Children of the Earth Read online

  The cop wouldn’t have gone if he hadn’t wanted to go, just like Luna said. All they’d done was give him what he truly desired.

  13

  JANIE COULD FEEL THE MUSIC from the Vein even before she stepped inside. It pulsed through the rough dirt of the parking lot and pounded up through her high heels, thrumming in her legs and vibrating the denim of her curve-hugging jeans. She weaved between sloppily parked cars, shivering in the sudden, unseasonable cold and ignoring the hungry looks from a knot of men smoking by the front entrance.

  “Hey, lady,” one of them grunted as she passed. “Want to show me a good time?”

  She didn’t answer. She might have had a clever remark for them long ago, but the Janie with the snappy comebacks was gone.

  “What’s a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?” the prospector persisted, blocking her way. His voice grated against her, and his eyes were bloodshot over a foul leer.

  “Meeting my husband for a drink,” she said through gritted teeth.

  “Gal like you’s too young to be married.” His gaze rested on her low-cut fuchsia top, a throwback from when she dressed to show off her body. From when she cared.

  Silently, she flashed her ring in front of his face. He looked like he wanted to put up a fight, but just then the door opened, releasing a blast of thick, heavy bass into the night air.

  “He bothering you, miss?” The bouncer looked from Janie to the prospector. His massive shoulders blocked out a panorama of pulsing lights and fog, bodies gyrating to the beat.

  “I was just wishing her a good evening.” The prospector shrank back against the wall.

  “That better be all you were doing.” The bouncer shot him a look that made the prospector wilt, before stepping aside and ushering Janie through the door. “You let me know if he gives you any more trouble,” he whispered as she passed.

  “Thanks.” She was barely inside when the music assaulted her, an army of sound. Lights flashed between tightly packed bodies, casting shadows in the swirling fog. The club-goers didn’t dance so much as ride the beat like surfers dipping and cresting on an endless wave. Liquid sloshed from their drinks and trickled in tiny waterfalls to the floor, where they left a sticky film that sucked at the bottoms of her shoes.

  She squinted, trying to pick out Doug’s big, square head. She hadn’t exactly been lying when she told the prospector she was meeting her husband for a drink. She’d just left out the part where Doug didn’t know about it.

  She still didn’t understand what she was doing at the Vein, not really. She’d been silent as Doug pulled on his sneakers and stomped down the stairs earlier that evening, his truck making a mean squealing noise as he careened down the long, twisting driveway. Yet something had been different that night, not in Doug’s behavior but inside of her. Before, she’d been able to tolerate the silence and loneliness, even to welcome it. But that night it tore at her, a screaming pain in her chest. She couldn’t bear to spend another night alone with Bella and the Teen Moms, waiting for the vodka to warm away the pain.

  And so, without taking too much time to think, she’d dug through the plastic trash bags of clothes still unpacked from her former life, looking for something as bright and fun as the old Janie had been. She’d combed her hair and applied thick, heavy mascara, rimming her eyes with liner until they sat like smoldering jewels in her face. She’d fortified herself with a few slugs of cherry vodka, “borrowed” the keys to Vince Varley’s Buick, and navigated the cold, dark roads to the Vein, knowing she was drunk driving and that was bad, but who would really care if she didn’t make it? Not her, that was for sure. It would just be an easier way to end things.

  Now, with lights flashing purple and red in her eyes and throngs of prospectors leering at her chest, she wondered what she’d been thinking. This was a man’s world—Doug’s world—and she was trespassing. She wanted to know what he got up to every night while she drank alone in the west wing of the Varley mansion, but she also kind of didn’t. Yet as her eyes adjusted to the dimness and her ears started to pick out bits of conversation from between the thundering beats, she heard his braying guffaw over by the go-go platforms and realized that, whether or not she still wanted to, she was about to get a glimpse into Doug’s secret life.

  Her husband lounged in a cluster of greasy-looking men, a Coors tallboy sweating in his hand. His teeth gleamed as he threw back his head and howled at something one of them said. But he wasn’t looking at the men—his gaze was fixed above them, at a woman oscillating atop a go-go platform like something out of an old James Bond movie.

