Bright of the Sky (4 page)

It was time to convey the last piece of information. “Your brother,” Lamar said. Damn, this was distasteful. It made even Lamar hate Stefan Polich. “Rob’s turned forty. The only reason the Company keeps him is that he’s your brother. I’ll do all I can for him, Titus, I swear it. But they’ll let him go, you know they will.” He felt like an ass.

Quinn’s voice was eerily quiet when he said, “If you touch my brother or his job, I’m going to put my trains away and come after you. All of you.”

From the yard came a crash, perhaps some jury-rigged tree limb, or a smoke bomb. As the sun broke through a tattered cloud, Titus’s eyes glinted. “Now then. I’ll turn off the system for three minutes. By then, you’d better be gone.” The door slammed shut.

Lamar was left standing on the porch, staring at the door knocker in the shape of an oddly thin and sculpted face, both beautiful and disturbing.

Lamar spoke so that Titus would hear him through the door.

“Titus . . .” No, not Titus any longer; he wanted to be called Quinn. “Quinn, for Johanna’s sake. I thought, for her sake . . .”

From inside he heard the tinny hoot of the St. Paul Olympian racing through the living room.

Along with the damp cold, a sense of dread crept through Lamar’s jacket. Quinn was wrong if he thought this was the end of it. As far as Minerva was concerned, it was just the beginning.

CHAPTER THREE

A
CRASH CAME OVER THE BOW OF QUINN’S KAYAK.
A patchy, thin fog tore now and then to reveal a sky the color of what Johanna used to call cerulean. He sped northward, lulled by the rhythm of paddling. Brief glimpses of the horizon drew his gaze outward, to the limit of sight. Some days he thought he would try to reach that horizon, just paddle without stopping. He’d thought of that more and more lately. He’d even fantasized that he’d find—somewhere past the horizon—the place that eluded him, that kept Johanna and Sydney. The place that Lamar Gelde claimed was now found.

He kept up a brutal pace, propelling the kayak through the chop. It was no coincidence that Lamar Gelde had shown up just when the newsTides were nosing around to do a major story on Titus Quinn, one that would bring unwelcome attention to Minerva’s stellar transport losses. To protect his coveted privacy, Quinn had no intention of giving an interview, but Stefan Polich couldn’t know that. The man would do anything to shut him up, even concoct a story that they might have a lead on Johanna and Sydney.

He sliced the paddle again and again into the waves, reaching for exhaustion, for peace. Not that peace was that easy to come by.

The ocean always conjured that other place, but when he tried to summon the details, all he grasped was fog. And a vast emptiness. In that vastness were his lost memories. This was the reason he couldn’t move beyond what had happened. Because he didn’t know what had happened.

A wisp of fog descended over him. On its fuzzy screen he imagined a strange river flowing. It moved slowly, more like lava than water, more silver than blue. . . . And the things that
rode
the river . . . The image receded, leaving him no wiser. Somewhere in the murk lay his memories of the other place. Ten or so years of memories. But the tests had all shown he was the same age as when he left Earth, still thirty-four years old. Of course, these contradictions only existed if one held to strict rules of logic. And Quinn’s hold on strict rules had always been loose.

Up the beach he could see someone on his property. Paddling fast, he got close enough to see that it was his brother Rob. Caitlin and the kids were with him. They hadn’t spotted him yet. He could still evade them, as he had been doing for two years now, for reasons not entirely clear to him. Rob with his normal family. Those kids. He was becoming a lousy uncle—eccentric, unpredictable, unavailable. He wearily paddled to shore. For Caitlin’s sake, because she always thought the best of him, and he hated to prove her wrong.

As he pulled the kayak up the beach, his brother and Caitlin came down to help. Quinn nodded at them. “I thought you weren’t coming until the twenty-third.”

Rob smirked. “Merry Christmas to you, too.”

Caitlin gave Quinn a big hug, which he returned with feeling. Her face always lit up when she saw him, the last human being who seemed to look forward to seeing him. She wore her light brown hair pulled casually back from her face—round, where Johanna’s was oval, green eyes where Johanna’s were deep brown. He couldn’t understand what a fine woman like that saw in his brother, though he liked Rob, too, after a fashion.

“Uncle Titus,” Mateo shouted, “I found a dead bird!” Down the beach, Mateo was holding a mass of greasy feathers.

