Love Shadows

by Catherine Lanigan

  Sarah looked down sheepishly. “True.”

  “That’s what I thought. Uncle George and I will give you five thousand dollars to front the festival.”

  “Oh, that’s too generous!”

  Emily smiled. “We talked it over last night. If you need more, George will talk to a few of his golf buddies and get them to kick in some money, as well. What you said on Sunday is very true, Sarah. There are times when we are all called upon to help our communities, and this is what we have to do. Some people can donate the sweat from their brow, or their expertise. Others are capable of writing checks. The good thing is that everyone at St. Mark’s is behind you. I haven’t heard a single negative word since you spoke. We all want you to make this a success.”

  Sarah threw up her arms and leaned over to hug her aunt. “This means so much to me.”

  “I know, dearest. I know.”

  They had just begun discussing how Emily could use her position as head of the Indian Lake Tourism Board to help promote the summer festival when Luke’s truck pulled up next door.

  Sarah watched as he pulled a battered, red toolbox out of the back of his pickup. He fumbled in the bed of the truck for a tool belt that he slung over his shoulder. He was wearing a navy T-shirt, jeans and his work boots. Sarah noticed that working on Mrs. Beabots’s house this past week had tanned his muscular arms, and his nose was sunburned. He took out a baseball cap and plunked it on his head before walking back to the carriage house.

  Beau started barking, and in seconds Sarah heard the kitchen door open, followed by Beau racing down the back steps and into the yard. Beau was trained never to leave Sarah’s yard, no matter the disturbance. However, the golden retriever went straight to the six-foot-tall hedges that separated her yard from Mrs. Beabots’s and barked at Luke as he headed to the carriage house. Once Luke went inside, Beau stopped barking and lumbered over to Sarah.

  Aunt Emily’s eyes had been glued on Sarah as she watched Luke unload his truck. “Mrs. Beabots is having some work done on her house, I see,” Emily commented, a wry smile on her lips.

  “Just the carriage house. It was practically falling down.” Sarah nodded just as they heard a loud bang.

  They got up out of their chairs and walked around to the backyard together. They looked at the carriage house and saw a very tall ladder being placed against the outside and then extended to the second floor. Then they heard the sounds of Luke climbing the metal ladder.

  Again, Emily watched her niece with mounting interest. “I was telling George the other day that we need to get our house painted. Do you know anything about him?”

  Sarah did not turn back to look at her aunt. “He’s got real anger issues, if you ask me. He can really ride that high horse of his!”

  Emily’s smile broadened with mounting curiosity. “So you do know him?”

  “More than I care to mention,” Sarah groaned. “I met him at my bereavement group.”

  “Why is he there?”

  “His wife died. Over two years ago.”

  “And he’s still having trouble? That’s not good, Sarah.”

  Sarah turned around to face her aunt. “No, I suppose it isn’t. He’s got two darling kids, but he doesn’t spend enough of himself on them.”

  “That’s really not good,” Emily said. “For him or the kids. I hope you are doing all you can to help him.”

  “Mostly, I want to hit him.”

  Emily blinked twice. “Excuse me? How well do you know this guy?”

  Sarah expelled a heavy breath. “I’m thinking of getting to un-know him.”

  “What? I’m confused.”

  “Not as much as I am,” Sarah moaned. “I have discovered that when you’re in therapy sessions with people, they come to know the real you. It’s pretty intimidating. So I know things about Luke that he wouldn’t tell anyone else because the counselor is very good and has a way of prying information and feelings out of all of us. The thing is, Luke also knows my insecurities.”

  “You? Insecure? I don’t think so.” Emily chuckled. “You’re too busy achieving your next goal to have time to be insecure.”

  “Well, I do have some, Aunt Emily. I’ve discovered that I’ve put my own needs and my own life on hold.”

  “Understandable. You were taking care of your mother. But that doesn’t mean you’re insecure.”

