The Hero's Redemption

“So you’re satisfied with his work?”

Hadn’t she said so? But skepticism was probably part of his job description. “Yes.”

“Were you acquainted with Mr. Meacham before his prison term?”

“No, I overheard him applying for a job in town, and thought he might be willing to take on short-term work for me.”

He had more questions. How long did she expect to employ Cole? She guessed at least a month. Yes, he was welcome to stay in the apartment after that, provided he did the work on it. She verified the address. West Fork was not in Whatcom County, where Mr. Meacham was supposed to go. Did she know why that hadn’t worked out? No, she had no idea.

Yes, this was her phone. She didn’t mind if Ramirez called from time to time. She walked into the garage and scribbled his phone number on a sheet of notepaper, below the list Cole had come up with for her next lumberyard run.

When she pocketed the phone again, she went out to find Cole swinging the hammer with short, violent motions. Wham. Wham.

“I’ll come up with a rental agreement,” she said to his back. He quit hammering but didn’t turn. “That way, you can show it anywhere you need to.”

He nodded. Wham. Wham.

O-kay.

An hour later, he barely glanced at her when she told him she was heading out. When she returned, she showed him the two different kinds of roofing nails she’d bought because she hadn’t been sure which was the right one.

“These,” he said, taking the bag.

That was the extent of their conversation for the rest of the afternoon.

Erin knew she shouldn’t feel hurt. She understood why he detested needing help and how he must’ve struggled with himself to accept her offer of the apartment and then have to ask her to vouch for him. Friendship wasn’t part of their deal. He hadn’t really even been rude, just withdrawn.

But it was as if she’d become invisible. She had felt more alive since she brought Cole home with her, more purposeful, less isolated. Now she had to retreat. She excused herself early and went inside, taking a hot shower that didn’t warm her at all, not where it counted.

Rationally, she knew she had friends, if she didn’t shut them out. Aunt Susan left an occasional phone message and emailed daily, her worry obvious. Erin’s mother had died of breast cancer, her father in an accident, both way too young. Maybe they could have anchored her to the present, if they were still alive. As it was, the people who had died felt more real to her than the ones still living. Especially the girls. It was as if nothing but a semitransparent veil separated them from her. In this mood, she imagined they were waiting for her to step through the veil to their side. They couldn’t go on without her.

Erin lay on her bed, curled on her side, gazing at the square of bright light that was her window. She stopped hearing the hammering or the occasional scrape of a handsaw. Napping now would be a mistake; she’d never get to sleep tonight. But that was okay. It had been a couple of weeks since she’d gone for a drive.

Tonight, she thought, and closed her eyes.

* * *

COLE HAD TAUGHT himself to sleep lightly, to awaken at the slightest sound that was out of the ordinary.

He snapped to awareness when he heard a car door close with deliberate softness. Lying rigid, he listened. The digital clock Erin had put at the bedside said 2:33. Anyone coming or going in the middle of the night wouldn’t want to disturb the neighbors. Especially if that person was stealing a vehicle.

When the engine started, he knew it was Erin’s Jeep. Shit. He jumped out of bed, reaching the front window just before the dome light went off. In that fraction of an instant, he saw her. While he watched, she reversed, then drove down the driveway. Brake lights flickered before she turned onto the street.

He didn’t welcome the uneasiness he felt as he stared out at the dark yard and dimly lit street. The closest lamp was half a block away. Where was she was going? Wouldn’t she have awakened him if she had some kind of emergency?

His mouth tightened. Why would she? What was he but her charity project, after all?

She might have been restless. Or she’d started her period and gone out for supplies. Or a friend had called and needed her. There were plenty of logical explanations. He was projecting if he thought that whatever ghost haunted her and shadowed her eyes had sent her into the night.