by Melissa Tagg
And don’t think she hadn’t considered it.
Izzy had acknowledged Miranda’s presence on the way to the pumpkin patch, regaling Miranda with stories of life as a Texan transplanted up north. Jase, too, had given her a hearty welcome and chatted with her as they drove past tawny fields and farmers at work.
“You just had to pick the hugest pumpkin in all of Minnesota,” Jase was saying now as he ambled over to his daughter and brother. “I suppose you’re going to make me carry it to the car.”
Jase matched Matthew’s height almost exactly, but a hint of red tinged his hair and his Roman nose sloped to a point. At the airport, he’d greeted Matthew with a tight bear hug. And Miranda hadn’t missed the way he studied his younger brother as Matthew introduced her. It was easy to see the older sibling in Jase.
Matthew, his brother and sister-in-law, Cee—they were a small family, but a tight-knit one. If only Matthew would stop freezing her out, she might truly enjoy this day away. That morning at the Asheville airport, even with its stale smell and suffocating crowd, there’d been something refreshing about leaving her home world.
For this one short day, there was no television show. No fake husband. No paparazzi. At least not yet. She tugged her baseball cap lower over her eyes.
“Worried someone might recognize you?” Izzy asked. Matthew’s sister-in-law was built like the cowgirl Matthew said she was—long legs and broad shoulders, her blond hair pulled into a ponytail. A woman after my own heart.
“Just a little. I wouldn’t want to ruin Cee’s day by drawing attention to myself.”
“I can’t believe you came all this way just to grant Cee’s wish,” Izzy marveled. “To think you’re going to hop on a plane tonight and head back.”
“I don’t know if Matthew told you, but taping has been suspended on my show. So at this point, I’m a woman of leisure. Besides, he’s talked a ton about Cee and all of you. He’s seen so much of my life, it’s fun to get a glimpse of his.”
“Well, you’ve made Cee’s day, probably her year. You know, she’s been telling all her friends to tell their parents and their friends to leave a comment on the blog Matthew wrote earlier this week about saving your show. You’ve got two persistent Knoxes on your side.”
Except that Matthew probably wasn’t on her side anymore, even if the Internet campaign he’d started was going strong. Miranda hadn’t read that blog post that kicked off the petition, but Blaze had told her before their hike that Matthew had shucked off any pretense of unbiased journalism and basically pled with his audience to show their support for From the Ground Up.
He probably regretted writing it now.
“Okay, we’ve got our pumpkin,” Matthew announced as he lugged the pumpkin. “Now what?”
“The hay bale maze!” Cee spoke, her hands moving rapidly. “I want to go with Randi.”
Something warm and maternal sparked in Miranda, warding off the chill of the Midwest wind . . . and Matthew’s ire. Like she’d seen Matthew do, she waited until Cee’s eyes were trained on her face to speak. “It’d be my pleasure. You’ll make sure we don’t get lost, right?”
Cee gave a serious nod. “I know the way.”
“She should. She’s already been through the thing three times this fall,” Jase said.
“How about Jase and I go pay for the pumpkin and load it up?” Izzy suggested. “You two can take Cee through the maze, and we’ll meet you back at the car.”
Miranda caught Matthew’s eye. He grunted his agreement. Was the man going to play caveman all day? They followed Cee to the structure. The hay bale walls stood at least six feet high, casting shadows over the ground.
“This is some maze. I’m impressed,” Miranda said as they started out. “Wouldn’t it be scary in the dark?”
Cee skipped along.
“She can’t read your lips if she can’t see your face, Rand.” Matthew walked on the other side of Cee, about as far away from Miranda as he could manage. Both hands were jabbed into his jacket pocket.
“Maybe I was talking to you. Although, why I would, I have no idea. You give the silent treatment better than any thirteen-year-old girl.” And no, she hadn’t missed the way he’d reverted to the shortened, less-personal version of her name. “You’re the one who wanted me to come today. I’m sorry if I’m totally ruining it for you, but I came because you asked me to.”
“You came because you don’t want me to tell anyone you’re a liar.”
