The Shadow of Your Smile

by Susan May Warren

  Cory passed it to Kirby, who passed it back to the other guard. Derek ran a pick and the guard drove to the basket, then turned and shot the ball back out to Derek.

  He wasn’t watching for it and the ball hit his hands, flew out of bounds.

  A groan rippled through the audience.

  Eli’s mouth tightened.

  The Huskies played man-to-man coverage and nearly stole the ball from the Eagles, who played the clock brilliantly. At four seconds left, they set a screen, and their guard dribbled up, faked, and banked in a two-point shot.

  One ahead, Eagles.

  The Huskies crowd went berserk, screaming for a score.

  Cory grabbed the ball, threw it in to Kirby, who shot an overhand long ball to their basket. The buzzer sounded in midair. Noelle held her breath as the ball arched.

  It hit the backboard and bounced into the crowd.

  The Eagles erupted.

  Noelle stood, hollowed out along with the other parents. She looked at Kirby. He had gritted his jaw, but she saw his mouth pucker as if he might be trying not to cry.

  She started to go down to him, but Eli grabbed her arm. “Leave him. Trust me on this. We’ll wait outside their locker room.”

  He slid his hand down to take hers as they made their way down the bleachers.

  She spotted Lee a few feet ahead of her. “Hey, Lee!”

  In the chaos, Lee must not have heard her.

  They were stopped by Jerry, the mayor, whom she remembered from a previous game, and he talked shop with Eli. She half listened, watching the crowd. So this was her town, her people. Most wearing parkas, warm hats, mukluks. Some of them waved to her—she waved back.

  “Sorry about the game,” said a woman with long black hair. “I miss you at the studio—come by; we’ll have coffee.”

  The studio? Maybe she was from the art colony.

  Another couple walked hand in hand, their other hands holding on to a pair of towheaded twin boys who bounded beside them.

  “Yeah, I heard about Billy,” Eli was saying to the mayor. “Kyle mentioned they’d hit a dead end. Something about not being able to find the right footage from a pawnshop?”

  Jerry nodded, and she heard him greet a young man wearing a Huskies football jacket and a blue stocking cap.

  She wanted to tug on Eli’s hand, but he knew Kirby better than she did. Maybe he wouldn’t want his parents hovering.

  The pastor had joined the threesome; she smiled at him, rooting for his name. David? Doug?

  “I saw the picture too,” he was saying.

  “I wish the Herald hadn’t run it,” Eli said. “The entire thing has me on edge.”

  What picture? She turned now to the group, began to listen.

  “The second Kirby brought it home, cut it out, and put it on the fridge, I wanted to wring Gloria’s neck.”

  Oh, the newspaper picture—Kirby presenting her a rose for parents’ night. She could still glow when she thought about it.

  “The suspect could be right here in Deep Haven.”

  “What suspect?”

  Every eye turned to her. Then to Eli. And Eli wore a look she hadn’t seen since that day she’d painted Kelsey’s picture. “What suspect?” she said again, slowly.

  “I’ll see you guys later,” Eli said.

  “Tell Kirby he played a good game,” the pastor said.

  “Thanks, Dan.”

  Dan. She’d remember that. But now she stared at Eli. “What suspect?”

  He shook his head. “Your accident wasn’t an accident. We didn’t tell you right away because we wanted to see what you remembered, and then when we realized your situation, we didn’t want you to have more trauma.”

  She kept her voice even, ignoring the sting of being left in the dark again. “What do you mean, more trauma?”

  He blew out a breath. “You were involved in a robbery while on your way home from Duluth. The clerk was killed.”

  “And I got away.”

  “Somehow. You ran into traffic and flagged down a semi. But you slipped and took a brutal fall.”

  “Which wiped out my memory.”

  He nodded. “The problem is, they don’t know who did it. He’s walking around loose.”

  “But if I can’t remember him, then I’m not any danger to him, right?”

  “He doesn’t know that.”

  Oh. Hence Eli’s hovering. She could hardly be angry at him for wanting to protect her. Still, the fact that he’d hidden the circumstances of the accident from her churned inside her. She pulled her hand away from his.

