The Promise of Home (22 page)

Even from a distance, he could see the deer's large, dark eyes. He didn't want to kill it. He didn't want to kill anything ever again. But a deer would feed his family for a long time, and he couldn't bear the thought of his mother and grandmother going hungry.

Michael looked one final time through the sights and squeezed the trigger.

Fifty yards away, the deer jumped, ran a few yards, staggered, and fell.

He waited a few minutes and then walked along the brook until he reached the carcass. It was a button buck, its nubs of antlers just beginning to protrude from its head. The bullet had hit right behind the shoulder, ensuring a quick kill.

On the one hand, he was pleased that the deer hadn't suffered for long, as it might have if the bullet hadn't hit the vital chest area. But he was all too aware of his ability to ensure a quick demise, and the shot just reinforced this awareness. It also made him feel guilty, and a little afraid—of what he was, and of what he was capable of doing.

As quickly as he could, Michael took out his knife and gutted the deer. He saved the heart and liver, placing them in his game bag. Even after it had been field-dressed, he estimated that the carcass weighed a good eighty-five pounds. He was several hundred yards from the barn, and with a rifle to carry, he faced a difficult task in getting the deer back to the farm.

With his gun tucked in the crook of one arm and his other hand grasping one of the deer's rear legs, Michael trudged slowly toward the barn. He had to stop frequently to rest, or to kick away bramble or other vegetation. The hand he was using to hold onto the deer grew sore with fatigue. When he finally reached the barn, his clothes were soaked through with sweat, and the twilight had nearly given way to darkness.

Inside the barn, Michael sank heavily onto a bale of straw to rest for a few minutes. As soon as he caught his breath, he got a rope from the supply closet and suspended the carcass head-down from one of the thick wooden beams. Tomorrow after school, once the deer had had a chance to cool, he would skin and section it. After that, he would quarter it and debone the meat. It was a big job, getting a whole deer ready to be frozen or canned, but maybe his grandmother would help him once he had it in smaller pieces.

She was standing before the stove stirring a pot of soup when he came inside. His mother was sitting at the table, which had been set for dinner.

“Well?” His grandmother looked at him expectantly.

“I got a deer,” he said without smiling. “It's in the barn, field-dressed.”

“That's wonderful!” his mother said. “We haven't had venison in so long. Maybe I'll make a stew for supper tomorrow, if I feel up to it.”

“Your venison stew is divine, Anna,” his grandmother said.

Wordlessly, Michael put his rifle and ammunition back in the gun cabinet and returned to the kitchen. He placed his game bag on the counter for his grandmother to empty and began to wash up. He was exhausted and grimy, soaked through on his bottom from where he'd been sitting on the damp ground, and there was blood smeared on his hands and caked beneath his fingernails. He was drying his hands and thinking how, after supper, it would be lovely to have a rare midweek bath, when someone knocked loudly on the front door.

“Goodness,” his mother said, flinching in her chair. “Who in the world could that be?” She went to the door and turned on the porch light before glancing out through the window. “Oh, dear Lord,” she said in a frantic whisper as she looked back at them. “It's the police.”

A
fter returning from their visit with her father, Karen was straightening up the kitchen while Ben sat at the table doing his homework for Monday.

Their visit had been uneventful. Her father hadn't given any indication that he'd recognized either one of them, even when she'd put on his favorite Louis Armstrong music. Sitting in the recliner in his room with his eyes half open, he'd hardly moved at all. Ben's mood had improved considerably when, after only thirty minutes, she'd decided they'd been there long enough.

“That's a relief,” her son had said as they exited the care facility. “I hate this place.”

Although she'd never admit it to Ben, she was feeling relieved, too. As hard as it was for her to see her father's deteriorating condition, the increasingly frequent days when he was unresponsive were so much more difficult.

Now that they were home, she was struggling to stay busy and to project some semblance of normalcy for Ben's sake. Every few minutes, her thoughts would drift to Nick, or something she or Ben said would involve him. Each time it happened, the worry and fear she felt over his absence would shoot up to the forefront of her thoughts like a poison dart. Although she really wanted to slip into her dark bedroom and take refuge from those feelings under her covers, she instead curled up on the couch under a warm throw.

“Hey, Mom, if I get all my homework done early, can we go do something fun?”

Now that she had made herself comfortable on the sofa, the last thing Karen wanted to do was go out again. “Like what?”

“We could go to the park and shoot baskets. Like Dad always does with me.”

Karen knew she should agree to Ben's request. For some reason, though, she felt no desire to take her son to the park. She had no emotional reaction at all to his plea, not even guilt at denying him a reminder of his missing father. Some part of her knew she shouldn't feel that way. It wasn't normal; actually, it was a warning sign. But that realization, along with the small voice of her conscience urging her to give in to Ben, was quickly stifled by a vast mass of apathy.

“I don't think so, honey. I really don't feel like going all the way out to the park, and besides, it'll be dark before long.”

