The Lost Sister (Sister Series, #8) Page 3

  However, she couldn’t do the same for Ryder. She couldn’t fill the hole that Ebony’s disappearance created in his heart. Ryder sighed and grabbed Wyatt’s hand as he reminded himself what was important. Wyatt. Wyatt was right here with him and he could not lose sight of that and living in the here and now. That’s what mattered most. Not history; not that ancient, hurtful, vengeful history.

  Entering the house, he carefully hung his gun high up where Wyatt could not reach it. It was a daily routine and the first thing he always did. Wandering further into the house, he went through the kitchen and eating nook, taking a left at the hallway that opened into the living room. The bay window there looked out at the front and directly over the porch. Long windows stood all lined up together. He took the stairs two at a time and entered the large master he created by knocking out a wall and combining two rooms and a closet. It was now a big, luxuriously spacious room. He quickly changed out of his uniform into a pair of jeans and a well-worn t-shirt.

  Wyatt’s room was just down the hall, where he was peeing in his small bathroom. He never shut the door. Standing there, he sang happily away as he relieved himself.

  “Have you gone since this morning?” Ryder asked him.

  Wyatt stopped singing to answer and smiled up at him. “Nope.”

  “What have I told you about holding it all day?”

  Wyatt stopped peeing, grinned, and flushed red as he said, “Don’t do it.”

  Ryder sighed. This kid was impossible to get mad at; he never took anything too hard. Wyatt stepped up on his stool and started washing his hands. He began singing the song he learned last year and now sang almost every time he washed:

  “Wash, wash, and wash your hands,

  While you sing this song…”

  On and on Wyatt sang, his face tilting this way and that. Ryder shrugged and leaned in to squeeze Wyatt’s shoulders as he smiled and kissed the top of his smooth head. “Just try to go more often.”

  Wyatt grinned at his father in the mirror and Ryder couldn’t help grinning back.

  “What should we have for dinner tonight?” Wyatt followed him down the stairs as Ryder opened the refrigerator to take out some food. He had intended to thaw out a couple of steaks, but had forgotten so there was nothing for him to cook.

  “Chicken strips?”

  “No.”

  “Pizza?” Wyatt’s voice went higher as he squealed when Ryder gave him the look. The one that Wyatt described as making his face look like squished pear. He was not sure quite where Wyatt came up with the comparison, but Ryder’s scrunched eyebrows and narrowed eyes of fatherly disapproval only made Wyatt laugh. It never caused Wyatt to recoil in terror. Ryder didn’t wield that much authority over him. Besides, Wyatt so rarely misbehaved, it wasn’t very often that he ever needed to discipline him sternly.

  “No. How about we boil some noodles? We’ve gotta have some kinda sauce. And… yeah, there’s some green beans too.” He smiled when he held up the cans. Yup, eating something green would definitely lower his parental guilt. Wyatt nodded as he scrambled over to drag a pot out from the cupboard. He started running the tap in the sink, using his stepstool to climb higher before sticking the pot under it. They were a synchronized, two-man team on most things domestic. It was easy to fall into the simple chores of preparing dinner and eating together. Wyatt kept Ryder entertained and engaged. He charmed him with his constant chatter and enthusiasm over his day. There were some things Wyatt didn’t like, but he still managed to tell a funny-sweet tale when he discussed it. Spending all day at school had become a sticking point for him. It was a new dynamic this year and he really detested it. Ryder laughed, keeping his tongue in his cheek when hearing Wyatt describe his utter disdain for it.

  “Well, I missed Chuckles Charlie again, you know.”

  Ryder was rinsing the dishes and setting them in the dishwasher as Wyatt put away the milk and other ingredients they took out to prepare dinner. “I know; same as every day this year, Wyatt.”

  Wyatt sighed dramatically before venturing on to a new discussion concerning the paucity of merits in music class. He wasn’t a fan.

  Daylight lingered as Ryder put Wyatt to bed. “Do I hafta?” Wyatt whined.

