The Rescue

Chapter 15

Sunday was mercifully cooler than the day before. Hazy clouds had blown in that morning, keeping the sun from venting its full fury, and the evening breeze had picked up just as Taylor pulled up the driveway. It was a little before six when his truck bounced over the potholes, his wheels spinning gravel. Denise stepped out onto the porch, dressed in faded jeans and a short-sleeved shirt, just as he was climbing out of the truck.

She hoped she didn’t look as nervous as she felt. It was her first date in what seemed like forever. Okay, Kyle would be with them, and it wasn’t technically a real date, but even so, it felt like one. She’d spent almost an hour trying to find something to wear before finally making her decision, and even then she questioned it. It wasn’t until she saw that he was wearing jeans as well that she breathed a little easier.

“Hey, there,” he said. “I hope I’m not late.”

“No, not at all,” she said. “You’re right on time.”

Absently he scratched the side of his face. “Where’s Kyle?”

“He’s still in the house. Let me go get him.”

It took only a minute before she was ready to go. As she locked the door on the way out, Kyle took off running across the yard.

“Hewwo, Tayer,” he called out.

Taylor held the door open for him and helped Kyle up, just as he’d done the day before.

“Hey, Kyle. Are you looking forward to the carnival?”

“Ess a monstew twuck,” he said happily.

Immediately after scrambling onto the seat, he climbed behind the wheel again, trying unsuccessfully to turn it from side to side.

Denise heard Kyle making engine sounds as she drew near. “He’s been talking about your truck all day,” she explained. “This morning, he found a Matchbox that looks like the truck you drive and he wouldn’t put it down.”

“What about his airplane?”

“That was yesterday’s attraction. Today, it’s the truck.”

He nodded toward the cab. “Should I let him drive again?”

“I don’t think he’s going to give you the chance to say no.”

As Taylor made room for her to climb up, she caught the trace of his cologne. Nothing fancy, probably something from the local drugstore, but she was touched that he’d put it on. Kyle scooted over to make room for him, then immediately crawled into his lap once Taylor was situated.

Denise shrugged, an “I told you so” expression on her face. Taylor grinned as he turned the key.

“All right, little man, let’s go.”

They did the big figure S again, taking their time, bumping haphazardly over the lawn and around the trees before finally reaching the road. At that point Kyle scooted off his lap, satisfied, and Taylor turned the wheel, heading into town.

The ride to the carnival took only a few minutes. Taylor was busy explaining various items in the truck to Kyle-the CB, the radio, the knobs on the dash-and though it was clear her son didn’t understand what was being said, Taylor just kept on trying anyway. She noticed, however, that Taylor seemed to be speaking more slowly than he had the day before and was using simpler words. Whether it was because of their conversation in the kitchen or whether he’d picked up on her own cadence, she wasn’t sure, but she was gratified by his attentiveness.

They pulled into downtown, then turned right onto one of the side streets to find a parking space. Even though it was the last night of the festival, the crowds were light, and they found a spot close to the main road. Walking toward the carnival, Denise noticed that the booths along the sidewalks were fairly well cleaned out and the people who ran them looked tired, as if they couldn’t wait to finally close down. A few of them were already doing exactly that.

The carnival was still going strong, however-mainly kids and their parents, hoping to enjoy the last couple of hours of entertainment that the carnival would provide. By tomorrow everything would be loaded up and on its way to the next town.

“So, Kyle, what do you want to do?” Denise asked.

He immediately pointed to the mechanical swing-a ride in which dozens of metal swings rotated in circles, first forward and then backward. Each child had his or her own seat-supported at each corner by a chain-and kids were screaming in terror and delight. Kyle watched it going round and round, transfixed.

“It’s a swing,” he said. (Ess a sweeng)

“Do you want to ride the swing?” Denise asked him.

“Swing,” he said with a nod.

“Say, ‘I want to ride the swing.’ ”

“I want to ride the swing,” he whispered. (Wonta wide ee sweeng)

“Okay.”

Denise spotted the ticket booth-she’d saved a few dollars from her tips the evening before-and began to reach into her purse. Taylor, however, saw what she was doing and raised his hands to stop her.

“My treat. I asked, remember?”

“But Kyle . . .”

“I asked him to come, too.”

