Lily smiled. When they were little, they’d counted the twinkling pinpricks of light outside their bedroom windows to help them fall asleep. The next morning, they would reveal the number they’d reached; the one with the higher tally was the winner. “Maybe I should have,” she said.
“Used to work for me. Heck, it still does from time to time.”
For a moment, looking at Garrett smile at the sky, Lily considered telling him that she’d nearly left town. For the weeks she and Jane had been planning their getaway, Lily had agonized over whether to confide in him, wondering what Garrett would think, worrying that he would tell her father or try to talk her out of going. In the end, though she felt plenty guilty, Lily had chosen to stay silent. Now she couldn’t help but think that deep down she’d known she wouldn’t go.
So instead she asked, “Did you just get off work?”
“About an hour ago,” Garrett answered. “I forgot something in the squad car and had just come outside to get it when I saw you.”
When his grandmother passed away last year, Garrett had inherited the home he’d grown up in and eagerly returned. Whereas Lily fantasized about being somewhere else, he’d never wanted to leave.
“Are things getting busier now that the festival’s about to start?” Lily asked.
“A bit. There are new faces here and there. In a couple of days it’ll be a circus and a half, but for now my nights are spent rousting Marvin Ungar from the tavern and changing Betsy Pepper’s flat tire out on Simmons Road. About the same as any other time of year.”
“Do you think there’ll be trouble at the festival?” Lily asked.
Garrett shrugged, as if he wasn’t all that concerned. “I’ll break up a fight or two, likely a couple of guys from out of town who’ve had too much to drink. There might be a fender-bender or a pickpocket working the crowd, but nothing much more than that.” He paused, then asked, “Are you planning on going?”
“My dad will want me to listen to him read some proclamation about the lights donated by the Women’s Auxiliary Club or the day in honor of the Boy Scouts, but I’m sure I’ll check it out on my own.”
“On your own? What about Jane?”
She’ll be too busy having the time of her life on Broadway to spare a thought for the Hooper’s Crossing Fall Festival…
“With or without her,” Lily said, “there are things I’d like to see.”
“Like Cliff Anderson’s booth?” Garrett asked with a chuckle. “I seem to recall that you’re awfully fond of his candied apples.”
“You know me well,” she admitted. “But what about you? Are you going to be able to have some fun or do you have to work?”
“Chief Huntington has me scheduled almost every night but I’m supposed to have Friday off.” He hesitated, his eyes flicking toward Lily, then away. “Actually, that reminds me of something,” he said. “I thought that if you didn’t have anything planned, maybe you’d want to—”
But before Garrett could finish, the front door of the Dentons’ house opened and Morris stepped onto the porch. Even as Lily heard the rusty hinges creak, a feeling of dread grabbed hold of her and squeezed tight. She couldn’t help but feel like a child again, caught doing something she shouldn’t. Somehow, she had been so wrapped up in her conversation with Garrett that she’d forgotten she needed to sneak back inside. Now it was too late.
Lily’s father came to the railing and stared down at them. The mayor of Hooper’s Crossing wasn’t a small man; some would surely have called him fat, though never to Morris’s face. His weight rose every year, slowly but surely, straining against buttons, stretching collars and cuffs. His growing waistline was likely the result of too many trips to the local diner, scarfing down greasy burgers and fries, as well as late nights dipping into the well-stocked candy jar on his desk; Morris’s sweet tooth was well known around town. He was aware of his girth, maybe even a bit embarrassed, and wore a short beard to cover much of the hang of his jowls. Every year he vowed to shed some pounds but always failed.
Morris’s personality was as large as he was. He overflowed with good cheer and positivity. All of his life, he had been a tireless supporter of his community and the people living in it. Burning the candle at both ends, it sometimes felt as if he was everywhere at once, shaking hands, slapping shoulders, and laughing loud enough to make his belly jiggle. After his wife’s death, Morris had thrown himself into his work. He’d been mayor for almost a decade now, each year seemingly busier than the last. When she was little, Lily often complained that her father wasn’t home; plenty of afternoons were spent with Garrett and his family, evenings with a sitter. But when he was there, she complained that he was too strict, not letting her do this or that. In short, their relationship was more than a little complicated.