“Good!” Quinn shouted. “Give it to your little sister!”

Mateo began chasing Emily with the bird as Caitlin hustled down the sand to forestall a sibling fight.

Quinn gazed at his brother, seeing a mirror image of himself: big-boned, deep blue eyes—but gone a little soft with that desk job he liked so much. “I thought you said you were coming on Friday.”

“This
is
Friday.” Rob gestured at the porch with his armload of presents. “Let’s get these inside.” He stared at his brother. “We
are
invited in? We drove three hours from Portland, Titus.”

“I haven’t got any food or anything. For the kids.” Well, there were some hard candies left over from
last
Christmas.

“Caitlin brought the food, naturally. You don’t think we’d let
you
cook a turkey, do you?”

Quinn helped to carry the presents, feeling like an ass that, again this year, he had more or less forgotten about Christmas. He cut a glance at Rob—Rob doing the brotherly thing, reaching out, doing Christmas. Rob the stalwart, the steady.

Rob hanging by a thread at the company.

Quinn began the unlocking procedures on his front door, fiddling with mechanisms he’d designed himself. Also he’d designed his door knocker. In the shape of an impossibly long face, with finely formed lips and brows, it was cast in bronze from his own carving. Rob took in the view. “It’s nice here.”

“Yes. No one around for miles.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

To avoid a rerun of the lecture on becoming a hermit, Quinn made a show of bundling the packages inside and looking for a place to stow them. He dumped the parcels on the couch, on top of the kayak equipment he’d been cleaning that morning, while Rob carried bags of food into the kitchen. Thunderous jolts from the porch announced the arrival of Mateo and Emily, hollering and streaming sand.

Caitlin managed to grab Mateo by the collar. “Shoes off,” she ordered.

Quinn waved at them. “Don’t bother.” He looked around at the mess. “Little sand can’t hurt the place.”

Emily was drawn to the dining room table, where the Ives New York Central locomotive sat prior to the new headlight installation Quinn had planned for that afternoon. Before his brother showed up a day early.

“Uh-uh,” Quinn said. “Don’t touch, remember?” His heart crimped a little looking at his niece, his memories of Sydney at that age poking up as always when Emily was around.

Emily nodded sagely. “Espensith.”

Quinn smiled. “Very espensith hobby.”

From the kitchen came his brother’s voice. “My God.”

“Oh, that thing in the sink?” Quinn said. “It’s a jellyfish.” He got Mateo’s attention. “Ever seen one? You can see their innards through their skin.”

Mateo dashed into the kitchen to confirm this marvel.

Looking around the living room, Quinn realized he should have picked up a little. He started lifting items off chairs, then spun around looking for where to put them.

“It’s all right, Titus,” Caitlin said. “Really. We don’t need to sit.” She took the pile from his hands and plopped it at the base of a pole lamp. Then, checking that Emily wasn’t listening, she looked him square in the eyes. “How are you? Tell me the truth.”

Quinn cocked his head and put on a jaunty smile. “Good. I’m good.”

“You are not.”

“Am too.”

“We haven’t seen you for months.” The words were reproachful, but her tone made it go down just fine.

“Guess I’ve been too wrapped up in the hobby. You said I should take an interest in things.”

“I meant
people
, Titus.”

“Oh. Well. People are harder.” He noted that the Lionel Coral Isle was going into the curve at the sofa a little fast and flicked his right hand into the digit commands that controlled his railroading models. He could have used a voice-actuated system, but he liked hand controls. He’d always been good with his hands, and wearing the three tiny rings on his right hand, he could manipulate the timing and performance of eight trains on five tracks, no problem.

Mateo was back. “Can I hold the new engine? The one that cost eleven thousand dollars?”

Pointing at the St. Paul Olympian just emerging from the back bedroom, Quinn said, “Just for watching, Ace, not for touching.”

Mateo eyed the sleek train with its brass and die-cast trim pieces as it raced under the dining room hutch. “I wish I had a toy like that.”

“It’s not a toy,” Quinn said, rummaging in the coat closet for the presents he’d mail-ordered for the kids.

“Then what is it, if it’s not a toy?” Mateo asked.

Rob had returned from the kitchen. “It’s an escape.”

Emily pronounced, “It’s a
hob-by
.”