  A scream, then commotion from the hallway, spilled into the nearly empty gym.

  “Fight!”

  They heard more screaming, yelling, shattering glass. Eli took off for the hall, Noelle behind him.

  A crowd surrounded two boys fighting, some of the adults around them yelling at them to stop, others—mostly kids—backing away. Glass from the shattered trophy case littered the floor.

  Noelle pushed through the crowd on Eli’s tail, then froze.

  Kirby had slammed Derek into the wall. Derek pushed him away, following with a fist to his face. Kirby threw himself at the other boy, tackled him.

  “Knock it off!” Eli charged in, grabbed Kirby by his belt, and hauled him off Derek. “Kirby!”

  Blood dripped from Kirby’s mouth as he glared at Derek, who bent over and hung on to his knees, breathing hard.

  “You shut up,” Kirby said, his voice lethal. “You just shut up.”

  “Yeah, Kirby? Why don’t you ask him yourself?”

  Kirby stiffened, his jaw tight.

  “’Cause you know the truth, don’t you? You know your dad’s been sneaking over to our house to be with my mom.” Derek turned to Eli. “Haven’t you?”

  Eli went white, his body still as Kirby jerked himself out of his grip.

  “For a couple years now. Isn’t that right, Mr. Hueston?”

  “Derek!”

  Lee emerged from the edge of the crowd, stepped close to Derek, but he narrowed his eyes at her. “You make me sick. Do you even notice that Dad’s gone, or has Eli filled in so well it doesn’t matter?”

  She slapped him. Noelle winced, her heart tearing open at the sound. “That’s a lie, and you know it.”

  “Isn’t that why you’re leaving Deep Haven, Mom? Because Eli has gone back to his wife? The wife who can’t even remember him? Maybe he thinks she won’t remember that he had his paws all over you. That he was going to leave her for you.”

  “Derek, that’s enough,” Eli said, his voice bearing a heat that shook Noelle. But as he said it, it occurred to her that he wasn’t denying it either.

  In fact, he and Lee looked at each other and something like guilt—or shame?—pulsed between them.

  She might be ill. All this time he and Lee had been . . . and then Noelle and Eli had . . . Oh. Noelle turned, pushed her way out of the crowd. She heard Eli calling her name, but she didn’t turn. Nor did she when Kirby called out, because she wasn’t his mother. His mother had vanished, leaving her to pick up the pieces, to put their life back together.

  A life that was probably broken beyond repair.

  “How did I do?”

  Kyle could see the adrenaline on Emma’s face as she launched herself through the door of studio B at Wingate Studios, a soundproof room with warm oak floors, a carpet in the center, a microphone dangling from the ceiling. She’d sat underneath it for the past four hours, pouring out her heart.

  She landed in Kyle’s arms, nearly bowling him over. “That was so amazing.”

  She’d not only laid down five demo tracks, but had been joined for an impromptu jam session by a couple local musicians practicing next door.

  Kyle had even sat in on the drums, tired of waiting in the mixer room, studying this Ritchie guy, who was supposed to be her agent, and the record producer named Brenton, whom he’d probably have to run a search on.

  Just in case.

  But most of the time, he’d s
imply watched Emma through the glass, bursting inside.

  Oh, he loved her.

  The thought resonated through him as he curled her tight into his embrace, spun her around with joy.

  He loved her.

  He could even come up with reasons why.

  Her smile, for one, slow and sweet like molasses as it slipped up her face and turned her eyes so warm he felt the burn clear through to his chest.

  He loved her for her creativity and her ability to turn Kelsey’s words to something with heart and soul and verve and life. He nearly wanted to cry at the beauty of Kelsey’s words to Emma’s playing.

  And what about her spontaneity? Like last night—after a hard day of playing, she’d made him drive her downtown to the art park, where she gave him a tour under the golden moon, dodging the melting puddles and making up stories about the exotic art pieces.

  Maybe just the fact that she could sit and play for hours in a sweet pocket of blues riffs and licks, drawing him into a magic place with her.

