Chapter 22
Even that smelly old cave at night wasn’t this silent. I tug on my earlobes to dim the bells going off in my brain. Did he just say…?
Richard fidgets in his chair. “Let me—” He stops, rubs his finger against his lips, then starts again. “Let me back up a bit.” His breath almost turns into a little laugh, but it dies halfway. He stands, probably to pace, but there’s nowhere for him to go. Sleeping bags and pillows block him in.
“Here, let me get those.” Dad shoves them aside, sliding Andrew over so he doesn’t get stepped on.
Richard takes a few steps toward the fire. “Grover and Amy sort of grew up together. He’s the reason she left town.”
My gaze flicks to the floor for a second. Grover’s the reason? A twitch pulls at Richard’s face like he wishes he’d said less as I plan out what to say next. “Amelia told me her mom left when she was little.”
“Yes.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Thank God for my mother. Things have been…difficult with Amelia and me. I don’t know what a girl her age needs. I’m not good at that kind of thing. Mother has…well, she’s been amazing.” He lowers himself into the chair.
I need to make this sound casual. Casual. Not like I’m a crime scene investigator. “Is Amelia like her mom?”
He clears his throat, raises his eyebrows. “Ha, no. Amy’s a free spirit. We married three months after we met.
“That’s fast,” Mom glances over at Dad, and he winks. My parents dated for four years.
A quick laugh bursts from Richard. “Indeed. It was.” His eyes flit around the room, landing on the cluttered dining table, then the kitchen. “But we were crazy about each other.”
Dad moves toward the fire. “Want something to drink? Got coffee and hot chocolate on.”
“That would be nice. Thanks.” He coughs twice. “Black coffee’s fine—whatever’s easiest. I don’t want to be a bother.”
Whipped cream clings to the inside lip of my mug, and I lick it away planning out my next words. “I met your mother today—at the hospital.”
“Oh!” He drags his fingers through his hair, straightening it out. “You probably figured her out pretty quickly.” He rubs the back of his neck like he can’t keep his fingers still. “She’s…She has a way of deciding what’s best.” He offers a quick smile. “She’s usually right, though.”
Logs crumble as Dad pokes them, and he adds another to the fire. The silence that follows is awkward.
“So where was your residency? I’m guessing it wasn’t here.” Dad brushes dirt from his knees.
“Saint Luke’s in Boise.” Coffee steams in Mom’s hand, and Richard reaches for it. “We lived there until Amy’s parents got sick.” He sips his coffee, rolling his tongue around inside his mouth before lowering the cup.
“So, you had to move back to Silver Pines? That must have been rough.” Mom settles back in beside me.
“It was. Amelia was about three years old then. She and I moved in with Mother.” He shifts his gaze to the fire, and his fingers drum against the coffee mug. “Actually, I’m sorry. Could I have some cream?”
“Yes, of course.”
I run my fingertip around the rim of my cup. Based on my limited exposure to Amelia’s grandmother, there’s no way Grover was the reason Amy left town. “I bet Amelia misses her mom,” I say, taking another sip from my mug.
His head jerks up suddenly, like he forgot I was in the room. Andrew grunts as he turns over, and everyone pauses, not wanting to wake him up.
“Yes. We…We’re still married. Legally. I never signed anything. But—” He drifts off again. Dad and I exchange a look.
“Richard?” Dad’s hands wrap around his coffee cup, arms resting on his knees. He takes a sip. “What are you after from Darcie?”
The clock on the mantel chimes. Richard flinches—just slightly, and he stares at the flames. “I was hoping…that Darcie might remember something specific. About Grover. Or—” He presses his fingers to his forehead like Amelia does when she’s trying to think. “If I could just understand why Grover…did this. Was he trying to get to Amy, or get Amy to Amelia?”
I didn’t think of that, but now I can’t unthink it. “If Grover knew Amelia was Amy’s daughter, he sure didn’t let on. And there’s no way Amelia knew there was a connection. She was pretty much out of it the whole entire time, anyway.”
He straightens his back. “It just doesn’t seem possible that this was random. It’s too big to be a coincidence. He had to be using one to get to the other.”
Pulling my robe tighter around me, I give him my best skeptical look. “Maybe. But he sure didn’t act like he knew Amelia.” Which is true. He didn’t. “It was only when Grover was really worried that he sort of zoned out and called her Amy. Like when she had a really high fever and he was trying to get the infection in her leg under control. He chewed up some mossy plant stuff and pressed it into the wounds—It worked.”
Mom nods. “That’s what I would have done, too.”
“He helped her?” Richard asks. “She didn’t tell me that.”
“I’m sorry, but I think your mom has something to do with Amelia not telling what really happened. Grover did a lot for us. He saved Amelia’s life—twice.”
Richard stares into his coffee like it has all the answers. “Mother is just trying to protect her. Amelia means the world to her.”
I let that hang there a minute, remembering Amelia’s description of her family. I try one more thing. “There was one other weird thing that happened, but not with Grover.”
He scoots forward.
“Amelia—when she was really burning up—called me ‘mama’ and thanked me for giving her a blanket. She kept running her fingers over the stitches of the quilt, telling me how pretty it was.”
He slides back into the chair, but he’s not relaxed. “Quilt? Her mother—Amy—made those for everyone. His voice is distant. “She used to—” He stops abruptly, swallowing down the emotion in his voice. “My mother got rid of the ones in the house after Amy left. Said it wasn’t good for Amelia…to remember.”
Jokes on her. Amelia definitely remembers. I twist Mom’s afghan through my fingers. “Dr. Davis?”
He raises his chin.
“Maybe you should ask Amelia about it.”
Coffee sloshes over the rim as he quickly sets down the mug. He holds my gaze, and the look he gives me makes my chest hurt. I can talk to my dad about anything, but Amelia was even surprised that her dad showed up at the cave.
“I should go,” he says. “I’ve taken enough of your time. Thank you, Darcie. Maybe I will talk to her.”
Maybe?
Dad rises, reaching out his hand. “Parenting—especially doing it alone — it’s tough.” Their hands hang there, connected.
“Right,” Richard says. “The thing is, I…we…” He grips the door handle, pulling it open just enough for cold air to slip in. “I’ll try…” He swallows. “I’ll talk to her.” He stands in the doorway for a second, shoulders tight, like he might change his mind and turn around. Instead, his footsteps hit the porch hard and fast.
Once he’s in the car, the motor comes to life, followed by the familiar crackle of tires rolling over gravel.
Seconds later, snuggling in next to us, Dad runs his hand over my head, kissing the top. “You okay, kiddo?”
My eyes drop to the blanket in my fingers. “Do you know that when we were lost in the woods, Amelia thought no one would come looking for her? And when we were in the hospital, she was alone in her room most of the time?”
Dad stares at the front door like he can see Dr Davis’s car disappearing down the road. “That’s a lonely thing for a kid to believe.” His calloused hand slides down my arm. “But you should know—you’ll never have to wonder if someone’s coming for you. Because I will. Always.”
And there’s no doubt in my mind that what he says is absolutely true.