A Promise of Fireflies

by Susan Haught

  Moisture puckered the page. The ink ran, leaving the mark of her emotion, yet renewed optimism tapped at her heart. Did he truly sense her with Logan? Surely too much time had passed. No, it was best to think of this as an old man’s dying wish. Yet, it would be easy to do as he suggested. Her heart overflowed with things to say and she needed to write her story—if only for herself—to help her understand and let loose the grief.

  She set the letter aside and opened the journal. The words flowed effortlessly across the empty page.

  under protection, murky darkness of dusk

  a wake of light, a path, a way—

  awaken from sleep; a calloused heart

  convictions lost in winter’s snowy quay

  broken promises, dispirited heart

  severed dreams shattered in transgression—

  disclosed secrets, silent ones lost

  assuaged under cover of winter’s confession

  solitary souls in solemn solitude

  surrender as one, a sheltered egress—

  calmed fears, forged of queried faiths

  lost souls found within winter’s embrace

  ~RME~

  The words came easily as did her tears, branding her journal as her father had done decades ago in the jungles of Vietnam.

  It can’t pop out of nowhere. Ryleigh checked the e-mail address again. Clueless to the inner workings of computers and things as romantically idealistic as the Internet, she thought surely there must be some way—

  The buzz from her cell phone broke her concentration and she slapped a hand to her back pocket to quiet the intrusion, but the swoon of “California Dreamin’” had her racing to answer.

  “I’m glad you called, Evan.”

  “I thought you were always glad when I call.”

  “I am,” she said, stuttering on the words, “but…” Even though she couldn’t see his face, she knew Evan’s eyes had narrowed and he’d already formulated questions. “I was just wondering how, I mean, do you know…? Crap. I can’t figure out where this e-mail came from. There’s no address.” She slapped her hand to her thigh.

  “Send it to me and I’ll take a look.” A heavy silence fell over the line and she envisioned his exaggerated eye roll. “Send it from your Mac, Mom. Not your phone.”

  “I knew that.”

  “Yeah, right,” he said, and laughed, the infectious sound deeper than when he’d left, she was sure. The dead space in their conversation seemed to last an eternity.

  “Wow.”

  “Wow, what?”

  “Means I’ve never seen anything like this web interface, and actually—”

  “Never mind, I wouldn’t understand it anyway. I just wanted to know where it came from.”

  “Cyberspace. Hey, this is from Ambrose, that guy you visited in New York, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Does the subject line, ‘My adventure begins’ mean anything to you?”

  “He’s gone, Evan.”

  “I’m sorry, Mom. He was Gram’s friend.”

  “Mine too. I knew this was coming, but I didn’t think it would happen so soon. It’s only been two days since I received his letter.” She bit her lip to suffocate the rising emotion, prior to the subsequent interrogation from her son.

  “I think you owe me some details. About your trip to New York.”

  She groped for a reasonable explanation, or better yet, a quick way out. “I didn’t want to say anything when I got back because of the internship. And then came Colorado, the book, now the journal—”

  “Wait. That’s been months ago. And what’s Colorado got to do with this?”

  “Five months since New York.” Four since Colorado. “Of course you’re confused.”

  “I’m waiting.”

  “I’m flying into L.A. tomorrow to see my publisher and go over the details with your editor on the Vietnam spread. We can talk then. I have to be in Scottsdale for a book signing afterward, so I can’t stay.”

  “You’ve kept it from me, so it must be bad.”

  “You’ll find it interesting, I’m sure, and you’ll look at the whole picture as a bump in the road of life.”

  “You make me sound heartless.”

  “Optimistic.”

  “Hmph.” He paused. “Have you started your new book?”

  “I have.”

  “Cool. Can’t wait to hear what this one’s about.”

  She chuckled. “I write fantasies, Evan.”

