The Great Escape (45 page)

L
UCY FOLLOWED HIM DOWN THE
steps to the dock and into the boathouse. The creaks of the boat at its mooring had been the sound track of their lovemaking, but unlike her, Panda didn’t seem to be plagued by painful memories. He directed his flashlight toward the cabin door. She was almost certain she’d latched it after she’d searched here earlier, but now it was slightly ajar. He eased it open and shone his flashlight inside. She peered around him.

Toby lay curled in the front berth, the one in the bow, sound asleep.

Her relief left her momentarily light-headed. Panda passed her cell phone back. She retreated to the stern and called Bree. “We found him in the boathouse,” she said breathlessly. “He’s asleep.”

“Asleep?” Bree sounded more furious than relieved. “Don’t let him get away! I’m coming.”

Lucy didn’t like what she was hearing, but Bree hung up before Lucy could advise her to calm down first.

Panda emerged with a very groggy, very dirty Toby. The boy’s clothes were filthy. Dried blood crusted his arm and smeared his cheek. His legs were covered with honey-saturated grime, and patches of hair were glued to his head. “I didn’t hurt anything on the boat,” he muttered, looking frightened.

“I know you didn’t,” Panda said gently.

Toby tripped on the steps up to the house and would have fallen if Panda hadn’t steadied him. Just as they reached the top, Mike came running around the side of the house. When Toby saw him, he began to stumble toward him.

“Toby!” Mike exclaimed. “What were you thinking? You should never have—”

Their reunion was interrupted by a banshee’s scream as Bree shot out of the woods. “
Toby!
”

Mike froze. Toby instinctively stepped backward, away from all of them, only to butt up against the picnic table.

She looked like a wild woman, clothes caked with grime, red hair flying. “How could you do something so awful?” she screeched as she dashed toward him across the yard. “Don’t you dare do anything like this again!” Before any of them could stop her, she grabbed him by the arms and started to shake him. “Do you have any idea what could have happened to you? Any idea at all?” Her fingers dug into his flesh; his head jerked.

All of them lunged for her, but before they could touch her, she wrenched Toby tight against her. “Anything could have happened to you. Anything!” She started to cry. “You scared me so bad. You shouldn’t have left. I know I yelled at you. I was out of control. I’m sorry. But you shouldn’t have run away.”

She pushed him back a few inches, cradled his cheeks in her hand, and turned his face up, her voice choked with emotion. “Promise me you won’t ever run away from me again. If we have a problem, we’ll talk about it, okay? Promise me.”

Toby stared at her mutely, his eyes huge.

She rubbed her thumbs across his grimy cheekbones. “Do you hear me?”

“I promise.” A big tear spilled over his bottom lid. “But we lost everything,” he whispered. “Because of me.”

“We didn’t lose you, and that’s what’s most important.” She pressed her lips to his forehead. “We’ll figure something out about the rest.”

All the fight left him. He wilted against her. His arms snaked around her waist. She hugged him tightly and buried her lips in the top of his head. He’d finally found safe harbor, and his small body began to shake as he tried to hold back his sobs. Bree crooned something only he could hear.

Mike stood apart from the rest of them, an outsider once again. Toby hadn’t looked at him once since Bree had arrived.

“Let’s go home,” Lucy heard Bree whisper to Toby. “I’ll make us some pancakes. We’ll sleep late tomorrow. How about that?”

His words came out on a hiccup. “Your pancakes aren’t too good.”

“I know.”

“I don’t care,” he said. “They’re good enough for me.”

She kissed the top of his head. Their arms around each other, they walked toward the woods. Just before they stepped into the trees, Bree stopped. She looked back at Mike. Lucy saw her begin to lift her hand only to let it fall back to her side. Another long moment passed, and then she and Toby disappeared.

Mike stayed where he was, alone in the pool of dim yellow light. Lucy had never seen anyone look so devastated. “I wanted to adopt him,” he finally said in a disconcertingly quiet voice. “I was going to talk to her about it tomorrow.” He gazed toward the trees. “She could have sold the cottage and made a fresh start somewhere else. I thought she’d like that.”