  Janie tensed as a spotlight flashed across the platform, illuminating the glitter on Luna’s face and the charms in her hair. Luna’s eyes were closed, and a catlike smile played across her lips as she spun a lit-up hula hoop in figure eights around her body, the leaves on her tree tattoo shivering as she moved. Even from across the room, Janie could read the desire in Doug’s eyes. It was a look she remembered from the old days, a look he’d given her across the cafeteria junior year, a look that had followed them through early groping in the backseat of his dad’s car and into the first time they made love after junior prom, on a sleeping bag spread out in the bed of his truck under a chilly sprinkle of stars. A streak of possessiveness flared somewhere beneath the vodka fog, pushing her past the gaping prospectors and bellying her up to the bar. She hadn’t seen that look from Doug in a long time, and she didn’t like where it was directed.

  A barstool materialized, and she perched on it, ducking under the curtain of her blond hair. Doug hadn’t seen her yet, and she was thankful for that. She needed to formulate a plan, a way to make him realize what he was missing, how important it was for them to recapture what they’d lost. He wouldn’t find what he was looking for with Luna, she knew that. No amount of longing on Doug’s part would make her love him the way that Janie could. The way that she wanted to, if only they could find a way to turn back time and go back to the way things were.

  She needed a drink, and she needed it that instant. She reached into her purse and waved a wad of bills at the two bartenders taunting a throng of prospectors down at the other end of the bar. At last, one of them acknowledged her with piercing emerald eyes.

  “Cherry vodka!” She had to lean all the way across the bar and shout to be heard.

  The bartender arched an eyebrow. “And?”

  Janie felt herself flush. “And nothing. Just cherry vodka. In a glass. With ice, I guess.”

  She could feel the bartender’s judgment in the feline arch of her back as she turned to fix Janie’s drink, but once the glass was in her hand and the sweet liquid was on its way to her belly it didn’t matter. She felt her uneasiness lift and her body relax into the relentless noise as she gulped it down, and with a satisfied sigh she settled the empty glass onto the bar and signaled for another.

  “Rough night?”

  The velvet voice came from the barstool to her left. The vodka made the whole room lurch as she turned, but then it was still again, and she realized she was looking at an angel.

  Okay, not a literal angel. She may have been tipsy, but she wasn’t wasted. Still, the boy on the barstool next to hers was so beautiful he was barely human, so perfect she wouldn’t have been totally surprised to find wings sprouting from his back.

  His skin was golden, his eyes the green of spring’s first pass through the mountains. His cheekbones sat high on his face, delicate as robin’s wings, and honey-colored hair cascaded to his chin in a curtain so lush and shiny she had to fight the urge to run her fingers through it. His smile cast a spotlight on her face.

  “I’m sorry?” she croaked, realizing she still couldn’t answer his question—couldn’t even remember what he’d asked.

  “You don’t seem thrilled to be here.” The words were a harsh dose of reality, but his tone was an invitation embossed on silken paper and awaiting a reply.

 
; Still, she couldn’t seem to speak. It felt like eons since anyone had noticed anything about her—unhappiness tended to blind those around you, to make them want to talk about anything but the big, sad elephant in the room.

  Her silence didn’t faze him. “I can tell you came here looking for something,” he continued. “But it’s something you already knew you wouldn’t find.”

  “Maybe I did find it,” she found herself saying. The green of his eyes made anything seem possible. “Maybe it wasn’t what I thought I wanted after all.”

  His smile widened, refracting the bar’s dim lights like a stained-glass window.

  “So you’re open to new possibilities.”

  “I guess.” A million questions drifted through her mind, none staying long enough to let her form a complete thought.

  “I’m Ciaran.” He extended a hand, and she took it, noticing the way his palm sent spirals of warmth up her arm.

  “Janie.”

  “Nice to meet you, Janie.” Her heart beat a dozen more times before he released her hand.

