The Shadow of Your Smile

by Susan May Warren

  But as soon as the words left her mouth, the image of Eli kissing her, his hands cupping her face, flushed through her. She turned away, hoping to get control of herself.

  It didn’t matter that his wife didn’t know him, right?

  His words burned through her. I’m not leaving Noelle for you.

  Sheesh, she hadn’t asked him to. He’d been the one showing up on her doorstep the past three years. He’d been the one with desire in his eyes.

  “Mom?” The touch on her shoulder had startled her. Emma turned her. “What’s going on?”

  Lee shook her head, but her eyes had filled and she couldn’t blink the moisture away without Emma seeing. Her daughter brushed a tear from her cheek. “Did someone hurt you?”

  She shook her head again. “I have to go.”

  But Emma didn’t let her go. “Mom, tell me what happened.” She had that look now, the one that she got when she knew she was right, when she knew she would get her way.

  “Eli Hueston.” She shouldn’t have told her probably, but Emma no longer lived here, and it felt so good to push his name out, away from her soul where it burned. “Eli Hueston kissed me.”

  “He kissed you? Like came on to you?”

  Her tone made Lee want to grimace, the words so ugly. She nodded.

  “I knew it. He was around here too much after Daddy died. Like a prowler.”

  “He was trying to help us, honey.”

  “He was trying to help himself. He’s probably been in love with you for years, and now he saw you lonely.”

  “No, I think I was just convenient.”

  Her word brought Emma’s eyes up. “Convenient? What, like he needed someone to care about him and you were there?”

  She lifted a shoulder. It sort of felt that way. “I think it surprised him as much as me—”

  “He didn’t mean to kiss you?”

  Lee turned away from her and walked to the window. “I don’t think so. He’s confused right now. His wife lost her memory.”

  “It doesn’t mean you’re supposed to fill in for her.”

  “Emma!”

  “Sorry. I wasn’t accusing you. It just seems so . . . planned out. As if he knew your weakness and tried to exploit it for his own needs. Convenient is exactly the right word.” She stared out past her mother.

  “Emma?”

  Emma looked back, now smiling. “I gotta get back to the Cities.”

  “Agreed. Promise you’ll call?”

  Emma came to her, wrapped her arms around her. “Stay away from Eli Hueston, Mom. He’s trouble.”

  Lee had nodded into the sweet smell of her daughter’s embrace, locking it inside.

  “Where are you moving, if not to Florida?” Jenny emerged from Emma’s bedroom and headed for the stairs.

  Lee followed her up. “I’m not sure yet. I just know it’ll be away from Deep Haven. You get me a list of what I need to change—I’ll make sure it happens.”

  Eli couldn’t avoid the sense that Noelle was coming back to him. Because as he came upstairs this morning from his bed in the den, he caught her making oatmeal.

  For the dog.

  Their black Lab sat, her button tail tapping the carpet, waiting for Noelle to add the milk, stir, and put it on the floor.

  Eli stood there, shaking his head.

  “What?” She looked pretty this morning, the way she’d flipped her hair out and wore a pair of faded jeans, a pink shirt. She’d added a teal-and-royal-blue scarf around her neck, highlighting her blue eyes.

  “How did you know that Riggins liked oatmeal?”

  “She nearly jumped into my lap the other day as I sat at the table with my bowl, and then, when I didn’t finish it, I found her on the table, lapping it up.” She wiped her hands on a towel. “Oatmeal, really?”

  “You’ve been spoiling her for years.”

  She knelt in front of the dog, rubbed her ears. “Me spoil you? I don’t think so. It’s pure survival. We women need to stick together in this household of testosterone, don’t we, baby?”

  Riggins lifted her head, licked her on the chin. Noelle laughed.

  Eli stared at her, words vacating him. She’d let the dog lick her?

  Noelle climbed back to her feet. “What do you want for breakfast? I found a pancake recipe that looks well-worn.”

