by Melissa Tagg
“The ring’s still there. Just haven’t pinned down a date. Trevor’s getting antsy. And I’m . . .” Eleanor took a sip of coffee, wrinkled her nose. “I’m having doubts.”
Oh. Something fragile and fragmented splayed over her sister’s face—usually so confident, so set. Eleanor had always been that way. Grades, athletic ability, ribbons and awards, and always the one with the handsome date. Trevor had come along their freshman year of college.
But unlike Amelia, who’d so swiftly and fully dropped everything else to marry Jeremy—the charismatic, older guy she’d met through a church ministry on campus—Eleanor had held back. She and Trevor dated off and on through college, amicably parted after graduation when Eleanor decided to go to grad school. Got back together a few years ago.
In other words, she’d done things the “right” way, the expected way—school and career, then love life.
“El, I—”
Eleanor abruptly unfolded from her chair, knees knocking into the table and coffee slurping over the edges of her cup. “You know what, I don’t really want to talk about this.”
Her sister left the kitchen, taking the stairs two at a time for the loft bedroom.
Amelia downed another drink, indecision swirling with the warm liquid in her stomach. Maybe Eleanor needed space.
But wasn’t space all they’d had for nearly a year now? And El had made the first step, hadn’t she? Driven from her cushy apartment in Des Moines to Maple Valley?
Maybe now wasn’t the time for space. Maybe—if she ever hoped to have the kind of relationship with Eleanor that Logan and his siblings had—it was the time for effort, for crossing gaps, even uncomfortable ones.
Amelia climbed the steps to her bedroom, Eleanor’s half-eaten Danish on a napkin in her hand. Her sister slid something—a book, looked like—under the sheet on the bed as Amelia emerged into the room. She stopped at the foot of the bed. “Thought you might want the rest of this.”
Eleanor’s half smile paved the way for Amelia to sit on the bed. El’s toes—painted turquoise—peeked out from underneath her pajama pants. “We don’t have to talk about Trevor if you don’t want. But if that’s why you came, if you need a listening ear, I’m here.”
Her own gentle words surprised her. But it was the kind of thing Logan would’ve said to his sisters. Probably had said to Raegan last night, considering what Amelia had spilled about Bear.
El’s gaze was fixed on the striped bed sheets. “I just keep wondering what our chances are. I look at Mom and Dad—thirty-five years and one day they up and separate. You and Jeremy.”
She clamped her lips around a sharp inhale. Had to force herself not to clench the sheet beneath her.
“And yet, the thought of breaking up with Trev . . .” Her voice faded until she looked up at Amelia. “Look at you, though. You’ve bounced back, haven’t you?”
She couldn’t stop the tightening of her throat this time. Did a person really bounce back from an unwanted divorce? From a husband who couldn’t even wait one month after the greatest hurt of his wife’s life to call it done?
She closed her eyes against the memories—the social worker’s apologetic tone, the smell of the hospital OB wing, the glimpse of the girl in the nursery and the baby in her arms. The realization . . .
“Jeremy says it’s possible to move on without falling apart and—”
Her attention whipped to the present. “What?”
Eleanor’s hand rested on the outline of the book under the sheet. Amelia pulled back the sheet only to see Jeremy’s face grinning back her. Bleach-white smile and airbrushed skin. The title of the book, splashed in garish orange, like a mocking voice: How I Moved On.
“Amelia, try to forget he’s your ex-husband for a minute.”
She clambered to her feet.
“He’s a respected life coach,” Eleanor added. “His books—”
Amelia was at the stairs in two steps, shambling down as if distance might soften the shock of her sister’s betrayal.
Was that too strong a word?
Maybe.
No.
Eleanor’s voice followed her down. “I needed to hear from someone who managed to move on after a big breakup.”
Amelia spun. “It wasn’t a big breakup, El. It was a divorce. One I didn’t want.” But one all the arguing and pleading in the world hadn’t been able to salvage.
