The First Kiss of Spring

by Emily March

  Had Caitlin not been watching close, she wouldn’t have noticed the sheen of tears in her mother’s eyes. “Mom? What’s wrong?”

  Ali closed her eyes and gave her head a little shake. “I’m sorry. It’s nothing. I’m just tired. Traveling gets harder all the time.”

  Unease rippled through Caitlin. “When was the last time you went to the doctor?”

  Ali rolled her eyes. “I went in December, Moth-er. I’m fine. You have my word. Like I said, traveling is harder than it used to be. It doesn’t help that Dad and I stayed out late last night. I planned to sleep on the plane, but the ladies across the aisle from me never stopped talking.”

  At that point their nail techs arrived, and Caitlin knew better than to pursue any serious line of questioning in front of them. Her mother was a private person. To Ali Timberlake, there was a time and place for intimate conversations, and the salon wasn’t it. Instead, she entertained Caitlin and the nail techs with tales of shopping at a Mexican market and her ideas for a Taste of Mexico menu at the Yellow Kitchen.

  Of course, Ali’s penchant for privacy didn’t exactly extend to questions she wished to ask of others. While the technician slathered a salt scrub on her calves, she glanced at Caitlin and asked, “So after all the drama of Christmas Eve, did you and Josh ever exchange Christmas presents?”

  “We did.” Caitlin smiled as she recalled how the gift exchange had gone down.

  After Christmas Eve party goers helped both Celeste and Josh back onto their feet following Josh’s miraculous catch, Dr. Rose Cicero insisted he be taken to the clinic for new X-rays. She’d kept him for observation overnight, and rather than spending the first minutes of Christmas Day seated beside Josh at the midnight church service, Caitlin had sat between her parents and her brother and his wife. No sense spending the night at Josh’s bedside. The man was dosed up on painkillers and out like Santa on December 26.

  The week slowly passed with Josh spending much of the time in bed. Traditionally, Caitlin’s family kept their holiday trimmings up until Epiphany, but on New Year’s Eve, a little depressed and with nothing to do but watch a movie by herself, Caitlin began taking down decorations and stripping the tree of its ornaments and lights. She had everything boxed up but the Twelve Dogs of Christmas ornament set when Josh came out of his bathroom, still damp from a shower. He wore loose-fitting drawstring pants and a button-up flannel shirt. It was the first time all week he’d dressed in something more than pajama bottoms and rib wrap.

  Maybe the worst of it is over, Caitlin thought, even as she observed the furrow of pain on his brow and the tightness around his lips.

  “Wow. It looks barren in here now.”

  Caitlin nodded. “It does, but at the same time, I always like getting the clutter put away and creating a sense of a new start for a new year. I have a pan of hot chocolate on the stove. Would you like a cup?”

  “I’d love one, thanks.”

  Caitlin went into the kitchen and filled a mug with the steaming drink, then returned to the family room. Josh stood in front of the fireplace, his gaze focused on the pair of wrapped packages sitting on the mantel in place of the Santas she’d already boxed up to put away. He accepted the mug, then nodded toward the mantel. “What are you planning to do with those?”

  “I was waiting for you to tell me.”

  “I think we’d better open them now. If we wait until after midnight, then they’ll be next year’s gifts.”

  “I’m not quite sure I follow that, but okay. Let’s exchange our gifts. I’ll admit it’s been difficult for me to wait.”

  “Think I got you something good, hmm?”

  “Actually, I’m more excited to see what you think of my gift.”

  “Well, let’s see, shall we?” He retrieved the package tagged to her and offered it, saying, “Merry Christmas and Happy New Year, Caitlin. Here’s hoping we get through New Year’s Eve without something—or someone—falling from the sky.”

  “I’ll drink to that.” They clicked their mugs in toast, then Caitlin handed over her gift to him. They both set down their mugs and began opening their gifts.

  Josh was a ripper, Caitlin discovered. She liked to carefully untie bows and peel back tape, so he had his box opened first. She paused in her efforts to watch his reaction.

  Alarm. His gaze shot up to meet hers, and she immediately recognized his fear. Hastily, she assured, “I didn’t read your journals, Josh. I would never invade your privacy that way. But I noticed the one beside your bed and the stack of them in your closet.”

