Wishing Lake

by Regina Hart

  “It’s lovely.” Doreen’s voice was almost reverent.

  “Thank you.” He kissed the back of her hand before releasing her.

  “Is there anything left to do?” She dragged her gaze from the altar.

  “No, thanks. We can wait for the others to join us. I’ve got everything covered.”

  He hoped. He had a lot riding on the success of this event. What if Doreen didn’t understand what he was trying to do? What if she misjudged him?

  “I’m a little nervous.” Doreen’s laughter was self-conscious. “But I’m looking forward to this ceremony.”

  “There’s no reason to be nervous, mi amor. This ritual is meant to invoke happy memories only. And to make the dead feel welcome and loved.” Then why did he feel anxious?

  Alonzo pulled together crackers from his cupboard, and cheese and a vegetable tray from his refrigerator. Doreen kept him company, asking about his day and telling him about hers. He set the refreshments on the silver Formica counter between his half-kitchen and the dining room. Their banter helped ease his tension and, he hoped, Doreen’s nerves.

  His doorbell rang three more times. The first time, it announced Ean, Megan, and Ramona. Minutes later, Jackson and Audra joined them. Finally, Darius escorted Ms. Helen to the event. Alonzo greeted the elderly town matriarch with a hug. Dr. Helen Gaston, or Ms. Helen as Trinity Falls’ residents called her, was timeless.

  Alonzo wrapped his left arm around Doreen’s slim waist as he led his friends into his dining room. He didn’t entertain much, which was the exact opposite of Doreen. During the past four months, he’d picked up a lot from her about entertaining. He incorporated that knowledge into the evening as he made his guests comfortable.

  “Thank you for coming.” Alonzo released Doreen and crossed to the altar. His gaze swept the small group. They each held a folder, bag, or envelope in which he suspected they carried their photos. “The Day of the Dead isn’t a time for sadness. It’s a time to celebrate and honor our loved ones who’ve died.” He gestured toward the altar. “This is one way for us to remember someone we love who’s passed on.”

  Darius indicated the altar. “Are those items symbolic?”

  Ramona sighed. “I’m sure Alonzo’s getting to that.”

  “It’s all right, Ramona.” Alonzo grinned. “I appreciate Darius’s enthusiasm.”

  “Thanks, Sheriff.” Darius gave Ramona a triumphant look.

  Alonzo continued. “The glasses of water quench the thirst of our loved ones’ spirits. The lit candles guide the spirits on their journey. The marigolds are synonymous with the Day of the Dead. And the incense removes negative energy.”

  Darius smiled. “Instead of using incense, we could just ask Ramona to leave.”

  “Darius, you’re not helping.” Under Doreen’s firm tone, Alonzo heard a trace of amusement.

  He held Doreen’s warm brown eyes. “The most important thing to remember is that this is a celebration of the ones we’ve loved and lost. We’re here to keep their memories alive so they’re never forgotten. I’ll go first.”

  Alonzo released Doreen’s gaze and lifted a photo he’d placed on the table behind the altar. “Captain Cesar Vargas.” He stared at the image of the slim, dignified older man in silence for a moment. His friend and former supervisor was in a sheriff’s uniform, including a brown felt campaign hat. He then faced the picture outward so the others could see it. “As you can imagine, Jacksonville, Florida, where I used to work, is very different from Trinity Falls. Captain Vargas called me the son he wished he’d had. That usually meant he needed help with some household project. But he treated me like family and kept me from getting too homesick between trips back to Trinity Falls.”

  Alonzo put the photograph of his former mentor on the altar. “Who’s next?”

  “Me.” Ms. Helen stepped forward, trading places with Alonzo. The tiny woman pinned the sheriff with a sharp look. “I’m going to get this picture back, right?”

  Alonzo smiled from his place at Doreen’s side. “I promise.”

  She nodded once in satisfaction, then held a framed black-and-white photo chest high. The picture’s subject was a middle-aged woman. Her twinkling eyes belied her prim expression.