Lucy understood. After what they’d just witnessed, Mike knew that Bree loved Toby every bit as much as he did and that she’d never let him go.

Lucy heard herself say, in a voice very much like Dr. Kristi’s, “Making her happy is important to you, isn’t it?”

He nodded. “Always has been. From the moment I set eyes on her. She only remembers what a clueless idiot I was. She’s forgotten about the times the other kids weren’t around when she’d draw for me or we’d talk about music. Goofy stuff.”

“She cares for you,” Lucy said. “I know she does.”

“Pretense. She puts up a good front because she needs me.”

“I don’t think that’s true. She’s changed as much as you have.”

He wasn’t buying it. “It’s late. I’d better get home.” He dug into his pocket for his car keys.

This was wrong. Lucy knew it. But as he turned to leave, she couldn’t think of anything to say that would make it right.

Panda had been quiet during their exchange, but now his voice cut through the hushed night. “I could be wrong, Moody, but it looks to me like your days of being a clueless idiot aren’t over.”

She turned to stare at him. She was supposed to be the perceptive one, not Panda.

Maybe because the words had come from another man, Mike stopped. He looked back at Panda, who shrugged. Mike glanced toward the path. And then he began to move.

B
REE HAD JUST REACHED THE
back steps when she heard a loud rustling in the woods. Toby leaned against her side, warm and solid. Beloved. She turned and saw Mike come out into the yard. Her chest constricted.

He stopped at the edge of the trees and stood there. If he was waiting for her to run into his arms, he’d be waiting a long time. She cradled Toby tightly against her body and gazed at Mike. “I’ve lost just about everything,” she said quietly. “You can believe I’m using you for a meal ticket. Or you can believe the truth. What’s it going to be?”

Toby went unnaturally still, as if he’d quit breathing.

Mike’s hands slipped into his pockets, his salesman’s confidence deserting him. “I know what I want to believe.”

“Make up your mind,” she said. “You’re either part of this family or you’re not.”

Still he didn’t move. Instead of looking at her, he looked at Toby. Then he began walking slowly. But he didn’t make it all the way to the back steps. Instead he stopped halfway. “Toby, I love Bree.” His throat worked as he swallowed. “I’d like your permission to marry her.”

Bree gasped. “Hold it! I’m—I’m glad you love me, but it’s way too soon—”

“Really?” Toby exclaimed. “
Really?
I say yes!”

She couldn’t believe the leap of faith Mike was making, the courage he displayed in offering his heart to someone he had no right to trust. But it was three o’clock in the morning, and they were exhausted. It was too early to talk about the future. She needed to set him straight. Except in order to do that, she first had to stop smiling, and she couldn’t seem to manage that.

As Mike gazed into her eyes, she pressed her cheek against the top of Toby’s soft head. “I love you, too. With all my heart. But for now, I’m only interested in pancakes.”

Mike cleared his throat, which didn’t stop the swell of emotion in his voice. “How about I make them? I’m really good at it.”

She looked down at Toby. Toby looked up at her. “I say yes,” he whispered.

She had Toby in her arms, but her eyes found Mike’s. “I guess I’ll have to say yes, too, then.”

His blazing smile cut through all the darkness left inside her. She held out her hand. He took it. And the three of them went inside.

L
UCY COULDN
’
T GO BACK TO
the cottage tonight. Whatever was transpiring there needed to unfold without an outsider looking on. She straightened her shoulders. “I’m going to bunk down in the boat for what’s left of the night.”

Panda stood by the picnic table, one foot on the bench. “You can stay in the house.”

“The boat’ll be fine.” But before she went anywhere, she had to clean up. Not just from the dirt and honey but from the tiny slivers of glass cutting her. Even though the outside shower only had cold water and she had nothing to change into, she didn’t want to go in the house. She’d wrap up in one of the beach towels and change at the cottage in the morning.

