This was not about safety. This was about something else. Something that did not fit into a neat little box of rules and doses and regimens.
When Jenna passed through the valley’s gates, she followed a d-ride, a detective’s unmarked car, toward the farmhouse. She knew who it was on account of how their progress was marked by the hidden lights flashing on and off and the siren causing all the valley’s dogs to howl.
Noah was standing out front when Ryan pulled up. He waved to Jenna, hugged the lady cop, shook Ethan’s hand, smiled broadly at Liam and ruffled his hair. Jenna hung back, wanting to speak with him alone.
But Ryan took hold of her son’s hand and led him over to where Jenna stood by her car. “Go ahead, hon. Ask her.”
When Liam continued to dig the toe of one sneaker into the dust, Jenna squatted down. “We’re friends, right?”
Liam nodded.
“Friends can tell friends anything. That’s rule one in my book.”
Ryan gave her son’s hand a gentle tug. Said again, “Ask her.”
Liam’s voice was soft as the hot morning breeze. “I want to draw you.”
Ryan corrected, “Please, may I draw you.”
Liam nodded.
A pair of shadows drifted over and stood above them. Ethan and Noah. Listening.
“My son has started doing faces,” Ryan explained. “He told me this morning he likes yours.”
“A lot,” Liam said. Quiet. Not meeting her gaze.
Jenna took her time responding. “I am honored. Truly. But I have to ask one thing. Only I’m not asking, not really. This is an either/or. Do you understand what I mean when I say that?”
Ryan said, “She means you either agree to what she’s saying or you can’t draw her.”
Liam lifted his gaze. Gave a fractional nod.
“I can’t have you putting my face together with dead people or zombies or ghouls. It’s too close to my end-care work. I never, ever want to know something like that is out there.”
Liam nodded slowly. “Okay.”
“Then I’d love to sit for you.” Jenna rose to full height. “Soon as Noah and I have a little word.”
* * *
Ten fifteen in the morning and already the day was searingly hot. A sullen breeze blew from the west, carrying the hint of sorrel and creosote. One glimpse of the jagged scar still dominating the ridgeline was enough to have Jenna yearning for early September rains.
Jenna’s walk with Noah followed the same path she and Sol had taken. She hoped the dry heat and its vague hint of old ashes was not a portent of things to come.
She had so little experience with men. Almost nothing formed a hopeful pattern she might follow here. She knew what she wanted. Not even this vague disquiet pushed her to change course.
If only she knew how to begin.
In the end, though, it was Noah who finally broke the silence. “I want you to share in this. I don’t know how, I can’t even say if it’s a good idea. Not the sharing, just taking part in everything the boat needs doing.” He glanced over, clearly worried. “I feel like every time I talk with you, it comes out wrong.”
“Why do I make you nervous?”
He huffed a breath. “Because you’re special. Because I like you.”
Jenna tasted a pleasant flavor on the air. A spice she could not even name. “Thank you, Noah.”
“I feel like a teenager, stumbling over everything I say.”
