The First Time at Firelight Falls

by Julie Anne Long

  Gabe’s voice sounded reasonable, but it gathered the tension and threat and the resonance of a vow.

  Jasper pressed his lips together. He looked a little weary now; the adrenaline of a show wearing off. He did have a job. His responsibilities were vast, but less personal.

  Outside a female keened drunkenly, “But I looooove him. I have to see Jasper. I saw him in a dreaammm—”

  A scuffling sound ensued as security hauled the woman away.

  Jasper didn’t appear to even notice. This was the ambient noise of Jasper Townes’s life, no doubt. The way crickets were the ambient sound of the woods. Recess bells and lockers slamming the sound of Gabe’s.

  Jasper remained motionless. His face unreadable. One hand gripping his Coors so hard it dented, the other pressed into the knee of his jeans.

  “So,” Gabe continued slowly, as though speaking to a child who was one transgression away from juvie, “I’m here because I’m going to offer you a chance to make it right with Annelise, and look like a big man who just made an innocent, rookie mistake. And that’s all Eden or her daughter are going to know. Because I think the fact that you actually care enough to run away means you actually care enough to get your shit together around this. After that, you’re on your own.”

  And so Gabe told Jasper his plan about how Jasper could make it right.

  It was the weirdest sensation, feeling paternal toward a man not much younger than him, who was listening with all evidence of absorption. Especially a man who’d just been projected twenty feet high to a stadium of people so the ones in the cheap seats didn’t miss out seeing all his sweat and contorted expressions when he launched into the solo on “Old and Fucked Up.” A guy who probably had piles of money that somewhere down the road could impact Annelise’s future. But not every aspect of our personalities mature all at once, Gabe knew. Something only matured once it’s been tested and tempered.

  For Eden and Annelise, he had to try to get the point across to Townes.

  After another little silence he said, “Listen, Townes . . . the things that don’t come naturally to you—like showing up for a small-town grade school raffle because you ran your mouth off and promised a little girl you would, because you were showing off or because you thought that’s what you were supposed to do or you were just at a loss for conversation, who knows why you did it—that’s going to take practice. You know how to practice. Let yourself off the hook for this one. It’s a process. But . . . calibrate . . . going forward. Unless you enjoy feeling like an asshole.”

  Jasper’s posture had eased. Gabe did not want to like the guy, but his instinct told him that, even if he failed, Jasper was sincere about wanting to try.

  He was still pensive, though. He arpeggiated his fingers along the side of his beer can.

  “I don’t know if you’re going to be in her life after this. Whatever, they’ll go on. They have each other. You’ll be lucky as hell to be a part of that family even if they kind of hate you right now. You’re just going to have to try harder. But I hope one day you do love Annelise. Because if you want to be brave . . . that’s how you get brave. You will be willing to fight ugly, and risk failure and embarrassment or anything else that makes you wake up sweating, heart racing in terror, in the middle of the night, to make sure someone you love is safe and happy. And you’ll know it’s love when you do it without even thinking.”

  Jasper reanimated then. Drained his beer in a few gulps, then meditatively, slowly crushed the can.

  And sat back and regarded Gabe with his bright eyes.

  “You mean you’ll do stuff like showing up in the middle of the night and finagling a backstage pass and lecturing a rock star? That kind of stuff?”

  Gabe stared at him.

  “I guess I’m glad you’re not stupid, Jasper.”

  Jasper’s mouth curved ever so faintly. A funny smile. Achingly sad, yet pleased with himself.

  Gabe stood and opened the door to the tour bus, and paused, and Jasper followed him there.

  “But just so you know, Eden is not for you.”

  Jasper’s grin grew crooked, cocky, ever so slightly jaded.

  “But you haven’t quite got that locked down yet, have you, brother?” He leaned indolently against the doorframe. The very picture of a rock god. “If I had to guess. And all’s fair.”

  They stared each other down.

  “Yeah, I’m not worried,” Gabe said finally. With a smile cockier than any Townes could ever dream of issuing.

  It might be the cruelest thing he’d said to Jasper Townes yet.

  Chapter 21

  Two days later . . .

  Everyone looked up alertly when the old intercom system crackled in every classroom in session at Hellcat Canyon Elementary—teachers with a certain wariness—last time it had been employed it was because a snake had gotten loose in the biology lab and had last been seen lounging in a planter outside the library—the kids with gleeful anticipation.

  Especially Annelise Harwood. Just because she’d studied for the math test didn’t mean she was looking forward to it. She crossed her fingers in her lap.

  Everyone knew better than to tease her about the Jasper Townes’s no-show at the raffle—they didn’t want their feet swept, after all. And they were all very impressed with the baseball donation. She’d accepted their congratulations regally and with the Cheshire-cat grin her mom had taught her.

  Mr. Caldera’s voice, soothing yet authoritative, nothing-can-possibly-go-wrong-on-my-watch voice emerged from the crackles.

  “All classes report to the auditorium for a brief special assembly to begin at eleven o’clock. Please be in your seats in the auditorium at exactly five minutes to eleven o’clock. Thank you.”

  Principal Gabe signed off.

