by Paige Rion
“I know. This is an amazing opportunity. And I’m sure you’ll get it. After all, you’re the most qualified with your background. And I want it more than anything for you.” She reached out and squeezed Andi’s hand. “Just don’t forget what’s important.” She looked at her daughter meaningfully.
Andi rolled her eyes. She hated when her mother gave her that look. Now was not the time for a lecture on life. She had an audition, plans to make. This was her last chance to prove herself. And wasn’t her mother supposed to be on her side?
Shoving her mother’s concerns aside, Andi bit her lip, her mind bouncing from one thought to the next. “I’m supposed to take him to the most interesting place in town, while keeping his identity intact. I have no idea where to take him. None.” She placed her fingers to her temples. Think, think, think… “I can come up with something better than them. I have to. Rachel will probably show him around her house or city hall or something, since her dad’s the mayor, and maybe Carma, the firehouse? But I don’t have a mayor for a father or a fire chief.” She tapped her finger on the table as she continued to think out loud. “Ford and I do have something in common, though. I’m a writer. Or I want to be … I need to use that to my advantage. What interests us?” She trailed off, her mind swirling. People. Stories. Lives. History.
Her mother sighed and tossed the towel on the table in front of her. “Lord knows there’s not much in this town other than the water. Your father’s ancestors founded it over a century ago, and nothing much has changed since—”
Andi’s eyes widened. She slapped a hand on the table, and her mother jumped. “That’s it!” Her stomach fluttered at the idea forming in her head.
“The mill. I’ll bring him right here to the mill. It’s perfect.” She hopped up from her seat and ran up the stairs to her room. She had a while until she had to pick him up, but she wanted to prepare.
Ten outfits and several hours later, Andi sat in the tight confines of her old Honda, dressed in skinny jeans, slouchy boots and a blue tunic that had been her mother’s from the seventies. She peered at Ford out of the corner of her eye in the darkness. Every street lamp they passed illuminated his face, an unreadable mask. Most of the ten minute drive from Ford’s office to the mill had been spent in silence, with “This better be good, Miss Callaway,” being the only thing he had said to her the entire way. He stared at the town passing outside his window, and Andi wondered what he was thinking.
“Could you please stop that,” he said, his voice even.
Andi started at the sound. She glanced down to find her fingers drumming over the steering wheel. Forcing her hands to stay still, she gripped the wheel until her knuckles turned white. “Sorry,” she whispered.
She slowed at the entrance to her family’s property and turned onto the long driveway as the mill came into view. Once she parked, she sat for a moment before turning to Ford, whose eyes were already on her. Her palms grew damp at his gaze and her thoughts scattered. This is it.
“We’re here,” she said.
“I don’t know whether to be intrigued or incredibly frightened. Did you bring me to this secluded spot in the middle of the night to shoot me and dispose of my body where no one will ever find it? You do, after all, have the mind of a writer, and this would be quite the place.”
Heat rose to her cheeks. She glanced at the massive barn, which loomed dark and eerie in the night sky with its peeling paint and loose boards. She could see his point. “First of all, we’re still in town. You’d be found immediately. And this is a working—”
Ford laughed.
Andi straightened, pushing her shoulders back. “What?”
“I’m just kidding. Did you really think I thought you brought me out here to kill me? You’re very tense.”
Andi exhaled, blowing a fringe of bangs out of her face. She didn’t know whether to be annoyed or relieved. “After my disastrous interview today, I wonder why I’d be a little nervous.”
“Who said it was disastrous? You’re here, aren’t you?”
Andi opened her mouth to speak but said nothing. He had a point. But how could he have seen it as anything but a disaster?
“You were honest.” His amber eyes searched her face. “It was refreshing.”
Her stomach dipped. Is it hot in here? She curled a finger over the collar of her shirt and shook it to cool herself.
“And this—” he waved a hand at the old barn “—is different. I have no idea where we are, but it’s unexpected. I like that. A lot. Predictable is boring. So,” he said, craning his neck out the window to get a better look. “What makes this the most interesting place in town?”
She licked her lips, ready to give him her carefully rehearsed explanation, but when he glanced back at her, her voice refused to work. She couldn’t talk, not with his eyes on her like that. She needed a moment.
Getting out of the car, she walked toward the barn, waiting for him to follow. She wasn’t the star-struck type, so what was her problem? She had to forget who he was and imagine him as the average employer and this as any old job. She needed to get her head back in the game.
The giant barn-like structure towered into the inky night sky in front of her, flanked by the arms of two massive willows. Andi moved closer to the plaque on the building’s two sliding doors and ran her fingers over the smooth metal lettering that read, “The Mill, Historic Landmark est. 1850.”
The sound of Ford’s feet on the gravel crunched behind her. Taking a deep breath, she turned to the noise. “This is what’s simply known all through town as the mill.” She pointed to the sign. “It’s a part of my family’s property. My ancestors were the first to inhabit the town, which is why it’s called Callaway Cove. And this—” she spread her arms wide to encompass the view of the mill “—along with the farmhouse my parents still live in were the first buildings erected. Come on.” She nodded to the massive doors and slid them open.
