by Rachel Hauck
Daddy stiffened, making a face. “Oh, my mother. Cold in the ground and trying to pull strings. Taylor, listen, don’t get wrapped up in her shenanigans.”
“Do you have any clue as to what the secret might be?”
Technically Taylor was breaking one of her five “Dad Rules” by sitting here, talking personal business with him, but rules were made to bend from time to time.
“Not one.”
“Why did she and Granddad divorce?” Taylor never knew her paternal grandfather, nor the stories behind his romance with Granny and subsequent demise.
He died at sixty-two of a massive heart attack when Taylor was a baby.
“He and Mom fought a lot. That’s all I know. I asked her about it once after your mom and I were married. She mumbled something about Dad being jealous and pigheaded.”
“Was he?”
“Not that I could tell. If you ask me, she won the coin toss on being pigheaded. He was always good to me.”
“Do you think Granny really had a secret?”
Daddy shook his head, arms propped on his desk. “No, I think she had a lot of secrets.”
“Hmm . . . Maybe to do with Colette? I saw her last week, by the way. I did a shoot with the Always Tomorrow cast.”
Daddy arched his brow. “You’re getting some good work, kiddo. Did I ever tell you I didn’t even know Mom had a sister until I was twelve or thirteen? I met Colette in the seventies when she was a parade marshal.” Daddy shook his head, tapping his pencil on the desk. “If Mom has a secret she’s passing on to you, wouldn’t surprise me if it had to do with Colette.”
The push-button phone on Daddy’s desk rang out. “Branson Construction—”
Taylor got up, waving, and started for the door. The water had helped ease her wooziness. Daddy held up his hand, signing for her to wait.
“Hold on, Ralph.” Daddy pressed his hand over the mouthpiece. “Will I see you before you leave?”
“I want to finish with the house and—”
“All right, then. Have a good trip home, Taylor.”
“Yeah, and thanks for checking on the chapel for me.”
“You still have the same cell number?” Daddy shoved the yellow legal pad her way, offering his pencil.
“Same one.” But she wrote it down anyway.
“I’ll call when I find out something.”
“Thanks.”
“Taylor?”
She paused at the door.
“For the record, you’re one of my favorite people. If not my most.”
Taylor shoved outside, speed walking to her car, her eyes flooding. Why did he say that? Why?
Behind the wheel of the Lincoln, she slammed the door shut and fired up the engine. As she placed her hand on the gear shift, a rolling sob broke her strength.
She folded forward, resting her head on the sun-warmed wheel.
She’d never articulated to him what she saw in the family room that day. But by now the image was buried so deep, she wasn’t exactly sure how to dig it up. How to frame it with words.
But his raw moment of kindness challenged her. Did she want to live the rest of her life without her daddy? Perhaps it was time to roll away the stone from her heart and let love out again.
Chapter Eighteen
JIMMY
He’d gotten an unexpected call from Drummond Branson asking to see the chapel. He’d be jigged if he and his chapel weren’t suddenly the most popular things in Heart’s Bend.
Taylor told Drummond about it and he said he was curious, so Jimmy agreed to meet him Wednesday morning.
When he woke up that morning, he had the idea to swing by the nursery for a few morning glories and purple asters.
Even though he was selling the old gal, it wouldn’t hurt to spruce up the chapel garden a bit.
But he’d be glad when things settled down. All this chapel business was messing with his nap schedule. A man his age needed his beauty sleep.
More than that, it messed with his memories. With his heart, making him want things he could never have. It was too late. The ship had sailed.
Parking in the chapel shade, Jimmy popped the truck gate and pulled the flower pots to the ground. Carting them to the bed on the eastern wall, he set them where he wanted.
Returning to the truck for his shovel, he paused to unlock the chapel door. Easing it open, he stuck his head inside, tentative yet expectant.
“Hello?”
Was it here? The whoosh-thump of a beating heart? He’d heard it Saturday with Taylor. He was ninety percent sure she heard it too—if the look on her face was any indication. He imagined he wore the same one.
He didn’t feel right bringing it up, but it was comforting to know he wasn’t crazy. The trick now was to figure out why Taylor heard it. What did it all mean? The beating heart only he and Taylor heard? Chills rushed over him just thinking about it.
Yet he had no idea what it was or where it came from. He was willing to believe things happened that made no sense. Things that had to be left up to faith. To God.
Backing out of the chapel, he moved on to the flower bed, dropping to one knee, his old bones complaining. When he reached for the weeds and pulled, a dark memory surfaced and flooded his senses.
OCTOBER 1954
AT THE CHAPEL
“What are you doing, son?”
Jimmy wheeled around to see Dad stepping through the open stone doorway. It was too late to hide the gas tank at his feet.
“I thought you were sleeping through This Is Your Life.”
Dad had finally broken down and bought a TV while Jimmy was in Korea. He had a steady schedule of programs he liked to watch.
“What you got going on with that gas can?”
“Dad, this doesn’t concern you.”
“I think it does. I put some backbreaking work into this place, helping you cut stones and raise the walls, trim the beams.”
Jimmy glanced back at his father who stood just off his left shoulder. “Peg stopped by. Said Colette’s not coming back.”
