by Jodi Thomas
“This looks great.” He remained standing until she joined him.
They were halfway through the meal before she remembered drinks. “All I have is water and a few diet root beers.”
“I’ll take the water,” he answered.
When she jumped up to get the drinks, he asked without looking at her, “Why didn’t you move back to your parents’ house? I’ve driven past it a few times over the years. It’s all boarded up.”
“I guess because I’ve closed that door.” She lined up three chocolate kisses above his plate. “For dessert.” She smiled.
“You’re pretty good at closing doors,” he said more to himself than her. “I kind of have the opposite problem. Every door I ever walked through in my life seemed to be revolving.”
They finished the meal in silence. He took his plate to the sink, picked up his hat. “Thank you for the meal and for what you did for my mother tonight.”
“You’re welcome.” She watched him closely, thinking there was little of the boy she’d once known. The man before her was far more stranger than friend.
He shifted, widening his stance as if preparing for a blow. “I’d like to return the favor. Maybe I could buy you dinner so you don’t come out a day short on food this week.”
“Maybe,” she said, the only thing she could think of that wouldn’t be a yes or a no.
As she watched Tannon Parker walk toward his pickup, she tried to decide if she should let him back into her life. She’d spent years living in Harmony without having to face her past, but if she let him into even a small part of her world, she might not be able to close the door again.
It was well after ten when she pulled her spiral journal out and wrote a moment of Tannon smiling with a touch of barbecue sauce on his cheek. She’d almost reached over to brush it away.
Chapter 4
TANNON PARKER DROVE BACK TO HIS PLACE. MOST FOLKS in town thought he still lived in the big rambling house his dad had built for his mother forty years ago. Ted Parker had been almost twenty years older than Paulette and no one mattered to him except her, not even his only son.
Without turning on a light, Tannon climbed the stairs to his quarters above the Parker Trucking offices, his company and home since he’d left college his junior year. The old man hadn’t even bothered to clean out his desk—he’d just turned everything over after the car wreck. “Run the company and pay the bills, boy. I’m going home to your mother.”
That first year Tannon had worked night and day learning the trucking business. He’d made mistakes and more than once had to drive a load himself because a driver didn’t like taking orders from a kid. He’d learned to be fair and hard. He’d learned to be the boss. He’d learned to stand alone.
Somewhere in the chaos of those first few months, he’d finished out the second-floor loft and moved in. He told the staff it was just a spare room to use when he worked late, but Tannon never spent a night in his parents’ home once it was finished, and he doubted either of his parents had missed him.
When his dad died, Tannon hired round-the-clock care for his mother. He stopped by every day to check on her. Sometimes she didn’t feel like talking to him. Sometimes she wanted all his attention. Whatever he gave or did was never enough. He couldn’t seem to measure up to his father in the undying devotion department, and Paulette wasn’t used to settling.
As he flipped on a lamp tonight, the warm colors of his place greeted him. Emily had decorated in the same earthy browns and dark greens. His might be mostly comfortable overstuffed leather and hers with too many frills and clutter, but they’d used the same palette. Where his place was clean lines and cold in the way of a high-end hotel room, hers was homey. It made him want to settle in at her place and never leave.
She had no idea how closely he’d kept up with her over the years after her parents died. When she’d graduated from Texas Tech, he’d been there. He’d driven to Lubbock and watched her walk the stage in the United Spirit Arena. When families flooded the gym floor after graduation, he’d stood in the stands and watched her standing alone with her diploma in her hand. He’d wanted to go to her, but an ocean of people and memories stood between them, then and now.
AFTER POURING A DRINK, TANNON WALKED ACROSS THE hardwood floor that echoed around his open loft. He might be only thirty-two years old, but tonight he felt like a hundred. He’d asked Emily to talk to his mother because he hoped to calm Paulette down, but once they were at the nursing home, he knew he’d wanted the favor more for his sake. Tannon needed normal in his life, if only for an hour.
