Callum's knowing grin told her she’d made another conversational gaffe. Talking to him was like walking through a minefield of potential double entendres. For once, he decided to let it go and changed the subject. He wandered over toward the trench with yellow and black tape still fluttering around it.
"Shame about Ben. Dying all alone like that." He sounded genuinely concerned, which surprised Adriel into doing the math. Callum and Ben would have been of a similar age. If Callum grew up here, they probably had been friends.
"Did you know him?"
"It’s a small town. Everyone knows everyone. He was a couple years behind me in school, but we were friends." she heard the pain behind the simple statement.
"Were you surprised to think he might have run away from home?"
"I never bought that story for a minute. No one with half a brain and eyes in their head would have. Ben and his family were tight, and he wasn’t the kind of kid to get into trouble. Rodeo Bill started those rumors back in the day." Callum spit the words out like a condemnation—and like there was more he could say, but chose not to.
"Rodeo Bill? I've met him. He seems like quite a character." Wanting to hear more, Adriel gestured for Callum to take a seat in one of the chairs on the porch, then lowered herself into the other.
"That's one word for it. The Allens got a raw deal. Some folks turned on them, and others turned their backs in case the stigma of losing a kid was somehow catching. I know my mother was paranoid for months. No one asked us kids what we thought happened."
"Children often see more than adults credit them for. I'd be interested to hear your thoughts on the subject."
"We figured he'd gone exploring and gotten lost. There's a set of caves up on the hill that were off-limits, but we used to sneak up there anyway. A kid could get stuck in the smaller tunnels where an adult would never fit. Bunch of us kept searching long after there was any chance he could have survived. I guess we figured if we found a body, at least we could bring him home.” It haunted Callum—the lack of closure and the thought of Ben trapped under the ground alone. Learning Ben’s whereabouts after all this time raised a lot of questions.
As though talking about him had called Ben to them, Adriel heard the card on bicycle spokes rising above the sounds of singing birds and buzzing insects. Her eyes flicked past Callum to note the small figure pedaling furiously toward the cabin.
Ben fishtailed into the yard and jumped off the seat with excited energy. “I remembered something,” he shouted. “Right before I…before it happened, I looked over my shoulder and saw a plane. Who’s that?” Ben didn’t recognize Callum.
Thinking fast, Adriel figured out a way to answer the question without speaking out of turn, “I’m sure Ben would appreciate how hard you and your friends worked at trying to find him, Callum.”
Registering surprise, Ben said, “Callum? He’s Callum McCord? He’s old.”
“It’s his sister I feel sorry for the most. For thirty years she’s lived with innuendo and suspicion. Woman’s got guts to stay here and face that kind speculation. Anyone with a lick of common sense knew his family never hurt that boy, but that didn’t stop the talk.”
“People can be cruel.” No one knew that better than Adriel. An eternity of watching some of the things humans chose to do to each other might have left her thinking the species was beyond redemption—if not for the numerous acts of shining kindness they were prone to as well. “Most of the time, cruelty is born of fear.”
“Maybe so.”
The moment spun out. Ben standing at the edge of the porch, face sober as he processed the information Callum had inadvertently provided—Callum falling silent while he remembered a boy gone far too soon. Words failed Adriel. Nothing she could say to either of them would make this easier. Only time had the power to heal all wounds.
***
The sound of raised, angry voices once again penetrated Adriel’s sleep. What was it with this place? Wearily, she sat up in bed and twitched the curtain aside to see what was going on now.
Half a dozen citizens carrying signs blocked Gideon and his crew from gaining access to their equipment. Too tired to care whether or not her clothes matched, Adriel threw on the first items that came to hand—a floral top over a striped skirt in clashing colors, and jammed her feet into two different styles of flip flops. Gustavia would have been so proud.
Behind her, the screen door creaked and slammed as footsteps heavy with frustration fell across the porch. Enough. She had had enough. Righteous indignation carried her right into the middle of the two groups.
“Give it a rest. For the love of all that’s holy. All I want to do is wake up to the sound of rain on the roof or birds singing. Do you people really think this is the way to handle things?” She rounded on the sign carriers led by Rodeo Bill. “It’s been three weeks of constant racket disturbing my sleep and look,” dramatic arm wave, “they’re almost done. You’re too late to stop this, and really, what is the point? All you are doing is delaying the work and costing more time and money. Go home. Or maybe you’d prefer if Zack Roman came out to take all your fingerprints? Someone should be held accountable for the damage they’re trying to fix. Go home and let these men do their jobs.” A hint of angel slid through her voice, making the command more powerful. After a short burst of protest and a few sidelong glances at the irate redhead, the picketers looked toward Rodeo Bill to signal their next move. He rounded on Adriel, and
