Let It Be Me

by Becky Wade

  “What?” she exclaimed.

  He passed her the card.

  This is my way of supporting your graphic novel. Reserve a copy for me when it’s published.

  —Sebastian Grant

  “You’re working on a graphic novel?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Since when?”

  He shrugged. “A few weeks.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Another shrug.

  “That’s wonderful, Dylan! Seb . . . Sebastian knows?”

  “Uh-huh. I told him when we were looking at the artwork one of his patients did.” Starstruck, he examined each item. “Wig!”

  “Wig?”

  “So cool my wig flew off,” he explained.

  He hadn’t shown this much joy over anything in a long time. The sight of it caused a lump to form in her throat. “I have his number. You’ll have to call him and thank him.”

  “I already have his number. He gave it to me.”

  “When you were looking at artwork together, I presume?”

  “Yeah. I’ll call him.”

  Sebastian had sent a teenage boy he hardly knew a wonderfully thoughtful gift.

  After Dylan had taken his treasure into his cave, Leah texted Sebastian.

  Thank you for the art supplies you sent to Dylan. In case his teenager-speak makes it impossible to interpret his gratitude, I want you to know that the gift meant a lot to him.

  Sebastian’s reply arrived forty-five minutes later.

  I’m glad.

  She’d been hoping for something that invited further conversation and waited for him to send a follow-up text. But he didn’t. Just I’m glad—a cordial, to-the-point conversation-ender—and nothing more.

  A week later Leah finally hit upon a plan of action pertaining to Jonathan Brookside and Gridwork Communications Corporation that might enable her to access the Brooksides’ address.

  Problematically, she did not possess the disposition of a double agent. The idea of placing a deceptive phone call made her feel the way she’d felt when she’d developed hives after a bee sting at the age of ten. Itchy and anxious.

  She tapped Gridwork’s number into her phone. Hesitated.

  Restless, she paced to the windows of her classroom. Her final class of the day had concluded thirty minutes prior. Outside, a smattering of kids still dotted the campus, hurrying through the drizzle toward cars, talking with friends beneath overhangs. Inside, quiet reigned, thanks to her classroom’s closed door.

  She caught herself scratching her forearm and ceased the motion. You don’t actually have hives, Leah.

  She wanted more details about Jonathan and Trina and Sophie.

  Her choices were simple: Make this phone call. Or wait and see if she could unearth any other sources of information. Or give up her quest for answers.

  She hit the button to connect the call.

  “Gridwork Communications Corporation,” a male voice answered.

  “Hello, I was hoping to reach Jonathan Brookside’s personal assistant.” Surely, someone with the title of Founder would have an assistant.

  “One moment, please.”

  Classical music came on the line. Leah rubbed her thumb against the windowsill. She’d been forwarded, which indicated that Jonathan Brookside was still affiliated with Gridwork and did have an assistant. Had the receptionist offered to connect her to Jonathan directly, she’d been prepared to hang up. She couldn’t allow her first communication with her biological father to come in the form of a deceptive phone call.

  “Meredith Tibbs,” a woman said. She sounded both grandmotherly and efficient, like a retirement-age Mary Poppins.

  “Hello! I’m hoping you can help me.”

  “I’ll certainly try.”

  “I’m a friend of Trina’s. We volunteered together years ago.”

  “Ah! At Hands of Grace?”

  “Yes. We hadn’t seen each other in a log time, but I ran into her the other day, and she was so kind and encouraging. I sent her a note afterward but it was returned to sender. I don’t think she lives at the address I have for her anymore.”

  “What address do you have?”

  “11482 Riverchase Road.”

  “My, that is an old one. Very old.”

  “Time flies!”

  “It really does. Do you have a pen and paper handy?”

  “I do.” Leah rushed to her desk, her heart whacking against her ribs as she jotted down a current address for Jonathan and Trina Brookside.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Sebastian leaned against the side of the main house at Sugar Maple Farm and talked with Natasha and Genevieve’s dad while dusk fell over Misty River.