He lit the fireplace and relaxed back in his favorite chair. For a while tonight, he’d almost had normal. He would have been happy with just being with Emily at the nursing home, driving there, driving back to her place. Only she’d given him far more. She’d invited him in for dinner, having no idea what a rare gift she’d handed him.
Emily Tomlinson was the last person in Harmony he’d expected to be kind to him. When he’d first taken over the business, he’d learned to be rigid if he wanted to survive. From the drivers to the stockyard owners, the men he worked with would have spotted weakness and eaten him alive. The few people who did offer friendship eventually went away when he rarely returned their calls. He told himself he liked the way he lived. It left him not having to answer to anyone. It left him time to work. It left him alone.
The ringing of the phone ended the silence of his night.
“Parker,” Tannon answered as he always did whether at work or home. His trucks were on the road twenty-four hours, seven days a week and every driver knew to call in if there was a problem.
“Mr. Parker, I’m calling with a message from your mother’s doctor. He just made night rounds and wanted to thank you for whatever you did tonight. Paulette is resting calmly. She even agreed to eat her dinner. We’ve guarded hope for improvement.”
“I’m glad,” Tannon answered, thinking his mood was improving also, but no one cared about him.
No one ever had.
“Well,” the nurse said, “I’ll call you if there is any change.”
When he put the phone down, he flipped off the overhead lights and looked out the long windows running along the south wall of his apartment. He could see the four-story apartment building where Emily lived. What he guessed were the lights from her apartment were still on. He wondered if she was reading or watching TV, or maybe washing up the dishes. If he were there, he’d help her clean up, or probably talk through whatever program she tried to watch, or sit silently beside her while they both read.
It would be heaven to have someone to just be with. Not do anything. Maybe not even think. Just be.
“If wishes were horses,” he said aloud, “beggars would ride.”
Chapter 5
SUNDAY MORNING
BEAU YATES AND HIS FRIEND BORDER BIGGS SPENT AN hour organizing their meal plan. Ronny, who had the duplex next to the Biggs boys, could be counted on for at least one meal a week and sweets delivered now and then. Border’s grandmother always made dinner for the boys on Sunday night at the bed-and-breakfast where she worked. It went unsaid that Beau would be invited. The meal was great, but they’d have to put up with Martha Q Patterson, the owner. Harley fed them on the nights they played at Buffalo’s and sometimes on the nights they just went in to rehearse. Only problem there was all he served was hamburgers and wings.
So if they ate cereal for breakfast, snacked on whatever leftovers they found, supplemented with PB&J sandwiches, that meant they only had to buy two meals a week. Border thought they should go to the all-you-can-eat buffet on Wednesdays at the truck stop. The downside to that was most of the food was left out until someone ate it. The second plan was to order two big meals, eat half, and bring home the leftovers for another meal.
This plan had one flaw. Border always ate all his meal and usually claimed he ate Beau’s leftovers in his sleep.
So they went to the third plan. Eat at the Blue Moon Diner. The nightly specials wer
e cheap, and the food good.
The boys split their earnings down the middle. Border was saving for a bigger bike. Beau simply wanted to save all he could. “For a rainy day,” he’d said. “’Cause it’s been raining most of my life.”
They were full and in good moods when they got back from their Sunday meal at the bed-and-breakfast with Grandma Biggs. She’d made a chocolate cake in a square pan and iced it with white frosting. When they’d fought over it, she’d sliced it down the middle and served each half. Border ate his half, but Beau added most of his cake to the stack of take-out boxes Mrs. Biggs always packed.
While Border went in to put up the leftovers, Beau sat down on the porch of the duplex and began to play. Like they always did, the words to a song seemed to dance in time with the music. He’d been working on the beginning of a song about living through the rainy times and learning to dance in the storm.
Last night, when he played the beginning for the Biggs brothers and Ronny, she cried and said it was the most beautiful song she’d ever heard so Beau figured he’d finish it. Tonight her half of the duplex was dark, which was unusual. Most nights her desk light would be shining, telling them that she was studying.