After Taylor bought the tickets, they waited in line. The ride stopped and emptied, and Taylor handed over the tickets to a man who’d come straight from Central Casting. His hands were black with grease, his arms covered in tattoos, and one of his front teeth was missing. He tore the tickets before dropping them into a locked wooden box.

“Is this ride safe?” she asked.

“Passed inspection yesterday,” he answered automatically. No doubt it was the same thing he said to every parent who asked, and it didn’t do much to relieve her anxiety. Parts of the ride looked as if they were stapled together.

Nervously Denise led Kyle to his seat. She lifted him up, then lowered the safety bar for him as Taylor stood outside the gate, waiting for them.

“Ess a swing,” Kyle said again, once he was ready to go.

“Yes, it is.” She put his hands on the bar. “Now hold on and don’t let go.”

Kyle’s only response was to laugh in delight.

“Hold on,” she said again, more seriously this time, and Kyle squeezed the bar.

She walked back to Taylor’s side and took her place, praying that Kyle would listen to her. A minute later it started, and the ride slowly began to pick up speed. By the second rotation the swings were beginning to fan out, carried by their momentum. Denise hadn’t taken her eyes off Kyle, and as he swung by, it was impossible not to hear him laughing, a high-pitched giggle. As he came back around, she noticed that his hands were still right where they should be. She breathed a sigh of relief.

“You seem surprised,” Taylor said, leaning close so his voice could be heard over the noise of the ride.

“I am,” she said. “It’s the first time he’s ever been on a ride like this.”

“Haven’t you ever taken him to a carnival?”

“I didn’t think he was ready for one before.”

“Because he has trouble talking?”

“Partially.” She glanced at him. “There’s a lot about Kyle that even I don’t understand.”

She hesitated under Taylor’s serious gaze. Suddenly she wanted more than anything for Taylor to understand Kyle, she wanted him to understand what the last four years had been like. More than that, she wanted him to understand her.

“I mean,” she began softly, “imagine a world where nothing is explained, where everything has to be learned through trial and error. To me, that’s what Kyle’s world is like right now. People sometimes think that language is just about conversation, but for children, it’s much more than that. It’s how they learn about the world. It’s how they learn that burners on the stove are hot, without having to touch them. It’s how they know that crossing the street is dangerous, without having to be hit by a car. Without the ability to understand language, how can I teach him those things? If Kyle can’t understand the concept of danger, how can I keep him safe? When he wandered away into the swamp that night . . . well, you yourself said he didn’t seem to be frightened when you found him.”

She looked at Taylor earnestly. “Well, it makes perfect sense-to me, at least. I’d never walked him through the swamp, I’d never shown him snakes; I’d never shown him what might happen if he got stuck somewhere and couldn’t get out. Because I hadn’t shown him, he didn’t know enough to be afraid. Of course, if you take that one step further and consider every possible danger and the fact that I have to literally show him what it means, instead of being able to tell him-sometimes it feels like I’m trying to swim across the ocean. I can’t tell you how many close calls there have been. Climbing too high and wanting to jump, riding too close to the road, wandering away, walking up to growling dogs . . . it seems like every day there’s something new.”

She closed her eyes for a moment, as if reliving each experience, before going on.

“But believe it or not, those are only part of my worries. Most of the time, I worry about the obvious things. Whether he’ll ever be able to talk normally, whether he’ll go to a regular school, whether he’ll ever make friends, whether people will accept him . . . whether I’ll have to work with him forever. Those are the things that keep me awake at night.”

She paused then, the words coming slower, every syllable edged with pain.

“I don’t want you to think that I regret having Kyle, because I don’t. I love him with all my heart. I’ll always love him. But . . .”

She stared at the revolving swings, her eyes blind, shuttered. “It’s not exactly what I imagined raising children would be like.”

“I didn’t realize,” Taylor said gently.

She didn’t respond, seemingly lost in thought. Finally, with a sigh, she faced him again.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have told you those things.”

“No, don’t be. I’m glad you did.”

As if suspecting that she’d confided too much, she offered a rueful smile. “I probably made it sound pretty hopeless, didn’t I?”

“Not really,” he lied. In the waning sunlight she was strangely radiant. She reached over and touched his arm. Her hand was soft and warm.

