Season of Miracles

by Emilie Richards

  “If we marry, neither of us will have to be lonely,” he said flatly.

  “Do you really think marriage can prevent loneliness?”

  Bob seemed startled by her words. He recovered quickly. “Obviously this isn’t the right time for this conversation. I know you’re still getting over your mother’s death.”

  “I’m fine, Bob.” She tested his understanding. “In some ways Mama’s death is a relief. I’m free for the first time in my life.”

  His look was disapproving. “You never seemed to mind taking care of her.”

  “I minded a lot.” The strength of her words even surprised Elise. Not because they weren’t true, but because she had finally spoken them out loud. Since her tongue seemed to be properly loosened for the first time, she continued. “My mother was never sick a day in her life until the day she died. But I spent seventeen years waiting on her hand and foot, catering to every little whim. Now that she’s gone, I feel like a tremendous burden has been lifted off my shoulders.”

  “She was your mother, Elise.”

  Elise nodded. “She was. And I gave her a big chunk of my life. But I’m not going to waste any more of it wallowing in sorrow I don’t really feel.”

  “You surprise me.”

  Since she had surprised herself, too, Elise could only nod.

  Bob looked at his watch. “We can continue this later. I made reservations at the Inn for seven.”

  “I’m ready.” Elise set the zinnias on the kitchen table and led the way to the front door.

  As they drove in silence, Elise wondered about the spurt of courage that had allowed her to say things to Bob she rarely even allowed herself to think. At least part of her reason had been to keep him at bay. She didn’t want to marry Bob Cargil, but neither did she want to lose his friendship and, more importantly, the friendship of his daughter. Perhaps if he realized she was someone other than the selfless martyr he believed her to be, Bob would think twice before trying to push her into marriage.

  They parked in front of the Miracle Springs Inn. The inn bordered the Wehachee River, whose source was the crystal-clear springs further down the road. The inn itself was a century-old ramshackle hotel with Victorian gingerbread outside and a mural in the lobby depicting the legend that had given Miracle Springs its name. It was a story of Indian lovers and untimely death, and the local Chamber of Commerce exploited it without a shred of guilt, as did the inn. It was terrific for business.

  Bob and Elise ignored the fading painting as they walked directly to the dining room to claim their reservation. As always the room was crowded, and they were seated before Elise could scan it for friends. This would be an unusual night if she didn’t know at least two-thirds of the people around her. She nodded to acquaintances and waited patiently while Bob went to greet one of the town’s matriarchs. It was only as she turned idly to examine the rest of the room that Elise realized that Clay and a man in a brown suit were sitting two tables away. The man was staring at her.

  He had to be Sloane. So much was the same, and yet so much was different, too. Elise could almost feel her mind whirling as it adjusted to this new image of the boy who had never matured in her mind. Seventeen years. He was thirty-five, not eighteen anymore. His hair was still the same abundant golden brown, his body—at least what she could see of it—still hard and fit. Perhaps when he stood she’d see a protruding belly, but she didn’t think so. He had kept himself in shape.

  The face was very different. The cynicism had hardened into harsh lines. He had a mustache now, a luxuriant one that drooped over the brooding lines of his mouth, giving him the appearance of a hard-boiled private eye. His nose seemed slightly off center as if he’d had it broken once. Elise didn’t find that surprising. Sloane had always been the kind of man who could push others to the boiling point without even trying.

  His eyes were unfathomable. Elise could feel their probing even though a table separated her from him. He was examining her intently, but his expression was so distant that she couldn’t tell if he recognized her. Her gaze flicked to Clay. His expression was unguarded and surprisingly warm. He, at least, knew who she was.

  Her reaction took only seconds, yet it seemed to her as if she had sat there for years allowing Sloane his examination before she forced herself to stand and walk to his table. She could feel her hands perspiring, and she wiped them on the full skirt of her dress as she moved toward them.

  She spoke to Clay first. “It’s good to see you again, Clay,” she said with a smile that took a surprising amount of energy.

  “Hello, Elise.”