“Wonder where Ronny is.” Border voiced Beau’s question. “I noticed her car is parked out back so wherever she went, she walked.”
Beau looked out into the street. He’d seen her walk at night sometimes when the nights were warm, but tonight was cold. As he watched, a boat of an old Dodge drove by so slowly they should have tried to charge it for parking. “Well,” Beau whispered, “we know she’s not visiting her mother. The old bag is circling the place.”
Border laughed. “I swear she circles nightly. She’s disowned Ronny, but she’s still trying to keep up with her like Ronny’s a girl and not a full-grown woman.” He waved and the Dodge sped up. “Go home, Dallas Logan, and pester someone else.”
Beau went back to his song. Border listened for a while and then went inside, complaining about the cold.
When Border yelled good night, Beau wasn’t in the mood to crawl under his blanket on the couch. He decided to walk. Maybe Ronny Logan was right, maybe tonight was a good night for a walk.
He liked Harmony best when the town was asleep. He loved to go down to the old town square. There, time seemed to have stood still. It could just as easily have been 1950 as 2012. Nothing much had changed. In the sounds of the night he could hear music. A melody that only belonged to Harmony. Beau hadn’t traveled much, but he had a feeling every place had its own beat, only this was his home. This beat kept time with his heart.
He slowed when he saw the sheriff’s car pulling alongside him.
“You all right, Beau?” Sheriff Alexandra Matheson asked.
“I’m fine. Just listening to the night.” If he’d been anywhere but here, the law officer might have thought him crazy.
“You want a ride home?” she asked.
“No. I’m home.” He smiled, proud of himself for not stuttering.
“All right.” She understood and pulled slowly away.
Before he made it back to the duplex, another song was already dancing in his mind, but he didn’t pick up his guitar when he slipped back into the apartment. He was too busy thinking about how he should change his life and learn to do some hard living like country songs always talked about.
Funny thing, he thought, how he had nothing much. He could pack all he owned in the trunk of a car and he couldn’t even afford an apartment, but tonight, with the music in his head, he felt rich.
Chapter 6
ON WEEKENDS RICK MATHESON USUALLY WORKED LATE at his office across the street from the courthouse. Or at least he tried to work. He’d been a lawyer for over a year and so far he’d yet to defend anyone he believed to be innocent.
Pacing the small office above a used bookstore, he stopped long enough to watch Beau Yates walk the deserted streets below. The kid had more talent than anyone Rick had ever known, but he wasn’t sure if it was a gift or a curse. He’d heard once that the German word for “poison” is gift. Maybe the gifted in the world aren’t all that lucky.
There was a sadness that shadowed Beau Yates like a broken aura, yet when he played, people felt his music all the way to their souls. The whole town was rooting for him to make it big. Well, everyone except his old man, who preached against Beau to anyone who would listen. Brother Yates was a fire-and-brimstone preacher, taking out what he saw as his son’s failure on the whole town. If his congregation got any smaller, they could meet at a picnic table in the park.
Rick had to give the kid credit. “Beau Yates has something he believes in,” he whispered to himself, “which is more than I have right now.”
When he’d first decided to go into law, he’d thought he’d be fighting for the wrongly accused. He’d fight for rights. He’d fight for truth. But, as it turned out, the ones who needed all that couldn’t seem to find his door. His cousin Liz Matheson had married Gabe Leary, a graphic artist hermit, and pretty much left Rick her small office. Now she worked mostly from home. Most weeks Rick felt he could scratch one of the Matheson names off the sign outside. He was alone, not sure of what he was doing, and broke.
Rick found plenty of crooks caught red-handed who wanted to plead innocent. People who wanted to sue anyone they could find as their get-rich-quick scheme and couples who insisted on beating each other to death in court over scraps from a broken marriage.
