All eyes looked to Emma, who was sitting with her back to the patio screen. The sun had just passed the top of the world, starting its descent into late afternoon, and the air felt breezy and warm.
“I don’t honestly know what I see. Michael’s a great guy, but that was twelve years ago. We had a wonderful time last night, but I’m leaving again for Boston this week. However I got there, I have a life in Boston now. A good life. And a career, too.”
Emma’s answer sounded sensible and resolute. She didn’t bother to present other evidence to her friends that contradicted sensibility and resolve, such as the way she’d felt there on Main Street the first day she laid eyes on him. Or how when she’d thought of him in Boston, and she did think of him sometimes, she hoped he still resembled the man she’d fallen in love with. And when she’d seen him, standing at the tailgate of his white Chevy, it was like he was everything from before, only better. Emma chose not to mention how it felt to dance with Michael, to be held by him surrounded by timeless tradition and by friends who had loved her—even if from eight hundred miles away—for a lifetime. She didn’t mention any of these things, because she didn’t want to think of them. She wanted to stuff them in a canvas bag and bury them in the mud because it was easier that way. It was easier to leave a day earlier rather than hang around and listen to someone you love ask you to marry him. Faraway places offer the irresistible gift of silence from the voices and the memories.
Beth returned with more hot water, and Samantha suggested they brew a pot of chamomile. While the group watched young Beth opening and setting the tea to brew like a skilled barista, Janette spoke up for the first time that afternoon.
“I didn’t know your mother that well,” Janette said. “In fact, I don’t think I ever spoke to her except once at the grocery store, but Emma, I’m going to pray for you because I feel like there’s more going on than you realize. I can’t say what exactly, ’cause I don’t know, but I’ll be praying.”
“Thank you,” Emma said, feeling better for having shared her story, but tired of being the center of attention. “Can I just suggest we change the subject now?”
The women laughed, and Beth poured the new pot of tea.
“What about you, Christina,” Samantha asked. “What’s happening in your story?”
“Oh, I’m just in love with a wonderful man who’s been deeply wounded and lost his family. He’s afraid of moving forward, and I’m not willing to give him up, so I’m praying and waiting, not worrying or pushing. It’s hard, but I’m confident God will work it out somehow.”
“How long has Bo been divorced?” Janette asked.
“Eight years.”
“That’s a long time. Are you sure you aren’t waiting in vain for something that’ll never happen?”
“I think the something that happened is, I met Bo Wilson. I didn’t meet someone who’s potential husband material; I met my best friend and I can’t imagine living life without him.”
“I’m hearing a lot of new things I can pray for,” Janette said. “I’ll pray for you, too, Christina,”
“You better watch out, Christina. Janette is a real prayer warrior,” Samantha said. “If she’s praying for you, you’ve got a real ally on your side.”
“Beth, what about you?” Christina asked. “Remind us how the world looks through the eyes of a high school senior.”
“I like hearing your stories,” Beth said, sitting on a wicker hassock near the teacart. “They’re funny and sad.”
“What do you hope your story will be, Beth?” Christina asked.
“Well, one worth telling. I know I want to be a somebody.”
“What’s a somebody?”
“A somebody is a person who’s successful, and everyone knows who they are. An actor, a singer, the guy who invented the iPod. That’s a somebody.”
The ladies let out an audible groan.
“We’ve had these discussions before,” Samantha said, turning her attention to Janette. “A lot of people in Beth’s generation don’t think they’re important unless they possess some level of celebrity. They’re using the Internet to draw attention to themselves so they can feel important, not for something they’ve accomplished, but just to be seen in a make-believe celebrity medium.”
Beth sighed and shook her head. It was clear to Emma that she’d heard this argument more than once.
“Beth, dear, I was an actress in Hollywood. Back in the days when stars really were glamorous,” Janette said. “It’s not what you think it is.”
“Maybe you could talk a little about that, Janette,” Samantha suggested. “I’d appreciate any wisdom you have on the subject.”
Janette turned her chair toward Beth.
“I won’t give you the long version, but I had dreams too when I was your age. Eighteen, nineteen. I wanted to go to Hollywood and become an actress. It was in the early 1960s, and against my mother’s wishes, I went to California and worked my way in the Hollywood system. I appeared in movies, on television. I met lots of the really big stars, and one day—phfft! it was over.”
“The people who have their names up in lights aren’t any different than anyone else. All the time you’re either struggling to get somewhere or working hard to hang onto what you’ve got. Some of the most famous people in movies don’t feel famous on the inside. They feel like they’re faking it. Sure, I had a lot of fun out there, especially when I was young. People just assumed I was rich because I was in the movies, but I barely made any money at all. It’s all an illusion. Make-believe. You’re somebody because God loves you, not because you happen to become famous for a short time, and that’s all it is—temporary. I don’t know if you’ll believe me, but you’ll never find a greater audience than the crowds in heaven who look down and want you to have the life God has for you.”
“I have to agree with Janette, Beth. I’ve met lots of musicians and artists in my work,” Christina added. “Peter Thomas is a friend of mine. He has a great voice, but he’s just a normal person.”
