by Tamara Leigh
“Thank you.” Where is Axel?
“So”—he turns toward the pavilion—“do you agree with Devyn that honesty is the best policy? that the truth will set you free?”
Even without the proper amount of lubrication, those wheels of his have been hard at work. Still, beyond the worry of how this will play out, I feel freer. And it would be selfish of me to deny him the same. “Though it will be uncomfortable for a while, it’s nice not to have it hanging over my head—or Trinity’s.”
As we near the pavilion, I check my watch. It’s five minutes until the mayor’s opening address, meaning Uncle Obe will soon be onstage. “I don’t imagine you and Axel had time to go over your note cards?” And by the way, where is he?
“Nope. First off, they aren’t in my shirt pocket where I put them. Second, I don’t think I’m going to need them. Do you?”
Keep breathing. “No.”
He smiles. “I prayed this morning for the Lord to guide me through the day. And so He has—just as He guided you.”
It was God, wasn’t it? God who has been hard at work on me since I returned to Pickwick. And, finally, I did the right thing. “Yes, Uncle Obe.”
He halts before the pavilion. “I’d better get up there and get this over with.”
“Wait!” I open my purse and pull out a notepad. “I’ll jot down a few things in case you…”
“Forget?” He gazes at me from beneath those bushy eyebrows. “It’s lies and half truths that are hard to remember, Piper. I don’t need notes for this.”
I imagine him at the podium, struggling for elusive words beneath the heat of embarrassment. “Yes, but to be on the safe side—”
“I am on the safe side, feet firmly planted.” He looks at Devyn. “Come clean and be done with it, right?”
“Right. Just like Miss Piper did with Miss Trinity.”
As I look between them, the band strikes up “God Bless America,” signaling the commencement of the celebration.
“Now,” my uncle says, “I’m going to get some of that peace for myself.”
Devyn escorts him to the steps, and I hold my breath as he grips the rail with one hand, his cane with the other, and makes his way upward.
Lord, please grant him the peace he seeks, and help the rest of us Pickwicks to control ourselves. And, one more thing—don’t let Axel think too badly of me.
27
The mayor welcomes everyone to the Fourth of July celebration, causing applause and whooping and whistling. There follows a brief speech about our Founding Fathers and their break with England, a reminder about the mayor’s bid for reelection, and then my uncle is introduced.
Despite the constraint of his recent surgery, Uncle Obe is surprisingly erect as he walks forward to shake the mayor’s hand. When the podium is yielded to him, he looks around. “I’m honored to be here today, and I hope you will bear with me if my delivery is not as smooth as our…our…”
Mayor. The word is mayor.
“… as the leader of our fine town.”
Good strategy.
“Since I’m not a politician, words don’t come easy for me.” He looks down. “But there’s more to it than that.”
He’s not going to—?
“Ahem. A-hem!” Artemis stands to my left, attempting to waylay my uncle.
“You see, I was recently diagnosed with dementia.”
As a murmur once more circulates through the crowd, Artemis shakes his head and blots his brow with a monogrammed handkerchief. “That’s takin’ honesty a tad too far if ya ask me.”
“So,” Uncle Obe continues, “if I forget a word or two, I trust you’ll understand.” He winks at Devyn where she peers at him from the foot of the pavilion.
And I feel Axel’s absence more deeply.
“Now, as the… mayor said, my family and I have good news. On that granite pedestal”—he points to the left—“there once stood a bronze statue commissioned by my grandfather. Forty-odd years ago it disappeared. Now I could tell you that out of the kindness of my heart I’m commissionin’ a new one, but the truth is, I’m makin’…”
As I steel myself for more honesty, pain flashes across his features. “… amends for a wrong I personally committed.”
The voices grow louder.
“It was a young and secretly rebellious Obadiah Pickwick who convinced his friends to help him pull down that statue and sink it in Pickwick Lake.”
Artemis sidles up to me. “It’s all your fault. Had to let the cat out of the Lady Godiva bag.”