She stepped inside and spun around. Along with the cove, the small arm of water that lined the west edge of their property, the mill was one of her favorite places in town. She considered herself lucky that both belonged to her family. Their heritage and her family’s history in this town were a source of pride for Andi and every other Callaway before her. Standing in the rickety old building, her mood soared and her confidence returned. The job was hers for the taking. She just had to reach out and grab it. She could do this.
Ford stepped after her, taking in his surroundings in silence.
“This was the first working feed mill in the area. But that’s not the cool part. During the 1850s and 60s, while the men of my family and their employees grinded away upstairs, something altogether different went on down below. Something done in secret, only known to my great-great-grandfather and his brothers. Something heroic.” Andi hugged herself to ward off the chill in the air. The old building seemed to harbor a constant dampness. She caught a glimpse of Ford’s eyes on her as she moved about the cavernous room and she grinned. Looks like she had his undivided attention.
Only moonshine streaming through the windows lit the workshop; the giant grain mills and other machinery loomed large and archaic in the darkness. The mill had been equipped with electricity for many years now, but the dark of night suited her story more, so she kept the overhead light off. “The mill was a part of the underground railroad. Several spots in Ashtabula County were, actually.”
Ford’s eyes stayed on her as she picked up a flashlight off a table, moved to the corner of the room and removed a giant panel off the floor, revealing a darkened stairway leading underground. She pointed the flashlight down the steep stairwell, which seemed to lead into nothing but a black hole. “I hope you’re not claustrophobic. Shall we?”
“I’m not. And absolutely.” Ford stepped forward and followed Andi into the small opening, then down the stairs, saying little as he took everything in.
The space was barely a body width wide, with cobwebs coating the old beams like wallpaper. Once they hit the
ground, the space opened up like a giant cave. The dripping of water echoed from someplace unseen, accounting for the scent of mildew. Dust tickled her nose and scratched her throat, but Andi continued, spreading her arms to the space around her. “Back in the mid-1800s, the slaves would hide down here during the day, sometimes for days at a time—a week, if necessary—until my great-great-grandfather would get the signal. Then he and his brothers would lead the slaves into the darkness. They’d run through the fields and into the woods that bordered the cove.”
The flashlight barely illuminated their surroundings, but she could see Ford’s eyes through the darkness, still focused on her. “They had no lanterns to light their way. Only the moon and stars guided them. Once the safe boat pulled into the cove, they’d board and ride into Canada, to safety. At the time, most of the locals knew nothing about this—not even the wives of those involved.”
Ford turned and inspected the cavernous basement. “Fascinating.”
“They never got caught, although they had a few close calls. The only major disappointment they ever had was with a slave named Brady. He fled here after he’d been severely beaten. By the time he arrived, though, weeks had already passed. His wounds were extensive, and despite my ancestors’ efforts, infection set in. He died before his safe boat arrived. It’s said he can still be seen down here at night sometimes. Waiting for his turn to leave. Waiting for the next boat to arrive.” She shuddered, lost in her own story. “I’ve never seen him. Rachel and I used to come down here from time to time and investigate but never at night. We were always too frightened. My father and the workers claim to have seen his ghost, though.”
Something brushed Andi’s arm. She yelped and spun around. She saw nothing but from behind her, Ford chuckled. She turned and narrowed her eyes.
“Sorry, I had to,” he said.
She swatted at his arm and laughed. “When Rachel and I snuck down here, we’d reenact my father’s stories. Boy, was my father mad the one time he found us.” She laughed again. “I don’t blame him. It’s not exactly the safest place for a kid.”
“This Rachel… Is it the same one I interviewed today?”
Andi nodded with a sigh. “Yeah, that Rachel. And I happen to be friends with Carma, too.”
“I never would’ve guessed, though I figured you’d know them, considering the size of the town.”
“We do make an unusual trio. We’re pretty different.”
Ford murmured in agreement, then said, “Carma and Rachel were my assistant’s picks. You were mine.”
Andi stilled. She was his choice? Why her? She wanted to ask but couldn’t. She thought back to their conversation in his office. He’d disagreed with her entire outlook on his current dilemma. She would have thought her interview a complete flop.
Her mind churned with the implications of his wanting her for the job until the air grew thin and she struggled to catch her breath.
“Maybe we should go back up.” She turned without waiting for a reply and clomped up the stairs with Ford behind her. Once they were no longer underground, she moved the panel back in place while Ford shuffled about the room, inspecting the old beams and machinery. She watched him in silence, still marveling at the fact that she was his pick for the job.
“This is … Do you know what the others did for their audition?” He glanced back at her, smiling. “Er, I guess I should rephrase that. What your friends did?”
She felt the smile on her face before she could stop it. “No, but feel free to elaborate.”
“Rachel took me to the beach, and then the restaurant on the pier. She did the worst job of trying to hide me. Everyone in the restaurant came up to us while we were there.”
“She probably wanted everyone to see you together. And I’ll bet she didn’t tell them she was trying to get a job, either. She probably just let everyone think you were on a date.”
