The Shadow of Your Smile

by Susan May Warren

  He stopped the engine and let the song of the night spill over them, his voice crisp and small in the darkness.

  “The summer before I went away to college, we all took a canoe trip to McFarland Lake. Kelsey and I were in one canoe, my dad and Mom and Kirby in the other. We set up camp, and my dad made his favorite biscuits on a stick. I think the dog ate every single one of them. But the best part was the fact that Kelsey made us all get up at the crack of dawn, before the sun was even up, and look for the morning star. I’ll never forget—we sat in the canoe, our paddles on our knees, shivering and waiting for Venus to appear over the horizon. She said it was her favorite part of the day—God’s reminder of His faithfulness right before the dawn.”

  Emma had climbed off the machine then, sat on a picnic bench, her snowmobile suit crunching under the stiff grip of cold. “She had great faith, Kelsey did. Always made me a bit angry that she could look at life so positively. Like nothing touched her.”

  He came and sat beside her, their shoulders brushing against each other. “Things touched her. Like when Jazz, that kid from my class, was killed in a snowboarding accident. She mourned him even though she barely knew him.”

  “I remember him. Loved Dr Pepper?”

  “I think the randomness of it shook her.”

  “She wrote a song about him, you know. About the people that pass through life, leaving their imprint in the grace of fresh snow.”

  “She had amazing poetry.” His breath crystallized as he spoke. “Kelsey told me once that faith wasn’t about trusting God when it was easy. Faith appeared when God seemed farthest away.”

  “Like right before the dawn, when the stars have faded?”

  “And the morning star appears.”

  His voice was like a melody, sweet inside her.

  But maybe she was simply stuck in the nighttime.

  They’d sat there on the bench, talking way too long about memories of Deep Haven. He recounted the state championship basketball game but then moved on to his training days in Alexandria. She’d told him about Tim and Brian and the other guys she’d gigged with, and he’d gotten real quiet when she mentioned some of the venues.

  Finally, when she had started to shiver, he piled her back onto his snowmobile and headed home.

  She’d wanted to stay in the enclave of this fairy tale, warming herself to the fire he’d built in his fireplace, but it would do no one any good for her to wake up in his arms. Even if he’d been the gentleman he’d promised he was in the parking lot of the pancake house.

  He did, however, invite her out for pancakes the next morning. And what girl could say no to that smile?

  He drove her to her car, lonely in the parking lot at Caribou Ridges, and she left him there, crunching into her own driveway long after midnight. Standing in the glow of the garage light, she listened to the breezes, the waves, the faintest lullaby of music in her heart. Instead of going inside, she climbed to the garage attic, where she traced the moonlight over the old brown chair and saw Kelsey there.

  Kelsey sat, of course, strumming her black Gibson. She only played enough to find the chords, and now the sheets lay at her feet.

  What took you so long? I’ve been here for hours. Listen to this new song. It’s not done, but it’s a start.

  Emma walked over, sat next to her. Kelsey flicked her blonde hair back before picking out the tune. Emma could already hear where she might add a lick, change up a chord, but soon, the words of the song pulled her in.

  “There are broken rainbow moments,

  And dandelion wishes that don’t come true.

  There are times it don’t seem fair,

  Like He’s never there.

  But He’s watching over you.”

  Emma closed her eyes in the stillness of the attic, letting the song cascade over her, Kelsey’s strong vibrato resonating through her.

  She finally flicked on the light. A round wool carpet covered the plywood floor, and on the table were papers that bore Kelsey’s handwriting, some of Emma’s. They hadn’t finished the song. She picked up the papers, stared at the pages, and debated fetching her guitar.

  She sang a cappella, her voice emerging weak and feeble. “‘There are wishes on shooting stars that finally come true . . . for you.’”

  She put the pages down, wishing Kelsey had finished it. In her mind, Emma saw Kelsey look up, grin at her as she began to hum.

  “What happened to the ending?”

  “I just made it up. I don’t know how it ends.”

  Me either, Kelsey.