  “Luke said I was needy and that I was using his kids to fill the void in my life.”

  Emily was quiet for a long moment as she surveyed her niece. “Are you doing that?”

  Sarah shook her head. “I don’t think so. How do you really know? I like his kids. The little girl is heart-stoppingly talented. I can’t wait for you to hear her sing. But that may never happen.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because stubborn, self-absorbed Luke won’t let her be the soloist in either the children’s choir or my pageant.”

  Emily reached out and put her hand on Sarah’s arm. “So you think you’re insecure because you’re afraid to fight these kids’ father for them? You have just as much courage as your mother had. What’s the worst thing he can say to you?”

  “He already said it.”

  “Okay, so you’ve mounted that hurdle. Now, get back in the game and go help those kids. Your mother would.”

  Thinking about her mother, Sarah’s blue eyes filled with tears, but she beat them back as she flung her arms around her aunt’s neck. “Oh, Emily. She would, wouldn’t she?”

  “She never backed down from a fight in her life,” Emily said with conviction.

  “I shouldn’t, either.” Sarah looked back at Luke standing on the ladder. “No matter who or what stands in my way.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  SARAH’S PHONE RANG incessantly for days after her impassioned plea to the congregation. Though she was thrilled that so many volunteers had come forward, she realized that each time the phone rang, she hoped—and frankly, expected—to get a call from Luke.

  It was three in the afternoon when Sarah got a call from Jim Thompkins of the Chicago Tribune. He told her he’d received the press release she’d emailed the newspaper. Because he covered theater events in the area, he knew Debra La Pointe’s name quite well.

  “I know she would be thrilled to meet you,” Sarah said, hoping that would be the case. Debra La Pointe was as eccentric as they came, and media coverage that was good for the festival might not be quite so good for Debra. It was a children’s pageant, not the kind of Broadway-style play Deb had been awarded for in the past, and critics were always hard to win over.

  Sarah realized it was now imperative that Annie sing one or two solos for the pageant.

  Taking Aunt Emily’s advice, Sarah tossed caution aside and doubled up on her courage. She called Luke at the number the kids had given her when they signed up for the choir.

  Her call went to voice mail, and Sarah recognized Annie’s voice.

  “Hi, Luke,” Sarah began her message. “This is Sarah. Jensen. Would you please give me a call back? I wanted to talk to you about Annie singing solo in the Children’s Pageant. I just got a call from a journalist at the Chicago Tribune who is going to be at the festival. I’m really excited about this opportunity and what it could mean for Annie.” Then Sarah left her number at home and her cell. She didn’t want to miss his call.

  For the next two days, she still didn’t hear from Luke. She called his house again and left a second message. Then she waited.

  * * *

  ANNIE WAS SWEEPING up sugar that Timmy had spilled on the kitchen floor when she heard the answering machine pick up the incoming call. She knew her father was in the living room going through the mail and complaining about the bills as usual. She wondered why he didn’t answer the phone.

  Annie put down the broom and headed toward the living
room. Then she heard Sarah’s voice on the machine.

  Annie stood in the doorway and listened. Her mother had always told her it was rude to eavesdrop on other people’s conversations, but since her mother’s death, Annie knew that if she didn’t eavesdrop and spy on her father, she would never know what was really happening in their house.

  Just the sound of Sarah’s voice put a smile on Annie’s face. Sarah had taken extra time with Annie, teaching her how to improve her voice—even if she’d made her practice very boring, repetitious scales. Sarah had taught her how to project with her stomach—her, diaphragm, actually, and how to get more volume out of her voice, which Annie knew for a fact was already stronger than any of the other kids’ in the choir.

  What Annie liked best about Sarah was that she treated her like an adult, not like a child. Sarah pushed Annie to do better, and even when Annie didn’t feel like it, she pressed harder, just to see if she could do it. Sarah talked about things like doing “her personal best” and “self-satisfaction” with her performances.