“I thought I heard voices out here,” Morris said.
“Lily and I were just talking, Mr. Denton,” Garrett explained, formally addressing her father, as he’d done since he was a boy. “Sorry if we bothered you.”
“No problem at all,” Lily’s father answered. “As a matter of fact, I’m thankful for the interruption. I had no idea it had gotten so late. Speaking of which,” Morris added, turning to his daughter, “I’m surprised to see you out here at such an hour, young lady.”
“I couldn’t sleep,” Lily lied for the second time that night. “I didn’t want to bother you, so I slipped out the side door.”
“She would’ve been back a while ago if I hadn’t come over and pestered her,” Garrett said, sugarcoating how he’d scared her half to death while simultaneously building her alibi. “It’s my fault she hasn’t come in yet.”
Even as the young police officer spoke, Lily kept expecting her father to look down from the porch and notice her suitcase in the bushes, bringing the whole house of cards she’d built crashing down. But Morris’s attention didn’t waver. It was far too focused on her.
“Thank you for keeping an eye on her, Garrett,” he said, “but it’s late. I think it best that we all call it a night.”
“Yes, sir.” But before he started back across the street toward home, Garrett gently took Lily by the elbow. “Maybe tomorrow we can continue our conversation,” he said, his voice low, as if he was trying to keep her father from hearing. “There’s something I’d like to ask you.” He allowed his touch to linger an instant longer, his eyes bright even in the dark gloom, until he finally walked away. Lily watched him go, wondering what he wanted to talk about.
She was supposed to be with Jane on their way to New York City, about to start a brand-new life. Instead, Lily was right where she’d always been.
And it looked like nothing would ever change.
“…those many long years ago when the first fall festival was held here in Hooper’s Crossing. Back then, it was meant to celebrate the harvest, a time when friends and neighbors could come together, share a meal and conversation, a moment of good cheer before the coming of winter when…”
Lily sat before her father’s desk, struggling to pay attention as Morris practiced his speech. He paced back and forth, one hand clutching his script while the other cut through the air, punctuating the perceived importance of his words. Lily stifled a yawn. No sooner had she trudged up the steps, taking one last look at her suitcase in the bushes, than Morris had asked her to listen to his remarks. Even though it was the last thing Lily had wanted to do—she would have much rather gone to sleep—her feelings of guilt, especially for having lied to both Garrett and her father, made her reluctantly accept.
“…note that we are especially indebted to the members of our business community who have made sizable donations of time and money. Without them, we wouldn’t have new lights for the pavilion, posters that have been hung around…”
When Morris spoke, he was transformed. His blue eyes shone like precious stones and his chubby cheeks glowed a healthy red. He truly seemed to be enjoying himself. Lily had always suspected that her father was a performer, someone who was born to stand befor
e an audience, the focus of everyone’s attention. Still, he looked tired to her, even a bit disheveled with his shirttail untucked and a smattering of whiskers on his cheeks. The dish that had always sat on the corner of his desk, usually filled to the brim with butterscotch and peppermint candies, was nearly empty, a telltale sign that her father wasn’t eating well.
“…get bigger and better with every year. We’ve had visitors from all around the state, from New England, Pennsylvania, and as far away as California. Why, people have even made the long voyage across the Atlantic, traveling from France to visit relatives, but also to take in our wondrous…”
If things had been just a little different, if she hadn’t gotten a case of cold feet, Lily would have been sitting beside Jane in the Oldsmobile, traveling darkened highways that led to the big city and a new life. Instead, Jane drove on alone while Lily was still at home, a place she wondered if she’d ever have the courage to leave. She glanced up, trying to act as if she was paying attention, and caught a glimpse of her mother’s photograph on the wall. The picture had been taken a year before Sarah Denton’s tragic death and captured her just as Lily remembered. She smiled brightly with a hint of mischief in her eyes, as if she was just about to laugh. It had always been Lily’s favorite photo, but now it seemed like her mother’s expression wasn’t quite so cheerful, almost as if Sarah was disappointed in her only child.
