Just Look Up

by Courtney Walsh

  After what felt like an eternity of walking in silence, they reached Hazel’s, the turquoise-and-yellow diner squeezed in between two other businesses on Main Street. The sign in the window boasted, Best Pie in the State of Michigan.

  “It’s a pie place now?” Lane asked, reading the sign.

  He was thankful for small talk—maybe for the first time in his life. “They’ve won all kinds of awards,” Ryan said. “You should try the blueberry pie. It’s made with fresh Harbor Pointe berries.”

  Lane glanced away. “I don’t eat pie.”

  “Well, that’s depressing.”

  She seemed surprised by his comment, but before she could offer a witty comeback, her cell phone chirped.

  “I’m just going to take this quick.” She stepped toward the stand-up chalkboard sign placed on the sidewalk just outside the door of the bright-turquoise café. It read, Delicious Coffee at a Delicious Price.

  “I’ll go get us a table.” Ryan wasn’t even sure she’d heard him, but she’d figure it out when she turned around and he was gone.

  He entered Hazel’s Kitchen, the old-school diner tourists and locals both loved. The place had more than just great pie. Pretty much everything he’d eaten there could’ve won an award—and as a single guy working long hours, he ate there more than he cared to let on. He stood just inside the door as waitresses zigzagged toward the open window to the kitchen, then back out to the long counter with tall stools evenly spaced from one end to the other. Beyond the counter, customers were scattered at booths or tables around the small, eclectic space.

  “Brooks!” Jed Carrington, the town’s mayor, sat at the counter, a cup of coffee and a slice of pie in front of him. He waved Ryan over.

  Ryan wasn’t sure he wanted to be roped into listening to another of the man’s big ideas for Harbor Pointe, but it’d be rude not to at least say hello.

  “Mayor.”

  “Heard about Nate Kelley.”

  Ryan gave a solemn nod, the image of that blue truck flashing in his mind, the sinking feeling of dread returning to his stomach.

  “How’s he doing? I heard you were with him when it happened.”

  As Ryan gave him the quick report, what little he understood, a few of the others seated nearby seemed to perk up. Ryan imagined the whole of Harbor Pointe was concerned about Nate. Another thing he loved about this town.

  Behind him, the door opened, and he quickly lost Jed’s attention and that of every other person who’d been listening to his update. His voice trailed off as he followed curious gazes toward the front door. Lane had stepped inside Hazel’s Kitchen. Without even trying, she seemed to command attention just by walking into a room.

  She had no idea how beautiful she was.

  “Listen, Chloe, it’s not going to do any good to get hysterical over—” She was still on the phone.

  “Who is that?” Dean Fisher stared at Lane with stunned, hungry eyes. Was he salivating? Before Fisher got any wild ideas, Ryan moved toward her. Dean was the last thing she needed.

  “Hey, Ryan.” A woman wearing jeans and a Hazel’s Kitchen T-shirt greeted him near the front door.

  “Hey, Betsy.” He smiled at her. He liked that the new owner of Hazel’s recognized him, made him feel at home—a feeling he’d never take for granted, not even as an adult.

  “You want your usual booth?”

  “Sure, but there are two of us tonight.” He motioned toward Lane, who finished her phone call and tucked her cell back inside her bag, where he imagined it would stay for only a few minutes.

  “Sorry.” She stepped closer to him. “It was work.”

  Her eyes found Betsy’s and recognition seemed to wash over them both, leaving Ryan feeling like he’d just stepped in the middle of something.

  “Bets, you remember Lane Kelley?”

  Betsy’s smile was definitely forced. “I heard about Nate. I’m sorry.”

  “Thanks.” Lane’s attention was back on the floor.

  After an awkward pause, Betsy picked up two menus. “Follow me.”

  He motioned for Lane to go first, confused when she hesitated for several seconds. She and Betsy were friends. At least he thought they were. He gave her a soft nudge, then followed her to a booth at the very rear of the restaurant.

  Lane slid in, her back to the door, carefully avoiding eye contact with Betsy. Ryan sat down across from her and Betsy handed them their menus.

  “Can I tell you our specials?” she asked.

  Lane was glued to her menu.

  “Sure.” Ryan half listened as Betsy rattled off a number of dishes that would’ve normally made his mouth water. Something about sitting across from Lane, about her words on the street outside—“especially here”—about the tension between her and Betsy, had him thinking of other things besides his stomach.

  Lane had always been something of a loner—but he’d had the impression she preferred it that way. Now he wasn’t so sure.

  What was her life now that her family wasn’t a part of it?

  “I’ll send someone over with water and give you two a few minutes,” Betsy said.

  She disappeared, but something heavy still hung in the air above them, like a weighty cloud desperate to pour out buckets of rain.

  “What was that about?” Ryan asked. “Weren’t you two friends?”

  Her eyes were still on the menu. “What’s good here?”

  He had to commend her for her impressive skill of changing the subject. Whatever had happened between her and Betsy Tanner, Lane did not want to talk about it. He started to wonder what else he’d missed while he was overseas—and why hadn’t anyone filled him in?

