Vanishing Day Page 3

  Shane’s Regret, Ned & Sally’s bluegrass band, was on stage. Originally, they roped Logan back into playing with them to coax her out of her depression after Jack died. Since then, she wound up not only enjoying it, but returned the favor by convincing them to help her out with Fractals. With Rita Wolfe’s new funding, she’d been able to bring both of them on full time for the 2016/2017 school year.

  There were three entertainment stages scattered throughout the festival. Even though Main was the largest, Logan was glad they got the Tavern Deck this summer. Tucked out of the way, a curve in the rock wall created great acoustics and formed a natural, mini outdoor arena. Cafe tables in front, open bench seating in back. A long, wooden counter ran the length of a small food court on the left. All Logan’s fast food favorites at the fair were here.

  With the glassblowing demonstration ending nearby, the tables in front of the stage began to fill. Ned on banjo and Logan on fiddle, they completed a rambling duet of Cripple Creek a la Bela Fleck. When they started the Celtic Medley, Sally temporarily abandoned her guitar to come down and keep time on some of the percussion instruments arranged on the edge of the stage, with her four-year-old, Quinn, and anyone who wanted to jam with the band. Quinn favored the tambourine. It was almost time for their break.

  The last number of the set was always a rousing one. As Sally found her way back on stage, someone cleared away the sawdust from a small area up front, and an old man placed several flat, parquet flooring pieces down. Each was just a few feet square. Standing on one, he left the others open.

  When Logan hit the first note, keeping his upper body straight, the old man began to clog. Expertly tapping and shuffling on the platform, he gestured toward some teenagers at a nearby table, inviting them to take the other squares, which, after much laughing, pushing, and daring, two of them did.

  Everyone loved Slim Jim. He was 80 if he was a day and never missed an afternoon concert. This was part of what Logan loved about bluegrass. It brought all ages together. A combination of Scottish, Native American, and African dance styles formed in the Appalachian Mountains, clogging was a tough dance to learn, but she noticed one of the girls was picking up the shuffle-step-stomp sequence pretty well. She must have taken tap. Logan never had gotten the hang of it. She’d stick to the fiddle.

  Ending the medley with a dramatic flair, Ned announced a short break and went to help Sally with Quinn. Logan looked around for Ben or the kids, or even Lori, her new neighbor, but no one was there yet. She’d thrown her jacket over a couple of chairs and strapped her purse over the backs of another two, so they’d have somewhere to sit.

  Hmmm ... she took one look at the crowd forming in front of the hamburger place and almost gave up, when one of the cooks she knew waved her back to a side door.

  “Two orders, right? Where’s Ben?” he asked.

  “Yes, thanks, Terry. Definitely two! Ben should be here any minute,” Logan said, “and two of those IPAs Ben likes, if you’ve got any.”

  She didn’t have time for a burger, but she could wet her whistle and grab a few carbs so she’d have energy to finish their show. She didn’t know if Ben was on a diet this week, but if he was, he could always get a Greek salad at Athena’s next door. Either way, with Amy and Liam coming for sure, the Fire Fries wouldn’t go to waste.

  Terry came around the side, handing her two huge, red, plastic baskets heaping with hot, crispy French fries smothered in firehouse chili, brushing her off when she tried to pay.

  “I’m getting a free concert,” he grinned, before going back inside, letting the screen door bang. “You guys sound great. Always love it when you play.”

  “Hi, Logan. Want some help?”

  6

  Hands full, Logan turned around.

  “Lori! Hey, glad you could make it. Sure, take this one,” she said, handing her one of the baskets.

  With her free hand, she plucked a chili-free fry out and bent down to offer it to Lori’s daughter.

  “Hi, Shannon! Do you like French fries?”

  Shannon nodded, taking it politely from her hand.

  “OK, then, you’re in luck. There’s plenty to share.”

  Logan led them back to the band’s table in the front corner, introduced Lori to Ned and Sally.

  “Did you have any trouble finding us?”

  “No, your map was perfect. Two lefts and a right, right Shannon?”

