So I’m left with the slight possibility that he’s found a home I once lived in. It’s not much to cling to, but I’d rather calm my anxiety with that hope than let it distract me from helping Rafe. He stands in the grass next to me staring through the fence at his house, so close our knuckles almost touch. I’m itching to nudge him into action. Instead, I scan our surroundings for any sign of Xers.
So far, the only sound is the brush of leaves in the wind and if I strain, the gurgle of the creek and car tires on a far off road. But an attack could ruin this quiet at any moment, and the faster we can get out of here, the better. Still not wanting to rush Rafe, I pull out my Jo Staff. At the very least I can be prepared to shield us if necessary.
Rafe glances down at me and grins.
“What?”
He shrugs. “Nothing. Just glad I have one less thing to worry about tonight. Any Xer who thinks about attacking is going to wish they hadn’t.”
I spin my staff. “You got that right. Now go K.O. your unfinished daddy business.”
Rafe’s dimple disappears again and his nostrils flare, but he gulps in a breath and nods. “Yes ma’am.”
With a heavy sigh, he slips through the gate and I follow, my senses still on high alert. A small square of light breaks the darkness in a far corner of the back yard. It comes from what looks like a shed. Though somewhat shabby, it’s well-sanded and sturdy. Unlike the gray wood of the house and the fence surrounding it, the shed is built with warm, almost rosy looking planks.
It also smells intensely of cedar, just like Rafe.
Curiosity nudges me to the window. A lanky man with a thick beard and sad eyes sits on a bench next to a carpenter’s table, illuminated by a single bulb in a bare lamp. He bends over a small piece of wood, running his knife along it in smooth, even strokes. A pair of glasses sits on the very tip of his nose. Beyond the lines and weight of years, I can see Rafe’s bone structure, his jaw.
I rub Rafe’s shoulder. “You ready?”
“As I’ll ever be.” He swallows and runs a hand through his hair a few times. “Be on the look out, huh?”
“Holler if you need me.”
I give him one final squeeze before he slips through the wall, then turn sideways to keep an eye on things, and watch what happens. A little nosy, but I’m also here to help. If I don’t know what’s going on in there I definitely can’t do that.
Rafe pauses a few feet inside the shed and takes a deep breath. Then another, just watching his dad cut away at that wood, giving form and art to something shapeless and merely functional. He works slow and steady, never rushing in his work. With each stroke of the knife a layer of tension slides out of his shoulders. He sets it down to brush his fingers across one of the curves, blowing flecks of sawdust away from his work.
At that moment, Rafe’s form ripples slightly. “Dad?”
Mr. Warren jumps a little, nearly dropping the piece of wood. His eyes widen and his mouth drops. I clench my teeth, nerves raw as Mr. Warren’s heels scrape against the floor. He breathes heavily for a moment and I chance a glance back out at the yard and the dimly lit house. No sign of movement, so far.
“Rafe?” Mr. Warren asks in a harsh whisper. “You’re here.”
I look back in through the window and my throat clenches. Tears fill Mr. Warren’s eyes. His face flushes. Setting down his piece of wood, he eases onto his feet and extends a hand to his son.
“Are you...can I…?”
Rafe steps forward, enveloped in the kind of hug he deserves, ducking his head into his dad’s neck. Tears warp my vision. I sniff and glance around again to give them a moment of privacy. All is still quiet, though now I catch some movement in the house. Rafe’s mom — I grimace at the undeserved moniker — walks into the kitchen, a tumbler in her hand.
Hopefully she’ll stay in there, but I’ll have to keep an eye on her. Leaning my head against the wall next to the window, I watch Rafe’s mom, and listen to his conversation with his father.
“I’m sorry, Dad,” Rafe says in a thick voice. “I shouldn’t have—”
“Stop, you didn’t do anything wrong.” Mr. Warren sounds much steadier than before, much stronger. “I’m the one who should be sorry. I never stood up for you, never once. I failed you as a father and I’m so sorry.”
Tears dump down my face and I can’t help but look back into that shed. Rafe’s staring at the ground, his eyes red rimmed, hands in his pockets. Tension twists through his jaw, winds through his forearms.
“I didn’t realize how mad I was at you for that.” He swallows.
My heart swells with no small amount of pride. Admitting something like that can’t be easy, especially considering the admiration I heard in Rafe’s voice before when he’d described their relationship.
“But I know she hasn’t exactly treated you great either,” Rafe says.
Looking back out into the yard, I try not to snort, though Mr. Warren does. “Sometimes it’s hard to stand up to the people you love, but that’s no excuse for me not protecting you. And now I’ve lost you forever.” He clears his throat. “Why are you back? Is there something I can do to help?”
I only realize then that Mrs. Warren isn’t in the kitchen anymore. Shoulders tight, I squint into the living room
