Lessons Learned (The Appalachian Heart Collection)

by Sydney Logan

  Jumping out of bed, I rushed over to the window to see who was waking me up at such an ungodly hour. It was a beautiful mountain morning, but the scenery paled in comparison to the handsome man with the weed eater, plowing his way through my jungle of shrubs.

  Far too eager to say hello, I took the quickest shower in history and threw on a vintage tee and capris before I headed to the kitchen. It wasn’t long before bacon was sizzling on the stove. I had no idea what Lucas liked to drink, and I didn’t own a coffee maker, so I poured two glasses of juice and hoped for the best.

  As I stepped onto the porch, my body froze.

  “Sarah, you look stunned.”

  I was stunned. You could actually see my grandmother’s flowers now—all reds and purples and unbelievably pretty.

  “I hope you don’t mind,” Lucas said, gauging my reaction as he slipped on his shirt. “Tommy suggested I start with the flowerbeds. His exact words were, ‘You are bound to get snake bit in that yard of hers.’ So, to avoid death by rattlesnake, I decided to do some landscaping.”

  I laughed. “Your accent needs a little work.”

  “Well, Tommy’s accent is impossible to imitate,” Lucas said, grinning at me as he climbed the porch steps. “Good morning, Sarah.”

  “Good morning. I brought you some orange juice.”

  He thanked me and quickly guzzled it down.

  “I’ve started breakfast. Bacon and eggs okay?”

  “Bacon and eggs sound great.”

  It was a little awkward, inviting him inside. After all, he was a stranger, but Tommy and Aubrey loved him, so I figured it was safe. I pointed toward the downstairs bathroom, and he went to wash up while I scrambled the eggs and popped bread into the toaster. I was just placing everything on the kitchen table when he returned.

  “So you’re not mad?”

  The question surprised me. “Why would I be mad?”

  Lucas took a seat at the table. “I wasn’t exactly forthcoming with information yesterday. I probably should have told you I was teaching at the high school, too.”

  “I’m not mad,” I replied, pouring him another glass of juice before sitting down. “I was just surprised. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “You didn’t ask.”

  “Well, that’s because I’d known you for thirty seconds.”

  He bowed his head and looked appropriately ashamed. “If I clean out the gutters, will you forgive me?”

  “Possibly,” I smirked.

  “You’re all heart.” He grinned at me and reached for another biscuit. I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing. Something told me Lucas was a true bachelor and hadn’t had a home cooked meal in ages.

  “Shellie and Aubrey told me you’re from New York City.”

  He looked confused. “Who’s Shellie?”

  “Maybe she goes by Michelle now? We called her Shellie back in school.”

  “Oh, the cheerleading coach?” Lucas asked, grimacing slightly when I nodded. “She’s uh . . . been really friendly.”

  I could just imagine. Shellie had always been a shameless flirt.

  “Yes, I’m from New York City,” he said, eager to change the subject. “I received my bachelor’s degree from NYU, and I’ve been teaching history for the past five years.”

  “That’s how long I’ve been teaching, too.”

  “So we’re probably pretty close in age,” Lucas hedged shyly.

  “Probably so. I’m twenty-seven.”

  “Me too.”

  Lucas lifted the gallon of juice and poured each of us another glass. If there was a scandal, he certainly didn’t seem eager to share it, which I could appreciate. My situation wasn’t exactly a secret, but I still wasn’t ready to talk about it.

  He thanked me for breakfast, and I followed him back outside to find a ladder already propped against the house.

  I cast a sideways glance at him.

  “You already cleaned out the gutters, didn’t you?”

  He chuckled. “Possibly.”

  Rolling my eyes, I laughed and headed back inside, ready to clean up the mess we’d made. One thing was for sure—Lucas liked to eat, and I had a feeling I was going to have to make another trip to the grocery store very soon.

  I spent the morning unpacking and cleaning the downstairs. It was such a big house, especially when compared to my Memphis apartment, so the thought of keeping it organized was a little overwhelming. Grandma always kept the house neat as a pin, and now that I was an adult and it was my home, I could appreciate how difficult it must have been for her to keep it tidy, especially as she’d grown older.

