Just Look Up

by Courtney Walsh

  But that all ended today. Today was her first day at Innovate, and she needed to impress Julia Baumann and the rest of the team.

  She’d been hired after a brief phone interview, but she still didn’t have a feel for the place or the people, so naturally that morning she was nervous. So nervous she spilled her coffee twice, once on a newly dry-cleaned white blouse that had to be traded out for a dark-purple one, less likely to show stains.

  As she walked to work that morning, her thoughts turned to Brooks, who’d stolen her heart without a word of warning. She was surprised by the depth of her feelings for him, knowing that if he’d asked her not to go that morning on the dock, she would’ve called Julia and declined the offer immediately.

  But he hadn’t said that. He seemed excited for her, as though he wanted her to go back to the city and live the life she’d always dreamed of living. After all, it was what she wanted too.

  Wasn’t it?

  Innovate was on the eighteenth floor of a tall building that faced Lake Michigan. The view would be beautiful, naturally, but as she peered across the street, she marveled at the contrast between the lake here and the way it looked in Harbor Pointe. Surrounded by people and commerce and buildings and cars, Chicago was its own kind of beautiful, and she’d thrived here once. She could learn to do it again.

  Never mind that part of her ached for the lighthouse, the dock, the green of the trees and fields that surrounded Harbor Pointe. She shoved the thought aside. It was ludicrous—crazy, really, to even think like that.

  She was walking into the first day of her dream job, and she needed to stay focused.

  She took the elevator up to the eighteenth floor and told the receptionist, a sharply dressed young woman with short, jet-black hair and bright-red lips, that she was there to see Julia Baumann.

  “Is she expecting you?” the woman asked dryly.

  “She is.”

  “Name?”

  “Lane Kelley.”

  “Sit.” The woman nodded toward the sleek, modern waiting area with its black-and-silver chairs and perfectly placed magazines. She admired the open floor plan, the sharp lines, the attention to detail.

  But it struck her how different it was from the aesthetic she’d cultivated in Harbor Pointe. There was no shiplap, no hand-scraped wood floor, and not a single piece of distressed furniture.

  “Lane?”

  Julia Baumann appeared in the waiting area. Lane stood and shook her hand. “It’s good to see you, Julia.”

  Lane’s phone dinged three times in quick succession.

  “Sorry; I can silence that.”

  “No, don’t,” Julia said, motioning for Lane to follow her down a long, narrow hallway. “I put you in a few text groups. I hope you don’t mind having that thing chirping at you all day.” She smiled at Lane over her shoulder, then led her into a posh, white office with two big, solid windows across the room from a glass door.

  “I’m used to it.” As soon as Lane said the words, she realized she wasn’t so used to it anymore. Somehow her phone seemed to have lost its pull. She no longer felt the need to be connected at all times.

  The freedom of that didn’t escape her.

  “I’ve been a big fan of your work for a long time,” Julia said, her no-nonsense tone causing Lane to straighten. “When I heard you’d left JB Sweet, it was a no-brainer to snatch you up. I think you’re going to be a great addition to our team.”

  Lane’s phone dinged again. And again.

  “You should probably look at those before they get too out of control,” Julia said. “We like prompt replies in our communication.”

  Translation: Meet your new master.

  The thought jarred Lane as she pulled the phone from her bag and scrolled through messages about projects she wasn’t familiar with yet, then saw one unread message from Ryan.

  Missing you this morning. Good luck at the new gig. Knock ’em dead. Attached to the text was a photo taken from their dock, the lighthouse in the distance. A knot swelled in the center of her throat.

  “All caught up?” Julia sat behind her desk and slid a few papers toward Lane. “Take a few minutes to fill out this paperwork and then I’ll show you your office.”

  Lane glanced up and nodded, afraid if she spoke, she’d burst into tears. She did her best to complete the new-employee paperwork while Julia clicked off text after text on her own phone.

  Moments later, she slid her completed paperwork across the desk and Julia shut her phone’s screen off. “Very good. Follow me.”

