by Irene Hannon
“Banana slugs? Sold.” Nate grinned at him.
As Cindy regarded her son’s animated face, Nate detected a slight shift in her features. A subtle easing of tension, perhaps. “If you’re sure, that would be fine.”
At Jarrod’s whoop of joy, two customers poked their heads around the ends of aisles to check out the activity in the coffee nook.
Cindy shushed him, discussed arrangements with Lindsey and paid her bill, then led a smiling Jarrod out of the store.
As the door closed behind them with a cheery ring of the bell, Lindsey rejoined Nate, still holding the snow globe. “Thanks for doing that.”
“Not a problem. It would be nice to go back to Chicago knowing my trip accomplished some good.”
“Maybe a lot of good.” She indicated the computer. “My guess is that piece will resonate with a lot of people. It could end up saving The Point.”
“I think you’re expecting too much from one article.”
“I’ve read it. I’m not expecting too much.”
He smiled at her. “You’re very good for my ego.”
“I wasn’t so good the other day at The Point when I said you were selfish. And everything that’s happened since has proven how wrong I was. This.” She hefted the snow globe. “That.” She pointed to the computer, where the touchstones story remained on the screen. “Your volunteer tutoring with Jarrod. And what you did for him just now.”
“What I did just now was the result of a prod from my conscience. I’d have preferred to have the day alone with you.”
“But you did it, anyway.”
He shrugged off her praise. “A moment of weakness. But I’d still like to have some alone time with you. Maybe we can plan another outing?”
The small bell beside the cash register summoned her, and she backed away. “Let’s see how tomorrow goes, okay?”
“Sure.”
Yet as he watched her disappear around the shelving and settled back in his chair, he didn’t have to wonder how tomorrow was going to go.
Because if that was his ticket to a real date with Lindsey, he intended to do everything in his power to ensure it went very, very well.
Chapter Ten
One hundred and two messages.
Nate’s eyes widened as he logged into his work email and saw the tally since yesterday. What the…?
He clicked the inbox and scanned the names. Almost all unfamiliar. But a quick sweep of the subject lines gave him his answer.
All the emails were reader responses to his touchstones piece.
Wow.
Never, in his entire career, had he gotten more than a dozen emails about any single article. Even that many were rare.
He leaned sideways in his chair in the coffee nook to check on Lindsey, whose back was to him as she talked with her father behind the counter. Reading email had simply been a time killer while they waited for Jarrod, but he’d never expected such an overwhelming response. Wait until she saw this.
As he began opening the messages, he was taken aback by the outpouring of support and gratitude expressed by the readers.
Lindsey had been right. The piece had resonated with a lot of people.
While he read the heartfelt letters, his phone began to vibrate. He pulled it off and stood, greeting his editor on the way to the door.
The man didn’t bother with niceties. “How many emails have you gotten?”
“More than a hundred.” He pushed through the door.
“We’ve gotten dozens, here, too. I figured you’d been buried. And the piece hasn’t even run in syndication yet. You think any more about the talk we had?”
“Not a lot.”
“Make it a priority. You’ve been hiding your talent under a bushel basket.”
“I thought you liked my investigative and war coverage?”
“I do. But this piece sings. Sorry to get poetic on you, but that sums it up. You need to think about doing more of this.”
An older model Toyota pulled into the parking lot, Ruth Watson at the wheel. He’d exchanged a few words with the cheery, red-haired young mother on occasion when she’d dropped Jarrod off for his tutoring sessions, and he raised a hand in response to her wave.
The youngster in question hung out the window and flapped his hand, his face alight with excitement.
“I’ll do that.” He grinned and waved back. “But right now I have an important engagement.”
“I want you to promise me you’ll work on another piece along these lines.”
As Jarrod climbed out of the car filled with the Watson kids, Nate thought again of the article on children who’d lost parents. “I do have a subject in mind for one more piece.”
“Perfect. When can you have it ready?”
“A week, maybe. But won’t Gorski’s column be running again by then?”
“We’ll find a place for yours. You enjoying yourself out there?”
“It’s been a good visit.”
“Not too good, I hope. We want you back, Nate.”
“I’m counting on that.” Of course he was going back. He’d never considered doing otherwise. Though truth be told, the thought of returning to the Windy City was becoming less and less appealing.
“All right. Hold that thought. And get working on that column.” The line went dead.
“Hi, Mr. Garrison.” Jarrod trotted over to join him as he slid his phone back onto his belt. “You ready for the hike?”
“All set.”
Ruth rolled down her window. “Cindy said you’d be back around two. I tucked my cell number in Jarrod’s pocket. Give me a call when you’re close and I’ll swing back by here and pick him up.”
“You want us to drop him off at your house?”
The woman grinned. “I have no idea where I’ll be at that point, but home isn’t on the list. We have an orthodontist visit, swimming lessons, story hour at the library—it’s probably safer if you call.”
“Got it.” Nate smiled back. “Have fun.”
Rolling her eyes, she waved, put the car in gear and took off down 101.
Jarrod was already halfway to the door of the Mercantile, and he called over his shoulder. “Is Ms. Collier ready?”