“Exactly. It was obvious she only wanted to be seen with me, which was completely the opposite of what I wanted, and while the lake is beautiful, it’s ordinary. What made that beach, that restaurant unique? Nothing. There was no story.”
Andi nodded and moved closer to him. “And Carma?”
Ford snorted. “She took another approach. Apparently, she thinks her body’s the most interesting attraction in town.”
Andi blanched, her back going stiff. Carma? What had gotten into her?
She frowned as she recalled thinking Carma’s reasoning for wanting to leave Callaway Cove didn’t seem to add up. If what Ford said was true and she’d tried to sleep with him to get the job, something major was going on, something Andi knew nothing about…
Ford put his hands up. “Don’t worry. I didn’t take her up on her offer. It wouldn’t be the first one I’ve received and turned down.”
Andi exhaled. She tried to keep her expression placid, but she would have been lying if she said this admission didn’t both disturb and relieve her.
“But you...” He scratched his head and took a step forward. “I knew there was something about you. Something I couldn’t put my finger on. And now, just like in your interview, you’ve surprised me. Creative writing major, dreams of being a novelist. I would’ve thought you’d come into that interview kissing my ass.”
Andi grinned, shaking off her thoughts of Carma. “So did I.”
“But you didn’t. Did you? You argued with me.” He laughed. “You’re different. Unexpected. Both—”
“Things you like.” While Andi gazed at him, she had to force her feet to stay planted where she stood. She wanted to move closer. She felt an inexplicable pull to him, as if he held an invisible string tethered to her somewhere deep inside.
She cleared her throat. “But I didn’t argue. I just disagreed.”
He moved to the edge of a huge, iron roller mill and sat on the corner of the cage. “Tell me about your family?”
“There’s not much to tell, I guess.” She shrugged. “My father is a Callaway. With that comes the mill and the family farmhouse, which has been passed down for generations. He has one sister who lives twenty miles outside of town, but she wasn’t interested in any of it. He, on the other hand, loves everything that comes with the farm and the Callaway name. He wouldn’t have it any other way. And my mother grew up on a local dairy farm, so she was used to the lifestyle. Not being able to go much of anywhere. Being dedicated to work and the land. They met and fell in love in high school. They’ve been together ever since. Got married when they were eighteen in the little Methodist church on the corner of town and had a small gathering at the fire hall. After several years of trying to have a baby, they had me, but quickly discovered I would be their one and only child.”
“So the house, the mill…”
“Will go to me one day, if I want them,” Andi confirmed.
Ford nodded, his forehead buckling. “What about writing, your career? What will you do?”
Andi smiled and moved to a nearby stool. She pulled it over to where Ford rested against a machine and took a seat. “I’m well aware that the family name ends with me. It’s sad, really. Sometimes, I think my mother blames herself. Her body wasn’t equipped to conceive. The fact that they had me was a miracle in and of itself. But despite my being the last Callaway, the one thing about my parents I love is they’re one hundred percent behind me. They support me no matter what I do.”
She paused. “They do okay for themselves, but it’s not like they make all that much. Yet they scrimped and saved to send me to college. Just like they support my decision, if I get this job, to quit school and work for you. They trust my judgment and they see how huge of an opportunity this could be for me. I don’t know what I’ll do with all of this when it comes time.” She waved a hand around her, that familiar pang in her chest at the thought of her family’s legacy ending with her. “Luckily, I won’t have to worry about that for a long time yet.”
“That must be nice, having parents like that.”
“It is. I’m very lucky.” Andi glanced do
wn at her hands. She thought of all the things she had read about Ford in the press. Born to a drug addict, he had no idea who his father was. His mother had taken him in and out of drug houses and whored herself in front of him. Eventually, she’d sold him at the age of seven. He told a teacher and she was reported, which started his series of moves from foster home to foster home. He’d turned to his own criminal behavior as a teen. To him, a life like hers must seem something of fiction.
Ford sighed. “I know what you’re thinking. My past is no secret anymore, and yes, it was very different from your own upbringing.”
Andi had the urge to ask him a million questions, ones she didn’t already know the answers to. She may have known a lot about him, but she was curious to know more. She felt a primal need to know more.
“Why did you want to be a writer?” she asked.
“After the death of a friend of mine, I was lost. I didn’t know what I wanted. All I knew was I was sick of the life I had. I no longer wanted to hide in dark corners, dealing to trash like my mother. I was eighteen. I had already done time in the juvenile detention center, several times over. And, already at eighteen, I was just…tired.” His eyes met hers, the moonlight playing shadows on his face. “I was sick of being in and out of homes, tired of running from the police, of nights spent on the streets. In short, I took a trip that changed my life.” He looked out a window. “While I was traveling, I heard something about how, as a form of therapy, they recommend writing things down, and everything I had been holding in for so long was eating me alive, destroying me from the inside out. So, I started writing. But once I started, the truth of everything was too hard.” He paused. “Then I had an idea. What if I wrote fiction? What if I took my life—everything I went through, the people I met—and changed them slightly? What if I wrote stories? So, I turned the stories into fiction, changing little things.” His eyes went blank, creasing at the corners, while his expression took on a faraway look as he stared past her into the darkness.