“You’re not very good at that, you know. You should stick to telling the truth. I know I made it sound terrible, but that’s just the dark side of my life. I didn’t tell you about the good things.”

Taylor raised his eyebrows slightly. “There are good things, too?” he asked, prompting an embarrassed laugh from Denise.

“Next time I need to pour my heart out, remind me to stop, okay?”

Though she tried to pass off the comment, her voice betrayed her anxiety. Immediately Taylor suspected that he was the first person she’d ever really confided in this way and that it wasn’t the time for jokes.

The ride ended suddenly, the swing rotating three times before coming to a stop. Kyle called out from his seat, the same ecstatic expression on his face.

“Sweeeng!” he called out, almost singing the word, his legs pumping back and forth.

“Do you want to ride the swing again?” Denise shouted.

“Yes,” he answered, nodding.

There weren’t many people in line, and the man nodded that it was all right for Kyle to stay where he was. Taylor handed him the tickets, then returned to Denise’s side.

As the ride started up again, Taylor saw Denise staring at Kyle.

“I think he likes it,” Denise said almost proudly.

“I think you’re right.”

He leaned over, resting his elbows on the railings, still regretting his earlier joking.

“So tell me about the good things,” he said quietly.

The ride circled twice, and she waved to Kyle each time before saying anything.

“Do you really want to know?” she finally asked.

“Yes, I do.”

Denise hesitated. What was she doing? Confiding about her son to a man she barely knew, giving voice to things she’d never said in the past-she felt unsteady, like a boulder inching over the edge of a cliff. Yet somehow she wanted to finish what she had started.

She cleared her throat.

“Okay, the good things . . .” She glanced briefly at Taylor and then away. “Kyle’s getting better. Sometimes it may not seem like it and others may not notice it, but he is, slowly but surely. Last year, his vocabulary was only fifteen to twenty words. This year, it’s in the hundreds, and at times he puts three and four words together in a single sentence. And for the most part, he makes most of his wishes known now. He tells me when he’s hungry, when he’s tired, what he wants to eat-all of that’s new for him. He’s only been doing that for the last few months.”

She took a deep breath, feeling her emotions roil to the surface again.

“You have to understand . . . Kyle works so hard every day. While other kids can play outside, he has to sit in his chair, staring at picture books, trying to figure out the world itself. It takes him hours to learn things that other kids might learn in minutes.” She stopped, turning toward him, an almost defiant look in her eyes.

“But you know, Kyle just keeps on going . . . he just keeps on trying, day after day, word by word, concept by concept. And he doesn’t complain, he doesn’t whine, he just does it. If you only knew how hard he has to work to understand things . . . how much he tries to make people happy . . . how much he wants people to like him, only to be ignored . . .”

Feeling her throat constrict, she took a ragged breath, struggling to maintain her composure.

“You have no idea how far he’s come, Taylor. You’ve only known him for a short while. But if you knew where he started and how many obstacles he’s overcome so far-you’d be so proud of him . . .”

Despite her efforts, tears began to flood her eyes.

“And you’d know what I know. That Kyle has more heart, more spirit, than any other child I’ve ever known. You would know that Kyle is the most wonderful little boy that any mother could wish to have. You would know that despite everything, Kyle is the greatest thing that’s ever happened to me. That’s the good thing I have in my life.”

All those years of having those words pent up inside, all those years of wanting to say the words to someone. All those years, all those feelings-both the good and the bad-it was such a relief to finally let it all go. She was suddenly intensely thankful that she’d done so and hoped in her heart that Taylor would somehow understand.

Unable to respond, Taylor tried to swallow the lump that had formed in his throat. Watching her talk about her son-the absolute fear and absolute love-made the next move almost instinctive. Without a word, he reached for her hand and took it in his. The feeling was strange, a forgotten pleasure, though she didn’t try to pull away.

With her free hand she wiped at a tear that had drifted down her cheek and sniffled. She looked spent, still defiant, and beautiful.

“That was the most beautiful thing I think I’ve ever heard,” he said.

When Kyle wanted to ride the swing yet a third time, Taylor had to let go of Denise’s hand so he could walk over and present the additional tickets. When he returned, the moment had passed; Denise was leaning on the barrier, resting on her elbows, and he decided simply to let it go. Yet standing beside her, he could still feel the lingering sensation of her touch on his skin.