“Let’s check.”
But he already knew the answer. She’d keep her promise and go through with this outing, but she wasn’t ready. The minute he’d arrived this morning he’d sensed her nervousness. And second thoughts.
And he knew why she felt that way.
Like him, she was falling more and more under the spell of their reawakening friendship. Remembering all the happy times—and discovering that despite the passage of time, despite the trauma they’d both endured, despite experiences that had left them both wary, whatever chemistry had attracted them to each other as children was just as strong as it had been twenty-five years ago.
Maybe stronger.
As he stepped inside and found Lindsey engaged in conversation with Jarrod, a smile tugging at her lips in response to the boy’s enthusiasm, he modified that. No maybes about it. The attraction was a lot stronger.
What that meant for their future, he didn’t know. But as her gaze connected with his and a becoming flush rose on her cheeks, he resolved to find out ASAP.
“I think he’s enjoying himself.” Lindsey reached for another oatmeal cookie from the bag atop her small daypack, then settled in against the downed redwood she and Nate were using for a backrest. Jarrod appeared to be fighting some imaginary battle in the small clearing where they’d decided to take a break, brandishing a stick as a sword while darting back and forth between the hollowed-out base of a living redwood and the giant ferns that gave the place a prehistoric feel.
“That makes two of us.”
She transferred her attention to Nate—and her heart skipped a beat.
Man, he looked fabulous today.
Worn jeans molded his lean hips, and his snug black T-shirt revealed some impressive biceps and pecs. The man might be in a so-called sedentary
occupation, but it was obvious his assignments kept him anything but deskbound. He looked more than capable of going head-to-head with the special-forces soldiers he must have encountered in the Middle East. Add a chiseled chin and those amazing blue eyes—it was a killer package.
A sudden wave of guilt blindsided her, and she forced herself to turn back toward Jarrod. “I can’t tell you how grateful Cindy was for our willingness to bring Jarrod along. She thinks he might finally be…”
“Lindsey.”
Her voice stuttered at Nate’s quiet but firm tone. And when his hand came to rest on her shoulder, when the warmth of his fingers seeped through the thin cotton of her own T-shirt, her lungs shorted out.
The bite of cookie she’d just taken got stuck halfway down her throat, and she groped for her bottle of water. Twisted the cap. Took a long gulp.
Only then did she venture a look at her companion.
He hadn’t moved, except for the hand he’d dropped to her shoulder. His long legs, crossed at the ankle, were still stretched in front of him. His other hand remained clasped around the bottle of water propped on the needle-covered ground beside him.
“We need to talk.”
“About what?” Her words came out in a croak.
“Us.”
The man didn’t beat around the bush.
But he was right. Hadn’t she asked him on this outing to find out more about his background? To open the door to friendship?
Except she was getting cold feet. Make that frigid feet. Because opening the door to friendship could also open the door to more.
Take a chance, or be scaredy-pants.
Her old admonition to the man beside her echoed in her mind. Her dad’s advice had been sound. She shouldn’t let fear get in the way of living. Mark would be the first one to tell her that. Her husband had lived every minute of his life, never letting worry or fear rob one minute of joy from his days.
You can do this, Lindsey. Take it one step at a time. You’re not making any commitments here. You’re just…keeping your options open. Exploring the possibilities. You don’t have to feel guilty about it.
The cookie snapped in half in her fingers, and she set it carefully on her lap. “Okay.”
He seemed taken aback by her acquiescence. “Okay?”
“Yeah. Okay.” She brushed the crumbs off her unsteady fingers. “I guess we do need to talk.”
“I didn’t think it would be this easy.”
She leveled a direct look at him. “It won’t be. We had a great relationship as kids, from everything I’ve been remembering, but even though I still feel a certain…chemistry…between us, life’s a lot more complicated now.”
“Life’s always been complicated. For me, anyway.” Bleakness dulled the color of his eyes to the hue of the sea before a storm.
Her throat contracted, reminding her she wasn’t the only one with fears and baggage. “I’m beginning to realize that. I had no idea your home life as a child was so difficult.”
He lifted one shoulder. “You lived in a perfect world. One where the kinds of things that went on in my house weren’t even on the radar screen. I envied you that, you know. And prayed my own family could become more like yours. For a while, I thought those prayers had been answered.”
“Until your father started drinking again?”
“Yeah.” He picked up his water and took a swig.
“What happened after you left here?” She chose her next words with care. “You implied once it was your own fault you lost your mom and ended up in foster care. But I don’t believe that.”
“My dad did.”
She could tell he was trying for a dispassionate tone, but she heard the bitterness—and hurt—underneath. She touched his hand. “What happened?”
For several seconds, he regarded her fingers resting against his sun-browned skin. “I’ve never talked about this. With anyone.”
And he wasn’t going to begin with her. She got the message.
Quashing her disappointment, she started to retract her hand. “I understand. I didn’t mean to…”
He grabbed for her fingers, twining them with his, and locked onto her eyes. “But I’ll make an exception for you.”
The significance of his comment—and its implications—were clear. But scary as that was, it also warmed a place deep in her heart that had long lain cold and dormant.
