by Cara Putman
“Sorry, I didn’t hear you come in.”
“No problem. I brought the picnic to you.” The smell of something sweet yet spicy wafted from the basket.
“It smells great.” Alanna drew in a breath and smiled. She wouldn’t hide her hunger, but the way she suddenly longed for time with Jonathan surprised her. She couldn’t be swayed simply by a great-smelling picnic. “I can’t tell you how glad I am I stayed. I just sold my first large painting. Since I was a teen anyway.”
“Congratulations. Need help hanging that one?”
“Sure.” In an effortless movement, Jonathan hefted it onto the hanger. “Thanks.”
Jonathan brushed his hands on his jeans then glanced at the floor. “Do you have anything we can sit on? I forgot to grab a blanket.”
Really? He didn’t plan to mention Jaclyn? Fine, she’d play along for the moment. “I don’t know. Let me check the studio.”
The first time Alanna had walked back there, the lack of mess surprised her. It used to overflow with half-painted canvases and piles of sketches and tubes of half-used paint. Now it felt almost sterile with only splatters of paint dotting the cement floor and empty easels. Her mother must have done a deep clean before leaving Mackinac. But Mom never dealt with stress and uncertainty that way before. Instead, the house and back areas of the studio would get more chaotic as her stress increased.
Jonathan would follow her back here in a minute if she didn’t find something and get out front. She opened the closet door and pulled out a folded canvas tarp. Bright paint splotches dotted it, making it a colorful swirl. Her low heels clicked against the floor as she hurried back to the front room. She slowed and watched Jonathan stroll the edge of the room. He seemed to carry a burden as he trailed from painting to painting. When she stopped, he turned toward her.
“Will this work?”
“As long as you promise me the paint’s dry.” He rubbed his thumbs down his jeans.
“I promise I haven’t used it.”
“Good enough for me.” He walked over and took the bundle from her. A shiver slipped up her arms where his hands glanced against her. He stilled and looked deeply into her eyes. Could he read her thoughts? She hoped not as they ricocheted like colliding atoms without any order. He cleared his throat and stepped back. He flicked his wrists, and the tarp ballooned before parachuting to the floor. “How’s this?”
“Good.” The only good thing about having a picnic in the studio was anybody passing by could see. Alanna could only imagine the electricity that would leap between them if they were secluded in his little cabin. She’d spent years convincing herself there was nothing special between them. Now in minutes he’d eradicated that idea.
Jonathan crouched next to the basket and opened the lid. In a minute, he’d pulled out a tub of fried chicken and the fixings. Her stomach growled as the wonderful aromas filled the space. Then he pulled out a bottle of sparkling cider and a pair of champagne flutes. Her heart thudded as he set them on the tarp.
Rebound. That’s all this was. If Spencer hadn’t told her a couple of weeks ago he didn’t plan to buy a ring, she wouldn’t feel so vulnerable. So needy for love. She must stiffen her defenses. Fortify her resolve. Remember Jaclyn’s slate eyes as she watched Jonathan.
“Is this okay?” Questions carved lines into the corners of his eyes.
“It’s been awhile since I’ve had fried chicken.”
“You used to love it.”
“Still do,” she assured him as she wondered if they’d keep things so surface.
“You got so quiet, I wondered.”
“Just thinking.”
“As long as it was good thoughts.”
She nodded then sank to the edge of the cloth. “How long have you been on the island?”
“Since Gram and Pops decided the winters were too much for them. I usually abandon this area for the worst months of winter. But I love it here. Always have.”
A shiver tickled her spine at the thought of the long, harsh winters. “Nothing like riding snowmobiles to get to school.”
“Never did that, but you always said you liked it.”
“When I was young and didn’t know better.” Winters in Grand Rapids might have tempered her. Now she couldn’t imagine spending the winter in a place with as much snow as Mackinac Island endured.