“…hope you have the best fall festival yet!” Morris finished, then looked expectantly at his daughter. “Well?” he asked. “What did you think?”
“Uh…it was good…” Lily managed.
“Good?” her father echoed, looking disappointed. “I was hoping you’d like it a little more than that.”
Hoping to right the ship, so to say, Lily said, “I especially enjoyed the part about the pavilion’s new lights. They look great.”
No sooner had the words left her mouth than Lily froze, her heart beating wildly. The lights hadn’t been strung to the pavilion until that afternoon; she’d passed the workers on her way home from the library. The only reason she knew what they looked like all lit up was because she and Jane had driven past the park on their way out of town. If she’d been in the house all evening like she wanted her father to believe, how could she have seen them?
But fortunately for Lily, her father didn’t notice her slipup. “I like that part, too!” he exclaimed. “Those lights are the nicest addition to the festival in years.” Morris paused, a wrinkle in his brow. “But that reminds me, I wanted to put something in about the Methodist church’s bake sale. Betsy Abercrombie would have my hide if I forgot.” He reached for a pen, then paused and looked at his daughter. “Thank you, Lily. You’re always such a big help.”
It was usually true, at least when she wasn’t so distracted. For years, Lily had served as her father’s sounding board, listening to speech after speech, everything from the dedication of a new building to a funeral eulogy, from Christmas well-wishes to the start of the Fourth of July parade. To his credit, Morris listened to her, too. Whenever Lily suggested a different word or reminded him of something or someone he’d forgotten, he made the necessary changes.
“One more thing, Lily,” Morris said as he made an addition to his speech.
“Yes, Dad?”
“I know you were having trouble sleeping, but I don’t want you outside at such a late hour,” her father explained, his eyes never leaving his papers.
“I was fine,” she answered, her tone a bit defensive. “Garrett was with me.”
“And I’m thankful he was there,” Morris replied as his gaze finally wandered from his speech, rising to stare out at the darkness beyond the window. “But there will be lots of people coming to town for the festival whom I wouldn’t know from Adam. Most will be good, honest folks who won’t cause a lick of trouble, but there’ll be a few bad apples. There always are. Because of that, I’d feel better knowing you were safely at home.” Morris looked over and gave his daughter a smile. “Next time you can’t sleep, try a glass of warm milk instead.”
For a moment, Lily wanted to argue, to tell her father that she wasn’t a child anymore, that she could take care of herself. She was even tempted to confess to nearly leaving town with Jane. Unlike when she’d considered telling Garrett, to confide in him, now Lily wanted to shock, to show Morris that there was much more to her than he suspected. She could only imagine his reaction. But then Lily once again looked at her mother’s photograph, and understood that she wouldn’t say a word. It was already too late.
After all, this was the choice she had made.
Now she just had to live with it.
Chapter Three
BOONE TATUM STOMPED his feet and blew on his bare hands in a futile attempt to warm himself. A brisk early-morning breeze blew across the Hudson River, beneath the towering bridges, to where he stood on a Brooklyn dock. The sun was still a good twenty minutes from rising, only now coloring the bottoms of the scuttling clouds in shades of purple and orange, and far longer from providing warmth. But Boone wasn’t leaving anytime soon, so he jammed his hands deep into his jacket pockets and turned away from the teeth of the wind.
He had a picture to take.
For the last four years, Boone had worked as a photographer for Life magazine. At twenty-six, he had seen far more of the world than he would ever have expected, with plenty more traveling to come. Assignments had taken him from war-ravaged and rebuilding Europe and Asia, to the jungles of South America and the deserts of Africa. His camera had captured elephants bathing in an Indian river, an outdoor market in a Mexican village, two lovers embracing on a California beach, and dozens of other moments, sad, celebratory, frightening, and every other emotion in between. But sometimes he wanted to photograph something simple.