Miranda stopped, dark hurt trekking a path straight to her heart. No, his judgment didn’t surprise her. But its sharpness did. “Maybe you should just do it. Publish the truth about Blaze and me. Whatever might happen couldn’t be worse than your high-and-mighty treatment. I’m sorry I’m not the picture of moral perfection you obviously expected.”
The musty smell of the hay pricked her eyes and fogged her thoughts. What was Matthew looking for from her?
Up ahead from a fork in the path, Cee whirled around. “Come on, keep up!” She turned to the right.
“Are you sure that’s the right way?” Matthew called after her. But Cee had already galloped ahead. He turned back to Miranda.
She stood rooted in place, arms folded, a shield against his disapproval. He dropped his hands from his pockets, his tight stance loosening. “I’m the last person to expect perfection.” He rubbed his hand over his chin. “But honesty . . . I value it. So yeah, I’m having trouble getting over the fact that everything I thought I knew about you is a lie.”
Miranda rolled her eyes. “Really, I hadn’t picked up on that.”
“But you’re right. I asked you to make this trip with me, and I’ve been freezing you out all day. Which is very”—his jaw released into a half grin—“thirteen-year-old girlish of me.” He took a step toward her. “Maybe we can just forget about everything back in North Carolina. For today, at least.”
Relief slid in. Miranda pulled a stringy piece of hay from a bale, twiddled it in her fingers. “I’d like that.”
Cee burst around the corner. “I was wrong. It’s that way.” She took off once more.
Matthew nudged his head. “Come on. We’d better keep up before I lose my niece.”
The space between them had whittled to only a couple feet. “Hey, I don’t know if I can forget about everything back in North Carolina. I promised Blaze I’d call and check up on him sometime.” She’d told Blaze on the way home from the hospital that Matthew knew the whole truth about their non-relationship. “Can’t believe we left the poor guy home two days after he broke his arm.”
“Yeah, but he insisted.” Matthew waved at Cee up ahead, assurance that they wouldn’t fall behind again. “And he seems to be fairly used to getting around with injuries.”
“The man is crazy.”
“How’d you come up with him, anyway? Of all the people you could’ve chosen to be your husband, why Blaze?”
Miranda released her piece of hay into the wind. There wasn’t anything she could tell him now more damaging than he already knew. Might as well. “It all started with a case of mistaken identity. See, just a few days before you showed up, we were on set and . . .”
Was it just Miranda, or did Matthew keep loosening as they spoke? He drifted closer to her side, his shoulder brushing hers as they turned a corner.
“So what’s up with the two of you?”
Jase asked the question the second Miranda disappeared into Cee’s bedroom. The pair had talked about soccer all the way home from the pumpkin patch, and now Cee wanted to show Miranda her team pictures from the summer league.
“What do you mean what’s up with us?” Matthew followed Jase down the hallway.
“I mean when you first got here, you treated her with all the warmth of a prison warden. By the time you escaped the hay maze, you were chatting it up.”
They descended the staircase to the first floor, and Jase led the way to the living room. “We called a truce.”
“Why do you need a truce?” Jase flopped onto the
plum-colored couch.
“You ask too many questions.”
“I’m a concerned older brother.”
Matthew settled into a recliner. He’d enjoyed the mountains, but there was something comforting about being back at home. Well, not technically his home. But he spent about as much time at Jase and Izzy’s as his own townhouse. He could have blamed it on Cee, but truthfully, sometimes his bachelor pad felt plain-old lonely.
“She’s got secrets, Jase. And I don’t know what to do with them.”
“Like, big secrets?”
Matthew locked his fingers behind his head, elbows pointed out. “Like, the stuff of national headlines.” Already, Dooley was foaming at the mouth. The editor had called at the crack of dawn yesterday, as soon as he’d heard Matthew’s message from the night before.
