The Water Keeper(109)

“’Course it will.”

He shook his head. “Right this moment, you have something more important to deal with.”

“Like what?”

He held up his phone. The picture of what looked like a ten-or twelve-year-old girl shone on his screen. I turned away. “I’m off duty.”

“That’s just it. You don’t get to decide when you’re on and when you’re off when you choose this line of work.” He pointed at Summer and Angel, dancing around each other in the kitchen. “And right now you’ve got to choose between”—he flashed his phone again—“eleven-year-old Macy and”—he gestured with his phone—“basil pesto pasta.”

I glanced at the phone. “What happened?”

“Dance recital. They lifted her out the back door. Her father runs a tech company in Silicon Valley.”

I swore beneath my breath. “That’s not fair.”

He stepped closer. Inches from my face. “You’re right. It’s not. Never has been. But until now, you’ve never been concerned with fairness. Only freedom.”

I stared out over the expanse. My view stretched some seventy miles into the distance. “You should’ve told me about Marie.”

“Maybe.”

I turned quickly. More quickly than he could react to. My right hand caught him under the chin, and I lifted him, squeezing his esophagus as his heels came off the ground. I spoke through gritted teeth. “Love matters.”

He held on to my one hand with both of his, nodded, and tried to speak. “More than you know.”

I threw him down. “What do you know about love? If you knew anything about it, you wouldn’t have kept her a secret. I died a little every day because of you.”

“Clock is ticking. What’s it going to be? Dinner and a warm fire”—he held up his phone—“or . . . ?”

“It never ends! There’s always one more!”

He stepped closer. His voice no more than a whisper. “That’s right. And in this moment, you’ve got to choose. The one or the ninety-nine.”

“You should have told me.”

“If you need to know why, then you can’t handle the answer and you should stay home.”

I pulled up my hood and grabbed the truck keys. I spoke as I was closing the door. He could tell from my tone of voice that I was serious. “Bones, there might come a day when you wake up to find my hands around your throat. And when you do, you’ll know that I’m finished with you.”

He nodded, but there was no anger in it. Only acceptance.

I descended the mountain on foot, stopping long enough outside Summer’s door to smell the air and spy on her through an open window. Angel and Ellie had moved on to dessert and were currently covering strawberries with two cans of whipped cream. Every few seconds each girl would tip the can upward, point the nozzle into her mouth, and shoot it full of whipped cream, all while trying not to laugh. Occasionally they managed.

Movement through the sliding-glass door caught my eye. Summer had just exited the shower and was wrapping a towel around her. She was humming. Her face aglow. Brushing her hair. Twirling every few seconds. The scent of her perfume wafted toward me. The cuts and deep gashes on her back from the oyster shoal had healed, leaving only thin scars. Gunner stood quietly at my feet. I inhaled and held it, imprinting the picture of her in my mind’s eye.

Finally, I turned, cussed Bones beneath my breath, and headed for the truck while the sound of Angel and Ellie’s singing accompanied my descent. The air had turned colder yet, and my breath had begun blowing smoke. Twenty minutes later, I rounded a corner and pulled open the cab door. When I did, I found Clay. Hands folded. Waiting on me. “You didn’t think I was going to let you leave here without me, did you, Mr. Murphy?”

I shook my head and cranked the engine. “Apparently not.”

“Where’re we headed?”

“Vegas.”

“Too bad I don’t gamble.”

I shifted into drive and pointed the nose of the truck downhill. “Neither do I.”

I pressed on the brakes and pointed through the windshield. “Clay, I don’t know what waits out there. If you want out, you’d better speak up. This is no place for an . . .”

He raised both eyelids. “What? Old man?”

“Yes.”

Clay buckled his seat belt and said nothing.

I let my foot off the brake. “Don’t tell me I didn’t warn you.”

“You did that.” Then he turned, looked out the window, and picked at his teeth with a toothpick, speaking both to me and to the memory that had brought him to my front seat. “And don’t tell me I didn’t warn you.”

Gunner stood with his hind legs in the back seat and his front propped on the console. He alternated between licking Clay’s face and mine.

Finally, Clay spoke. “Mr. Murphy?”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Pettybone.”

“After we find this girl, I was wondering if you could do me a favor.”

Clay wouldn’t ask if he didn’t need me. “Is it important to you?”

He considered this, and I saw a tear form in the corner of his eye. “It’s about the only thing that is.”

The road turned from gravel to asphalt just as darkness settled over the valley. We had a couple hours’ drive. “You might should get some sleep.”