by Cindi Myers
“Oh?” She eyed him skeptically.
“You have life experience.”
“Is that a polite way of saying I’m old?”
He laughed. “You’re not old and you know it. But you’ve lived. You’ve traveled. You know what it is to love and to laugh.”
A shadow haunted her eyes. “And to hurt.”
“That, too.” He squeezed her hand. “But knowing bad times makes the good times all the more precious.”
She looked away, and when she spoke, her voice was so low he had to lean close to make out her words. “Was it very bad for you, when you were wounded?” she asked.
Others had asked that question, and he’d offered a perfunctory answer—something about putting all that behind him, or turning the conversation to talk of how glad he was to be home. With Amy, he sensed he could be more honest. She didn’t ask out of some prurient desire to pry into his emotions, but because she was still trying to understand what had happened to her husband.
“The pain and the fear was something I was prepared to deal with,” he said. “Something you think about from the time you know you’re going into battle. When it happens, you deal with it, the way you deal with any tough task. Getting well—enduring the treatment, getting through therapy—is just another job. Another kind of battle to fight. The worst part was not knowing what to expect at home—how people would treat me.”
“And how have they treated you?”
“Most of them have responded well. They accept me as I am. Others can’t get used to the idea that I’m different now.” He lifted the hook from her waist. “Different outside, and inside. You don’t go through things like this and come out unchanged.”
Her brow furrowed, as if she was memorizing this information. Or analyzing it. “Your family?” she asked after a moment. “Are they the ones who can’t accept the changes?”
Her insight startled him. “Is it that obvious?”
“I imagine it’s toughest on the people who love you most. When you hurt, they hurt—and maybe they don’t recover as quickly.”
He heard the pain in her words. Her husband was dead, but she still suffered. At that moment he would have given all he had to take away that hurt from her. “Maybe not. But I hope they’re learning.”
The song ended, and she moved out of his arms. “Thanks for the dance,” he said. “And thanks for listening.”
“Sure.” She hesitated, then added, “I’m really not out to get you, Josh. I promise.”
“That’s good to hear.” And he wanted to believe it. A man could do worse than to have a woman like Amy on his side.
* * *
AMY SQUEEZED through clusters of teens, on her way to the ladies’ room to freshen up and regroup. Her encounter with Josh had left her warm and flustered. When she’d first spotted him across the room she’d been stunned. Having seen him dressed in ordinary khakis and then again in a grubby baseball uniform, she wasn’t prepared for the impact of him in a Western-cut suit and black Stetson. He looked too handsome...and dangerous.
But the danger wasn’t his appearance, as distracting as that might be. Josh had a way of making her lower all her defenses with his talk of love and pain—as if he really understood how she felt. But that wasn’t possible. Yes, he’d suffered loss, but he was still surrounded by people who loved him, who went out of their way to make a place for him. When she’d lost Brent, she’d lost her dreams of a home with a husband and more children, and all the plans they’d made for the future.
“You and Josh looked great out there on the dance floor.” Charla burst into the ladies’ room as Amy was studying her flushed cheeks in the mirror. “Friendly, even.”
“He rescued me from Rick Southerland, who seems determined to blame Josh for every problem he’s ever had in his life.”
“Hmm. More on that in a minute.” Charla strode to the first stall and knocked hard on the door. “I know you’re in there, Summer O’Keefe. Put out that cigarette right this minute. There’s no smoking allowed in this building, and if your mother knew what you were up to she’d ground you for the rest of the year.”
The door creaked open and a red-faced girl in a purple ruffled minidress stepped out, the sound of flushing echoing behind her. For the first time, Amy became aware of the strong smell of cigarette smoke. “You won’t tell, will you, Ms. Reynolds?” Summer pleaded.
“I won’t tell unless I catch you sneaking a smoke in here again. If you have to do that, go outside in the parking lot where you won’t pollute the building.” Charla made a face and waved away the smoke.
“Thanks.” Summer fled the restroom.
Charla checked the second stall. “Okay, we’re alone. I hope you didn’t believe everything Rick told you. He’s had a burr under his saddle against Josh ever since Josh came back to town.”
“But why? No matter who the school board hired as coach, they’d have still eliminated the aide position and Rick’s wife would have been out of a job. Where is she anyway—the wife? When I asked he said she wasn’t here.”
“Probably home with their little boy. Rick never brings her to these things—he’d rather complain about her not working than actually be seen with her. As to why he hates Josh, let’s see—good-looking, single, smart war hero surrounded by loving family and friends. He’s probably everything Rick wishes he was but can’t be.”
“Are you sure you aren’t a therapist?” Amy asked.
“Amazing what you can learn about people from running a coffee shop and watching Oprah.” Charla took out her lipstick and retraced her lips with bright melon. “Anyway, I wouldn’t put too much weight on anything Rick says against Josh.”
“I’m not here to write about Rick or Josh. I’m supposed to be doing a story on the kids and the prom. So I’d better get out there and do it.” She took out her pen and notebook.