  The whole scene did nothing to settle Lane’s weary nerves.

  This was crazy. She had to pull herself together. And fast. She was walking down a sleek glass hallway toward her new office. She was finally getting the job she’d always wanted. She should be leaping for joy.

  But her heart ached to be sitting on the dock in Harbor Pointe, enjoying that familiar view alongside a man she actually thought she loved.

  “We’ll take a look at your responsibilities as our newest creative director,” Julia said. “As soon as you’re all settled, I’ll introduce you to the team. You’ve got a few important people to meet before we make the rounds.”

  Lane forced herself to stay focused. She’d never been the daydreaming type. She’d be wise not to start now.

  “This is it,” Julia said, leading her to the opposite side of the building from where they’d been.

  “This is my office?” Lane was used to a cubicle in the middle of a room full of cubicles. This office wasn’t much different from Julia’s, and while Lane had a street view, if she strained a bit, she could see a sliver of the lake.

  “We’ve all found ways to make these glass boxes our own, so feel free to do whatever you like,” Julia said. “As you know, you’re taking over the position I vacated.”

  Lane hadn’t realized that.

  “I’m here if you need anything, but now that I’ve been promoted, I’ll be very busy. I trust you’re self-sufficient and won’t need much training.”

  Lane hoped not.

  “There is a stack of files on the desk. Look through those this morning, and around eleven we’ll have a meet and greet with your team. We’re throwing you right into the thick of it—I hope that’s okay.”

  It didn’t sound like a question, so Lane didn’t give an answer. Instead, she listened, smiled, nodded, and prayed she was actually ready to do this job. She’d forgotten how quickly things moved, having abandoned her urgency for a much slower pace in Harbor Pointe. She and Brooks had been up against a tight deadline at Cedar Grove, but he still found time to spend Sundays without a phone, to take walks, to admire the way the sun hit the lighthouse just so at four o’clock in the afternoon.

  Perhaps a bit of her sharp edge had been dulled in those quiet moments.

  She’d readjust, of course, but it was a bit shocking, like jumping into a cold lake instead of wading in slowly.

  “I’ll leave you to get settled,” Julia said. “I’m looking at another all-nighter, so I want to get a head start on my pile.”

  Julia was gone before Lane could respond. She sank into the desk chair in her new office, surrounded by the buzz of creative activity, the electricity of work being done, and she couldn’t help reflecting on the sound track she’d been listening to only days before: lapping waves, gentle breezes, Brooks’s voice.

  Why did she suddenly feel like she didn’t belong here?

  She reminded herself that a month ago, she’d felt exactly the same way about Harbor Pointe: out of place and anxious to return to her version of normal. She just needed to throw herself back into it—to get the sleepy lake town out of her mind and do what she’d been born to do: work.

  Her phone buzzed for her attention and she quickly responded to the text messages, letting the team know she’d just arrived. She’d catch up and they would meet to discuss current projects later that morning. She toggled her computer mouse and her screen jumped to life. She pulled her planner from her bag and set it on th
e desk. Most of her appointments were on her phone, but her planner held any notes, ideas, sketches, or photos she came across.

  As she opened it, she saw the paint chips she and Ryan had settled on for Cedar Grove. A dusty gray that wasn’t too blue and wasn’t too brown. How many samples had they brought back, searching for the perfect shade of gray for those cottages?

  Brooks had diligently painted small squares all over Esther’s living room wall and sat even more diligently, listening while Lane went through the pros and cons of each one. He’d seemed content to listen to her talk, even though she knew he probably just wanted her to hurry up and pick one.

  The memory made her smile.

  “Whoa.” A voice pulled her from her daydream. She looked up and saw a man in a gray suit and blue tie standing in the doorway. “We don’t see a lot of genuine smiles around here. It’s kind of nice.”

  Her smile faded and she stood to greet him, affecting the same professional tone Julia had used when greeting her. “Lane Kelley.” It made her feel like she was playing a role and maybe she’d been miscast.