Jonathan reached into the basket and pulled out a plastic plate and set of silverware. After a quick prayer, he handed them to her. “Dig in.”
Silence settled over them as they filled their plates and ate. Alanna wondered if she should force conversation but didn’t feel up to the challenge. Then Jonathan started asking questions. He probed what college had been like, shared some of his crazy college stories, then asked about the churches she’d attended. It seemed his faith had grown as hers had while they were apart.
“So what has God taught you lately?” Jonathan pushed his plate to the side and focused on her as he waited for her answer.
She shifted and picked at a piece of lint on her slacks. “That’s a good question. One I’ll need to think about. I know He’s working but not sure I can articulate how on the spot.”
Jonathan nodded. “Fair enough. It’s a question one of my roommates in college still likes to ask. Always makes me think hard.” A comfortable silence settled over them.
Could Jonathan become a trusted friend again, or should she keep him at arm’s length? If only her parents’ home didn’t sit next door to his. The island was too small to avoid him anyway.
He wiped his fingers with a napkin and set it on top of his empty plate then leaned back on his hands and studied her. She swiped a strand of hair out of her face and behind her ear, fighting the urge to blush under his scrutiny. “What?”
“Would you have returned if your dad hadn’t gotten sick?”
Alanna looked at a point beyond his shoulder, unable to meet his intensity. “Probably not. I got pretty good at avoiding it. Everything I loved died with that stupid party.”
“You always talked about coming back after college. You wanted to be part of the future here.”
Not anymore. Not after they betrayed her brother. Her posture tightened as she felt the familiar anger return. Someday she needed to move on, but being here on the island brought it all back to stark reality. She clutched it to her like a protective shield.
“Do you see Trevor often?” Jonathan’s quiet question jerked her from her thoughts.
“He’s my brother.”
Jonathan shrugged. “Sure, but I know lots of siblings who never see each other.”
“That’s not us. Or it shouldn’t be. I always imagined that at some point he’d quit being my twerpy brother and become one of my best friends. Then we both left, and it felt like any time we spent together threw us both back to Grady’s death. It was less painful to just not see each other.” The relaxing, romantic evening spiraled downward with the trend of her thoughts. Romantic? She had no right to think in those terms—not with Jonathan.
“Have him come here.”
“Back to Mackinac?” Alanna snorted, not caring what kind of impression that made. “He wants to be here even less than me.”
“That night was more than a decade ago. How long will it control you?”
“Control me?” Her voice rose. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Jonathan. Believe it or not, everyone brushed me with the same brush they applied to Trevor.” Tears clogged the back of her throat, and she launched to her feet. “Thank you for bringing dinner, but I need to lock up and get home.” If only that meant her apartment in Grand Rapids. Especially since the reporters probably had abandoned their nightly stakeouts.
Even if they haunted her doorway, anything would be better than staying one more moment on this island with the shadows of the past.
8
Jonathan had known the past distorted Alanna’s vision, but he hadn’t expected her to order him out. The ease of their earlier conversation had surprised him. Now he’d collided
with her erected barriers.
She stopped long enough to shove plates and containers filled with remnants of their meal back in the basket. Moisture filled her eyes and threatened to overflow. The oh-so-tough Alanna Stone looked ready to break.
It couldn’t be simply what happened to Trevor. There had to be something more adding to the stress. Jaclyn? He wished he could have stuck around for their conversation. He’d explore that later, because now it was abundantly clear she wanted him out. Gone. Disappearing.
He touched her hand, felt it tremble under his. “I’ll get this. You do whatever else you need to.” As soon as she nodded, he stifled a yawn. He couldn’t afford fatigue, not when he had several hours of work waiting when he got home.
In less time than he expected, he followed Alanna out the door and waited as she locked it. “I’ll bike home with you.”
“I have a stop.” Her words were tight, almost strangled.