  She smiled again and then turned slightly to face the man she had not been able to face at the springs. “Hello, Sloane. It’s been a long time.” Silently she thanked Clay for having said her name. At least she didn’t have to introduce herself to Sloane. That would have been more than she could bear.

  Sloane stood, dwarfing her as he always had. “Hello, Elise.”

  Elise inclined her head. They stood quietly examining each other. Elise wondered what he saw. Did he see the same woman he had known, older but not so old as to be unattractive? Did he remember the things about her that only he knew? Could he read the turbulence of her feelings in the black eyes he’d written poetry about?

  “You’ve hardly changed at all,” he added finally. The words were said with no warmth. Elise suspected that no compliment had been intended.

  She shrugged. “We all change. Even in Miracle Springs.”

  His mouth twisted into a humorless smile. “Funny. I’ve never been sure that’s true.”

  “I know.” She stepped back a little. If she’d had any doubts that Sloane didn’t remember her, they’d been put safely to rest. Their simple conversation was charged with unspoken energy. Yes, Sloane remembered, and he’d never forgiven her. “You’ve changed,” she said quietly.

  “How?”

  She examined his stylish haircut and expensive clothing. “You’re more civilized somehow.”

  “It would be a mistake to think I’m much different,” he said, a warning clear in the deceptively soft-spoken words.

  Elise nodded. If she’d hoped for a simple conversation to destroy her memories, she had been mistaken. “I’d better get back to my table,” she murmured politely. “It’s nice to see you again.” She turned to Clay. “Have a good dinner.” After a nod to them both she made her way to the table where Bob was seated once again.

  “I see you’ve rediscovered Sloane Tyson,” Bob said dryly as Elise stared with unseeing eyes at the menu.

  Elise heard the disdain in his voice. “What does that mean?”

  “You two were a couple in high school, weren’t you?”

  Elise nodded. Denial was useless in a town that remembered everything. “But I haven’t seen him since the day we graduated.”

  “Well, I knew he was back.”

  And Elise understood that those five words explained Bob’s latest marriage proposal. At least they explained some part of it. She probed for further understanding. “Does it bother you that seventeen years ago I went steady with Sloane Tyson?”

  “You did more than go steady.” Bob’s words were an accusation.

  Elise carefully closed her menu and laid it next to her plate. “Why that should bother you now is beyond my understanding.”

  “It’s always bothered me.”

  “Go on.”

  “I don’t think so.” Bob snapped his menu shut and without it to shield him, Elise saw that he was pouting.

  “Seventeen years ago you were a twenty-eight-year-old married man with a wife who adored you. What does any of that have to do with today?”

  “My wife isn’t sitting in this room.”

  “Your wife is dead.”

  “I don’t want Sloane Tyson making a fool out of you, Elise.”

  Elise counted the heartbeats throbbing in her neck. Twelve passed before she took a deep breath to answer him. “I don’t think Sloane Tyson is the man in this room who’s trying to ma
ke a fool out of me, Bob.”

  “I don’t want you to get hurt.” Bob picked up his menu and buried his face in it again.

  Elise folded her hands in her lap, swallowing angry words. Unwillingly her eyes were drawn to the man two tables away. Sloane was staring into space, his eyes carefully veiled. Elise studied him for a moment before she forced herself to look away.

  She wanted to believe Sloane wasn’t unaffected by their meeting. She wanted to believe that he, too, had felt the hidden energy coursing between them. They would never have a relationship again; the days of their love and their lovemaking were over. But suddenly, irrationally, it was important to know that Sloane was not oblivious to her.

  She risked another glance, and this time she found his eyes on her. There was self-mockery in his stare, as if he could not believe that he was being drawn into this intimacy. But he didn’t look away.

  Defiantly, Elise stared back. She was not afraid of being hurt or of being made to appear foolish. She was not afraid of Sloane Tyson or even of herself. If she had a fear now it was that the years had wiped away all traces of the girl Sloane had once loved and with them, the one love affair of her life.