They spent another hour at the carnival, riding the Ferris wheel-the three of them crammed into the wobbly seat with Taylor pointing out some of the places that could be seen from the top-and the Octopus, a spinning, dipping, gut-twisting ride that Kyle wanted to ride over and over again.

Toward the end of the hour they headed over to the area that housed the games of chance. Pop three balloons with three darts and win a prize, shoot two baskets and win something different. Vendors barked at the passersby, but Taylor walked past all of them until reaching the shooting gallery. He used the first few shots to understand the sighting of the gun, then proceeded to make fifteen straight, trading up for larger prizes as he bought more rounds. By the time he’d finished, he’d won a giant panda only slightly smaller than Kyle himself. The vendor handed it over reluctantly.

Denise relished every minute of it. It was gratifying to watch Kyle trying-and enjoying!-new things, and walking around the carnival provided a pleasant change from the world in which she normally lived. There were times when she almost felt like someone else, someone she didn’t know. As twilight descended, the lights from the rides blinked on; as the sky darkened even further, the energy of the crowds seemed to intensify, as if everyone knew all this would be over the following day.

Everything was just right, as she had barely dared to hope it would be.

Or, if possible, even better than that.

Once they got home, Denise got a cup of milk and led Kyle into his room. She propped the giant panda in the corner so he could see it, then helped Kyle change into his pajamas. After leading him through his prayers, she gave him his milk.

His eyes were already closing.

By the time she finished reading him a story, Kyle was breathing deeply.

Slipping from the room, she left the door partially open.

Taylor was waiting for her in the kitchen, his long legs stretched out under the table.

“He’s down for the count,” she said.

“That was fast.”

“It’s been a big day for him. He’s not usually up this late.”

The kitchen was lit by a single overhead bulb. The other had burned out the week before, and she suddenly wished she had changed it. It seemed just a little too dim, a little too intimate, in the small kitchen. Seeking space, she fell back on tradition.

“Would you like something to drink?”

“I’ll take a beer if you have one.”

“My selection isn’t quite that big.”

“What do you have?”

“Iced tea.”

“And?”

She shrugged. “Water?”

He couldn’t help but smile. “Tea’s fine.”

She poured two glasses and handed one to him, wishing she had something stronger to serve both of them. Something to take the edge off the way she was feeling.

“It’s a little warm in here,” she said evenly, “would you like to sit on the porch?”

“Sure.”

They made their way outside and sat in the rockers, Denise closest to the door so she could listen for Kyle if he woke up.

“Now this is nice,” Taylor said after making himself comfortable.

“What do you mean?”

“This. Sitting outside. I feel like I’m on an episode of The Waltons.”

Denise laughed, feeling some of her nervousness disperse. “Don’t you like to sit on the porch?”

“Sure, but I hardly ever do it. It’s one of those things that I never seem to have time for anymore.”

“A good ol’ boy from the South like yourself?” she said, repeating the words he’d used the day before. “I would have thought a guy like you would sit outside on your porch with a banjo, playing song after song, a dog lying at your feet.”

“With my kinfolk and a jar of moonshine and a spittoon o’er yonder?”

She grinned. “Of course.”

He shook his head. “If I didn’t know you were from the South, I’d think you were insulting me.”

“But because I’m from Atlanta?”

“I’ll let it slide this time.” He felt the corners of his mouth curling into a smile. “So what do you miss the most about the big city?”

“Not a lot. I suppose if I were younger and Kyle wasn’t around, this place would drive me crazy. But I don’t need big malls, or fancy places to eat, or museums anymore. There was a time when I thought those things were important, but they weren’t really an option during the last few years, even when I was living there.”

“Do you miss your friends?”

“Sometimes. We try to keep in touch. Letters, phone calls, things like that. But how about you? Didn’t you ever get the urge to just pack up and move away?”

“Not really. I’m happy here, and besides, my mom is here. I’d feel bad leaving her alone.”

Denise nodded. “I don’t know that I would have moved if my mom were still alive, but I don’t think so.”

Taylor suddenly found himself thinking about his father.

“You’ve been through a lot in your life,” he said.

“Too much, I sometimes think.”

“But you keep going.”

