Читать книгу Rainbow's End - Irene Hannon, Irene Hannon - Страница 12

For the first few days, Keith didn’t stray far from Rainbow’s End. He hiked a little in Moran State Park, spent hours watching the sea from a nearby rocky beach, took long naps and prepared simple meals from the provisions he’d bought at the general store a few miles down the road. For the most part, he was content to let the peace and quiet of the place seep into his soul.

He saw no further evidence of the mysterious little boy who stayed on the fringes of the property. Nor did he see much of his landlady. Once he happened to catch a glimpse of her when she ventured out to the toolshed. Another time he saw a light burning in an upstairs window late into the night. Beyond that, there was no sign of life at the house.

Only when his supplies began to dwindle did Keith decide it was time for another trip into town. Besides, he owed his father a call, and his cell phone didn’t work here. He’d left a message on his father’s machine the day after the storm, when he’d gone into town for groceries, but it had been cryptic. He owed his dad more than that, after all the support and love he’d provided when Keith’s world had collapsed.

As he headed out the door, his camera caught his eye, and on impulse he reached for the case. He hadn’t had much interest in taking photos in quite a while, but this island was special in a way he couldn’t quite define. He might see something that would pique his interest enough to motivate him to get the camera out of the case.

Two hours later, after exploring a bit in Eastsound and stocking up on provisions, he found a pay phone and placed a call to his dad’s cell number. When his father picked up, Keith could hear the sound of a saw in the background. He pictured the older man, solid and hearty, dressed in his typical work attire of worn jeans and a cotton shirt, his bristly white hair standing at attention in the crew cut style he’d always favored, a stubby pencil stuck behind his ear.

“Dad, it’s Keith. Is this a good time?”

“It’s always a good time to hear from you, son.” The warmth in the older man’s voice soothed Keith like a healing balm. “I got your message the other night, but it was scratchy. Did you say you were in San Juan? I thought you were heading west, not south.”

A smile lifted the corners of Keith’s mouth. “I’m in the San Juan Islands, Dad. Off the coast of Washington State. A beautiful little spot called Orcas Island.”

There was a moment of silence as Bob Michaels tried to recall when his son had last noticed beauty. He couldn’t even remember. Perhaps this, finally, was the turning point he’d been praying for since Keith had walked away from the traumatic memories that had distorted and darkened his vision of the world. Thank you, Lord, he whispered in the silence of his heart.

“And what’s so special about Orcas Island?” Bob asked, after swallowing past the lump in his throat.

“It’s quiet here. And peaceful. Not like anywhere I’ve ever been. I don’t know quite how to describe it, except that it feels like a place apart from the world, where you can regroup and make a fresh start.” Keith didn’t mention that his unique landlady added to the specialness of the place.

“Sounds mighty fine. Where are you staying?”

“A little cottage. There are very few people for miles around. It’s just the forest and the mountains and the sea.”

“Staying there for a spell might do you good. How are you fixed for cash?”