  “Everything is good since Betsy bought the place,” Ryan said, eyeing the meat loaf platter on the menu.

  “She owns this place?”

  He nodded. “Bought it two years ago when Hazel retired. People drive hours for her pies. They did a write-up on the diner—and Betsy—in Midwest Living last summer. It’s one of the top destinations in the Midwest.”

  “Seriously?” Lane’s eyes darted toward Betsy, then back to him. “That’s really great.” It was the first twinkle of genuine happiness he’d seen in Lane since she arrived.

  After a minute or two, another waitress showed up at their table and took their order. They didn’t see Betsy again.

  Lane ordered a grilled chicken salad, dressing on the side, and a glass of water. He decided on homemade pot roast with mashed potatoes and vegetables, as well as a cup of coffee.

  Her phone buzzed, pulling her out of the world she was in and into another one altogether. She tapped on it for what felt like forever—wholly captivated by the words on the tiny screen. When she put it away, she looked surprised to find him watching her.

  “What?”

  “Have you ever thought of silencing that thing?”

  “Not you too.”

  “Might not hurt to take your mom’s advice,” he said. “You never know what you’re missing when you’re focused on that phone all day.”

  “I’m sure you wouldn’t understand what it’s like to have a million people needing your attention every second of the day.” She took a sip of water, a slice of lemon bobbing around in her glass.

  “I take it Nate’s accident came at a bad time for you?” The words were harsh and he regretted them instantly.

  She glared at him. “Look, you’re here because you feel like you owe it to my mother, but I’m actually perfectly capable of eating a meal by myself.”

  He didn’t doubt it. “I’m sorry. That was out of line.”

  She watched him as though deciding whether or not to accept his apology.

  “Seriously. I shouldn’t have said that.” This was not how he wanted things to go.

  She took a sip and looked away, giving him a fraction of a second to admire those blue eyes and smooth skin—two things about her he’d always loved.

  “Tell me about your job,” he said.

  She folded her hands on the table. “It�
��s not very interesting.”

  “Try me.”

  “I work at a large interior design firm in the city called JB Sweet. I mostly work in branded environments.”

  “Branded environments?”

  “Say you’re a big company looking to move into a space. My team comes up with the design of that space to fit the company’s brand. Lots of times we actually create the brand for the company and make sure all elements of it match.”

  She said it like it was no big deal, yet he had the distinct impression it was a very big deal to her.

  “I’m guessing it’s pretty time-consuming.”

  “You have no idea.” Her phone buzzed and he lost her again. The waitress, a young girl with stringy blonde hair and a wad of gum in her mouth, brought them their food. As soon as Ryan inhaled the aroma of that pot roast, he realized how hungry he was.

  “What about you? The last memory I have of you is waving good-bye the day you left for the Army.”

  “You promised to write to me while I was gone,” he said.

  She stopped chewing.

  “You never did.”

  “I figured you had plenty of girls writing you letters, Brooks.”

  He smiled, not because he had plenty of girls writing him letters, but because she’d called him Brooks, the way she had when they were kids. The familiarity of it had always made him feel instantly close to her.

  “I didn’t think you even remembered me back in the hospital.”

  “Took me a minute.” She looked away. “But then I got this horrible pain in my neck and it was like we’d never been apart.”

  He picked up a carrot and tossed it at her. Her eyes went wide and she laughed. “You’re going to get us kicked out of here.”

  “Nah, I’m one of their best customers.”

  “So you moved to Harbor Pointe? You actually live here now?”

  He sipped his coffee. How much of this did he want to get into with someone whose gaze held him captive like a prisoner of war?

  “I guess I just needed a change.”

  That wasn’t a lie. When he got home from overseas, he realized there was nothing for him in Newman—nothing but haunting memories and a dead-end life he had no interest in living. Harbor Pointe hadn’t been his intended stop, but life had a funny way of changing course.

  “That sounds ominous.”

  He shrugged. “It’s not. I got home from Afghanistan and started working construction while I went to school. Took me longer than the traditional student, but I got my business degree.”

  “And do you still work construction?”

  He studied her before answering. A construction worker wouldn’t impress Lane, and yet he heard himself respond, “I guess you could say that,” not wanting to sound pompous with tales of his new business venture.

  The dull ache around his temples returned.

  “Are you okay?” She stared at him. “You look like you’re going to be sick.”

  Good to know he looked exactly how he felt.

  “I’m fine. Just have a headache.”

  “From the accident?”

  “I guess so.”

  She folded her hands on the table in front of her, examining him the way a cop might do when interrogating a suspect. “You never told me if it was Nate’s fault.”

  “It was an accident,” he said. “Truth is, I’m not sure what happened exactly. One minute we were on the road and the next, we were facedown on the pavement. A truck ran us right off the road. Nate collided with a telephone pole. I skidded right past him.” He looked away.

  “You were really—”

  “Lucky, I know.” His eyes found hers and she didn’t break contact for several long seconds. Several long seconds of him feeling exposed, as if he’d said more of what mattered in those three words than he had since the day he returned from Afghanistan.