  Teachers squelched the excited speculation, but even they yearned to text each other with speculations of their own, and mourned just a little that they were already adults and had to be reasonable and wait patiently.

  At eleven o’clock sharp all butts from grades kindergarten through eight were in the auditorium chairs, wriggling and giggling.

  Until Mr. Caldera strolled out onto the stage.

  “Quiet please,” he said into the mic.

  Silence didn’t so much descend as swoop. You could have heard an eyelash bat.

  That’s all he said.

  A second later, the huge heavy old curtain, which they hoped to replace in the next fund-raiser, shimmied upward.

  To reveal a thin man sitting on a stool, looking down at his lap. He was wearing jeans and boots and a bowler hat perched on a wild head of hair. A microphone was set up in front of him. He was cradling a guitar.

  (The guitar was Veronica.)

  The wondering murmurs started up again. And then the man took one finger and tipped the brim of his hat upward. “Better late than never, right?” he said into the mic.

  With a rakish grin.

  And then comprehension set in.

  A gleeful pandemonium erupted. WOOOOOOOOOs and stomps and squeals. Annelise was practically doing jumping jacks.

  This was exactly the kind of entrance Jasper loved.

  He cleared his throat and like magic, everyone settled down and went silent.

  “This song is a work in progress, but I’m calling it ‘Annelise in A minor.’”

  He strummed a wistful progression, lilting and arpeggiate.

  And then he crooned over the chords.

  “Annelise . . . oh Annelise . . .

  The wind in the trees sings of sweet Annelise.

  The bees hum to me have you seen Annelise . . .

  And when I make a grilled cheese I woooooonder . . .

  what Annelise . . .

  is . . . doing . . . now.”

  He whispered that last sentence. Just like she’d suggested.

  Annelise was hopping up and down in her chair in an absolute conniption of vindication and joy, that’s what she was doing now.

  For the rest of her life, she wou
ld never forget this moment or that song.

  Jasper waited patiently, grinning while the auditorium screamed approval. He had another song up his sleeve.

  “I guess today is a day for songs about girls.”

  And he strummed the first notes of “Lily Anne.” And it was fair to say that the entire auditorium, from the kids to the teachers, freaked out.

  “Hey, Lily Anne

  I’ve never been so glad to be a man . . .

  Let me show you that I understand

  How to make you feel like a woman . . .”

  Despite himself, Gabe was enthralled. He didn’t care what anyone said, that was a freaking great song.

  He wasn’t going to forget this moment, either.

  “Lily Anne” brought the Hellcat Elementary house down. A full two minutes worth of screaming and stomping and clapping ensued.

  Then Jasper raised a hand in a wave and bent his long lanky body into a bow just as Mr. Caldera strolled onstage again and made a “cut it” gesture with his hand. Everyone went silent.

  “Thank you all,” Jasper said. “You’re all beautiful, and so is Hellcat Canyon. Wish I could stay, but I’ve got to get onto the next show in the next town.”

  He stepped well aside when Gabe took over the mic.

  “Let’s all give Mr. Townes a huge hand and a thank-you. He just made a remarkably generous donation to our music department—we’re going to have brand-new instruments. And he’s going to stop by once a year to give us all a little music lesson.”

  Just like Gabe had kind of given Jasper a little lesson.

  That was because Gabe drove a really hard bargain.

  And Jasper Townes, who hated to fly . . . flew to his next gig.

  Gabe returned to his office after that assembly feeling like he’d lived a month’s worth of life in around two days. And really pretty grateful that he didn’t have to see Jasper Townes for a while.

  He sank into his chair, sighed, and found himself reaching reflexively for his baseball.

  His hand landed on air.

  Ah, hell.

  Well, he supposed there was a certain poetry in the fact that Jan Pennington, of all people, had won the baseball in the raffle.

  He blew out a long breath.

  He felt a little raw. Exhilarated and a bit shaky. Like he’d stood up there in front of everyone in the town and declared his love for Eden right into the microphone. He’d never done anything like that in his life, he’d done it without thinking, and he didn’t think he could have made a clearer statement.

  Only a few people knew who really owned that ball.

  Mrs. Maker knew. But she would never rat him out to anyone, however. She was old-school loyal, right down to the bone.

  But Eden knew.

  And right now she was the only one who mattered. The ball, as it were, was in her court. And just as he’d had a hunch a few weeks ago at 6:59 at Devil’s Leap, he had a hunch about what would happen next.

  “Mr. Caldera?”

  Mrs. Maker was standing in the doorway, holding a little pink box. He eyed it hopefully. It looked like the sort that might contain pastry.

  “Eden Harwood brought this by for you this morning.” She thrust the box his hands.

  He went still, but his heart gave a sharp little jounce. And as it took a moment to recover from the sudden mention of Eden’s name, he didn’t say anything.

  He closed his fingers around the edge of the box, almost tenderly.

  “Kind of looks like a corsage box. She’s the flower lady, after all. Or maybe there’s a little cake inside,” Mrs. Maker suggested hopefully.

  “Thanks, Donna,” he said.

  He finally felt able to look up at her.

  She could peer limpidly at him through her bifocals all she wanted; he wasn’t going to open it in front of her.