  A year ago Genevieve had moved into the guest house here at the farm and fallen in love with her landlord, Sam Turner. Since then, she’d invited Sebastian to several social events here. Genevieve loved people, loved talking with people, and loved hosting people, especially now that she had access to a great setting (Sugar Maple Farm) and a boyfriend who could do all the cooking (Sam).

  On this last Saturday in September, the heat had topped out in the eighties, then slipped into the seventies. To take advantage of the weather, Genevieve had convinced Sam to move his dining room table and chairs outside to the grassy area on the side of the house. She’d sunk tall wooden stakes into the earth, then draped string lights back and forth from the house to the stakes, so that the lights formed a canopy over the table.

  Genevieve had told Sebastian they were having a “small group” over for dinner tonight. He knew her well enough to know that “small group” could mean thirty. Because of that, he’d thought it possible that Leah might attend. He’d gotten his hopes up. Showered and shaved, chosen his clothes carefully, spent time on his hair.

  Which was stupid. Embarrassing.

  He found out after he’d arrived that tonight’s “small group” meant twelve. He’d shown up early along with Genevieve’s parents, Sam’s dad and stepmom, Natasha and her husband, Wyatt. Ben, Eli, and Penelope would be here soon.

  Sebastian kept wondering why he was feeling let down. Then remembering . . . it was because Leah wasn’t coming.

  Almost three weeks had passsed since he’d given her and Dylan a tour of the hospital.

  His life and hers overlapped too little. So little, it was making him crazy. Weeks would go by without his seeing her. Then, when he was finally near her again, he experienced the kind of high that made him crave more. Then more weeks would go by without her.

  It reminded him of the conditioning he’d learned about in Psychology 101 in college. The occasional reward of seeing her motivated him to wait and watch and wait and watch for more.

  He spotted Ben making his way toward the gathering, and excused himself. He and Ben had talked a couple of times since Ben’s date with Leah, and things were getting back on decent footing between them. However, this was the first weekend Sebastian had spent at his Misty River house this month, so this was the first time they were seeing each other in person.

  “Hey,” Sebastian said.

  “Hey.” Ben offered his hand for a fist bump.

  They executed the elaborate fist bump motions they’d made up when they were fourteen. They tapped elbows. Ben jumped and spun so that his back was facing Sebastian. Sebastian pretended to lower a crown on Ben’s head and Ben pretended to pull a royal cape up over his shoulders. They’d gone through this routine before all of Ben’s baseball games.

  Ben took his measure. “Don’t look so serious. We’re cool.”

  “Are we?”

  “If we do our fist bump, you know we are. Besides, there’s a lot to be happy about tonight. Sam’s cooking, right?”

  “Right. Unfortunately, there’s also a lot to be sad about tonight.”

  “Like?”

  “Your shirt.”

  “My shirt?”

  “Did you steal that from a Hawaiian retiree?”

  “Men wear pink!”

  “Some men sho
uldn’t. Especially pink with palm trees and flamingos on it.”

  “Man!” Ben laughed. “I look sweet in this shirt.”

  “If by sweet you mean precious, then I agree.”

  “Now, now, boys.” Genevieve met them, carrying a tray. “Play nice with each other. Appetizer? The toothpicks are for the meatballs and the dip is for the zucchini sticks.”

  Both men helped themselves to the food.

  “I can’t get over this piece of property,” Ben said.

  Sam’s historic farm was owned and leased to him by the National Park Service. The tract of land included an orchard, a farm-to-table garden, and large bands of untouched nature.

  “I love it here,” Genevieve said.

  “I can’t get over this food,” Sebastian said.

  “Is all of this paleo?” Ben asked.

  “Every single thing you’ll be eating tonight is paleo.”

  “I don’t understand how Sam makes healthy stuff taste so good,” Ben said.

  “Me neither.” Natasha drifted over and speared a meatball.