  But Quinn had already commandeered Shannon to find new places to stick his new collection of colorful Squigz (pronounced Squijeez), the suction cup toys Logan got him for his birthday. He had more at home, but Sally limited him to one bag for the festival. They stuck to the table, each other, even Shannon’s forehead.

  When Sally asked where she was from, Lori proved just as adept at not answering her friendly questions as she had been with Logan. She delivered the same pat answers about loving sunny California and always wanting to move here, never revealing the town, let alone, the state she and her daughter were from.

  Maybe Lori was just a private person. She and Sally talked pre-school kid stuff while Logan filled Ned in about her upcoming trip to Oregon. Ben arrived and gratefully accepted the beer. Too late for the fries, he said he had a late lunch, so was OK for now. Logan knew he’d go get an order as soon as they started back up.

  All too quickly, the break was over and it was time to do their last set. Normally, it was her favorite, but Logan felt apprehensive. Somehow, this felt like the last time they’d play together at the Otter Festival. How much longer could her life be blessed with such good friends and good fortune? She knew her feelings weren’t based on anything concrete, but somehow, Logan couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling. Maybe she just wasn’t used to being happy.

  After satisfying the crowd with some favorites, Ned nodded at Logan and Sally with a wicked smile. Ned had taken a bit darker turn recently, experimenting with some music from an Alternative Bluegrass Folk band called “The Dead South.” Tipping his hat at the crowd so they knew something different was coming, Logan did the intro and then Ned growled through a number called “In Hell I’ll Be In Good Company.” Logan closed her eyes. She liked the sound, but not the lyrics. Luckily, with Ned’s enunciation, no one knew what he was saying anyway. Sally just played her guitar.

  A younger crowd was coming in and they seemed to like it. It was definitely different.

  When she opened her eyes again, Logan saw Ben’s friend, Taylor, a forty-something studio musician and sometimes carpenter, was enjoying it too. He had joined their group at the table, sitting next to Ben, who was now allowing Shannon to stick Squigz’s on his forehead and pretend to be surprised. Lori was across from Taylor. Logan’s matchmaking brain went into high gear. Hmmmm...

  Iona Slatterly, head of security at the Otter Arts Festival since back when Logan worked there as a kid, stopped by as she sometimes did at the end of her shift, and sat in the only chair left, next to Taylor.

  Cool. Maybe Taylor will be interested in Lori. They’re both about the same age. He’s only a few years older than her. Lori likes live music ...

  Taylor stretched his arm up and over, landing casually across Iona’s shoulders, missing her towering platinum beehive by less than an inch. Logan thought for sure Iona’d deck him—Iona didn’t suffer fools gladly—but she didn’t bat an eye. In fact, she snuggled in closer under his arm, smiling up into his face.

  Taylor’s next move almost knocked Logan off the stage. The quiet, long-haired bass player leaned down and tenderly kissed the tiny, 60-something Iona squarely on her Candy Apple Red lips. Luckily, she’d removed her ever-present cigarette just moments before.

  Really?

  Logan looked to see if Ben had noticed. If he did, he didn’t show it. He was watching the show on stage.

  Iona and Taylor? She was old enough to be his mother! Iona Slatterly wore spray on jeans, high-heeled boots, western shirts, pointy bra
s, penciled in her eyebrows, and sprayed her beehive into submission with enough ozone-depleting spray to create its own separate hole in the atmosphere.

  Soft-spoken Taylor was into jazz and goat’s milk yogurt. Iona was truck stops and chicken fried steak. Taylor was vegan and contemplated joining a monastery at one time. What could they possibly have in common?

  The sun wouldn’t set for another few hours, but something in the softening of the air, hung with the scent of warm, pungent sage, gently indicated the waning of the day. Logan was up. She always started the final number, a slow, Nova Scotia aire some called “Neil Gow’s Lament.” It was sad, and yet not. All temporal thoughts flew and she lived in the music. Ned came in with a few soft beats of his Irish Bodhran drum. Sally had spirited her cello on stage and the music spiraled up and over the canyon walls.

