Emma took the phone. “Hello?”
“Emma. Glad I caught you. It’s Brenton O’Hare. Listen, I’m sitting here in the studio with my guys, listening to your demo, and it just keeps getting better. You’ve got real talent, and we need you to come down here. How soon can you get on an airplane?”
Real talent?
“I . . . I don’t know. I don’t have money for a ticket.”
“I’ll get you a ticket. How about today, this afternoon? There’s a flight leaving Minneapolis around five.”
“I . . . uh . . .”
Carrie had returned to the door, wearing a bathrobe now, towel drying her hair. “Whatever it is, say yes!”
“I guess so.”
“Perfect. You’re the voice we’ve been waiting for, Emma. Can’t wait to see you. I’ll e-mail you your ticket info as soon as we get it booked.”
She hung up, stared at Carrie. “I’m going to Nashville.”
Carrie threw her towel in the air, then threw her arms around Emma. “I knew you could do it!”
Emma grinned. “Yeah, well . . . I couldn’t have done it without Kyle.” She opened her closet, pulled out her carry-on, dropped it onto the bed.
Next to the suitcase, her phone vibrated again.
Carrie picked it up. “Well, it seems Kyle thinks so too.” She held up the phone to show her the display. “It’s Deep Haven calling.”
He’d been here before. Eli recognized it at once, hated it, wanted to recoil out of the memory, but it pushed him forward as if there were hands on his back.
Again he found himself standing outside the Lucky 7 convenience store, hearing the sirens, the lifeless body of Parker Swenson bloody on the concrete.
He’d seen that kid earlier—had stopped him, warned him, let him drive on into Deep Haven.
Officer Clay Nelson lay at the door. Eli had to move him to get inside. He knelt beside Clay and rolled him over. He’d been shot, his chest wound too awful, probably fatal. Clay gasped for air.
Eli let go a curse, shoved his hand against the wound in Clay’s chest, not caring that the hot blood spilled between his fingers.
“Hang in there, buddy. Help’s coming.” He radioed in the report of an officer down at the scene, just as Clay gripped his wrist.
“Kelsey.”
Eli’s world stopped at her name. He met Clay’s eyes, saw in them too much. No—no. Kelsey wasn’t supposed to be working today—she’d gone to Duluth with Noelle. No!
“Daddy?” The voice rang out from someplace he couldn’t see. “Daddy, are you here?”
He stood, scanned the store. Please, let her be okay, hiding behind the counter or in the cooler. “Baby, I’m here—”
And then he saw the blood puddling under the bread stand, her legs crumpled where she fell.
Oh, please, Lord. He ran, jerked the bread rack out of the way, letting it crash to the floor as he knelt beside her. She’d been shot once in the back, a through and through that tore open her chest, and again in the leg. He whipped off his belt, wrapped a tourniquet around her leg. Turned her onto her back. She cried out.
“Honey, it’s going to be okay.” But he couldn’t possibly be reassuring, the way his words cut out around his jagged breath.
His sweet daughter stared up at him, her blue-green eyes watching him, fear in them.
God, please make me strong. For Kelsey.
“Oh, Kels . . .” He closed his mouth, lest he betray his own fear. Swallowed. “Help is on the way. It’s gonna be here.” He pulled off his jacket, put it under her head, pressed his hand to her chest wound.
She flopped her arm over herself and settled her hand over his. “I tried to run away, Daddy, but . . .” Blood trickled out of her mouth, and he ran his thumb over it to clear it away. He was shaking, his breath thick.
God, please, where are You? Please, send help—please!
“Oh, honey, you were so brave. You called the police.”
“Emma’s dad—he . . . he shot Emma’s dad.”
“Shh.” He was on both knees now, sliding his hand under her. Maybe he could prop her against him, stop the bleeding in her back. She groaned, crying out as he found the wound.
“I’m sorry, Kelsey. I’m sorry. I’m just trying to stop your bleeding.” There was so much blood, it saturated his uniform, dripped down his arms.
