Boundary Crossed (Boundary Magic #1)(48)
John had texted that morning and offered to stay home from trivia night this week, since he thought I was still recuperating, but I’d insisted he go out with his friends. I wanted the time with my niece. I missed her—and besides, until Quinn and I figured out who had sent Darcy and Victor after Charlie, I’d feel better with her in my sight.
So at five o’clock sharp, I pulled up to my parents’ great big house in Mapleton to collect my niece.
I opened the door just a crack at first, since Charlie had a habit of playing right on the other side of the door. When I was sure it was safe, I pushed the door all the way open. My mother was sitting on the steps leading to the second floor, keeping an eye on Charlie as she practiced climbing the stairs. When she saw me, Charlie squealed and her whole face broke open in a grin. “Hey, Mom,” I said. “Hi, Charlie!”
My niece waved and looked down to study her feet, uncertain how to get herself down to me. “Oh, no, you don’t,” my mother said, scooping Charlie into her arms. “Gramma will take you.” She carried Charlie down the steps, and when I held out my hands, the toddler dove for them. I laughed and cuddled her to my chest, planting kisses on her cheeks. “You’re sure you’re up for this?” my mother said anxiously, watching my movements. “What did the doctor say about your back? Are you supposed to lift things?”
“As a matter of fact,” I said, smiling at my niece, who was now patting both of my cheeks enthusiastically, “I got a clean bill of health.”
“Really?” my mother said, brightening a little. She was wearing khaki pants and a flowery blouse. She had to forgo jewelry and scarves while she babysat, but she was in full makeup, and her short hair was coiffed perfectly. Charlie, on the other hand, was wearing simple baby jeans and a long-sleeved onesie that was splattered with dried applesauce. “But it seemed so serious the other night! Did you consult with your surgeon?”
“No, Ma,” I said, still making faces at my niece. “I’ve got a new friend, she’s a doctor. She took my stitches out and said everything looks great.” Okay, that was a slight revision of the actual events, not to mention a plumping of Lily’s credentials, but if it made my mother feel better . . .
“Oh, that’s wonderful,” she gushed, beaming. “I’m so glad you’re spending time with friends. And you just look so much better,” she added as an afterthought.
That was my mom: she was happier to hear I had a friend than she was about my good health. “Diaper bag?” I asked.
Bag and niece in hand, I said good-bye. I drove Charlie over to John’s house, let myself in with my key, and got us set up in the kitchen with some sliced lunch meat, sliced strawberries, and sliced mozzarella cheese. You have to do a lot of slicing with a toddler, I’d discovered. In the back of my mind I’d been a little worried that Charlie would have some kind of lasting trauma from her kidnapping, but to my relief she seemed like her normal baby self: a graham cracker addict who waved at strangers and clapped every time someone said, “Yay!”
After I fed Charlie, we read some board books and I sang her “Little Bunny Foo Foo” about three times, and then it was time for her to go to bed. “Goodnight, Charlie-bug,” I said softly as I put her in her crib. “Love you.”
Back in the living room, I felt exhausted all of a sudden, and sort of depressed, like someone had turned off the sunshine. I sat down in John’s recliner and, for the second time in the past three days, drifted off to sleep there.
I dreamed of my sister.
No big surprise, really—I had just spent the last two hours with her daughter, after all. In the dream, Sam and I were about ten, and our parents had taken us to the Bobolink trailhead for the day. At first, I didn’t know if it was an actual memory or just a composite, a piecing together of dozens of similar days. Either way, John was there, too—by the time we were seven, he spent more time at our house than his own.
My dad had taken John on a bird-watching trail, since he was the only one of us kids with the patience for staring at tiny animals as they flew around. My mom was getting lunch ready at a picnic table, and Sam and I were climbing on an outcropping of rocks, trying to make our way down what seemed like a long line of them without falling off. I went first, out of habit and necessity. From the time we were born, I was Sam’s guardian. I was bigger and more sure-footed, not to mention more cautious than clumsy, impish Sam. So our hands were linked, and I would place one Luther hiking boot on the next boulder—they seemed like boulders to us, anyway—before putting my weight on it. Then I would move aside and let Sam hop on.
In the dream, she followed me along the path until we ran out of rocks. “I’ll lead the way back,” she said mischievously, and dropped my hand. Then she abruptly took off skipping, heading back the way we had come at a speed that scared me. “Slow down!” I yelled after her, but Sam either didn’t hear me or didn’t want to stop. Even at ten, she would do anything for me or John, so long as it wasn’t taking care of herself.
I followed her as fast as I could, my eyes on the rocks in front of me, but Sam was faster, and I lost sight of her quickly. Soon I reached the end of the rocky outcropping, but I still didn’t see my sister anywhere. I ran through the short tangle of trees and across the clearing to the picnic table where my mother was setting out plastic silverware. “Where’s Sam?” I asked her, panting.