  She urged him out of himself to a place he liked.

  Most of all, he loved how she trusted him. How she let him help her. How she let him into her life.

  “You totally dazzled him,” he said, putting her down, cradling her face with his hands, kissing her.

  She grinned, then stepped away from him and stooped to pick up her gear. “I don’t know. It still wasn’t my lyrics.”

  “Oh, please. It was fabulous. And you may have used Kelsey’s words, but you made them fit with your song. Kelsey would have been beside herself with joy.”

  She looked up at him through the curtain of her dark hair. “Really?”

  He knelt before her, pushed her hair back. “Really.”

  Brenton came out the door down the hall. “Okay, kid, that was pretty good. I’m going to get that demo back to my studio, give it a good listen, talk to my people, and I’ll let you know.” He held out his hand to her.

  Emma rose, shook it, and he winked at her.

  Yes, Kyle would definitely be checking out this record studio.

  “Here’s a couple copies of the CD we made,” Brenton said, handing them to her. She took them and stared at them with a strange, euphoric smile.

  “Earth to Emma.” Kyle picked up her guitar case. “Ready for some food?”

  “I’m famished, absolutely ready to keel over.”

  “I can’t carry you and the guitar.”

  “I’ll bet you can.”

  Oh yeah. Kyle grinned at that. He led her outdoors to the dark parking lot. A streetlamp pooled shiny light onto the lot. Traffic splashed by. Across the street, a Chinese place flashed an Open sign. “What do you want for supper?”

  “Pizza?”

  “Attagirl.”

  “Yours?”

  “Even better.”

  She slipped her hand into his. “You didn’t have to stay, you know.”

  “Yeah, actually, I did. I can afford a couple days off.” He opened the door to his truck, put her guitar in the back. “And by the way, I have couch privileges at my buddy’s house for as long as I need.”

  He didn’t regret missing Kirby’s game, but he expected a call from his father any minute with the score. He had no doubt Kirby would be heading to the state finals next weekend.

  He climbed into the truck.

  Emma was opening the CD case. “Want to hear it?”

  “Absolutely.” He backed out, heading onto the street. He hated March, the dingy snow piled along the curbs. Even Deep Haven, crawling out of the icy grip of winter, seemed harsh and uninviting. No wonder all the resort owners closed their lodges for cleaning by the end of March.

  “So how soon do you think we’ll know?” Emma asked. She leaned forward, trying to find his radio controls. He pressed the CD button, and her first track came on.

  “The sky cried, and I wept,

  for the hope I had lost in time . . .”

  “I don’t know.” He glanced at her, her pretty profile, those amazing blue eyes, her lips—he could be entranced by her lips. “Emma, what if . . . and this isn’t saying I don’t think so, but what if Nashville doesn’t work out?” Oh, he shouldn’t have said that. Immediately he saw her cringe, nod.

  “You’re right; it probably won’t.”

  “Hey, I’m not saying that. I’m just . . . Well, would you consider . . . ?”

  It was too early. He couldn’t voice what was in his heart—how he’d yearned for her to move back to Deep Haven. But wasn’t that what he wanted? To marry a hometown girl? To start a life there?

  He looked at Emma, leaning back against the seat, clearly replaying the gig.

  No.

  The realization rattled through him.

  What he wanted was Emma. With or without Deep Haven.

  The thought took his breath away, and he stared ahead, shaken. What about his plan?

  “Would I consider what?”

  He managed a small smile. “I . . . I was just . . . I don’t know.”

  “You still want me to move to Deep Haven, don’t you?”

  He made a face. “No.”

  “Baloney. You love Deep Haven. Your life is in Deep Haven. I’ve never met anyone more hometown than you. Or maybe my mom. Although even she’s leaving, so I guess people can change their minds.”

  “Your mom’s leaving?”

  “Moving.” She played with the knitting on her gloves. “Right after Derek graduates.”

  “Why?”

  Her silence made him look at her, but she had turned away and was staring out the window. “I guess she just thinks it’s time.”

  Oh, he knew a lie when he heard it. But he said nothing.

