Their song still incubated—scrawled in pencil with hash marks to delineate stanzas, the chord progressions written over the words, scratched out, repenciled. Kelsey usually came to her with the words, and Emma added the tune. Or vice versa. Emma might play a tune, and Kelsey knew exactly the words to add.
Like puzzle pieces.
No wonder Emma hadn’t finished a song in three years.
“I wish Kyle were here. He’s the best drummer in three counties. He’d figure out the beat,” Kelsey had said.
The lake breezes drifted through the window of the attic room over the garage, lifted the edges of their scattered papers. Despite their northern location, heat had slithered into the attic, sifting up the smells of grease in the garage below. Maybe later they’d motor into Deep Haven, grab an iced coffee at the Footstep of Heaven bookstore. Or a donut at World’s Best. Maybe they’d sit on the rocky beach, airing out their songs to the rhythm of the waves.
“Yeah, I agree. Call your brother immediately,” Emma said.
Kelsey laughed. “It’s too bad he’s already in college because I think he’d love jamming with you.”
Heat rose to Emma’s face. “You know I’m just kidding. I’ve been in love with your brother since second grade and I’m not sure he even knows my name.”
Kelsey came over, sat next to her on the sofa, reached for a chocolate chip cookie from the tray. “Someday, Ems, he’s going to notice you. I promise.”
Emma handed her a can of Diet Coke. “In my wildest dreams.”
“Seriously.” Kelsey took a bite of cookie. “But you have to promise me one thing.”
“What?”
She looked Emma in the eyes, hers alight with tiny particles of gold. “That no matter what happens with you and Kyle, he’ll never come between us. We’ll always be the Blue Monkeys.”
“I promise.” Emma held up her pinkie finger. Kelsey wrapped it with her own and laughed.
It was the echo of Kelsey’s laughter that Emma heard most often. It had a singsong melody about it that could twine inside her heart like an embrace.
Oh, Kelsey. He noticed me.
Her handprint vanished on the window.
“Hey, there you are!” Her roommate, Carrie, stood at the top of the stairs, holding her cell phone.
Emma shook herself out of the memory.
“You left your phone on the charger. I think your mom just called.”
Carrie, dressed in a tie-dyed shirt, homemade flare jeans, her dyed purple hair in cornrows, trotted down the stairs. “Where are you headed?”
“I have to pick up my car from the club.”
“Why?”
“There was a fight last night. I had to stop in at the ER, get a couple stitches. A friend drove me home.”
Carrie lifted the brim of Emma’s fedora to see the purple bruise the cut had left on her forehead. “Ouch. How did that happen?”
“I fell.”
Carrie raised an eyebrow. “By the way, I saw your friend. Care to elaborate?”
“He’s no one.” But, ow, that hurt to say.
Her cell phone vibrated again. Emma checked the ID, then flipped it open. “Hey, Mom.”
“I left you a voice mail, but I thought I’d try again. How are you?”
Emma knew she should call her more—her mother spent so much time keeping up their lakeside cabin-turned-home since her father died. She didn’t know how she got all that firewood chopped for their wood-burning heater. Probably hired it out, but still, the picture of her mother snowbound, freezing, and without wood haunted her.
“I’m fine. I had a gig last night.”
“How’d it go?”
“Fine,” she said, hating the lie. But her mother would only worry, and her forehead would be healed before her mom saw her.
“I’m sure it did. By the way, your friend Nicole called, looking for you again. Do you think you’ll be able to come up and play for Nicole and Jason’s wedding?”
Nicole Samson. She’d played second-chair flute in the band and was marrying a guy who graduated a couple years before them. When Emma received the invitation a month ago, she’d thrown it out. “Uh . . . they didn’t ask me to.”
“Nicole said she sent you an e-mail. She called last week and asked for your number. Apparently their band backed out.”
“My cell phone died a few days ago. I haven’t charged it.” In fact, with the single bar that remained, she might not have enough juice for this call. “And I haven’t checked my mail recently.”
