Page 134 of Whispers and Wildfire
“Something slower,” Anton said. “Like a fall off a cliff that doesn’t kill him instantly.”
“Bear attack,” Dad offered.
Anton nodded. “Or cliff and then bear—”
“Stop.” Krista put a hand over her heart. “Don’t be so morbid. At least not at the dinner table. We’re guests here. It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”
Anton smiled at her.
“Yes, new topic please,” Melanie said. “Politics? Religion? Anything but The Whisper.”
“Anton, do you have any new pizza flavors in the works?” I asked.
“I’m always trying new things.” He glanced at Krista. “What was that idea you had the other day?”
“Oh, listen to this,” Krista said, gesturing with her hands as she talked. “Chicken and dumplings meets pizza. White sauce, chicken, peas and carrots, topped with little golden dumplings. What do you think? Discuss.”
Melanie shook her head with a soft laugh as a conversation about chicken and dumplings pizza took off. She glanced at me with a grateful smile and mouthed, thank you.
I put my hand on her thigh and squeezed.
Thankfully, the rest of the meal went on without the conversation returning to The Whisper. After we came to the conclusion that Anton could probably make chicken and dumplings pizza work, the topic turned to cars. I doubted Melanie was interested in muscle cars the way our dads were, but she leaned closer to me and put her hand on my leg.
After dinner, we brought our dishes to the kitchen. I was going to help clean up, but Dad elbowed me out of the way while Mom put away the leftovers. I stepped out of the kitchen and into the family room so Dad wouldn’t bark at me to move.
Melanie stood in the hallway, gazing at the family photos on the wall. I was about to ask her what she was looking at when Anton moved next to me and hesitated, like he had something to say.
A hint of nervousness tightened my shoulders. He’d given me a stern dad-lecture back in high school, one I’d never forget. Although her parents had been friendly, I wondered if they had misgivings about their daughter dating me again. I didn’t have kids, but if one of my nieces had an ex-boyfriend, I’d probably hate him by default.
“Take care of her,” he said, finally, his voice low. “We almost lost her once. Can’t let that happen again.”
“I will.”
He reached out his hand, and I shook it. His grip was firm, and he nodded once before releasing my hand and walking away.
Like my dad, he was a man of few words. But those hit me right in the chest. What must Melanie’s abduction have been like for them? To find out their daughter had been brutally attacked and barely escaped with her life.
Like a movie playing backward, events flashed through my mind, taking me back. Me and Melanie, still basically kids, cruising down the highway with the windows rolled down. The arguments, the fights, the blowups. Slamming doors and feet stomping away. Tires peeling out in her parents’ driveway.
All those moments had led to her being outside that apartment in LA. If we’d only gotten our acts together—if only I’d fixed things back then—she wouldn’t have been there.
She would have been with me. And her abduction never would have happened.
I let out a long breath. It wasn’t my fault some psycho attacked her. Not directly. But indirectly?
And everything she’d been through since. Her marriage to that asshole. Her divorce. Moving back home to start her life over.
All those years, all that time, gone. How much of it was my fault? How much could I have prevented if I’d done things differently?
It was a lot to take in.
Ever since I’d finally admitted to myself I didn’t hate her—and that I might actually be in love with her—I’d left the past where I thought it belonged. Mostly forgotten.
But how much of that past was going to haunt our future? What was I supposed to do with all that regret?
Melanie had made her way to the front door, where she and her parents were busy saying goodbye to mine. Or more accurately, Krista and my mom were exchanging a series ofthank you, we should do this agains, and other effusive declarations of mutual gratitude, while Anton and my dad waited patiently for their wives to finish.
I glanced at the photos where Melanie had been standing moments before. There was one with the six of us boys with baby Annika in the middle. Another showed all seven kids playing outside with bare feet and dirt on our faces. But it was a slightly more recent picture that caught my eye—one from high school.