Without relinquishing her hand, he lifted his gaze toward the sunbeams filtering through the giant trees and drew up one knee. “I’ll try to give you the condensed version. After we left Starfish Bay, Mom and I moved to Ohio, where she’d grown up. Dad followed us, still hoping to patch things up. I don’t know, he might have convinced her eventually. He did stop drinking again for a while, and he could be very persuasive. And I know they loved each other. But he never got the chance.”
She waited in silence while he took another long swallow of water.
“One Saturday morning, the spring after we left here, Mom woke up with a bad headache. For the first time in my life, I was attending a real school instead of being homeschooled, and that was the day of the annual picnic. I’d made a couple of friends, and we’d planned to meet there and hang out. Mom said she didn’t feel well enough to take me, and I was furious. So I called one of my buddies, and his mother agreed to pick me up.”
Nate’s voice flattened as if he was trying to distance himself from the telling. “By the time I left, Mom’s headache was worse and she seemed a little off balance. I asked her to call the doctor, but she’d ended up with a nasty staph infection after giving birth to me and avoided doctors and hospitals after that. She said she’d take some aspirin and that I shouldn’t worry. But I worried anyway. I had bad vibes about the whole thing. So a couple of hours later, I told the other kid’s mother I didn’t feel well, and she drove me home.”
Lindsey heard the sound of plastic puckering as his fingers crushed the water bottle.
“I found Mom on the floor in the kitchen. She’d died from a cerebral hemorrhage. My dad took me in, but he blamed me for her death. He said I was selfish. That I should have stayed with her if she was sick, or at least called him. He started drinking again, too. And disappearing for days at a stretch. Child Protective Services finally took me away, after someone reported the neglect. He died a year later in a one-car, drunk-driving accident.”
As Nate ended his story, Lindsey felt the pressure of tears in her throat. All these years, he’d carried around a boatload of guilt. Believed he was responsible for his mother’s death, and that his selfishness had killed any hope of a reconciliation that could have made them a real family again. And how must he have felt, knowing his father had been willing to try and stay sober in order to get his wife back—but keeping his son wasn’t worth the same effort?
The answer was obvious.
Unworthy.
Lindsey closed her eyes, her heart aching for that lost, neglected little boy. And for the solitary man beside her, whose quest for—validation? forgiveness? redemption? all of the above?—had driven him cross country, back to the one place where life had made sense.
She tightened her grip on his fingers, which remained entwined with hers. “What happened to your mom wasn’t your fault. You were just a little boy who wanted to go to a school picnic and sample the normal childhood that you’d missed out on for most of your life. Your father’s blame was grossly misplaced.”
“I’d like to believe that. But the truth is, even though I was a kid, I knew whatever Mom had was more than a headache. I shouldn’t have gone. Dad was right. About that, at least.”
“And you’ve spent your life trying to atone for that mistake. To prove you’re worthy.” She studied his face. “That’s why you put yourself in the line of fire, isn’t it?”
He frowned at her. “I think you’re getting way too psychological. I needed to earn a living. I’m a decent writer, and I like action, so I put the two together and found a job that suits me. End of story.”
“Is i
t?”
“Yeah. It’s an interesting job. I like it.”
“Then why did you take a leave of absence?”
A muscle twitched in his jaw. “You don’t cut a guy any slack, do you? But then, you never did.” The ghost of a smile softened his taut lips and took the edge off his words. “I don’t recall little Lindsey Callahan ever backing away from a challenge. She was one spunky kid.”
“I’m Lindsey Collier now. A different person.” She played with the broken cookie in her lap. “It’s funny, though. With you, I still feel like Lindsey Callahan.”
“And you still make me feel like the Nathaniel I was for those few months in Starfish Bay. Before my mom died. Before foster care. Before Afghanistan.”
The slight roughening of his voice on the last word was telling. “What happened there, Nate?”
“Too much.” His answer came out flat. “Embedded combat coverage is brutal. You live with the troops. Eat with them. Listen to their fears and hopes and dreams. Become friends with them. And then you watch them die, one by one.”
A shudder rippled through her. “I can’t even imagine.”
He gave a stiff shrug. “After a while, you learn to deal with it.”
“How? Based on what you’ve said about your faith, I’m assuming you didn’t turn to God for answers.”
“No. Until I came back here, I hadn’t spoken to God in years. I coped by shutting off the horror. Shoving it into a corner and not thinking about it. Except at night, in the darkness, when sleep wouldn’t come and the images strobed across my mind. But for the most part, my technique worked. Until the day I went out with an advance squad on a reconnaissance mission.”
He squeezed her fingers in a numbing grip, but she didn’t flinch. Whatever was coming next, she knew it had been the catalyst for his cross-country trip to Starfish Bay.
“We were walking along a deserted road. The next thing I knew, the world exploded. A whole sequence of roadside bombs had detonated. I remember flying through the air, surrounded by screams and chaos. I landed on my back, four feet from the sergeant. A good guy. Brave. Smart. One semester away from his engineering degree. A wife back home. A baby on the way. He was facing me. His lips were moving, but there was no sound. And there was a huge hole in his chest.”
