by Amanda Cabot
The flush in her cheeks deepened as she glanced around the table, as if wondering whether anyone was listening to them. Though the round tables lent themselves to group discussions, tonight the other guests were involved in what appeared to be their own private conversations.
“You really think so?” The incredulity in Gillian’s voice made it seem like she was unaccustomed to praise. That couldn’t be the case. This was the woman who used to receive standing ovations.
“I know so. Why should kids be the only ones with planned activities? So, what have you done so far?”
When Gillian finished her explanation, TJ let out a soft whistle. She must have been a human dynamo to accomplish that much. “All that in one day? You’re incredible.”
She shook her head. “I wouldn’t say that, but I am excited. I can’t remember the last time I felt this energized. Right now, everything about the project seems wonderful.” A shrug accompanied her next sentence. “I may change my mind when I start the cleanup, but at this particular moment, I can’t wait to get started. Bring on the buckets, soap, and sponges.”
That sounded like Gillian, charging forward, determined to be the first to cross the finish line. But this wasn’t a solo sport. Surely she knew that. Even though she’d played many piano solos, there were just as many times when she’d had a symphony orchestra accompanying her.
“You don’t plan to do it all yourself, do you?” Though none of the stores in Dupree was huge, cleaning one was still a massive undertaking.
Gillian nodded, as if what she had in mind was trivial. She took a sip of iced tea, then reached for a biscuit as she said, “Kate and Marisa would help if they could, but they have too many other things going on.”
And she hadn’t thought beyond her girlfriends. Regret and something else—perhaps wounded pride—stabbed TJ as he realized that Gillian hadn’t even considered asking him for help.
“Gillian, Gillian, Gillian.” When her eyes widened at his slightly scolding tone, TJ continued. “There’s a whole section of the workforce you haven’t considered.”
“And who would that be, besides you?”
So she had thought of him. Though his pride no longer felt as if it had been trampled, TJ wondered why she hadn’t asked. Perhaps he’d been mistaken. Perhaps she’d wanted his assistance but hadn’t wanted to presume. Perhaps the reason she was telling him about the project was that she hoped he’d volunteer.
“Of course I’ll help,” he told her, “but if you’re going to finish this in a reasonable amount of time, you need more resources. The Firefly Valley kids could make short work of this.”
In response to Gillian’s skeptical look, TJ said, “Trust me. They’ll come. We’ll call it a work party and promise them all the pizza they can eat. I’m sure some will volunteer right away, and once the leaders do, the rest will fall in line.” TJ pictured Shane swaggering around the campfire, ordering his minions to sign on the dotted line.
Recalling the work plans the principal of his last school had drafted when the school decided to adopt a section of highway and enlisted the students’ help in keeping it free of litter, TJ said, “We’ll need to get the parents’ permission, but that shouldn’t be too hard. If you have access to a computer, we can have permission forms ready to take tonight. That gives you tomorrow to assemble all the supplies so we can work on Saturday.”
“This Saturday?” Gillian’s eyes lit with excitement. Though she’d been prepared to do the work alone, she appeared surprised by the idea that they could begin so quickly.
“Why not? It’ll be fun.”
As she laughed and clinked her glass to his in a toast to their future success, TJ realized it wasn’t only Gillian who was enthusiastic about the project. It must be contagious.
21
Gillian glanced at her watch. She’d awakened earlier than normal this morning, perhaps because she was still excited about the plans for the senior center, and even after a leisurely breakfast, she had a few minutes before she had to leave for her shift at the bookstore. That should give her enough time to meet Brianna’s mother and have her sign the permission slip. The other kids’ parents had been home last night and had joined the group around the campfire long enough to hear what was planned and to grant their children permission to participate.
Gillian had heard several of them say they thought it was a good idea that their kids would be helping others, especially since they’d been given so much. When their apartment complex had burned, complete strangers had offered the former apartment dwellers the RVs free of charge for as long as they needed them. As if that weren’t enough, Marisa and her husband were equipping the new apartments with the latest in appliances and state-of-the-art smoke detectors, meaning that the Firefly Valley residents’ new homes would be more modern and safer than the old ones.
The adults were approving, the teens excited. Only Brianna was unhappy. Her mother had been at work last night, and Brianna had admitted she wasn’t certain she would have signed her permission slip, even if she’d been home.
“She doesn’t want me to do anything,” Brianna groused.
Though Gillian suspected that might be an exaggeration, she couldn’t be certain without meeting Brianna’s mother. And so here she was, approaching Firefly Valley, paperwork in hand.
When he’d first mentioned it, Gillian had wondered at TJ’s insistence that the parents come in person to sign the release forms. When she had been in school, the teachers had simply sent the forms home, and she’d returned them the next day.
“Times have changed,” TJ had said, pointing out that he didn’t recognize all the teens’ signatures and wouldn’t know if they’d forged the documents. “There are a lot more lawsuits these days, so we need to be extra careful,” he’d told Gillian, and she’d agreed. As it was, since the senior center wouldn’t have liability insurance in effect for a few more days, Greg had called his agent and gotten a rider added to the Rainbow’s End policy for tomorrow’s event. He’d also volunteered to pay the center’s utility bills for the first six months. By then, Gillian expected enough people would have joined that their monthly dues would cover basic expenses. She had already established a fee schedule for meals and special classes but, in what Kate called a loss leader, had decided not to charge a membership fee this first month.
