The Lost - J. D. Robb [67]
A moment came when I thought I had a chance.
“Look!” Monica said, stopping, pointing up. “See it? A redheaded woodpecker.”
“Where?”
“Right there. Three, four—five branches up, left side, that maple tree.”
Sam knew birds; they’d become his hobby when we bought the cabin. “I think that’s a red-bellied woodpecker.”
“But it’s got a red head.”
“It’s got a red crown. A redheaded woodpecker’s head is completely red.”
“But where’s its red belly?”
“It’s hard to see; you have to be closer.” His hand went slack during this fascinating conversation, his attention focused completely on the bird. I let the leash go loose to soften him up even more, then gathered my feet under me and leapt.
And almost pulled Sam’s arm out of the socket.
“Hey!”
I’d almost strangled myself, too, but I had the wit to go into a bedlam of barking, pretending I’d seen something incredibly exciting, a rabbit, a deer, an elephant. When Sam told me to cool it, calm down, I obeyed instantly. “Good girl,” he had to admit.
“She is,” Monica agreed, surprised.
“I really think she’s starting to get it.”
Escape-wise, lunchtime was a bust because Sam looped the leash around one leg of the picnic table. Nothing to do but lie down and be good, and munch on tidbits Benny and the twins let fall from time to time.
Sam asked Monica if Benny could stay late at her house on Thursday, and I learned something I didn’t know. “We’re moving up the closing on the cabin,” Sam said. “Guy decided to pay cash, so there’s no reason to wait.”
“Oh,” Monica said. “Well.” And then, when the kids were talking, she said, “I’m sorry,” just loud enough for Sam (and me) to hear.
“No, it’s good. Really. The money’s coming just in the nick.”
Well, didn’t that just tie it. Another reason, as if there weren’t enough already, to act fast. What else could possibly go wrong in the human world?
After lunch, Sam did his disappearing saltshaker trick. I always knew it had to end up in his lap somehow, but I could never figure out how. A new perspective changes everything.
“Have you been doing any magic shows lately?” Monica asked, cutting big pieces of layer cake for everybody. Homemade, naturally. What a perfect family we must have looked like to everybody else in the park. Mom, Dad, three kids, the faithful dog.
“No, no.” I recognized Sam’s fake-careless voice. “That’s all . . . I don’t do that anymore. No time.”
“Ah,” Monica said softly. “Too bad. But I guess with the new job and all . . .”
“Right.”
“Do you still . . .” Hate it, she was going to say. But she changed it to “Is it getting any better?” even though Benny wasn’t listening—too busy comparing his loose tooth to Ethan’s.
“It’s a job. I’m in no position to complain.”
“You don’t complain.”
“It’s just . . . well, you know.”
“It is what it is.”
So profound.
But a little later, I wondered if maybe Benny had been paying attention, at least to his father’s tone of voice— upbeat but tight, a world of discontent just beneath the surface. Because Benny pulled on Sam’s sleeve, interrupting something Monica was saying, and told him about troodon dinosaurs. “The male sits on the eggs and guards the nest, Dad. I read about it. He’s the mom. She goes out and does stuff and he stays and makes the nest safe and keeps the babies warm.”
All Sam said was, “How about that,” but he put his arm around Benny’s waist and pressed him close.
Oh, Benny. Light of my life.
Monica decreed the grass was now dry enough to play games on, so that was what the boys did, with Sam. I got to stay where I was and watch Monica clean up.
Desperation was creeping in. How in the world was I going to pull this off? To be this close and still fail—I couldn’t think about it. Maybe if I . . .
“What, Sonoma? Do you have to go? Do you have to do business?”
Bingo. It was partly the high whine, partly the soulful-eyes thing. They never let me down.
“I’m taking Sonoma for a walk,” Monica called over to Sam, who waved and went back to swinging the kids around in a game of statue.
She picked the secondary trail this time, the one that wound east, under a cement