I note the prickly flush of red above his collar.
“Not the influence I was countin’ on ya to have, Piper Pickwick.”
For the first time, he doesn’t correct my last name to Wick. And I don’t mind.
Uncle Obe continues. “Though the Pickwicks have made a great number of contributions to this community, along the way we’ve wronged some of our neighbors. Thus, our family has decided to make things right. In the months and possibly years ahead, restitution will be made. Unfortunately, it may cause some of you to think harshly of our family, but I pray for your forgiveness. Thank you.” He turns to the mayor, who appears to be in a state of confusion. My uncle clears his throat. “Now as soon as y’all wrap your heads around that, we can continue the celebration of our nation’s birthday.”
The mayor hastens forward, a tensely toothy smile on his face, and shakes Uncle Obe’s hand. “Thank you for your, uh, generosity.” Stiff chuckle. “And honesty.” He looks to the crowd. “Let’s give Obadiah Pickwick a hand.”
The clapping starts small and uncertain but grows as my uncle heads for the steps.
“Image consultant!” More neck chafing from Artemis. “It’s all hype and no bite, if ya ask me.”
I start to defend myself, but there’s nothing to defend. My job is to help a client present an image that appeals to his audience, but it only works if it’s something the client aspires to. Uncle Obe aspired to something higher than what I devised, and it’s for the best, even if there are headlines to pay.
“Luc will be having a fit, I tell ya. And wait till Adele hears about this—if she hasn’t already.”
“They’ll get over it.” The voice that comes between Artemis and me makes me catch my breath.
“Get over it?” Artemis drops back to glower at Axel. “This ain’t gonna play well for the Pickwicks.”
I venture a look at Axel, but his eyes are on Artemis.
“Nope.” More chafing. “Gonna get rougher before it gets better.”
“But it will get better.” Uncle Obe appears before us with Devyn.
Artemis whips his head around, freeing up Axel to look my way, which he does. And his mouth curves. And his eyes are Blue.
“I don’t know why ya pay me to look after your affairs, Obadiah Pickwick, if you’re just gonna do what ya wanna do.”
Uncle Obe shrugs. Devyn giggles. And out of the thinning crowd, Maggie emerges less one Seth Peterson. She looks from her daughter to her uncle. “A little warning would have been nice, Uncle Obe.”
He turns his palms up. “When your cousin set such a fine example of doin the right thing, I couldn’t help myself. And it felt mighty good.”
“Well, the two of you have certainly put our family under the microscope. Any more revelations we ought to know about?”
“You mean other than what we talked about this morning?” Uncle Obe says.
“Yes.”
His eyes flick to Devyn. “There might be.”
“What do you mean?” Maggie’s raised voice causes the stragglers to turn.
“We’ll talk later.” Uncle Obe pats Devyn’s shoulder. “Should we scout out a piece of sidewalk to watch the parade?”
Devyn bounces onto her toes. “How about the fountain in front of the bank? The mist will keep us cool.”
“Sounds good to me.” And off they go, with a tense Maggie and muttering Artemis in their wake.
Acutely aware that it’s just me and Axel, I nearly jump w
hen his arm brushes mine. In the gathering dusk, I look sidelong at him. “I suppose you’re pleased by what happened here today.”
He appears neither smug nor satisfied. “I believe it will give your uncle peace. And you.”
His arm brushes mine again, and I swallow. “Are you sure you want to stand this close? Some of my past might rub off on you.”
“I’m not worried.”
“But you disappeared. You were by my uncle, and then you were gone.”
“Your aunt Belinda swooned when she heard about the real identity of Lady Godiva. I helped Bartholomew get her to the car.”
The gossips will love that. “Then you weren’t put off to learn what I did twelve years ago?”
He smiles. “I figured that out a while back, Piper.”
I look down. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
“You were a teenager and you made a mistake. What is there to say?” His hand closes around my upper arm, and all my bodily functions threaten to shut down.