“I have to. I’ve got someone counting on me.”

Their conversation was interrupted by a rustle in the bushes, followed by an almost catlike scream. Two raccoons scurried out of the woods, across the lawn. They scampered past the light reflected from the porch, and Denise stood, trying to get a better view. Taylor joined her at the porch railing, peering into the darkness. The raccoons stopped and turned, finally noticing two people on the porch, then continued across the lawn before vanishing from sight.

“They come out almost every night. I think they’re scrounging for food.”

“Probably. Either that or your garbage cans.”

Denise nodded knowingly. “When I first moved here, I thought dogs were the ones who kept digging through them. Then I caught those two in the act one night. At first I didn’t know what they were.”

“You’ve never seen a raccoon before?”

“Of course I have. But not in the middle of the night, not crawling through my garbage, and certainly not on my porch. My apartment in Atlanta didn’t have a real big wildlife problem. Spiders, yes; varmints, no.”

“You’re like that kid’s story about the city mouse that hops on the wrong truck and gets stuck in the country.”

“Believe me, I feel that way sometimes.”

With her hair moving slightly in the breeze, Taylor was struck again by how pretty she was. “So what was your life like? Growing up in Atlanta, I mean?”

“Probably a little bit like yours.”

“What do you mean?” he asked curiously.

She met his eyes, drawing out the words as if they were a revelation. “We were both only children, raised by widowed mothers who grew up in Edenton.”

At her words, Taylor felt something unexpectedly flinch inside. Denise went on.

“You know how it is. You feel a little different because other people have two parents, even if they’re divorced. It’s like you grow up knowing that you’re missing something important that everyone else has, but you don’t know exactly what it is. I remember hearing my friends talking about how their fathers wouldn’t let them stay out late or didn’t like their boyfriends. It used to make me so angry because they didn’t even realize what they had. Do you know what I mean?”

Taylor nodded, realizing with sudden clarity how much they had in common.

“But other than that, my life was pretty typical. I lived with my mom, I went to Catholic schools, shopped with my friends, went to the proms, and worried every time I got a pimple that people wouldn’t like me anymore.”

“You call that typical?”

“It is if you’re a girl.”

“I never worried about things like that.”

She shot him a sidelong glance. “You weren’t raised by my mother.”

“No, but Judy’s mellowed some in her old age. She was a little more stern when I was younger.”

“She said that you were always getting into trouble.”

“And I suppose you were perfect.”

“I tried,” she said playfully.

“But you weren’t?”

“No, but obviously I was better at fooling my mother than you were.”

Taylor chuckled. “That’s good to hear. If there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s perfection.”

“Especially when it’s someone else, right?”

“Right.”

There was a brief lull in the conversation before Taylor spoke again.

“Do you mind if I ask you a question?” he said almost tentatively.

“It depends on the question,” she answered, trying not to tense up.

Taylor glanced away, toward the edge of the property again, pretending to look for the raccoons. “Where’s Kyle’s father?” he asked after a moment.

Denise had known it was coming.

“He’s not around. I didn’t really even know him. Kyle wasn’t supposed to happen.”

“Does he know about Kyle?”

“I called him when I was pregnant. He told me straight up he didn’t want anything to do with him.”

“Has he ever seen him?”

“No.”

Taylor frowned. “How can he not care about his own child?”

Denise shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“Do you ever wish he was around?”

“Oh, heavens, no,” she said quickly. “Not him. I mean, I would have liked Kyle to have a father. But it wouldn’t have been someone like him. Besides, for Kyle to have a father-the right kind, I mean, and not just someone who calls himself that-he’d also have to be my husband.”

Taylor nodded in understanding.

“But now, Mr. McAden, it’s your turn,” Denise said, turning to face him. “I’ve told you everything about me, but you haven’t reciprocated. So tell me about you.”

“You already know most of it.”

“You haven’t told me anything.”

“I told you I’m a contractor.”

“And I’m a waitress.”

“And you already knew that I volunteer with the fire department.”

“I knew that the first time I saw you. It’s not enough.”

“But there’s really not much more than that,” he protested, throwing up his hands in mock frustration. “What did you want to know?”

“Can I ask whatever I want?”

“Go ahead.”