  She took a drink, then did a quick once-over of Hazel’s Kitchen. It was different from when she lived here, he knew. Betsy had put a lot of sweat equity into giving the restaurant a face-lift. He knew because he’d been the one to do most of the sweating.

  “It’s good you’ve stayed close with my family,” she said, most likely because she couldn’t think of anything else to say.

  “They’re the best. You’re really fortunate to have them.”

  She didn’t move, her expression still and unnerving. She didn’t really have them, though, did she? But she could, if she wanted to. Did she see that?

  “Nate and I are on the worship team together at church.”

  She stopped midbite. “What?”

  “Don’t sound so surprised. We’ve gotten pretty good.”

  She frowned. “Playing what?”

  “Guitar.”

  “Nate plays guitar?” Her jaw went slack.

  “How long has it actually been since you’ve talked to your family?”

  She looked down. “Why do I have the feeling you already know the answer to that question?”

  It was like a foghorn went off at the back of his mind ordering him to tread lightly. “Your mom said you’ve hardly been in town since you left for college—just a few times since then.”

  “Did she?” Her tone almost sounded like an accusation. “She have anything else to say on that subject?”

  “Not really.” He wouldn’t tell her how often her name came up with the Kelley family, because when it did, it was clearly still a painful topic of conversation. He felt sorry for all of them, that this rift had grown so deep, like a valley between them, and for the briefest moment, he wondered if he could help mend it. He didn’t like seeing them fractured the way they were. They belonged together, like it was when he was a kid.

  “She did say you’ve had a lot of success at work.”

  “My work is important to me,” Lane said.

  “She’s really proud of you.”

  Lane laughed. A humorless, sarcastic laugh. “I think you’re thinking of one of my siblings.”

  “I know they miss seeing you. They all wish you’d come home more. I mean, work is important but so is your family, Lane.”

  “Really? They wish I’d come home more?” Lane’s voice wavered, and for a split second he saw something other than steely stubbornness in her face. A pang of regret shattered inside him. He’d gone too far. He should’ve butted out.

  “I didn’t mean to—”

  “Did they bother to tell you why I don’t come home, or did they just make me out to be some self-centered workaholic who doesn’t have time for my family?”

  So much for treading lightly. He knew this was hard for her—why hadn’t he let it go?

  When he didn’t respond, she pushed her plate away, covering it with her napkin.

  “Lane, please.”

  “I’m not the evil one here, Brooks. I would’ve thought at least you might’ve been on my side.” She threw a twenty-dollar bill down on the table and stood.

  His eyes followed her as she made a quick, seamless exit, and as he turned his attention back to the table, he caught a glimpse of Betsy, staring at the door. Lane had been in town for only a few hours, and she’d completely disrupted the calm of Harbor Pointe.

  And Ryan wanted to know why.

  CHAPTER

  9

  IF LANE HADN’T BEEN WEARING HEELS, she might’ve started running as soon as the door of Hazel’s Kitchen swung shut behind her. Coming back here had been a huge mistake. She should’ve known she wasn’t strong enough to withstand the memories. Everywhere she turned, there was another one—Lindsay, Jasper, Betsy, and now even Brooks had turned maddening.

  She walked toward the hospital. She’d go see Nate one more time and then she had to drive home. What else was she going to do? Sleep in her old bedroom in her parents’ house? Wake up and have breakfast with Lindsay and Jasper and their terrorist of a son? She hadn’t thought this through.

  She glanced over her shoulder, thankful Brooks hadn’t followed her. Maybe nobody had told him the truth about why she stayed away
. Maybe she’d overreacted. She hated it when she did that.

  Brooks had been to war. She hadn’t even asked him about that. He was one of the best people she’d ever known—this happy-go-lucky kid who had no reason to smile or laugh or joke around but who always seemed to be doing just that. His optimism had shamed her more times than she could count—made her more aware of her own behavior. She’d always struggled to find the silver lining of a thing.

  Some things, she supposed, hadn’t changed. Having her emotions too close to the surface brought out the worst in her, yet he should’ve left it alone. She didn’t need to be reminded of what a bad daughter and sister she’d been. Seeing him, a boy who’d essentially grown up without his own parents, made her aware of that.

  Her phone buzzed. Chloe.

  Wanted to check on you. Are you doing okay? I’ve been worried about you all day.

  Lane quickly texted back.

  I’m fine. Just don’t like being here or seeing my brother like this.

  She stood in the doorway of his room and stared at him now, underneath a stiff white sheet and a hospital-issue blanket that did not look very warm. Daisy had never brought the second blanket Brooks had asked for.

  Is he any better?

  No change.

  I looked up your brother on Facebook. Can’t believe you’ve kept him from me until now, Lane. He’s gorgeous. Any of his hot friends hanging around the waiting room?

  The image of Brooks’s “I don’t have to try very hard to be gorgeous” vibe entered her mind. He’d always been unnervingly good-looking with his striking green eyes and a head full of messy hair the same color as beach sand. Then there was that five o’clock shadow, which, unfortunately, only made him better-looking. Just when she didn’t think it was possible for him to get better-looking.

  Your long pause speaks volumes.

  I’ve only talked to one of my brother’s friends, but he’s pigheaded and annoying.