The oval mirror hanging over her couch reflected the hair trickling from her ragged ponytail, the granite in her eyes.
“I’m just saying, he got through it,” Eleanor said, arms swinging as if that helped make her point. “His career took off. And if I’m going to break things off with Trev, I want to know that’s possible for me, too.”
“Jeremy’s career took off because he turned me and our marriage into a talking point. Every time he stands on a stage or writes in a book about how he got through such a horrible hurdle in his life, the horrible hurdle he’s talking about is me.” Her voice cracked despite the flint hardening it. “What you called easy—”
Eleanor lifted one hand. “You can’t honestly still be upset about that.”
“You told me my divorce looked easy and that’s why Mom and Dad separated. Because somehow marital failure must be contagious.”
“Amelia—”
“No, no, I can’t . . .” She didn’t stop for her purse or phone or jacket. She reached the front door and hauled it open. “I can’t do this.”
How had Logan become the leader of this ragtag group of volunteers? Unfocused chatter circulated through the fundraising committee Colton had marshaled for their first meeting. Squirrely and possibly only here for the donuts, they sat around a table in the hovel of a conference room in the rec center’s basement. To discuss an event slated for three weeks from now.
Colt was a good guy. But event-planning? Clearly not his thing.
Logan’s pen clunked to the table. “Maybe it’s time to adjourn.”
“But it’s only been an hour.” Kate, his one attentive ally.
“Yeah, but we’ve covered the basics. We’ve got a venue, an emcee, an advertising budget.” One he was going to make sure went toward at least a half-page ad in the News. Conflict of interest, perhaps, but hey, that’s what Colt got for roping him into this. “I think that might be as much as we can hope to accomplish today.” Because half the group had stopped paying attention ten minutes ago when Colton and Raegan started a game of table hockey. With a donut.
“What about music?” Kate pointed to the last item on his meeting agenda. The one they’d all teased him for preparing. At least he’d prepared at all.
At the end of the table, Raegan let out a whoop as she flicked a donut past Colton’s makeshift goal—two Styrofoam cups. Behind them, muted sunlight attempted its way in through a recessed window at the top of the wood-paneled wall.
“I’ve got an idea for music but gotta make sure Rae won’t hate me first.”
Bear McKinley may not have had his full attention last night—not with Amelia at the table. Not with the peek into her past she’d offered. Like peering through a keyhole, seeing just enough of a room to want to barge the rest of the way in. And he might’ve if her sister hadn’t shown up.
But he’d heard enough of Bear’s playing to know the guy would make a great addition to the fundraiser. Live entertainment during a catered meal. A fancy one. Give people a reason to dress up and go out, a spritzy, springy event after a long winter.
They could pull it together in three weeks. Couldn’t they?
Another cheer broke out from the other end of the table. Colton, apparently, with the winning goal.
Okay, Logan could pull it off.
“I may have officially retired from the game of football, but at least I can still champion one sport.” Colton stood, looked to Logan. “So we’re done.”
“Sure.”
“He says with a sigh of resignation.” Kate patted his arm. “Don’t worry, brother. Last fall Colton conjured a last-min
ute fundraiser at the depot. You heard about that, right? City was talking about closing it after all the tornado damage. Colton got some of his NFL friends to come and do a train pull with the football team. On less than a week’s notice. Raised enough for the repairs.”
“Colton did that, huh?”
“Fine, I might’ve helped him. A lot. And Seth and Rae and Ava and everyone else. But still, it all came together. This thing will too.”
He wanted to believe her. And if he was honest with himself, it wasn’t really this fundraiser poking his mood today.
It was the lingering anxiety from Rick O’Hare’s consternation yesterday.
It was missing Charlie her first full night away from him.
It was Amelia. It was the fact that he’d spent half a restless night thinking about her. And thinking about how he shouldn’t be thinking about her.
The scraping of metal chairs jabbed into his attention. “Maybe if we’d met at Dad’s, we would’ve been more productive. Or at the Parker House itself.”