“No tape recorder?” Charla asked.
“It’s too noisy out there. A tape recorder is good for meetings or a formal interview, but for something like this, where I talk to a lot of people and record my impressions, a notebook is more reliable.” She headed back into the ballroom, determined to find some teens to interview about the school year’s big social event and their approaching graduation. She ought to be able to come up with some interesting angle on the night’s activities if she talked to enough people.
The first thing she saw when she stepped back into the ballroom was Josh and Zach Fremont pulling apart Chase Wilson and another student Amy didn’t recognize. Blood dripped from Chase’s nose and the other boy sported a quickly blackening eye. “What happened?” Amy asked.
“He started it.” The boy with the battered eye glared at Chase.
“You didn’t get anything you didn’t deserve,” Chase countered.
Amy looked around for Chase’s girlfriend, Heather, and found her huddled with a trio of other girls on the edge of the dance floor. “Heather, what happened?” Amy asked.
Heather glanced at the notebook in Amy’s hand and shook her head. “It was nothing. Stupid guy stuff. Not worth writing about for the paper.”
“I’m not trying to get Chase in trouble,” Amy said. “He never struck me as the fighting type.”
“He’s not.”
Amy turned to find Josh standing behind her, his expression grim. “Where’s Chase?” she asked.
“I sent him to the men’s room to clean up. Zach is with the other boy—Brian Evanston. He made some remark about Chase’s father that set the boy off.”
“What about his father?” At Josh’s frown, she put away the notebook. “I’m not asking for the paper, only because I’m concerned.”
“Chase’s father is an alcoholic,” Heather said. “Was an alcoholic? I don’t know, but he just got out of rehab last month and he’s going to AA and everything, so he’s not drinking anymore. Cha
se is real proud of him. Brian had no right to say the things he did. Chase had to shut him up.”
“He’ll think twice before he says anything else,” Josh said. He touched Heather’s arm. “Come on, I’ll take you to Chase.”
She went with Josh, and Charla joined Amy. “That’s the most excitement we’ve had at prom in the three years I’ve been chaperoning,” Charla said. “Are you going to put it in your story?”
“I don’t see how I can write about the prom without mentioning the fight, but I’ll leave out the boys’ names.”
“Everyone will know about it anyway, a long time before the paper comes out. That’s the beauty of the small-town gossip grapevine.”
“Makes it tougher for me to write a story everyone will want to read,” Amy said.
“If you can make a city sewer contract interesting, the small-town soap operas and teenage angst of prom should be a cinch.”
“Teen angst and small-town soap operas, huh?” Amy dug in her purse for her notebook. “Thanks, Charla. You just gave me the angle I’ve been looking for.”
“I did? Well, you’re welcome. What are you going to write about?”
“You’ll have to wait and read it in the paper.” She clicked her pen. “Now I have to get busy interviewing some students.” She felt the buzz of excitement that always thrilled her whenever she was on the trail of a good story. And this one was going to be great.
* * *
JOSH STOOD BY the refreshment table, pretending to watch students, but his attention was focused on Amy as she interviewed the promgoers. The dressed-up young men and women gathered around her, seemingly eager to talk, and she scribbled furiously in her notebook, capturing their words.
As the night progressed, she talked with most of the adults in the room, and even danced with Zach. Josh drank another cup of too-sweet punch and ignored the way his gut twisted as he watched her twirl around the room in Zach’s arms, looking far more relaxed and happy than she had with him.
“Zach should be glad looks can’t actually kill,” Charla said. She helped herself to punch. “Maybe you should have another cup. You look like you need to cool off.”
“I’m fine.” He forced his gaze away from the dance floor. “I suppose the only way you could convince Amy to be here tonight was to persuade her to write a story about the evening,” he said.
“That was Ed’s doing, not mine.” She regarded him over the rim of her cup. “This is harder for her than you might think. She feels guilty, enjoying herself while her husband is dead.”
And he felt like a heel, hearing Charla say that. “Then maybe Ed should have let her stay home.”
“Maybe. But I think it’s doing her good to be here. She’s having fun, even if she won’t admit it.”
The song ended, and Zach led Amy to the refreshment table. “Having fun?” Josh asked. He handed her a cup of punch.
“I am, thank you. And I’m getting lots of great quotes for my story.”
“You should interview Josh,” Zach said. “He’s one of the most popular teachers at the school.” He grabbed Charla’s hand. “Come on. You owe me a dance.”
That left Amy and Josh standing alone by the punch bowl. “The kids do like you.” She tilted her head, considering him. “Why is that, do you think?”
“Because I like them. And I recognize how tough it can be, standing in that space between being a kid and being an adult.”
“What do you remember about your prom?” she asked.
“I wasn’t really into the whole dating and dancing thing before that night,” he said. “I was a jock and a ranch kid—I went to rodeos and ball games, not fancy dances. But that night I decided to change my image. I rented a tux and danced every dance and showed a side of me a lot of people never knew existed. I’m not sure I knew I had it in me until that night.”
