Or maybe he was simply gifting her with privacy as she examined the life of their daughter. She’d unpacked the boxes slowly, peeling back the layers of Kelsey’s life. A menagerie of glass unicorns and pretty ornate boxes that held mismatched earrings. Stuffed animals—she counted no less than seven teddy bears. A tangle of necklaces, one of them made of shellacked Froot Loops, another of fishing wire and a glow-in-the-dark star. Another box held perfume and the contents of what had probably been her sock drawer. Posters, rolled up in one box, lay atop pictures in frames. Noelle pulled them out, set them around the room, chronicling the progression in age. Kelsey had worn braces, if Noelle compared the shot with her hugging Mickey Mouse to the one with her arms around a skinny, pimply boy who probably didn’t deserve her. She unrolled the posters—mostly of bands, but a couple of famous photographs. She recognized the World War II shot of the sailor kissing the nurse in Times Square. So her daughter had been a romantic.
She found shoes tumbled together as if Eli had simply scooped them off the floor and dumped them into the container. The violence of it rattled her. Oh, the grief of this man to want to tear something so vital from their memories.
You weren’t the same after Kelsey died.
She kept hearing that in her head. The same as what?
Whatever terrible grief that had defeated her, she felt nothing of it as she unpacked Kelsey’s clothes, examining her T-shirts. She had a number from the theater department—local productions of Annie, Hamlet, Macbeth.
Noelle had always wanted to be an actress.
Eli had packed away Kelsey’s books, too. Mostly titles Noelle didn’t recognize, although Kelsey had a well-worn copy of Jane Eyre, along with the complete works of Jane Austen.
Tucked in with the books were journals, dog-eared and doodled in, that contained lines and lines of poetry. She read through every one, spending hours in one titled “Life Lyrics,” caught in the joy of Kelsey’s words.
We are the hearts of today,
Our ages fresh and cool
Springing for the farthest star.
The age of second by second
Moment by moment
And the day is ours to find.
Where is your hope?
Can you not see past the lost?
Yours may pass, and you’ll be forgotten.
So rise up,
Hold to the moment you have.
For, children, we are the lives of the time
And flames of the start.
Run, and be the youth of your day
Owning each moment
As the hearts of today.
Noelle pressed her hand to it, traced the handwriting, the scratches, the scribbles. Yours may pass, and you’ll be forgotten. How could she have forgotten this amazing girl?
She sat in the middle of the living room, the sky unblemished today, the birch trees white and majestic as they rose above the ocean of snow. Hold to the moment you have.
Had she held on to Kelsey? To her moments? Had her daughter known she was loved?
“Where did this come from?”
The voice made her look up. To her surprise, her cheeks were wet. She wiped a hand across her face, smiled at Kyle. He wore a brown flannel shirt, a pair of jeans, and a cap not unlike his father’s. But he had kinder eyes, at least today.
“I saw you at the game last night. Why didn’t you come and sit with us?”
He walked into the room and sat on the sofa, displacing a marbled unicorn. He picked it up. “I gave this to Kelsey for Christmas when she was twelve. She had a thing for unicorns.”
“She has fourteen.”
He weighed it in his hand. “What’s going on?”
She closed the book, slid up to the sofa. “Your father brought home all these boxes—”
“I’m sorry we didn’t tell you.”
She hadn’t really looked at the omission as deception until she saw Kyle’s expression, the way his face twitched and his gaze slid away from her.
“I painted her yesterday. At the studio. I dreamed about her; then I painted her face. Your father saw it and realized he had to tell me.” Noelle set the “Life Lyrics” book down. Kyle’s gaze fell on it, something like pain passing through his eyes.
“I’ve been going through her things all day, trying to connect to her. Hoping that the feeling deep inside might surface, take form. It’s like it’s at the tip of my mind, and if I am just quick enough, I can grab it before it dashes away.”
