"But you never forgot Eleanor," Grant says.
"Never. Not for a single day. I wrote to her. I didn't know where to send the letters, so I sent them to her father's house. I sent them to the school. I sent them to Tony. I sent letters everywhere I could think of, hoping one day one of them would find her. But I never received one in return."
Grant's hand slides from his lap and finds mine. I'm thankful for the strength and the warmth it gives me.
"And you have no idea what happened to her? Where she might have gone, or where she's been?" I ask.
"No," Neil answers.
"Did you know no one has been allowed to go to the site of the original school? There was never an investigation, and what was left of the school was demolished. Eleanor's grandparents owned that land. I suppose they still do, though I don't think the people who live on it now are related to her."
Neil shakes his head.
"I don't think they would be," he says. "Tony told me that her father died a few years after I left, and her mother and siblings ended up leaving Magnolia Falls to live closer to her side of the family. Eleanor’s father was an only child, which apparently was a very sensitive issue for the family. I don't know what would have happened to the land after her grandparents died, unless it passed to one of Eleanor's siblings."
"I don't think so," I say.
"Why not?"
"If her family was still in town, wouldn't people talk about it?”
"Then who's living on the land?" Grant asks. "And why are they still refusing access to it?"
* * *
Two days later…
"Stop invading my village!" I demand, staring at my phone as I walk into Grant's office.
He doesn't respond, and I look up to see him staring intently at his laptop screen. He glances up.
"No."
He looks right back at the computer, and I reluctantly close the game that has become my secret obsession. Slipping my phone in my pocket, I walk around behind Grant and lean over his shoulder to look at the screen with him.
"What are you reading?" I ask.
He points at what looks like a scan of a registration form from many years ago.
"See that name?" he asks.
"Yeah."
"Does it look familiar?"
The handwriting is stilted and complex as was the way generations ago. It makes it harder to discern the letters, and I lean forward, pressing my hand to the surface of the desk so I can get closer to the computer.
"Atticus Bellamy," I say. I look at Grant. "Bellamy? Isn't that what Neil said was Eleanor's last name?"
Grant nods.
"And what do you bet good old Atticus here is Eleanor's father?"
I look at him again.
"What is this from?"
The expression on Grant's face is triumphant, but mixed with a hint of some other emotion. Anger, maybe? He scrolls up on the page so I can see the header. My hand flies up to cover my mouth, and I stare at the words, not believing what I'm reading. Finally, I slide my eyes over to him.
"I think I have a few more phone calls to make," he says.
Chapter Nineteen
Grant
Two weeks later…
I haven't been in the high school much the last few weeks, and I'm struck by the difference in the energy in the hallways. Just as Emma told me, the mood around the school is completely different compared to Homecoming. Gone is the spirit and energy of the new school year, and in its place is a more established sense of continuity that comes from the students and teachers moving in and out of the same rooms, five days a week.
Usually when I come to school, I immediately look for Emma. This time, I'm doing my best to avoid anywhere I think she might be. I go in through the front entrance to avoid walking past the theater and choose my path carefully so I don't run into Judy, either. I don't want either of them to know I'm here today.
Before I can walk into the front office, Mrs. Burke comes down the hallway and notices me.
"Grant," she says. "This is a nice surprise. Are you here to talk to me?"
"Yes. I know I don't have an appointment or anything, but if you have a few minutes, I wanted to go over something with you."
"Of course," she says. "You don't need an appointment to talk to me. I just need to print off a few extra copies of these forms. Go ahead and wait in my office. I'll be there in a moment."
I walk down the hallway, and settle into one of the chairs in front of her desk. While I wait, I look around at all the artifacts Mrs. Burke has collected during her tenure at the school. They are a testament to the woman herself. Achievement awards and recognitions are tucked on the same shelves as family pictures, and trinkets I can only imagine were gifts from graduating students. She has talked so much about all the contributions Mr. Bernheimer made to the community through his work with the school, but in reality, she’s just as important. She deserves recognition and celebration as well. I know she would never accept something for herself, but I hope the conversation I'm planning to have with her today will help her understand how important she is.
"What can I do for you, Grant?"
I had been so lost in staring at a picture of a very young Mrs. Burke in a cheerleading outfit vaguely reminiscent of Grease, that I didn't realize she had stepped back into the office.
"Would you mind closing the door?" I ask.
She looks at me with a concerned expression.
"Is something wrong?" she asks as she walks toward the door and gently pulls it shut.
I shake my head.
"No," I tell her. "I just don't want anyone to overhear us, and I don't think we'd both fit in your coat closet."
She smiles as she sits behind the desk.
"What's on your mind? Is it about the project?"
"Yes," I say. "As a matter of fact, it is. I've been thinking about this project a lot since I started, and recently, it has taken on even more significance for me. The longer Emma and I work on this project, the more I realize I didn't fully understand why it was so important when I first accepted the project. I thought I did, but now that I've been working on it for a few months, there’s so much more to it than I thought there was."