She walked past him toward the shower, hating this stilted awkwardness, hating him for causing it, hating herself for being so hurt by it. “The shower’s not working,” he said from behind her. “The pipe broke last week. Use your old bathroom. I never got around to moving back downstairs.”

That seemed strange, since she’d been out of the house for almost two weeks, but she wasn’t asking questions, wasn’t saying more to him than she needed to. As much as she dreaded going in the house, she couldn’t sleep while she was such a mess, and without a word, she made her way inside.

The kitchen door gave its familiar creak, and the old house embraced her, still smelling faintly of damp, coffee, and the ancient gas stove. He flipped on the overhead light. She’d vowed not to look at him, but she couldn’t help herself. His eyes were red-rimmed and his beard stubble villainous. But it was what she didn’t see behind him that surprised her. “What happened to your table?”

He acted as if he needed to search his memory. “Uh … Yeah … Woodpile.”

“You got rid of your precious table?”

His jaw tightened, and he sounded unnecessarily defensive. “I kept getting splinters from it.”

He’d thrown her off balance, and she was even more disconcerted when she noticed something else was missing. “What about your pig?”

“Pig?” He’d acted as though he’d never heard the word.

“Fat little guy,” she snapped. “Speaks French.”

He shrugged. “I got rid of some stuff.”

“Your pig?”

“What do you care? You hated that pig.”

“I know,” she sneered. “But hating it gave my life focus, and now that’s gone.”

Instead of delivering a counterpunch, he smiled and took her in. “God, you’re a mess.”

His tenderness made her heart constrict, and she threw up her defenses. “Save it for somebody who cares.” She stalked toward the hall.

He moved behind her. “I want you to know … I … care about you. It’s going to be hard not seeing you. Talking to you.”

His gruff, begrudging admission was salt in her open wounds, and she whirled around. “Fucking me?”

“Don’t say that.”

She curled her lip at his indignation. “What? Didn’t I use the word right?”

“Look, I know I pissed you off at the beach, but … What was I supposed to say? If I were a different person …”

“Stop right there.” She thrust up her chin. “I already dumped you. This isn’t necessary.”

“You were in a vulnerable place this summer, and I took advantage of that.”

“Is that what you think?” She wouldn’t let him shatter her pride, and she charged toward him. “Believe me, Patrick, my eyes were wide open through our tawdry little affair.”

But he wouldn’t let it go. “I’m a Detroit roughneck, Lucy. You’re American royalty. I’ve been through too much. I’m not good for you.”

“Got it,” she sneered. “You were put through hell as a kid, hell as a cop, so you’re taking a pass on life’s messy stuff.”

“That’s not true.”

“It’s true, all right.” She needed to shut up, but she hurt too much to stop. “Life is too hard for you, isn’t it, Panda? So you live it at a coward’s distance.”

“It’s more than that, damn it!” He clenched his teeth, ground out the words. “I’m not exactly … emotionally stable.”

“Tell me about it!”

He’d had enough of her, and he headed for the stairs. She should have let him go, but she was drained, furious, and out of control. “Run away!” she called after him, too out of control to see the irony in accusing him of what she’d done herself. “Run away! You’re a champ at that.”

“Damn it, Lucy …” He spun around, his eyes dark with a misery that should have stirred her pity but merely fired her anger because all that pain spelled the death of something that should have pulsed with life.

“I wish I’d never met you!” she shouted.

His shoulders dropped. He braced one hand on the banister, then let his arm fall. “Don’t wish that. Meeting you was … There are things that happened.”

“What things? Either spill your precious secrets or go to hell!”

“I’ve already been there.” His fingers were white where they gripped the banister. “Afghanistan … Iraq … Two wars. Double the fun.”

“You told me you served in Germany.”

He came down off the bottom step, walked around her, moving just to move, ending up in the living room. “That was easier than telling the truth. Nobody wants to hear about the heat and sand. Mortar attacks, rocket grenades, IEDs exploding without any warning tearing off legs, arms, leaving holes where a heart should be. I have images seared on my brain that’ll never go away.” He shuddered. “Mutilated bodies. Dead kids. Always dead kids …” His words trailed off.