  “Yep, you hafta,” Ryder grinned, snuggling up beside him on his single bed. He was reading from the Pants Wetter series, which Wyatt found hilarious. It described the adventures of a young second-grader traversing the wilds of public school in New York City. The characters rode the subway and walked everywhere. It was like an alternate planet to Wyatt and Ryder, who drove ten minutes just to buy milk from an out-of-the-way convenience store. It took another five minutes to reach downtown Silver Springs and its one small grocery store. There was also a gas station and a convenience store, and a few odds-and-ends shops, including a very useful hardware store, not to mention Chloe’s popular café. Wyatt yawned and leaned his head on Ryder’s arm as he read the story. When he finished, he extricated himself from Wyatt’s small weight and Wyatt slid down before snuggling under his superhero sheets in his red pajamas.

  Ryder kissed his son and patted his warm head. “Night, guy. I love you.”

  “Night, Daddy. I love you too.”

  Wyatt turned over, easily and sweetly drifting off to sleep, as every child should. It eased Ryder’s heart each and every time he performed this simple ritual. One that should have been rather ordinary, but Ryder knew it wasn’t. Not for all children. And that was something he never took for granted.

  He shut Wyatt’s door only partially and paused to grab an armful of laundry from the hamper they shared in the hallway. He hauled it downstairs and stood there, glancing around. Now, at this time of night, was one of the few times during the day when Ryder really experienced his single status as a father. It was always so quiet after Wyatt went to bed. Sighing, he trudged towards the mud room that had a door to the outside. He started the washing machine and threw the soap in before arranging the pile of clothes inside the washer tub. He didn’t see any whites that needed separation, so he assumed the load would be fine. Most times, he was right; but every once in a while, a pair of white underwear or a lone sock turned a funky color if he missed them. For that reason, they didn’t purchase many white t-shirts or any other light colors. Keep it simple. That worked the best.

  The washing done, Ryder picked up the miscellaneous items left about the house from Wyatt, including the crayons he left out from coloring earlier. Eventually, he wandered out towards the barn. There wasn’t an animal in sight except their black labrador, Daisy. The sleek, beautiful, six-year-old lab came running over as he appeared. He leaned down and petted her back and tummy and she circled his legs in ecstasy. “Hey, girl,” he said as she followed him to the barn. Inside, all the tools he needed to continue his varnishing, sanding and cutting the chair rail awaited him. He was currently lining each room with the rail. After carefully removing the original, scuffed, worn, and tired wood, he began by sanding and re-working the old cherry wood to perfection. The entire house was trimmed in the same wood. He wrapped all the doors and windows, as well as the chair rail and baseboard. The dark wood was an eye-popping contrast after he painted the walls a warm cream to set it all off. It kept him quite busy. Between his work with Fish and Wildlife, raising Wyatt, and finishing the farmhouse, he was rarely unoccupied and usually busy. That kept him pretty satisfied.

  There were times when loneliness crept in, or maybe boredom, but who didn’t have those days? He sighed as darkness dimmed the land. Stars were shining abundantly when he finally shut the barn up for the night and crossed the yard, hoping for a good night’s sleep.

  He stopped staring up at the vastness and the deep, dark night. Their land was far enough from the main road that no neighbors were visible. Sometimes, he could spot lights on the Columbia River from passing ships or other smaller, personal watercrafts running up and down, but mostly? Nothing but vast darkness and empty land. Perhaps that was the problem. Perhaps that was what drove Ebony away from here.
If he’d… no, if they’d found a place more to her liking, would she have stayed? Closer to town, or hell, even in town? Or perhaps they should have moved somewhere totally different? Obviously, she’d done that all on her own.

  The worst thing was not knowing where she went. It was hard for him to accept, but her son? How could she do that to a child? How could anyone leave their son? Their only child? How? Repeatedly, Ryder tried to understand her side of things, if only to gain some kind of insight to her action, but it never came. Always, he was left without a clue. Trying to tamper down the anger was a struggle at times but he managed to do it so it didn’t burden Wyatt. But there were times when all he could do was stew over how he married a monster. A woman who could abandon her own son. And he felt bitter that he never noticed any signs until it was far too late.