  “This is my godmother, Mrs. Cora Mary Covington.” Ms. Helen glanced again at the photo before continuing. “Covington was the family name of her fifth husband. She was my mother’s best friend from childhood. Aunt Cora always used to tell me, ‘Helen, be who God intended you to be and you will set the world on fire.’ I thought she’d made up that saying. I was so impressed. It wasn’t until I was in college that I realized she was quoting Saint Catherine of Siena.”

  Ms. Helen turned the picture to study it. “It doesn’t matter, Aunt Cora. You still impressed me. And you inspired me to be the very best I could be.” She placed the photograph lovingly on the altar before returning to stand in front of Darius.

  “That’s a great quote.” Darius rested his hand on the tiny woman’s shoulder.

  Ms. Helen looked back at the reporter. She squeezed his large hand with her frail one. “It’s advice we can all use.”

  Ramona walked to the altar. “I’ve got two.”

  “You always were an overachiever.” Darius released Ms. Helen’s shoulder. His teasing eased the growing solemnity.

  Alonzo sent the reporter a grateful look. This was a celebration. He didn’t want his guests becoming too serious.

  “Thank you, Darius.” Ramona’s wry smile softened her sarcasm. She reached into her manila folder and pulled out a photo of an attractive older couple, laughing at the camera. She propped it on the altar. “My grandparents taught me the value of family and community.”

  Megan passed Ramona on her way to the altar. She set a picture of a beautiful young couple, gazing at each other beside the photo Ramona had offered. “I never knew my parents. They died when I was very young. But my grandfather said I inherited my father’s business sense and my mother’s determination.”

  “Determination? That’s a polite way of calling you stubborn.” Darius winked at Megan.

  Megan’s laughter cleared the cloud of regret from her elegant, cocoa features. “Determined or stubborn, as long as I get my way in the end.”

  Ean chuckled as he exchanged places with Megan. “My father encouraged me to set goals.” He put the photo of Paul Fever on the altar. Even in the photo, the tall, good-looking man projected a powerful personality. “This picture was taken during my law school graduation. His grin was so big. I don’t know whether that’s because he was proud of my accomplishment or because he was done with my school bills.”

  Alonzo watched Doreen as Ean spoke of his father. A ghost of a smile curved her full lips. Her brown eyes were dreamy. She didn’t seem distressed. What was she thinking? Had he done the right thing, hosting this celebration? He turned his attention back to the ceremony.

  Audra placed a photo of a pretty young woman on the altar before facing the group. “My high school music teacher said talent would only get you so far. She challenged me to go even farther. I appreciated her encouragement. Eventually.”

  Audra returned to Jackson’s side and nudged him forward.

  “My daughter, Zoey.” He placed a photo of a pretty, laughing little girl with long, brown hair beside the image of Audra’s music teacher. “She died just before her ninth birthday.”

  “What would you like to tell us about her?” Audra’s voice was encouraging.

  Jackson kept his eyes on the image of his daughter. Slowly a smile stretched his lips and brightened his sienna features. He met Audra’s eyes. “She gave me an appreciation for fairy tales.”

  Alonzo watched Jackson return to Audra. The two held hands, entwining their fingers. He glanced down at Doreen’s hand. Would she welcome his touch now, or should he wait until the ceremony was over?

  He raised his gaze, looking from Darius to Doreen. “Who wants to go next?”

  Darius gestured toward Doreen. “Ladies first.”
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  “You’re always so chivalrous.” Doreen gripped a plain white envelope on her way to the altar. She shot a worried glance at Alonzo, then looked away. “Tonight, I want to celebrate Paul Fever.”

  “He’s a good choice,” Alonzo spoke softly.

  He hurt for Doreen—for both of them. He wished with all his heart he could convince her that he wasn’t interested in replacing Paul. Even if he wanted to, he knew he never could.

  Doreen drew Paul’s photo from the envelope. She took a deep breath before displaying the picture. It was a color image of the tall, broad-shouldered man, wearing a pink-and-white apron as he displayed a tray of fresh-baked cookies.

  “Paul taught me that true love is helping the other person to be the best she can be and supporting her goals.” Doreen’s throat muscles worked. “In this photo, he’s helping me bake cookies for a Heritage High School fundraiser.”

  “I remember that fundraiser.” Darius continued in a deadpanned voice. “You would have raised more money if he’d just bought the cookies.”