Gillian knocked on the door to Brianna’s trailer.
“Good morning,” a woman said as she opened the door. “What can I do for you?”
Gillian tried to mask her surprise. The woman had the same coloring, the same features, the same Barbie doll figure as Brianna, but she was much younger than Gillian had expected. Gillian doubted Brianna’s mother was much older than Gillian herself.
“Good morning, Mrs. Carter.”
The woman who looked so much like her daughter shook her head. “Just call me Natalie, but for the record, it’s Ms. Carter. Brianna’s father split before she was born and before he could put a ring on my finger.”
Unsure what response Natalie expected, Gillian settled for giving her a noncommittal nod and saying, “I’m Gillian. Gillian Hodge.” When the woman’s eyes registered familiarity with her name, Gillian continued. “I don’t know whether Brianna told you about it, but some of the kids are going to help get the new senior center building ready. I came to see if you’d allow Brianna to be part of the work party. It’s all day tomorrow.”
Natalie tugged the hem of her T-shirt, perhaps to cover the small rip in her shorts. The clothing, though obviously not new, was far more modest than the outfits Brianna had worn the first few times Gillian had seen her.
“She told me about it. In fact, it was all she could talk about at breakfast.” Giving Gillian a sharply appraising look, Natalie narrowed her eyes. “Tell me, Gillian. Will there be adult supervision?”
“Of course. I’ll be there, and so will TJ Benjamin. He’s the one who’s been running the campf
ires here every night.”
Natalie nodded, confirming her familiarity with both TJ’s name and the nightly entertainment.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if some of the other teachers come tomorrow, but even if they don’t, TJ and I will serve as chaperones, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“It is,” Natalie admitted. “I’m sure you know Brianna fancies herself in love with Todd.”
It was Gillian’s turn to nod. “He seems like a good guy. Pretty sensible.”
“I agree that he’s basically what my mother would have called a straight arrow. The problem is, he and Brianna are only fifteen, and at that age, being sensible isn’t what kids do.” Natalie lowered her eyes and appeared to be examining her pedicure. “I should know. I was fifteen when I had Brianna.”
Gillian tried not to let her surprise show. She’d been correct in assuming that Natalie was close to her age. For her part, Gillian could not imagine being a mother at fifteen. How had Natalie done it when she was little more than a child herself?
“I don’t want Brianna to make the same mistakes I did,” Natalie said, her voice fierce. “My daughter deserves a better life than mine.”
The intensity of the woman’s emotion touched chords deep inside Gillian. Was this how her mother had felt when George was born? Had she had the same depth of maternal love for Gillian, even as her own life had slipped away? Now was not the time to think about the mother she had never known. Gillian was here to convince Natalie to sign the permission slip.
“I understand your concerns.” Gillian wanted to reassure this woman whose life had been so different from her own. Gillian had had the financial, social, and educational advantages that had been denied to Natalie, and yet Natalie had accomplished far more than Gillian had, for she was raising a daughter, lavishing her with maternal love.
Brushing aside those thoughts, she smiled at Natalie. “I can’t promise to keep them apart, but I can promise that if you let her come, Brianna and Todd will spend tomorrow working.”
Natalie stared at Gillian for a moment before nodding. “Okay. I trust you.”
TJ wasn’t certain who was more anxious for school to end: the students or himself. In addition to the usual TGIF syndrome with its predictably reduced attention spans, the kids were excited about tomorrow’s work party. This was probably the first time those who lived in Firefly Valley were involved in something that wasn’t being offered to the others, and they were taking full advantage of feeling special. To TJ’s amusement, the teens were strutting around as if being asked to sweep and mop floors and wash windows and walls was an adventure.
TJ had every intention of making sure that it was. He’d already decided to harness the kids’ competitive spirit and planned to divide them into two teams. They’d be awarded points for how quickly and completely they accomplished each task, with the winning team receiving a prize.
Though he had a few ideas, TJ hadn’t decided what the prize would be. Somehow it didn’t seem right to make that decision without Gillian. It was, after all, her project, and though he had more experience with teenagers in general, she had developed a good rapport with this particular group. She might have ideas that had not occurred to him.
The work party wasn’t the only reason TJ was looking forward to the final bell of the day. In fact, it wasn’t even the most important reason. He felt adrenaline surge each time he thought of what was waiting for him at Rainbow’s End. Eric had told him his bike would be finished by midafternoon.
All day long, he’d pictured himself taking it for a spin, riding up Ranger Hill and straight down Lone Star Trail to the highway. Once there, he’d see which direction beckoned him. The sun and wind in his face, the roar of the engine in his ears—there was nothing like being on a bike. And this time he wouldn’t be alone. Gillian would be sitting behind him. It would be the perfect ending to the day.