“So you used the prom to change your image?”
“I guess. I mean, I was still a ranch kid and a jock, but people saw that wasn’t all.” Where did that answer come from? He glanced at the punch bowl. But no—he was sure it wasn’t spiked. Something about Amy had made him tell her something he had never told anyone—something he hadn’t even thought about in years. “What about your prom?” he asked. “What was it like?” She’d probably had half a dozen guys wanting to be her date, and had been the center of attention. Or else, she’d stayed home as some kind of protest—too cool for the common scene.
“I never went to a prom. I took correspondence courses my last two years of high school.”
“You’ve had an unusual life,” he said. “Do you regret missing out on so much?”
“Some. I want Chloe to know those things. And I want her to have adventures, too.”
“Hard to find a balance.”
She nodded. “Brent thought we should do like my parents and travel with the baby. But I didn’t want that. The thought of being in some country without adequate medical care with an infant or toddler terrified me. I think Brent resented that. He felt we were holding him back. That’s why he joined the army.”
“He ran away from his responsibilities.”
“Why did you join the army, then?”
“I wasn’t getting along with my dad. I needed a change.” Mitch might have said that Josh was running away from his responsibilities on the ranch.
“Was it worth it?” she asked.
“I needed to grow up. Maybe I needed to learn I wasn’t always right.”
“Did things get better with your dad?”
“Different. Not always better. We’re still figuring that out.”
She laughed.
“What’s so funny?”
“Just that I think we spend our whole lives trying to figure out those relationships with the people we care about the most. My mother and grandmother are like oil and water, and yet they clearly love each other.”
“Do you think you would have figured things out with Brent, if he’d lived?”
He had no right to ask the question, and he thought she wouldn’t answer it. But after a moment, she said. “I hope so. I like to think we would have, but I’ll never know. That’s a hard thing about death—you never get to find out how life would have turned out.” She shouldered her purse. “I’d better get back to work. Thanks for answering my questions.”
She left as a quartet of girls and their dates descended on the punch bowl. Josh moved aside to give them room, and lost sight of Amy in the crowd. The sadness of her last words tore at him. He wished he could replace her regrets with good memories and hope for the future, but he supposed only time could do that. Time, and finding whatever it was she was looking for. Whatever they were all looking for.
CHAPTER SIX
In a world full of high-tech wonders and modern shortcuts, the prom stands out as a retreat to old-fashioned tradition. On the verge of graduating to the “real-world” pressures of college and careers, these senior students travel back in time to a society of formal clothing and corsages.
For some, the events of this night are a fun interlude before the renewed stress of graduation. For others, the decisions they make will be life-changing: a boy defends his family’s honor with his fists. A girl dances with the young man who will be her life partner. A student casts off the role of class jock for a more serious place in society.
In the swirl of music and lights, surrounded by friends old and new, members of the senior class of Hartland High are changed by this night, in ways large and small. Cinderella had her royal ball; these students have the prom to aid their transformation from children to adults.
CHARLA FINISHED READING and laid aside the latest issue of the Hartland Herald.
Amy shifted from foot to foot, her stomach in knots. “What do you think?” she blurted.
“I think it’s beautiful. Probably the best thing t
he paper’s ever published.”
Relief made Amy’s knees weak. She braced one hand against the front counter. “Thanks. I worked really hard on it. All Ed would tell me was that it was different, but he’d print it.”
“He won’t tell you it’s brilliant, because then he’d have to pay you more,” Charla said.
The sleigh bells on the door of the coffee shop jangled and both women turned to see Josh enter. He was backlit by the sun, so Amy couldn’t read his expression, but she recognized the broad shoulders and athletic bearing.
“Do you even know how to tell the truth?” he demanded. “Or is lying part of the curriculum in journalism school?”
All the breath rushed out of Amy. She stared as he crossed the space between them and loomed over her, his eyes blazing. “You had to use the kids to further your career—even after you promised me you wouldn’t write about them.”
“Now wait just a minute!” She drew herself up as tall as possible, which brought her eyes level with his chin. “I didn’t use any names in my article without permission from the people I interviewed.”
He snatched the paper from the counter and stabbed a finger at her article. “‘A boy defends his family’s honor with his fists.’ You don’t think everyone reading this will know who that is?”
“If they already know, what does it matter if I write about it?”
“There’s a difference between gossip and having it confirmed in black-and-white.” He raked a hand through his already-mussed hair. His cheeks were flushed and his breathing was labored. The strong emotion on behalf of the kids impressed her, even if it was misguided.
“Have you talked to Chase?” she asked. “Is he upset?” She felt a stab of guilt. The young man had trouble enough; she’d thought her words were sufficiently vague not to cause him more.
“Of course he’s upset. And what about Larissa Hughes and Mike Braden?”
“Who’s Larissa Hughes and Mike Braden?” Amy turned a questioning look to Charla, who shrugged.
“They eloped after the prom. Their parents are devastated.” Josh picked up the paper and read again. “A girl dances with the young man who will be her life partner.”