  “Yeah, romance. How about an evil corporate takeover-slash-murder plot, or vampires this time?”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  REMINISCENT OF KING Arthur’s days, stone replicas of noble knights poised atop battle-ready horses guarded the entrance to Camelot Gardens Resort on the outskirts of Chicago. Horse-drawn carriages clip-clopped along cobblestone drives and the distant plink of guitars readied the band. A setting typical of a Wentworth-Cavanaugh property, Camelot Gardens posed as the ideal spot for a fairy tale June wedding.

  Shoulders squared, Logan stood in a white tux amid the wedding party, men in matching tuxedos to his left, women in breezy lavender gowns to his right. He clutched a worn Bible, the spine tucked firmly into crossed hands. One thumb worried the top of his hand while he waited to deliver the vows that would unite his oldest daughter in marriage.

  A flourish of small lavender and white hand fans waved rhythmically among the sea of guests, the air moist and heavy with the perfume of wisteria and freshly mown grass. And for the father of the bride, incredibly hard to breathe.

  Guitars meshed into a soft intro. He looked up. Straightened. The crowd hushed. The volume rose as the band launched into the “Wedding March.” Heads careened backward. The grip on his Bible tightened and without warning, his knees faltered. He had single-handedly transformed the grounds into a stunning landscape, but nothing compared to the sight before him, a stunning, priceless gem he hadn’t created alone, nor took any credit for her beauty.

  Glowing as if she’d been dipped in sunlight, Sophie walked arm in arm alongside her grandfather through an arbor of lush English ivy and Wisteria vines heavily laden with lavender blossoms. She caught his eye and smiled with sparkling blue eyes that put sapphires to shame. Dark hair cascaded over her bare shoulders, contrasting against a jeweled white gown—one that had taken the Cavanaugh women weeks to choose and nipped a rather large chunk from Logan’s wallet. He smiled at the recollection—he’d have gladly given his last dollar to see her eyes sparkle the way they did today.

  Logan shifted his weight and rubbed a knuckle under his nose. Since the first time he’d held her in his arms he’d been the one to tuck her in and read her fairy tales at bedtime, and he’d prayed she would find a man worthy of her, one who would take up the role as protector, become one with her as lover and be her prince in her own fairy tale.

  Sophie’s radiance outshone the Chicago summer sun, so much like her mother, Laurie, he had to bite back a growing lump as Sophie’s grandfather placed her in the hands of Logan’s very soon to be son-in-law.

  As he recited the words and listened to his daughter and son-in-law share their vows, Logan’s heart swelled, the pleasure slowly churning up a fountain of emotions awakened during a snowstorm in the Rocky Mountains. Fleeting recollections of tender passion flooded his veins with ardent heat, incomparable to the late-morning temperatures, and he prayed his daughter shared the same feelings with the man who vowed to love and protect her always. In all ways. A handsome, tall, and effectual entrepreneur, Reese Davenport seemed the perfect son-in-law, but so help him God if he wasn’t respectful of his little girl.

  “C’mon, Daddy,” Sophie begged, pulling Logan to the dance floor. “They’re playing our song.” Long, dark hair with a touch of natural curl and deep-set dimples (thanks to the Cavanaugh genes) flashed below vivid blue eyes (compliments of her mother) as she fell into his arms for the traditional father-daughter dance.

  All eyes turned to them as the band transitioned into Heartland’s �
��I Loved Her First.” With grace and eloquence, he led her around the parquet floor to the country song, their steps gracefully synced and her head nestled into the curve of his shoulder.

  Sophie looked up at her father. “Daddy, what’s bothering you?”

  “What makes you say that, mia bel figliola?”

  “Abbey has your eyes and I can tell when she’s hiding something. You’re a million miles away.”

  “Nonsense.”

  “You haven’t been the same since you came back from Colorado.”

  Logan’s heart stumbled and though competent on the dance floor he missed a step. “This is your day, Sophie. Celebrate your new life and save your worries about anyone else.” He twirled his daughter under his arm and back around. “Embrace your happiness.”

  “I’m extremely happy right now.”

  Logan smiled and hugged her tightly.

  “But I’d be much happier if you’d find someone too.”

  “Sophie, please. Not today.”