“You know Peter Thomas?” Beth asked, her eyes filling with celebrity stardust for the man whose worship songs were sung in churches around the world. “Oh my gosh, he’s awesome.”
“Beth, Peter’s a totally regular guy. He doesn’t live a better life just because he’s famous.”
“I think he does,” Beth said. “Being famous tells everyone you’re important.”
“Honey, I was once on the cover of a magazine that sat on newsstands all over the world, but at the same time I lived in a tiny apartment in West Hollywood with a roommate—another actress under contract with the studios. We worked hard attending premieres and parties, rubbing shoulders with the famous. Then we’d go home to our apartment and wonder how we’d pay next month’s rent.”
~ Fifteen ~
You’re climbing mountains, I’m on the hill
You’re always running, I’m standing still.
—VINCE GILL
“If You Ever Have Forever in Mind”
It was late Sunday afternoon when the ladies’ tea finally ended. Sam insisted Emma take the fruits and veggies for her dad—grapes, orange wedges, cherry tomatoes, and some avocado—wrapping them up in ziplock bags.
“When are you leaving to go back to Boston?” Janette asked Emma while she slipped into a bright red wool coat with black faux-fur lapels.
“Wednesday morning,” Emma said, taking hold one shoulder of the coat and helping Janette into it.
“If you have time, dear, come see me before you leave, okay? I’d like to talk with you.” Emma wasn’t sure she’d have time, but something about Janette’s invitation conveyed it was more important than just a social call. She’d almost gotten the words “I’ll try” out of her mouth, when the storm door closed and Janette was already out of earshot.
“Samantha, I’m just amazed by th
is day,” Christina said. “Thanks for getting everybody together. It couldn’t have been any nicer.”
“I’m so glad you enjoyed it.” Samantha hugged Christina and Emma at the front door. “A week ago I would have never believed we’d be here having tea today. There’s a part of me that’s been unsettled, and now I feel so much better.”
“I think I’ve been feeling that way too,” said Emma, stuffing the last snack bag into her purse.
“What are you all going to do for the rest of the night?” Christina said.
“Bo and I have a movie date at home. It’s part of our new Sunday-night strategy to hang out more. What about you, Emma?”
“I don’t know,” Emma said, thinking out loud. “I’ve thought about calling Michael.”
Samantha smiled. “To talk about the renovation I suppose,” she ribbed. “Emma, are you even considering the possibility that Michael means more than you’ve come to terms with?”
“I’ll think about it,” she said, just before Jim and Noel opened the front door from the outside and Emma slipped through it.
The sun had dropped behind the tree line, lowering the temperature by ten degrees. A gust of wind wound inside her coat, and she hurried to the shelter of the truck. Emma pushed the key in the ignition, the green Sinclair dinosaur key chain bouncing back and forth like a hypnotist’s watch. She switched on the heat, pushing the level all the way into the red zone before heading toward town. The wind had picked up, blowing leaves through the beams of her headlights as the bleak October sky closed out light and color. One thought tumbled round and round inside Emma’s mind, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to admit it: She wanted to see Michael again, and soon—that night.
She got out her phone and dialed his work number, but there was no answer. She opted not to leave a message, unsure of what she’d say.
“Wouldn’t you know it.”
Emma tossed the cell phone back on the seat, and it bounced end over end into shadows. She returned her attention to the drive back out to the farm. Why couldn’t Michael just be at home? And what is this urgency to see him all about anyway? She considered swinging by his place, then decided that would be lame.
Except for the local grocer and a BP station on the end of West Main, all the shops in Juneberry were closed. Emma didn’t feel like closing so early on a Sunday. She felt energized and not in the least bit ready to call it a night.
Christina and Bo had their planned movie night. Samantha and Jim had each other. Emma felt like something was supposed to be happening in her world too, but what? The musical pulse from her cell phone chimed in the dark and she felt around on the truck’s long front seat to find it. With a long, right-leaning reach, her hand bumped against it. She grabbed the phone just before it slid between seat and door.
“Hello?”
“Hey, it’s Michael. Did you call me?”
“Yes, I did. Thanks for calling back,” Emma laughed with a mixture of surprise and relief. “Do you have plans tonight?”
“No, no plans. I’m unhitching my boat right now, but that’s about it.”
“I didn’t know you had a boat.”
“It’s just an old fishing boat. I was out on the lake this afternoon until the fog rolled in and the fish went deep.”
“Did you catch anything?”
“Not this time. It was too late in the day. I just wanted an excuse to be out on the water.”
A misty spray of rain landed on Old Red’s windshield as Emma drove the winding country roads. She liked listening to the sound of his voice in the dark, like FM radio at night.
“Sounds like you won’t be having fish for dinner.”
“Not unless I open a can of tuna,” Michael said. “Dinner sounds good, though. I’m starved.”
“Well, what would you say to having dinner with me?”
Michael was silent for a moment on the other end of the phone, and Emma entertained the painful possibility that he might say no.
“Give me thirty minutes. I’ve just got to stow the boat and tackle, clean up.”
