can only imagine,” Wyrick said. “This is not what you signed up for.”
She disconnected and searched until she found it, then sat and watched her life going down the drain.
Charlie’s heart sank. He’d never heard her sound defeated before. She was going to try to push him away in some grand gesture of self-sacrifice, and he wasn’t having any of it.
He was anxious all the way up to the moment he saw her drive through the gates then head for the back of the house to carry in the groceries, and he met her coming in.
A chill blast of wind came with her, and he blamed the cold wind for her pale face and cold hands as he took the bags from her.
“I’ll get the rest. Go do whatever it is you need to do.”
“I’m making spaghetti,” she said. “I have a new recipe.”
“Yum,” Charlie said, then put the bags on the counter and went back for the rest.
Wyrick’s steps were dragging as she went upstairs to change. She came back down in old jeans and an even older sweatshirt from the University of Maryland.
“Nice shirt,” he said.
“I bought it in an airport years ago because I was cold and it was pink.”
Charlie laughed. “How does the dragon feel about your passion for pink?”
She almost smiled. The image of the red-and-black fire-breathing dragon wrapped around her body, then hiding it behind pink, was a dichotomy of images and colors.
“I never thought of it like that, but she gets me, so I suppose she’s tolerant of my foibles. One has to be tolerant to put up with my life,” she said and then went to the sink to wash her hands.
She helped him put up the food, keeping out what she wanted for the meal.
“Need any help?” Charlie asked.
“If I do, I’ll give you a shout. I kind of need to be alone for a bit.”
“Have you seen the video?”
She nodded. “I watched it while they were loading the order. I have this ability...and the child is well, and that’s all that has to matter.”
Charlie nodded, then left her in the kitchen with her recipe and her thoughts.
* * *
That night, as they were cleaning up after their meal, Charlie stopped in the act of putting away the leftovers to fork one last meatball from the sauce.
Wyrick glanced at him, secretly pleased when he popped it into his mouth.
“I can’t believe you have room for even one more bite,” she said.
“I don’t have room. I just love these meatballs. You are turning into the best cook.”
“I enjoy the challenge of conquering something I’ve never done before,” Wyrick said.
Charlie waved his dish towel at her like a white flag of defeat.
“I have already yielded to your wisdom and your skill, and now I have yielded to your skill in the kitchen. The only thing I have going for me now is that I’m bigger and physically stronger than you. So next time you need a wall kicked in, I’m your guy.”
He was laughing when he said it, but Wyrick couldn’t laugh.
“You were everything you ever needed to be before you even met me. You could do everything I did and find just as many lost people as we’ve done together. All I did was help you do it faster. And I will always need you to keep me grounded, and remind me that I am human and not a freaking accident of nature. I will always need you to bust a head or kick in a wall for me when the need arises. I am gratified that my cooking pleased you, and I’m going to the office.”
“Are you mad at me?” Charlie asked.
She stopped. “No. I’m mad at myself because I don’t know how to even say thank you without getting my...my...what is it you say?...getting all wadded up?”
“Getting your pants in a wad?”
She nodded. “Yes. That,” she said and left him standing with a dishrag in his hand.
Charlie saw the slump in her shoulders as she walked away, and knew the news of the latest video had shaken her newfound joy. He hurt for her, but he kept telling himself they would figure it out.
But Wyrick wasn’t so sure.
She felt something she couldn’t put a name to. It was as if the ground beneath the old mansion was crumbling at her feet. Were the walls high enough? Were the gates strong enough? Was there enough security on the grounds to keep the madness away?
Barrett Taylor was in jail, but in a