Like Never Before
Page 30
And that nurse who lived in South Dakota now. That last story she had told about Kendall and his burial. “This old aviator helmet came tumbling out of his closet. From his childhood, I’m sure. He used to talk about watching barnstormers, you know. It was the one personal touch I felt like I could give him, including it in his coffin.”
T-h-e E-l-m.
H-e-l-m-e-t.
Charles Lindbergh’s helmet.
She’d about dropped the popsicle in her hand in her excitement at Dani’s. She’d asked to use a computer, Googled her way into discovering Lindy’s helmet had indeed never been recovered. In the chaos of his arrival in Paris, someone had pulled it off his head.
And it’d ended up on the head of his accidental decoy, Harry Wheeler.
She plopped onto the couch next to her sister now, the thrill of the possibility swelling through her all over again. The bridal shop’s air-conditioning pulled goosebumps from her arms.
Eleanor held the iPad in her lap now, tapping her way back to the beginning of the article. “My favorite part is how you left it a little open-ended. Like, hey, Charles Lindbergh’s helmet might be buried in little old Maple Valley, Iowa. As if, I don’t know, just thinking about it is stimulating enough. Like what other treasures are around us in our everyday lives that we don’t even realize?”
“That’s exactly what I was going for.” She spread her skirt out around her. “Plus, I kind of had to leave it open-ended. Unless someone exhumes Kendall’s body, we won’t know for sure.”
“But you’re going to send out it, aren’t you? Find a magazine or something to print it?”
“Yeah, I think so. I’ve got a list. I need to figure out how that works, probably write a query letter or something.” The only thing she knew for sure was that it wouldn’t end up in the News. Though there was still no word on whether the sale to Cranford Communications had ever been finalized.
But she fully expected the silver letters on the building just a few doors away from the bridal shop to come down soon. And for the Communicator to begin appearing in more mailboxes and newsstands by the end of the summer.
She glanced at Eleanor. “Thanks for being an early reader.”
Her sister tapped out of the Word doc and set the iPad beside her. “Thanks for letting me. Am I really the first one to read it? You haven’t even showed it to Logan?”
Logan. One of these days her heart might stop pinching whenever she heard his name. Or ran into one of the Walkers around town. Or drove past the library. “No, I haven’t.”
“But you want to.” Not a question.
“I want him to know all the time he spent helping me paid off. Sure.”
“Amelia.”
“Eleanor.” She whirled toward the dressing cubby. “I should change out of this dress.”
“Ignore me all you want, but I’ll get you to talk eventually.”
Amelia stopped before hiding behind the curtain. “There’s nothing to talk about. Logan went back to LA. I’m here.” For now. “And I’m focusing on other things at the moment. Like your wedding. We only have a few months to plan it.”
And trying to decide what to do now that she was no longer a newspaper editor. Go back to college and finish her history degree? Take a page from Raegan Walker and find a couple part-time jobs to tide her over?
She didn’t know. The only thing she did know was that maybe it was okay not to rush it. That there was truth to what she’d told Dani all those years ago. Instead of falling into a hurried search for what came next, she would allow herself to linger . . . think . . . pray.
Even start trusting a little. See, I am doing a new thing . . . a river in the wasteland.
It was that verse—the one from Emma’s grave.
Maybe her wasteland wasn’t a place, and her river wasn’t a job or person or plan.
But simply a hope.
Her phone cut in then, and she reached into the changing room for her purse. She didn’t recognize the number. “Hello?”
“Hey, Amelia? It’s Belle. Belle Waldorf.”
“Oh, right. The USA Today reporter.” Mae’s niece from Chicago.
“You were holding out on me.”
“Excuse me?”
“Here you get me to do a story on a guy who, sure, is nice and interesting and whoa, his headshot? Not bad. But all along you’ve got a sweet story of your own in the works.”
Eleanor glanced at her watch. “It’s been two hours since I had coffee. I’m going to run a couple doors down to that little coffee shop.”