  The Nelsons leaving Deep Haven?

  “I never understood my mom. It’s like life just doesn’t faze her. Did you know that when she and Daddy first built the house, they lived in the garage? And then the basement? They worked their way up, building the house as they went. She didn’t have plumbing or electricity or hot water . . .”

  “She’s a true north shore gal.”

  Emma hiked up a shoulder. “Even after my dad died, she was always so tough, so steady. She dove into volunteer work, ran the booster club, helped at the church. And she kept the house going. Do you know how hard it is to heat a house with wood?”

  “I’m sure Derek helped her.”

  She drew in a breath. “Yeah, she had some help. . . . I think I didn’t want to go home because I saw how she had her life together. I had nightmares for months afterward—still do sometimes. I couldn’t just pretend it never happened.”

  “I’m sure your mom doesn’t pretend it never happened.”

  “Feels like it. And when I go home, it’s a reminder of what a mess my life is.” She looked at him, a wry smile on her face. “Maybe this Nashville thing will change all that.”

  “You think getting a record contract will make you feel better about your dad’s death?”

  He hadn’t meant it to come out quite so harsh.

  “No. Of course not. But then at least I’d be living my dream.”

  “Your dream or Kelsey’s?”

  “That’s not fair. You said you loved the songs I put together with her lyrics.”

  “I do love them. Of course I do. You’re amazingly talented. But you still haven’t finished ‘Emma’s Song.’ Or written your own. Getting a contract isn’t going to fix what is holding you back.”

  “Here we go again, Mr. All-Knowing.”

  “Sorry. I just . . .”

  “Can’t help but fix things. Well, maybe God doesn’t want me to write. Maybe it’s my punishment for not—”

  “You have got to be kidding me!” He turned to her, glanced at the traffic, then cut off the street and pulled over at the curb. “Do you seriously think God is holding it against you because you lived and Kelsey didn’t?”

  “No. But why would He take Kelsey and not me?”

  “You’re operating under the belief that God is disappointed that you lived. That He’s
somehow keeping score. As if He’s given you this one chance and if you blow it, then your life isn’t worth what it took to save. Guess what—you’re going to keep blowing it, over and over and over, and He’s going to keep loving you, over and over and over.”

  “How can He possibly love me—He took my father!”

  “And He spared you!”

  She blinked at him, almost horrified. “I didn’t ask to be spared.”

  “And that’s the problem, isn’t it? Going back to Deep Haven isn’t about the memories of all who died. It’s the fact that you lived. And because of that, you had to change your life, do something noble and big—live Kelsey’s dream—because if you didn’t, if you did your own thing, then it would be selfish and not worthy of the life God spared, right?”

  “You’re one to talk. You wanted to play basketball. Now you’re a small-town cop.”

  “I don’t want to waste my life either. I want to protect people. But not out of some sort of guilt trip. I want to be the guy I know I can be, every single minute, because that’s who I’m supposed to be.”

  She folded her arms across her chest. Looked out the window. “I wanted to live in Deep Haven, teach music to the kids, maybe play some gigs around town. I wanted to live my mother’s happy life. To grow old in our small town with a man I loved. But then Kelsey died, and she had no one else to carry on her dreams.”

  “Has it occurred to you that God didn’t want you to live Kelsey’s dreams? That yours were perfectly acceptable to Him?” He softened his voice, reached out to touch her. She didn’t move. “If God wanted Kelsey to live her dreams, then Kelsey would have lived.”

  Her jaw tightened. “I don’t like that God didn’t spare her.”

  “Neither do I. Life can look like everything is a mess; I admit that. And it can look like God doesn’t love us. But I keep thinking about what Kelsey said, how faith is about trusting God when He seems farthest away. I’m wondering if, in those moments, we have to remember what we know about God, about what He’s done for us.”

  He almost didn’t recognize himself, the words issuing from him as if with power. But perhaps they were in him all along.

  God hadn’t abandoned him. Kyle just didn’t want to admit it. Didn’t want to admit that God could be there with his sister as she was dying and that He could hold their family together as they grieved.