“Well, all right.” She was silent for a moment, then met his eyes. “Tell me about your father,” she said softly.

The words startled him. It wasn’t the question he’d expected, and Taylor felt himself stiffen slightly, thinking he didn’t want to respond. He could have ended it with something simple, a couple of sentences that meant nothing, but for a moment he didn’t say anything.

The evening was alive with sound. Frogs and insects, the rustling of leaves. The moon had risen and now hovered above the treeline. In the milky light, an occasional bat skittered by. Denise had to lean in close to hear him.

“My father passed away when I was nine,” he began.

Denise watched him carefully as he spoke. He was speaking slowly, as if gathering his thoughts, but she could see his reluctance on every line of his face.

“But he was more than just my father. He was my best friend, too.” He hesitated. “I know that sounds strange. I mean, I was just a little kid and he was grown, but he was. He and I were inseparable. As soon as five o’clock would roll around, I’d camp out on the front steps and wait for his truck to come up the driveway. He worked in the lumber mill, and I’d run for him as soon as he opened his door and jump into his arms. He was strong-even when I got bigger, he never told me to stop. I’d put my arms around him and take a deep breath. He worked hard, and even in winter I could smell the sweat and sawdust on his clothes. He called me ‘little man.’ ”

Denise nodded in recognition.

“My mom always waited inside while he asked me what I did that day or how school went. And I’d just talk so fast, trying to say as much as I could before he went inside. But even though he was tired and probably wanting to see my mom, he never rushed me. He’d let me say everything on my mind, and only when I was all talked out would he finally put me down. Then he’d grab his lunch pail, take my hand, and we’d head inside.”

Taylor swallowed hard, doing his best to think about the good things.

“Anyway, we used to go fishing every weekend. I can’t even remember how old I was when I first started going with him-probably younger than Kyle. We’d go out in the boat and sit together for hours. Sometimes he’d tell me stories-it seemed like he had thousands of them-and he’d answer whatever questions I asked as best he could. My father never graduated from high school, but even so he was pretty good at explaining things. And if I asked him something he didn’t know, he’d say that, too. He wasn’t the kind of person who had to be right all the time.”

Denise almost reached out to touch him, but he seemed lost in the past, his chin resting on his chest.

“I never saw him get angry, I never once heard him raise his voice at anyone. When I’d act up, all he had to do was say, ‘That’s enough now, son.’ And I’d stop because I knew I was disappointing him. I know that probably sounds strange, but I guess I just didn’t want to let him down.”

When he finished, Taylor took a long, slow breath.

“He sounds like a wonderful man,” Denise said, knowing she’d stumbled upon something important about Taylor, but uncertain of its shape and meaning.

“He was.”

The finality of his voice made it clear that the subject was closed to further discussion, although Denise suspected there was far more left to be said. They stood without speaking for a long time, listening to the music of the crickets.

“How old were you when your father died?” he asked finally, breaking the silence.

“Four.”

“Do you remember him like I remember mine?”

“Not really, not the way you do. I just remember images, really-him reading me stories or the feeling of his whiskers when he kissed me good night. I was always happy when he was around. Even now, not a day goes by when I don’t wish I could turn back the clock and change what happened.”

As soon as she said it, Taylor turned to her with a startled expression, knowing she’d hit it right on the head. In just a few words, she’d explained the very thing he’d tried to explain to Valerie and Lori. But even though they’d listened with compassion, they’d never really understood. They couldn’t. Neither of them had ever awakened with the terrible realization that they’d forgotten the sound of their father’s voice. Neither had cherished a single photograph as the only means of remembrance. Neither one of them felt the urge to tend to a small granite stone in the shade of a willow tree.

All he knew was that he’d finally heard someone else echo the things that he had known, and for the second time that evening he reached for her hand.

They held hands in silence, fingers loosely intertwined, each afraid that speaking would break the spell. Lazy clouds, silver in the moon, lay scattered in the sky. Standing close, Denise watched shadows play over his features, feeling slightly unstrung. On his jaw was a small scar she’d never noticed before; there was another just below his ring finger on the hand that was holding hers, a small burn, perhaps, that had healed long ago. If he was aware of her scrutiny, he gave no notice. Instead he simply stared out over the property.