She waved her sister off while trying to land on whatever Belle was talking about. “A story of my own?”
“This piece about this guy and this other guy . . .” The tapping of computer keys sounded over the phone. “Kendall and Harry. Two friends who saw history in the making and then went on to become part of history and yada-yada. This is some stellar writing.”
“I don’t . . . how did you . . . I’m confused.” This didn’t make sense. She hadn’t sent the article to anyone. “You have my Kendall Wilkins article?”
“Uh, yeah. Came from, let me see, publisher@maplevalleynews.com.”
Publisher?
No. Logan?
“You should know I’m not calling as a USA Today reporter right now. My aunt’s told you I’m part of a startup publication, right? Just something fun I do on the side, not even part-time really. Right now it’s just an online magazine, but we’ve talked about adding print someday.”
Amelia bent over to scratch her knees. Annoying tulle. “A startup?”
“It’s about the nerdiest thing you’ve ever heard of—grew out of a podcast actually. Best way to describe it is, we try to take historical events and stories and especially things like this Lindbergh deal and make them relevant for today.”
This was what Mae had been trying to get her to check out?
Belle was still talking. “ . . . totally a niche thing, and I don’t think any of us ever expected it to go anywhere. But about six months ago, NPR featured our website, and after that the History Channel actually ran with one of our stories. Ever since then, we’ve had steady advertising.”
“That sounds cool.” Amelia wandered to the high table at the opposite end of the changing lounge and snatched a butter mint. “And you’re interested in my article?”
“Yes.” Belle drawled the word. “But we’re also interested in you. Now that we’ve got somewhat of a revenue stream, we’re looking at actually hiring a writer-copyeditor-marketer-slash-someone-to-take-us-to-the-next-level. Not sure if it could be full-time yet, but maybe.” Belle took a breath.
And it was just long enough for the realization to sink in. “You think I might be—”
“A good fit? Oh yeah. Aunt Mae says you have a background in marketing. Obviously you can write, and you have an interest in history. I don’t know how you’d feel about relocating to Chicago—and who knows, maybe there’d be a way to long-distance it—but that’d almost be sad because we are a fun, fun staff and . . .”
Her article. Logan. Chicago.
Her brain spun.
“My aunt also says you make amazing cookies.” Mae knew about the cookies?
The call ended minutes later, with Belle promising to email her and Amelia promising to check out the website. And somehow she found herself outside the bridal shop, standing on the sidewalk and staring at the river, late-June air tickling over her bare skin and Eleanor’s shoes clicking toward her.
“I haven’t paid for that dress, Amelia. This might be considered shoplifting.”
The dress. Her regular clothes still sitting in the dressing room. What was she doing?
“I just . . . that phone call . . . Logan.”
Eleanor’s eyebrows popped up. “Logan? That was him?”
“No. I . . . he . . . I think he sent my article in, but it must’ve been the earlier version because he doesn’t even know . . . and now they want me to go apply for this job, and . . .” She wasn’t making any sense.
19
Brother, I love you, you know I do.” Kate handed Logan a red plastic cup filled with ice and cherry Coke. “But this is a weird party setup. Newspaper on the tables? A disco ball?”
Logan sat atop a picnic table, feet on its bench and guitar in his lap, and looked to the band shell where Colton was hanging the silver ball, his laughter punctuated by the thump of the A/V system as someone plugged in a cord.
“Amelia would call it a glitter ball.” He took a sip of pop, his swallow turning into a grin as he looked around Maple Valley’s town square. So many people already milling around. Twinkle lights circling lampposts. An indigo sunset accompanied by rolling clouds.
The risk of rain couldn’t come close to dampening Logan’s spirits tonight. He had no idea what Amelia’s reaction might be to all this. But anticipation glided in every breath.
And somehow, a knowing.
He went back to loosening the tuning keys of his guitar until he was able to unwind each string from its peg.
“You really going to play that tonight?”
“Maybe.”
“You realize every unmarried girl in Maple Valley save me and Raegan is going to swoon?”
