Maybe she just didn’t want to bother anyone. What was it about these women in Deep Haven that made them so insistent on managing life on their own? Noelle still mowed their acres of grass by herself. And more than once Eli had come home to her covered in snow, blowing out the driveway.
At least, the old Noelle. The new Noelle had stared at their home with a sort of abject horror. He’d always thought it cozy, the dormer windows like sleepy eyes gazing out over the forest. They heated with propane, so it lacked the ambience of a woodstove-heated home, the sleepy relaxation of a crackling fire, but it had kept them warm and dry for twenty-five years.
He’d always intended to build Noelle a fireplace someday. Just never quite got around to it.
Eli turned and cut another path down the center, all the way back to the highway. He’d started to work up a sweat underneath his parka and wool cap. He’d need another shower when he got home.
But wow, he might never erase from his brain the look Noelle gave him when he’d said he was taking a shower. Now that made him feel dirty.
Noelle hated him. Couldn’t stand the sight of him, if her body language communicated correctly.
He turned again and cut the trail wider. At least now Lee could get her Jeep down the drive, but it took three more passes before his truck would manage it. By then, ice encrusted his collar, and icicles hung on his eyelashes.
Funny that Lee hadn’t even come to the door to wave. Eli loaded his snowblower back onto the truck, debated a moment, then turned down her driveway.
He had somehow always preferred Clay’s house to his own. The man hailed from a family of lumberjacks and had built it with his own hands, carved out the logs, unearthed the stones for the tall fireplace. Now a two-story log home with a loft, it seemed the perfect fit under the arms of the white pine and birch that surrounded their place. He noticed that Christmas lights still edged the house—he hadn’t had time to take them down—and now, as darkness approached, they twinkled, adding a homey glow to the forest.
Sure, they’d started in the garage, but the Nelsons had added on as they had money, which meant that Clay left Lee free and clear, without a mortgage.
But also without a man to help her take care of the cottage in the woods.
He knocked on the door, noticing that someone had sprinkled kitty litter on the trail between the house and the garage. So perhaps she had ventured out. “Lee?”
“Let yourself in, Eli.”
He heard the voice through the door, opened it, and stuck his head in. Usually the Nelson home smelled of something freshly baked—cookies, bread, a casserole. Today there was nothing but the hint of ash as if a fire had long ago gone out. And the house felt cool.
Even cold.
“Lee!”
“I’m here, Eli.” Her voice sounded wrung out.
He toed off his boots, then ventured into the house, and his breath seized. Lee lay in Clay’s recliner, her chin tucked into her chest, her arm drawn up, shivering under a white afghan. The fireplace lay unlit, cold.
“What’s going on? It’s freezing in here.”
She looked brutal—or would have if she wasn’t so pretty even in her pain. Her hair hung down around her face in a tangle of curls, and smudges of makeup marred her eyes as if she’d been crying. She wore yoga pants, a pair of wool socks. She tried to move as he came toward her, but she winced, crying out.
“Lee! For pete’s sake!” He knelt before her, his voice softening. “What happened?”
“I was shoveling and I think I must have pinched something in my neck. It’s just . . . I can’t move. Everything hurts, right down to my toes.”
She looked at him so morosely—oh, how he wanted to run his finger down her face, push her hair away from those sad eyes. Instead he got up, went to the wood box, and fished around for kindling.
“How long have you been like this?”
“I hurt myself yesterday, before Derek’s game. I wanted to drive over to Ely to watch it, but I couldn’t get out.”
Eli built a tepee with the kindling, then stuffed it with bundles of the lavender Lee grew as a fire starter. “Where is Derek?”
She looked at him, frowning. “They had back-to-back games; don’t you remember? Today’s was away too, so Derek stayed in town last night. I guess Kirby didn’t make it back for that one, either?”
“No. We just got home from the hospital.”
“Oh.” She adjusted herself in the chair, made a sound that turned his heart. “How’s Noelle?”