Matthew had fumbled for an excuse, told Dooley he’d jumped the gun with his cryptic message. He never should’ve called the editor so quickly in the heat of his anger after first learning the truth about Miranda and Blaze. He’d finally—barely—appeased Dooley by promising an entry on the rival show being considered by the network. He’d hinted at it in his earlier blog, and Brad seemed to think there was something fishy there. Maybe he could dig it up, to stall for time.
Jase nodded slowly, eyes on the football game on the wide-screen TV. “She sure seems nice.”
“Oh, don’t get me wrong, she is.” More than nice, actually. Kind. Compassionate. With a voice like honey and the kind of laugh a person couldn’t get tired of. “Now that I know the truth about her, it’s like everything’s changed. And yet . . . it hasn’t.”
Because underneath the lies, she was still her.
And he was still him.
And there was still that uncanny connection stringing them together.
“You like her.” Jase said it matter-of-factly.
Matthew didn’t bother with an answer.
“She’s married.”
“Oh, but she’s not.” It slipped out quickly, accidentally.
Or maybe he’d meant to say it. Maybe he’d needed to tell someone. Someone who could help him push through the obnoxious choir in his head that, on the one hand, chided him for being duped, and on the other hand, swayed in a happy dance at the reality of it all: She was available. Kind of.
Jase leaned forward, whistled. “Seriously? Did she get divorced or something? Then who’s that guy on the tab covers?”
“Long story, man.”
“And you promised not to tell.” Jase read him like a book.
Matthew nodded, and his gaze drifted to the window. Outside, the last of autumn’s color clung to the maple tree in Jase and Izzy’s front yard. This had been a beautiful day to make the trip. Cee’s smile when she’d spotted him in the airport, the way she’d flung herself into his arms—totally worth the hassle of rising early to catch a red-eye flight.
“I could make money off this story,” Matthew admitted. “I could get paid for interviews. Could really put a dent in the cost for Cee’s surgery.”
“Matt—”
“I know what you’re going to say, that you won’t accept my money. But that’s stupid. Think about how many times you’ve had my back. Obviously I want to help with this.”
“That’s not it.”
“Why do you even think I took this story in the first place? I know Izzy’s hours have been cut back and things at the gallery aren’t good.”
“I’m selling the gallery.”
The recliner springs moaned as Matthew jerked. “What? Y-you can’t.”
“I have to. I’m not moving pieces like when it first opened. Blame the economy, blame whatever you want, but the place is leaking money.”
“Yeah, but it was your dream. You saved for over a decade to open it.”
“And it’s been a fun few years. But my family is my dream now. They come first. There’s a teaching spot open at the U of M next semester. I’ve already accepted.”
Jase spoke with straight practicality, but he had to be hurting. He’d invested so much in that place. Matthew had been there on opening day, had watched straightlaced, reserved Jase practically bounce through the place as he greeted customers, artists, photographers.
“Isn’t there anything I can do?”
“It’s already done. I had an offer on the space within two weeks of putting it up for sale.”
Two weeks? That meant Jase had been moving on this before Matthew even left town. Why hadn’t he said something?
“It’s a miracle, actually, a reasonable offer coming in that quickly, in this economy. To Izzy and me, it confirmed this is God’s will.”
“It’s God’s will you give up on your dream?” Sarcasm laced his words. Maybe he hadn’t been Mr. Super Christian lately, but that didn’t sound like the God he’d learned about growing up. Did God give people dreams only to yank them back?
He leaned his head against the recliner’s headrest. Is that what Miranda wrestled? Did she feel as if God had taken away her original dream—marriage to that guy from Brazil—and is that why she went to such crazy lengths to hold on to what she had left?
Whereas Jase went ahead and surrendered. Laid his dream on the altar when it became too much. What now?
“Will the money you get from the sale make Cee’s surgery a possibility?”
Jase sighed. “It’ll help. And the university has a great health insurance policy, though it won’t kick in until February. After that, we’ll see. We’re still praying about it. Celine is happy, well adjusted. We want what’s best for her, but we have to trust that God knows what He’s doing.”
Trust. It always came down to that. And rarely did it work out.