“Could I go over to Gabe's for a little while, then?”

Gabriel Wells was her son's best friend, a nice kid who lived with his family two blocks over. Gabe's father was a teacher in Rutland, and his mother worked part-time at the post office in Mill River. He had a younger sister named Sophie who occasionally tried to convince the boys to play Barbies with her.

Karen was thankful that Gabe was in Ben's life and that they lived close enough to easily spend time together. Their friendship was a good distraction for Ben while Nick was away.

Nick.

Deep breath. Steady. Focus.

“Sure. What kind of homework do you have?”

“Algebra. And I have to write a two-page book report for English.”

“That doesn't sound too bad.
Robinson Crusoe
?”

“Uh-huh. I finished reading it last night.”

“You're good at guessing what I was going to ask next,” she said with a chuckle. The laugh felt strangely automatic—shallow, almost devoid of emotion, and disconnected with her inner self. “Did you like it?”

“Yeah, it was pretty good. Way better than
Little Women.
”

“I don't know about that,” she said. “I really loved
Little Women
. Still do.”

“That's 'cause you're a girl, Mom.”

She smiled—another reflexive response, something she was supposed to do to appear normal but that she didn't feel. “Right, of course that's it.”

“Hey, what's for dinner?”

“What sounds good?” She had no appetite, and she hoped that whatever Ben wanted would be simple to fix.

“Hamburgers.”

“Again?”

“I love hamburgers,” Ben said, looking up from the paper. “Sloppy joes are good, too. And spaghetti.”

“All those things take ground beef, which we're out of.”

“So just go to the store,” Ben said matter-of-factly. “I'll stay here and finish my homework.”

Karen closed her eyes.
You need to take care of your child,
the voice in her head said.
You need to get off this couch and go to the store.

“All right,” she said. Reluctantly, she sat up, successfully pushing back against the strong force that wanted to tether her to the sofa. “If I'm going shopping, I'll get stuff for the week so I don't have to make another trip for a while. What kinds of vegetables do you want?”

Ben looked up at her with his lip curled.

“All right, I'll surprise you with the vegetables.”

“Oh! Get some cereal, too—Frosted Mini-Wheats—milk, and some stuff for sandwiches. And we're out of bananas.”

“Wow, that's quite a list. Maybe you should just come with me and do homework later?” she asked. Everything Nick had told her about the size of growing boys' appetites was absolutely true.

Nick.

Deep breath. Steady. Focus.

“Just kidding,” she said with a smile in response to Ben's deer-in-the-headlights look of panic. “I know you hate food shopping. I'll be back in an hour or so.”

“Okay.”

“Remember, don't go out, and don't open the door for anyone while I'm gone.”

“Mom.” Ben rolled his eyes. “I'm thirteen, you know.”

“I know,” she said. She kissed the back of his head as he looked down at the table, focusing again on his schoolwork.

At the little grocery store on the edge of Mill River, she pushed her cart purposefully, methodically, up and down every aisle, regardless of whether she needed something in it. Now that she was there, the store turned out to be a welcome change of scenery, a place where she wasn't alone but also wasn't bothered. She found it soothing to peruse a wall of salad dressings. The display of olives—green, with or without pimentos, black, kalamata—was fascinating. So many of the spices for sale in the display rack were new or foreign to her. What in the world was garam masala used for? And why would something so exotic appear for sale in Mill River's little grocery store?

Karen continued toward the meat counter, where she picked up ground beef and some chicken that was on sale. The store was running a special on sirloin steaks, too, thick ones that would be perfect on the grill.
Nick would love one of those,
she thought
. Marinated, then grilled medium-rare with onions and mushrooms on the side…

Nick.

She'd done it again. It was impossible to avoid thinking about him for long, and although part of her wished she were capable of it, a bigger part knew she wasn't and wouldn't have it any other way.

There were two registers open at the front of the store. Karen glanced quickly at the people in line and, relieved that she didn't know any of them, pushed her cart into place at the rear of the line that was shorter. She had just finished putting her groceries on the moving belt when a man behind her asked, “Would you mind passing me one of those dividers?”

Karen quickly reached for one of the plastic rods to place between her groceries and his. “Thanks,” he said when she handed it to him. He placed it on the conveyor belt and began to unload the few things he had in his shopping basket.

She realized that he looked familiar. For a few minutes, she discreetly studied him, trying to figure out where she'd seen him. It didn't take long for the answer to come to her. “Aren't you the new police officer in town?” she asked.

“Yes, ma'am. No uniform today, though,” he said, glancing down at his old T-shirt and sweatpants. “I'm Matt Campbell.”

“Karen Cooper. Nice to meet you,” she replied. “I saw you a few days ago, in the hardware store.”

“Oh, really?” Matt said with a small grin. “Yeah, I ran in there looking for upholstery cleaner. New puppy.”