  “You’re welcome,” she said finally. “Do you want me to . . .”

  “Door. Yes. Close it. Thanks, if you would.”

  So she left the office and closed the door behind her.

  His heart had started racing thanks to that bastard Hope.

  Frankly, he wouldn’t mind a small cake in the least, though. He used his letter opener to slice the neat Scotch tape closing it.

  Then peeled up the lid.

  He looked down into a little nest of raffia. He frowned faintly, puzzled.

  Then he gently parted it. Aware his hands were actually shaking just a little.

  His breath left him in a gust.

  He reached in . . .

  . . . and lifted out his Joe DiMaggio baseball.

  He didn’t even need to verify that it was the very same ball he’d given up at the auction. He was positive it was the moment he saw it. He had a hunch how she’d managed it, too, and it was pretty funny.

  He hefted its comforting, familiar weight in his hand, then put it back on its little stand on his desk, leaned back, and crossed his arms behind his head.

  And then a slow smile spread over his face.

  He was feeling just a little cocky once more.

  He reflexively glanced at the window. Funny. It felt as if the sun had just moved out from behind a cloud. Still a little overcast out there.

  Suddenly a little strip of paper fluttered to the desk.

  He plucked it up. It proved to be a note written in what he presumed was Eden’s handwriting. Neat, forthright, only a little frilled. Rather like her.

  Guess who’s getting a free Jasper Townes mini concert?

  Hint: she wanted to know if he was “good”

  P.S. Have you ever fallen in—

  It was the world’s best fortune cookie.

  Because he could now see how his future would unfurl, and like he’d told her in an alpha moment outside a soccer game: when he set out to get something he knew was right, he always got it.

  He glanced down at his arm. How about that? Goose bumps.

  And yep, suspicions confirmed on how she’d got that baseball. That was pretty funny.

  He basked in the moment, but for only a second. Duty, as usual, called.

  He reached for his phone and texted his team.

  Can’t make it to the game tonight. Got one more Chamber of Commerce mixer to go to.

  He braced himself for the barrage of outraged emojis. Middle fingers, grumpy faces, maybe even a butt crack or two (he wouldn’t put it past Louis to go there).

  But all he got back was a lot of little hearts and “go get ’ers.”

  What a bunch of reprobates.

  That night, at the Chamber of Commerce mixer . . .

  It wasn’t like Eden was riveted by the door of the Misty Cat, or anything.

  Occasionally her eyes moved an inch or two to the left or right of it, for variety’s sake. The restaurant was her home away from home; she knew every inch of the place.

  She’d taken up a viewing spot near the food table—tonight, Rice Krispies treats were heaped on a plate. Whoever was on snack duty this week must be double-tasking a third-grade class party.

  Then again, Rice Krispies treats were delicious.

  She gripped one with a white napkin to keep the marshmallow from gluing her fingers together and bit the corner of it. Then decided she couldn’t eat it. It was against her nature to waste food. She folded it up and put it in her purse for later.

  Above the table she fancied she could still see the ghost of Scotch tape marks from the old Black & Blue flyer that was up there. Would things have been different if she’d had a clue about that?

  She was learning to quite like how things had turned out.

  Annelise had been almost incoherently ebullient about the Jasper Townes mini assembly. Eden knew without being told that this improbable event was somehow related to Gabe’s mysterious absence from the raffle, and that he had engineered it.

  Whereupon Eden had eloquently essentially torn Jasper a new one over that sacrificed baseball, via text.

  She’d spackled on the guilt so heavily—and he was surprisingly susceptible
to guilt, at least when she was wielding it, which was useful to know—that she was able to broker a trade deal.

  Eden kind of wished she could be in Jan Pennington’s living room when she made him sing “Lily Anne” five times in a row.

  The door opened and Eden’s heart lunged (“Hearts can’t lunge, Eden. Get a grip.”—Dr. Jude Harwood) like a half-starved junkyard dog smelling steak.

  It snapped back again when it proved to be just Truck Donegal.

  Although some would argue Truck was prime beef (Casey Carson, for instance), she wasn’t among them.

  The place wasn’t quite as teeming as the last few events, since the raffle had provided a quotient of excitement and it was as usual low-lit. The comforting pop and hiss of her dad flicking the lids off beers for everyone who didn’t want the cheap wine and a soundtrack of strummy, moody Nick Drake tunes, which meant you could actually hear yourself think and you could shout to each other in a slightly lower volume.

  But she was wearing her black dress. He was a guy, after all—maybe he wouldn’t notice it was the same dress. He’d just be mesmerized by her skin.

  At the mere thought of his skin, her own skin seemed to buzz with yearning.

  And then the door of the Misty Cat opened again.

  The entire world went soft focus and slo-mo.

  For this time it was him.

  And all at once her heart was pounding bruisingly hard (surely not even Jude could editorialize about that). It saw what she wanted.

  It was a funny paradox that a suit could make someone look so sexy that you immediately wanted to strip them of it.

  He found her pretty quickly. Though he had an advantage in height, too, so locating a dumbstruck redhead, glowingly pale in a black dress, wasn’t too much of a challenge.