  He held her stare for another moment, then visibly relaxed. He turned his attention to the handcrafted journal. “This is beautiful. I’ve never seen anything like it. The clasp looks old. Is it a door hinge?”

  “Yes. It dates to the 1890s, as does the lock and key.”

  “Handmade paper, too,” he mused, flipping through the pages.

  “Yes.”

  “It’s great. Seriously awesome. Thank you.” He started to lean toward her and lower his head. She lifted her face in anticipation of a kiss—that never happened. Instead, he grimaced, straightened, and grumbled, “Damn ribs. Open your gift, Caitlin.”

  She decided she’d claim that kiss the next time he was horizontal, and then she returned her attention to his gift to her. She uncovered a small white box. Inside sat a black velvet jewelry box. Not a ring box. It was bigger than that. She silently scolded herself not to be disappointed.

  She’d never anticipated getting a ring for Christmas.

  Dreamt about it, maybe, but never anticipated.

  She flipped open the lid and caught her breath.

  At the spa at Angel’s Rest, the nail tech lifted her right foot from the bowl and began to rub the bottom of her foot with a pumice stone. As always, it tickled and jerked Caitlin’s thoughts back to the present.

  Presents. Her mother had asked about Christmas presents. “I gave him a journal and he gave me a gorgeous pair of earrings that match the necklace he gave me a few weeks before Christmas.”

  “The one you wore Christmas Eve?” At Caitlin’s nod, Ali continued. “I’ve been meaning to ask you about that. I want a closer look at it. It’s fabulous. A true statement piece.”

  “The earrings are just as gorgeous. The setting is unique and truly, the loveliest vintage jewelry I’ve ever seen. A bit fancy for Eternity Springs, but I don’t care. I love them.”

  “You’ll have to find out the designer’s name and—” Ali broke off the thought when her phone rang. She glanced down at the number and thumbed the green button. “Hello, Mac. I’m with Caitlin at Angel’s—”

  Ali broke off abruptly and listened for a moment. “Oh no. Mac.” She pulled one foot from the tech’s hands and the other from the bowl and motioned toward a towel. Into the phone, she said, “I’m going to hang up and call nine-one-one.”

  Caitlin sat up. “What’s wrong? Mom, what happened?”

  Ali ignored her daughter and swiped the towel over her legs. “Are you sure?”

  “Mom!”

  Ali shook her head at Caitlin and spoke into the phone. “All right. Yes. All right. Stay where you are, Mac. Don’t try to get up. I’ll be right there. I’m going to leave Angel’s Rest now. Here, reassure your daughter while I put my shoes and socks on.”

  Ali shoved the phone toward Caitlin, who took it and said, “Dad?”

  Mac spoke in a determined and cheery voice. “I’m okay, snookums. I just tripped on something and twisted my ankle. No big deal.”

  Relief washed over her. “Oh, Dad. Are you sure it’s not broken?”

  “Positive. It’s not even that bad of a strain. I wouldn’t have bothered your mother about it except I’m at the bottom of the basement stairs and—”

  “Dad! Tell me you didn’t fall down the stairs.”

  “I didn’t fall down the stairs. What I did manage to do is lock myself in the basement.”

  “How in the world did you do that?”

  “Long story, baby girl. O
ne that makes me look really foolish, I’m afraid.”

  Caitlin lifted her feet away from the pedicure chair’s bowl saying, “I’ll ride up with Mom.”

  “No!” The harsh snap in his tone took her aback. He said it again, more gently this time. “No, honey. Thanks, but don’t bother. I promise you, I’m just fine. A little embarrassed, but just fine.”

  By now Ali had donned her shoes and crossed the salon to the coatrack. She slipped into her jacket, then returned for her phone, wiggling her fingers to signal Caitlin to hand it over.

  “Mom wants her phone.”

  “Give it to her. Come see me tomorrow, okay?”

  “Okay,” Caitlin said reluctantly, then she handed the phone back to her mother.

  “Sorry for the interruption. Finish your pedicure. Tell Josh I said hello. Maybe we’ll come down and visit with you two tomorrow. Dad and Josh can compare injuries.”

  “Mom, are sure that—?”

  “Gotta run. Bye.” Ali leaned down and kissed Caitlin’s cheek, then blew out the front door just as Celeste stepped inside carrying a box and a stack of magazines.