  In just a short amount of time, Annie’s voice had improved. She now had a new understanding of music, from the intent of the lyrics to the emotion of the melody. Most of all, Annie knew that Sarah respected her and her talent. Annie was thrilled that Sarah was her personal coach.

  “I’ve left several messages for you, Luke, but you haven’t returned my calls,” Sarah continued on the answering machine. “I hope you’re getting them. This is the number Annie and Timmy gave us on their choir sign-up sheets. I’d like to talk to you about Annie. The bottom line is that I think she is incredibly talented—as I’ve told you. Please reconsider allowing her to be a soloist for the Summer Festival Children’s Pageant. Thanks, Luke.”

  Annie listened while Sarah started to leave her home phone number. Then she watched as her father quickly rose from his chair. The bills and papers that had been sitting in his lap flew to the floor as he went to the sofa table and snapped off the recorder. He erased Sarah’s message before she finished giving her number. “Shut up,” he snarled at the machine.

  Long-kindled fury spewed through Annie’s veins. “What are you doing?”

  Luke glanced at the kitchen door. “How long were you standing there?”

  “I heard Sarah’s voice. I wanted to know why she called.”

  “Well, now you know,” he said dismissively. He stooped to pick up the bills.

  Annie stood firm, her hands clenched into fists at her side. “I want to be in the pageant, Dad.”

  He stood and gave her a compassionate look. “Annie, there will be years and years ahead of you for you to sing on a stage. Don’t rush these years, sweetheart. This kind of thing isn’t good for a little girl.”

  Her face pinched into a tight mass of controlled emotion. Her father was not only going to keep her from singing in the pageant this summer, but for many years to come, too. “But I’m really good now!”

  Luke took a deep breath. “I know that. But you’re just too young.”

  “I am not too young. I’m nearly nine. Lots of talented kids my age have agents and managers!”

  “How do you know that?”

  She looked at him as if he were the single most stupid person on earth. “I can read, Dad.”

  “Don’t get smart,” he warned.

  Annie backed down, but only a trifle. “I have been practicing for a long time.”

  “You only started in the choir this summer,” he argued. “I don’t think you’re prepared for the kind of audience this festival thing could draw.”

  Annie ground her jaw, trying to hold back her irritation. “Don’t you pay any attention to me at all? Mom used to teach me how to sing along with the songs on her iPod. We sang all kinds of songs. She told me I had a beautiful voice. She wanted me to sing as loud and as often as I could. She told me that.”

  Annie saw tears fill her father’s eyes. He nodded. “I remember now.”

  “Mom would have wanted me to sing.”

  “Yes,” he agreed, and cast a stern look at his daughter. “But I also know that if Mom were here, she would tell you the same thing I’m telling you. Singing in the children’s choir is one thing. Being a soloist is another.”

  Ire erupted within Annie like a volcano. “No, she wouldn’t!” Annie nearly screamed.

  “Yes, she would,” Luke replied in the low, authoritarian tones that usually ended every disagreement they had.

  Annie stood her ground. “Mom told me the same thing that Sarah tells me.”

  Her dad’s eyebrow cranked up, and a suspicious expression filled his face. “And what is that?”

  “That I’m special. My singing is special. I should be allowed to use it and share it.”

  “Oh, ho! With the whole world, I suppose?” He chortled.

  “You’re making fun of me,” Annie gasped. Tears filled her eyes, but she choked them back. She felt as if she were facing the greatest threat to her future she’d ever known. She didn’t care that she was only eight years old. Annie knew this wasn’t a life-and-death situation, but at this moment, her father was the only obstacle between her and her dream. Her mother had always told her to do everything in her power to always believe in her dream and to make her own dreams come true.

  “Not the whole world, Dad. Just Indian Lake. I don’t believe anything you’re saying. I think you’re trying to stop me because you don’t believe in me. Sarah believes in me. Mrs. Cook believes in me. I want to sing in the pageant and I will. I don’t care anymore what you say! If you loved me, you would give your permission to Sarah!”

