by Mary Manners
“I guess that will do.” It was an acceptable compromise, and Misty would be delighted to hand off the project. “It won’t take more than an hour to walk you through the program. That should give you plenty of time to get your feet wet before you unveil the new site to the City Commission at the meeting Monday evening. Does that work for you?”
“I suppose.” His tone deflated slightly. “Although—”
“I’ll see you then, Mr. Tucker.”
“Spence.”
“Right.” She held the phone away from her ear as she put an end to the conversation with a clipped, decisive tone that she hoped drove her point home. “Now, I have a project waiting to be finished. Good night.”
****
Couldn’t the plane fly any faster?
Jack shifted in the seat and shrugged the kinks from his neck. A four hour flight had become six due to a detour and delay following a freak thunderstorm that blew in over the mountains. His legs were cramped, his back stiff, and his gut roiled from bobbled take-offs and extended bouts of turbulence.
Flying certainly wasn’t, for good reason, on his list of favorite pastimes.
He took Misty’s letter from his shirt pocket, unfolded it, and read it for the umpteenth time.
You’re going to be a daddy…
The words shocked just as much, no matter how many times Jack drank them in. Did he have a son…or a daughter?
Or neither.
It surprised him how much the thought of that—of the possibility that Misty had terminated the pregnancy—unsettled him. He felt sure she’d never do that. Misty would cross the street to avoid stepping on an ant. As a kid, she was constantly seeking his assistance in doctoring stray animals. She had no fear of raccoons, squirrels, mice, snakes—even spiders didn’t much get to her. It was one of the many reasons he’d fallen in love with her.
Her child—their child—would be treasured, for sure.
Jack tamped down the thought. The love they’d shared was a lifetime ago.
The seatbelt warning light pulsed on, accompanied by a half-dozen staccato chimes of a bell. The plane shifted and began its descent. Jack sighed and lifted the window shade, willing his gut to settle as he peered through smudged glass and into the black of night.
Below, the winding Tennessee River snaked into view along with a shadow of land speckled by the artificial glow of streetlights. Six years had passed since he’d left Mill’s Landing. He hadn’t meant to stay away for so long—it just happened. But now he was home.
Home?
He dismissed the thought as the plane listed right. Soon after, the landing gear kissed the runway, bounced and shrieked. Jack gritted his teeth. He hated flying, preferred his feet on the ground and the hum of his open-air jeep along the highway. But time was of the essence here.
“Sir, the seatbelt light is still engaged.” A flight attendant paused in the aisle, frowning. One manicured hand propped sharply on her hip. “Your restraint, please.”
“Oh, right.” Jack clicked the belt back into place, drew a breath, and bit his tongue. Like the thin strap of cloth would make a difference if the plane decided to careen from the runway. Good grief! Nerves coupled with exhaustion stole a chunk of his patience and he was careful to hold himself in check. No point dumping his frustration in the bossy flight attendant’s lap. After all, she was only doing her job.
The telltale ding sounded, and passengers went into motion like a crew of Pavlov’s dogs. In the frenzy, overhead bins snapped open and luggage scattered. A briefcase missed Jack’s head by mere inches. He waited for the crowd to clear before melding into the fold, grabbing his duffel, and heading toward the exit.
He was all the way to the rental car counter before he realized he had no idea where he was going.
Misty’s place, for sure, to hash things out. But where did she live now? Surely, it wasn’t in the same campus apartment she’d settled for through grad school. Maybe she didn’t even live in Mill’s Landing any longer.
No, she said she’d never leave.
Flickers of dread raced up Jack’s spine. Maybe she hadn’t left Mill’s Landing, but what if she was dating someone—or married after all this time? The thought that another man had claimed her—and his child, as well—caused a flash-fire of jealousy Jack was helpless to contain.
His blood turned to ice. What had he done? What was he doing?
