What Hope Remembers

by Johnnie Alexander

A smile, both proprietary and smug, crossed Logan’s face. “Pleasure meeting all of you,” he said as he led Amy away. “Happy 4th.”

  Tess and Ellen remounted, but Gabe waited a moment. Amy and Logan strolled along the country road as if they didn’t have a care in the world, and Amy’s musical laugh floated back to him. As much as he hated to admit it, they made an attractive couple. Both cut from the same cloth.

  But where Amy’s sophistication and polish deepened her natural attractiveness, Gabe didn’t think the same of Logan’s. Not because he was jealous but because the guy seemed a little too slick. He might hold his own in a boardroom, but set him down in a war zone and see how he fared. That smug, self-satisfied smile would be gone in an instant.

  Better yet, see how he handled himself in a prison yard.

  “Gabe,” Tess called. “Are you coming?”

  At the sound of Tess’s voice, Amy looked over her shoulder. Gabe immediately turned away and mounted Daisy. He tapped her sides with his heels, and she trotted toward the others.

  Maybe he should have written Amy after he’d read her letter. But too much time had passed between the time she wrote it, just before she left home for college, and when he read it. By then, their lives were going in separate directions, and the gap between them was too wide to cross.

  25

  Good of you to squeeze me into your busy schedule.” Logan made no attempt to hide his sarcasm. Meeting with Dylan on a Sunday wasn’t his idea of a good time. Not that he had anything better to do. Amy had declined to spend the day with him because her family planned to spend the afternoon canoeing. He’d been relieved but also disappointed she didn’t ask him to join them.

  “Had to be today,” Dylan said. “Uncle Joe is sending me to Arizona tomorrow. Not a good sign.”

  “What’s in Arizona?”

  “It’s a scouting trip. I’m supposed to ‘investigate and evaluate potential opportunities.’ In other words, go look at a bunch of run-down strip malls and apartment complexes.”

  “Isn’t that how he made his millions?” Logan asked, though he already knew the answer. He’d read everything he could find about the Tapleys before purposely cultivating a friendship with Dylan. “Revitalizing properties everyone else ignored?”

  Dylan grunted. “The point is, these trips are his way of sending a message. He’s making me go because I’m expendable.”

  “That won’t be true once you break ground at Whisper Lane.”

  “How much longer is that going to take? It’s been over a week since I saw Tess Marshall, and you haven’t done anything to change her mind.”

  Logan slowed his breathing to ease the growing tension from his body. Amazing how much of a lobbyist’s job involved soothing clients who behaved like petulant children. When Dylan called him after his visit to the stables, Logan had wanted to reach through the phone and shake him by his thick neck.

  “That’s not true,” