he’d hear in the highland villages of Nepal above Kathmandu, or deep in the Amazon. Yet it seemed as if there was a common rhythm to housework. Sweeping. Washing. Tidying. Even Danny’s voice, asking his mother what else he could do, wasn’t unlike the chatter of children in the dozens of cultures Jake had experienced from the day he was born.
It was better than the silence of the past few days, he thought, and far better than the echoes of the plane crash that still roared in his ears at the oddest moments.
* * *
THE TWO PIZZA boxes Jake had said to leave on Tuesday were on the kitchen floor, and Hannah stuffed them in a bag. Danny cheerfully took the bag out to the garbage cans.
Sugar was spilled across the counter and onto the floor as well, and she swept it up, thinking of what Gwen had said about some artists being slobs.
Maybe, maybe not.
However, it appeared that if something fell on the floor, Jake simply left it there, and she found it hard to believe that was a common custom in other parts of the world. Of course, it could be because of his injuries—it might be hard to bend over and pick something up. But when she went into the bathroom and saw the mess on the countertops and sinks, Hannah decided to go with slob.
She scrubbed everything, keeping Andy Bedard’s comments in mind about the need to keep everything sanitized. Andy was nice, a regular mother hen. And unlike some of the skiers who’d rented the lodge in the past, he and his guests always left things in good order.
After two hours, Hannah tied the dirty linens into a bundle, belatedly realizing she hadn’t seen Danny in a while. She found him sitting cross-legged on the couch in the sunroom, listening to her tenant recount a story about trekking into the Australian outback. Danny’s eyes were round with excitement as Jake described hanging over the water from a tree branch, taking photos of prowling crocodiles who’d like nothing better than to have him for lunch.
“Were you scared?” he asked.
Jake shrugged carelessly. “Not really.”
“I bet they could bite me in half.”
“Maybe not in half, but they’ve got really powerful jaws and can drag a grown man under—”
“Danny, I’m done. Can you take the laundry over to our house?” Hannah interrupted hastily.
“Okay,” Danny agreed, though he looked torn.
When he’d clattered down the steps from the sunroom, Hannah turned to Jake. “Look, I appreciate your being friendly to my son, but he’s prone to nightmares. Besides, a child his age doesn’t need to know the details of how a crocodile could kill him.”
“Hey, I saw my first wild croc when I was four,” Jake said defensively, though he also seemed to be embarrassed. “It never gave me nightmares. And after that we spent several months on an African savannah while Josie photographed a lion pride.”
“Josie?”
“My mother.”
“Okay, fine. That was her decision. But I’m worried about Danny waking up at two in the morning, screaming bloody murder because he thinks a crocodile has climbed into his bed.”
Jake winced. “Sorry. I don’t know anything about kids.”
“I understand that, but please keep in mind that certain things shouldn’t be talked about in front of an impressionable child. Besides, I bet you did have nightmares—you just don’t remember.”
“If I did, they obviously didn’t scar me for life.”
Hannah clamped her mouth shut. Being scarred for life was a matter of opinion. Jake seemed to lead a solitary existence where taking high-risk photographs was more important than human contact. Perhaps she was biased, but even the greatest photograph in the world wasn’t worth dying to get.
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