"That's good to hear," she says. "That's why I trusted you. I knew you would take it to heart, even if you didn't realize it at first."
I nod.
"When we first started talking about honoring Mr. Bernheimer for his retirement, I thought the concept of a recreated prom was specifically for him. Now I see it as something much more than a job – it’s an honor for me, and in that vein, I’d like to finish this without accepting any payment."
Mrs. Burke's hands lower from where they were clasped beneath her chin.
"Grant," she says. "This is your job. This is your business, and you've devoted a tremendous amount of time and effort to this project. I can't ask you to do that without compensation."
"You're not asking me to," I say. "I'm telling you this is what I want to do. After a long talk with Emma about my commission, I realized the money spent paying me for making these arrangements could be used in far better ways. I will not be billing you for any of the services I've already provided or have yet to provide. I have also made arrangements to pay the vendors who haven’t agreed to donate their services."
Mrs. Burke looks overwhelmed, and I give her a few seconds to process what I'm saying to her.
"I can't tell you how much this means to us, Grant. To me, personally, and to everyone taking part in this event. How can I possibly thank you?"
"You don't have to thank me. But if you want to, I have an idea for what you could do with the money you would have spent on my commission."
"What is it?" she asks.
"Set up a boutique for everyone who wants to go to the prom. Work with Mr. Alexander to offer dresses, and the rental company for tuxes. Then, have Miss Paula and Angelique set up a salon to do hair, nails, and makeup, and anything else they need done. They'll need help, so let me get you in contac
t with some professionals to come and work with them. Make sure that both the boutique and the salon are available for everyone, including the students, teachers, chaperones, whoever. Anyone involved with the prom. The commission and expenses fund might not cover all of that, so if there are any additional expenses, bill them directly to me. I'll take care of it. Please keep this between us. If you're asked, tell them you received an anonymous donation. It's the truth."
"This is incredible, Grant," Mrs. Burke says through tears. “I don’t know what to say.”
I grin at her. "Smile, Mrs. Burke. This is all fun, now. All you have to do is make the arrangements, and I'll take care of the rest."
I can already hear Mrs. Burke on the phone with Mr. Alexander as I leave her office and make my way down the hall. Now that I've finished meeting with her, I can find Emma. She's not expecting me to be here, but I'm hoping she doesn't have a busy afternoon today. I check the theater first. The stage is dark, and a few students are scattered in the chairs, going over scripts. I don't see Emma anywhere. I go to the teacher lounge next, but the door is closed and locked, and even through the sheer curtain over the narrow window in the door, I can see that the room is dark. Taking out my phone, I call her, but it goes directly to voicemail, so I start exploring the rest of the school. I eventually make my way into the wing containing the science and math classrooms, wondering if she could be with Judy.
By the time I get to the middle of the main hallway, I can hear peals of laughter and know I'm right. A classroom door stands open near the end of the hall, and I peer into it. Emma is perched on one of the desks, her legs crossed at the ankle, and her hands pressed to the desk beside her as she laughs along with Judy. I wish I could just stand here and watch her without being creepy. She looks beautiful and relaxed, the wide smile on her face making her eyes sparkle. I'm only there for a few seconds before she looks up and notices me.
"Grant," she says, slipping off the edge of the desk to stand. "I didn't expect to see you here today."
"I know," I say. "I came by to see if you were busy this afternoon. You said your rehearsal schedule was a little up in the air today."
She nods.
"I decided to go ahead and cancel it for this afternoon. All the kids have plans for Valentine's Day tonight, and I figured I shouldn't bother trying to have a rehearsal since most of them either wouldn't come or would be distracted the whole time."
"That’s a good idea," I say. "Are you doing anything else?"
I look over at Judy, who is watching our conversation with fascination. She's the only one in Magnolia Falls who knows the true nature of our marriage, but I don't know if Emma has told her about the decision she made for us to cool off and just be friends for now.
"I don't think so," she says. "Judy here has an enchanted evening planned, so my aspirations of sitting around in our pajamas and eating pizza while watching sappy made-for-television movies have been dashed."
"As thrilling as that sounds," I say, "I'm happy for you, Judy. What are you up to tonight?"
"Jeremy is taking me out on the mainland," she says. "He won't tell me anything. It's a surprise. It's making choosing my outfit a bit of a challenge, but I figure I'll put on my fancy clothes, and pack a bag with other options just in case."
I smile.
"Always prepared," I say. I look at Emma. "So, you don't have anything going on this afternoon or evening?"
"No," she says. "But I thought we agreed we weren't going to celebrate Valentine's Day."
Judy leans toward us.
"I don't mean to interrupt," she says in a low voice, "but the two of you might want to work on this whole happily married thing. I don't know of a lot of newlywed couples who need to have a conference over what they're doing on Valentine's Day. Just a thought. Carry on."
She slides back in her seat and busies herself with a stack of papers in front of her.
"Don't worry," I say, turning back to Emma. "It's nothing Cupid-approved. It actually has to do with the prom. I don't know if you realized it, but we’re about ten weeks out, and there's still a lot to be done."
