Dream Chasers

by Becky Melby

  “Who did you interview with?”

  “Some guy with a potbelly. Sorry, I know you work for these people. He was nice about it when he called back to tell me I hadn’t gotten the job. He said if it were up to him I would have been hired, but ‘the man upstairs’ thought I was overqualified and I’d probably move on as soon as something better came along. I don’t think he was referring to God.”

  Seth’s mouth formed what appeared to be the beginning of “What” or “Why,” but nothing came out. April jumped in. “Maybe we should talk about something else.”

  “Maybe. Tell me about your sister.”

  The green sign to April’s right said they’d reach I-35 in eight miles. They had an hour drive ahead of them. If she was going to enjoy the night, she couldn’t spend too much of it talking about Caitlyn. “She was diagnosed with acute lymphocytic leukemia a little over a year ago.”

  Seth’s hand touched hers then returned to the steering wheel. “I heard you climbed the water tower for her.”

  April nodded. “She made a list.” When she was in the hospital with pneumonia. Maybe it hadn’t been Seth’s fault, but would the thought continue to surface all night? “She called it her dream list. . .things we’d do together as soon as she was in complete remission. We both pretty much knew by then that she wasn’t going to make it, but it gave us something to focus on instead of the disease.”

  “Now you’re fulfilling the dreams?”

  She liked the way he phrased it. “The day before she died, she made me promise that I’d at least try. It was her way of telling me to get on with life.”

  “And you’re sharing your experiences on your Saturday show, I take it.”

  Again, his choice of words revealed a sensitive side. “I really struggled over that decision. I’m so afraid that people will think I’m exploiting my sister’s tragedy.” Her mother’s words echoed in her mind. “But I learned so much from her. She made conscious decisions every step of the way. . .not to be fake, to express her anger but not be overcome by it, to accept the inevitable, and to make the most of each day. At a time when you’d expect depression and hopelessness, I saw her relationship with Christ grow into something I envied.” She shifted in her seat to face Seth. “I think she’d want people to hear about her journey.”

  With a slight smile, he nodded. “I think you’re right. What else is on the list?”

  “This.”

  He turned toward her, confusion clearly registering. “This what?”

  “Tonight. Riverdance. Didn’t Yvonne tell you?”

  “No.” He was quiet for a moment. “Then we’ll have to make this a very memorable night.”

  April reached down and picked up her purse, moving slower than she needed to. The night was already beginning to be memorable. Opening her purse, she pulled out a small notebook and a penlight. “Should I read some of it?”

  “Some of it? How many things are there?”

  “Forty-two.” April waited for his reaction, and she wasn’t disappointed.

  His right eyebrow all but disappeared beneath a lock of brown hair. “Forty-two?”

  “They don’t all involve danger or expense.”

  He laughed. “But it sounds like you’ve got enough adventures to last for years.”

  Turning to the first page, April smiled, feeling wistful yet lighter than she had in a long time. “I hope so.”

  ❧

  “They aren’t all huge adventures. A lot of them are pretty tame.” She smiled at him. Her body language had transformed over the last few miles, and the more she relaxed, the more striking she appeared.

  “Climbing a water tower is tame?”

  “Compared to smuggling Bibles to Mongolia.”

  “Wow. I guess.”

  “Okay. I’ll pick out a few things. . . backpack the Superior Hiking Trail, go rock climbing—indoor or out, visit the Grand Ole Opry, walk barefoot in the Rio Grande, ride motorcycles to the Harley rally in Sturgis, South Dakota. . . . We decided we’d either find cute guys to ride with or take lessons and get our own bikes.”

  Seth took a split second to ponder the wisdom of his next statement. “I don’t know about the cute part, but I could help you out with that one. I’ve got a bike, and I’ve always wanted to do Sturgis.”

  “Seriously?” Her expression was wide-eyed and little-girlish.

  Should he really give her hope of something he might not want to follow through on once he’d gotten to know her better? He couldn’t quite imagine that happening. “Seriously.”

  “I’ve seen how you ride.”

  “Funny. Think you can handle ten hours on a Harley?”