  She heard Kyle then, humming in the darkness tonight as they’d danced to Garth Brooks’s song about leaving life to chance, opting for the pain if they could only have the dance.

  But see, she’d never operated with a belief in chance, in fate. Which only left her with the option that God had taken Kelsey.

  Instead of her.

  Emma let that thought slide through her—cold, brutal. She turned off the light and headed inside.

  She woke the next morning to the fragrance of bacon, the whine of the floorboards, and for a second she was seventeen.

  Hey, Ems, want some breakfast?

  She had always known when her father came home from a night shift, or left for a morning shift, by the creak of the floorboards above her basement bedroom. She’d had to train herself not to listen for the groan of the house, smell the eggs he made every morning.

  She lay there, one arm flung over her head. What was it with the sudden onslaught of memories? But perhaps they weren’t so bad. Her father, standing in the kitchen in his uniform, pouring her a cup of coffee. Her mother, pink bathrobe cinched tight, kissing them all before they left for school, for work.

  What had Kyle said about helping her find happy memories? Last night, Kelsey and her song. Today, her father.

  So maybe she could fall in love with Deep Haven again, find a way to live here.

  Especially with Kyle in the picture.

  She could help her mother, move into the attic, start to play weddings and gigs around town. She knew plenty of musicians who made a living playing around the county.

  Emma kicked off the down comforter, the chill slicking through her. She shivered and pulled on her bathrobe, then slid her feet into leather slippers.

  The stairs creaked as she climbed, and she hid a crazy shard of disappointment when she spied her mother at the stove, cooking eggs in a cast-iron pan.

  “Hey, Mom.”

  Her mother turned. She looked brighter today, a sort of energy radiating off her that seemed almost surreal. “Emma! I’ll cook you eggs too.”

  “No, that’s okay. I . . . I have a breakfast date.”

  “Oh.” But her smile didn’t fade. “Well, me too, actually. I need to get going. I just thought I’d make up something for Derek.” She slipped the eggs onto a plate. “Now he can reheat them.” She put the plate in the fridge, turned, and headed toward the door. She sat on the bench, reached for her boots.

  “Aren’t you going to church?”

  “Not today.”

  Emma frowned at that. “If you want me to go with you, I will.”

  Her mother looked up, surprise written on her features. Then she shook her head and bent back to her boots. She winced a little.

  “Is your neck still hurting you?”

  “It’ll be better.” She stood, grabbed her coat. “You probably need to get going. Call me when you get home.”

  “Actually, I might stay a few days.”

  “You don’t have any gigs lined up?”

  “I have . . . a few days free.”

  Her mother raised an eyebrow but then turned and picked up her purse. “Perfect. You can help me pack up your room. I’ve been thinking of going through it anyway.”

  “Pack up my room?” She had the feeling of watching a car careering out of control on ice, and she wasn’t sure how to stop it. “Why?”

  Lee wore a smile that seemed too bright, too eager, and seeing it, Emma felt her chest
tighten, although she couldn’t exactly put a finger on why.

  “Because I’m going to meet with a Realtor, Emma. Like I said, it’s time I leave Deep Haven.”

  Kyle could only wait so long before he had to report for duty. He’d sat in the Blue Moose Café, waiting for over an hour, but Emma never showed.

  Once he’d changed, been briefed, and checked the log, he’d driven by Deep Haven Community Church. The service was just letting out, and he felt a little like a stalker as he sat across the street, cataloging the people exiting the building.

  He saw his father’s truck, and the presence of it gave him pause. To his knowledge his father hadn’t attended church since Kelsey’s funeral.

  Then again, Kelsey’s death had derailed all their faith in some way. His own words, spoken under the canopy of brilliance last night, beautiful Emma breathing out puffs of captured breath beside him, came back to him.

  Kelsey told me once that faith wasn’t about trusting God when it was easy. Faith appeared when God seemed farthest away.

  God hadn’t seemed simply far away after Kelsey died. It felt like He had disappeared. Trust had to be earned, didn’t it?