The air had cooled slightly. A sea breeze had blown through earlier, leaving a stillness in its wake. Denise sipped her tea, listening as insects buzzed noisily around the porch light. An owl called from the darkness. Cicadas sang in the trees. The evening was coming to an end, she could feel that. It was almost over.

He finished his glass, the ice cubes clinking, then set it on the railing.

“I should probably go. I have an early day tomorrow.”

“I’m sure,” she said.

But he stood there for another minute without saying anything more. For some reason he kept remembering how she’d looked when she’d poured out her fears about her son: her defiant expression, the intense emotion as the words had flooded out. His mother had worried about him, too, but had it ever approached what Denise went through every day?

He knew it hadn’t been the same.

It moved him to see that her fears had only made her love grow stronger for her son. And to witness such unconditional love, so pure in the face of difficulties-it was natural to find beauty in that. Who wouldn’t? But there was more to it, wasn’t there? Something deeper, a commonality he’d never found in someone else.

Even now, not a day goes by when I don’t wish I could turn back the clock and change what happened.

How had she known?

Her ebony hair, made even darker by the evening, seemed to shroud her in mystery.

Taylor finally pushed back from the railing.

“You’re a good mother, Denise.” He was loath to release her delicate hand. “Even though it’s hard, even though it’s not what you expected, I can’t help but believe that everything happens for a reason. Kyle needed someone like you.”

She nodded.

With great reluctance he turned away from the railing, turned from the pines and oaks, turned from the feelings inside him. The floor of the porch creaked as Taylor moved to the steps, Denise beside him.

She looked up at him.

He almost kissed her then. In the soft yellow light of the porch her eyes seemed to glow with hidden intensity. Even so, he couldn’t tell if she really wanted that from him, and at the last second he held back. The evening had already been more memorable than any evening he’d spent in a long time; he didn’t want to spoil that.

Instead he took a small step backward, as if to give her more space.

“I had a wonderful time tonight,” he said.

“So did I,” she said.

He finally let go of her hand, felt longing as it slipped away from him. He wanted to tell her that she had something inside her, something impossibly rare, something he’d looked for in the past but had never hoped to find. He wanted to say all these things but found that he couldn’t.

He smiled again, faintly, then turned away, making his way down the steps in the slanting moonlight, toward the darkness of his truck.

Standing on the porch, she waved one last time as Taylor headed down the drive, his headlights shining in the distance. She heard him stop at the road and wait as a solitary car approached, then passed. Taylor’s truck turned in the direction of town.

After he left, Denise walked to the bedroom and sat on the bed. On her bedstand was a small reading lamp, a photo of Kyle as a toddler, a half-empty glass of water she’d neglected to bring to the kitchen that morning. Sighing, she opened her drawer. In the past it might have held magazines and books, but now it was empty except for a small bottle of perfume she’d received from her mother a few months before she’d died. A birthday gift, it had come wrapped in gold foil and ribbon. Denise had used half of it in the first few weeks after it had been given to her; since her mother’s death she’d never used it again. She’d kept it as a reminder of her mother, and now it reminded her of how long it had been since she’d worn any perfume at all. Even tonight she’d forgotten to put it on.

She was a mother. Above everything else, that was how she defined herself now. Yet as much as she wanted to deny it, she knew she was also a woman, and after years of keeping it buried, she felt its presence. Sitting in the bedroom, gazing at the perfume, she was overcome with a sense of restlessness. There was something inside her that longed to be desired, to be cared for and protected, to be listened to and accepted without judgment. To be loved.

Her arms crossed, she turned out the light in her bedroom and went across the hall. Kyle was sleeping soundly. In the warmth of his room, he’d pushed his blankets aside and he slept uncovered. On his bureau, music from a plastic, glowing teddy bear continued to play softly through the room, the same melody repeated over and over. It had been his night-light since he was an infant. She turned it off, then went to his bed, working the sheet until it wasn’t tangled with the blankets. Kyle rolled over as she covered him. She kissed him on the cheek, his skin soft and unblemished, and slipped from the room.

The kitchen was quiet. Outside, she could hear the crickets chirping, riding the song of summer. She looked out the window. In the moonlight the trees were glowing silver, the leaves steady and unmoving. The sky was full of stars, stretching to eternity, and she stared at them, smiling, thinking about Taylor McAden.