  She’d been trying out every manner of recipe this week—including a batch of chocolate chip cookies, double the chips, that seemed as rich as her smile, her laughter. Last night she’d beaten Kirby in Scrabble and then wandered outside, wrapped in a blanket, and watched Eli change the spark plugs on his snowmobile.

  “Is it fun?” she’d asked.

  “I’ll take you for a ride, if you want.” He’d looked up at her standing in the glow of the garage lights, the sky watching above, and something about her soft smile made him feel young again.

  As if he didn’t have any faults. As if they’d just met, their relationship without dings and scratches, wounds and scars.

  He wanted to lean into that freshness, free of the brambles of the past, but fear lurked in the back of his mind that one of these days, she’d wake up.

  Remember.

  Maybe even ask him to leave.

  But he wasn’t that guy anymore, the one who would have barked back an angry “Fine with me,” hopped in his truck, and hidden out in the woods. Or at least he was trying not to be.

  He hadn’t gone to Lee’s house once this week. Despite the fact that missing her had left a hole in his life. He missed her kind words, her friendship.

  The way she looked at him without accusation.

  But so did Noelle now, didn’t she?

  “Are you going to the studio today?” he asked, returning his attention to Noelle as she moved around the kitchen. “I can give you a ride.”

  She was pulling out flour, baking powder, sugar, eggs. He liked how her hair curled against her shirt, and he sort of wanted to touch it.

  “I want to, but frankly, Eli, I’m starting to give up. It’s been three days, and for all my talk, I can’t remember how to paint.”

  She turned, shook her head. “I keep staring at the paper, but I see nothing. It’s so strange—it’s like I used to be able to see the picture in my head before I even painted it. But there’s nothing there.” She pressed her hands to either side of her head. “How can there be nothing there?”

  He couldn’t help it. He went to her, took her hands away from her face. “Stop trying so hard. It’ll come when it’s time.”

  She looked at him, her eyes wide, beautiful, without cynicism. “You believe that?”

  “I believe in you,” he said softly.

  Oh, he wanted to kiss her. The urge rose inside him, rushed through him, shook him. He wanted to pull her into his arms, to feel that comfort they used to bring to each other, that intimacy of knowing they’d created life together.

  But this woman didn’t know him. She didn’t know their history, their triumphs, their hurts. She was just a bright, beautiful replica of the woman he’d shared his life with.

  And she certainly didn’t love him.

  Swallowing, he backed away. “Maybe you should . . . I dunno, do something else for a while. You know the studio is there now, whenever you want it. What else do you want to do?”

  He retreated behind the counter, slid onto the stools, his heart a little too large in his chest.

  She consulted the recipe, then grabbed a measuring cup and dove into the flour bin. “I think I’d like to plan a graduation party for Kirby.” She dumped the measured flour into the bowl, followed by the sugar. “I know it’s a few months away, but even if I can’t remember his growing-up years, that doesn’t mean other people can’t. And maybe as I pull out old pictures and plan his party, I might be able to piece together my memory.”

  Noelle melted butter in the microwave, then added it to the mix. Holding an egg, she looked at Eli. “Will you help me?”

  She cracked it with one hand, then tossed the shell into th
e sink. Probably didn’t even notice that as she picked up another egg.

  “Of course. What do you want me to do?”

  She tossed the other shell into the sink, grabbed a teaspoon, and measured out the baking powder. “I want you to go through all the old pictures of the family and pull out Kirby’s and date them. I want to build him a time line. I think I’ll create a basketball theme—”

  “Like his bedroom?”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Better. Maybe make a cake with a big basketball, and we could have one-on-one competitions in the driveway.” She turned the mixer on. “I just want it to be special.”

  Her movements, her words, had only dredged his heart into his throat. Of course she didn’t remember having nearly this same conversation the year Kelsey would have graduated. He forced a smile, looked away. “No problem.”

  Noelle finished mixing the batter. Smelled it. “There’s something missing.” She opened the cupboard, turning the lazy Susan, fishing through the spices.

  “Cinnamon?”