  “You’re probably right about that.” Doreen’s laughter joined her friends’. “But his heart was in the right place.”

  “Absolutely.” Alonzo grinned.

  Doreen left the altar but still wouldn’t meet his gaze. Alonzo’s stomach muscles tightened. Had the Day of the Dead celebration been a bad idea? She seemed to enjoy it, but did she understand why he’d wanted to share it with her? Paul had been his friend, too. He wanted to help her celebrate her late husband. He didn’t want either of them to ever forget him.

  “Your turn, Darius,” Alonzo prompted the reporter.

  Darius looked at the gift bag in his hand. “My contribution seemed like a good idea at the time. Now I think it’s out of place.”

  Alonzo frowned. A quick glance around the room showed he wasn’t the only one baffled by Darius’s words. “We’re celebrating loved ones who are deceased. No one is out of place, Darius.”

  The reporter expelled a heavy breath. He emerged from behind Ms. Helen and proceeded with weighted steps to the altar. The black-and-silver gift bag hung from his right hand.

  “My deceased loved one isn’t a person but still means a lot to me.” Darius withdrew a photo from the bag and turned it to face his friends. “Most of you will remember Riddler, my black Labrador retriever.”

  Mystery solved, Alonzo grinned. He glanced down to find Doreen sharing her smile with him. He slipped his right arm around her waist and pulled her closer. She didn’t resist him. Perhaps the event had been the right thing to do after all, for him and Doreen as well as for Darius.

  “I remember that devil dog. He ate my favorite sandals.” Ramona still held a grudge sixteen years later.

  “Only the left one.” Darius seemed compelled to defend his pet.

  “And he polished off the ham I’d made for an Easter dinner. The entire ham.” Doreen struggled to maintain her frown, even as a grin threatened.

  Darius gave her an innocent look. “That was meant as a compliment.”

  “Was there anything Riddler wouldn’t eat?” Megan asked.

  “No.” Ean shrugged. “He and Darius were alike that way.”

  “That dog followed you everywhere.” Jackson grinned. “You should have named him Shadow.”

  Ms. Helen shook her head. “Riddler was the perfect name for Darius’s dog. The Riddler is one of Batman’s more interesting villains.”

  Alonzo nodded with agreement. “What did Riddler teach you, Darius?”

  “Unconditional love.” Darius placed Riddler’s photo on the altar. In the image, Riddler was attempting to eat a football. “And how to evade the strong safety.”

  The former high school and college football player returned to the group. Ms. Helen offered him a smile as she patted his arm.

  Alonzo retrieved the bottle of red wine he’d saved for after the tributes. With Doreen’s help, he filled and distributed the nine glasses. He asked his friends to bow their heads for a small prayer.

  After the appeal, he lifted his glass. “A toast. To our loved ones who’ve passed on and the memories they’ve left behind.”

  He watched Doreen as he shared the toast. A cloud swept over her features. She averted her gaze from his and grew quiet again. If celebrating the Day of the Dead together didn’t prove his feelings to her, what more did he have to do?

  Darius sensed a trap. “You want me to chair a fundraising committee?”

  Had Jackson lost his mind?

  Darius eyed his publisher warily from the cushioned gray guest chair opposite Jackson’s polished oak desk. It was Monday morning, the day before the mayoral election. He had enough on his mind without puzzling the reason for this assignment.

  In the almost four months since Jackson had resumed his responsibilities as publisher and editor-in-chief of The Trinity Falls Monitor, he’d settled into his office and routine as though he’d never left. That was thanks in large part to Audra. During the five months the couple had been together, she’d worked miracles on the former recluse who’d retreated from life after his young daughter’s death. Darius was glad to have his friend and boss back at work. At least he had been—until Jackson sprang this morning’s assignment on him.

  Darius lowered his eyes while he tried to figure out his pal’s plan. His gaze settled on Jackson’s overloaded desk. On one corner was a stack of newspapers from neighboring towns as well as the nearby metropolitan paper, Cleveland’s The Plain Dealer. Sitting on the opposite corner, closer to his computer, was a photo of Audra, laughing as she displayed the bass she’d caught during one of their many fishing trips. Next to that image was a framed picture of Jackson’s daughter, Zoey, who’d died just before her ninth birthday, almost twenty months ago. The pain of her loss had overwhelmed Jackson. If it weren’t for Audra’s love and support, he wouldn’t have been able to keep Zoey’s photo on his desk. That would have been a shame.