Retrieving the cardboard boxes from the closet, Quinn responded, “It’s a way to keep from thinking.” Then, seeing the worry on his sister-in-law’s face, he put on a cheery grin. “Merry Christmas, to my favorite nephew and favorite niece.”

Mateo rolled his eyes at the old ploy. “We’re your
only
nephew and niece.”

“Well, there you go, then.” Quinn handed the presents to the kids, who received a nod from Rob as to opening them now. They tugged open the boxes, filled with tronic gadgets five years in advance of what either of them could figure out.

“Didn’t have any wrapping paper,” Quinn said.

“That’s okay—” Caitlin was saying, but Rob interrupted. “For God’s sake, Titus.” He looked like he’d say more, then glanced at the kids.

Caitlin’s hand came onto his arm again. Like a dog handler, Quinn thought. Why didn’t she just let Rob have his say? He knew what his brother thought of him. Of his hobby, his crappy little cottage.

Instead of the expected rebuke, Rob said, “Join us for Christmas, Titus.”

Christ, the man had no idea what lay just around the corner, at his cushy little job.

The kids were punching buttons and causing lights to flash on their respective gifts.

Quinn managed a smile. “I’ll try.”

Mateo, still fiddling with his present, said, “Kiss of death.”

“Out of the mouths of babes,” Rob said. He locked a gaze on Quinn. “You aren’t going to come. Why don’t you just say so, save us all from waiting up for you?”

Quinn shrugged. “Okay, then.”

Rob snapped, “Fine with me.” Kneeling next to the kids, he started repacking the gifts, shoving paper into the boxes while the kids watched in dismay.

Emily said, “I thought we were staying.”

“So did I,” her father murmured.

Caitlin watched this familiar interaction play itself out, knowing better than to step between them until they’d each taken a hunk of flesh. If they didn’t love each other, it wouldn’t matter if Titus came for Christmas, but Titus could infuriate her husband in ten seconds flat, without even trying.

“Kids,” she said, “play outside for a few minutes before we head back.” She was letting her husband’s edict stand, and Rob looked surprised.

“I’ll keep them from drowning,” Rob said, knowing when to get some distance from the heat of an argument.

You do that dear, Caitlin thought. You could look at the Pacific Ocean as a drowning pool or a beach adventure. Rob would be watching for beach logs in the surf every time.

Titus was smiling. Damn his blue eyes, anyway.

“I just don’t do Christmas,” he said, engaging and wry. But it wasn’t going to work on her this time.

“You’re slipping away, Titus. From us.” As he started to shake his head, she added, “From yourself.”

He looked around his living room as though assessing whether this could be true or not. But it
was
true. No jollying the kids along, no earnest hobbies could hide the fact that her second-favorite man in the world was becoming one of her least favorite.

Titus’s face relaxed, grew serious. “I don’t much care anymore, Caitlin.”

She shook her head. “That’ll be true in another year. It’s not true right now.”

“It’s not?” He looked hopeful that she was right.

He was giving her some power over him with that simple utterance, and it was a heady gift. “No,” she said, “it’s not. That’s why you’re coming for Christmas.” He didn’t answer, but she hoped he’d come. It would be a small gesture—for Rob, for the kids. She hoped her request wasn’t just for herself. She always worried that she was the only one who felt electricity in any room where Titus Quinn stood.

Happy screams from the beach drew their attention to the open door, where they could see Rob looking at them from the shore. He wouldn’t like her begging Titus to come. So she hadn’t. She’d commanded him. And Titus was at least listening to her, listening with a blue-eyed intensity that held her transfixed. She let herself imagine that he liked a woman who could match his strong will. Not that Caitlin would ever compare herself to Johanna, a woman she’d both loved and deeply envied. They’d been friends: the beauty and the plain Jane. The flamboyant and the responsible. Just once, Caitlin would have liked to trade places.

She picked up one of the toy boxes, using that moment to cover the heat that had come into her face. Standing, she put her hand on Titus’s arm. “Say you’ll come.”

He didn’t answer, but he looked at her, all defenses gone. “I miss them, Caitlin.”

“I know.” Let them go, she wanted to say, but hadn’t the heart.

He reached toward her, and for a moment her breath caught on a snag, but he was taking the gift box from her grasp. “I’ll put these in a bag,” he said, and the moment was gone.

“Titus, at least see us off. Rob will take that for amends.”