Kate tugged him out of his chair. “Yes, but Dad already has three adult children, one adult nephew, and a grandchild crashing at his place. And the Parker House is getting new carpet today. Only on the second floor, though. My man listened to my advice and restored all the original hardwood downstairs.”
Her man. Logan draped his arm around his sister. “You’re happy, yeah?”
“Like a bookworm in a library.”
“You know if you and Colt hurried up and got married—”
“We’ve been officially dating all of two months, bro.”
“I’m just saying, then Dad wouldn’t have such a full house.”
“Yeah, but Colton’s smarter than to propose when I’m in the middle of rewrites on a book. He’ll wait until after deadline, when I’m sane enough to enjoy it.” Kate snickered, but the way she looked at Colton, now talking to a teenager in the corner, Logan guessed she’d marry the guy tomorrow if he asked.
“Hey, that’s Webster, right?”
“That’s him.”
The lanky high schooler with Colton wore sweatbands on his wrists and baggy shorts. Logan had heard plenty about the young wide receiver and foster kid Colton had trained with last fall. Training turned into mentoring, which had turned into the inspiration for the Parker House.
“I snagged a good one, didn’t I?’
“You did. Although I don’t know why he’s doing this fundraiser in Maple Valley when he could’ve done a golf tournament back in California or something. Reeled in a few celebrities and made five times what he’ll make here.”
“Because he’s not after money so much as community support. Wants each town he builds a house in to really take ownership. This is a way to spark that.”
Logan glanced at the scribbled notes he’d taken during the meeting. “I wish The Red Door did catering, because that’d make it easy and—”
Kate tugged the notes from his hands. “It’s Saturday. It’s sunny and warm. Go pick up Charlie. Take her to the park or something. Colt took me on a picnic in that old corncrib in Millers’ Field last fall. Remember when we used to play there? Charlie would love that—”
“That rusty old thing? That’s just asking for tetanus. And possibly a rat sighting.”
“Let her experience true Iowa playtime. Make a day of it. Ask Amelia along.”
“Why would I ask Amelia along?”
Kate rapped his notes against his chest. “Raegan once told me I’m no good at playing dumb. Same could be said of you, big brother.”
She closed the half-empty box of donuts and pushed in her chair, then gave him a grin packed with cheeky implication and bounded off toward Colton.
Kate could infer whatever she wanted about his friendship with Amelia. And maybe she wasn’t entirely off base with whatever conclusion she’d drawn. Maybe they did have a surprising connection, enigmatic. Maybe, definitely, that’s what’d kept him awake last night.
But a couple weeks, a penchant for banter, a temporary working relationship . . .
Well, it was just that: temporary.
And he wasn’t about to open himself up to any kind of possibility that already had a built-in expiration date. Not with Charlie to think about. Not with his career on the brink of really taking off.
Kate helped him clear the remainder of the napkins and cups, flicked off the lights on their way out. Outside, the April day beckoned. Sunlight skated over the lineup of buildings, brick and pastel—the News office, the coffee shop, the bridal store. Across the street, the river rested still and blue.
And down the block was the person he’d managed to avoid ever since that morning in the lawyer’s office. Jenessa Belville carried a paper bag in each arm, clipped stride accented by her heels.
The second she saw him, she grimaced, her glare like Barbara Stanwyck’s in that one film noir flick Mom loved. The one where Stanwyck plotted to kill her husband. Jenessa looked away, crossed the street, made for the riverfront walkway.
“Not my biggest fan.”
Kate gave a hmm and a shake of her head. “Her dad’s awfully sick. Her mom’s an alcoholic. Her husband’s only home a few months of the year.”
He turned to his sister. “I didn’t realize about her mom.”
“One of those things everybody in town knows but nobody talks about. She’s got a lot on her shoulders, though.”
A clatter sounded across the street, and they both turned to see Jenessa bending, broken grocery bag and items scattering over the sidewalk.
Kate started forward, but he stopped her. “I’ll go.”
