“Bend forward,” I said, handing him a towel.
He caught up most of his wet hair, twisted, and squeezed before letting the towel drop to the floor. I kept an eye on him as he dried his body with a fresh towel and sat on the toilet seat, waiting for my next instruction.
“Brush?” I handed him one with wooden teeth.
Tanner stroked his wet hair and patted the brush on his towel-covered thigh.
“Do you have an extra elastic?” he asked, picking up the brush again. He quickly divided his hair into three sections and fashioned a short, neat braid. I handed him a hair tie. He glanced at me, cut his laugh short as his features arranged themselves into an unreadable expression. “Got any clothes that’ll fit?”
“Wait here,” I said. Tanner and Thatcher were close to the same height, and my younger son had amassed a collection of sweatpants, full-length and cut-off. I found a pair stacked on top of the dryer, along with a T-shirt. Tanner would have to forego underwear.
I handed him the clothes.
“One more thing, Calli. Can you look at my back? My skin feels kind of raw.”
He was right; his skin needed attention. A bottle of wild rosehip oil sat in arm’s reach.
“Put the pants on,” I said. “Then sit down, and I’ll do your back.”
There was no way I could rub the oil directly onto the roughed-up patches. I poured the oil into my palm and drizzled it onto his shoulder.
While I patted the areas that looked the most painful, I filled him in on the events he’d missed. “Malvyn took custody of Sallie’s parents. An RCMP officer showed up right after he and James left. All four teens are upstairs, and Rowan stayed here too. She’s sleeping in my office. And I didn’t see Wes or Kaz or my grandfather went I went to the kitchen, but—”
Tanner reached for my hip. “Wait a sec. Did you say your grandfather is here? When did that happen?”
“After you left, when we were still trying to figure out what was what, I heard someone calling me.” I snorted softly as I pushed the bottle of oil away from the edge of the sink and washed and dried my hands. “Seems like that’s becoming a thing. Let’s just yell or whisper ‘Calliope’ until she looks up or looks down or steps onto the porch, and then we’ll throw another curveball at her, see how she does.” My voice shook, along with my hands.
“C’mere.” Tanner had stood and was pulling the T-shirt over his head. The faded cotton stretched tight across his chest. At least the hem sat below his belly button. Gathering me to his chest, he said, “Tell me more.”
“His name is Christoph. I don’t know if he has a last name. He’s my father’s father, and he’s a gyrfalcon.” I lifted my head away so I could look Tanner in the eyes. “He has wings. Wings.”
“He’s the bird-man Kaz was talking about, isn’t he?” He lifted the hank of hair that kept falling in my face and let it slide through his fingers.
“How did you guess?”
“You said it yourself, Calli.” He used his forefinger to tuck the bothersome hairs behind my ear. He then traced the curve of the same ear with his thumb and smoothed my earlobe. “Curveballs. There are very few gyrfalcon shifters, fewer than a dozen, last I checked. It makes perfect sense in a curveball crazy way that the bird-man Kaz wanted to find for Harper would already be related to you.”
“I suppose you’re right,” I said. “But it’s going to take me a helluva long time to process the fact that I’ve got a living, breathing, flying grandfather. And that I have a name for my father.”
“What is it?”
“His name was Benôit.”
“Was?” The thumb that had left my earlobe longing for more touch now caressed the side of my jaw.
I nodded, pressing my forehead hard against Tanner’s sternum and taking comfort in the steady beat of his heart below layers of cloth, skin, muscle, and bone. “Christoph has no idea if my father is alive or dead. All he told me is Benôit fell in love with a selkie, used her skin to enable him to swim, and gave his heart to the sea, rather than the wind.”
“That sounds so poetic.”
“You should hear me after I’ve had a glass or two of wine.” I smoothed the cotton over his pectoral muscle and gave a halfhearted giggle.
“What do you want to do now?” he asked, stroking my hair down the back of my head to the ends. He slid his fingers to the base of my scalp, through the unbrushed tangles, and tugged.
I glanced at the window. “It must be at least six thirty, seven,” I said, lulled by his touch. “Are you hungry? There are four teenagers upstairs. I have no idea how long they’ll sleep, but I know they’ll be hungry when they wake up.”
“I’m starving. Let’s go make breakfast.”
“Is there any more to tell me about what happened last night?”
His body stiffened then relaxed. “I’m going to have to see Jessamyne again if we want answers to her part in Abigail and Clifford’s disappearance.” He stopped playing with my hair and slid the side of his face against mine until his mouth neared my ear, squeezing me so tightly against his chest I could barely take in a breath. “I wanted to be your hero, Calliope.”
When he released me and I reached for the door, his openness shut down, fast and tight. I had no response for what he’d just whispered. I gave Tanner his privacy and ducked into my bedroom to add a bra and pair of cargo pants to my ensemble.
In the kitchen, the rote movements of mixing batter and heating the waffle press soothed my jumbled head. Tanner unwrapped a fresh stick of butter and placed a saucepan of maple