  As always, the music floated past some, touched some, and broke open at least a few hearts.

  7

  Taylor and Ben helped Ned load the last of the large gear into a rolling cart to take out to the van in the employee parking lot. Another band started at five o’clock. Everyone used their own equipment. The vendor gate normally stayed closed until the end of the night when the Festival shut down at 9:00 p.m., but Iona had keys, so she went along to help.

  Lori stood, chatting with Sally, jiggling a fussy Shannon up and down.

  “Time to get this little one home. I’ve got to get some laundry done so I can work tomorrow night.”

  “Who watches Shannon?” Sally asked, “I’m looking for someone reliable for Quinn once school starts. Now that I’m going to be working full time with Fractals, I can’t keep an eye on him well enough—he’s into everything and interrupts my lessons.”

  Lori’s face took on a worried look.

  “I wish I could help, but I have the same problem. I’m going to have to find someone to watch Shannon. They were letting me bring her to work. Shelly, the day manager, was helping me watch her, but she switched shifts and the new guy’s not into kids. I’m going to have to find some kind of day care three or four shifts a week,” Lori said.

  Logan jumped down off the stage, wrapping the last of the power cords, packing them into their case with the percussion instruments. Overhearing the last of their conversation, she said, “Haley’s doing some babysitting this year, you should give her a call.”

  To Lori she added, “Haley’s the 16-year old daughter of a friend of mine. She’s paying her parents back for a loan they gave her. She’s a really sharp kid. She’s doing Independent Study this semester, so her schedule is flexible.

  “Haley’s babysitting again?“ Sally asked.

  “Yep!” Logan said.

  “Awesome! Quinn loves her! I thought she thought she was too grown up to babysit anymore.”

  “Pride goeth before a fall ...,” Logan laughed.

  Lori looked doubtful.

  “Could she handle both Quinn and Shannon at the same time? I’m going to be working mostly days from now on. I mean ... they’re pretty active,” she said.

  “Oh, absolutely,” Logan said, “I’ve known Haley since she was born. She’s helped her mom with her younger brothers and sisters and is everyone’s favorite babysitter. Besides, you saw how the kids got along tonight. It will give them someone to play with.”

  Logan saw the hesitation on Lori’s face and added, “If you’d feel more comfortable, Lori, I’m right next door. I can always stop over and see how they’re doing the first few days.”

  This seemed to reassure the young mother, and she gratefully accepted the referral. It’s not like she had a lot of other options. It was that or lose her job. They had been patient, but when she left work on Saturday, they’d made it clear she’d better have a sitter sooner rather than later.

  Lori said she didn’t work until tomorrow night, so she would call Haley first thing. If she was interested, she would drive over and meet her tomorrow morning. Logan gave her Haley and her mom’s contact information. She’d let them work out the details. Ben and Ned came back sans cart.

  “Where’s Taylor and ... Iona?” Logan asked.

  “They said they were going down to Swallows,” Ben said.

  “Swallows?” Logan repeated.

  Swallows was an old-school bar in San Juan Capistrano boasting bikers and warped, wooden floors, but great live music every weekend.

  “Yeah, Iona’s teaching Taylor how to two-step,” Ben said with a straight face.

  Hands on hips, Logan looked at Ned and Sally, then back at Ben, “Am I the only one who thinks this is a little odd? Are they really dating? Going out? Whatever?”

  “Friends with benefits?” Sally deadpanned.

  Ignoring this comment, Logan asked, “When did this start?” If Ben knew, he wasn’t saying.

  He seemed kind of irritated with her on the ride home in the truck, which gave Logan time to mull all of this over. She knew nothing about Iona’s personal life. How old was she? Hard to tell with the dyed hair and makeup. Iona was just Iona. Like the rest of the local kids who worked at the Festival every summer, Logan just assumed all adults fit into some vague ‘old’ category. Iona could have been in her twenties or thirties when they were all in high school, which didn’t seem old at all, now. That would make her ... in her sixties now??! And Taylor was in his forties? Twenty-year age difference?