  “It’s his spiritual gift. It can’t be understood.” Genevieve leaned in. “People might suspect that I fell for Sam because of this place or his food. And I get it because, honestly, both are spectacular. But the truth is that I’d have fallen for him if he lived in a shack and could only cook frozen waffles. Don’t tell him, though. I want to keep him on his toes.”

  “How can anyone say with confidence that they’d have fallen for someone under different circumstances?” Natasha asked. “The circumstances are what they are, and they do play a role in falling in love.”

  “I’m telling you, Natasha, I’d have fallen for Sam under any circumstances. He’s just . . . my person. I don’t think there would have been any mistaking that.”

  “Except that you did mistake that for the first few months after you met him.” Mischief danced in Natasha’s eyes.

  “A commonsense observation like that has no place in a conversation like this one about love.” Genevieve’s big earrings swung against her thick hair. “I know what I know.”

  “Speaking of love.” Natasha zeroed in on Ben. “What’s the latest with Leah?”

  Sebastian stiffened.

  The humor in Ben’s face leaked away. “She told me a few weeks ago that she just wants to be friends.”

  Sadness pulled both sisters’ mouths into frowns.

  “Why?” Genevieve asked.

  “She doesn’t feel romantically toward me.”

  Sebastian remained statue-still, listening as Natasha and Genevieve expressed their sympathy.

  “I don’t get it,” Genevieve said to Ben. “If Leah can’t see how amazing you are, she’s nuts.”

  Ben glanced at Sebastian, gauging his reaction.

  Sebastian met his friend’s eyes levelly.

  “It’s not that Leah can’t see how amazing I am.” Ben focused on the sisters. “She can. I mean, my amazingness is pretty hard to miss.” In this group, Ben was the one who lightened everyone’s mood. He was trying to fulfill his role, but none of them was buying it tonight. “She told me she wishes she could feel that way about me. But she just doesn’t.”

  “That might still change,” Natasha said.

  Sebastian clamped down on the edge of his tongue.

  “I can’t expect that, though,” Ben said reasonably. “She’s made herself clear, and I have to respect where she’s at.”

  “Of course,” Genevieve replied. “I’m just so bummed. For you and for her, too. You’d have been good for her.”

  “So, what’s your plan?” Natasha asked. “Are you going to start going out with other people?”

  “In theory, yes.” Ben took a bite of his zucchini stick. “But I’m still hung up on Leah, and I don’t know how to change that.”

  “Aww.” Natasha linked her arm with Ben’s.

  “And you?” Genevieve asked Sebastian. “Dating anyone new?”

  “No.” I’m also hung up on Leah.

  “How many promotions have you earned since we saw you last?” Natasha asked. They liked to rib him about his professional success. “Five?”

  “No promotions since I saw you last.”

  “Slacker,” Natasha said affectionately.

  “Good evening.”

  The four of them turned toward the voice, which belonged to Eli, a friend of Sam’s. Eli, a fighter pilot, had married Penelope, a Misty River local, last December, shortly before the Air Force sent them to Germany. As far as Sebastian knew, this was their first visit back to Georgia.

  Genevieve thrust the tray into Sebastian’s arms in order to give the newcomers hugs, tell them how great they looked, and how glad she was that they’d come.

  “How’s life in Germany?” Natasha asked.

  “It’s excellent for me, because Penelope’s there,” Eli said. “So long as she’s with me, I’m good.”

  Penelope slanted a look of appreciation toward her husband. “Overall, I’m really enjoying living overseas,” she told the group. “Until I had the chance to travel, I didn’t realize how much I enjoyed experiencing new places.”

  “‘You are never too old to set another goal . . .’” Natasha tapped her sister’s forearm.

  “‘. . . or to dream a new dream,’” Genevieve finished. “That’s a—”

  “C. S. Lewis quote,” Sebastian said.

  “Well done, Sebastian!”

  How long was he going to be stuck holding the appetizer tray like a waiter?