“Maybe you should stop trying so hard. Maybe it’ll just come to you.” Kyle reached out, opened the book. “I have a couple poems in here.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. She was compiling a list of our poetry to give to you for Mother’s Day.” He looked up at her, smiled. “This was a school assignment, but you always liked it. ‘Paint me like I am. Paint me serene and focused. Paint me with a basketball, sweat down my spine. Paint me blue and fast and accurate.’” He glanced at her, and she smiled at him.
“Go on.”
He lifted a shoulder. “It’s silly.”
“Please, go on.”
“‘Paint me on the court, the crowd wild, bright lights above. Paint me without fear, without doubt, without limitations, without weaknesses.
“‘But most of all, paint me unstoppable.’”
He blushed now, and it curled warmth in her chest. “I love it.”
“You’re just saying that because you’re my mom.”
“Technically, yes, but I have the unique position to not be bound by the constraints of motherhood. I really do love it. You loved basketball.”
He closed the book and shrugged but wore a smile that made him suddenly look about thirteen years old. “I did. But becoming a small-town cop was a much better course for my life. This was what I was meant to do.”
“Because of Kelsey?”
He lifted a shoulder. “I’d like to make sure that no one goes through what we did.”
“Kelsey’s death has such a grip on this family,” she said quietly.
He said nothing as he ran his hand over the journal. “Do you mind if I borrow this?”
“It belongs to you more than me.” She sighed, staring at the array of Kelsey’s life around her. “I don’t know how to stop trying. I see so much of the past in Eli’s eyes, but no matter how I try, I can’t step into it, can’t shoulder it with him. I want to be there in our memories, but I can’t.”
“What do you feel?” He tucked the journal beside him.
“Actually, when I look at her pictures and I read her poetry and I count these unicorns . . . I feel joy. I can’t explain it, but there is an unabashed vibrancy that flows out of it all—like Kelsey lived every minute for all it could be.”
“That was Kelsey. She liked to live large. When she had a girls’ sleepover, in the morning we’d find them all with their blankets outside on the lawn, staring at the stars. Shivering, of course.”
“Did we fight? Ever?”
“Are you kidding me? You once took her door off the hinges because she slammed it too often.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah. When you and Kelsey crossed horns, we men ran for cover. But you were also crazy close. You never missed a performance, and once you even tried out for a play just to be in it with her.”
“Did I get the part?”
“You were . . . well, you were the lion’s paw in The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe.”
“I was a paw.”
He grinned. “Actually, you just worked a giant paw, one of two, like a puppet for Aslan’s body. But to your credit, you were the best paw I ever saw.”
“You’re just saying that because I’m your mom.”
“Yep.” He winked at her. “Hey, where’s Dad?”
“He told me he was going to the lake to bring in his ice house.”
Kyle reached for Kelsey’s Bible, lying on the ottoman. Noelle had paged through that also, reading her script, her highlights.
“I guess it doesn
’t surprise me that you feel joy—Kelsey’s life verse was Romans 15:13. ‘I pray that God, the source of hope, will fill you completely with joy and peace because you trust in him. Then you will overflow with confident hope through the power of the Holy Spirit.’” He looked up. “She always said our job was to trust. God’s job was to overflow us with joy.”
“Maybe that’s what I feel. The joy that came from her trusting God.”
She picked up a silver object—it reminded her of a credit card, only it had earphones attached, the string wound around it. “I’m guessing this is for music?”
“Kelsey’s iPod.” Kyle took it from her and wound his thumb along the dial. “She has some of her own music in here. Wanna hear it?”
“Of course.”
He got up and walked to the stereo on the built-ins, plugged in the iPod, and turned it on.
A beat rolled out, filling the room. It had a bluesy tone to it, a pulse that made Noelle find her feet. Bob her head.
“It’s the Blue Monkeys, Kelsey’s band. She and another girl named Emma were in it. They cut an album, just for fun.”
The vocals began with something soft, husky, shimmering under her skin, then rising high, a powerful vibrato that she felt against her breastbone.
“Daydreaming, I came across a place in my mind,
Found you . . .”