Jack drummed his fingers on the rental counter as the clerk gathered keys and contracts. His brain was shrouded in fog, his throat parched from recycled plane air. His body told him it was still the middle of the night, but outside moonlight was veiled in the first golden hints of pre-dawn. The three-hour time difference had jettisoned him fast forward toward morning.
Maybe he should just head to a hotel, sleep for a few hours to get his head on straight, and figure out where to go from there.
No. Sleeping wasn’t an option, no matter how hard the exhaustion nipped at him. He’d get into the car and drive.
4
The drive through Mill’s Landing told Jack that six years away had changed little…and everything.
Cole’s Hardware still sat on the corner of Fourth and Main, and Minton’s Drive-In Theater, one of the few that remained in operation in the state, was open for the season. Jack had spent countless summer nights there with Misty, though he could hardly recall the name of even one of the movies that had played. He’d been too busy watching her dark curtain of hair dance in the breeze, admiring the tilt of her nose, the slope of her mouth, and dreaming of coaxing a kiss.
The Landing was different now…the design and feel. The willows had exploded, their long, flowing fingers swaying gently in the last vestiges of moonlight and across dewy grass. A jogging trail flanked the river’s edge. A sign for a preschool he didn’t recognize, Precious Miracles, beckoned beyond the refurbished playground.
Did his son—daughter—play there?
Jack rolled down the window and let the chill of a spring breeze wash over him. The hum of the rental car’s engine wasn’t enough to drown out the memories, so he switched on the radio and cranked it to a volume somewhere between Lose the Past and Wake the Dead.
The lyrics of a hymn washed over him, bringing with them a sense of peace. So many things were hard right now. Jack wondered who’d rented the car before him. Was this some kind of sign?
Jack brushed a hand across his jaw, startled to find the stubble he’d neglected to shave for several days was morphing into a full-on beard. The cool air revived him, and at the next corner, he turned right and followed the familiar two-lane road.
The hushed sigh between night and dawn was quiet, but he sensed nature inhaling a breath, ready to whisper the morning alive. Birds fluttered in the treetops, and a dog barked in the distance. Low, dark storm clouds veiled the stars. The moon glowed through rifts as the clouds swirled, illuminating a pasture that fronted the road. Just before the telltale fork, a tidy, white-washed house rose into view. It was still there, a lone sentinel.
Floodlights spilled across the darkness, warning travelers to turn right or left. Jack had installed them himself the day after a driver missed the turn and took a midnight plunge across the front lawn. The pick-up truck demolished the porch stairs and rails before its hood came to rest just inches from the living room where he and Misty nestled, watching a movie.
Beneath the light, he noticed the reconstructed porch could use a new coat of sealant, and the shutters that flanked the front windows were a bit weather-beaten. One winked at him as though it knew his deepest secrets. No doubt, the house still had character and held memories—lots of them—but it was beginning to show its age.
A sturdy oak with an array of branches just waiting to be climbed stood proudly to the rear-left of the detached garage. The skin beneath Jack’s right eyebrow throbbed as he remembered falling from an upper limb and scraping his face along the length of bark. The impact when he hit the ground had knocked him out cold, and as he came to, Misty was leaning over him, her
face a mask of worry. She’d murmured for him to lie still while she tended his wound with a gentle touch, her fingers like feathers along his skin.
It was the first time Jack knew for sure that he loved her.
“Who’s there?”
The voice startled Jack back to the present. He turned his attention to the front porch and saw Misty’s mother rise from a rocking chair, her cream-colored flannel nightgown tufting in the breeze.
“Mimi.” He used the name they’d agreed on years ago, back when he was in middle school. Mrs. Larsen was too formal for a boy who spent most of his waking hours exploring the great outdoors with her daughter, but Jack felt disrespectful using Mimi’s given name—Judith. So they’d agreed on Mimi, pure and simple. “It’s me…Jack.”