  Ben’s truck idled at the light.

  Men did it all the time, so why not an older woman with a young man?

  As they walked out to their cars, Sally had brought up Cher, Demi Moore, and Susan Sarandon in that baseball movie.

  “She wound up marrying that younger guy in real life,” she’d pointed out.

  Well, yeah, but Iona didn’t look like Cher or Susan Sarandon. She didn’t think either of them dyed and teased their hair into straw or had smoker’s lines around their lips.

  She tried to think of other, more current, examples.

  There was the guy running for President in France. Logan just read where Emmanuel Macron, only 29, was married to a woman in her early sixties. They seemed happy. Not much in the way of romantic arrangements ruffled the French.

  Her brain hurt.

  They were almost home.

  C’est la guerre!

  Logan mentally shrugged, leaving the mysteries of life unsolved, and leaned over to take Ben’s attention off his driving.

  The world it was a changin’. ...

  8

  Lori Wright felt light, happy, and a little giddy—all at once. The music, the food, the wine! She’d allowed herself to enjoy the glass Sally brought back for her, but no more than one. She was driving.

  Such nice people. And Shannon had such a good time. This is how normal people behaved, had fun, laughed! There were dogs and kids, old people, young people. Everyone just being themselves.

  When was the last time she had been herself? Did she even remember who that person was? The last time she felt such vivid, muscular joy was when she used to ride her horse back in high school. Whatever happened to that confident young girl?

  Maybe this time it would stick. Maybe this time they’d be safe and Shannon would have a chance. She still couldn’t hope that much for herself. After the choices she made, she didn’t deserve it.

  Shannon wanted to stop at the beach to say hello to Sadie the sea otter, but when Lori told her the aquarium was closed, the little girl settled for shrieking and laughing as she chased the waves, splashing in the shallow water that drifted onto the sand on Main Beach.

  Tired to her little core by the time they got home, Shannon ate a few bites of macaroni and cheese, then obediently took a bath and allowed herself to be dried off, dressed in her PJs and tucked into bed. Lori only made it through half of Goodnight Moon before Shannon fell into a solid sleep.

  Placing the book back in the cardboard box that served as her daughter’s new bookshelf, Lori tu
rned off the light, left the door open a bit, and tiptoed into the kitchen for her own meal, the rest of the mac and cheese. Taking her plate into the living room, she sank onto the lumpy couch, absently ate her late dinner, and enjoyed the quiet.

  She’d have to thank Logan tomorrow for inviting them to join her and her friends at the Otter Festival. She’d been so busy planning and executing their escape and then surviving the last few months, she hadn’t allowed herself to let down her guard or have any fun.

  With a sudden stab, Lori missed her mom. She’d risked it once, did she dare call again? She wanted to tell her she and Shannon were OK, that they made it, but not contacting friends or family was number one on every ”how to leave your life behind” checklist. That’s how you got caught.

  But, she reasoned with herself, she’d been careful. She had followed every other item on the list: no credit cards, she’d destroyed the cell phone Garrett bought her, she hadn’t taken any items of clothing or toys she hadn’t checked and rechecked for tracking devices. She told no one of her plans. She left early on a day and time no one would miss her right away—Neal’s day off. She’d even gone as far as carefully selecting her new name. Lori and Lauren both started with the same letter, to make it easier for her to respond to, and her new last name, Wright, was unrelated to anything or anyone. She picked it off the internet.

  The helpers told her she could get a whole new social security number as well as a new name, legally, from the Social Security office in Seattle. But when she checked into it, she discovered that would have involved getting proof of the abuse—hospital records and signed statements from neighbors, friends, or family, then a long wait for approval. She couldn’t afford to wait. Things were escalating. Garrett was more and more on edge. There just wasn’t time. Besides, Garrett insisted Neal drove her and Shannon everywhere. With no time to herself, there was no way she could go to the hospital or the Social Security office without having to explain why to Garrett.