"You going to the dance tonight, Nest?" he asked suddenly, not looking at her.
She glanced over in surprise. "Sure. Are you?"
"Mom says I can go for a while. The kids are staying at Mrs. Pinkley's for the night, except Bennett is going to Alice Workman's. You know, the social worker. George and Mom are going out somewhere, then coming back to watch TV."
They walked on, the silence awkward. "You want to go to the dance with me?" he asked after a minute.
Nest felt a warm flush run down her neck. "Sure."
"Cool. I'll meet you about seven." He was so serious. He cleared his throat and shoved his hands in his jeans pockets.
"You don't think this is weird or anything, do you?"
She smiled in spite of herself. "Why would I think that?" "Because it would be you and me, and not all of us. Robert and Cass and Brianna might think it's weird, us not including them."
She glanced quickly at him. "I don't care what they think." He thought about it a moment, then nodded solemnly.
"Good. Neither do I."
She left him on the service road and slipped through the gap in the bushes at the edge of her backyard, feeling light–headed from more than just the heat.
CHAPTER 20
John Ross rode out to Sinnissippi Park with the desk clerk from the Lincoln Hotel, who, was having Sunday dinner with his brother and sister–in–law just to the north. The man dropped him at the corner of Third Street and Sixteenth Avenue, and Ross walked the rest of the way. The man would have driven him to the Freemarks' doorstep–offered to do so, in fact–but it was not yet two o'clock and Ross was not expected until three and did not want to arrive too early. So instead he limped up Third to Riverside Cemetery, leaning heavily on his black staff, moving slowly in the heat, and found his way to Caitlin Freemark's grave. The day was still and humid, but it was cool and shady where he walked beneath the hardwood trees. There were people in the cemetery, but no one paid any attention to him. He was wearing fresh jeans, a pale blue collared shirt, and his old walking shoes. He had washed his long hair and tied it back with a clean bandanna. He looked halfway respectable, which was as good as it got.
He stood in front of Caitlin Freemark's grave and looked down at the marble stone, read the inscription several times, studied the rough, dark shadow of the letters and numbers against the bright glassy surface. CAITLIN ANNE FREEMARK, BELOVED DAUGHTER & MOTHER. He felt something tug at him, a sudden urge to recant his lies and abandon his subterfuge, to lay bare to the Freemarks the truth of who he was and what he was doing. He looked off toward their house, not able to see it through the trees, visualizing it instead in his mind. He pictured their faces looking back at him. He could not tell them the truth, of course. Gran knew most of it anyway, he suspected.
She must. And Robert Freemark? Old Bob? Ross shook his head, not wanting to hazard a guess. In any case, Nest was the only one who really mattered, and he could not tell her. Perhaps she did not ever need to know. If he was quick enough, if he found the demon and destroyed it, if he put an end to its plans before it revealed them fully …
He blinked into the heat, and the image of the Freemarks ' faded from his mind.
Forgive me.
He walked on from there into the park, skirting its edges, following the cemetery fence to Sinnissippi Road, then the road past the townhomes to the park entrance and beyond through the big shade trees to the Freemark residence. Old Bob greeted him at the door, ebullient and welcoming. They stood within the entry making small talk until Gran and Nest joined them, then gathered up the picnic supplies from the kitchen. Ross insisted on helping, on at least being allowed to carry the blanket they would sit on. Nest picked up the white wicker basket that contained the food, Old Bob took the cooler with the drinks and condiments, and with Gran leading the way they went out the back door, down the steps past a sleeping Mr. Scratch, across the backyard to the gap in the bushes, and into the park.
The park was filled with cars and people. Picnickers already occupied most of the tables and cooking stations. Blankets were spread under trees and along the bluff, softball games were under way on all the diamonds, and across from the pavilion the Jaycee–sponsored games were being organized. There was a ring toss and a baseball throw. The horseshoe tournament was about to start. Carts dispensing cotton candy and popcorn had been brought in, and the Jaycees were selling pop, iced tea, and lemonade from school–cafeteria folding tables. Balloons filled with helium floated at the ends of long cords. Red, white, and blue bunting hung from the pavilion's rafters and eaves. A band was playing under a striped tent, facing out onto the pavilion's smooth concrete floor. Parents and children crowded forward, anxious to see what was going on.
"Looks like the whole town is here," Old Bob observed with a satisfied grin.
Ross glanced around. It seemed as if all the good places had been taken, but Gran led them forward determinedly, past the diamonds, the pavilion, the games, the cotton candy and popcorn, the band, and even the toboggan slide, past all of it and down the hill toward the bayou, to a grassy knoll tucked back behind a heavy stand of brush and evergreens that was shaded by an aging oak and commanded a clear view of the river. Remarkably, no one else was there, save for a couple of teenagers snuggling on a blanket. Gran ignored them and directed Ross to place the blanket in the center of the knoll. The teens watched tentatively as the Freemarks arranged their picnic, then rose and disappeared. Gran never looked at them. Ross shook his head. Old Bob caught his eye and winked.
The heat was suffocating on the flats, but here it was eased by the cool air off the water and by the shade of the big oak. It was quieter as well, the sounds of the crowd muffled and dis- ' tant. Gran emptied the contents of the picnic basket, arranged the dishes, and invited them to sit. They formed a circle about the food, eating fried chicken, potato salad, Jell-O, raw sticks of carrot and celery, deviled eggs, and chocolate cupcakes off paper plates, and washing it all down with cold lemonade poured from a thermos into paper cups. Ross found himself thinking of his childhood, of the picnics he had enjoyed with his own family. It was a long time ago. He visited the memories quietly while he ate, glancing now and again at the Freemarks.
Should I tell them? What should I tell them? How do I do what is needed to help this girl? How do I keep from failing them?
"Did you enjoy the service, John?" Old Bob asked him suddenly, chewing on a chicken leg.
Ross glanced at Nest, but she did not look at him. "Very much, sir. I appreciate being included."
"You say you're on your way to Seattle, but maybe you could postpone leaving and stay on with us for a few more days." Old Bob looked at Gran. "We have plenty of extra room at the house. You would be welcome."
Gran's face was tight and fixed. "Robert, don't be pushy. Mr. Ross has his own Me. He doesn't need ours."
Ross forced a quick smile. "I can't stay beyond tomorrow or the day after, thanks anyway, Mr. Freemark, Mrs. Freemark. You've done plenty for me as it is."
"Well, hardly." Old Bob cleared his throat, regarded the leg bone in his hand. "Darn good chicken, Evelyn. Your best yet, I think."
They finished the meal, Old Bob talking of Caitlin as a girl now, recalling stories about how she had been, what she had done. Ross listened and nodded appreciatively. He thought it might have been a while since the old man had spoken of his daughter like this. Gran seemed distracted and distant, and Ross did not think she was paying much attention. But Nest was watching raptly, studying her grandfather's face as he related the stories, listening carefully to his every word. Her concentration was so complete that she did not seem aware of anything else. Ross watched her, wondered what she was thinking, wished suddenly that he knew.