Forcing himself to go back to his desk, he stared down at the case file from yesterday’s latest waste of time. A guy, who went by Mouse, had cut his arm climbing out of a house he’d forgotten to make sure wasn’t occupied before he robbed. The police had evidence of his blood on the glass, and they had his fingerprints on all the stuff he dropped when he ran. The old couple, who lived in the place, were easily able to ID Mouse as the robber. To make matters worse for Mouse, his car, parked out front of the crime scene, wouldn’t start. The sheriff picked him up and found him bleeding from the cut and with his pockets full of evidence.
Rick got assigned to the case. To his shock, Mouse insisted on pleading not guilty. The jury took forty-five minutes to make up their minds. Rick figured it would have been less, but the bailiff made a fresh pot of coffee and set out leftover cookies from an office party down the hall.
Of course, Mouse blamed Rick and demanded that the court appoint another lawyer. On his way out in cuffs, Mouse whispered the same good-bye most of Rick’s clients used. Mouse warned him to watch out for accidents, because it he ever got out, Mouse planned to make sure Rick found a few.
Rick lifted the file and tossed it in the drawer with the other losers. He’d worked two jobs to pay his own way through law school, and for what? To listen to threats. To feel like he needed a shower every time he talked to a client. To make half the money his brother, who’d skipped college, made mowing lawns.
At twenty-eight, Rick should be having the time of his life. He knew he wasn’t bad-looking, was educated, came from a good family, but with the overhead of the office and the cost of keeping up the appearance of being a successful lawyer, he didn’t have enough money for a drink at Buffalo’s, much less to spend on a date.
Flipping off the light, he grabbed his empty briefcase and headed home. Once he was in the hallway, he locked his office, checked to make sure his cousin’s office next door was locked, and walked toward the back exit where he’d parked his car. The place had been silent since the bookstore downstairs closed an hour ago. During the day he could almost believe he was in the center of things—after all, his wall of windows faced the courthouse, but Rick had always thought the building, with its rattling windows and clanging pipes, was creepy at night.
When he stepped out the exit to a small landing, he turned his collar up against the cold and wished he had his coat. But his winter coat was at the cleaners and money would have to be coming in before he could get it out. The sports jacket would have to do for now.
As the door closed, what light there had b
een in the back of the building disappeared. The one bulb on a pole at the bottom of the steps was out again. No surprise. The building was falling apart. It took him a minute for his eyes to adjust to the night, but then he began down the old back stairs toward his car. Metal steps and been replaced along the way with wooden ones slightly thicker, giving the stairs an uneven stride. He’d walked it in the dark a hundred times before. He knew the way.
Only tonight the third step was made of air. Rick braced himself realizing a board must have broken. His free hand reached for the railing as his foot readied for the fourth step. It was missing also. Just as he began to fall through the hole in the stairs, his hand clamped around the railing and the wood gave.
His long frame tumbled, bumping into poles a few times before he landed with a thud on a broken slab of concrete below that had once been the steps to the bookstore’s back door.
Thoughts tumbled with him. He could be hurt, or die here in the dark. Someone had cut the steps away. He still held his briefcase. A moment later, reality hit along with the pain. He couldn’t breathe! He couldn’t move!
Rick heard the clock tower begin to chime the hour as if ticking away the seconds he had left of consciousness. He tried to shift away from something stabbing in his back. Concentrating, he fought to stand. Opening his mouth, he struggled to yell. Nothing worked. All he could feel or think about was the pain.
Finally, he managed to pull his phone from his belt with one bloody hand. He held down the number one praying that he’d be able to hold it long enough before he passed out. In the low glow of the phone he thought he saw a shadow of a man dart into the alley thirty feet away.
“Nine-one-one. What is your emergency?”
Rick closed his eyes and let the phone slip from his fingers as pain won the battle.
He drifted in the night, trying to find the way back to the world. In the distance, he heard a siren. Then what seemed much later, someone called his name. Finally, light danced across the darkness like a ball.