Emma saw the Checker cab making its way down the street. She stepped outside, waved.
“You should check your mail now and again, Emma. No wonder I never hear from you.”
“I text you, Mom. You just never text me back. You should really learn how.” She opened the door, held her hand over the phone, and gave the driver the address for the 400 Bar. He nodded and she got in.
Her mother laughed. “I don’t understand how you can figure out the letters. Besides, who else do I have to text? Derek lives upstairs. Just answer your phone now and again.” Emma could see her, probably curled in Dad’s recliner, sitting next to the fire, wearing a pair of wool socks, a down vest, the waves through the picture window frothy on the rocky shore.
Or maybe she was arriving home, a couple sacks of groceries in her arms, from one of her many volunteer shifts. The thrift store, the nursing home, the library, the school—her mother logged more hours volunteering than if she worked full-time.
“I hope you can work it out with Nicole. Derek and I would love to see you. You could catch one of his games.”
And see Kirby and the Hueston clan, not to mention the entire town of Deep Haven, on the sidelines? Nope.
Oh, her grief cordoned off such brutal parameters. “I’ll let you know, Mom.”
Her mother paused, her voice softening. “Emma . . . do you need anything?”
Yes. Oh yes. She just wasn’t sure what it was. Emma leaned her head against the cab’s cold window. “No, I’m fine.”
“Okay. By the way, Noelle was injured in Duluth yesterday. She’s in the hospital.”
“That’s terrible. Did she break something?” Funny that Kyle hadn’t mentioned it. She drew in a breath, tapped the cabbie on the shoulder. He pulled over.
Her mother sounded strange. “She hit her head pretty hard, I guess. A terrible storm came through here, too. We got about a foot of snow. Eli and Kirby drove down to the hospital last night.”
“I hope she’s okay.”
“We all do, honey.”
“I’ll call you later, Mom.”
“Stay warm, Emma.” Her mother hung up.
Emma fished out a few bills to cover the fare, then got out and stood in front of the 400 Bar as the cabbie pulled away.
Somewhere under that giant snowbank was her little red Subaru.
Grief had a way of blitzing him, of taking Kyle out when he wasn’t looking. And usually just when it seemed life was playing by the rules, when the good guys would finish first, when Kyle started to believe that everything just might work out.
Emma Nelson could have been the perfect girl. For a few brief hours, she was. Sweet with laughter that could burn away the pervasive chill inside. Someone who knew him back when life felt golden.
He could still feel her in his arms. Taste her lips. It scared him how quickly his mind had written a happily ever after for them.
I’m never, ever returning to the armpit town of Deep Haven.
It wasn’t like he was an official member of the Deep Haven Chamber of Commerce or anything, but her statement left a bruise.
He gripped the steering wheel, hearing again her voice this morning on the phone. Thank you, Kyle, but I think it’s best if we don’t see each other. Wow, he’d turned into some sort of sad puppy to call her again, but apparently he needed final confirmation.
He let those words rattle around in his head as he drove past the Black Bear Casino south of Duluth, the parking lot half-full on a Friday mo
rning. By this evening, it would be packed.
Emma was right. Spending more time with her might be lethal to his decision to move back to Deep Haven. But he’d been planning to go home for three years. He’d only known Emma for one night.
Okay, longer, technically, but . . .
How had he never noticed Emma Nelson?
He glanced at his cell phone tucked in the beverage holder between the seats of his truck. He had the urge to call his mother, to tell her that he’d seen Emma.
His mother seemed to understand his need to reroute his life and return to Deep Haven better than anyone. She too could hear the echo of Kelsey’s voice in the empty hallways of the house. She knew why he had to build a life in Deep Haven, help his family find their way back. Finally be there for Kirby, his mom, even his father.
