Matt heard the humming before they caught sight of the hut. A woman’s clear voice rose above the sound of the breeze, like a ballad coming from the clouds in the sky, her voice was that perfect, that vibrant. He knew the song, one of the old Irish tunes he liked to play on his guitar when no one was around. It was a song of loss and hope.
“I should go up first,” Sophie said. “I won’t scare her.”
Matt took Sophie’s hand and though she tugged, he didn’t let go. “We’ll all go together.”
Mended pieces of cloth hung from the hut’s windows and pots of flowers flanked the doorless opening that served as an entrance.
The woman must’ve heard them approach, because the singing stopped.
A woman about Alana’s height poked her head out of the opening and froze when she saw the three of them. Even under the layers of clothes and sunburned skin, Matt could tell she had once been a beautiful woman, maybe still was. But Sophie was right, she reeked. Acrid and stale, hers was the smell of someone who hadn’t washed for days, maybe weeks.
“Iris,” Sophie said, still trying to tug loose of Matt’s grip, “this is my dad and my friend Alana. I didn’t tell them about you, honest. I didn’t tell anyone. They sort of guessed.”
Matt’s eyes narrowed as he looked between the woman and Sophie. This was the woman Sophie had drawn. The woman he’d intended to ask her about.
She now leaned back against the door frame and then slumped to the ground. Matt backed Sophie away. He’d heard of what poor nutrition and isolation could do to a person.
Alana walked up to the woman and knelt next to her. “It’s okay,” she said softly. “We mean you no harm.”
The woman started to sob. To Matt’s surprise, Alana wrapped her arms around her.
“Really,” she said in a soft songlike voice. “It’s okay.” Her voice went even softer as she began to gently rock the woman.
“Let me go!” Sophie protested against Matt’s firm grip.
Matt was transfixed by the two women in front of him. He wasn’t accustomed to being surprised by people, but Alana sure knew how to shock the hell out of him. How he could feel touched, shocked and undone all in one moment, he couldn’t say.
“She makes things,” Sophie said. “She has some very nice-smelling things that she makes in there. Really nice.”
The woman pulled away from Alana.
“I’ll leave. Please don’t tell anyone. I’ll leave right away. I just need to pack up a few things and—”
“Iris.”
The woman looked into Alana’s eyes.
“You can come home with me. I’ll send someone back for your things.” She looked over to where Sophie stood, held back by Matt. “I understand I need help with my butterfly garden.”
Sophie let out a whoop of triumph, as if she were personally responsible for all good things.
“You, young lady”—Matt crouched down and took hold of Sophie’s other wrist—“you are not to run off. Ever. Understand?”
Sophie nodded.
“Ever is an awfully long time,” Alana said.
He stood and looked over to where Alana was crouched, still reassuring the woman. He admired her. Even if he’d wanted to, he couldn’t deny the power of his feelings. She shocked him senseless, she exasperated him, and she rocked his body. But he couldn’t deny that she moved him. That his life was brighter since he’d met her. She’d opened a part of him that had been walled off, some armored, defended part that had been pulled back from life, that had been prowling, watching, circling outside the boundaries of love. For the first time he allowed himself to consider what it might be like to spend more than a night with her. Maybe spend forever with her.
When she smiled at him, his heart ignored all his rational cautions and leapt.