He jogged across the street, but by the time he’d reached Jenessa, she’d already re-piled almost all the groceries in her ripped bag. He knelt anyway, rescued a rolling can of soup.
“I don’t need your help.”
Surely not even Barbara Stanwyck could’ve pulled off the spite bulleting from Jenessa’s expression. Black hair in waves and milky white skin marred by the faintest red marks on her cheeks. Had she been crying?
“Jen, that bag isn’t going to hold.”
He tried to reach for it as they straightened, but she jerked it away, ignoring the bag of spaghetti that toppled out. “Leave me alone, Logan.”
“I’m just trying—”
“What don’t you understand here? I don’t want your help. I don’t need your help. Go away.”
She whipped around, the too-sweet scent of her perfume jarring against the malice lingering in her wake. And something else.
Hurt. He’d seen it in the tear streaks on her face. The sag in her voice not even her anger could hide.
“I could give you a ride,” he called after her.
She didn’t even acknowledge him. Just kept walking.
He bent to pick up the spaghetti. Carried it back across the street and dropped into his car with a sigh. This week felt like such a mess. Broken equipment at the paper. Charlie getting hurt. Jenessa. And of course, Theo’s never-ending slew of check-in emails. It was as if he was convinced Logan wasn’t coming back.
He leaned his head against the headrest. Wished for a redo on this morning. Maybe this whole week. Except for last night. The open mic night. Amelia.
But no, last night, too. Because it might’ve been fun, but was it really worth the unsettling eddy swirling in his stomach now?
Why does every move I make lately feel like the wrong one? I thought coming home was the right thing, God, but now . . .
Now he was sitting in his car half-praying to a God he’d pretty much ignored for years. Why, he didn’t even know.
All he did know was he’d come home to sell a newspaper and spend time with his daughter. And he wasn’t making progress on either.
The disquiet stayed with him, a second passenger in the car, as he drove to Rick and Helen’s. The neighborhood thinned out as he reached the border of town. His in-laws lived on the last stretch of street before the city limits gave way to sweeping fields. He parked in their driveway.
Put i
t all away for now. The newspaper, the fundraiser, Jenessa.
Amelia.
And focus on Charlie. Just for today, just for now, just be a dad.
He turned off the car.
But he hadn’t even climbed out before Rick emerged from the backyard. His father-in-law waited beside the car as Logan unfolded from the driver’s seat. “Hey, Rick.”
“You’re here earlier than planned.”
“I seem to remember getting the opposite charge back when Emma and I were dating.” He said the words with intentional lightness, hoping the memory might erase some of yesterday’s rigidity.
Rick offered a slight smile. “Yes, though you only missed curfew once, I’ll hand you that. Listen, I’m wondering if you’d mind if we kept Charlie the rest of the weekend.”
An instant no jetted up his throat, but he clamped his lips around the instinctive response. “I was hoping to spend time with her this afternoon.”
“She’s had such a good time the past day. You wouldn’t even know she fell out of a tree yesterday.”
There it was again, that undercurrent of accusation. “She didn’t fall—”
Rick waved off the argument. “I’m just saying, I think it’s been good for her, this past twenty-four hours. And we’ve enjoyed it. We hardly ever have the chance to be grandparents in person.” He stepped closer. “You went to Boston at Christmas instead of coming home. We barely saw her when you were here in February.”
Why did he get the feeling he was being railroaded?
“Logan, I haven’t seen my wife this happy since Emma died.”
The clincher. Everything in him argued. This was supposed to be his time with his daughter. But he read the words Rick wasn’t saying.
Logan had taken Emma to California.
He’d kept Charlie in California.
Least he could do was let her grandparents spend a weekend with her. His nod was heavy with resignation.
She didn’t know why she was here.
Amelia’s gaze hooked on the sun-drenched yard that unfolded into a rolling field opposite Case Walker’s house. Black soil turned and ready for seed. She breathed in spring and expectation, the scent of freshly mown grass and white cherry blossoms.