  “New creative director, I know. I’ve seen your work. I’m Jared Spencer.” He stepped in and shook her hand. “Chief architect. We’ll work together on new builds.”

  Lane didn’t have much experience with new builds.

  “I understand you spent the last month on a little cottage project?” His tone condescended. “You’re probably going to have to step up your game here. I noticed it’s been a few weeks since you posted anything on social media.”

  “Is that a problem?”

  “At Innovate, we like our employees to be part of our image. If a client loves you, they’re more inclined to call us for a consultation. But your side projects will have to stop. That’s frowned upon.”

  Lane sat back down. What if Brooks needed her help again? Was Jared saying she wouldn’t be allowed? She was about to ask him when he took a step toward the door.

  “Just wanted to introduce myself,” he said. “Maybe we can get a drink after work sometime.” He smiled and walked away.

  Lane’s not-exactly-quiet office suddenly felt empty, except for the buzzing of a busy phone that demanded her attention.

  CHAPTER

  39

  RYAN STOOD IN THE CENTER of the run-down cottage. He’d closed on the single-family property only hours earlier, thankful to have another project to keep his mind occupied. His Summers Bay investor was working out the financial details of a new cottage community, but while he waited, he needed to work.

  The past three weeks without Lane had been torture, the only bright spot being Lydia and Drum Jr.’s vacation at Cedar Grove. Before she left, Lydia had thanked him and told him it had been months since she’d seen her son that happy.

  “You gave him back his smile, Brooks,” she’d said.

  “It’s the least I could do.”

  And while he was thankful and happy with how things had gone, he wished Lane had been there to share it with him. He’d done what he felt like God wanted him to do—let her go—but nothing about it had been easy.

  He wanted to call her when the office manager told him Cedar Grove was sold out for the summer. He wanted to tell her they’d already begun booking for next year. He wanted to celebrate the fact that a large family from the South had rented out every cottage for Christmas because they wanted to spend the holiday together in a place where there was snow.

  He wanted to, but he didn’t. They’d agreed to go their separate ways. He had to honor that.

  This cottage had been beautiful once. It had belonged to a couple who only used it in the summer, but the past two summers, with their declining health, the place was empty most weeks. Their kids finally convinced them to sell. They were all just too busy to make use of a house that practically begged for peace and relaxation.

  Ryan found it sad that none of them had time to relax anymore.

  It sat near the top of a sand dune, so the back deck overlooked the lake. The problem was, the deck wasn’t quite safe anymore, the roof needed to be replaced, and the landscaping was overgrown. Not to mention the old-fashioned decor inside—like something straight out of the eighties. Most of the furniture was still in the house: a dark-brown and dated table in the entryway, an old tan sofa and a dark-brown chair positioned around a glass-topped coffee table in the living room. A squeaky old rocking chair on the front porch.

  He had a knack for this kind of work, and he loved finding the beauty in things everyone else had discarded. In so many ways, it was a metaphor for his life. He’d been discarded by his mother, neglected by his father—and yet, somehow, God had brought the Kelley family into his life, and they’d seen something in him. Where would he be if he hadn’t had their kindness?

  Maybe it was too much of a stretch, but these cottages reminded him of who he could’ve been. Maybe that’s why he was so passionate about transforming them.

  Or maybe he just needed to hit something with a hammer.

  He walked through the cottage again, making notes and getting ideas. He’d take out a couple of interior walls and create an open floor plan. He’d bring in the natural light and let it wash across the entire space. He’d repair the deck so the view could be properly enjoyed. He’d try not to call Lane and ask her what colors to paint or what fixtures to buy. And when he was finished, he’d either move himself in or he’d rent it out and move to Chicago.

  The thought seemed ridiculous. He’d hate living in the city. His sister and nephew would be hours away, not right up the street. But if it meant he could be close to Lane—actually make a go of their relationship—wouldn’t it be worth it?