Kyle tapped the brakes as he came over the hill into Duluth, the great Lake Superior harbor spread out below. Although steam rose off the lake past the aerial bridge, the shipyard appeared gripped in the deadlock of winter. Inside the inner harbor, a rumpled, icy collision of rutted waves, inert buoys, and chunky icebergs imprisoned the ships in port. Rusty lakers at anchor dripped massive icicles from their bows. Mountains of snow, debris from yesterday’s storm, mounded the parking lot by the city auditorium.
The entire city appeared to be holding its breath.
The air would only thin as he traveled north to Deep Haven. The harbor in town would certainly be solid ice, probably even shoveled and turned into a skating rink for the locals. The retirees who loved the resort town in the summer would have flown to Arizona or Florida, leaving only the hardy behind. The locals emerged when the mercury dropped, when snow covered the cross-country ski trails, turned the paths in the woods into highways for the snow machines. In the early morning, from his cabin, he could hear the barks of the dogsledders’ huskies rising from the woods where they ran trails.
Sure, Deep Haven might be trapped inside winter’s grasp for four months out of the year, but frankly, Kyle appreciated the isolation.
It kept the troublemakers away.
And with his picking up the reins as a deputy, he planned on making sure Deep Haven stayed safe. No one would die on his watch—not if he could help it.
His cell rang and he answered it. “Hey, Dad.”
“Where are you?”
He braked as he flowed into traffic. “In Duluth. I’m headed home.”
“You might want to stop by St. Luke’s.”
The way he said it, softly, darkly, roused memories that Kyle would rather not revisit. “Why?” he said slowly.
“Your mother took a fall yesterday. She hit her head pretty hard.”
“Is she okay?”
“They moved her out of ICU this morning. But . . . Well, just stop by, Kyle. We’re on the second floor, room 2112.”
Kyle clicked off and tried not to let the memories find him, dig their claws into his chest.
And just when they might be finding their way back.
He wove along Superior Street, turned up Ninth Avenue, found a place in the parking ramp. His heartbeat almost echoed through the massive structure as he exited his warm truck, headed toward the elevator banks.
Last time he’d been here . . .
He wrapped his jean jacket around himself, pushed the button. Emma’s handprint still stained his jacket, and now he noticed droplets of blood along his sleeve.
An elderly couple entered at the next floor, the man holding the woman’s hand. Kyle looked at his boots.
The elevator opened at the skyway, and he trekked to the reception area, then down to the second floor. He spotted Kirby on a brown sofa in the waiting area, a glass table piled with magazines in the center. He wore his letter jacket, a blue Huskies baseball hat. The kid balanced a Diet Coke in one hand and paged through a magazine with the other.
His father stood with his back turned, dressed in his brown coveralls, as if he’d just come in from fishing, a stocking cap barely balanced on his head, his hair matted as it curled out the back. He stared out over the view of frosty Lake Superior.
“Dad?” Kyle glanced at Kirby too, who looked up.
“Hey, Kyle,” Kirby said, his voice sounding tired.
Eli turned. He had aged about a decade since three weeks ago, when Kyle stopped by to give him the news of his new job.
Their fight still rang in his ears. I told you that I don’t want you being a cop in this town. You’ll just get yourself killed.
Thanks, Dad, for the vote of confidence. Never mind that his father had moved to Deep Haven as a rookie, built a life there. What, his son couldn’t do the same?
But nothing of their argument was betrayed in Eli’s expression now as he caught Kyle’s hand. His eyes were cracked with red, his beard heavy.
Dread rippled through Kyle. “What happened? What’s wrong with Mom?”
“She was involved in a shooting.” Eli glanced at Kirby, then back at Kyle. “I didn’t want to tell you over the phone. We were just briefed by the Duluth police.”
“What? Was she shot?”
Eli shook his head. “There was a holdup in a coffee shop in Harbor City. She was there, apparently. We don’t know all the details, but the cashier was killed. Your mother managed to get away—”
“Oh, thank God.”
“She ran into the highway, but she took a bad fall, cracked her head on the pavement.”
Kyle could feel his reaction on his face. Cracked her head . . . “How bad is it?”