  Fact was, a large part of him missed God, had missed asking Him to help with his basketball games. Missed knowing that God was on his team.

  Missed trusting Him. He sighed and drove down the hill toward the highway. According to the log, a 911 call had come in about a domestic disturbance near Spoon Lake. It nagged at him. Especially since the address listed was near the Nickels’ place.

  He’d just check it out, make sure everyone was okay. The way Billy Nickel had curved a possessive hand over his girlfriend’s shoulder bothered him.

  Then he’d drive by the Nelson place. Emma had probably overslept. After all, he had gotten her in pretty late.

  He’d barely slept a wink, his brain churning up too many possibilities. Maybe he could get her a gig at the Lucky Penny, the supper club in town. And certainly Caribou Ridges could add her to their list of wedding musicians. What about a job with the music association in town? Hadn’t he seen an ad on the grocery store board listing a job opportunity?

  She wanted to stay. He could see it written in her eyes, shining as he kissed her, holding on to the hood of her snowmobile suit.

  He was braking at a stop sign when a red Subaru bled past him. He clocked it at twenty-one miles over the 30 mph speed limit.

  That called for lights, a bleep of his siren. He pulled out, but the car didn’t slow. He bleeped again.

  The driver braked, then slid over to the shoulder. Kyle got out and walked to the passenger side. Knocked on the window. The driver leaned over, rolled it down, and looked up.

  Emma. She had capped her head with an embroidered tuque, wrapped a pink scarf around her neck over a fleece jacket. Her suitcase and guitar lay in the backseat, her Fender speaker in the passenger seat.

  She glared at him.

  “Uh, hi, Emma. I . . . Where are you going?”

  “Home, okay? Was I speeding?”

  “Just a little. I had you at fifty-one. It’s a thirty here.”

  “Fine, whatever. Ticket me.” She sat back in her seat, wrapped her mittened hands around the steering wheel.

  Ticket her? “I don’t want to ticket you. What’s going on?”

  She held up her hand as if to push him away, but he noticed her chin trembling. He bent over into the open window. “Emma, are you okay?”

  “Just give me my ticket and let me go, Officer.”

  Officer? “I don’t understand. I thought we had a breakfast date today. And not only do you stand me up, but now I find you pulling a Dukes of Hazzard out of Deep Haven. I thought you were going to stay—”

  “I’m not, okay? This is over, Kyle. It’s time I faced reality—stopped playing around.”

  Her words hit him as if in the gut. “I wasn’t playing around, Emma. I like you.”

  She had blades in her eyes. “Yeah, why? Why do you like me, Kyle?”

  Her question froze him. Because . . . because . . .

  “That’s what I thought. You don’t know. Well, I’ll tell you what—I know. You took one look at me and said, ‘Oh, there’s an adoring female I can manipulate.’ You Huestons are all alike.”

  What—? “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “You wanted someone who could adore the great Kyle Hueston. But that’s not me—okay, it was me, but not anymore. I don’t need you tangling up my heart in some fantasy. My life is not in Deep Haven. Leave it at that.”

  “No, I’m not going to leave it at that! You love it here—you know you do. But you won’t admit it. And I don’t know why!”

  “You don’t want to know why.” She turned back to the windshield, watching the oncoming traffic.

  “Try me.”

  “No! Listen, maybe you can act as if it never happened, as if some crazy kid didn’t drive into our little town and shoot two people we loved. You want to put a big Band-Aid over it and call it fixed—”

  “That’s not true.”

  “Then what? Why do you have to live here?”

  “Because it’s my home! And because maybe I can make sure that it never happens again!” He didn’t mean to raise his voice and schooled it now. “You have no idea what it’s like to get a phone call from your father while you’re a hundred miles away telling you that someone killed your sister.”

  “And you have no idea what it feels like to be the one who should have died instead.”

  What—?

  “I was supposed to work that night, but I had a band concert at school. Kelsey worked in my place. The worst part is, she was going to go with your mother to watch your basketball game.” She looked away. “So, see, I don’t even know why you would want to be with me, Kyle. If it weren’t for me, she’d be alive.”

