Suddenly they crested a rise in the road and he saw lights ahead. Relieved, he announced, “This is your lucky day, Beatrice Mary McAllister. That’s got to be Annabella ahead. Just hold on a little longer, okay?”
Liam would be as happy as Bea to finally reach their destination. He’d traveled enough in the United States to be able to adjust quickly to driving on the right side of the road, but he’d driven nonstop from Salt Lake City and was jet-lagged and exhausted. They’d left the main highway, Route 150, quite some time ago and had been traveling along a dark, lonely road as jigsawed as a puzzle piece. And with Bea asleep, he’d had nothing and no one to keep him company but the rhythmic swish and muted thump of the windshield wipers, the resonating vibration of the tires on the wet road, and a country-music station that faded in and out depending on minor fluctuations in altitude.
It wasn’t that he was afraid of falling asleep at the wheel. Nodding on the road had never been a problem. But he’d been doing too much thinking. Since the tragedy that tore apart his world a year ago, he had avoided the quiet situations that left one tempted to replay the best and worst moments of one’s life. But he was forced to agree with Gran that this trip, and the quiet that went with it, was something he could no longer avoid.
He slowed as outlying houses and buildings cropped up alongside the road. They all looked battened down for the night. “Let’s just hope there’s a petrol station or a restaurant open, because it might take a bit too long to locate Gran’s house. She lives on the edge of town, about a quarter mile up one of these mountains, you know.”
Bea sat up and peered over the dashboard. “Is there a McDonald’s here?”
“I doubt it, sweetheart. This is the back of beyond.”
“The back of what?”
Liam chuckled. “That’s just another name for places like Annabella, Bea…towns too small and remote to attract a global hamburger chain.”
“But even Bridekirk’s got a McDonald’s.”
She was right. Even their tiny village back home in England had a McDonald’s, built right across the street from the Nag’s Head Inn, a pub nearly two hundred years old. While he’d been none too pleased when the colorful facade of a McDonald’s had been wedged between far more venerable styles of architecture on the cobbled streets of Bridekirk, he’d give anything to see those golden arches now. The main street of Annabella looked as drenched and deserted as the last two towns they’d passed through.
“There, Daddy! I think I see a petrol station.”
Liam followed the direction of Bea’s pointed finger. It was a station, all right, but it was closed. “Maybe the loo’s outside in the back. Cross your fingers it’s open, or else we’re going to have to find you a tree to pee behind. At least there’s plenty of those.”
Bea nodded and, instead of crossing her fingers, she crossed her legs.
Liam pulled off the road and behind the station where a yellow light flickered forlornly in the rain, revealing a small rubbish bin resting against the wall between two white doors, their paint blistered from the sun. He ordered Bea to stay put for a minute and made a dash through the rain to check the door marked “women.” It was locked—or jammed—and the knob was sticky. He grimaced and, without much hope, tried the men’s door next. The knob turned.
Liam gingerly pushed open the door and flicked on the light. He was surprised to discover the facilities relatively clean. Since there was no urinal, there’d be one less thing he’d have to explain to his curious daughter; the condom machine was going to be difficult enough to put a name and a purpose to. He rolled out some paper towels, wetted them and cleaned the toilet seat for good measure, catching a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror as he straightened to wash his hands.
He noticed, but wasn’t distressed by, the way the indirect lighting in the washroom accentuated the smudges under his eyes and made his dark hair seem dull and lifeless. He had a five-o’clock shadow, too, giving him a gaunt appearance. His looks had often been touted by the British tabloids as comparable to Daniel Day-Lewis “in one of his hunkier roles.” With an indifferent smirk at the haggard reflection staring back at him, Liam decided that Daniel should definitely be offended by the comparison.
He went back to the car, got the umbrella out of the boot and popped it open, then went to the passenger side and lifted Bea out, carrying her like an American football under his arm. She weighed next to nothing. He set her down inside the washroom and shut the door, waiting outside while she did her business.
Liam gazed where the lights of the idling Jeep Cherokee shone into a stand of spruce and aspen trees. He took a deep breath of rain-washed mountain air. It was cold…colder and wetter than he’d thought Utah would be in September, although perhaps it would warm up some once the storm passed. He was glad he’d dressed Bea in a sweater and jeans, but was still anxious to get her back inside the heated car.
Large raindrops plopped steadily against the top of the umbrella, dripped off its rim and made mini-explosions on the black asphalt at his feet. The noise was loud, but not loud enough to drown out the static of misery that crackled in the back of his mind. He was used to keeping busy to avoid those dark thoughts….
What was that? He cocked his head. Had Bea called him? He turned and tapped on the door with a single knuckle. “You say something, Busy Bea?”
“No, Daddy. I’ll be done in just a minute.”
Liam turned away and resumed his pensive observation of the weather. Then he heard it again. A faint mewling sound, like a kitten. It was coming from the rubbish bin.
Liam took a tentative step toward the bin, its lid propped open several inches by a large sack of garbage that stuck up above the rest. He peered inside the receptacle, which smelled pungently of decayed food and motor oil, and saw nothing moving. He stepped away, convinced that if a kitten was somewhere inside, it was better off there than outside in the storm.
The noise came again, but this time it sounded less like the plaintive crying of a kitten and more…well…human. Liam got a fluttering feeling in his stomach and told himself he was just imagining things. Surely that wasn’t whimpering he heard. Whimpering, like a baby fussing in its crib. It had to be an animal of some sort, an animal that only sounded human.
A shaft of light appeared on the asphalt. “Daddy, I’m done.”
Liam turned to see Bea in the doorway of the washroom, her arms crossed, her hands gripping her knobby shoulders. Quickly he scooped her up and carried her to the car. “Wait here, sweetheart. I’ve got to check something out. I think there might be a kitten or some other small animal in the rubbish bin.”
Her face tilted to his, her eyes shining and hopeful. “Can we keep it? It must need a home or it wouldn’t be sleeping in a stinky old rubbish bin.”
He made a wincing smile. “We’ll see.”
He closed the car door and returned to the rubbish bin. He knew he was probably being stupid, but he couldn’t rest now till he knew what was making that noise. He hoped he wouldn’t be racing to hospital in a couple of minutes to get a rabies or a tetanus shot…or both.
He waited till he heard the cry again—so pitiful and weak it tugged at his heart—then carefully but rapidly began to remove the garbage in the area he thought the sound was coming from. He felt an urgency that belied the rational voice in his head that kept telling him he couldn’t possibly be unearthing from a rubbish bin something…someone…human. But stranger things had happened and life just wasn’t fair. Some people were willing to die to bring a child into the world, and some people threw children away.
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