She stared up at him with those beautiful eyes that could make him say yes to nearly anything. His eyes burned, and he gritted his teeth. “Hang in there, Kelsey.”
She gulped a breath, another, labored. Then, a look of surprise. “Oh . . . oh, Daddy. I . . . It doesn’t hurt anymore.”
He shook his head. “Kelsey, you just stay with me now. Your mom, your brothers, we need you.” His voice strained, and he fought to control his breath.
Her hand upon his had begun to loosen. He grabbed it back, and blood spurted from her chest. “Now, Kelsey, you look at me. Look at Daddy. Like that, yeah.”
He had her eyes again, but it seemed she wasn’t looking at him, not really. She was smiling. “I can hear it. Wow, Daddy—what is it? Can you hear it?”
“What do you hear, baby?” He could hear sirens, his heartbeat rushing through him, the sound of his wail inside.
“Music. Oh, it’s beautiful—it’s so . . .” She came back to him then, for a moment. “Daddy, it’s joy. I can hear the joy.” Her eyes started to close.
“No, Kelsey, don’t—Kels! Please . . .” He was unraveling; he knew it as his daughter faded into herself, that smile still tipping her lips.
“No! God, no—not Kels—Kelsey!” He was shouting now. “Don’t you leave us. Don’t you leave me!”
“Eli, move aside.” Ellie Matthews crouched beside him, her light-brown hair pulled back, shooting out the back of her blue EMT cap. She put down her first response bag. “Let me in there.”
He scooted back and Ellie stepped in. Kelsey had paled, her breaths so shallow he could barely make them out. He held up his hands. They shook, blood dripping off them.
Five feet away, Joe Michaels was administering CPR on Clay while Dan fed something into his vein.
Eli looked at his hands. At Kelsey.
And for a brief second, everything stopped. Went silent. Ellie slapped on an oxygen mask while her partner shoved padding into Kelsey’s wounds. But he couldn’t hear them, couldn’t feel it.
No. Because in that moment, he too heard the music. Singing or maybe just instruments. Yes, instruments, but voices too. They flowed through him, filling him, capturing him.
Holding him together.
Yes, Kelsey, I hear the joy.
“We’re losing him.” The noise returned, only he was no longer kneeling in Kelsey’s blood, no longer watching it drip from his hands. No longer at the Lucky 7.
He lay on the table, doctors bending over him. “He’s in V-tach.”
I’m sorry, Noelle. I’m so, so sorry.
Two cops and a preacher sat in the waiting room of St. Luke’s surgical unit when Kyle returned from his search of vending machines.
This did not bode well.
He’d always feared that someday he’d come home from school to the appearance of two of Deep Haven’s finest, along with Pastor Dan, sitting in his living room. In fact, whenever he spotted a cruiser in his driveway, a fist of tension tightened around his chest until he walked into the kitchen, spied his dad seated at the table, eating an apple or reading the paper.
Alive.
But his father wasn’t sitting in the waiting room. He’d been in surgery for the better part of three hours. Kyle’s mother had disappeared, although Kyle guessed that she’d gone in search of a chapel.
He’d been praying too. Because as he’d sat in the waiting room, Kelsey’s song echoing in his head, he realized . . .
He’d found God in the rain. In the helpless place. In the cry of his heart.
In the chaos and randomness of life.
He could trust God and His unfailing love to comfort and heal and restore, even whe
n it felt like everything had turned dark.
Earlier, sitting in the waiting room, his mother holding Kirby’s hand, holding Kyle’s—it felt like they had become more of a family again than they had been in years. Even without her memory.
“We’ll get through this,” his mother had said. “Together.”
Together.
Maybe that meant the family of Deep Haven also, because as Dan stood to shake his hand, Kyle noticed that Ellie, Dan’s wife, sat beside him. Sitting in the chairs opposite, his friends Jason and Sammy, looking like someone had pulled him out of bed. And Joe Michaels—he and Dad had been friends since nearly the day Joe pulled into town, when Joe had been accused of sabotaging the Footstep of Heaven bookstore. And basketball coach Seb Brewster sat with his fiancée, Lucy, who had brought cupcakes, evidenced by the open box of goodies on the table.