  Her chin lifted. “You keep the tires on the road, and I’ll deal with the saddle sores.”

  The girl had wit. He liked that. “Ever ridden on one?”

  “My boyfriend in college had an Ultra Classic. Unfortunately, I couldn’t compete with the bike.”

  “Maybe if you’d started dressing in chrome. . . .”

  Her laugh was so different from the wooden sound he’d heard earlier. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

  “What’s next on the list?”

  She turned a page in the notebook. “Have you seen the statue of Mary Tyler Moore at Nicollet Mall?”

  “Of course.”

  “Caitlyn and I used to watch reruns from the Mary Tyler Moore Show together. So I took her to see the statue when it was dedicated in 2002. They gave everybody a tam, just like the one Mary throws on the show, but when it came time to throw them, nobody wanted to give them up. We kept ours.” She was silent for a moment. “Caitlyn was buried with hers.” Again, she took a moment, clearly having trouble steadying her voice. “Anyway, when we were making up the list, we came up with all sorts of places where we could throw hats. From the top of the Eiffel Tower or the Leaning Tower of Pisa—”

  “Or the Pine Bluff water tower.”

  “Yeah. I guess it sounds silly.”

  “Not at all. Sounds like the stuff movies are made of.”

  “Hmm. . .it does.” She flipped the page back again. “The next one is ‘Watch the sunrise in Sunrise.’ ”

  “Minnesota or Florida?”

  Her head tipped to one side. “Minnesota. But maybe I’ll add Florida.”

  “The sunrises might be a bit more spectacular. What’s next?”

  “Ride the jungle canopy on a zip line in Brazil, ride in a hot-air balloon, make homemade caramel corn and stay up all night eating it and watching Ashton Kutcher movies.” Her hand did an elegant little flip. “See, they aren’t all huge adventures. The next one, she put in to torture me, just like the zip line and the hot-air balloon and the water tower. I only have two major fears in life, and my sister hit them both.”

  “Fear of heights and. . . ?”

  “Storms.”

  He glanced at her, trying to read her emotions. Had she been afraid of storms before her sister had been caught in one? Was he inadvertently responsible for her fear?

  She rubbed the palm of one hand with the thumb of the other. “Number twelve is chase a tornado.”

  Seth felt his pulse do a two-step. “So that was something your sister wanted to do?”

  “Yes.” She said it quietly. “I guess I should tell you. . . . While she was in the hospital after the. . .hailstorm. . .she said it had been one of the coolest things she’d ever done. She only wished she could have seen a tornado.”

  Clearly, that admission hadn’t been easy for her. The realization touched him. “If. . .when you decide you’re ready to cross that off your list, just let me know.”

  “Have you seen one? Up close?” He could hear the fear in her voice.

  “Up too close a couple of times. Biggest adrenaline rush you could imagine.”

  “And you like the rush, I take it.”

  “Love it.” Seth felt muscles on the side of his neck grow taut. If he didn’t change the direction of this conversation, he’d be poor company the rest of the night. “Anyway, that’s a to
pic for some other time.”

  “Okay, then let’s change subjects again. What do you do for fun?”

  Whether it was feminine intuition or her investigative reporter training, the girl had found the key to his egotistical heart. . .get him talking about himself. “Just about anything outdoors. Skiing, winter and summer, taking the bike out—year-round, as long as the roads are clear. I have a dog that takes me walking whenever he can. And I can be talked into cultured things like musicals and concerts on occasion.”

  “So tonight won’t be too far out of your comfort zone?”

  Seth ran a finger under his collar. “I’ll admit that I much prefer jeans when I’m not working, but I’ll dress up for a purty girl any day.” He took his eye off the road long enough to enjoy the reticent smile teasing her lips. “What about you? What’s a wild and crazy night out for April Douglas look like?”

  This time she laughed, full and unreserved. “I read, I go to church—the same church I went to when I was two—I talk to my fish, and once in a great while, Yvonne drags me to the Cities where I reluctantly spend money on nonsale items. Wild and crazy are two words no one has ever accused me of. Well, not wild, anyway. Not yet.”