  “Same,” she said, feeling dizzy and happy and way too warm.

  “You lost someone recently.” Ciaran rested an arm on the bar and leaned in close, so close she could smell pine needles and peat moss wafting from his skin. “Someone important.”

  Her mouth gaped. “Are you psychic or something?”

  “Not exactly.” His laugh was honey-tinged. “But sometimes I pick up on things other people don’t. Especially when it’s someone I find interesting.”

  The warmth seeped through her skin and into her bones. For the first time since her wedding, she felt special and singled out. She felt like she was glowing.

  “You think I’m interesting?”

  Once upon a time, she wouldn’t have had to ask why a good-looking guy was interested in her. She would have known it was because she was cute, and fun, and knew how to crack a joke and a smile. But that was before her spark had gone out, before she traded a life in color for one etched out in shades of gray. That was before her baby died.

  “Why?” She could barely choke out the word.

  “Because I can tell how much you’re suffering. It makes you more interesting, somehow. More alive.”

  She looked up at him in wonder, searching his face for signs that he was joking. But the way he leaned into her, so far forward that his barstool was in danger of tipping over, told her he meant it.

  “That’s funny.” She allowed herself a small, ironic laugh. “It keeps everyone else away.”

  He shrugged. “Most people can’t handle suffering. It freaks them out. They don’t realize it’s an essential part of life, no better or worse than joy.”

  The bartender set Janie’s drink down in front of her, but for once she didn’t want it. She didn’t want anything to dull this moment, the fierce and sudden way this stranger, Ciaran, made her feel special and important.

  He leaned closer, wrapping her in his forest-y scent. “So what was his name?” he asked quietly.

  She drew back. “Whose name?”

  “You know.”

  She felt her shoulders slump, dragged down by the leaden familiarity of her sadness. There it was again, big as before and twice as heavy. She should have known better than to try to ignore it.

  “Jeremiah,” she said stiffly.

  “Janie.” He clasped both of her hands in his. “It wasn’t your fault. Jeremiah is in a better place now. It’s time to let go.”

  A sob bloomed deep within her. She tried to stifle it, but it was too late. Tears flooded from her eyes, stinging a trail down her cheeks. She hadn’t cried much since Jeremiah’s death: It was like her tear ducts had turned to stone, and all she could do was retreat behind a thick pane of loss and watch the rest of the world go by while she stood still, waiting for something that never came.

  Now all the tears she had never let herself cry, all the pain she had never let herself feel, poured from her. Ciaran held her hands through it all, an island in the ocean of her grief.

  “It’s okay,” he crooned in her ear, a lullaby of forgiveness that she’d been waiting and longing to hear. His hands stayed steady on hers, cloaking the two of them in a bubble far away from the spilled drinks and laughter in the bar, in a secret space no longer part of the harsh world she’d known.

  “I’m sorry,” she blubbered. She could feel the tears loosening her mascara and knew she was getting raccoon eyes in front of the one person in the world who had actually made her feel pretty again. “I just met you—I shouldn’t—”

  “You should,” Ciaran said firmly. “You need this. But it doesn’t have to be here. Let’s go.”

  The words brought her back to reality, to the sordid bar where she’d come to reclaim her husband. She glanced around, locating Doug in the mess of shadows, a string of saliva glistening between his teeth as he stared up at Luna grinding away on her go-go platform.

  Ciaran stood and wrapped an arm around her, protecting her from the drunken, caterwauling crowd. She knew that as long as she could feel his touch, Doug would never hurt her again.

  “Let’s go,” he said again, gently steering her toward the exit.

  She went.

  14

  THAT LUNA SURE WAS SOMETHING else. Doug had wanted a piece of her ever since he first laid eyes on her at that bonfire back at the track, the night that . . . well, he preferred not to think about that night, at least not about what had happened later. He preferred not to think about any of the craziness with Janie, and so instead he thought about Luna’s hips, the way they kept that hoop of hers going round and round and what they might feel like swiveling like that against him. The image made his mouth go dry, but he fixed that by chugging the watery remains of his Coors.

