~ Twenty-four ~
The three of us catnapped on a grassy hill under the half shade of the Monterey cypress overlooking the Pacific below. After our picnic lunch, we’d talked about everything and nothing at all for the next hour, taking goofy pictures of each other with our cell phones.
Luke appeared to be sleeping, unresponsive to the ringing of my cell phone when it went off sometime during the bright, sunny afternoon. Avril picked it up, all of us lazy from sleep, answering it in her “I don’t care who is on the other line” voice.
“Harper Gray’s answering service. Who’s calling, please? Oh, hello, Sydney darling, how are you?”
I listened on my back, eyes closed, feeling a gentle afternoon breeze whisper across my face, totally at peace with the world.
“You’d like to speak to Harper, eh? Hold one second, I’ll see if she’s in.”
I felt Avril whack me on the arm with the cell phone as she tried handing it over, apparently with her eyes closed. “Harper, a theatrical agent, Madame Sydney Bloom, is on the line for you.”
Disinclined to open my eyes, I felt for the cell and placed it against my ear, rolling my face up to the sky. The brightness of the sun penetrated my eyelids, turning them into translucent pink screens.
“Hey, Sydney.”
“Harper, where are you guys? You sound like you’re all sniffing laughing gas.”
“More or less. What’s going on?”
“I just thought you’d like to know we got a contract from Joseph Hagen a few moments ago. According to your wishes, we inked the deal today. You’re starring in Winter Dreams. Go ahead, pinch yourself, scream at the top of your lungs if you want. A hit on Broadway, and now a major movie. You’ve just checked all the boxes in the career goals of every A-list actress in Hollywood.”
“I’m speechless. Really, I don’t know what to say.”
“I have other news, you’re costarring with Elijah Navarro. Joseph has scheduled rehearsals to start on Monday in LA, so I guess you’re a Californian now. Shooting begins in ten days, so stop eating bonbons.”
“You should talk.”
“I’m not a film actress, Harper. You are. You’re also on an upward trajectory, so don’t be shocked when you start getting photographed coming out of Walgreen’s without makeup, carrying a quart of orange juice. When are you coming back to LA?”
“I don’t know yet.” I paused to take a deep breath. The air tasted like dreams come true. “Avril and I are just lying around.”
“Well, that’s probably good,” Sydney said, surprising me. “You need a vacation. It’ll clear your head and prepare you for the tidewater that’s coming your way. Honey, I wanted to say I’m very proud of you. Just save me the heart attack and be back here by Saturday, all right? Oh, and in case you’re wondering, it pays two hundred fifty thousand dollars, and you’ll receive half in about ten days. Don’t ask what your costar is getting.”
I sat up cross-legged on the beach towel, brushing my hair away from my face. In the distance, a young boy pulled a green kite aloft into the azure sky.
“What’s everybody doing?” I asked the two zombies who were still lying horizontal. “I mean, what’s our plan here?”
Luke was on his back, his right arm sprawled over his eyes. He spoke without moving. “That depends. How long are you staying in Carmel?”
I looked at Avril. “We were thinking we’d drive back tomorrow. What about you?”
Luke sat up, rubbing sleep from his eyes. “My schedule’s more or less open. The plane’s in a hanger waiting for me whenever I get back to it.”
“I think I should take the rental car and drive back to the B and B,” Avril said. “Don’t you guys need to spend some time alone?”
I looked at Luke, unsure of how to answer Avril’s question, although I was suddenly wide awake.
“So what are we thinking?” I asked, looking at Luke.
“This is kind of a wild thought, but how would you like to see where I work?”
“Wasilla?”
“I was thinking farther south, like the headquarters in Eugene. I know a few places we can get a great hamburger, and there’s a landing strip on the property.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Avril said. “We don’t even know how long you’ve been a pilot, Luke. I was thinking you guys could just hang out here.”