  Oh, Emma. His anger deflated with the sorrow in her words.

  “It’s not your fault,” he said quietly. “You didn’t know Parker was going to lose it and shoot my sister. Or your dad. Do you seriously think I’d be angry with you for being the one who lived? That’s crazy.”

  “Now you see why I can’t live here.”

  “That’s not true, and you know it. You just want to believe that because it’s easier than facing the real problem.”

  “And what is that, O All-Knowing One?”

  “It’s easier to ignore the memories than to believe that God can fix them. It’s easier to walk alone in your pain than to share it.”

  Her eyes glittered. “Yeah, well, maybe it is. Maybe we don’t need you Hueston men trying to comfort us. We have this figured out, thanks.”

  He recoiled. “I’m not trying to comfort you, Emma. I’m trying to—”

  “Seduce me?”

  Oh. Wow. That hurt more than he expected. “If you’ll notice, I’ve been nothing but a gentleman—or tried to be. I’m not sure where that came from, but—”

  She wiped her mitten under her eye, and despite the fact that he wanted to throttle her, he had the urge to get in the car, pull her to his chest. But he was in uniform. He cut his voice low. “Please, don’t leave. Let’s talk.”

  “No. I’m not going to be the convenient girl that swoons into your open arms. I’m not her.”

  “I never thought you were convenient, Emma.”

  “No, you just thought I was easy. You didn’t have to work at it with me—I came prepackaged to fall for you. Well, guess what, Hueston? I’m no longer a fan. Either give me a ticket or back off.”

  He searched her face, read the fury there, and stepped back, nonplussed. “I don’t understand what’s going on, Emma—”

  She pulled out and tore down the road.

  Convenient?

  He gritted his teeth so hard his jaw cracked. Convenient?

  Kyle climbed into his cruiser. Clocked her at forty-seven.

  He waited until she was over the hill, where the speed limit changed, and then turned and headed up the hill toward Spoon Lake, winding his way
into the woods.

  Prepackaged? Didn’t have to work at it?

  Okay, maybe the fact that she’d once liked him had attracted him, but . . .

  Why do you like me, Kyle?

  Did he have to have a reason?

  Maybe if he knew the answer, he wouldn’t be traveling down Spoon Lake Road and would instead have his sirens on, chasing the runaway out of town.

  He turned north, toward the Nickels’ place, and was passing the gravel pit, now a field of glistening snow, when a flash of blue caught his eye. He slowed, then put the cruiser in reverse.

  There, behind a pile of debris and snow, he glimpsed the trunk of a car. A Dodge Dart. The taillight was smashed.

  Kyle pulled in, parked a few feet away from it. The helmet painted on the rear window tightened his gut. He got out.

  The air smelled crisp with a hint of woodsmoke, balsam. His boots crunched in the snow as he approached the car. It seemed to be wedged into the bank, snow cascading over the front end. Someone had made a poor attempt at camouflaging it with pine boughs. He pulled them off the hood so he could look inside.

  Nothing seemed amiss—a ratty blanket lay on the backseat; a dirty, broken piece of plywood covered the floorboard on the driver’s side. Fuzzy white dice hung from the rearview mirror, the logo for a local casino emblazoned on the side.

  He walked around the car. At the back end, black footprints marred the snow.

  Kyle went to his car, fished out a crowbar from his trunk, and returned. Wedging the crowbar into the Dart’s trunk, he worked it, the sound of crunching metal whining into the air. Suddenly the trunk popped open.

  And there, crammed inside, lay the skinny body of Billy Nickel.

  Noelle didn’t know the words, but she felt them, and they lingered inside even as the congregation finished singing, then filed out of the sanctuary.

  I’m finding myself at a loss for words,

  And the funny thing is it’s okay . . .

  She had no words for the kind people around her, shaking her hand, asking her how she felt. No words for the way Eli had changed over the past three days, his demeanor patient—like now, as he stood beside her, not touching her, but close enough to intercept friends, to say their names a moment before they greeted her.