  Darius caught Jackson’s dark eyes. “Why me?”

  “You were at the town council meeting last week.” Jackson propped his elbows on the arms of his black executive chair. “Before she leaves office, Ramona wants to establish a committee to raise funds for the community center’s renovation. It needs a lot of upgrades.”

  Jackson’s answer was evasive.

  Darius tried again. “Why do you want me to cochair the committee? I cover the news. I’ll write articles about the campaign and what the committee’s doing. But I can’t do a balanced job covering the news if I’m part of the story.”

  “You won’t cover this story. Opal will.”

  Darius rubbed his eyes with his left thumb and two fingers. Opal Gutierrez was the Monitor’s rookie reporter. Darius questioned her training. He’d once accused her of being more like a Dictaphone than a newspaper reporter. Now she was assigned to cover a story in which he was involved. How would she approach it?

  Darius gave a mental shrug. He didn’t need to worry. He wasn’t going to be part of the story. “I’ve never chaired a fundraiser.”

  “But you can convince people to do things you think are right, whether they want to do it or not.” Jackson smiled. “You convinced Stan to get sober.”

  Darius shook his head. “That’s not the same as talking them into giving me their money.”

  “Close enough.”

  “Come on, Jack.” Darius gave his boss a skeptical look. “What’s this really about?”

  “The community center is very important to the town.” Jackson crossed his arms. “I want the Monitor to be represented on the committee.”

  Jackson’s words were sincere, but Darius didn’t buy them. “Then why don’t you chair it?”

  “It would be overkill to have the publisher on the committee.”

  Darius wasn’t buying that one, either. “Then Opal can sit on the committee and I’ll cover the story.”

  Jackson shook his head. “I want you to represent the paper.”

  Is it possible he’d misjudged his friend’s intention? “I’m flattere
d, Jack. But I’m not qualified for this assignment.”

  Jackson held up his hands, palms out. “You wouldn’t be leading the committee by yourself. You’d be working with a cochair.”

  The muscles at the back of his neck tensed with suspicion. “Who?”

  “Someone you know.” Jackson didn’t hesitate. “Dr. Peyton Harris.”

  Darius shook his head in disbelief. “So this is another attempt at matchmaking. Don’t you have anything better to do?”

  “No.”

  “I’ve heard that when people are in love, they want everyone to be in a relationship. But this is ridiculous.”

  “Why?”

  Darius considered his boss and longtime friend. “Audra brought joy back into your life. Megan helped Ean reconsider his priorities. And Ramona is keeping Q from becoming an old maid. I’m happy for you guys. But don’t try to fix me up. It’s obnoxious.”

  Jackson sobered. “D, I’m saying this as a friend. You’re becoming surly. You need someone to bring out your better side.”

  “Thanks for the tip.” Darius stood.

  “Just because your parents don’t have a happy marriage doesn’t mean you won’t.”

  Someone had put Jackson up to this latest matchmaking ploy. Who was it? Doreen? Megan? Ramona? Quincy?

  Darius frowned. “How did you jump from my dating Peyton to my marrying her?”

  “She seems perfect for you.”

  “Why?”

  “Because she frog-marched you out of her office the first time she met you.” Jackson’s expressionless tone and features masked his reaction to what Darius had thought was a little-known incident.

  His skin warmed. “Quincy has a big mouth.”

  “He also has a point. Women usually try to hold on to you. Peyton literally threw you out.” Jackson laughed at his own joke.

  “I’m glad I can amuse you.”

  Jackson sobered. “Peyton is intelligent, attractive, kind, and employed. Why aren’t you interested in her?”

  “She’s not interested in me, either, so you might was well stop trying to get us together.”

  Darius strode out of Jackson’s office door and set a course for his cubicle. He was running away, this time from Jackson’s comments and questions. What good would they do? He’d spent so much time running and hiding from his emotions, he didn’t think he could feel anymore. He was like the Tin Man in The Wizard of Oz, searching for a heart.