“Ah.” Karen smiled and nodded. “New puppy, new messes.” Matt grinned at her, and his friendly demeanor encouraged her to continue the conversation. “I thought I overheard you tell the clerk that you served in the Marines before you became a police officer?”

“Yes, ma'am, I did, for sixteen years,” he said.

“That's a long time,” Karen said softly. “Thank you for your service.”

“I was proud to do it,” Matt said. “Though I'm glad to be back in the States permanently. Three tours in the Middle East were enough.”

Karen smiled again, although she felt like crying. She busied herself by arranging her groceries on the conveyor belt and reading the tabloid headlines until the customer ahead of her in line had completed his transaction. When he'd taken his receipt from the cashier and pushed his cart through the aisle and toward the exit, Karen stepped forward.

“Hi,” the cashier said to her. “Did you find everything you were looking for?”

“Yes, thank you,” she replied. Once she had removed her check card from her wallet, she glanced back at Matt again. “I was wondering…” she began, although when he realized she had spoken to him and looked her full in the eyes, she almost changed her mind about asking him the question. The intense, serious way he had focused on her reminded her so much of Nick. “I was wondering, while you were stationed in the Middle East, did you ever go on missions to rescue people held hostage by militants?”

Matt's expression transformed into one of surprise before a crease formed between his brows. “Personally, no, I never did, but lots of guys in my platoon had. Some of our missions were designed to keep abductions from happening in the first place. We were always being sent out on security patrols. Why do you ask?”

“I know someone whose husband has gone missing over there. In Saudi Arabia.”

“Oh. Wow. That's tough,” Matt said. Karen noticed him clenching his jaw as he seemed to grasp for words. “Kidnappings are way down from what they used to be, but it doesn't make it any easier for people who are still being taken, or for their families. There are isolated groups of militants and terrorists everywhere, even in countries we didn't invade.”

“Yes,” Karen agreed. “I've heard.”

“If it's any comfort, tell your friend that our guys over there don't give up. If one of them goes missing or an American civilian gets snatched, there's no stopping until the person's found. They consider it a sacred duty to protect innocent people. I did, too, when I was over there.”

“That's good to know,” Karen said. She felt the moisture building in her eyes and turned away from Matt to swipe her check card through the electronic reader. “With that kind of loyalty, Mill River's lucky to have you.” She hurried to sign the receipt and leave the store.

“Tell your friend I'm sorry about her husband,” Matt said before she pushed her cart out of the aisle. “And tell her she should keep the faith.”

“I will,” Karen said softly. “I will.”

In the marble mansion, Emily had covered the floor in tarps and set up her ladder. She was pouring a tray of paint when Matt let himself in through the back door. Gus, who was curled up on a large dog bed in the corner of the room, got to his feet and whined.

“Emily?” Matt called as he came into the room. “Hi. And hey, Gus, how's that good boy?” he said, bending down to pet the large dog. “He's keeping you company, today, huh?”

“Yeah. It's hard on him being alone so much, and this way I don't have to run home at set times to let him outside. He's hung out with me on lots of jobs.” She looked at Matt's grubby attire. “I guess you're serious about helping. I thought after last night, you might bail on me.”

She glanced up around the great hall, which was entirely edged in fresh off-white paint. Matt had been a huge help, although she hated to admit it. The fact that he was back, on his day off, no less, was even more impressive.

“Nah,” Matt said. “We got the hardest part done yesterday. Brushwork is tedious, but rolling the paint on is a cinch. It can even be fun. And look, I brought snacks and some cold drinks.” He held up two plastic grocery sacks.

“That's really nice of you, thanks!” Emily said. “You can put the drinks in the fridge if you want. I was just getting started.”

When he left to go to the kitchen, she got Gus settled on his cushion and poured a second tray of paint for Matt to use.

“I'll get up on the ladder and do the upper portion of the walls if you can take the lower parts,” she said, handing him a paint roller with a long handle. “You're taller than I am, so you'll be able to reach higher.”

“Yes, ma'am,” Matt said as he accepted the roller, but the crinkles at the corners of his eyes told her that this time, he had called her “ma'am” on purpose.

They worked for several minutes without speaking, the sound of wet rollers spreading paint reverberating throughout the room.

“You seem a little quieter than yesterday,” Emily said. She didn't look at Matt as she spoke but instead fixed her gaze on the wall above her head. “Are you sure you're not having second thoughts about doing this?”

“Oh, no, I'm definitely where I want to be. I was just thinking…I stopped off at the store on my way over, and the woman next to me in line struck up a conversation. She said she'd overheard me talking to you last weekend in the hardware store.”

“Really?” Emily lowered her roller. “That's weird. The only other person who came in then was…Oh. It was Karen. Karen Cooper.”

“You know her?”

“Yes, she was a year ahead of me in school. I didn't know she was living in town again, but I talked with her a little bit after you left. What did she say to you?”

“She wanted to know about military rescues in the Middle East, like whether I'd ever gone on a rescue mission while I was there. Said she knew someone whose husband has been kidnapped by militants.”