This felt right. Emma smiled.
“Hey, is it raining where you are?” she asked, finally turning the knob that switched on Old Red’s wiper blades.
“It’s rained off and on at the lake all day.”
“How about going someplace warm for dinner, where there’s a fire. Do you know of a place like that?”
“Not around here, but there’s a Sportsman’s Lodge in Anderson.”
“Anderson? Isn’t that too far to drive in the rain?” she asked, as the truck’s headlights carved a tunnel of light from the rainy darkness on SC59.
“I don’t think so,” Michael said, unwinding the crank on the boat hitch, slivers of rain hitting him in the dark. “Where are you now?”
“I’m about five minutes away from the house.”
“Great. I’ll pick you up in forty minutes.”
o o o
Noel Connor worked underneath his Dodge truck inside the Connors’ garage, removing the oil-pan cap. He’d slid an old, stained aqua-colored blanket beneath the car to lie on while he changed the oil; the cement floor was too cold for comfort.
Noel saw his dad’s feet step inside the garage door. The radio was on Q98 Country, but the volume was set low.
“How’s it coming?” Jim squatted down to peer underneath the truck.
“Fine. I’m just puttering around out here tonight. Helps me relax.”
“Your mom just sent me out here to tell you we’re having leftovers from the party tonight. They look pretty darn good too. Why don’t you take a break, come on in for supper.”
“I’ll be right there,” he said. Noel reached for a faded red rag next to the toolbox and wiped grease from his hands.
“Panthers are playing tonight too if you feel like watching the game.”
Noel tilted his head to look at his dad. “That sounds great too. I won’t be much longer. This is the last thing I’ve got to do.”
Jim lowered himself down even farther to get a better look at Noel’s work on the truck.
“You know, I’m proud of you.”
“For what?”
“I guess for a few things you’ve done this week. If I were a rich man, I’d give you a hundred dollars and tell you to go have fun with your friends.”
Noel joked, “Make it a fifty.”
“I don’t think I have that either,” Jim teased. He lay back on a mechanic’s rolling sled and wheeled himself underneath the truck next to Noel.
“Fancy meeting you here, Dad,” Noel said, smiling.
“Hey, I’ve always thought it was better to have conversations face-to-face whenever possible. What I was going to say was … your mom and I are proud of your decision to go to seminary, for helping Emma at the airport, leading worship today at church, lots of things. You’ve got a lot on the ball for someone your age, even for someone my age.”
Noel just nodded. “Thanks, I guess I feel like God’s got me where He wants me. I’m kinda excited to see what’s next.”
“Your mother really liked your answer today about coming back to Juneberry to work someday. You scored some major mama points, Son.
“It’s rare that people receive a calling so specific. Your mother and I have prayed a long time, that your faith would grow more important to you, and that God would show you what He wants you to do. Sounds like He’s done just that.”
Noel stopped tinkering for a moment to look directly at his dad. “Sometimes it’s like He’s telling me what I need to pack for a trip before I ever set out on it. I mean, I just follow basic instructions and find myself standing in the place where God’s working.”
Noel’s answer silenced Jim. He waited a moment before saying anything, watching his son work on the old truck.
&nbs
p; “I imagine there are more than a few of us who wish we could hear God as clearly. I know one thing, though: Your mom and I sure heard Him right when we decided it was time to start a family. We love you, Son.”
o o o
A strong wind sent the fallen leaves scurrying like packs of spiders clacking along beneath the streetlights. The air was chilly, like Friday-night football weather, on the starless night, and corn stalks from the harvest lay broken in the fields.
Few vehicles were on the main highway as Michael and Emma piloted their way toward Anderson in scattered rain. In the time before Michael picked her up, Emma had changed her clothes, touched up her makeup, and fixed her hair in a new way that she actually thought looked good.
The lights of the Sportsman’s Lodge emerged from out of the dark like a warmly lighted oasis. Inside, the rustic restaurant looked like it’d been carved from wilderness timber a hundred years before. A fire glowed in the fieldstone fireplace, freshened by new logs. The dining room was nearly empty, with many patrons kept away by the night and the weather.
The drizzle outside only enhanced the cozy atmosphere inside, making the surroundings all the more alluring. The hostess seated them in a wine-colored booth by the fire.
“Michael, this is so cozy. It’s exactly what I imagined when we talked on the phone tonight.”
A young waiter, no older than Noel, approached from the server’s station. He came bearing gifts: two glasses of ice water carried on a round tray. He greeted them with a friendly “Good evening” and joked that they should expect dazzling service since they were his only table. He was wearing a plastic nametag that said AARON.
Emma asked for hot tea with honey, a taste she still had from the afternoon, and Michael ordered black coffee, which the waiter brought to him in a tall white mug.
“Do you need a few minutes to decide?” Aaron asked.
“Yeah, I think so,” said Michael, who was watching Emma read her menu instead of looking at his own.
“Take your time,” he said. “Our specials tonight are sea bass with vegetables and rice, and filets wrapped in bacon. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
A Beautiful Fall Page 16