Seb had his arm around Kirby.
“Did the doctor come out yet?” Kyle said.
“A nurse came out, said he was still in surgery. There’d been a few complications.”
Kyle let those words sink in, glad he hadn’t yet opened his Cheetos. “Did my mom come back?”
Dan shook his head.
Kyle sat down on the heating grate, glad his pants had finally dried from his takedown of Hugh. The department had given him time to check in at the hospital, to find out the status of his father before they took his statement.
“A van matching this description was seen at two liquor store robberies this weekend,” one of the officers had told him as Kyle described his leads on the Mocha Moose case.
It helped that Yvonne gave a full confession of how Billy and Hugh had come back from the casino with empty pockets, spied opportunity at the Mocha Moose. How Hugh suspected Billy had betrayed him to Kyle and killed him for his silence. How Yvonne had waited in the car, terrified, kidnapped—she called it—as Hugh pawned Billy’s ring.
How they’d waited outside the school, after the game, for Noelle, followed her to Duluth, looking for an opportunity to force her off the road. Only the icy conditions and fear for their own safety kept Noelle alive until the next morning.
And his father’s instincts.
Or perhaps the instincts of father and son.
That felt good. Working together with his father.
Please, God, let Dad live so I can keep learning from my old man.
Kyle kept checking his phone. Emma had said she’d call him from the airport.
Nashville had called. He let that thought spread heat through his chest. That, and the way Emma had greeted him when he’d talked to her.
As if he hadn’t been a jerk. As if she could look past that horrible moment when he’d dumped her on the sidewalk outside her apartment and hit the road. As if she could remember, instead, the moments when he’d been the man he’d wanted to be.
“Of course I forgive you,” he said to her apology. “My dad and I had a huge talk last night when we met in Duluth. He said the whole thing was his fault, that he’d been over there at your mom’s, being her friend. He said he never meant it to get out of hand. He was feeling pretty bad.”
“I talked to my mom, too. She said the same thing—it was her fault for leaning on him too much. For being afraid of being alone, for believing she’d been abandoned. I’m not sure what that last part meant but she said she was going to put moving on hold for a while. Especially since she likes how she fixed up the house.”
He’d found a corner in the hospital where he couldn’t be overheard. “Emma, I know this is a huge opportunity for you, and I just want to say that I . . . I’m totally behind you going to Nashville.”
He heard silence and couldn’t read it.
“So you want me to go to Nashville?”
Something about her voice . . . “Of course I do. It’s amazing and wonderful. I’m so proud of you.”
“Oh.”
Again, that texture—almost disappointment? Maybe he’d read this all wrong. “I was thinking that if it worked out, uh . . .” He blew out a breath, cupped his hand behind his head, smiled at a nurse walking by. “I could come down there. Visit. Or . . . well, they probably need cops in Nashville, too.”
Her breath caught. “Really?”
Now that was more like it. “Yeah, really. I mean . . . oh, Ems, I’m just crazy about you. I am so sorry I tried to talk you into moving to Deep Haven. I should have said I would follow you wherever you want to go. Because that’s the truth. Nashville, California, Mars. I’m good.”
“I’m not sure they need peace enforcement on Mars.”
“Trust me on that one. Definitely Mars.” He softened his voice. “Blue Monkey, we’ll make a little Deep Haven wherever we live.”
She had giggled then, and it uncoiled the pain in his chest. “I’ll call you from the airport.”
He looked again at his phone now. No call, no text.
He felt Kirby’s gaze on him. Offered a smile.
Kirby rolled his eyes.
But hallelujah, the phone vibrated in his grip. “Emma!”
Her voice could turn any dark day to pure light. “Hey! Sorry it took so long.”
“Are you all set? Did you get your ticket? Are you through security?”
“I’ve got everything under control here, Officer. Nearly arriving at my destination.”
“I thought the flight didn’t leave for two more hours.”
“I’m not going to Nashville. Look up.”
He froze. Looked down the hall.