He lit the fire. Immediately it added a trickle of heat to the cold breath in the room. He fed the remnants of the wood to the stove, then closed the glass door. “I’ll get you some more wood.”
“Eli.”
Her voice stopped him, and he drew in a breath before he turned. She had such a gentle smile—no wonder Clay had proposed to her the day after high school graduation. Eli had always been a little jealous of how easy it came for them—they’d dated since they were fifteen, knew from the day they met that they belonged together.
Lee had grieved, of course, after Clay’s death, but she didn’t let it destroy her.
“How’s Noelle?” She gave him the smile that always knew how to find the coldness inside, how to warm him from the inside out. She was just so easy to talk to.
He shook his head. “She still doesn’t know me. In fact, I think the last thing she wanted to do was come home with me.”
“Why would you say that? This is her home. It’ll help her get her memory back.”
“I’m not sure she wants it back.”
“That’s a terrible thing to say. To not remember your children—not remember Kelsey? Of course she wants her memory back.”
Eli sighed, shoved his hands into his pockets. “We aren’t telling her about Kelsey.”
“What—no, Eli, that’s not fair. How are you going to do that?” She wore the same expression Kyle had, and it brought him back, just for a moment, to that horrible tussle on the floor with his eldest son.
He’d hit the boy. It still made him sick. “You know I already took out Kelsey’s things long ago. But I made Kirby go through the house while Noelle’s napping to remove any extra pictures, the scrapbooks, anything that might trigger a memory of Kelsey.”
“She deserves to know—”
“No. I’m right about this, Lee. Think about it. You know how she was when Kelsey died. She barely left her room for six months. And when she did, she was so distant. As if she’d lost herself inside that dark place. Frankly, I think she forgot about me—about us—even before she fell.”
“Eli.” Lee’s voice softened and had the power to soothe the frayed, angry parts of him. “She didn’t forget you. She just had to figure out how to cope, like the rest of us.”
“But you didn’t lock yourself inside your house.”
“I had my extended family. My parents. And I didn’t lose my only daughter.”
Eli sighed. “How long since you ate?”
She hesitated. “It just hurt too much to cook—”
“For two days? Why didn’t you call me?” Except what was he going to do? Leave his wife to come help Lee? He saw the truth on her face, and thankfully, she didn’t voice it.
She wrinkled her nose. “I considered it a fast . . . I needed time to pray, anyway. I don’t see the sunrise too often. It’s so beautiful over the lake in the morning, like pink molasses.”
“I’m cooking you dinner.”
“You’ll have to buy food first.” She gave him a sheepish grin. “Or thaw some venison. I was going to make Derek some stew, but . . .” She shifted and he flinched when she cried out again.
“You need to get that looked at. You might have done serious damage.”
Her face said it then—that despite her brave front, all the talk about praying and making stew, she’d been sitting here thinking that very thing since yesterday.
While he’d been with the woman who didn’t want to remember him.
“I’m takin
g you to the hospital.”
“I can’t move—”
But that didn’t matter because he walked over and picked her up, blanket and all. And after she whimpered, she settled herself against him.
Eli refused to let the words rise, to hear the voice inside that suggested that’s where he wanted her to belong.
The crack woke him. Sharp and bright, like a gunshot, it sparked through Kyle, grabbed him from sleep, jerked him to a sitting position, his heart choking off his breath.
Outside the picture window of his two-room cabin, way up the hill above Deep Haven, the night had receded across the lake, the sun just nudging over the eastern horizon, turning the canvas of the earth to fire.
He listened above his racing heart for the crunch of feet in the snow, a creak of his deck boards that might betray an intruder, all the while reaching over to his bedside table. He nudged open the drawer, slid his hand around his 9mm Glock—still in the holster, safety on—and nestled it on his lap. He unsnapped it, drew it out, but didn’t take the safety off quite yet.
He heard nothing.