  “Gonna need another one a’ these.” He crushed the can against his chest and tossed it in the general direction of the bar. “Who wants to buy the boss a beer?”

  “You mean the boss’s son,” Dwayne grumbled next to him. “And you’re the one with the cash, so shouldn’t you be buying?”

  “I’ll get next,” Doug assured him.

  Dwayne, rolling his eyes, fished a few bills from the pocket of his oil-splattered Carhartts and headed to the bar.

  He was all right, that Dwayne. In fact, most of the roughnecks were. Sure, they weren’t the best-looking bunch, and they didn’t exactly come from pedigreed stock, but they worked hard, drank harder, and always laughed at his jokes. Which actually meant a hell of a lot, now that Bryce and his buddies from high school had all turned into boring church freaks whose idea of a good time was throwing back a few Cokes and singing songs about Jesus.

  Dwayne returned with a pair of sweating tallboys, and Doug clinked appreciatively. “To cold beer and hot women!” he toasted, eliciting a round of guffaws. Almost as if she’d been summoned, Luna squatted low on her platform, still swinging that hoop above her head, and favored Doug with a salacious wink.

  “Aw, shit!” Doug looked around to make sure the guys saw. “Did you see that? She winked right at me!”

  “She coulda been winking at any of us,” argued Sid, whose heavy forehead and protruding eyebrows reminded Doug of a Cro-Magnon man from one of those Nat Geo documentaries.

  “Nope.” Doug shook his head forcefully, enjoying the way it felt like he was shaking his brain cells loose. “She looked dead at me. I know she wants it. She’s always giving me looks like that.”

  “The hell she is,” Sid snorted. “She works for tips, and she knows you’re good for ’em. That’s all.”

  A bubble of anger rose in Doug’s throat, messy and bilious from the half dozen beers and handful of shots he’d already downed. “Shows what you know,” he spat. “She happens to run this place, so tips ain’t the half of it. She looks at me like that ’cause she wants it. They all do.”

  He looped his thumbs around his belt b
uckle and hiked it up a notch, just in case Sid’s Cro-Magnon brain was too dense to know what “it” was.

  His rig buddies howled. “Sure they do, champ,” someone said.

  “You’re a regular ladies’ man,” another chimed in.

  The back of Doug’s neck grew hot, and he looked from the rig workers to Luna, hoping she’d choose that moment to prove them wrong. As if reading his thoughts, she locked her gaze on his, gave her hips an extra shimmy, and blew him a kiss.

  “See?” he exploded. “She’s been giving me signals like that for weeks! I bet I could get with her tonight, no questions asked.”

  Dwayne chuckled. “That’s a wager I’m willing to take,” he said. “Whatcha want to bet?”

  It may have looked like harmless flirtation to anyone else, but Doug could tell from the passion sparking in Luna’s eyes that this was the real thing. This was gonna happen—and it was gonna happen tonight.

  “A Benjamin,” he said confidently.

  “Hell,” Dwayne said. “Make it two.”

  “You’re on.” Doug wiped his palm on his jeans before grasping Dwayne’s in a hearty handshake.

  “Hey, man, how’ll we know you really did the deed?” someone asked.

  “What, you don’t trust me?” He gave them a wounded look, his voice dripping with false innocence.

  “Not as far as I can throw you.” Dwayne grinned.

  “I’ll take a picture. Of her.” Doug lowered his voice to a conspiratorial growl. “Naked.”

  “Damn!” the rig workers cried, laughing and slapping him on the back. Doug felt like a king: back on top, right where he belonged. By the next morning he’d have claimed the finest piece of tail in Carbon County and earned the undying respect of his coworkers in the bargain.

  “Just need one more shot and I’ll make this shit happen,” Doug proclaimed, flagging down a cocktail waitress. As he ordered a fireball, he caught a flash of blond hair and a fuchsia shirt that looked exactly like one Janie used to have. In fact, the woman leaving the bar with some surfer-looking dude’s arm over her shoulder could have been a dead ringer for Janie, at least from the back.