“Twelve years,” Luke said. “I’ve flown the West Coast too many times to count, and Hawaii, Mexico, trips to Australia and the Far East.”
“And your uncle Don is up there in Eugene too, right?” I asked.
“Yeah, I think it would be great if you met him. He’s a little crusty, but you’ll like him.”
“Then what are we waiting for?” I said, surprised to hear the words coming out of my mouth. Was it wise to put so much trust in Luke so soon? I offered up a little prayer, asking God to redirect me if this was a bad idea. The smile on Luke’s face and the way he looked at me—it was a look of kindness and respect—gave me my answer. I would be fine.
Luke followed us back to the B and B, then loaded up my things in his rental, and we started our road trip to the airfield.
“Call me if you need anything,” Avril said, like a protective den mother.
The flight to Eugene took less than two hours. I’d never ridden in the cockpit before, never thought of an airplane as being my personal mode of transportation.
An airstrip on the grounds of the head office served as our airport of destination, a long, flat dirt strip cleared of rocks and debris.
“Is this how you always land?” I asked.
“Trust me, it’s fine. I’ve landed on runways far worse than this one.”
The prospect of landing in a small plane ought to have frightened me, but I felt a strange peace about the whole thing. I realized it probably had something to do with trusting the pilot.
The headquarters for McCafferty Logging sat nestled in a forest of white pines on more than twenty acres of timberland. As we made our approach over the trees, I could see a half dozen buildings of various sizes, the tallest a three-story corporate structure made of steel and glass. It stood apart from a long, open warehouse and a water tower that had been painted the color of chestnuts.
Luke’s descent and landing were as smooth as a skater on ice. He turned the Cessna around at the end of the airstrip and taxied the aircraft into a hangar.
“Let me call someone,” Luke said, after he’d parked the Cessna. “There’s supposed to be a golf cart nearby we can take to the main entrance. Someone must be using it.”
“I didn’t realize the scope of McCafferty Logging. How many people work here?”
“One hundred twenty, or thereabouts.”
Luke began unloading my overnight bag as a Club Car golf cart came whizzing in through the open hangar door. The stocky driver wore a baseball cap on his head and was dressed in a white short-sleeved three-button crew shirt underneath a nylon jacket, and tan slacks.
“Luke, glad you’re back,” he said, parking the cart a foot away from us. “Do you have time to meet with Alan about the permits tomorrow morning?”
“Well, hello to you, too. I’d like you to meet someone. This is Harper Gray, my friend I told you about.”
Realizing he’d been remiss in the area of social manners, Don McCafferty slid out from behind the wheel of the Club Car and greeted me with a firm handshake.
“Hi, Harper, nice to meet you. I’m Luke’s uncle Don. Sorry if I was a little abrupt there. We always have our plate full with things to do.”
“Nice meeting you,” I said.
Don turned his attention back to Luke. “I won’t keep you, but if you can swing a few minutes with Alan, he’s got multiple-choice questions only you can answer. Shouldn’t take more than thirty minutes or so. He’s in his office right
now.”
“I’m planning to spend the rest of the day with Harper,” Luke said. “I won’t have time to meet with Alan. Just call Brody and ask if we can postpone our meeting to early next week. We’re in the right on this permit issue, and he knows it. Whether we meet this week or next, it’s going to get resolved in our favor.”
It was obvious Don was expending tremendous energy holding his tongue. Having just apologized for his social skills, he appeared to have obligated himself. Still, Luke’s assessment and reassurance seemed to relax his nervous tension, and he asked, “How was the trip?”
“Carmel is beautiful, Uncle Don. You’d love it. It’s right on the ocean, and Clint Eastwood lives there, so it’s your kind of place.”
Don smiled. “I’ll have to check it out sometime. Well, nice meeting you, Harper. Enjoy Eugene.”
“I told you Don’s a little surly,” Luke said as we drove the cart along a well-worn path to the main building. “He’s a really good guy, but he’s seen some rough stuff in his life.”