  “Is that what I put in?” She kept searching.

  “I don’t know. They just taste good.”

  “Oh, how about this. Nutmeg.” She opened the cap, sniffed it. Dashed some into the batter. “That smells right.”

  He stared at her as she started the fire under the griddle and waited for it to heat through. God, are You giving me back my wife?

  He’d been praying every day, reading his Bible in the mornings, trying to be the guy who showed up, who became the husband she needed. The verse Hitch Johnson had read at the nursing home hung in his mind. “How long must I struggle with anguish in my soul, with sorrow in my heart every day? . . . But I trust in your unfailing love. I will rejoice because you have rescued me. I will sing to the Lord because he is good to me.”

  And today his wife had added nutmeg to the pancake mix.

  She placed the finished pancake in front of him, a bottle of Log Cabin syrup beside it.

  He fixed up his plate. Smiled as he took the first bite. “Yes, that’s right. Delicious, Noelle.”

  They finished breakfast, and Eli loaded the dishwasher while Noelle washed the griddle. She wiped her hands. “How about that snowmobile ride?”

  “Really?”

  “I think the best thing for me to do to find inspiration is to be out where I am inspired.”

  “I know just the place.”

  He found her a snowsuit, warm gloves, a scarf, and even unearthed the helmet he’d given her years ago. “I’m just trying it on you for size.” He lifted the visor. “You okay in there?”

  “I feel like I’m Luke Skywalker in an X-wing fighter.”

  “May the Force be with you. By the way, they made three more of those movies.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “The Force for a whole new generation. Kirby and Kyle ran around the house with light sabers for years.”

  She laughed, and he could feel the world lift from its moorings.

  He took off her helmet, then loaded everything into the truck, heading for McFarland Lake. The sun bathed the snowy paths that wound farther into the forest, the sky a pristine blue.

  “Where are we going?” she asked.

  “Someplace I should have taken you long ago.”

  He pulled up to the dock landing, then backed the truck up to the snowbank. “Stay here.”

  Backing out the snowmobile, he let it run as he parked the truck. Noelle climbed out, pulled on her helmet.

  “I promise I won’t go too fast.”

  She lifted her visor. “Don’t slow down on my account. I feel the need for speed!”

  “See, this is the problem with a girl stuck in the eighties.”

  She wrinkled her nose at him and climbed aboard. He liked the feel of her weight in the upper seat, how she wrapped her arms around his waist.

  He motored out onto the sparkling white surface of the lake.

  Wind had drifted over his old tracks from days before. He buzzed around the lake, Noelle leaning into the curves with him as if they were one, the snow billowing out behind them.

  Once she leaned back, put her arms up, but a bump made her grab for him. He smiled under his helmet.

  They circled the lake twice before he parked in front of the shiny ice house.

  “What’s this place?” she said, lifting her visor.

  “It’s my ice house,” he said, climbing off. “Actually it’s really nice inside—want to see?”

  She nodded and took off her helmet, her hair damp and curly underneath. He unlocked the door, kicked snow out of the way to clear a path, then opened it. The cool scent of the house—the oil embedded into the walls, the pine woodwork—floated out.

  He stepped back and let her enter.

  “This place is huge. And you have a television!”

  Eli followed her inside. “And four bunks, a fridge, and a heater. I could stay here for a month.”

  At one time, he’d seriously considered it.

  She opened the bathroom, made a face, then sat down at the table. “What are those holes in the floor for?”

  “That’s where we drill through to drop our fishing lines in.”

  “Seriously? You sit here and fish all day?”

  He sat at the table with her. “It’s fun. I have a depth meter, so I can actually watch the fish nibble at the hook. And I get satellite reception, so with my generator, I can watch TV.”

  “So we come out here, sit in this little cozy hut, and watch TV and fish.”

  He cleared his throat, tasting how easy it would be to lie. But he hated the lies, the biggest being Kelsey. It loomed before him, growing larger every day. Anytime now, it would pop and bleed out betrayal and anger between them.