  “Mm. . .a hint of intrigue. The lady is mysterious, no?” His Antonio Banderas impression landed a little flat, but it did widen her smile.

  “The dream list is my sister’s final kick in the derriere. I’ve lived a very cautious life until now.”

  “Why?’

  The question seemed to startle her. “Well. . .I guess I’ve got all the classic firstborn tendencies. Responsible, achiever, too sensible for my own good.”

  “Was it just you and your sister?”

  “When I was five, my mom had a baby. He was killed in a car accident when he was six months old. It was my father’s fault. My dad started drinking, and my mother’s been in and out of depression ever since. Caitlyn was born when I was seven, and my dad left us two years later. . .the first time but not the last. There were times when I had to be the parent.”

  “There wasn’t any chance for ‘wild and crazy.’ ”

  She shook her head. “I tried busting out of my mold once.” Her lips pressed together as if trying to contain a smile. “That’s when I climbed the water tower the first time.”

  “The first time?”

  “My seventeenth birthday. My one day of teenage rebellion. I woke up that morning and decided I was sick of coloring inside the lines. So I called two guy friends who had climbed the tower dozens of times and told them to meet me there at midnight.”

  “And you did it?”

  “Almost. One of the guys caged me. . .kind of like a human shield. It was all very exhilarating until I got to the catwalk and the cops showed up.”

  “Busted.”

  “Yeah. By my own father. He was making one of his rare guest appearances and heard me sneaking out of the house. He followed me and then called a friend of his who was on the police force. They took me to jail, and my dad sat and played cards with the officer while I sat in a cell all night.”

  “Ouch.”

  “Yeah. Some fathers might do that to teach a kid logical consequences. My dad did it for a good laugh with his buddy.”

  Something wrenched in Seth’s gut. He had to fight the desire to grab her hand, touch her face, show her in some way that he understood. All too well. “And that was the end of your adventurous spirit?”

  He shot a sideways glance at her, long enough to catch the funny little smile that twisted her lips. “I suppose it would have made some kids even more rebellious, but it just made me give up coloring outside the lines. But I’ve been pushing the envelope a bit at work lately, and I kind of like the freedom. I’m bound and determined to loosen myself up.”

  Seth stole another glance. “You’re an inspiration. I could use a little coloring outside the lines myself.”

  Seven

  Magical. That would be the first word she’d record when she got home. The Celtic rhythms of Riverdance still reverberated in April’s chest as the lights came up in the Orpheum Theater, and she stared at the massive brass chandelier dripping with Italian crystals that hung from the domed ceiling. From the mural above the stage to the rich Victorian colors of the carpet, the almost-ninety-year-old building whispered of its rich vibrant history. Caitlyn, you would have loved this.

  April folded her playbill. “Can’t you imagine being here back in the roaring twenties when it was all new?”

  Seth nodded. “You’d be sitting there in a flapper dress, and we’d be watching the Marx Brothers.”

  “Did you know that Bob Dylan owned the Orpheum for a few years back in the eighties?”

  “Really?”

  She nodded. “The Minneapolis Community Development Agency bought it from him and renovated it in 1993.”

  Seth laughed. “You’ve done your research.”

  “I did a talk on it in college.”

  As she stood, Seth’s hand touched the small of her back, light not possessive. “Thank you,” he said softly.

  She questioned him with her eyes. What was he thanking her for? The ticket? The company?

  He answered, “You didn’t have to give me a second chance.”

  The decision had been harder than he’d ever realize. But she had to keep the moment light. “It’s hard to say no to a guy who brings garbage bags.”

  The shallow dimple on his right cheek creased. “Most guys just don’t understand how high trash bags are on a woman’s list of priorities.”

  “You’re very in tune.”

  “I try.” He gave a comically exaggerated sigh as they stepped into the aisle. “Let’s see how I do on the next thing on the itinerary.”

  “We have an itinerary?”

  He nodded. “An incredible night deserves an extraordinary dessert.”

  ❧

  “Kuik E Mart?” April narrowed her eyes at Seth but couldn’t quite tame the smile that seemed to be becoming a habit. “Our extraordinary dessert is coming from a convenience store?”