  Sighing, he banished his enigmatic thoughts and made his way to bed. Wyatt had school and he had to work tomorrow… another day.

  ****

  Tara rented a place just four blocks down from the café and one street further back. Silver Springs was a small, secluded town, and less than a thousand people lived there. The café managed to do okay, but only because the town was close to the highway. It ran along the Columbia River and drew the passing traffic, who stopped in out of convenience, mostly. The little village sat directly below Bonneville Dam. From different vista points throughout town, the spillways of the dam were visible. The river was part of the Washington-Oregon border. The Oregon side was characterized by nearly sheer walls of black rock and bright green lichen and moss. Its breathtaking views were why Tara first stopped there.

  She’d been traveling… but going nowhere really. It took her nearly six months to get off the streets for good. After her epiphany that it was time to do and be something different, she lacked the courage to actually do anything about it for weeks. Using the help of a neighborhood program that linked homeless women with both housing and job opportunities, as well as providing the necessary training, Tara acquired temporary shelter. She actually worked for the program too, serving meals. After almost nine months, she felt strong enough that she was ready to leave Seattle. She wanted a clean, fresh start and did not think she could find it in the city that held so much negative history to her, if only by association. Leaving Seattle with her few meager belongings and a bus ticket south, she received plenty of well wishes from the people who helped her and with whom she had ended up working. She also became a shining example that their not-for-profit program really worked. And the thing was, for Tara, it did work. She needed their help, and she got that boost, that temporary transition, along with their support until she figured out what to do next. It was too overwhelming for her to try and do it on her own. If not for Robyn Mueller, the program director, Tara was convinced she’d never have dared to take the first step and start a new life.

  Robyn Mueller was a middle-aged lady who had a career as a social worker. As a member of a local church, she started the Neighborhood Relocation Services, or NRS. It was the program that removed Tara from the streets. They even provided Tara the necessary funds to leave town and start over. They didn’t have any guarantee that she wouldn’t walk out of there and put all that money up her nose or flush it down her system with alcohol. Theirs was an act of faith, and Tara would never forget how they trusted her enough to invest their money and their faith in her. She corresponded with Robyn, sending several postcards in care of the church from her trip south. One was from her visit to the Bonneville Dam, where Tara decided on a whim to apply for the serving job, which she subsequently got.

  She vowed to herself that someday she would send the money she borrowed back to the church, and then some. But for now? It was providing her with the chance to go somewhere new and find a decent, paying job.

  She didn’t have enough money to rent a room but hoped to get a paycheck in a week or two and pay up whatever was due. The room was located in the basement of a house behind the cluster of buildings that comprised most of the town. Another strip of land was state-owned, and beyond that was the river. The studio apartment Tara rented was small but it had a bathroom, a small kitchen area, and a fold-out bed that occupied most of the living room. To Tara, it was huge. And so much nicer than any place she’d stayed for years.

  She explained her situation to the landlady, who was an older woman. She was also kind and native-born, raised in Silver Springs. She didn’t even question Tara’s word and offered to wait for the rest of her rent to be paid after Tara’s first paycheck. Tara appreciated it when the landlady did not reprimand her over why she didn’t have all of it before she asked to rent the small space. The room had its own entrance and plenty of privacy, but the best part? It abutted a paved walking trail that meandered behind a park with baseball fields and a soccer field before circling towards some trees. The pavement ended there and became a hilly meadow, where the dirt path rambled through it. At the top, the panorama opened up above the Columbia River, flowing a half mile away, and all the dramatic terrain that sloped down to it. Here, the river was narrower, snaking through the mostly dammed-up river.

  A year ago, Tara was worried she might die in the garbage of street drugs in the inner city. Today? She was standing in a lush meadow and staring out over a large river where a tugboat floated downriver. It was like a surreal dream to her.

  But how long could it last?