The island might be safe, but there was no way he was going to leave her to make her way on the roads by herself. It would be dark soon, and in the wooded areas it would already feel like night had fallen. Besides, the tourists had arrived, and with them came the typical round of drunk and disorderlies. In her frame of mind, she might forget how the island could be at night.
“I don’t mind waiting.” He’d make supercharged coffee in the morning.
She glanced at him a moment then threw her purse strap across her shoulder. “Whatever you like. You always did what you wanted anyway.”
The way she said the words had a bite that made him almost change his mind. Yet his mother had drilled into him the need to be a gentleman when it came to ladies. Always. Regardless of how they treat you. He’d extend grace for now. He pulled back at that thought. Grace shouldn’t be extended in dribs and drabs.
“Really, Jonathan. Go home. I’m fine.” As if to punctuate the comment, Alanna threw a leg over the bike and pedaled into traffic.
The clop-clop of dray horses’ hooves against the asphalt didn’t distract him. He shoved the handles of the picnic basket over the handlebars and pumped to follow Alanna. If she didn’t want him, fine. He’d stay behind, still her silent guardian.
Raucous music filtered out the open doors of the Man O’ War. A young man stumbled out and right into Alanna’s path. She swerved the bike, narrowly missing a woman on foot in her efforts to avoid the drunk. She pulled to the side in front of I’m Not Sharing Fudge Shop.
Jonathan eased to a stop next to her. “Want some dessert?”
Her hair flipped across her face as she turned toward him. “Go away, Jonathan.”
“Not happening. Last time you disappeared for eleven years.”
“I need to ask Mr. Hoffmeister a question.”
“That old guy? He’s nice enough. . . .” But why ditch him for Mr. H.?
“Really, Jonathan, go ahead. You’ve got better things to do than watch my bike. Where’s it going?”
Her insistence made him want to demand he tag along. She was up to something, and he wanted to know what. Guess he was ultra- nosy at the moment.
“Come on, Lanna. I’ll keep my mouth shut.”
“No.” She pushed at his handlebars, and he wobbled as the basket slid to the side. “I’ll see you later.”
How much rejection should he endure before he acquiesced? “If you’re sure. . .”
“I can find my way home. Good night, Jonathan.”
“All right then.” No matter what his mom had told him, you couldn’t be a gentleman if the woman refused.
Alanna watched Jonathan pedal down the street. He looked over his shoulder once, and she waved. She didn’t need him acting like a burr attached to her side. She turned to I’m Not Sharing Fudge Shop. Maybe Mr. Hoffmeister still worked evenings. He’d always insisted that was his favorite time to man the shop since he could observe everyone pass by.
Maybe he knew something about what happened to Grady. How could she have forgotten his cottage faced the area they’d chosen for the bonfire and festivities? Between that and whatever Ginger knew, she needed to talk to him.
An electronic ding announced her arrival. The old man hunched over a paperback as he sat on a stool behind the cash register. He marked his page and then glanced up. A grin split his face, revealing stained teeth. “Alanna! I wondered when you’d stop by. Need some fudge?”
“Yes, sir. I haven’t missed much but your fudge. Someday you’ll have to share your special ingredient.”
“No can do. If I did, nobody would need me anymore. Can’t have that.” He grabbed a piece of wax paper and a knife. “Now what would you like to sample?” He pointed at a couple of blocks. “How about the mint chocolate? Or the peanut butter? But if I know you after all these years, I’m thinking the peppermint tickles your taste buds.”
“Sounds great.” As soon as he handed her a thin slice, she broke off a corner and slipped it in her mouth. The sweetness melted against her tongue, and she moaned. “This is so good. I’d better take a pound and be grateful I bike and walk everywhere.”
“I knew you’d like it.” He sliced off a bigger chunk and wrapped it in a one-pound box. “What else can I do for you?”
He sidled back to the cash register and rang up her order while she considered how to proceed.
“I wanted to ask what you remember.”
“About that day?”
“Yes, sir.”