“Well, it’s about time the prodigal son returned.” Mimi took a step toward him. “Park that car and come into the light where I can see you.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Jack did as he was told. He’d learned early on there was no use arguing with Misty’s mom—unless he was in a losing kind of mood. Better to just stick with the program…go with it. He swung the car up the short gravel drive and killed the engine. Stepping into a halo of light, he leaned back against the sedan’s fender and crossed his arms.
“Where is she?” The chilled breeze roused Jack.
“You look all grown up, Jack. Maybe it’s the beard…”
“Where is she, Mimi?” he repeated. “I have to know.”
“In town. Misty’s had a place of her own since…”
“Is the baby OK?” He took a step forward.
“She’s hardly a baby anymore.”
“She?” The breath escaped Jack. “So, I have a daughter.”
“That’s right.” Mimi slipped back into the chair, pumped furiously. “Why now, Jack? After all this time…”
“I just found out.” He glanced at his watch. “Not even a full day ago.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Just tell me where to find Misty. I need—”
“What about what Misty needs?” Mimi smoothed her gown over her knees as it fought with the breeze. “You’ve waited six years; another hour won’t hurt. Come in. You look like you can use a cup of coffee.”
“But—”
“No buts.” Mimi stood and held up a hand like a cop directing traffic. The rocker’s rails slapped against the porch slats, shocking the night as friction worked magic to bring the chair to a stop. “Give Misty a chance to down her coffee, too. You’ll get a whole lot further reasoning with her that way—and let me tell you, Jack, the road ahead is sure to be rocky.”
****
“Tie your shoes, Allie.” Misty coaxed as she packed Allie’s lunch box. “We have to get going.”
Allie plopped onto the kitchen floor and tugged at the laces of her sparkly-pink tennis shoes. “Can I have three cookies today?”
“May I,” Misty corrected. “And two Oreos are more than enough.”
“But I share with Sally. Her mama doesn’t pack her cookies…just peanut butter with no jelly. Sometimes she doesn’t even pack a juice box.”
“Is that so?” Misty knelt to double-knot Allie’s laces. She was sure, if she didn’t, they’d come undone before she and Allie even finished the ride to school. “Maybe her mom has a good reason for no cookies.”
“Maybe.”
But Misty added a third Oreo to the zippered plastic bag and tossed in a second juice box, just in case.
She handed the lunch box to Allie, adjusted the child’s flowered headband, and patted her on the bottom. “Head to the car.”
“Yes, Mama.” Allie skipped through the front door and across the drive to their car. “I talked to Lucky last night, and he wants us to keep Ralph—just for the weekend, though.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes, Mama.” Allie waited as Misty unlocked the car. “He told me. Will you come in after school and help me carry him?”
“He has a cage, right?”
“’Course, but Mrs. Barnett said it’s not a cage—it’s a playground. And Ralph has a big box of food. Mrs. Barnett says he likes lettuce and carrots and all kinds of salad stuff, too.”
“We can manage that.”
Allie chattered all the way to school. Usually, Misty idled through the car line, dropping Allie at the front walk. But, today she parked the car and walked Allie to the entrance.
“Honey, here’s something for your art project—your family tree.” Misty handed Allie a photograph. “Show it to Mrs. Barnett, OK?”
“Who is it, Mama?”
“It’s…your daddy.” The words stuck in Misty’s throat like glue. “I wrote his name on the back for you.”
“This looks like the Landing. Did he used to live here, Mama?”
“Yes, he did. We went to school together.”
Allie turned the photo over. “Jack Sea…Sea…”
“Seaton.”
“Jack Seaton…Daddy.”
“That’s right, honey. He’s your daddy.”
5
After dropping Allie at school, Misty headed to the post office and then the grocery store. She was out of coffee, and that was simply unacceptable. Already, her head throbbed from caffeine deprivation. Maybe she should swing by Anderson’s Coffee Shop for a to-go cup and grab one of their delicious cinnamon-apple muffins, too.