  “You said yourself this is my day. And the best wedding present you could give me is your happiness.” The music changed. They joined the line and two-stepped around the floor. “Something happened in Colorado.”

  “Sophie—”

  “Don’t say anything. Just listen.” Sophie demanded your attention, a trait Logan concluded had skipped a generation and she’d inherited from her grandfather. “Your real smile was back. Your eyes sparkled and you laughed like you did before Mom died. Whatever happened in Colorado, my daddy came home. Now he’s gone again and I want him back.”

  “A bit overdramatic, don’t you think?”

  “Don’t patronize me! You’re obviously blind to the truth.”

  As the words spilled from her mouth, her grandfather tapped him on the shoulder, demanding his time with the bride. Logan pulled a lavender-tipped white rose from his lapel and placed it in her hair. “Always my baby girl,” he whispered, cheek to cheek, “ti amo così tanto. I do so love you.”

  “I love you too, Daddy,” she whispered in return. “And I’m impressed—your Italian is heart-stopping sexy in that husky voice of yours.”

  Logan winked and handed his daughter to his father, pushed his hands in his pockets, and strolled to the table set aside for family. Serving himself a glass of champagne from the fountain, he sat next to his mother, who for the first time today was alone.

  Audrey patted her son’s hand. “It’s hard to imagine your little girl so grown up.” She glanced from Logan to Sophie. “And she’s right, you know.”

  He downed half the champagne in one long drink. “About what, Mom?”

  She twisted her bracelet. “I shouldn’t think I need to spell it out for you,” she said, sunlight dancing off the diamonds. “You’re a smart man, but you can be as bullheaded as your father.”

  “I think you and Sophie are conspiring against me.”

  “No one is conspiring against you, Logan Wentworth Cavanaugh,” she said, shifting her broad-rimmed summer hat and waving a hand fan. “You’re doing an acceptable job of it all by yourself.”

  “Not you too?” he scowled, and rubbed a hand across his chin, the stubble rough against his palm. “Less than an hour ago, I married my daughter to a man I hardly know. I have a right to be somewhat discrepant.”

  “Your daughter’s radiant. And Reese is a wonderful man. Very much like you.”

  Logan shot her a critical glance.

  “Sophie’s happy and in capable hands. And she wants to see her father happy. As do I. There’s no such thing as a safe passage through this life and it’s time you put the past where it belongs.”

  “This isn’t the time or place for this, Mom.” Logan clenched his jaw and looked away, struggling to bury the need for a woman he shouldn’t, and rebuking himself for betraying a promise.

  “You were a changed man when you came back from Whisper of the Pines. What happened to that man?”

  Green eyes. The Mediterranean Sea on a stormy day. Passion. A broken promise. A good-bye kiss that touched the places no one ever had. No one. “I don’t think I need to explain myself—”

  “I want my son back.”

  Logan straightened. “What is it with the Cavanaugh women today? Do they have eyes that can pierce my soul, or is it they enjoy seeing me flounder?” He downed the rest of the champagne and took another from the passing waiter.

  “We’re sensitive, intuitive women and your daughter sees what I see. You’ve distanced yourself again,” she said, scooting her chair next to his. She took his arm. “You love the Lord, Logan. But something’s not right. Whatever happened changed you, and you have to accept the fact you don’t have to pastor a church to live your life for God.”

  “What’s that got to do with anything?”

  “Sometimes God uses our circumstances to change us, and my son found something that affected him deeply and he doesn’t know how to deal with it.” She brushed invisible lint from the bodice of her lavender dress. “Guilt shows up like a radioactive biohazard on your face, Logan. Has since you were a little boy caught with your hand in the cookie jar. And don’t try to tell me you’re happy behind that counterfeit smile. You’re a damned wind-up toy trying to pass your existence off as part of the living.”

  Her words touched a raw nerve and his first thought was to distance himself from her insinuating remarks. But his mother’s voice had been gentle, and her words somehow rang true. He found no need to force himself to stay.

  “You’ll always carry the past with you, Logan. It can’t be changed. But you can change the path you choose now.”

  “Haven’t I already done that?”

