The Candlestone (4 page)

Billy put his pencil on the page, but he didn’t make a mark. “Whassup, Walter? Is it my turn on the computer?”

Walter gestured with his finger. “No. Just follow me.”

Billy tiptoed behind Walter down the hall. They reached Bonnie’s bedroom door, and Walter whispered, “Listen.”

Billy pressed his ear against the door. Within a few seconds he heard the distinctive sounds of mournful sobs.

“Did you go in and talk to her?” Billy asked. “Do you know what’s up?”

Walter shook his head. “You know the rules about her bedroom. No trespassing for us y-chromosome types.”

A new voice entered the hallway. “Is something wrong?”

Billy swiveled his head and kept his voice low. “Mom. You’re home.”

“I just got back.” She set a plate of food on the hall table—a thick sandwich, several raw baby carrots, and an apple. “Is Bonnie okay?”

“She’s crying. Is it all right if I check on her?”

His mother’s brow furrowed, and she took a step closer. “Sure.”

Billy tapped on the door with one knuckle. “Bonnie? You okay?”

There was no answer.

Billy turned the knob and pushed the door slightly, allowing his mouth to penetrate the opening. “Bonnie? . . . Um . . . It’s Billy. Walter and my mom are with me.” He waited and listened.

A faint reply floated into the hall. “It’s okay. You can come in.”

Billy opened the door and stepped in. Bonnie was kneeling with her hands on the bed. Her crying had subsided, but she didn’t look up. To Billy, the sight was wondrous. In her praying posture, Bonnie was an angel, beautiful in form and radiant in appearance. He imagined her hidden wings spread out to shield her body, protecting her from whatever tortured her mind. Billy didn’t know much about praying. He had done it a few times, but he wasn’t sure if it really ever worked. When Bonnie did it, she seemed to glow, even through her bitter tears.

With his mother and Walter following, Billy edged toward Bonnie’s bed and stood at her side. His mother knelt and gently rubbed her neck. “Bonnie,” she said tenderly. “What’s wrong?”

Bonnie lifted her head, her wet eyes red with grief. “I . . . I was outside, and he was there.”

“Who was there?” Billy asked.

“My father.”

“Your real father?!”

She nodded and started crying again. “He . . . he wants me to go back to Missoula with him.”

“To Missoula! But what about—”

Billy wanted to kick the bed, but he just tapped it with his toe. He glanced at Walter, wondering how far he could question Bonnie without giving away their secrets.

Walter put his hands in his pockets and stepped toward the hall. “I’m going to get a cold, wet cloth for her.”

Billy’s mom tugged Walter’s sleeve. “Bring a dry towel, too.”

Walter nodded and hustled out of the room.

Billy whispered. “He’s going to make you go?”

Bonnie stood up and turned slowly to sit on the bed, her head bowed. “I don’t think so,” she continued. “At least, he didn’t say that. But I think I need to go with him.”

Billy pushed his fingers into his hair and grabbed a handful. “Need to go with him!? Why?”

She looked up, and her voice cracked. “He says my mother’s not dead.”

Billy’s mom sat next to Bonnie. “Not dead? I thought you saw her die.”

“I thought she was dead when I left her, but my father says I was wrong. She’s in a coma, and he says she calls for me.”

Billy let out a huff. “And the sound of your voice might snap her out of it, I suppose?”

“Yes. How did you know?”

“Sounds like an old movie I saw.”

“And did it work?”

“Well . . . yeah.” Billy walked to the other side of the room and came back, holding his palms up. “But this isn’t some corny old movie; it’s real life. And how can you trust him, anyway? Didn’t he rat on you and your mom to a dragon slayer?” Billy closed his eyes while he paced. Something wasn’t making sense, and he couldn’t put his finger on it. There were so many weird things happening lately he couldn’t put it all together.

Bonnie’s eyes followed Billy around the room. “That’s exactly what I asked myself. That’s what I’ve been asking God. How can I trust a man like him?”

He stopped in front of Bonnie’s poster of a praying girl. “Well, asking God and all that is great, but maybe you should ask your father for proof.”

“Proof? Like what?”

He waved his hand toward the poster. “Like a picture, a picture of your mom in the hospital bed. Or we could call the hospital and ask about her condition. If she’s there, they’ll tell us. But if she’s really dead, there’ll be a death certificate somewhere. I’m sure Walter’s dad can dig that up.”

Billy’s mother rose and stood next to Billy. “He’s right, Bonnie. I’m sure we can get to the bottom of this.”