Jase turned off the TV with a click of the remote, then leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Hey, little brother, don’t look so down. It’s not all bad news. Izzy and I were going to tell you at dinner, but you seem to need the news now.” Jase paused, light flooding his eyes. “Izzy’s pregnant.”
Matthew burst from the recliner. “Jase, are you serious?”
Jase looked up. “I’ll joke about a lot of things, but my wife carrying our child? Uh-uh. We’re due in May.”
“Well, then, stand up so I can hug you, bro!”
They embraced with hearty pats on the back.
“An uncle all over again. I like this.” He squinted against the sun pouring into the room. “But the gallery. I am sorry, Jase.”
“Don’t be. It was fun while it lasted. But with Iz pregnant, now more than ever, we need an income we can count on. Sure, it’ll be hard to see the place empty out. But I like teaching. It’ll be great.”
Although Jase’s confidence rang genuine, Matthew detected the barest hint of forced optimism. So strange, the combination of pure joy and disappointment over the end of his brother’s dream. But like Jase said, he had a new dream now: his family.
A new dream.
What if Miranda could escape the trap of her lie and find a new dream?
What if I could?
“Maybe we should take Miranda by the gallery on the way back to the airport tonight. She’s got a few blank walls in her house.”
Jase clapped his hand on Matthew’s shoulder. “Yeah, back to her. And you. And the fact that she’s not married.”
“We’re not going there, dude.”
Jase crossed his arms. “Fine. Izzy’ll get it out of you eventually anyway. I’m going to go check on Cee, make sure she’s not forcing your celebrity into building her a new bedroom or anything.”
“And I’m going to find Izzy and congratulate her. You do know if you have a boy I expect you to name him after me.”
Jase’s chuckle bounded through the house. While his brother climbed the stairs, Matthew headed toward the kitchen. But he stopped short at the sound of Miranda’s voice. She must have come down already.
He peered around the corner. Izzy and Miranda stood on opposite sides of the island counter in the middle of the kitchen, cutting boards and a variety of vegetables ready to b
e chopped.
“I thought I was going to die of boredom chaperoning that dance. But then this new guy walks in. Someone tells me he’s a visiting professor in the art department. A photographer.” Izzy chopped an onion as she spoke. “I’m telling you, by the end of our first dance, I’d decided I’d marry him.”
Miranda giggled. “That quickly, huh?”
“I think it was the dancing. Dance with the right guy and—wham—you just know.”
“That so?”
“Sure. Haven’t you ever gone to a dance with your husband? Didn’t it do all kinds of funny stuff to your stomach?”
Are you going to lie to her? The silent question pricked Matthew.
“I’ve never been to a dance, actually.” Miranda’s tone spoke nonchalance, but even from where he stood, Matthew could see the tightening of her wrist as she sliced through the cucumber.
“Why not? Not even your high-school prom?”
Miranda shook her head, her knife rapping into the wooden board with each cut. “No. I remember wanting to go. Or at least considering it. And I really thought someone would ask me, too. I had all these guy friends from shop class. But each time one of them came up to me, right when I thought they were going to ask, they’d ask me for advice on which cheerleader they should take or how they should invite another girl.”
Miranda had stopped slicing as she spoke. Across the island, Izzy bit her bottom lip, waited.
Finally, Miranda shrugged, waved her knife with a chuckle. “It’s a silly thing to remember. Not like it mattered in the bigger picture of my life. Although, to this day, I don’t know how to dance. And that freaks me out considering this Giving Heart gala thing includes dancing.” She pointed the knife at herself. “But look at me. Do I look like a girl who belongs in a dress on a dance floor?”
Yes . . .
“Yes, what, Uncle Matt?”
He glanced down. Cee stood in front of him, wearing her soccer uniform and socks pulled to her knees. “Yes, you look awesome in your uniform,” he signed without speaking.
“But I didn’t even ask you that,” she signed back.
“I read your mind.”
Like he’d read between the lines of Miranda’s question to the insecurities obviously still nagging her. And it made the thought of adding one more scar to the mix by publicizing Miranda’s fake marriage feel all sorts of dirty.