“You’re holding your breath,” he says in my ear.
I lift my chin to find his face inches from mine, mouth kissably close. Way too much temptation, especially under the circumstances. “I am going back to L.A.”
“Are you?”
“Yes.”
“Then you miss the 24/7 life? And feeling the need to carry a gun?”
I don’t, but I can’t tell him that, not with everything inside me straining toward him. “Look, L.A. has its problems, but everyplace does. What happened there could happen here…” I should not have said that. I backpedal into a bright smile. “I need to get back to my job.”
“Do you?”
Do I?
“You could stay in Pickwick.” He smiles. “It’s tame—relatively.”
“If you’re not a Pickwick.”
“You aren’t.”
I scoff. “I may have changed my last name, but—” What? You’re a Pickwick? That is what you were going to say.
“You’re Piper.” Axel lifts my chin. “Above all, Piper.”
Is he going to kiss me? I believe he is. And though I know I should pull back, this time there’s no Grant. There’s only Axel, and I kiss him back and slide my hands up around his neck and my fingers into the hair at his nape. Nice—until a finger catches on his rubber band.
“Ouch,” he says against my mouth.
I tug my pinkie free. “Sorry.” I step nearer and his arms encircle me, head angles, and lips press mine. No man has ever kissed me like Axel kisses me, and it has nothing to do with the rasp of whiskers above and below my lips. No, never ever been kissed like this. Not that I have loads of experience, but I have enough to know that his kiss is different.
And dangerous.
I won’t let it go any further. I just want to enjoy it while it lasts. And make it last a nice long while. After all, once I leave Pickwick—if I leave Pickwick—
Oh no.
He lifts his head. “See, Pickwick isn’t all bad.”
Not with Axel in it. “Maybe I should explore my options a bit more.”
“Maybe?”
I smile. “Definitely.”
“Meaning that one day you might consider being engaged to be engaged to one Axel Smith?”
I catch my breath. “That’s certainly a possibility.”
He chuckles and taps a finger to my lips, as if pushing the Pause button. “We should join your family to watch the parade.”
My family… “Yeah.”
He steps back, slides a hand down my arm, and meshes his fingers with mine.
“I only hope Maggie is in a better mood,” I say as we start across the park. “Axel, when she asked Uncle Obe if there are other revelations we ought to know about, he said there might be and gave Devyn a funny look. Do you know anything about that?”
“I believe he was referring to the artist he wants to commission for the statue.”
I shrug. “So?”
“He told me the guy lived in Pickwick for a while and that he had a bit of a history with Maggie.”
I nearly shrug again, but then I remember how enthused Uncle Obe became when I told him he could choose the artist. And didn’t he say he had someone in mind? And what about the look he gave Devyn? And his certainty that Seth didn’t father her?
I halt. “Oh no.”
Axel turns to me. “What?”
“Did he mention the artist’s name?”
“He may have.”
“Does Thorpe sound familiar? Reece Thorpe?”
“That’s it. What’s this about?”
I sigh. “I think Uncle Obe is trying to give Devyn what she wants.” As Axel’s confusion deepens, I blurt out, “A father. Reece Thorpe was one of Maggie’s boyfriends in high school. He’s now a renowned artist who works mostly in sculpture.”
“How do you know this?”
“Our firm publicized one of his showings after he hit it big several years ago. I didn’t work with him, but I recognized him from publicity photos circulated around the office.”
Axel whistles. “Never a dull moment. You said Thorpe was one of her boyfriends, meaning he may not be Devyn’s father?”
I wrinkle my nose. “Maggie dated a lot of different guys, but I believe Reece’s family left Pickwick shortly after the beginning of our senior year, so timing wise, it’s likely that another of her boyfriends fathered Devyn.”
Axel pulls me forward. “Let’s just hope your uncle knows what he’s doing.”