  “You’ve compromised.” Audrey leaned into her chair. “I think you were sent an angel and you let her go because you can’t honor a promise you can’t possibly keep.”

  “I don’t make promises lightly.” Logan glared at her. “And it’s not your concern if I choose to honor one or not.” He turned away from her, raising his glass to a passing guest.

  “I may be meddling where I’m not welcome. But I love you, Logan. I want what’s best for my son and right now Chicago is not the place for you. Nor is the pastorate.”

  “It’s my calling.” He leaned forward, resting his arms across his knees.

  “Perhaps,” she said with a shrug, “but life’s too short to surrender yourself to something you aren’t meant for. Life happens. People change. Pray about it, Son. God listens.” Audrey leaned closer. “He’s tapped into souls like Nixon was to Watergate,” she whispered, and then patted his arm.

  “Sometimes I think you have a direct line to my mind.”

  She shook her head. “A mother knows her son.”

  An artful smile lurked in the corners of her mouth. A pragmatic woman by nature, Audrey Cavanaugh wasn’t one to ordinarily make light of a serious situation, but an instant later the knowing expression reached her eyes in a firework of joyous lines. Logan’s chuckle gave way to an inward smile, one steeped in remembrance.

  “There’s my son’s precious half-smile.”

  With a deep sigh, Logan lowered his head, the champagne easing his reservations. “You know me well,” he said with a sidelong glance.

  Audrey swiveled in her chair, raising her glass to guests as he had done moments ago.

  “You made a promise to a woman you loved, but she’s gone, Logan.”

  Logan rubbed his hands together in an effort to dislodge words that rang in his head as truth. “I feel like I’ve been sucked inside the belly of a ship that can’t break from the storm.”

  “Perhaps you need to get off that ship.”

  “I don’t know if I can. I can’t go back. Or change anything.”

  “Stop torturing yourself and whoever this woman is, find her. Love her. Don’t turn her away.”

  The words simmered and slowly burned through the façade of denial. “She’s more than a memory.” He lowered his head and spoke in a ruffled whisper. “I can’t put her out of my mind. To let go. Of her, or the m
emories.”

  “Then don’t be a fool. Find her. Don’t let that passion smolder and burn out.”

  Rooted in truth, her words consumed him. Truths he’d fought to deny. Ones he’d quietly swept behind the masquerade of duplicity. And he bore the weight of their brutality, cruel and restless, unable to deny the solidity of their power. “How did you know?”

  Audrey cradled her son’s hands in hers. “I’m your mother. I can see it in your eyes. I’m also a woman. I’m old, Son. Not dead.”

  Logan squinted in the bright light as he surveyed the crowd. “I made a promise…to Laurie. And I betrayed that promise.”

  Audrey raised an eyebrow and gave a shallow nod of understanding.

  A lump rose in Logan’s throat. “There’s a war going on inside me and I don’t know how to fight it.”

  “Don’t.”

  “What if I make the wrong decision?”

  “You might,” she responded without hesitation. “But I have faith that if you saw enough in her to let her in, even for a moment, then it’s right. Besides, it’s not your decision to make, and I think you’ve already been given the answer.”

  He sighed, raking a hand through his hair. “I’ve got one hand in hers, the Devil’s got the other, and I’m caught in the crossfire of heaven and hell.”

  “It’s not love that hurts, Logan, but the heartache and loneliness of losing someone. You’ve known that kind of love. Never forget how it feels,” she said. “Whoever this woman is, her absence is causing your heart to break, and if it wasn’t right, it damn sure wouldn’t hurt. Find her. Go to her.” Her face brightened. “And when you do, bring her home. She’s a woman of impeccable taste,” she added, nodding, “and I want to meet the amazing woman who has stolen my son’s heart.”

  “I was a coward to leave her,” he whispered, “and I didn’t mean to fall….”

  Audrey stood. “I know,” she said and placed a hand on her son’s shoulder.

  Logan covered her hand and drew a breath. “I’m in love with her.” The thought turned warm and yearning inside him, and with sudden clarity he knew it to be true.