knew, the Dani he loved.
“ A lot can happen in two years,” she said.
“ I saw the television commercial for Save the Children. I was proud of you.” He wondered if that was it. Sure, he thought, seeing all those poor kids in those poor countries would harden anybody. His heart went out to her.
“ Thanks, I enjoy helping out and it’s made Daddy proud of me.”
“ I’ve always been proud of you, dear,” Warren said.
“ Not always,” she said, and Broxton thought of her literary agency.
“ Always,” Warren said. “You proved you can be a success in a tough field. What father wouldn’t be proud? Then you gave it up and came to work for me and made me even prouder. I’ve always felt like I’m the luckiest man alive.”
Her smile toward her father was warm and genuine, her eyes now a window to the Dani of old. She was a little girl pleased that her father was proud, then something happened, her eyes appeared to glass over for a second, like her mind was elsewhere. He sensed that she wanted to be somewhere else, that she had other plans, that he was interrupting, intruding.
“ I’d love to sit up and talk the night away, but I’ve been up for the last twenty-four hours. I’m about to pass out.” It wasn’t exactly the truth, but he wanted to give Dani time to adjust to his being in Trinidad and he needed time to adjust to Dani engaged to someone else.
“ Of course,” Warren said. “Your room is at the end of the hall.”
“ Wait,” Dani said, sharp, quick, almost a shout. Broxton stopped, set his bag down and met her eyes. “Not that room,” she said.
“ Why not?” Warren said.
“ I think he’d be more comfortable upstairs with us. Not down here like a guest.”
“ But I am a guest,” Broxton said.
“ No you’re not. You’re family.”
“ It’s a better room,” Warren said, “with a bigger bath.”
“ No, Bill should stay upstairs, with us, not in the stuffy guest bedroom.”
Warren shrugged, looked at Broxton and smiled. It was a good sign, Broxton thought. She wanted him upstairs, close to her, not on the opposite end of this big old house.
“ Upstairs is fine, as long as it’s got a bed. Who needs a large bath anyway?”
“ Then it’s settled. Follow me, Bill.” She spun around and started for the staircase.
“ She always gets her way,” Warren said.
“ She always has.” Broxton picked up his bag and followed her up the steps and then into a large bedroom with a king-sized bed.
He set his bag at the foot of the bed and peered into the attached bathroom. “This is about the size of my apartment in D.C. and you say the one downstairs is bigger. I’m beginning to feel slighted.”
She laughed and he enjoyed the sound. Now she appeared open and vulnerable. He wanted to ask her about the story in the newspaper, but he was afraid that it would spoil this moment between them.
“ It’s good that you’re here, Bill,” she said. “I’ve missed you.”
“ I’ve missed you, too,” he said.
“ Look, I’ve got some things I have to do tonight that I can’t get out of, so why don’t you get some rest and tomorrow maybe we’ll go sailing.”
“ Sounds good to me,” he said. Then she was gone. He looked over at the bed. He was tired. He felt the mattress, firm, comfortable. He stretched out on it without removing his clothes. He’d only intended on a few minutes rest but in seconds he was asleep, dreaming of Dani, the ring in his pocket, and the desperation in her eyes.
Chapter Nine
Earl woke to the smell of his own sweat in the tall grass. Shivering, he brushed an unseen insect off his neck as he sat up. He looked to the sky, now covered in clouds. It was either very late or very early. He checked his watch, 5:30. He felt a sharp pain at the base of his skull. He ran a hand back there and found a large bump. It wasn’t cut, and for that he was thankful, but it hurt.
“ Are you okay, mister?”
He turned toward the sound of the voice.
“ I thought you were dead, but I felt your neck pulsing, like they do on TV, and I knew you weren’t.”
The insect was this boy’s finger searching for life.
“ That’s good,” the boy said, “’cause I sure didn’t want to get the police.”
“ Why not?” Earl asked. He was cold and wet. His body ached from the thrashing it had taken in the river. His head felt like it was being used as a snare drum, and he had to piss like a pent up storm, but he’d been too many years a cop. He wanted to know what a child was doing out by the river, so far from town, alone.
“ I’m running away from home,” the boy said.
Earl’s skin crawled and he shook with the cold. “Not very warm out,” he said.
“ Don’t I know it,” the boy answered. “It rained while you were asleep, but the sun will come back. It always does.”
“ Your parents must be worried.”
“ They’re getting a divorce. They don’t care about me.”
“ How long do you think you can live out here?”
“ Oh, a long time. I got a two man tent and a sleeping bag over there.” He pointed toward the falling sun peeking through the clouds. “I got enough canned goods for a couple of weeks and I got friends that’ll sneak me more when they run out. I can stay hidden forever.”
“ It sounds like you’ve thought of everything.”
“ I’ve been planning a long time,” the boy said. Then he added, “Are you hungry?”
“ Powerfully,” Earl said.
“ I thought you would be. I saw you climb out of the river. Then you crashed. I thought you might be dead.”
“ I’m not dead,” Earl said.
“ My name’s Mick,” the boy said. “My mom named me after Mick Jagger. He’s in the Rolling Stones. That’s a rock band.”
“ I’ve heard of them,” Earl said, smiling despite his suffering body.
“ Can you get up? Can you walk?” Mick asked.
“ I think so,” Earl said, and he pushed himself to his feet.
“ Okay, follow me. We’re having hot dogs for dinner.” The boy walked with a self assured swagger. He was at home by the river and Earl guessed that he was a veteran of many camping trips with his father.
He groaned when he walked, but the boy didn’t look back. He ran a hand over a pain in his side and winced when he remembered slamming into a rock. He flexed his fingers, then his toes, then ran his head in a circle. Everything ached, but everything seemed to be working.
“ You got a nasty cut over your eye,” the boy said without turning around. Earl reached up and felt the scabbing wound. “And a bad bruise on your chin,” the boy said, with his eyes still forward. Earl moved his hand to his chin. He put a little pressure on it and grit his teeth against the tenderness. “I can imagine what the rest of your body looks like,” the boy added, as he moved into a clearing.
“ Nice place,” Earl said, admiring the tent and the small cook stove in front of it. “Nobody would ever find you out here.”
“ That’s the plan,” Mick said, then he crawled on his hands and knees into the tent, the flap closing behind him. In a few seconds an eight pack of hot dogs appeared out of the flap, followed by a hand that quickly vanished back inside. Then came the buns sitting on top of a plate. Then butter, mustard and ketchup on another plate and a quart of orange juice.