  Seth winked at her. “I said ‘extraordinary,’ not ‘gourmet.’ Wait here.” He opened the door then turned back to her. “One question. Strawberry or raspberry?”

  “Surprise me.”

  He got out, walked up to the entrance, stopped, and came back to her side of the car and tapped on the window. April pushed the button to lower the window.

  “One more question. You’re not allergic to sodium stearoyl lactylate, are you?”

  April’s brow wrinkled. “I have no idea.”

  When he returned, he handed her two warm cups that smelled like hazelnut. She set them in the cup holders and took a plastic grocery bag from him.

  “No peeking.” He started the car and turned onto South Eighth Street. Five minutes later, he turned onto Cedar Avenue, and then Riverside, in the middle of the West Bank of the University of Minnesota campus. April knew the area like the back of her hand but had no idea what they were doing there. He parked in the parking garage just south of Locust Street. Picking up the two coffee cups, he smiled at her. “Follow me.”

  They walked across West River Parkway to a cement wall that ran along the riverbank. On the opposite side, the outline of the East Bank campus towered over the trees. Lights from the University Medical Center blinked in the darkness. Seth took the bag from her so that she could step over the wall. They sat, hugging paper cups of coffee, staring at the headlights and taillights strung like white and red beads on the bridge that crossed the black Mississippi.

  After several minutes, Seth set both of their cups on the ground and handed April a roll of paper towels. “Would you mind opening these while I prepare dessert?”

  As she ripped off the plastic, she watched. Out of the bag came two packages of Twinkies, a jar of raspberry jam, and a box of plastic silverware. Seth slathered jam over the top of a Twinkie and held it out to her. “Shortcake, madam?”

  Closing her eyes, April savored the too-sweet concoction, all the while tryi
ng to put brakes on savoring the moment. “Delicious. And very creative.”

  “I invented it when I was eight.”

  “When I was eight, I lived on soda crackers and grape jelly.” Because my mother was too depressed to work, and my father wouldn’t send the checks. . . .

  Seth gave her a thoughtful look, giving her time to add more. When she didn’t, he filled the silence with stories of his childhood and tales of college misadventures that she was quite sure had been stretched. In between, he asked questions about her favorite memories but seemed to sense when he’d hit on something sensitive for her to talk about.

  They talked about weather patterns and life in the media through two beeps of Seth’s watch. “Midnight.” He threw the Twinkies and jam back in the bag. “Don’t want you dozing through your show.”

  April picked up the two empty cups. Instead of stacking them, she carried one in each hand as they walked back to the parking garage. Seth opened the car door for her and then walked around the front and got in. He held his hand out. “I’ll take those.”

  She handed him the cups, fingers touching for a fraction of a second. As the dome light faded, his eyes found hers. “Are you busy next Saturday night?”

  April’s eyes opened, a little too wide, advertising that he’d caught her off guard. She needed time to think. Going with him tonight hadn’t been her idea. Was she ready to agree to an official date? “No.” The word in her head came out of her mouth, and she suddenly realized what she’d just done.

  “Would you be interested in dinner and a truly gourmet dessert? The Melting Pot, maybe? Fondue for two?”

  She had a whole week to make excuses. Maybe she’d catch Yvonne’s flu. “That would be nice.”

  Seth’s phone on the dashboard in front of her dinged. He reached for it. “Sorry. It’s a message from my station manager. I have to check it.” He listened to the message, his features hardening in the dim garage light. “Sorry,” he repeated. “I have to call him back. He pushed a button. “Merv, what’s up?”

  The muscles on Seth’s jaw bulged. The softness left his eyes. “Okay, so he was late, but he made it.” His lips pressed together as he listened. “Hey, take it out on Darren; I’m not his nanny.” His right hand slammed against the steering wheel. “When are you going to quit blaming everybody else for your problems? You should be able to deal with things like this without bringing them to me. And I’m not the only one who’s taking notice. You’ll be looking for another job if things don’t start changing.” April cringed as exasperation rushed through Seth’s pursed lips. “You’re a manager. Act like one!” The phone slapped shut.