  Her stomach clenched at that thought. She never wanted anything to succeed as badly as she now wanted this job and this place to live. She liked this area. She never really preferred or cared about one place over another, or anything else. Nothing, in fact. Growing up was one long, negative, miserable experience after another. Running away ended that misery, but also introduced a different type. It was still better though. At least her mother was gone. Along with all her nagging and hurting and repetitive disappointments. On the streets, at least Tara could live on her own terms. Her misery belonged to her alone and no one bothered her. But was she happy? No! Not even close. Those were three years of sheer survival. Survival in its most primitive means. It was dirty, cold, wet, and muddy. She was plagued by hunger and dirty teeth and matted hair. She was treated like garbage and often subjected to the disdain of others. Fear and hurt and abuse and… love. At least, she found some love. And friendship. Tara did a lot of living in those few years.

  But now, she was exhausted from living that way and being that person. She wanted something different. And so much more.

  What did she want to be? What could she be? She had no clue. And no expectations.

  But she managed to get a job. A damn job. It was like finding a pot of gold to Tara. The pride she felt whenever she ruminated over it made her stand up straighter with pride. A job. She was finally earning a paycheck… and paying taxes… and being… a real person. She could finally call herself a contributing citizen. No longer a shadow, constantly shunning society. Or a forgotten parasite. The burden of being pitied or hated as a leech by other members of society was over.

  Chloe was so decent, Tara could have pinched herself. She had walked in, painfully unsure and shy, and almost tongue-tied. Having so little experience except for her time in the NRS program, Tara rarely had any real interactions with decent people, so she was way out of her comfort zone. She could go for days without talking to anyone on the streets, despite all the humanity passing her by the dozens. She was there, sure, but never a part of it. She lived inside the city but never felt like a member of society. She had so few skills. But not anymore. Her wealthy family had never taught her any skills that could be applied to any type of work.

  She was honest and forthright during her interview, even though she lied all over the application.

  Using Jerome’s Social Security number and her brand new address, she wrote down some non-existent references. What did she expect? That Chloe would never hire her? Or maybe she’d call Tara’s cell phone, which was also a new purchase, and tell her to get her lyin’ ass out of town? But Chloe did call her and only two days after
the interview. She said she thought Tara’s personality was a good fit and did she want to come by and pick up a uniform? They found one that was a tad too loose and Chloe said she’d purchase another so Tara could wash one and wear the other. The uniform was a relief to Tara. She had more clothes. And clothes she didn’t have to purchase. The uniform consisted of khaki pants, a white blouse and a neat little apron that featured the cafe’s name.

  Tara couldn’t wait to wear that to work. Chloe filed her application away and Tara hoped to God she would never have any reason to dig it back out. Tara fully intended to move forward, staying in the now and living for today. Tara also vowed to be a good, honest, truthful, trustworthy employee and friend to Chloe and every single patron who entered Chloe’s place. Chloe offered her a chance and Tara intended do everything she could to repay her trust. She would be on her best behavior, displaying only honesty and a good work ethic. She intended to repay Chloe for the lies she told too, although she prayed that Chloe would never discover those lies.

  Chloe Carrington was maybe thirty. It was rather hard to tell. She had flawless, dark skin and attractive features. Her hair spun in bouncy curls that ended at her shoulders. She had an energetic, easy smile that made it almost impossible not to return, even for timid, shy, hermit-like Tara. She might have been younger than thirty, judging by her classical looks, but her demeanor and attitude made her seem older. She had full control of her business, so Tara wasn’t quite sure.

  Stopping by the convenience store beside the park and walking trail, Tara bought some dinner: a banana, a loaf of white bread, peanut butter, and a half gallon of milk. She paid with the last of her meager funds and headed back to her place. Her room. Her home. What a thrill. She almost laughed with a strange zeal as she entered the basement rental and put her food away before flopping down on her bed. She still slept in a sleeping bag. Recently washed from its time on the streets, now that she had a job, there were things she might want to buy. Things like sheets. Sheets! She hadn’t slept on clean, soft sheets since she was a teen… and still living at home, or whatever euphemism the Tamasy household referred to it as. “Home” wasn’t exactly the best word that came to her mind. Banishing it from her thoughts, Tara returned to the here and now.