He used the string winder to remove the bridge pins. “Yeah, I’m really only concerned about one girl.”
He didn’t even have to look up to know Kate was probably beside herself at that remark. She and Raegan both had been the definition of giddy since he and Charlie had showed up yesterday. He’d immediately warned his sisters to keep their presence on the down-low.
“I want it to be a surprise.”
A gravelly voice belted over the speakers—some nineties band Amelia loved—as Raegan moved toward them. Charlie came bounding over then, Colton not far behind. His daughter had been such a trooper these past few days of packing and driving the rental car back to Iowa. He’d tried to explain, but she didn’t even seem to care. She’d heard Amelia’s name and started bouncing off the walls.
This is the right thing, isn’t it? He wasn’t letting impulse and desire cloud his common sense?
“I am so proud of myself.” Kate held out her hand so he’d drop in the pins. “Just think, if I hadn’t called you to let you know that Raegan let me know that Amelia was heading off to Chicago, you might not be here right now.”
He pulled the low-E string from the paper envelope and unwound it. “Yes, clearly, I owe my entire future to you. But let’s not forget, you wouldn’t have met Colton if not for me.”
“Touché, my brother. We’re even.”
He inserted the metal nub of the guitar string into the hole in the bridge, pushed the pin through to lock it in place, and then strung the other end through the tuning peg. Five more to go.
Colton held up his ink-stained hands as he reached them. “Tables are covered, and here’s the proof.”
They’d borrowed tables from the church, and instead of tablecloths, Logan had insisted on covering them with back issues of the News. He finished stringing the guitar and played a chord, the bronze metal harsh under his uncalloused, unpracticed fingers . . . and yet, familiar. He looked up to see Kate sporting a grin.
One he couldn’t help matching.
Oh yeah, this is right.
Kate’s gaze shifted over his shoulder then, and she bit her lip. “Hmm. Did you invite them?”
He followed her line of sight to see Rick and Helen getting out of their car at the curb.
“Yeah, I invited them.” Reluctance lodged in his throat. “I’ve been dreading this.” But he had to do it. “Watch my guitar?”
With Kate’s “good luck” following him, he moved across the lawn, a firefly whirling past his ear and the mouth-watering smells of Seth’s industrial-sized barbeque wafting over him.
Rick nodded as he approached, one arm around Helen. Logan had grabbed his sweating plastic cup, rehearsing the words clinking around in his brain like the ice cubes clinking inside his cup.
Steady. Firm. Kind.
“Rick, Helen, glad you could come.”
The bruise around Rick’s eye had completely faded in the weeks since Logan had seen him. Helen managed a taut smile despite the strain tightening the summer air between them. “We like Friday nights in the park as much as anybody.”
Logan rubbed his free hand over his jeans. “Uh, Charlie’s right over there, but before you join the party, I’d like to say something. I’m not sure you’re going to like it, but it needs to be said.”
His father-in-law’s face was a steely mask—unreadable.
“I love both of you. Charlie and I are lucky to have you in our lives. Your support in these past two years has been amazing.”
Rick’s arm dropped from around his wife. “But?”
“But I won’t be leaving Charlie in your care. Not long-term. Not now or ever. And if you choose to move forward with any kind of legal custody challenge, I will fight it as hard as I can.”
“Logan—” Helen began, but he lifted a hand.
“I know I’m not the perfect father. But I’m doing my best and, at least lately, praying, too. I was wrong to think for so long I was on my own and capable of keeping everything together by myself.” He set his cup on a nearby table, ignoring the unbending glint in Rick’s eyes. “I hope you always play a large role in her life. But asking me to leave her behind is wrong. You know Emma wouldn’t have been okay with this, any of it.”
“He’s right.” Helen’s voice was barely above a whisper. “He’s right, Rick. It’d break her heart.”
Logan waited, willed himself to hold Rick’s stare. Steady. Firm. Kind.