Bonnie’s eyes sparkled with new life. “Can you believe it? When he held out his hand to me, I almost took it. I almost left with him then and there.”

Billy’s face burned, a surge of compassion coursing through his body. His muscles flexed as if ready to go to battle, and he tried to think of some way to communicate his feelings to Bonnie, some way to strengthen her, too. “You can believe this,” he said, extending his hand toward her, “you can always trust me. This hand will never lead you astray.”

Bonnie took his hand and pulled herself to her feet. Her fingers caressed his ring, the ring that held the rubellite stone his father had given him, and her matching ring clicked against his. “I will never forget those words,” she said softly. “I do trust you.”

At that moment Walter walked back into the room, a white facecloth in one hand and a towel in the other. Bonnie took them gladly and washed her tear-streaked cheeks. She took a deep breath, and her face regained its usual glow. “We’d better get some rest,” she said. “We have a lot of detective work to do tomorrow.”

Mr. Foley strolled into the dining room carrying a cup of coffee and a yellow legal pad. Walter and his mom sat on one side of the table, and Billy’s mother sat between Billy and Bonnie on the other side. They were still dressed in church clothes, having arrived home to a scant brunch that Mr. Foley had prepared while they were gone. The leftovers lay scattered around the table—half of a cold piece of toast on a serving plate, shallow pools of milk at the bottoms of cereal bowls, and orange pulp clinging to the rims of several glasses.

Mr. Foley took a seat at the head of the table, grabbed a pen from his ear, and scratched a note on his pad. “Okay, I made a bunch of calls. There is an Irene Conner listed in the hospital database in Missoula, and she is in a coma.” He sipped his coffee and drummed his fingers on the table. “I pulled all the strings I had, but we couldn’t come up with a death certificate. That’s not conclusive, though. I couldn’t raise much activity so early on a Sunday morning.”

He looked at Bonnie, his face turning dark and sad. “In any case, Bonnie, your father showed up. We can’t declare abandonment. He’ll have to relinquish his rights voluntarily.”

Billy grabbed his spoon and tossed it into his bowl. “Fat chance of that.”

“That only means we can’t legally adopt you,” Mr. Foley added, “at least not yet. It doesn’t mean you have to go with him. We can fight for child endangerment, but that would be hard to prove, since all he did was draw blood. It’s fair to assume he was qualified to do it, and we have no idea what he was doing with your blood.”

Bonnie kept her gaze fixed on the table, and she nodded with tight lips and a firm chin. “Don’t I have to take the chance?” She looked up, tears glistening in her eyes. “If there’s any chance at all, don’t I have to take it?” She extended her arm, pointing westward, her voice trembling. “Didn’t Billy risk his life for me up there on that mountain when the only proof he had was a lock of hair? Shouldn’t I do the same for my own mother?” She sniffed and covered her face, her tears flowing in earnest.

Billy stood up, his face burning. “What I did is history. And I was wrong; you weren’t there on that mountain. That doesn’t mean I wouldn’t do it again. I would! But Devin fooled us, and he has so many cronies, he could be fooling us again. Should we just waltz right into another one of his traps without checking it out first? I say we demand a video, or at least a picture of Bonnie’s mom in the hospital.” He sat down again and put his chin on his fists.

Billy’s mother draped her arm over Bonnie’s shoulders. “That shouldn’t be hard to arrange. Surely someone can e-mail us a digital photo.”

“Right,” Walter agreed. “I’m with Billy. I wouldn’t trust this guy as far as my mother could throw him.”

Mrs. Foley’s forehead wrinkled. “As far as I could throw him? Why me?”

“I’ve seen you throw,” Walter replied, shrugging his shoulders. “Sorry, Mom, but you throw like a sick duck.”

“A sick duck?”

“Yeah. Remember when you threw the baseball and it hit the window?”

“Yes. So?”

“Well, you barely quacked it.”

A shower of boos and balled-up napkins rained on Walter, but the doorbell interrupted the jeers. Bonnie jerked her head toward Billy. Her eyes gave away her fear.

Mr. Foley rose from his seat and answered the door in the foyer. His voice drifted back to the dining room. “Yes, Dr. Conner. I’m Carl Foley. Come in. We’ve been expecting you.”

“Thank you, Mr. Foley. Call me Matt. Bonnie told you I’m a doctor?”

“Yes, a research professor in pharmacy at the University of Montana, newly appointed dean, if I’m not mistaken. I must admit that I have checked up on you.”

The two joined the others at the table. Dr. Conner tugged on his shirt cuff, then dug his hand into his pocket. “That’s perfectly understandable.”

