“Slow down, Vanna. Take a breath, darlin’. Talk to me.”
“He gets mad like that sometimes, but he’s never run away like this.” Pushing against his chest, she fought for room between them and leaned back, looking up at him with tears streaking her cheeks. Her voice dropped to a whisper when she repeated, “He was so mad.”
“Where would he go?” Even as he asked the question she was shaking her head.
“I don’t know. He’s never done this before.” Tipping her chin, she rested her forehead against his chest, desperation flowing through her voice. “I don’t know.”
“Easy, darlin’. Think. Did you check your car? The garage?” Without lifting her head she shook it back and forth, weight pressing against him as she moved.
“I ran out right behind him but he was already gone.” The deep breath seemed to come easier this time, and she blew it back out slowly. He stroked one hand rhythmically up and down her back, caressing and calming her as she had with Kitt last night, and he felt her sag into him. He knew she’d locked down her emotions and had self-control again when she said decisively, “The creek. His favorite place here in the woods is the creek.”
“Take me there,” he ordered, stepping back and bending slightly, arms out.
He’d intended to scoop her up, but she took his movement as part of his spoken order and twisted out of his grip. Running up the path, she called over her shoulder, “It’s not far.”
Pelting up the path behind her, he watched the soles of her bare feet as she ran ahead of him, the pale flesh darkening with each contact against the earth, hints of red mixing with the dirt. “Is it deep?” He yelled the question, fighting against himself to stay behind her. Fighting the instinct to move his size fifteens and run ahead even without knowing the way. “The creek, is it deep?”
Without slowing she called back, “In places, yes.”
His next question forced out of him by fear, he shouted, “Can Kitt swim?”
Her neck twisted, head turning to cut a terrified glance back at him and he knew exactly why she was running as fast as she could. “No.”
Kitt
The water swirled around the edges of the rocks and branches Vanna Mom had used to extend the pool of water, building a barrier the water had to work to get around. That made it stay longer in one place, and Vanna Mom said it didn’t hurt the creek to wait a little while before it left them. This notch in the creek bank had been created one spring in a flood. Blocked by a downed tree, the rushing water had carved out a broad circle before it ran in a wall down the creek, taking the bridge with it, breaking the road where the creek flowed through. “Creek, stream, waterway, river, crick.”
Vanna Mom said the pool was deep on one side. She stayed in the shallows when she looked to find his treasures. Shiny, flat rocks, smoothed by giant’s feet. Wiggling tadpoles, sometimes with frog feet poking out on either side of their tadpole tail. Possible frogs, Vanna Mom called them. Pinching crawdads, dragged from their safe, blind burrows in the mud to the bright light of day, their actions as confused as his brain felt most days. “Crawdad, crawfish, crayfish, mudbug.”
He took a step forward, looking around. This was the only place he wanted to be after he came downstairs to see Truck hadn’t waited. And Vanna Mom was sad because Truck was a treasure. So sad Kitt couldn’t stand to be there, her sad beat in on him from all sides and he wanted her not sad.
This was a good place, one where he saw happy faces. Where Vanna Mom found so many treasures. He’d lost count of the things saved, as well as the treasures gently transferred back to the water. Hands clutching the hastily wrapped present against his chest, he tightened his grip on the rectangle, the edges of the unsecured paper fluttering in the breeze. I wanted to find her a treasure, he thought.
Another step forward, looking around again, nearly on top of the rushing water. “Scary water. Fast water.”
The bank crumbled underfoot and he fell, his cry of fear cut short when the water closed over his head.
Truck