And then he saw it, the flicker of grief in his father-in-law’s eyes. The barest of cracks. It was exactly what Dad had said. Rick was just trying to hold on to Emma any way he could.
Rick only nodded, then reached for his wife’s hand. Relief as thick as the clouds bounding overhead tumbled through Logan as they moved on to greet Charlie. He caught Kate’s gaze from across the grass. Gave a single nod.
Dad’s voice sounded from behind him. “Quite the party you’ve pulled together.”
He turned. “Well, Maple Valley does love a good party.”
“Would it be way too sappy if I told you I was proud of you?”
“No sappier than Kate telling me she’s going to write this into her next novel or screenplay.” He paused. “Hey, Dad?”
His father glanced over. “Yeah?”
“Thanks.”
“For wrangling the entire town into keeping this a secret?”
He shook his head. “I mean, yeah, thanks for that. But also, thanks for what you had with Mom. A huge part of the reason Emma and I had a good marriage for as long as we did is because of what I learned from you.”
And maybe, someday, probably—he might have another good marriage. It’d look different from the first time around, that was for sure. Emma had helped him focus. Grounded him. She’d given him just what he needed as a young adult ready to run into the world, but not sure where to start.
Amelia? She did the opposite of ground him. She opened up his world, filled it with possibilities and promises he hadn’t even begun to unpack. But he couldn’t wait to.
“That’s all. Just wanted to say thanks. How’s that for sappy?”
“Pretty darn good, I’d say.” Dad’s blink wasn’t quick enough to hide his emotion.
Logan crossed his arms and looked around the square once more. The music, the people, the quirky decorations. His family and friends. Colton holding Charlie, and his guitar sitting on the picnic table. The honey-sweet hint of the expectation in the air.
“Do you think I’m crazy?”
Dad laughed. “Completely. And I love it.” He turned to face Logan. “Where’s the guest of honor, anyway?”
“She’ll be here.” The grin started on his face and reached for his
heart. “Soon.”
Pale violet light trickled in rivulets through gathering clouds and wispy willow branches that swayed in the breeze as if waving goodbye. The evening air tingled with something like anticipation, windy whispers promising rain. Maybe soon.
Raegan hoisted Amelia’s suitcase into her trunk while Amelia stood with her hands in the pockets of her shorts, gaze hooked on the barn, a chorus of memories chirping through her. That first night here. The Klassens telling her they’d just known she was coming. Birthday dinners and movie nights and quiet evenings alone.
That sunset with Logan. The loft doors open.
Maybe not a house, but it was definitely a home.
Rae’s sandals crunched over sand and gravel, and she slid her arm around Amelia. “You’re not saying goodbye to the barn, are you? Because you promised this isn’t goodbye yet. You don’t leave ’til tomorrow.”
“Not goodbye. Not yet, I promise.”
Yet. Hope and fear and curiosity and a whole host of swirling emotions nested in the word. She may only be driving out to Chicago for a couple weeks. Long enough to meet the staff of the website and check out living spaces. Get a feel for the city and see if she could picture herself there.
Pray and decide if this was the something new she was meant for.
But something told her—and probably Raegan sensed it, too—soon she’d be packing more than a suitcase. She was pretty sure Lenny and Sunny had already started praying for whatever hungry soul might come along next, looking for a fresh start, a new landing place.
“Come on, let’s go.” Rae tugged on her arm.
“Can’t I change out of these dingy overalls first?” She’d spent the afternoon helping Megan, the coffee shop owner and new mom, get moved into a new duplex—one with room for a nursery. Weird that Kate had only stopped by for a few minutes. Raegan, too. In fact, Rae hadn’t even shown up until the end of the afternoon, and she’d insisted on coming back to Amelia’s place with her.
“You look fine,” she said now.
Amelia glanced down. “I look like Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm.” She even had the twin braids to complete the look. But the people of Maple Valley had seen her looking worse—like last summer when she’d been a muddy mess sandbagging before the flood. Or after the tornado when she’d worked alongside everyone else to clean up the park.