  As if to reassure her, Sloane slowly lifted the glass of wine in front of him and held it out to her in a sardonic toast. Without thinking, Elise responded with her water tumbler. And for a moment, they were the only two people in the crowded little room.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Sloane barely tasted the fried catfish he had ordered and partially demolished. The fish was overcooked and bony, and not tasting it was a blessing. Out of the corner of one eye he could see Elise finishing a salad and talking to the man she was sitting with.

  Lord, she was still beautiful. He had meant what he’d said to her. She had barely changed at all. It was as if she had been caught in a time warp, suspended like Sleeping Beauty, waiting for someone or something to come along and awaken her to the real world once again.

  He gave a cynical snort at the last thought. How could she reawaken to the real world if she’d never been in the real world? Miracle Springs was a time warp. There was nothing here to make a person grow older. Nothing but heat and humidity and a mercilessly plodding progression of days that stretched into infinity until…

  “Sloane?”

  Sloane lifted his head to gaze at his son, and for a moment he felt caught in the time warp, too. There he was at age fifteen. The same face, the same color hair, the same lithe body. He blinked and cleared his mind.

  “How do you like the seafood platter?” he asked, finally.

  Clay nodded, surprised his father would want to know. “Well, I like it, but I don’t know what I’m eating.”

  Sloane released a long, slow breath. Everything was new to Clay, even the very food he ate. His son had survived fifteen years on vegetables and whole grains like a damn milk cow. Before anger could overwhelm him, Sloane allowed the calm voice of reason to intervene. There was nothing wrong with vegetables and whole grains. Most of the country would be better off following the same diet. He took a deep breath, lifting his fork to point at different things on Clay’s plate. “Shrimp, oysters, some kind of fish—probably catfish—hush puppies.”

  “Hush puppies?”

  “Hush puppies. I’ll take you fishing for hush puppies someday, Clay.”

  Clay, who had already eaten one of the fried corn-meal nuggets and recognized the taste, smiled at his father. He wasn’t used to Sloane’s warmer side, and he found he liked it. “You mean I can go fishing in the middle of a cornfield?”

  “You’re a Tyson. Around here that means you can do just about anything and get away with it.”

  “That should be interesting.”

  They lapsed into silence once more, and it continued until the end of the meal.

  Several tables away Elise tried to concentrate on Bob’s monologue. It was a useless exercise. She was as acutely aware of Sloane’s presence as she would have been if he’d been lounging across her table. She could see him out of the corner of her eye, silently finishing a meal he clearly didn’t relish. She had noticed one brief exchange with Clay, and then nothing more. Curiosity was the least of the emotions she was feeling, but she did wonder what relationship Clay had to Sloane. Whatever it was, it wasn’t a comfortable one.

  She had carefully avoided Sloane’s eyes again after their impromptu toast. She was sure that he had been able to read the turmoil of her emotions in that one gesture. It would be just like Sloane to assume he had scored a point. She could almost hear his thoughts. Well, little Elise never married. There she sits, growing older by the moment, just waiting for the right man to come along and claim her. There she is, just ripe for a brief love affair.

  Her own thoughts startled her. Was she imagining Sloane’s words or were they her own? Was she indeed ripe for a brief love affair?

  She continued to nod at Bob at the appropriate moments and smile when necessary, but her mind was otherwise engaged. It only made sense that seeing Sloan would resurrect the feelings she’d carefully put in storage all those years ago. That didn’t mean she was still in love with him; that didn’t mean that she was even attracted to Sloane anymore. What it meant was that she was a woman who had denied herself one of the basic pleasures of life for too long. Feelings long repressed tended to make themselves known eventually. Sex was just one more factor to sort out in the jumble that was her life right now.

  Having talked herself into accepting her feelings for what they were, Elise hazarded a glance at Sloane. He and Clay were standing to leave, and Sloane was watching her. There was nothing covert about his gaze. He was daring her to notice him, to respond to his departure in some way. Without considering consequences, Elise lifted her hand and motioned for Sloane and Clay to come to her table.