Emma. She wore a green trench coat, a light-blue beret, her guitar in its padded case over her shoulder. She lifted her phone and waved.
Kyle didn’t care that the entire town watched him as he sprinted down the hall. He threw his arms around her, captured by the way she curled hers around his neck. Oh, she smelled good—apples and cinnamon and chocolate and surprise.
“What are you doing here?” He let her go. Grinning.
“You mean that in the best of ways, right?”
“Are you kidding me? I’m . . . I’m beyond words.”
“Then show me.” She smiled, winked.
So he kissed her, sweetly, because the town was watching. But enough to make it clear.
“I’m convinced,” she said quietly, her eyes sparkling.
“But . . . what about Nashville?” He shook his head. “Babe, you should be on a flight for Tennessee.”
“I called Brenton and told them that if I was the superstar they wanted, they’d have to wait for me.”
“But—”
“Nashville can wait. Your dad can’t. I’m here because I belong here.” She looked past him toward the cluster of Deep Havenites. “With them.” She cupped her hand on his cheek. “With you.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” he said, sliding his hand up to hers. “You brought your guitar.”
She wound her fingers through his. “I wanted to sing you a song I wrote. Or maybe a song I finished. Finally.”
After she’d visited the chapel, left her prayers there, Noelle found herself in the maternity ward, staring at the babies.
Little packages of joy. She watched their eyes blink, their little mouths curve open in a yawn, before they settled back into the embrace of sleep.
She’d wanted one—or more—of these. Had dreamed about holding a baby, smelling innocence on his or her skin, curling the child to her breast.
She’d dreamed about watching that child grow up, fling his or her tiny body into her embrace, curl chubby arms around her neck. She pressed her hand to the glass. God, I wanted this.
After two hours on her knees praying for Eli, her sons, for their lives, for their pasts, it seemed natural that the Almighty might appear, breathe truth into her.
You had this.
Yes. She had. But she couldn’t remember it.
Or . . .
She closed her eyes and something fleeting appeared, like a child playing hide-and-seek behind a curtain. She saw it, and then it vanished. A smile. A tiny hand wrapped around hers. A sme
ll. Powder and a fresh bath. She heard a giggle. High-pitched. Joyous.
She opened her eyes. Around her, the bustle of the maternity ward told her that nothing had changed, but she felt different.
Less alone.
As she was leaving the ward, she spotted a plaque by the door. A photograph of a tiny hand, that of a preemie, wrapped around a finger. The words at the bottom threaded through her.
“Can a mother forget her nursing child? Can she feel no love for the child she has borne? But even if that were possible, I would not forget you! See, I have written your name on the palms of my hands.”
She stared at the photo, repeating the words, wanting to fit her hand around the finger.
Kelsey was written on her heart; she knew it. And God knew it. Noelle would just have to trust Him to bring her back.
She exited the maternity ward and found her way to the surgical waiting room. The nurses at the desk had given her a pager, and of course she had her phone, but Kyle hadn’t called.
She’d changed, finding one of Eli’s shirts in the tangle of clothes she’d thrown into the suitcase in her dash from their house. There had been so much blood.
Why hadn’t she simply believed in him, waited for him?
Instead she’d run off to Duluth to find a piece of her that didn’t seem to fit anymore. Or maybe it did, just not the way she’d intended before her accident. The entire meeting with Eric made her feel as if she might have been running away.
She should have been running toward.
She should have never hidden her desire to attend school. She shouldn’t have let Eli hide out at that ice house or lose himself in his garage. At the very least, she should have gone with him.
Instead of caving in on herself. By herself.
How had they expected to survive grief alone when they were supposed to bear it together? No wonder they’d been frail, their marriage breakable.
She bore half the blame for letting it become fragile in the first place.
Not anymore. She intended to enlarge the picture she’d painted of their hands, to put it in their family room. The Hueston five, one member already home.
She clasped Eli’s shirt around her, breathing in his musky smell as she headed down the hall to the waiting room. Music, a sweet voice, lifted, ribboning down the hall.
The Shadow of Your Smile Page 28