb’s hand, I scanned the cabin, as if its amenities would suddenly include a paramedic where none had been there before. Focus. I gripped Caleb tighter, dug my fingertips into his Mount of Venus. Found a plan. “Look, I’ll run to the Main House, call 911. You walk him over there. Can you?”

He nodded.

“Okay. Theo. Theo! You walk with Caleb, okay?”

Theo gave his head one sharp shake.

“No, listen. I think you can find her. Walk with him, he’ll help you.”

“You’ll help?”

“Yeah, sure, man, I’ll help. Let’s go.” He nodded to me. “Go.”

I took off, damning the low path lighting. I pounded on Margie’s door first, buzzed her intercom, and went to the phone. She came down as the operator was asking for the address, and when I had it I barked at her to go help Caleb with Theo.

911 kept me on the phone while the paramedics were dispatched, and made sure Margie and Caleb got him into the den okay. At first Theo refused to talk to them, but I promised they’d help him find Angelica. He told them what he’d swallowed—most of a bottle of extra-strength aspirin, something like seventy caplets. He told the operator it had started with a headache and he just kept going, waiting to feel better. He asked three or four times where Angelica was, and they seemed to take it in stride. I was glad. I felt like shit for lying to him.

Caleb explained to Margie how we’d heard him outside, and she gave me the briefest of looks as she glanced at the grandfather clock—almost two a.m.—and as I turned from them I heard the siren. I went to turn on the front porch lights.

Margie stopped me in the hall. Her hands were fluttering as much as my heart. “Don’t let them leave without me, I’m just grabbing his file. And put a note on my door for me, in case anyone else comes to find me, let them know I’ll be back in the morning. If you have any problems, call Fred Lynn, he helps out here sometimes. His number is taped to the bottom of the telephone in there.”

I nodded, slightly startled by this trusting side of Sargie Margie, but people get unexpected in a crisis. Like swallowing too many pills, for example.

“He’ll be fine.” She turned up her stairway. “You did well, you two.”

I sighed and went back to the sitting room, straightening my clothes. The ambulance crew had the gurney inside already, working fast and calm, and Theo was crying again. “He thought 911 would tell him where she was,” Caleb murmured, “and he’s upset they hung up.”

The paramedic looked at me. “I take it you’re not Angelica?”

“No, I’m Ashlyn, I called.”

“Okay. Well, Theo, I think we’ll find Angela at the hospital, so why don’t you hop on up there and we’ll get going.”

The other medic was wrapping up some equipment and stating stats, a lot of which were presumably meant to reassure us.

“Margie wants to go with you,” I told them, and fortunately by the time they all were outside, so was Margie, halting my fumbled explanations. I seemed to have lost all coherence, and only stopped myself from sinking against Caleb when I saw Rafa and Wren standing on the porch, taking it all in.

The four of us went back into the dining room after the ambulance pulled out, and I left Caleb to explain while I wrote the note for Margie’s door. Rafael worked late hours and would have heard the sirens past his room, but Wren was far from the road. Still, sound carried and she’d said she was a light sleeper.

After posting the sign I double-checked for Fred Lynn’s number and headed back to the others, noting the extra mug next to Caleb. If he was really, really good, it would be chamomile tea.

And it was. The height of my gratitude was stellar, as I sat and sipped. It turned out Wren had been midnight strolling by the lake, with a peace offering for Hester of leftover croutons. She heard the activity and came to investigate. And now she was watching Caleb and I with definite suspicion. Since I didn’t want her asking how we came into the situation together, I turned the conversation. “So do we know where they are?”