And that’s why I’m here, freezing my ass off…
New York City was home. Every time Boone returned from some far-flung corner of the globe, he felt a familiar itch, the siren call of a picture he’d always longed to take. It would be of the river, parts of it still swathed in morning fog, backlit by a rising sun that would illuminate tugboats and the towering buildings beyond. Boone could have taken this picture in dozens of cities worldwide; Marseille, Istanbul, San Francisco, or Buenos Aires were all on the water and would’ve given him something similar. But none of those places was New York, the biggest and brashest city in the most powerful nation on earth. None would’ve looked quite right, like a giant rising from a night’s slumber. And so, after years of putting it off, complaining that he was too busy or that the conditions were wrong, Boone had risen before dawn, hailed a taxi, and set out to capture the perfect picture.
He’d been picky. Searching along the shoreline, making his way through the near-dark, Boone had rejected one place after another; the light wouldn’t be enough or there weren’t enough skyscrapers in the background. Finally, he had found the right view. Unfortunately, it was behind a chain-link fence on which hung a sign warning away trespassers.
“Like that’s going to stop me,” he’d said to himself before climbing the fence and dropping down on the other side.
Wishing that he’d brought a heavier coat, Boone lifted his brand-new Mycro out of his camera bag and looked through the viewfinder. He was still getting used to it—there were a few more bells and whistles than his old Perkeo—but it took one hell of a picture. He was careful with it, too, which made sense since it was the most valuable item he owned, probably worth more than the rest of his stuff combined. Boone wasn’t satisfied with the shot, not yet, but once the sun had another five minutes or so to rise, he would be able to start snapping photos.
Then he’d have to find someone to buy them.
No one had asked him to come down to the docks before sunrise. He was freelancing it, all the way. But if this shot turned out the way Boone expected, he felt confident that he could plop it down on the desk of Walter Bing, his boss at Life, and name his price. Hell, it might even make the cover.
Not for the first time
that morning, Boone thought about Daisy. She hadn’t moved a muscle as he was getting ready to leave the apartment. She would have come along if he’d asked, but he hadn’t had the heart; he knew how much she liked her sleep. Maybe when he got back, they could go out and—
“Hey!” a voice suddenly shouted behind him. “You there!”
Boone turned and saw a man striding purposefully toward him. He was big, considerably broader across the shoulders than Boone. Dressed like a longshoreman, he also wore an ugly scowl.
“Aw, hell…” Boone muttered to himself.
“This is private property,” the man snapped once he’d reached the trespassing photographer. Up close, he was even more intimidating, with hands as big as canned hams and muscles that strained the fabric of his shirt. “You ain’t supposed to be here.” Pointing at the camera, he added, “Especially not with that.”
Boone chose to put on an easy smile. He’d been in plenty of situations like this before, caught somewhere he wasn’t supposed to be, needing to smooth things over before they got worse; at least this time the other guy spoke English. If he played things cool and used his charms, he’d get what he wanted, then be out of this guy’s hair. “I wasn’t trying to cause trouble,” he said in a friendly tone. “I just—”
“I don’t give a damn why you’re here,” the man interrupted, taking a menacing step forward, “only that you beat it.”
“Look, buddy,” Boone said, some of his fake good cheer falling away. He waved an arm toward the brightening city skyline. “I only need a couple more minutes to snap some pictures and then I’ll be on my way. Just let me—”
Once again, the longshoreman cut Boone off, this time with a shove to the chest hard enough to make the photographer take a staggering step back. “What’re ya, deaf?” he shouted. “You either start makin’ tracks right now, or I’m gonna knock you on your ass and carry you out! Either way, you’re leavin’.”
Boone frowned, then reached into his back pocket to pull out his wallet. There had been plenty of times in the past when slipping a handful of bills into an angry person’s palm had gotten him what he wanted. If that’s what it now took to get the shot he needed, that he had gotten up so damn early for, then so be it. “What’s it going to take?” he asked, hoping it wasn’t much. “How’s about—”
The Nearness of You Page 3