“Like what?”
“Vietnam POW, divorced by his first wife, lost his kids. He’s lived alone for twenty years, but he doesn’t like it.”
“Poor guy. Are the two of you close?”
“Yeah, I mean, we’re family so we hang out in our off hours. He likes to fish, and so do I. He makes the trip to Wasilla more than I get down here, but he’s probably my best friend.”
Luke took me on a tour of the main office, a folksy blend of corporate America meets laid-back northwesterners. I shook hands and nodded to women in the front office, sales guys, workmen coming in from a logging expedition, and a nephew earning college credit working part time in the firm. After making the rounds, Luke took a set of keys off a hook behind the reception area. “Dinner?”
“I thought you’d never ask.”
We exited out the main doors, went down a set of concrete stairs, and made our way to the parking lot. A burgundy-colored Jeep Cherokee was parked near the building. Luke unlocked my door and opened it for me. I popped the lock on his side as he walked around and got in.
“Eugene has some great food,” he said. “We’ve only had a light picnic, so what do you think about a fancy meal somewhere?”
“Would it be possible just to find some place a little more homey? I feel underdressed for fancy.”
“I think I know just the place.”
We drove twenty minutes to a diner on the outskirts of Eugene called Earl’s. A neon sign in the window welcomed us and the approaching calm of dusk. A half-filled parking lot told us the wait for a table wouldn’t be long. Local and folksy, Earl’s entire dining room featured booth-only seating. A five-foot marlin hung on the back wall, and a Hank Williams song played over the speakers, a selection from the small plastic jukeboxes at each table.
“Somehow I think this place will serve the best fried catfish I’ve ever tasted,” I teased.
“And the best chicken-fried steak, chili, and pecan pie.”
A waitress broke through the swinging saloon doors that separated the kitchen from the rest of Earl’s. She gave Luke a stop-in-her-Airwalks greeting when she saw him. “Hey Luke. I didn’t know you were back in town. How long you here for?”
“Just a day. You doing all right, Ellen?”
“Never better.” Ellen pulled two menus from a wooden box behind the cash register and showed us to our booth.
“I get the feeling you know a lot of people,” I said.
“I grew up here. Wasilla came later. They’re both the same place to me in a way. Same kind of people, honest, hardworking.”
Ellen returned and took our dinner orders—catfish, hush puppies, and coleslaw for Luke, chicken salad for me—and then hustled back to the kitchen, leaving us alone. As if drawn by instinct, we reached across the table and held hands, staring into each other’s eyes.
“Just in case you’re wondering,” I said. “I’m trying to reconcile all the things I know about you from a computer screen with the real-life person sitting across from me, and shape them into one.”
“That’s funny, ’cause I feel like I’m looking down on the two of us from above, seeing us here sitting together at this table. And I’m wondering how an actress from New York City and logger from Alaska found themselves in a diner in Eugene, Oregon, holding hands, staring at each other.”
“It is one of those unexpected things, isn’t it?”
“Unexpected, and amazing.”
“When I look at you, I see the man from LoveSetMatch.com, the one I read about in an online description, the one I emailed and texted and talked to on the phone. You’re a pilot who flies what I imagine to be somewhat dangerous missions to help others, and your family owns and operates a large logging enterprise. I’m just trying to shuffle all those cards together and get a composite of who you really are.”
“And what about you, Harper Gray? You’re the woman with one photo on your personal page, some kind of understudy actress in New York who gets promoted to star and who talks more about God than about acting. So what kind of actress are you, anyway?”
“I’m still trying to find that out myself. In my personal life, I’m playing the role of follower. It’s a lifelong role, and if anyone sees that part of me, they pretty much have the whole story. Professionally, I’ve been mostly unsuccessful until this recent break in New York, and for all I know I’ll be unemployed again when I least expect it. I may not always be an actress, but I’ll always be me.”