He slipped her money into the cash drawer then sank to the stool. “That was a long time ago, kid. You have to let go.”
“You must have talked to Jonathan.”
“Jonathan?”
“Covington. He told me the same thing.”
“Haven’t talked to him, but we’re of the same mind. What good comes of stirring up that hornet’s nest?”
Alanna clutched the box as if gripping a lifeline. “Because I want the world to know Trevor wasn’t involved.”
“Everybody there was.”
That stung. She’d been there. To this day she wondered if there was something she could have—should have—done to avert the tragedy.
“Look, you can carry this burden the rest of your life, let it color every day and everything you do. Or you can release it and trust those around here to move on with grace. You might try it yourself.” He glanced at his watch and stood. “Time for me to close up.”
“What’s this about you and Mr. Tomkin?”
He frowned. “Nothing for you to worry about. He just wants to build a monstrosity next to my house. Seems shocked I think he should follow all the building rules.”
“Being neighbors can be hard on a friendship.”
“It certainly can.” He glanced at his watch. “Suppose I should start working on closing duties.”
Alanna nodded. She’d be back, but he’d made it clear he didn’t want to talk—not now. His words about grace echoed in her mind as she left.
Grace wasn’t a new concept, not after all the sermons she’d heard on the topic. But applying it to this situation? That seemed impossible. Not when she had an island’s worth of people to forgive. Forgetting and moving on came easier, until her parents needed her to return.
The door clanged shut behind her, and she turned to watch him hit a light switch. She couldn’t imagine how many times he’d closed the shop in his lifetime. Through all kinds of events on the island, he stayed. Thought she should have done the same.
It wasn’t that easy. Never had been.
Her streak of justice ran too deep to ignore, especially when it involved family. Someday she wanted a family of her own, but not if what happened to Trevor could repeat. She needed to right this. Then she could pursue a family. Maybe she was stubborn, but now that she had returned, she needed to find the truth. See if there was any way to clear her brother.
She straddled her bike and looked up then startled. Talk about stubborn. There stood Jonathan Covington leaning against the wall of Doud’s. “What are you doing? I saw you leave.”
“Making sure you make
it home.” A thread of challenge rang through his words. Just like when they were teens and he insisted she let him do something—usually something completely unnecessary.
“Go home, Jonathan.”
“That’s exactly what I plan to do.” He lifted the Coke bottle he held. “Needed something to drink.”
She tucked her slab of fudge in the bike basket. “Sure you did. Come on, since I can’t shake you.”
He chuckled. “That’s right. I’m going to watch out for you.”
Her back stiffened, and she pushed down on the pedals. “I’m not a young teenager anymore. I am fully capable of taking care of myself. Especially in such a small, safe place.”
“I’ll sleep better knowing I didn’t leave you to find your way in the dark.”
“I think the Coke’ll keep you up.” No point mentioning the hundreds of times she’d hiked these same roads and trails. She might have left eleven years ago, but that didn’t erase a childhood spent exploring every inch of this island.
Silence fell as they hiked through neighborhoods and into the woods. Alanna felt her lungs burn as she fought to keep up with Jonathan. He didn’t break a sweat as she gulped oxygen. She pumped harder, refusing to let him stay ahead. Not after all the times they’d raced up and down the roads. Then he rarely bested her. She couldn’t let him start now, no matter how much her body screamed in protest.
The trees acquired shadows as the sun sank beneath them. The shadows changed the way everything looked. She hadn’t noticed the new houses and lanes on her couple of trips to the studio. Without Jonathan, she might have gotten turned around, but she wouldn’t give him that gem to use against her the next time he insisted she allow him along.
He stopped at her driveway, and she skidded to a halt next to him. “You all right from here?”
“What? Your mama didn’t tell you to walk the girl to her door? Isn’t this the equivalent of honking the horn?”
“I didn’t think you wanted me any closer.” He reached out and caressed her cheek.