Pushing the covers aside, he climbed out of bed and padded across the floor to the window. He hadn’t bothered with drapes or even real furniture when he moved in a month ago. Who needed curtains anyway? No one could see him, standing here in his bedroom window in his pajama bottoms, barefoot, bare-chested, holding a Glock.
But he’d make a great target for a sniper in the woods. He moved away from the window, his breath catching for a moment.
Oh, his father’s words had simply dug too far into his brain. A small-town cop is one of the most dangerous jobs. You let your guard down because you want to trust your neighbors. And that’s when they pull out a gun and shoot you.
Or someone you love.
His father didn’t have to reach too far to cite an example.
Kyle had expected him to be more wary, even distant, after Kelsey died. But suddenly he’d become less of a hometown peace officer and more of a truant officer. He treated everyone as if they might be criminals.
Perhaps, in his eyes, they were.
Despite public sympathy, he’d been voted out of office, his ten years as the sheriff over. Rather than stay on the force working under a new sheriff, he took an early retirement.
But maybe his father was right.
Grabbing a blanket from the pile of sheets he’d requisitioned from home, Kyle shook one out, then retrieved a hammer off the kitchen counter, a couple of tacks from the utility drawer, and hung it up over the bedroom window.
He did the same across the matching window in the family room.
His heart began to settle back into his chest as he listened again. He was just hyperaware now that he’d been walking around town for a month in his uniform, a sort of target. And with his mother’s assailant still free . . .
He glanced at the clock. Probably should get up and work out, anyway. He’d been hanging around Lucy Maguire’s World’s Best Donuts and Cupcakes too much.
He did like those red velvet cupcakes, though.
After changing into a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, he washed up, filled a water bottle, grabbed his uniform and gear, and headed out to his truck.
His boots crunched against the snow, the air crisp in his ears. He guessed it was about ten above today, a nice day for snowshoeing or skiing.
As he threw the bag inside, another crack split the air.
He froze. And then grimaced at his own foolishness. The weight of the snow on the trees had caused them to break, the cracks resounding through the forest like gunshots.
See how easily a guy could jump to conclusions?
He got into the truck, wove along the drive to the road, then down the highway to Deep Haven. This early, deer peeked out from between trees, poised to dart across the highway to the lake in a dangerous real-life game of Frogger. Sometimes he got lucky and spied a moose or a red fox. An eagle lifted from a ratty nest high in a tree, then soared low along the ditch, searching for carrion.
How could his mother forget their lives? Kirby had been calling him with bleak updates, the stories he’d told her, the pictures—carefully selected—that might jog her memory.
Always with Kelsey absent.
How was his mother supposed to remember her life without including her daughter?
Kyle turned down the heat in the truck, tapped his brakes as he entered the town limits. The memory of the fight in the hospital could still rouse fury deep in his gut.
He wasn’t sure at whom anymore.
The fitness center glowed, early morning athletes on treadmills, stair-climbers, ellipticals. Their new football coach was at the pull-up bar. Kyle had heard about Caleb Knight and his missing leg, a casualty of battle. Mostly, however, he’d heard about how he took the team to the play-offs this year and the very real hope that next year, they might win state.
Another former soldier, Sammy Johnson, his curly blond hair tied back with a red bandanna, worked out at the bench press. Sammy had played defensive end during Kyle’s sophomore year of high school, then graduated and joined the Army. Kyle had a vague memory of reading about him in the local paper a year ago—maybe winning some military honor? Now he worked on a logging crew.
Jason Backlund spotted for Sammy as he benched. Jason and Kyle had put together a little band their sophomore year, more fun than pretty. It gave Kyle a place to use the drum set he’d worn out doing solos in the basement. Now Jason had a lucrative winter gig running a plow for the county.
Lucky Jason—he was living Kyle’s hopes, building a life with the girl of his dreams in Deep Haven.