  “Well,” Caitlin muttered. “That was … strange.”

  Dad locks himself in the basement? Mom goes from brittle to boisterous to bizarre in the time it takes to soften the callouses on her feet?

  Her parents were getting stranger by the day.

  And Caitlin continued to worry about her father. Mac Timberlake had never been a clumsy man. First he drops the collection plate and now he trips and manages to lock himself in the basement? What the heck?

  “Hello, Caitlin,” Celeste said. “What a lovely color you’ve chosen for your toes. Nothing like sunshine yellow to brighten up a winter day.”

  Yellow? Caitlin hadn’t picked yellow. She glanced down at the tray between her chair and her mother’s and saw her choice of Valentine red and … sunshine yellow. Her mom had chosen sunshine yellow! Ali Timberlake seldom wore any nail polish bolder than a pastel pink. She never wore yellow. Yep. Stranger not by the day, but by the minute.

  “I suppose you’re right.” Caitlin smiled up at Celeste as the nail tech picked up the bottle of bright yellow polish and shook it. “A little sunshine never hurts.”

  “Speaking of sunshine, how is our resident hero doing today?”

  What Mr. Grouch-and-gloom had to do with sunshine, Caitlin couldn’t hazard a guess. “He’s doing well,” she replied. She wasn’t at all certain she spoke the truth, but Celeste had felt so guilty about the Christmas Eve fall that Caitlin wouldn’t dream of saying otherwise. “Harriet brought him cookies again this morning, and that always perks him up.”

  “Harriet looks good, doesn’t she? I visited with her yesterday, and she’s getting around on that new hip of hers quite well.”

  “Yes. She’s back to her old self. Plus, she told us she’s put a down payment on a new camper. She’s joining the Alleycats for their first camping weekend in May.”

  “Harriet has joined the Tornado Alleycats?” Celeste’s blue eyes gleamed with delight. “Exceptional news. I think that’s just what she needs. Now, I’d best toddle along. I still have a long to-do list for today. Will life ever slow down, I wonder? Before I go, I have a stack of new magazines. May I interest you in Architectural Digest, National Geographic, or People?”

  Caitlin had stopped even scanning the front cover of People at the grocery store checkout line when they started publishing pictures of Chase during his globetrotter phase. Since she’d paged through that issue of the National Geographic today at the vet clinic, she smiled at Celeste and said, “Architectural Digest, please.”

  Celeste handed over the magazine. “Enjoy, my dear. And remember, even the longest, darkest winter days eventually end. Hold onto your faith in spring. Keep your eyes on your sunshine nail polish.”

  Smiling, Caitlin wiggled her sunshine toes, opened the magazine, and began idly turning the pages as she waited for her polish to dry. A men’s cologne ad caught her attention—steel gray eyes and bristled jaw—if the model’s hair was a little longer, he could be Josh. She sighed, skimmed a two-page story about an eighteenth-century Italian villa, then turned the page to see a photo of a distinguished man with salt-and-pepper hair leaning against an American luxury car. He could have been her dad.

  Josh. Her dad. What was the deal with the tight-lipped men in her life? Both of them had something going on that she didn’t understand. In her dad’s case, she feared it might be health related.

  There. She’d admitted it. She’d been circling the idea for a while now, afraid to put it into words. Based on the way her parents were acting, it was the only thing that made sense. Caitlin’s stomach took a sick tumble.

  But if that was the reason for his unusual behavior, why keep it secret? That wasn’t the way her family rolled.

  That more she thought about it, the more annoyed she grew. Honesty was part of their bedrock. Obfuscations, denials, and lies had no place in Timberlake family relationships. Dad should know better.

  Maybe it was time that she called them on it.

  She flipped back to the men’s cologne ad and glared at the gray-eyed man. You too, Josh. I’ve been patient. More than patient. I’ve kind and caring and understanding—I don’t understand why you run hot and cold more often than a kitchen faucet.

  It was more than sore and aching ribs, more than the frustration of physical limitations. Something had built the castle walls of his emotions. Someone, most likely, had handed him the shovel to dig the moat.