As we exit the park, causing another stir as Pickwickians note our clasped hands, I stretch up and whisper in Axel’s ear, “There’s always L.A.”
He laughs, and though I do have to return to L.A. tomorrow, I will be back—for Axel and, yes, my family. Convenient or not.
Readers Guide
Growing up in Pickwick, Piper was treated like an outsider by her extended family. Have you ever felt like an outsider in your family? Have you treated other family members as outsiders?
To justify her attitude toward and speedy exodus from Pickwick, Piper perseverates on Luke 9:5: “If people do not welcome you, shake the dust off your feet when you leave their town, as a testimony against them.” However, Jesus was referring to those who refuse to receive His message. Have you ever misinterpreted or molded Scripture to fit your circumstances?
As Piper’s life improved and her successful career demanded more of her time, her relationship with God slipped. In contrast, as Maggie’s “charmed” life gave way to struggle, she drew nearer to God. How can you guard against being a “foul weather” follower?
Although Axel’s faith is relatively new, it positively impacts Uncle Obe, a much older believer. What things can we learn from those whose faith has less mileage than our own?
Piper attempts to go beyond forgiving her relatives to making peace with them. Are there members of your family with whom you need to make peace? Are you willing to make the first move?
Despite her peacemaking efforts, Piper must set boundaries with the “toxic” members of her family. Do you have relatives you consider “toxic”? What boundaries do you need to set? Is it possible to set boundaries that allow for full reconciliation in the future?
As a young man, Uncle Obe sacrificed love for monetary gain, and the consequences were far-reaching and heartbreaking. When have you taken the wrong path? What were the consequences?
In the end, Piper and her uncle are set free when they act on Proverbs 28:13: “He who conceals his sins does not prosper, but whoever confesses and renounces them finds mercy.” Are mistakes in your past holding you captive? What would it take to apply this Scripture to your life?
Don’t miss Maggie and Devyn’s story—
Available summer 2010!
One thing that should have been established at the outset, and which will doubtless become apparent in short order, is that my mouth is my best asset. Unfortunately, sometimes it lands me in the debit column, which is why I find myself flattened against the outside wall of Fate and Connie’s Me
talworks, one hand to my mouth for fear of emitting another screech, the other to my heart in an attempt to settle it. But it wants out—bad. And once again, the dreadful feeling that I might swoon can’t be blamed on a gut-squeezing contraption. That blame lies with Reece Thorpe. In the flesh.
As I came around the corner, one glimpse of his profile was all it took to take me back thirteen years—and let rip a screech as I reversed and slammed back against the wall of the building. But that’s not the worst of it. No, that would be too merciful.
Praying my screech wasn’t heard over the racket coming from the tin-and-cinderblock building—You can at least do this for me, can’t You, Lord?—I draw a stiff breath and inch forward to peek around the corner.
That’s the worst of it. With his hands in his jacket pockets and face to the sky, Reece stands over my daughter. God and I are definitely not on the same page… chapter… maybe even book.
Lying on her back on the scrubby grass where I left her to make snow angels while I met with Fate to discuss my new signs, she shades her eyes against the sun and swings her pointing hand to the right where the clouds have retreated. “Those are stratocumulus. You see the way they’re formed, like pillows stacked on each other?”
“Yes.”
With a strangled gasp, I once more apply myself to the wall-not because of the deep, spine-tingling inflection on that single word, but because the voice is as familiar now as it was thirteen years ago. As if I never stopped hearing it—
Ridiculous! Fanciful! You are no Disney princess, and Reece Thorpe is no tights-wearing prince.
You can say that again. He may have been more interested in art than chest-pounding, bone-crunching football, but he was all guy in a quietly assured way that made a girl take a second look, and a third, and a fourth—
Oh, stop! He’s just someone I knew, dated, and… may have conceived a child with. Lord, what have You done? Piper assured me she had convinced Uncle Obe to go with a female sculptor out of Florida, so what is Reece doing in Pickwick?