A momentary flicker of disappointment crosses Emma's face. She nods.
"Oh," she says. "Um, yeah. You're… yeah, you're right. I actually didn't realize it was that soon. I've been so wrapped up in the musical I didn't think about the prom coming up so soon after."
"It's fine," I reassure her. "We'll get it done. Whenever you're ready, we can go."
A student in clothes that look about three sizes too big for him steps timidly into the room, gripping a packet of papers in front of his chest.
"Come on in, Eddie," Judy says.
Eddie looks at Emma and me with uncertainty as he walks from the door to the side of Judy's desk.
"I have a few questions over the homework," he says in a voice way too deep for his scrawny body.
"Sure," Judy replies. "What are you having trouble with?"
"I'm going to go ahead and go," Emma says to her. "Thanks for the ride this morning. I'll see you Monday? I want all the details of your…" her eyes flit to Eddie and back to Judy, "project this weekend."
Judy nods.
"I'll make sure to take notes."
"Judy, what is it, exactly, that you teach? I only know that you’re a science teacher."
"I am," she says, bobbing her head in confirmation.
“What kind of science?”
“Advanced physics.”
I feel a tug on my elbow, and Emma and I wave at Judy as we start toward the door. I lean toward her.
“Advanced physics?” I ask in a low whisper.
Emma makes an affirmative sound.
“Yes,” she says.
“Judy?” I ask. “Our Judy teaches advanced freaking physics?”
“Yes.”
“I didn’t even know that was an option in high school.”
We walk out into the hallway and start toward the front of the school.
“It’s part of an experimental program,” she explains. “Mr. Bernheimer wanted to encourage more students to get a head start on college, so he designed a program of advanced studies for qualifying students. Some of the classes even earn them actual college credits."
We get into the car, and Emma looks at me expectantly.
"Where are we going?" she asks. "Or are you going to tell me it's a surprise?"
"We're going back to the house," I say.
"You came all the way to the school to pick me up so you could bring me back to the house?" she asks.
"No. I'm bringing you back to the house because where we're going isn't an appropriate venue for a skirt and heels."
Emma looks down at her work clothes.
"Where are we going once I change?"
I turn onto the road that weaves around to the village.
"That's a surprise."
She lets out an exasperated sigh, and I laugh.
* * *
Over an hour later, Emma and I are tromping through tall grass, and she is grumbling something unintelligible beneath her breath. We've been walking for almost half an hour, and Emma seems to be losing patience with this particular surprise. She stumbles in an unseen dip in the ground, and I reach out to grab her elbow and get her stable again. When she's back on her feet, she looks up to glare at me.
"What are we doing?" she asks. "Why are we out here? And where is here?"
I can understand the question. I brought her out to a far corner of the island I barely even knew existed. I had to go this way to make our approach as easy as possible, but that certainly feels like a relative concept as we make our way through the overgrown grass, knotted vines, and roots of long-abandoned crop fields.
"It shouldn't be too much further," I say. "I think we're getting through the worst of it."
"I hope so," she says. "This is the worst Valentine's Day ever."
She says it teasingly, and I make a face at her.
"But we're not celebrating Valentine's Day," I say.
"I
didn't think that meant we were going to anti-celebrate Valentine's Day."
"Anti-celebrate Valentine's Day?" I ask.
There's a brief pause.
"I might be listening to my students too closely."
We cover a few more yards of the tangled grass, and it finally seems to lessen. The grass is tall and thick, but the ground beneath our feet lacks the ridges and roots of the old field. I look ahead and see what I had hoped would be there. Emma pauses beside me.
"What is that?" she asks.
"That," I say, continuing toward the stretch of brick and cement a few yards ahead of us, "is what's left of the original Magnolia Falls High."
Emma's eyes snap up to me.
"Are you serious?" she asks. "That's where we are?"
I nod.
"Unless there's another large building around that was torn down and abandoned, yes, that's where we are."
"How did you get permission to come out here?" she asks, sounding stunned. "No one has been allowed to come out here since the school was destroyed. Even the Historical Society was denied when they asked to come."
"Like you said," I say, "people don't say no to me."
She shoots me an incredulous expression, shaking her head.
"No, that works for things like waiters and jail guards and the vast majority of women. This is different. People have been trying to get permission to come out here for generations and haven't been able to. They were told they would be trespassing, and it would be illegal, and they had no right to access the property. Oh, no. We're trespassing, aren't we? Jesse's going to come out here and arrest us, and we're going to have to interrupt Judy's date night with Jeremy to bail us out."
I laugh and shake my head.
"No, Emma, we're not trespassing. We actually have permission to be here. Well, sort of. Besides, if we ended up in jail, we wouldn't have to interrupt Judy to come bail us out. Dean owes me plenty of bailout favors."
"What do you mean we sort of have permission?" Emma asks. "Permission is a fairly black-and-white situation. Either you do have permission to be somewhere or you don't."
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