  I decided to start with my books, so I grabbed one of the massive boxes and carried it over to the barren shelf. There were a few things there—mainly family photo albums and some of my high school yearbooks—but it was the old family Bible that caught my attention.

  Dropping down onto the floor, I crossed my legs and pulled the Bible from the shelf, placing it gently in my lap. Swallowing nervously, I slowly flipped through the pages until I found our family tree.

  I still remember the day my grandma wrote my parents’ names on the page. It had been a Wednesday. The funeral was over and the visitors had finally disappeared, leaving us alone in the house for the first time. I could still recall the stillness in the air and the finality of it all when she wrote their dates of death on the page. I could remember running up the stairs and slamming the door to my bedroom, where I buried my head beneath the pillow and grieved. After two days of tears, I’d finally emerged from my room, and my grandma gently took me by the hand and led me into the kitchen.

  She didn’t say a word; she just handed me an apron.

  I quickly became a baking pro.

  Reverently, I ran my fingers across their names, wondering what they’d think of the woman I’d become. Would they be proud? Would they be disappointed?

  I had no idea.

  My dad would be disappointed that I hadn’t regularly attended church since my parents’ funerals. Growing up, attending both services on Sunday had been mandatory, but after their deaths, my faith had been shaken to its core. My father had always said ‘God would never put more on us than we could bear,’ but to a sixteen-year-old orphan, that particular bit of religious wisdom was hard to comprehend. Did God really believe I could survive without my parents? Was this truly God’s plan for me?

  And if so, did I want any part of it?

  Grandma understood my internal struggle and hadn’t forced me to attend services with her on Sundays. She and I spent many evenings baking in the kitchen or sitting on her front porch while I vented about everything from silly boys to high school Geometry. She never once made me feel like a heathen for asking questions or not attending church. My grandma truly understood my desire for answers and encouraged me to search for them.

  In many ways, I was still searching for them.

  Placing the Bible back on the shelf, I finished unpacking my books and then rearranged some of the living room furniture. Most of it really needed to be replaced, but it would have to do for now. I added a few picture frames to the end tables, and I had just finished dusting when the grandfather clock struck noon.

  “Sarah?” Lucas yelled from the kitchen.

  “In here!”

  He appeared in the doorway, and I laughed when I saw his overalls were covered in dried paint.

  “Did you get into a fight with the paintbrush?”

  “We had a slight disagreement, yes.” Lucas smiled, appraising the living room. “You’ve been working hard in here.”

  “It’s getting there.” It still needed a few things—some plants, maybe, and a new television—but with the boxes out of the way and the dust cleared, it actually looked cozy.

  “It looks great.” He grinned and pointed toward the old upright piano in the corner of the room. “Do you play?”

  “I used to. Mom forced me to take lessons when I was a kid.”

  Both of us sat down along the bench. Sliding his fingers a
cross the keys, he pushed a note, and the sound was jarring and discordant.

  “That can’t be right,” he grumbled sourly.

  I laughed. “It just needs tuning. I’m sure it hasn’t been touched in years. Grandma couldn’t play at all, but it’d been in the family forever.”

  “And you’d play for her because it made her happy.”

  I nodded and ghosted my hands along the keys.

  “You miss her,” Lucas whispered.

  “Very much.”

  I played a few scales, but the piano was horribly out of tune. Cringing, I quickly placed the lid over the keys and offered him a smile.

  “I bet you’re hungry, aren’t you?”

  His sheepish chuckle was his only reply.

  By the end of my first week in Sycamore Falls, I found that I loved my new routine. Lucas arrived like clockwork around seven each morning, and we’d share breakfast before he headed out to work on the house. I would spend my time unpacking, shopping, or playing hostess to the many neighbors who dropped by unexpectedly. Everyone had been so kind and always offered a gift to welcome me home—usually something edible. Catherine Thomas, the cashier from the grocery store, had stopped by with an apple pie, much to Lucas’s delight. She’d sat with us at the kitchen table and sighed happily while he devoured three slices.