“So you’re going to burn this place down like it’s the end of the world?”
“It is the end for me. I loved her. I’ve always loved her. Since before I met her.”
“How could you love someone—”
“I saw her in a photo.”
“Fine, you love her. But if she’s not coming back, Jim, then let her go. You’re twenty-two, almost twenty-three, with your whole life ahead of you. You’ll meet another gal.”
“Did you let my mother go? You’ve never loved anyone else.”
“Don’t be like me.”
“I’d be proud to be like you, Dad,” Jimmy said quietly. “You’re a good man.”
“Then don’t be like me when it comes to love. Find a nice girl and make a life for yourself.”
“But I built this place for Colette.” Jimmy scuffed the dirt beneath his boot. This exact spot was where he’d declared his feelings for her, and she for him.
Where he took her as his own.
“When your plans don’t work out, you make new ones. You can’t imagine being in love with another woman right now, but you will. And you’ll want this place. You’ve done so much work on it.” Dad walked along the dusty wall, knocking some critter’s nest from the stone. “You’d be foolish to burn it down.”
“What about the part of me that feels foolish to leave it standing? All those hours of work for nothing.” He nailed his sentence with a spike of bitterness. “It’s not a monument to love but to foolishness.”
“Don’t be that way, Jim. Life has a way of coming around. You don’t know what tomorrow will bring.”
“I know life brings war and people skipping out on their promises. Life takes as easily as it gives.” Jimmy snatched up the gasoline can. “You’d better go if you don’t want to see it burn.”
Dad clapped a hand on his arm. “What if she comes back? Ever think of that?”
“She’s never coming back, Dad. Three years of no
thing except a Dear Jimmy letter.” After which he tried to write to her, even call her when he was on a twenty-four-hour pass, but she’d already taken off for New York. With that son-of-a-gun Spice Keating.
And he’d called Spice his friend.
So Jimmy drank too much, gambled too much. Risked too much. He was lucky he didn’t wind up in the brig. Lucky he didn’t get shipped home in a body bag.
“She’s young, got her head full of ideas. But she’ll come around.”
Jimmy made a face. “Did you not hear me? Three-plus years, Pop. Peg’s right, she’s not coming back.” How did Dad, of all people, not get it? “Besides, she’s on that soap opera.” What a load of malarkey. A drama about small-town American life starring an English girl.
“Yeah, I watched it last winter when I took a few days off.”
Jimmy crinkled his gaze at his dad. What? He never took a day off. “Were you sick?”
“No, I just realized in thirty years of working, I never took a vacation to just sit. So I thought, ‘Why not?’ Ended up watching a couple of episodes of Always Tomorrow.”
“I don’t want to hear about it.”
“She was good. Looks pretty on the TV.”
“Dad, please.” Jimmy reached for the can, the loose cap rattling. “Better step back because I’m dousing this place.”
“You got water in case the fire gets out of hand?”
“I filled a few buckets. And I got all the dirt I need right outside the door.”
“So you’ve been thinking of this for a long while.”
No, not really. “I have to do it, that’s all.”
“You fought a war, Jim.”
“And?” The gas can banged against his leg.
“I’d think you’d have gained some courage.”
“Don’t talk to me about courage.”
“Then don’t be a coward.” Dad leaned into him, his jaw tense, his eyes like steel. “Finish what you started.”
“For what reason?”
“You remember when you first tried out for football? And you fumbled on your first carry? Did you quit? No, you got back in the game.”
“This isn’t football, Pop. This is my life. This is about Colette making me promises and then running off the moment I left for boot camp.” She played him for a fool. Oh, boy howdy, how she played him.
“You finish what you started, Jim, or you’ll quit everything.”
“No, I won’t. How can you say such things?”
“Because I’ve lived it. You said it yourself. I never got over your mother. Mark my words, by the time you realize you’re a quitter, it will be too late. You think fighting a war tested your mettle? Well, this right here, in matters of the heart, is where real men are born. Finish the wedding chapel. See what kind of man you are then. And when you can look yourself in the mirror with a steady, clear eye, you’ll know real courage. Then, if you want to get rid of this place, do so. But finish what you started.”
Jimmy gazed up at the open ceiling, at the canopy of descending twilight. “I went to New York.” The confession felt good. “On my way home. She wouldn’t see me.”
He’d waited outside her studio in the cold until his legs were numb. A hundred people must have exited that door, but never Colette.
Finally, an older gentleman came out.
“Go on home, son. She’s not going to see you.”
“Did she say why?”
He shook his head. “Just go on home.”
Dad clapped his hand on Jimmy’s shoulder. “Then you have your answer. Marry a Heart’s Bend girl. Make a life for yourself. This chapel ain’t your problem. Your heart is your problem. Your expectations.” Dad tapped his finger against Jimmy’s chest.
“A broken heart is a force to be reckoned with, Dad.”
“Then reckon with it.” He gently released the gas can from Jimmy’s hand. “But not with this. Not with burning this place down. Reckon with it by finishing.”
Jimmy didn’t bother to hide the swell of tears. “I got a long way to go to finish.”