  “I’m just glad that you kept Polka Dot Apron Pies open here in Misty River,” Ben said. Penelope had converted a 1950s camper trailer into a food truck. For years she’d sold pie from her spot near Misty River’s downtown square. “I’m a huge fan of your apple pie.”

  “Thank you! Does it taste the same as it always did now that Kevin’s managing the pie truck for me?”

  “It does.”

  Penelope looked pleased. “Kevin’s fastidious about following my recipes.”

  “Are you still baking pies in Germany?” Natasha asked.

  “I don’t have a storefront. But people on the base place orders with me, and I bake out of our kitchen. I’ve also been working on a cookbook.”

  “I’ll buy the cookbook the moment it comes out,” Natasha vowed.

  “She’s an incredible baker,” said Eli, who apparently couldn’t compliment his wife enough in public.

  “Here’s to those of us who have significant others who know their way around food.” Genevieve lifted a meatball as if it were a champagne glass.

  Sebastian couldn’t have cared less whether Leah knew her way around food. He could pay to have food delivered.

  Sam called them over. Genevieve lifted the tray from him, and they found their place cards and took their seats.

  Light gray clouds drifted lazily through a dark purple sky. Candles, pumpkins, and berries decorated the center of the table. The conversation flowed. Laughter expanded into the night.

  Genevieve sat next to Sam, her hand draped over his elbow, her eyes sparkling at something he’d said. Sebastian had been concerned when Genevieve had turned her life upside-down like a bucket of golf balls and moved from her home in Nashville to Sam’s farm. In an effort to win back her mental and physical health, she’d stepped away from writing contracts, speaking engagements, and social media for the last ten months. She’d slowed the pace of her life.

  It turned out that his concern had been misplaced. Genevieve had never looked better, never seemed more at peace than she did now.

  As glad as he was for her, this dinner was giving Sebastian the same unsettling sense he’d experienced many times before when surrounded by cheerful people . . . the sense that he was an island, and the rest of them were an ocean, flowing around him. He was close to them, but he was separate, not a part of them in the same way that they were a part of one another.

  After the main course wound down, Sam rose to his feet. He clinked his butter knife against his glass until the voic
es quieted. In the semi-darkness, his pale eyes looked even paler than usual next to his olive skin and brown hair. “Before we serve dessert, I’d like to say a few words.” His Australian accent carried on the air.

  “Ooh.” Genevieve’s overly emotional mom rested a hand on her chest. “That would be lovely.”

  “Before I met Gen, I’d been living alone on this farm for four years,” Sam said. “I told myself that’s how I wanted it, but to be honest, I was miserable. And then thirteen months ago, Gen showed up. Even as I was giving her permission to move into the guesthouse, I was regretting my words.”

  Genevieve laughed. “And then, after I moved in, I gave you a lot more reasons to regret them.”

  “A lot more.” Sam regarded Genevieve with softness.

  “I bring drama,” Genevieve stated.

  “And worry.”

  “And chaos.”

  “You added difficulty to my days at first,” he acknowledged. “But then you began to add other things. Color and laughter and hope.”

  Sebastian shifted uncomfortably. This conversation felt like it should be private, between Genevieve and Sam. But it looked like his opinion fell in the minority. Everyone else sat forward in their chairs, fascinated.

  “With you,” Sam continued, “God gave me a second chance that I still don’t feel like I deserve. But I value it more than anything, because I know how much it’s worth. You’ve become my favorite person. My best friend. I want to pull your long hairs off my sweaters and make you coffee and tease you about your terrible taste in music—”

  “My excellent taste in music, you mean.”

  Sam sobered. “I want an opportunity—a million opportunities—to make you smile. The best I can hope for the days I have left is to spend them all with you. I don’t want to be apart from you for a single one of them.”

  Genevieve’s face communicated amazement. Moisture gathered on her lashes.

  “I’ve got this farmhouse, this property, a restaurant, some savings, a tractor, and a beat-up truck,” Sam said. “Everything I have is yours. My loyalty, my support, my commitment, my heart. Me. Always.”

  “Sam.”