Her belly growled with longing, but a quick glance at the clock on the dash told her daylight was burning—and fast. Allie had a short school day due to teacher meetings, and she had to be picked up again in just a few hours. Misty should be elbow-deep into the Web-design project by now, downloading photos and tying up loose ends. The meeting with Spence Tucker loomed. She sighed and tapped the gas…there was certainly no time to waste on indulgences today.
She headed south, away from town. The sky was angry with the threat of rain, and if she hurried, she’d beat the storm. So much for mowing the lawn later that afternoon—those plans were dashed. Oh, well…one more day, half-an-inch more growth, wouldn’t hurt. The rain made it a good day for inside work—computer work. Besides, she’d be glad to put this job to bed, move on to something new. She had a few solid leads.
Misty followed the two-lane road a few miles before turning right onto Maplewood and then taking a quick left onto Connor Court. After a pause at the four-way stop sign, she continued down to the end of the quiet road where her house stood at the top of the cul-de-sac. It was a small house, but Misty was excited by its potential. The yard backed up to a pasture, and word was the owner had no intentions of selling the land anytime soon. That meant a lot of open space for Allie and a great view of the Smoky Mountains from the back deck.
Misty frowned as she approached the end of the cul-de-sac. An unfamiliar black sedan, not there when she’d left earlier, was parked near the foot of the drive. Were the neighbors having morning company, or was the car owned by another annoying door-to-door salesman who scoured the street, looking for a way around the sagging economy?
Misty noticed a rental tag on the rear bumper. Her senses piqued, she switched off the radio and avoided scraping the interloping car by mere inches as she swung into her drive. Coasting to the shelter of a trio of mature Bradford Pears that had come into full bloom, she killed the engine. Grabbing the pound of coffee beans she’d snagged at the grocery and slinging her purse over one shoulder, she slipped from the car as thunder rolled in the distance.
She made it two steps before he advanced from the shadows and the deep rumble of a voice startled her.
“Where is she, Misty? Where’s my daughter?”
****
“Jack…” Misty’s voice whispered over the growing breeze as coffee beans exploded across the concrete drive like shotgun pellets. Jack sidestepped the shrapnel, grabbing Misty as she began a swan-dive to the pavement.
“Hey, there…” He gathered her against his chest, breathing in the familiar scent of peach-vanilla that mingled with the sweet promise of impending rain. Her face wen
t ashen against the dark contrast of her hair, startling his pulse into a sprint. “Breathe, Misty.”
She sputtered and gasped, and Jack watched her summer-blue eyes roll back. He gave her a stiff shake as a lump of fear lodged in his throat. “Misty, you have to breathe.”
“Jack…” She croaked as if she didn’t believe what she was seeing.
“That’s right.” He drew a sigh of relief and smoothed dark hair from her smooth cheek. The locks were longer—and sleeker—than he remembered. “Relax. I’ve got you.” In an instant, the years melted away and Jack felt as if he’d never left her side.
But he had left…no denying it.
“Let go of me.” Misty’s eyes widened as her gaze locked with his. A flash of lightning illuminated the sky and with one, quick move her fist slammed into his chest.
“No.” Though the force of her blow chased the breath from him, he held tight. “You’re going to fall.”
“I don’t care.” She lashed out at him once more before breaking his hold. She staggered backward, her hands grasping the air until she found her bearings. “Oh…oh my…I’m dreaming.” Her head wagged side-to-side, her eyes two shimmering stones set against a stark, white canvass. “I have to be dreaming.”
“If you are, then I am, too.” Jack widened his stance and stood at the ready, just in case she decided to go for the face-plant again.
“No…impossible.” She continued to shuffle back, putting a healthy distance between them. “It’s more like a nightmare.”
“Ouch. That hurt.” Jack crossed his arms, wincing.
“Good.” Misty pinched her thigh, grimaced from the sting. “Nope, I’m awake and this is a nightmare.” She cocked her head, took one more look at him, and fell to her knees to scoop up what was left of the coffee beans. Her voice wavered in the growing breeze. “What do you want, Jack?”
He took a step toward her. “I want Allie…my daughter.”