  She drummed her fingers against the magazine. She’d bet her bottom dollar that family was the crux of the what, who, and why. He spoke of his foster family easily, but he’d never told her anything about his birth family or what calamity had placed him in foster care. She’d asked, but he’d always dodged the questions.

  I’m tired of dodges. I’m tired of dodges and secrets and sidesteps. Problems can’t be solved if they’re never acknowledged. Even heroes can be challenged—except it’s hard to have a good battle with a warrior who’s wounded.

  Frustrated, she turned a half dozen more pages of the magazine, not paying real attention to either the articles or the ads until she reached the magazine’s center spread and her gaze fell on a familiar face. She did a double take. Whoa. It was a vintage black-and-white photograph of a 1927 stage production of Hamlet. The actor was the spitting image of Josh. The caption beneath the photo identified him as Thomas J. Trammel. The article was about the Trammel family “summer house” estate in Maine.

  She knew of the Trammel family, of course. They were an American acting dynasty whose beginnings traced back generations. A smile played across her face as she studied the picture. She’d have to get a copy of this magazine and show it to Josh. Wonder if he’ll also see the resemblance.

  She started reading the article, learned about the 1835 marriage of an Irish comedian to an actress who’d made her first stage appearance at the age of five. The next generation gave the family their first major star, and the tradition continued through the transition to silent films and then talkies. By now the Trammels were considered Hollywood royalty. Benjamin Joshua Trammel made a name for himself on stage as one of the finest Shakespearean actors the world has ever seen. His daughter Eleanor was an established movie star in the Golden Age of Hollywood. The Hollywood queen had married an Arabian sheik who loved to shower her with gems, and a competition ensued. Every time Richard Burton made news by giving Elizabeth Taylor a fabulous new jewel, Eleanor’s husband made a point to outdo him.

  A photo near the bottom of the page showed a sparkling ruby-and-diamond broach.

  Caitlin turned the page and read the next paragraph in the article. Eleanor’s favorite gems—the Sokolov emeralds—were said to be those gifted to her upon the birth of her son.

  Caitlin glanced at the corresponding photograph and froze. Holy cow. Those were her necklace, her earrings!

  No wonder they were so beautiful. The design was a copy of a famous set. And with today
’s technology, man-made jewels often outshine the real ones.

  But as she continued reading the article, unease rippled through her. There was that portrait …

  No, surely not.

  Caitlin dragged her attention back to the article and read about Eleanor and her siblings’ descendants. Toward the end of the piece, a name jumped out at her.

  Ben’s son J. B. by actress Jana Tarkington began his career at just fifteen months of age when he landed his first job in a cat food commercial. The release of Martin Holberg’s blockbuster hit, Starseeker, made him a star at the age of eight. Audiences and critics alike praised young J. B.’s performance with his extra-terrestrial friend. When asked about the boy’s early success and his future plans, his grandfather said, “Acting is part of J. B.’s DNA. The profession is his destiny. He will return to the set and/or the stage someday. He has many more roles to play, many more performances to give.”

  The photograph was a still from Starseeker. Caitlin studied it, searching for a sign of the man in the boy. The eyes. His eyes had always been unique. He looked sweet and innocent. Angelic. Time had taken care of that.

  Caitlin’s fingers trembled as she deliberately shut the magazine. She felt lightheaded and dazed. The article had been a two-by-four to her head.

  She set the magazine aside, then leaned over and tested the polish with the pad of her index finger. Dry. J. B. Trammel. She pulled on her socks over sunshine yellow toes. Jana Tarkington. She shoved her feet into her boots and tied the laces. The Sokolov emeralds.

  She stood and stared down at the Architectural Digest cover and read the article headlines. “American Royalty’s Summer Escape.”

  Benjamin Joshua Trammel. Jana Tarkington. The Sokolov emeralds. J. B. Trammel.

  The doppelgänger portrait.

  Josh Tarkington.

  Josh Tarkington, auto mechanic.

  No. No. No. There must be an explanation. This was coincidence, that’s all. A wacky series of coincidences. So he looked like the guy in a vintage photograph, and the costume jewelry he’d given her was a copy of real stuff. So his last name was the same as some movie star’s mother’s maiden name, and he never breathed a word about his birth family. Coincidences do happen. That’s all. Otherwise, what was she to think? That a movie star was hiding in Eternity Springs pretending to be an auto mechanic?