  And then, even if she didn’t remember the jerk he’d been before, he’d start a whole new batch of dark memories.

  Why had he ever thought hiding their daughter from her might be a good idea?

  No, he was sick of lies, and even if he couldn’t figure out a way to tell her about Kelsey, he’d come clean about their life together.

  “I came out here, sat in this cozy hut, and watched TV and fished. Alone.”

  For a moment, hurt crossed her face. As if she cared. Then, “Oh. Well, maybe ice fishing just wasn’t my thing?”

  I wasn’t your thing.

  He looked away.

  Silence pulsed between them.

  “It’s more than that, isn’t it, Eli? This is where you came to escape me.”

  She might not remember their lives, but she had the uncanny ability to read him. He gritted his teeth, nodded. Couldn’t meet her eyes.

  “You want to tell me why you were sleeping in the den before I fell?” Her voice was so soft, without judgment, and it freed him a little.

  He stared at his snowy gloves, gripped in his hands. “We weren’t getting along.”

  “Why?”

  The truth landed on his tongue, turning hot there. We lost our daughter. No, it was more than that. I made a mistake. And because of it, our daughter was killed.

  But the words wouldn’t emerge.

  “I’ll find out someday, Eli.”

  Yes, she would. But not today, with the sky so blue, with her holding on so tight to him.

  She leaned back. “Or maybe it doesn’t matter anymore. Maybe what’s gone is gone.”

  But that didn’t feel right either.

  He shook his head. “We just grew apart, Noelle. Like most married couples do. We had our share of problems and hurts and we couldn’t find our way back.”

  He looked up when she reached across the table and touched his arm. “We’re finding our way back now, aren’t we?”

  Oh, he hoped so. He nodded and was a weak man for relishing her innocent, sweet smile.

  We’re finding our way back.

  Her words lingered as he raced them around the lake again, then through the deer trails of the forest. Finally, long after lunchtime, they returned to the truck. Noelle set her helmet and jacket on the
seat as they drove down the snowy road, then leaned back, closed her eyes.

  “Does your head still hurt?”

  She nodded. “Sometimes. But I’m sleeping better, so that’s good.”

  He wanted to cry when she curled up against him, falling asleep on his shoulder as he drove.

  Maybe they were finding their way back. Maybe they could start over, no secret rooms, no secret lives.

  He didn’t wake her when they arrived home, just picked her up and carried her into the house. He debated a moment, then brought her to Kelsey’s room, laid her on the bed, and pulled the blanket over her.

  Eli heard the phone ringing but let it go to the machine as he eased off her boots. The message was just kicking in as he came into the kitchen.

  “Noelle? It’s me, Eric. Call me soon. I’m starting to get worried.”

  Eli played it three times, his heart thundering in his chest, before his finger hovered over the button.

  Then, with a push, he erased it.

  “Thanks for faxing the file over, Marc. I think our vics are related here.” Kyle sat at his cubicle, a desk lamp spotlighting the autopsy report, the forensics lab report, and the crime scene report of the coffee shop shooting in Harbor City. “It looks like the bullet pulled out of Billy Nickel matches the bullet used on Cassie Mitchell.” He always preferred putting a name to a victim—kept it more personal, his attention engaged.

  “Did forensics pick up anything from your crime scene?” Marc asked. He’d been überhelpful since Kyle had called him with Billy’s murder and their new evidence.

  “I sent the car to Duluth, to the crime lab there. We’ll have results in a few days. I did notice, however, Billy’s missing class ring. A real bruiser—it had a ruby, his year written on it.”

  “Could be a robbery. Those rings are worth a bit of nice change,” Marc said.

  “I’m going to alert the pawnbrokers in Duluth, see if it comes through them. Did you ever get a hit on that fishing knife you found at the scene?” Kyle was paging through the papers and pulled out a photograph of the knife.

  “No usable prints. We have two fish houses in town—both of them confirmed using a similar type of knife. However, their knives are stamped with the name of the processing plant. This one’s blank.”