As she left the bookstore and headed for her car, Gillian glanced at her phone. Though she hadn’t expected it, she had email. Most of her friends preferred to text, but since she was frequently out of cell range, the number of texts had declined substantially since she’d come to Rainbow’s End. Maybe a friend had decided to email her.
Gillian tapped the icon and smiled. This was better than she’d expected. Dad had responded to her note about the senior center. Eagerly, she opened the message, her smile fading as she read. “The senior center is a bad idea. How will you find a husband if you spend all your time with old people? Write a check and let someone else do the work.”
No greeting, no closing, nothing but disapproval.
Gillian cringed, feeling the way she had the one time she had come in second in a competition. Dad had made no secret of his disappointment, telling her she could do better. And she had.
A second later, anger replaced her sorrow. Would she never learn? Dad was accustomed to getting what he wanted, and right now he wanted Gillian to marry. She should have anticipated his reaction and simply not told him what she was doing. She had made a mistake, but it was one she would not repeat.
She was back. Though he hadn’t wanted to admit how impatient he’d been, TJ had glanced at his watch what felt like a million times during the last half hour. When he’d returned from school and had inspected the bike, he’d taken a quick spin around the resort, just to verify that the engine sounded as good as Eric claimed it did. The man might not be a miracle worker, but he came pretty close. Not only was it impossible to tell that the bike had been crashed, but it sounded better than it ever had, at least while TJ had owned it.
His fingers itched to touch the throttle, his feet to feel the smooth shifting as he climbed hills, then swooped down the other side. And he’d do that, once Gillian arrived. Though the wait seemed endless, it was over now. She had arrived.
“Do you have a minute?” TJ asked as she exited her car. A ride would take more than a minute, but he was going to do this one step at a time. He hadn’t forgotten that she’d never ridden a bike and that she’d claimed she never would, but surely he could convince her otherwise. “I want to show you something.”
Gillian nodded. Though she’d seemed unusually somber when she’d stepped away from her car, her face brightened as she looked at him. He took a quick glance at her clothing. The skirt and knit top were pretty, but she’d need something different for the bike. Though others might ride with their arms and legs unprotected, TJ did not, and he most definitely would not let Gillian run the risk of road rash on that soft skin. Once he explained where they were going, he’d suggest jeans and a jacket.
Gillian’s smile made him wonder whether she knew what he had in store for her. “You look like you’ve had a good day.”
“I have,” TJ said as he led the way to the garage, “and this is part of the reason why.” He flung the door open, letting daylight stream into the closest bay. “My bike is done.” He patted the engine. “Eric did a great job. It’s good as new now.”
“That’s nice.” Surely it was TJ’s imagination that her voice held no enthusiasm. Perhaps she was tired. A quick ride would take care of that. There was nothing like being on a bike to chase away fatigue. That was one of the things he wanted to show her.
TJ stepped back from the bike. “I’m glad you’re back, because I was hoping you’d take a ride with me to celebrate.” He’d even bought a second helmet for her to wear.
The blood drained from Gillian’s face, and she looked as if he’d suggested a free fall from the top of the Empire State Building.
“Me, ride a bike?” She shook her head vehemently as she backed toward the door. “I will never, ever, ever get on one of those things.”
He’d expected a little resistance, but not this much. TJ stared at Gillian, wondering why she’d had such an over-the-top response to his invitation. Although, thinking back, he remembered that she’d been almost this upset when they’d met. At the time he’d thought it was
because she feared he’d been seriously injured, but perhaps he’d been wrong. Perhaps the bike was the cause.
“Why don’t you like motorcycles?” he asked as calmly as he could.
Gillian took another step backward, as if she feared the bike might somehow propel itself toward her. “I don’t just dislike motorcycles.” Blood had returned to her face, and now she appeared flushed rather than pale. “I hate them.” The venom in her voice left no doubt that she meant every word.
“Help me, Gillian,” TJ said, joining her outside the garage and closing the door so she wouldn’t have to look at his bike. “I’m trying to understand. Why would you hate an inanimate object?”
“Because a motorcycle—a bright red motorcycle, to be precise—is the reason I’m no longer a concert pianist.”
The pieces were starting to come together. “A motorcycle was involved in your accident?”
“‘Involved’ is one way to describe it. ‘Caused’ is another.” She took a deep breath, exhaling slowly before she continued. “I was coming out of a recording studio when the rider lost control. He skidded on a patch of oil, jumped the curb, knocked me down, and rode over my hand,” she said, shuddering slightly as she recounted the events of that day. “He wasn’t hurt, but my hand was shattered. The doctors say it’s a miracle that I’ve regained this much mobility.” Gillian stared at her right hand with its tracery of scars.
“I’m sorry.” When she’d said those words, they’d comforted him, but they didn’t seem to be having the same effect on Gillian. Her color was still high, her breathing ragged.
“It wasn’t your fault.” The words sounded perfunctory, as if she knew she was expected to say them.
“It wasn’t the motorcycle’s fault, either.” Perhaps it was foolish, but TJ felt the need to convince her that a motorcycle was more than an instrument of destruction. He’d spent many, many pleasurable hours on his, and he wanted to share that pleasure with her.