Eli blew out a breath. “She was unconscious for a few hours, but she came to early this morning, about 2 a.m. She has some pain. And residual . . . damage. But we think it will resolve itself.”
Kyle stilled. “What do you mean?”
Eli met his eyes. “She had some memory loss.”
Kirby rose, wearing a stricken look. “You didn’t tell me that last night.”
“Anne Standing Bear is treating her. She seems to think her brain will heal, that it’s not permanent.” Eli rested his hand on his younger son’s shoulder. “I’m sure she’ll be fine. But I thought seeing you two boys would cheer her up this morning.” He turned back to Kyle. “Anne told us we could see her as soon as you got here.”
Kyle couldn’t move. “A homicide? Did they catch the shooter?”
“Not yet.”
“Do they have a suspect?”
“No. Unfortunately, whoever it was got away before law enforcement could arrive at the scene. But they’re hoping your mother might shed some light on the incident, give them some leads.”
“I want to talk to them.”
Eli frowned. “What are you going to do, Kyle? Let the Duluth Police Department handle it. It’s out of our jurisdiction.”
“Just because you stopped being a cop doesn’t mean I will.”
A muscle pulled in Eli’s jaw. “Let’s just take care of your mom.”
“You take care of Mom. It’s about time, anyway. You virtually ignored her after Kelsey’s death. Why did you let her go to Duluth alone? You know how she hates driving in snowstorms.”
“She didn’t ask me, okay? I didn’t even know she was here.”
Kyle stared at him, nonplussed. “You didn’t even know where she was?”
“I was fishing.”
Even Eli, it seemed, realized how that sounded because he winced. Good.
Kyle shook his head. “Of course you were. You’re always fishing. Well, after we see Mom, I’m going to figure out who did this to her. One of us needs to start acting like a cop.”
Noelle liked the doctor—Anne, was it? A heart-shaped face, kind hazel eyes that had sympathized when Noelle complained of a headache again this morning. She’d been the one who agreed to move her out of ICU and nodded when Noelle asked her to call her parents again.
Maybe she should have gone into health care. But seeing people hurt, in trauma . . . the thought made her insides coil. No, Noelle didn’t like hospitals at all. For some reason, they made her nauseous, although honestly,
she hadn’t spent much time in one. Just that time her sister had the allergic reaction to the bee sting, but that had been more of a backwoods clinic. And her brother had broken his leg skiing in Vail. But again he hadn’t been treated in a large hospital like this one. She must be at the Hennepin County Medical Center off campus.
A nurse had entered after the doctor left and removed her from intravenous fluids, put a Band-Aid over the insertion point in her arm. It ached, but not like her head, which still had a long, slow throb as if her brain wanted to travel out through her eyeballs.
The sooner her parents came to pick her up, the better. Frankly, she couldn’t believe they weren’t sitting beside her bed when she awoke this morning. Instead, a nurse in a pink uniform had taken her pulse, checked her blood pressure, and asked about her name and her address.
Noelle Stevens, University of Minnesota. She lived in those tall Cedar Square apartments near the campus. Yes, the nurse knew of them, and she smiled at Noelle and squeezed her hand.
They’d moved her down the hall and up one floor to another room, this one with a bright window that overlooked a snowy parking lot. Outside, the morning trumpeted into the room, over the empty bed beside hers, across the linoleum flooring. They still hadn’t allowed her out of bed, but she longed to get up, take a shower, put on real clothes. A girl could freeze to death in the flimsy cotton hospital gown. She pulled the cotton blankets up to her chin.
Noelle tried to remember what day it was—Tuesday? She hoped it wasn’t because she couldn’t miss ARTS 3105, Dimensional Painting. How she struggled with shadow and light and adding the right hues to her work. And she still had to finish that portrait for her advanced watercolor class tonight.
Her stomach growled. She could go for a Big Ten sub on whole wheat—
“Noelle?” Anne poked her head into the room. “You have visitors.”
“My parents?”
“No—remember last night, when we said that you were married, had a husband?”
The Shadow of Your Smile Page 5