  The tears that Annie had held back shot to her eyes and flung themselves down her face. She couldn’t stop their fury. She couldn’t stop the broiling anger that flamed her cheeks. Her father was the enemy, the dark side of her world. Annie raced out of the room, bounded up the stairs and rushed into her bedroom. She slammed the door and immediately scurried into the tent she’d made out of blankets and chairs. It protected her from all evil, all imagined monsters. Tonight, her father had become a real monster.

  * * *

  GAPING AT THE STAIRCASE, Luke watched Annie disappear into her bedroom. The slamming door echoed horribly and assaulted his ears.

  In all the years he had lived in this house, there had never been a door slammed in anger. He and Jenny had never fought—at least not that he could remember.

  How was it possible that in fewer than two months, his world had tilted off its axis and deposited him into some foreign, emotion-filled land? These days he barely knew his own kids. He didn’t know what they needed or wanted. He wished he could put them in glass cases and keep them just like they were on the day Jenny died. He didn’t ask for this kind of struggle and he didn’t feel he deserved it, either.

  When he was in Iraq, serving his country, he’d learned to compartmentalize his emotions. He put his loneliness and longing for Jenny in a box and shoved it into a sacred vault in his heart. He kept his mind sharp, followed orders and executed the kind of missions that kept him and his men alive. He learned not to think about death. Since Jenny died, he couldn’t think of anything else.

  Tonight his daughter had looked at him as if she could kill him. She had that look in her eye that he’d seen before, but only in Iraq. He was nothing to her. He was an obstacle. A thing. An entity, but not a human being. Least of all her father.

  Tonight, he’d lost his daughter.

  Luke also believed most parents experienced the same thing when their children became defiant. It was a parent’s duty to watch out for their kids’ well-being and to keep them safe.

  Luke believed he was protecting Annie from pain. This was all due to Sarah’s meddling—putting visions of stardom in Annie’s eyes. Sarah both confounded and frustrated him. He’d never met someone as combative as Sarah was when she was fighting for something she believed in.
Admittedly, when Luke wiped his emotions from the tally slate he kept, he had to give Sarah credit for being so caring about Annie that she would go toe to toe with him over it. Sarah didn’t appear to have the first fear when it came to taking him on. If her only motivation really was to encourage Annie and her talent, Luke was touched. His concern was that if she froze onstage with a large crowd watching her, she would never get over it. Such an event could scar her for life. She could regress, become a recluse like weirdo Austin McCreary, who was said to sit in his Maple Avenue mansion counting his money and antique cars, seldom communing with a soul in Indian Lake.

  He had to make Annie understand that his decision was for her own good.

  Luke wiped his face with his palm. I hated when my dad used to say that to me.

  He climbed the stairs two at a time and went to Annie’s door. He knocked gently. “Annie, can I come in? I want to talk to you.”

  “Go away! And don’t ever come back!” she yelled.

  “Please?” Luke pleaded through the door.

  “You don’t love me anymore! Just go away. Leave me alone!”

  Luke bowed his head, trying to think of his next move. The door to Timmy’s room opened. Timmy stepped out into the hall wearing his dog-print cotton pajamas. “She won’t talk to anybody when she gets like that, Dad.”

  Luke blinked at his son. “I’ve never seen Annie get this mad.”

  Timmy shook his head. “She’s mad at me at least twice a week.”

  “Really?” Luke walked over to Timmy and lifted him up so that they were face-to-face. “I’m sorry she’s been mean to you.”

  Timmy smiled wanly. “Mostly, I deserved it.”

  “How’s that, exactly?” Luke asked as he carried Timmy to bed and tucked him in.

  “She asks me to do stuff, but I don’t do it on purpose. I know that’s not the right thing, because then Annie has to do all the work.” Timmy looked earnestly at his father. “She works really hard around here, you know,” Timmy said, crossing his arms behind his head.