  I couldn’t be certain, but I was pretty sure that was how the rumors started.

  I first noticed it when I went back to the hardware store to purchase more paint. I’d smiled patiently while Mr. Johnson told the old men around the counter Lucas was “spending an awful lot of time at Sarah’s house.” And yesterday, when I’d stopped by the grocery store, Catherine had eyed the items in my cart, reminding me Lucas preferred swiss cheese on his sandwiches..

  It was inevitable, really. This was a small town and we were two single adults. When you combined those earth-shattering details with the fact he was painting my house, and our classrooms were side-by-side . . .

  We really didn’t stand a chance.

  It was late in the afternoon, and I was curled up on the couch with one of the photo albums when Lucas appeared in the doorway, announcing it was starting to drizzle.

  “There’s a chance of rain tomorrow, too.”

  It was disheartening that the weather was suddenly being uncooperative. He couldn’t paint in the rain, which meant we’d be even more behind schedule. It also meant he wouldn’t have an excuse to come over, and I’d be cooking for myself.

  This disappointed me more than it should have.

  “I thought about asking Tommy to help, if you wouldn’t mind.”

  “I don’t mind at all.”

  The house was huge, and I’d worried all along it was too big a project for one person.

  “I could paint some on Sunday, too.”

  “I don’t know if you should risk it,” I said teasingly. “You might get stoned in the town square for working on the Sabbath.”

  The color drained from his face, and I burst out laughing.

  “I’m kidding! Just make sure you have all the supplies you need because nothing is open on Sundays around here.”

  “I’ve noticed,” Lucas chuckled. He then nodded toward the photo album in my lap. “What are you looking at there?”

  “Just some old family pictures.”

  I offered him a seat, and he leaned close while we examined the faded photographs, listening intently as I showed him my family history.

  “Sarah, will you tell me about your parents?”

  I sighed as I gazed at the picture of my mom and dad, one of the last photos taken before the accident.

  “My mom’s name was Carol.” My finger ghosted across the print. “She was a Kindergarten teacher. My dad’s name was Jason. He’d worked in the mines for most of his life, but when I came along, Mom convinced him it was just too dangerous, so he took a job with the local newspaper. The pay wasn’t great, and he didn’t enjoy working behind a desk, but my mother rested easier at night.”

  I continued to flip through the pages, pointing out special pictures of the three of us together.

  “What happened to them?”

  “Car accident,” I whispered.

  He said nothing, but I could feel his eyes on me as I focused on the photographs.

  “I was spending the day with my grandma while they went into town to do some shopping. An eighteen-wheeler hit them head-on. The driver had fallen asleep.”

  I blinked back my tears and continued turning the pages.

  “I’m sorry, Sarah.”

  Sniffling quietly, I nodded my thanks and pointed at a photo of my parents at Christmas.

  “Your mom was really pretty. You look just like her.”

  I felt my blush creep across my face. “Thanks. Growing up, I looked more like my dad.” I smiled down at a picture of me swimming in the river when I was about eight years old. “See? I have his dimples.”

  “You do.” He laughed lightly, lifting his hand and slowly brushing it against my now flaming cheek. His piercing eyes locked with mine. “Those dimples were one of the first things I noticed about you.”

  His hand lingered there, and I felt my heartbeat quicken. Nervously, I flipped the page, and he dropped his hand, settling it once again in his lap.

  “Is that your grandmother?”

  I nodded. I loved this picture with the two of us smiling brightly into the camera. The little white church stood proudly in the background and a blanket of snow covered the mountains.

  “This was our last Christmas together. She didn’t force me to go to church every week, but I went on Easter and Christmas because I knew it made her happy to have me there.”

  “Church is very important here, it seems,” Lucas said. “My family isn’t particularly religious.”

  “I struggled with it, especially after the death of my parents,” I admitted. “When you live in a small town like this, it’s not always easy to question things. We aren’t encouraged to question. We’re supposed to have faith and believe there’s a reason for everything. That concept was a little hard for a sixteen-year-old girl to grasp.”