The tones were sultry and rich, confident.
“And that’s Kelsey.”
A rich, joyous voice that could make Noelle’s entire body thrum.
“Dance with me, Kyle.” Noelle held out her hand, stepping out of the nest she’d made of Kelsey’s belongings.
Kyle looked at her hand, back to her, then smiled. “Okay.”
She had the moves of the untrained, but then again, twenty-five years had passed since she’d last danced. The music swam through her as she smiled at Kyle. He was shaking his head in between bobbing his shoulders, grinning crazily back.
Joy. If she couldn’t shoulder the Huestons’ grief, perhaps she’d collect the joy. Bring it back to them.
The song ended and another came on. “Okay, Mom. Let me teach you something. You used to make Kirby and Kelsey and me practice dancing in the kitchen after you and Dad took classes.”
“We took classes?”
“When we were little. You were good.” He held out his arms. “You can swing dance to the blues. Just follow me. It’s a six count with a back step. Start by stepping out with your right foot.”
He led with his left. She stared at her feet, but the movement did feel familiar, and in a moment she got the beat.
He led her in a turn, back again into his arms. “You always did have hot moves, Mom.” Kyle had a sweet sparkle in his eye, something of joy there too, now.
“What’s going on in here?”
The voice made her jerk. She turned to see Eli. He hadn’t shaved yet today, his cheeks ruddy from the brisk air outside.
“Are you dancing?”
She looked at Kyle, smiled. “Yeah. Apparently you and I used to have some hot moves. Kyle was just teaching me—”
“Don’t do that. Don’t dance.” Eli glanced at Kyle, who let her go, and then back at Noelle. He shook his head, something like betrayal in his eyes, and walked out of the house. It shuddered at the slam of the door.
She stood there with Kyle, the music pulsing behind them, as Eli roared down the driveway in his truck.
Eli drove to the end of the road, his chest burning. He wasn’t angry. Not angry.
Jealous.
He closed his eyes, laid his forehead on the steering wheel, the sun hot on his black dashboard. Kelsey’s music still threaded through him.
Noelle was dancing. With Kyle, both of them laughing.
Around the living room, bathed in the golden light of the late afternoon, lay the remnants of Kelsey’s life—her pictures, her books, her music. And Noelle and Kyle were dancing?
Eli gritted his jaw and lifted his head. He turned onto the highway.
Was this some sort of joke to her?
That wasn’t fair, but he couldn’t make it past the roaring in his ears. The way his chest burned as if Noelle had driven her fist into it.
The fact was, he’d been angry with her, or something like it, since the day she’d said, I’m crying for you.
The sweetness of her voice had torn through him, left a jagged, raw place.
He was supposed to protect her, was supposed to comfort her. Not the other way around.
It only made it worse when he’d returned home to another message from the mysterious Eric. He wrote the number down and fought with his desire to bring it to the station and ask the guys to run it through their database.
At least he hadn’t deleted the message. That counted, right?
But the fact that she had people in her life he didn’t know—or once had—unsettled him.
He drove toward town, needing something. Maybe he’d stop by the fitness center, although he hadn’t worked out in months. Or the Blue Moose Café, see if any of his former coworkers were chewing the fat.
The sun simmered low and full on the horizon, a blast of hazy heat that spilled like molten lava into the lake. He put down the visor, the glare almost mesmerizing in its allurement.
Out of habit, he slowed as he passed Lee’s driveway.
What—wait one second. He turned in to the driveway, barreling down it faster than he should, skidding to a stop precariously close to her garage, and banged out of his car.
He didn’t even pause to knock, just slammed his way into her house. “Lee! What’s going on?”
No sound. He expected her to be in the kitchen or reading a book in the sunlight that waxed the floor. Or perhaps she wasn’t home—in town doing her volunteer work.
“Eli?” Her head poked up from the basement. “What are you doing here?”
He fought the part of him that wanted to raise his voice, to lash out at her. “There is a For Sale sign in your front yard.”