Shoot, but he couldn’t get Emma out of his head. Over the past three days, Kyle had remembered her more. She’d worked at the gas station in town with Kelsey, and he remembered seeing her in the band during his basketball games. If only he hadn’t been a senior during Kelsey’s freshman year, he might have known her friends—like Emma—better. But he’d had his eyes on a scholarship and spent most of his time in the gym.
He dropped his gear into a locker, the echoes of high school conversations too easily conjured, then returned to the weight room.
Upper body. He warmed up with a few push-ups, then grabbed the free weights to work on his biceps, doing some preacher curls.
He’d made a routine of working out while in high school, and by college it became a way for him to focus. To remind himself that he hadn’t lost control of his life. Even if it seemed to be careening out of his grasp.
Like today.
He switched to skull crunchers, working his triceps.
Oh, God, please help Mom get her memory back. It was more of a thought than a prayer, because after Kelsey, he’d wondered if God was really on his team.
It certainly seemed as if He’d abandoned the Hueston family when Kelsey lay bleeding behind the bakery stand, dropped there by a shot to her upper body on her way to the freezer.
Yes, God had dropped the ball there—especially for a family who had spent their lives in the pew and doing service projects, trying to live as God-fearing people.
If God would start playing by the rules, it would sure be easier to trust Him.
He switched to the military press, working his shoulders until his muscles nearly gave out.
“Hey, Kyle.” Jason came over to the leg press. “How’s your mom?”
Hard to escape the small-town grapevine. “She’s still recovering.” He moved the bar behind his head to work his delts.
“Can’t believe it happened again.” Jason shook his head as he worked his thigh muscles. “Any word on who did it?”
“No.” He put the weights back, then grabbed a twenty-pounder and held it to his body as he started sit-ups. “They don’t have a lot to go on. No witnesses, and any tracks wiped clean with the snow.”
“Quite the storm. I was up all night plowing. I do the stretch between Silver Bend and Deep Haven. Terrible night. Thankfully, with the winter storm advisory, there weren’t many cars out. I called the pat
rol for two I saw in the ditch. One was Ryan Nickel’s old beater.”
“I know Ryan,” Sammy said, passing near them to grab a towel. He hung it around his neck, holding on to the ends.
“He was a year older than you, wasn’t he? Played point for the Huskies?” Kyle said.
“Yeah. And safety on the football team. He holds our record for most interceptions. When we went to the play-offs, he painted his car blue and white and put his number on the hood, a football helmet on his back window.”
Jason switched legs. “It was a real sweet thing, an old Dodge Dart.”
“I’m not sure how it stays running, but I remember him driving it through the fields out by his place,” Sammy said. “It’s nearly rusted through—I think there’s plywood on the floorboards. I’m not sure it’s even legal to drive.”
Kyle finished his sit-ups. Leaned back on his hands. “Does he still own it?”
Jason was breathing hard and quit his reps. “I don’t know. It wasn’t Ryan pushing it out of the ditch. Two guys though, a skinny one in the car, the other one giving it a heave. It looked like they’d just spun out and banged the back end against a tree. I called it in, but by the time I came back to plow the other side of the road, they’d gotten free. Not sure if a patrol car came out.”
Kyle got up. “Where was this?”
“A couple miles out of town, maybe. Near the Crescent River lookout.”
Kyle scrubbed a towel down his face, then draped it over his head. “Do you remember what time?”
“About eight o’clock or so? I can’t remember.”
Eight o’clock. About ninety minutes after the robbery. Kyle had called down to the Lake County deputies, the next county over, just to sort through the logged calls from the night of his mom’s accident. No suspicious vehicles.
The suspect had simply vanished.
Unless he’d kept going north. Toward Deep Haven.
And perhaps the current owner of Ryan Nickel’s car had seen someone, or something, on his drive up the shore.
Sammy flicked the towel at him. “Glad you’re back, Hueston. You should join us for Sunday afternoon hoops.”
Kyle nodded.
The Shadow of Your Smile Page 9