Luke squeezed my hand. “I can handle that.”
Ellen brought out our food, and Luke said grace over it. Then he said, “Well, since we’re talking about who we are, you should probably know that I don’t feel like I have a right to myself anymore. I don’t call the shots. I may not always be a logger, or a bush pilot, but if you can see the biggest part of me is that I am not my own, then you pretty much have me figured out.”
“So, we’re both servants. I think He gives us the desires of our hearts. Do you ever feel like the desire of your heart is to be with someone, but it’s also to give that dream to God at the same time? Two opposite desires, and they swirl around each other?”
“Harper, I know without a doubt that God has my best interests in mind at all times. I used to live with the tension of my hopes versus God’s, but I’ve seen His care for me too many times to worry about it anymore.”
It was cold outside when we left Earl’s, a billion stars shimmering in the night sky. The dinner and talk had made us tired, but we didn’t want to leave each other’s company.
“What do you want to do now?” I asked.
“I can find you a hotel room. Come back and pick you up in the morning. I’ll drive you to Portland. There will be lots of flights going into LA.”
“I’m not ready to say good-bye to you now and then only see you for an hour in the morning.”
Luke tempered his steps as we walked across the gravel parking lot, crunching the stones beneath his feet when he stopped. I watched Luke’s pensive eyes, both of us anticipating his next move.
“There’s a twenty-four-hour coffee and donut place not far from here,” he said, modest and chary. “I want to spend time with you, too. I just think we should stay around people.”
“I agree.”
The Jeep’s two bright headlights unveiled the mysteries of the dark road ahead until they fell upon a neon sign welcoming us to the donut shop. As we parked, I could see inside the coffee shop. A man and his young son ordering donuts at the counter. Two women in a booth, having coffee. Above us, the stars pierced the upper atmosphere like torches, and a shy moon watched over Eugene. Luke invited me to sit closer without words. He’d be fine if I chose to stay on my side of the Jeep Cherokee, but I didn’t want to. Instead, I shifted my head so it rested on Luke’s shoulder. “You’re so good at taking care of people. You go w
here they are and bring what they need. And then you came to me. You came to my rescue. How did you know I needed you?”
“I needed someone too, Harper. God sent you to me by sending me to you.”
We kissed, our first, and the best kiss I’d ever had. Maybe it was the darkness. Or perhaps it was the fact that we both accepted that God ruled our lives and had given us this extraordinary day. But in memory, it was the character of the person. I had discovered something about Luke McCafferty that I could never learn from a computer screen: He was a good man.
I watched him, my eyes adjusting to the moonlight to make out his profile. I wasn’t sure why God had been so kind to me, but that night I didn’t think I’d ever be alone again, and I marveled at the feeling.
We awoke at sunrise, stiff and sore from sleeping only a few hours sitting up in a Jeep. I dreaded the day. Airports and good-byes and questions about when we’d see each other again. I’d found my soul mate, and everything inside me screamed to stay with him, but there were things to be done. I had to think about finding a new place with Avril, and there was that little movie I was about to start filming.
A painful rush of longing pulsed through my body when the United jet left Portland International Airport behind in a swirling cloud of dust and exhaust. I was living two dreams, both classic Hollywood stories. I was the woman who found true love where she least expected it, and the down-and-out actress on the fast track to success.
Looking at the world from thirty-one thousand feet, I thought about James, living alone in his house by the ocean, the only man I knew who’d also lived two dreams, once.
If only the closing credits could have rolled across the screen of my life, right at that moment. Then my story was guaranteed a happy ending. But life’s not like the movies, and the only way we learn the ending is to live it
~ Twenty-five ~
The studio sent a car to pick me up on the first day of rehearsals. I couldn’t help but think of Helen Payne and her daily dozen roses as I sat in the back of a white stretch limousine, reading over the latest script for Winter Dreams, which had been couriered over to Sydney’s beach house the night before.
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