“Yes,” Mr. Foley went on, “and Bonnie told me she talked with you briefly last night when she was out for a walk.”

Dr. Conner glanced at Bonnie and smiled. “A walk?”

Bonnie turned crimson and shifted her backpack higher.

Billy edged between Bonnie and her father. “Mr. Foley, didn’t she say she just went out for some fresh air?”

“Right,” Mr. Foley replied. “What’s the confusion?”

Dr. Conner pulled on his cuffs again and straightened his watch. “None at all. It’s just that she was kind of zipping along when I saw her. I wouldn’t have called it walking.”

Mr. Foley tapped his thick fingers on the table and cleared his throat. “Dr. Conner, Bonnie and I have discussed this, and considering the circumstances, I think you would agree that some sort of positive proof of your claims is reasonable. After all, technically you are not the legal custodian. She’s in the foster system now.”

The doctor’s lips pursed, and his tone hardened. “You’re requiring proof to allow me to take my own daughter home? Don’t give me that nonsense about the foster system. She was made a ward of the state without my consent and without a court order.”

Billy had to admit that Dr. Conner had a good point. Their demands of proof seemed pretty silly now.

Mr. Foley squared his shoulders. “If you want a legal fight, Dr. Conner, I assure you I can deliver one. If, however, you can prove that Bonnie’s mother is still alive, I’ll have no legal grounds for keeping her here.”

Dr. Conner cleared his throat and resumed a congenial air. “Considering the circumstances, I can agree to that. Have you called the hospital?”

“Yes,” Mr. Foley replied, “the operator reported that your wife is listed in their computer as a patient, but we were wondering if someone at the hospital could send us a photo of her.”

Dr. Conner lowered his head a moment and then raised a finger in the air. “No need to bother anyone for that. I have a picture on my laptop. I’ll go and get it.” Without waiting for a response he hurried outside.

Billy fingered the handle on his spoon and flipped it out of the bowl. He mentally followed Dr. Conner’s progress to the car and back. Did Bonnie’s dad really have a photo of her mom? Could it be a fake? If he could produce a photo, how would they be able to tell a real one from a phony? After several more seconds of uneasy silence, Billy spoke up. “It has to be a recent photo. We don’t want anything from months ago.”

“Right,” Mr. Foley agreed, drumming his fingers again. “It has to —”

Dr. Conner reentered, unzipping a leather case. “I took one yesterday morning before I left for the airport. I thought Bonnie might want to see a picture of her mother.” He placed the computer on the table, and the screen flashed on, taking a few seconds to boot up. The doctor tapped the keyboard, and a photo replaced the screen’s desktop, an image of a woman covered by blankets up to the chin of her calm, pale face. A feeding tube protruded from her nose, and various medical supplies and equipment surrounded her bed. A photo of Bonnie sat on a table next to a vase of wildflowers.

Bonnie drew closer to the screen. She covered her mouth with one hand, and two suppressed sobs pushed through her nose and lips. “It’s her,” she cried, her voice tortured but still under control. “It’s my mother!”

Mr. Foley blinked twice and tapped the base of the laptop. “May I use the computer for a moment, Doctor?”

Dr. Conner turned the screen his way. “Be my guest.”

Mr. Foley pecked a few keys. He let out a low “Hmmm” and then rotated the computer back toward Dr. Conner. “The file is timestamped yesterday morning.”

Dr. Conner nodded. “I understand your mistrust.” He pulled a disk from the laptop case and inserted it in the drive. “I’m making a copy for you. You can check it all you want. You’ll see that it’s authentic. My wife is very sick, and all I want to do is help her and get my daughter back.” He popped the disk out and handed it to Mr. Foley.

Billy clenched his fists. He wanted to argue, but his supply of reasons was hurtling off a cliff like a bunch of lemmings.

Dr. Conner rose from his seat, packed up his laptop, and threw the strap over his shoulder. “Bonnie, I know you don’t trust me yet, but when you see your mother, I’m sure you’ll feel better about everything.”

Bonnie’s wet, red eyes darted all around. Billy could only swallow hard, trying to push down the swelling knot growing inside.

As if reading the fervent distrust in the room, Dr. Conner added, “My flight is a private charter, but I don’t have permission to invite anyone. Otherwise you would be welcome to join us.” He placed a business card on the table. “This is my address. Please come and see us anytime. Just give me a call.” He then extended his hand to his daughter. “Bonnie, we shouldn’t delay. We have to drive to the Charleston airport. Remember, your mother is calling you. Will you come?”