  “What about for the twenty-seven-year-old girl? Is it any easier?”

  Suddenly, my vision was filled with the cold, dead eyes of a teenage boy, and my hands began to tremble.

  “No,” I whispered weakly. “Sometimes, it’s even harder.”

  Chapter 4

  Despite the fact that it was late summer, there was a distinct chill in the air. Soon, the leaves would begin to change. Honestly, there were few things more beautiful than the crimson and gold which would soon be visible along the mountains. A little later, the leaves would fall, and what was once a beautiful mosaic of mountain color would turn into a brown, crunchy mess in my yard.

  I couldn’t wait. Raking leaves would just be another sign I was home.

  Just like the meteorologist predicted, it rained on Saturday. The dreary weather gave me the chance to lie around the house in my fuzzy socks, curled up on the couch with a book and a cup of hot chocolate. It was peaceful and relaxing, but as the day lingered, I couldn’t deny I felt a little lonely. I’d gotten rather used to having Lucas around, and for the first time in a week, I was alone.

  “You’re being ridiculous,” I muttered, tossing my book aside and heading toward the kitchen. I searched the pantry shelves for something quick and easy to fix for dinner. I’d just decided on mac and cheese when the phone rang.

  “You’re coming over to our house for dinner, and I’m not taking no for an answer.”

  “Hello to you, too,” I laughed into the receiver. “Aubrey, seriously, I appreciate the offer, but I’m just going to make some mac and cheese and call it a night.”

  “Nonsense, I want you to meet the baby. Tommy is dying to say hello, and I know for a fact you’re alone in that big old house. Now, grab a pen and jot down my address.”

  The red brick house was easy to find, especially with Aubrey standing on the porch, waving wildly.

&nbs
p; “You’re here!” Aubrey greeted me with a hug. “Don’t kill me, okay?”

  I was just about to ask why I’d want her dead, but then she led me into the brightly lit kitchen, and the mystery was solved.

  “Hi,” Lucas said, smiling in my direction. He was sitting at the table, bouncing a toddler on his knee, and for the very first time in my life, my biological clock went into a ticking frenzy.

  “Hi,” I managed to whisper.

  “Sarah Bray!” Tommy shouted, grabbing me into a bone-crushing hug and lifting me in the air. In school, he’d always been the life of the party. It was nice to see that hadn’t changed, even if he was cutting off my oxygen supply.

  Tommy grinned at me and lowered me down to the floor. “Well, Lucas was right. You’re still as good lookin’ as ever. I don’t know what it is about you country girls, but all of you just seem to get prettier with age.”

  “Your wife especially,” I said with a laugh.

  “Don’t I know it!” Tommy proudly wrapped his arm around Aubrey’s shoulder. “It’s good to have you back, girl.”

  “Thanks, it’s good to be back.”

  Aubrey headed toward the stove while her husband pushed me toward the empty chair next to Lucas. He seemed to be having a very animated conversation with the child in his lap.

  “Who’s your friend?”

  The little boy grew silent, but his bright eyes watched my every move.

  “This is Daniel,” he said. “Can you show Sarah how old you are?”

  Daniel held up three fingers.

  “Wow, you’re three?”

  He nodded and shot me a toothy grin.

  “He’s a little shy around strangers,” Aubrey said as she placed another glass on the table. “Trust me, it won’t last. Lucas was a stranger an hour ago, and now look at them.”

  I couldn’t look at them. Seeing Lucas with a baby in his arms was doing crazy things to my heart.

  I was going to kill Aubrey.

  Dinner was delicious, and the four of us chatted like we’d known each other forever. Of course, three of us had, but Lucas fit right in as if he’d always been a part of our circle.

  As the conversation continued into the night, I marveled at the fact that these two people had welcomed me so easily back into their lives. We’d been the very best of friends growing up, and I’d tossed them aside. Nevertheless, here they were, looking at me with friendly eyes and forgiving smiles as they told Lucas a few of the many embarrassing stories from our childhood.