Captured(85)

Rania shakes her head. “No. Our possessions, things like what is in those bins, they are not just blankets and books. They are memories. They hold pieces of us, I think. Little pieces of our souls. So it is not easy to see them, or to feel the spirits of a lost loved one that live in those possessions.”

“You sound like you know from experience.”

“Oh, yes. Before I met Hunter, when I was little girl.” She stares off into space, thinking, remembering. “The first war was going on. My Aunt Maida, she was all the family my brother and I had left, and she was not well. She is whom my daughter is named for, just for you to know. She died. My Aunt Maida, I mean. She died, and Hassan and I were alone. She had few possessions. There was only a comb, I think. A little hand mirror, maybe? When the bomb destroyed the house, everything I owned, everything I had left of Mama and Papa and Aunt Maida and Uncle Ahmed, was all gone. Then, I was too concerned with staying alive to think about it. But now? I wish I had something of theirs. Aunt Maida’s comb. I can remember her, before Uncle Ahmed died, combing her hair. She would comb and comb and comb, until her hair shone like the night sky, black with shining stars. I wish I had that comb.” She shakes her head, clearing the memories. “It is not the same as this, I think, but it is similar.”

“I wonder where the boys are?” I ask, by way of changing the subject.

Rania shrugs. “Off somewhere, being men. Who knows? They’ll be back soon, I think.”

We go back downstairs. Tommy and Maida are watching TV, Emma sleeping in the pack and play. Rania and I take a break, because there’s really not much to do except actually sell the place, and pack up our things.

It’s past six when Hunter and Derek return.

Hunter goes immediately to Rania, kisses her. “So, babe. How would you feel about staying here with me and all three kids while Derek and Reagan get some time alone?”

Rania narrows her eyes at her husband, but reads something in his gaze, some message only the two of them can decipher. She nods and shrugs. “Okay.”

Derek takes my hand. “Come on. Let’s go for a ride.”

Something is going on. “We can’t just—”

“Sure you can.” Hunter waves his hand. “We’ll make some dinner and watch a movie. Go.”

I want to, so badly; since Hank has been sick, Derek and I haven’t had any time alone. I feel bad about wanting Derek to myself, especially as it becomes more and more clear that Hank doesn’t have much time left.

“Come on, babe,” Derek whispers in my ear. “Just an hour or two.”

“Okay,” I sigh. “Let me get cleaned up.”

Derek just pulls me by the hand, dragging me outside. “No point — we’ll just end up smelling like horse. Come on.”

I sigh again, and let him pull me to the barn. I saddle Henry; he saddles Mirabelle. Somehow, I know where we’re going: the clearing. I settle into the ride, letting Henry pick his path at a walk, enjoying the cool of the evening, Derek riding beside me, grinning at me every now and again.

He’s definitely planning something.

My heart ratchets as I try not to hope he’s planning what I think he’s planning.

Nope, nope, nope. Don’t go there. You love him, he loves you. That’s all you need. But it’s not.

So I ride, and watch his back sway as he rides. I let him lead me to the clearing, keeping my mind blank of hopes. Yet when he pulls Mirabelle to a stop in the clearing, dismounting slowly and carefully, taking the weight on his good leg and hopping for balance, I know something big is up.

There’s a huge blanket on the ground in the center of the clearing. A picnic basket. A bottle of sparkling grape juice, two goblets. There’s a camp lantern instead of candles, since this is a forest.

“Derek?” I slide off Henry. “What is this?”

“A picnic, babe.” He takes the reins from me, pickets both horses where they can graze. “Have a seat.”

I sit. He leaves the horses saddled and moves to sit beside me on the blanket. He grins at me again, and digs in the picnic basket. “This was put together by a couple of dudes, so there’s a limited spread. Some Brie and crackers, summer sausage, some fruit….” He lifts the bottle of grape juice. “And this instead of wine, since you can’t drink right now.”

It’s too soon to be emotional, right?

We eat, talk about the random things that come up. Eventually, he gives me a look that says he’s about to say something important. My heart clenches, lifts into my throat. “So.” He pours us each some more juice, scratches at the skin where his leg meets the prosthetic. “Been thinking a lot. I want to make a career of physical therapy. Do what the guys at the gym did for me. I’ve got to take some classes to get certified, but that won’t take too long.”

I shouldn’t feel let down, but I do. “That’s good, Derek. I’m glad you have a plan.”

“Well, it’s a start. My CRSC benefits give us a little wiggle room. We can’t live off it for long, but we should be okay.” He takes my hand, rubs my knuckles with his thumb. “The thing is, it’s a job I could do in a lot of different places.”

I get where he’s going with this. “You want to talk about where we’ll move if the farm sells?”

He nods. “Probably should come up with some ideas, at least.”