“You in a hurry? Got somewhere else to be?”
He shook his head as his tears tracked down his cheeks. But Dad didn’t seem to mind at all.
“I’ll help you.”
“You think I’ll meet someone else like her? Really?” He didn’t bother to spell out Peg’s offer. Even if she wasn’t tied to Drummond, Jimmy could never take her. He’d see Colette every time he peered into her eyes.
“I do. Let me predict you’ll marry the love of your life right here in this chapel.” Dad pointed to the floor, then walked the gas can out through one of the unframed windows. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’m a bit low in my tank.”
Marry another woman here? Jimmy surveyed the unfinished walls and floor.
His last night with Colette had been spent here. And in truth, he’d given the chapel to her.
“I built it for you, Lettie. It’s your wedding chapel.”
“How about dinner at that new diner? Ella’s?” Dad poked his head through the window. “My treat.”
He wasn’t hungry but he hated to let Dad down. “Yeah, sure.” Heart still heavy, if not slightly relieved, Jimmy gathered his tools and headed for his truck.
Dad was right. He had to finish what he started. Colette might have run out on him, but he would never run out on her.
Because keeping no record of her wrong was in fact the definition of love.
Chapter Nineteen
COLETTE
She needed an excuse to go to Tennessee. To see that chapel. Jack’s news that Jimmy was selling it jarred her. In a way that both surprised and angered her.
Jimmy could not sell the chapel. It wasn’t his. He had no right.
When Colette reached for the phone, her eye glanced over the business cards Jack left on the table. One of them had a familiar skyline faded into the background behind the embossed word FRESH.
Nashville. Of course! FRESH was in Nashville. If she ever doubted God cared about the little things in one’s life, her faith rose a bit today. Or perhaps fate merely showed its hand.
Either way, she was Nashville bound.
Colette dialed Ford.
“My favorite client, what can I do for you?”
“I’ve just agreed to be the spokeswoman for FRESH Water.”
“You what?” Slow, hesitating. “Don’t you think you should talk to me first?”
“What do you think I’m doing now?” In truth, Colette never made a move without Ford. But when that handsome Jack, married to her beautiful Taylor, sat before her today, well, she just couldn’t refuse. “But I’ve already agreed. You need to phone Jack Forester over at 105.” Colette rattled off his phone number. “When you work out the details, tell him I must visit the FRESH offices.”
“Because? Colette, what are you up to?” Ford lowered his voice, digging for the truth.
“Nothing. I just want to see their offices.” Colette flicked the FRESH card against her leg, her heart racing a bit at the idea of traveling to Nashville. To Heart’s Bend.
“Hmm, I know that tone. You’re up to something.” Now he sounded amused. And patronizing.
“Just do as I ask, Ford. Please.” Mercy, she felt a headache coming on.
“Does this have anything to do with your sister dying?”
Colette sat forward. What a perfect alibi. Ford, you lovable coot. You’re not as clever as you think. “Yes.” She cleared her voice. “Yes, it does.”
“I told you—”
—to go to her funeral. “And I didn’t listen. You said I’d regret not saying good-bye, and you’re right. I want to visit her grave, see her family.”
“Does this have anything to do with your great-niece, the photographer?”
“No, no, not at all.”
“Or talking with Justine?”
“Ford, why the third degree? You wanted me to go home and now I want to go.”
“Fine, but you don’t need an excuse, or to be a bottled water spo
keswoman, to visit your sister’s grave.”
“But I do, Ford.” There was more truth in those four simple words than any conversation she’d ever had with him. “I do.”
She’d been running for so long. Running from her troubles since she and Peg were girls in London. Running from war. Running from danger. Running from death. Running from fear. From shame. From Jimmy. From love.
From the devil’s deal she made with Peg.
“Fine, you win.”
“Of course I do.” Colette exhaled with relief.
“I’ll never understand how your mind works. But I’ll request an on-site visit.”
“Soon.” She squeezed her hand into a fist. She sounded too eager, but she was determined not to shrink back this time. She was not a girl of twenty any longer.
“How soon?”
“This week.”
“This week?” Ford’s voice rose at the end when he was excited. Or stressed. “Why this week? Let’s take our time, hammer out the details.”
“I don’t care about the details.”
“Don’t care? Do you remember the dishwashing product that had you so tied up you practically had to get permission to go to the loo?”
“Well, I did go to the loo, and frankly, at eighty-two, I don’t rightly care how much they tie me up.”
“Well, I do. Colette, you have a book coming out next year and the publisher is expecting you to promote it on the talk shows. I can’t have FRESH throwing a flag on us, calling breach of contract.”
“Then get busy. Call Jack. Work it out to your liking. But, Ford, I want to visit FRESH this week.” Before Jimmy sold her chapel, her last fond memory of love. “It’s a deal breaker if they can’t see me this week.”
“Deal breaker? Colette, what are you not telling me?”
She sighed. “That you’re fired?”
Ford’s laugh burst the tension. “Fine, this week. Any contingency if for some reason they can’t see you?”
“I don’t care if I meet with the janitor. I want to be at FRESH this week.” The urgency in her bones fortified her with each passing moment.