  He was coming down the stairs, still contemplating how to open up the tight hallway between the bedrooms, when he realized someone was standing in the entryway.

  The man had his back to him, but his broad shoulders and wide gait gave him away.

  “What are you doing here?” Ryan didn’t care to be polite. His father, out on bond, didn’t deserve his sympathy. And yet, looking at him now, standing with his hat in his hands and that forlorn expression on his face, Ryan couldn’t help but feel pity. He’d likely end up in jail, where he belonged.

  Why should that upset Ryan? He hardly knew him anyway.

  “I stopped by the office at Cedar Grove,” his dad said, surprisingly sober.

  “You shouldn’t go there. It’s a place for families.”

  His dad looked away.

  Ryan walked down the rest of the stairs and faced his father beside the front door. “So why are you here?”

  “Your employee at the office told me where to find you. Said you’d bought another property to fix up and rent out.” He looked lost, like he wasn’t sure what else to say. And why would he? They’d never had a real conversation in his life.

  “I’m proud of you, Son.”

  Ryan bit back a sarcastic response, choosing silence instead.

  “What you’ve done with that place—it’s impressive. You’ve really made something of yourself.”

  “I hope you’re not going to try and take credit for that.”

  His father’s face fell. “No, I know better. I know you did this all on your own—it was no doing of mine.”

  Ryan sighed. “I didn’t do it all on my own. I had help. Lots of help. Lots of good people God put in my life over the years.”

  The words resonated within him. The Kelleys had seen past all of Ryan’s faults and mistakes. Heck, he’d been trying to steal from Frank the day they met. They’d given him a second chance. They’d shown him the love of a father.

  He prayed God wouldn’t ask him to do the same . . . not yet.

  “Well, I came to tell you I was wrong about you. You’re nothing like me, Son. You’re your own man, and I’m proud of you for that too.”

  “Thanks,” he mumbled.

  “And I’m sorry I hurt your girl.” Martin turned away, obvious shame on his face. “It was an accident.”

  What could he say? That everything
was okay? It wasn’t. Would it ever be?

  “I know you’ve got no reason to be proud of me,” his dad said, eyes glassy with tears of regret. “But I wanted to let you know I’m working on giving you one.” He reached into his pocket, pulled out something small, and set it on the rickety entryway table that had come with the house. He met Ryan’s eyes, gave him a nod, then turned and started for the door.

  Ryan glanced down and saw a one-month sobriety chip from Alcoholics Anonymous. He picked it up and turned it over in his hand.

  “Wait.” Why was Ryan stopping him? He wanted him to go. He wanted him out of his life—for good.

  But when his father turned around, Ryan saw all the words he couldn’t say written right there on the older man’s face. He saw the years of regret, the unsaid apologies, the grave knowledge that he’d wasted so much of his life.

  How do I fix this, Lord? This is beyond me.

  His dad watched him, waiting for a reason to stay there, but Ryan’s mind had gone blank.

  “Show me the house?” Martin asked, looking like a boy in search of a friend.

  Ryan drew in a deep breath, then gave him a nod. “Let’s start in the kitchen.”

  “Miss Kelley, I need your approval on these designs.” Jemma, a bright young intern Julia had assigned to Lane, stood in front of her glass-topped desk with a tablet. She turned the iPad toward Lane and pointed to a number of images, all put together by Lane’s team for a pitch they were giving later that week.

  Lane’s phone buzzed and she held up a finger to Jemma, indicating she needed a minute. Jemma nodded, set the tablet on Lane’s desk, and darted out of the office. Lane spent the next several minutes responding to a flurry of incoming texts over a crisis with a hotel project they’d been working on—the vanities they’d originally picked out were no longer available and the new ones they liked were more expensive.

  Lane tried to remember she didn’t have to fix every crisis, that she could empower her team to handle it, but the stress of dealing with it was still considerable.

  She set her cell phone down and checked her e-mail. How was it possible that in the last ten minutes, twenty-two new e-mails had come in? Of those, fifteen were marked urgent.