Page 39 of Four Calling Birds

“Go ahead, VD,” Griff challenged. “Tell Momma Mack.”

“Jesus,” Taz rolled her eyes, then squeezed Griff’s thigh. He tried to kick her with his good leg, but missed, and she just scrunched her nose at him in triumph.

I looked at Veder, who clamped his mouth shut. The disheveled mop of his hair threatened to fall forward in front of his gorgeous baby blue eyes. His jaw clenched. I could see it, even under the thick, vagrant beard.

“Fine! I’ll tell her.” Taz looked right at me as she smirked. “Kristin went to a jody bar.” Jody was Army speak for the guy a servicemember’s wife slept with, usually while the aforementioned servicemember was on deployment. “Where she ran into our man, VD.”

Veder’s head visibly lowered at the use of that nickname.

“They got down with it and had a good time.” I could tell that her editorializing was pissing off the two men involved. “VD figured out he was at his buddy’s house when it came time to sneak out, and he saw our boy, Griff’s, photo hanging over the mantle. I guess while he was sticking his pen in his buddy’s inkwell, he didn’t bother to look at the family photos on the wall because… well…”

She shrugged, and smirked. She was implying that Veder had never cared if his prospects were married or not. He was there for a casual fuck. If they were otherwise attached, it was often a good thing for him. It was less complicated that way.

“So, VD finally grows a conscience, and decides to tell Griff.” Taz raised an eyebrow at her patient, looking like she was holding back a laugh. “And our Golden boy here went off the fucking deep end. Trashed the damn team room!”

Taz’s annoyance wasn’t so much the devastation of a failed relationship, but in the destruction of the team room that she considered her second home. Her home life had never been good.

“Wow, thanks, Taz,” Griff said, his eyes narrowing. If looks could kill, Taz would be a pile of ash. Fortunately for her, she thrived on Griff’s irritation. “Thanks for your support over the death of my fucking marriage.”

“Please,” Taz said withanotherroll of her eyes. “Those of us that actually met Kristin thought she was terrible.” Then her face softened for just a moment. The change was so fast that I almost thought I had imagined it. “She wasn’t right for you.”

“Well, whoo-whee!” Griff slow clapped three times. “Marriage advice from you is a fucking joke, Psycho. If you ever manage to get someone piss drunk enough to walk down the aisle, then maybe I’ll take your advice. Until then, keep your commentary to yourself, you insanebitch!”

Silence descended. Taz’s mouth shut and her face turned into a blank mask. I tried to catch her eye to give her my sympathy. Because I knew what had happened to her. Mack and I both did. She had spilled it all one frightening night when she showed up battered and bruised on our doorstep.

I wanted to reach out to her, but she shook her head instead, refusing to make eye contact.

She looked down at the ground, not acknowledging the rest of us. I looked at Griff, who stubbornly clenched his jaw. He was too angry to realize how his words could have stung. How they were one insult further than their usually hostile, but fond, banter. Oh, sure they didn’t want anyone to know how highly they regarded each other, but you could see it in the silent moments, when the two of them worked in perfect tandem, like two dancers who were always in step.

Why didn’t Griff know how wrong he was about Taz? Because she never wanted anyone to know about the times she came into my kitchen in the middle of the night, her face and body bruised, her eyes watering in despair, the thin, almost unnoticeable band still on her ring finger.

“He didn’t mean that, Taz,” Veder mumbled so low that his beard barely moved.

“You’re the last person in the world who should ever presume to speak for me,” Griff snorted.

With that, we all fell into silence. So, this was the drama I had missed out on? The one that had made my husband’s hair turn gray. Mack was correct. The kids really weren’t all right. Poor Mack had to hold them together with his two hands. But it would be fine, now that I was back, I could take some of the burden from his shoulders.

The clouds parted, and we were bathed in silver light again.

I looked around us, to the surroundings, looking for threats. Looking for Mack and his return. To the bodies that lay on the riverbank, and the blood they washed into the water, coloring it pink. Each one was pale, limp, awkwardly splayed. Every one of them…

“Why are there only eleven bodies?”

23. Bruce

Mack

Magnuscameoutofnowhere. Fuck! Hauling that mule of a man off of her when his corpse threatened to drag her into the water was the single most terrifying moment of my life. When she sputtered up, her breaths ragged and shallow, I could have pissed myself in joy. She was alive. I still had time.Westill had time.

But she was okay now. I wasn’t sure about Griff, though. That leg wound was fucking nasty, and even with a tourniquet, the chances of something bad happening was still higher than zero.

Still, I thought I had watched Lotte die. Everything had flashed in front of my eyes.

Lotte, at Wrightsville beach, dancing on the surf. Then her, dancing in a white dress at the botanical gardens after we got married on the golf course in Southern Pines. The look in her wistful eyes when she begged me to let her adopt Bo. The Christmases in Boone, when we’d rent a cabin in the snow, and she’d walk around with thick, flannel socks, reindeer leggings, and an oversized sweater. My life had all been her.

If she was gone, then my existence was over.

But she was okay. I had to get my head in the game.

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