Page 15 of Welcome to Gothic
He didn’t speak for a long moment. “I appreciate that. I don’t usually speak about him. About what happened. In fact, I’ve never spoken of it.”
“I honestly don’t know your story, but if you can’t...” She withdrew from him, giving him space.
He caught her hand. “It’s all right. It’s time I manned up and told the story without breaking down.”
“You do not have to ‘man up,’ and you do not have to tell me the story. It’s your tragedy and you don’t owe anyone anything.” She breathed hard, indignant that this person thought he was weak for not wanting to speak of his heartbreak. “I can assume something terrible happened and they died.”
“Yes, that’s what... Yes. They died.”
He didn’t say anything further, and Wendy thought he was done. She focused on their surroundings, trying to map them over what she knew of the road in the future.
He picked up his story again. “Nora was not the best swimmer and my son was... rambunctious. We loved that about him. He loved the ocean. He’d play in the sand, in the waves. He would marvel at the birds and collect shells. We loved that, too. We discussed it and decided we needed a home on the water. Nora found a place that sounded likely and took Eddy to look at a house where we could raise him and his sibling... She was expecting.”
Wendy wanted to shut her ears to the pain waiting in the rest of his story.
“While she was touring the house, she realized Eddy had disappeared. He’d descended the steps to the beach. She ran after him. He was in the water, caught in a riptide. She went into the water and as I said—” He couldn’t finish the sentence. He couldn’t breathe.
Wendy rubbed her palm over his tense shoulder, and finished the phrase for him. “Nora was not the best swimmer.”
“I lost them both that day. I lost them all that day.” His voice sounded as if a rasp had ruined his vocal cords. “Every time I see Hazel, I want to back away. Because with her fearlessness, her confidence, her joy in everything around her... she reminds me of Eddy. And Eddy taught me life is fragile, and no parent should ever bury a child.”
His wife, his son, and his unborn child. What were the words that helped a man who had suffered such a loss?
But she didn’t have to say anything, because he slammed on his brakes. “We’ve gone too far.”
Chapter Eight
Wendy looked around. “How can you tell? It’s o-dark-thirty out here.”
“We’ve crested the hill above Gothic, and Bill’s headlights have disappeared. I can’t see them looking back at Gothic or looking ahead on the road. He stopped somewhere. But where?”
“Let me think.” Wendy rubbed her forehead and mapped the road as it existed outside her dream. “Is he ahead or behind? Where would he find a building to keep Hazel until Maeve coughed up a ransom?”
“Do you know the area?” Hugh sounded surprised and curious.
“Yes. Sort of. The landscape is different and most of the ranches and properties have been turned over to the state of California, but the closest private holding to Gothic has to be the old Flores family ranch. They raised sheep, but I think the Depression did them in. There should be some buildings standing empty on the property...”
“Where?”
“Turn around. Go back. Can you try to drive without your headlights?”
“We’ll find out.” Hugh doused the lights, waited for their eyes to adjust to the starlight and made a 180. “Now what?”
“There’s a driveway not too far from the summit.” In her time, the summit was a rest stop and viewpoint. No need to discuss that. “Let me get out and walk ahead.”
“In your heels?” Hugh asked.
“No, my friend. I need to keep my balance.” And anyway, the shoes were rattling around on the floor. She groped the interior of the door, seeking the handle, but she couldn’t find it.
Hugh reached over and magically let her out.
“Thank you.” She didn’t waste time worrying about old technology she didn’t understand. Instead, she started walking into the darkness, her hand on the fender, and Hugh drove by starlight, keeping up with her.
After two steps, her silk stockings shredded and as she walked, she unhooked her garters and stripped them off. Her instinct was to hurry, to run, to find Hazel as soon as possible.
But if she hurried, they might miss their target.
So she walked. Above them, the olive trees whispered in the breeze. Behind her, the tires crunched on the gravel... She took one step after another... and suddenly it wasn’t the main road there anymore. The ground sloughed off; her bare foot found a concrete drainage pipe. “Hugh...” Her voice was not more than a breath. “Turn right here.” She gestured.