  When they were standing beside her, she gave them both her warmest smile. Already Bob had stood for the introductions. “Bob Cargil,” she said, her voice steady, “I’d like you to meet Sloane Tyson and Clay…”

  “Tyson,” Sloane supplied. “My son.”

  Elise nodded as if that only made sense. She would puzzle out Sloane’s and Clay’s relationship later.

  Bob and Sloane shook hands, but Elise noticed that Bob did not extend his hand to Clay. “Sloane’s back in town for a visit,” Elise continued, her intonation making the statement a question.

  “Actually I’m back for the next year,” Sloane explained to Bob. Elise knew that the explanation had been for her.

  “It’s nice to meet you,” Bob said, his voice coldly polite. “I know most of the Tysons. I went to school with your Uncle Jack.”

  Sloane nodded. “It’s almost impossible not to have gone to school with somebody from my family.”

  “Jack was a real hell-raiser, as I remember,” Bob said.

  “One of the three black sheep in the family. My father started the tradition, so I hear.” Sloane’s smile left no doubt about the third black sheep’s identity.

  Elise interrupted before they could go on. “Well, it’s good to have you here, Sloane, Clay,” she said. “I’ll look forward to seeing you both around.” She wondered at her own words. They had sounded like an invitation.

  Obviously Bob thought so, too. “Miracle Springs is so small, we’re bound to run into you, aren’t we, Elise?”

  She nodded, but she couldn’t keep a small smile from framing her even white teeth. Bob as protector. It was a role she had trouble imagining. She raised her eyes to Sloane’s, and for a moment their gazes locked. Then he inclined his head and turned to make his way out of the dining room with Clay following him.

  “Black sheep,” Bob scoffed as he took his seat. “From what I’ve heard, Sloane Tyson was the blackest sheep ever to attend Miracle Springs High. And I wouldn’t be surprised if that son of his plans to set a new record.”

  “Clay seems like a very sweet boy,” Elise protested. “Not rebellious at all.”

  “What do you call that ponytail? And did you see what he was wearing? A S
ave the Whales T-shirt in the Miracle Springs Inn dining room!”

  “Do you really think it was any less appropriate than the way those kids over there are dressed?” Elise pointed to a table where two teenagers sat with their parents. The girl was wearing a flowered Hawaiian shirt and enough brightly colored plastic necklaces and bracelets to add five pounds to her weight. The boy was wearing a conservative blue polo shirt but his hair stood up in neatly arranged spikes all over his head.

  “Tourists,” Bob said.

  Although Miracle Springs depended on tourism for some of its income, the local people looked down on sightseers who thronged to the area in the summertime. Elise knew that Bob’s use of the word “tourist” was a step away from profanity.

  “Keep an open mind about Clay,” Elise warned, knowing all the while that she was asking the impossible. “He may be in one of your classes this fall. If you let yourself, you might enjoy getting to know him.”

  The look on Bob’s face rivaled Sloane’s for cynicism.

  Clay was endlessly fascinated with television. Sloane was not. Tonight as Sloane sat in the tiny living room of the house they were renting and listened to the television blare, he thought he would go crazy with unreleased energy.

  He had got exactly what he’d bargained for. He’d wanted a safe, small-town environment for his son. Clay needed a secure stopping place between the unreal world of the commune where he’d been raised and the dog-eat-dog world of urban America. Sloane had known that life in Miracle Springs wouldn’t be exciting or challenging for himself. But he’d forgotten what it felt like to have the pressure build up inside him until he knew he was a walking time bomb.

  What had he done as a teenager when he’d felt this explosive tension? He remembered crazy things. He’d gone skinny-dipping in the ice-cold water of the springs, driven his uncle’s pickup at eighty miles an hour over sandy paths in the turkey oak and pine wilderness of the Ocala National Forest, taken a pup tent and a case of beer to some sweetly scented orange grove south of town and spent the night seeing how much of the illegally purchased beverage he and his buddies could consume. Just because those things were different.