She came up now, wearing a pair of black yoga pants, a paint-stained yellow shirt, a red bandanna holding back her hair. A streak of tan paint marred her nose. “I should hope so. How else will I get any calls?”
“That’s not funny, Lee. What are you talking about?”
She wiped her hands with the rag she held and dropped it in the sink. “I’m selling my house. I’m moving.” She shrugged. “No big deal.”
“No big deal?” He was shouting and he knew it. “No big deal? No. No way. You can’t sell, okay? You can’t leave Deep Haven.”
She had eyes that could see straight through him, turn him inside out, and she used them now to silence him. “It’s time. I need to leave.”
“No—” He held up a finger, pointed at her, then to the air. “No—that’s not right. You . . . This is your home.”
“This was my home with Clay. I need a new home. Without Clay. Without . . .” She took a breath. “I can’t have a place that requires so much help.”
“My help, you mean.”
Her voice lowered. “Yes, your help. Like you said, you aren’t leaving Noelle. And I don’t want you to.”
“And I don’t want you to go, okay? Listen—” He rounded on her, not sure why he was so angry, fearing it had more to do with Noelle, but this seemed so much easier. “You’re my best friend, Lee.” Wow, had he said that? He winced. “Or you were. I don’t know. I’m so confused.”
“No,” she said softly. “You’re just lonely, like I was. Like I am. And yes, I wanted you to love me. I wanted to be in that safe place, in your arms.” She put her hand on his shoulder. “But it’s not right, Eli. And you know it.”
He swallowed. “You’re just so easy to be with.”
“Because you don’t owe me anything. You haven’t pledged your life to me. You haven’t promised to love and cherish me. You can hurt me and walk away from me and shrug it off—”
“I’d never do that—”
“You did it, Eli. You kissed me and then practically told me
it was my fault. I didn’t show up day after day on your doorstep. You thirsted for the easy world of my friendship, and if you weren’t a man who is trying to follow God, you might have pushed for more. And stupid me might have let you. I might have surrendered the woman I was for the momentary security of your arms. But then what? I’d wake up and be right back where I was, only loathing myself.” She shook her head. “I need to leave Deep Haven. I need to leave you.”
He closed his eyes.
“You have a wife. And you have the unique chance to start over with her. To break down all the barriers of the past and begin again. Don’t run from it.”
“I’m not running.”
“You’re here, aren’t you?”
He drew in a quick breath. “She’s over at the house dancing with Kyle. Dancing. To Kelsey’s music.”
Surprise showed in Lee’s eyes.
“Yeah, that’s right. I told her all about Kelsey. I brought home all her things from the storage center, and she’s spent the day reading all about Kelsey and her life. And what does she do? Dances.”
Lee stared at him until finally a slow smile crested over her face. Then she nodded. “Dances. That seems about right.”
He shook his head, turned away, then back to her. “Really?”
“Oh, Eli. If anyone should dance to Kelsey’s music, it should be her parents. Go home. Join in the dance with your wife.” She moved forward, touched his face. “I promise it’s going to be okay.”
Then she rose up on her toes and gently kissed him on the cheek.
Something about the gesture, about her words, released the band of guilt around his chest. Join in the dance with your wife.
He caught her hand. “Thank you, Lee.”
“Hey, what’s goin’ on?” Derek closed the door behind him, dropped his athletic bag on the floor. He regarded Eli with a strange look.
“I was just leaving. Great game last night.”
Derek smelled of sweat, gym socks, the weight room. Eli could feel the young man’s eyes on his back as he walked out to his truck.
Lee stood at the window, arms folded, nodding.
Maybe it had been easier to be around Lee because he didn’t owe her anything. Perhaps he’d begun out of guilt, but after that—well, she’d stood at the door in her wool jacket, gratitude in her eyes, and it had spoken to the frustrated pieces of his heart. His wife wouldn’t even let him in, yet Lee embraced the smallest things he did for her.
The Shadow of Your Smile Page 22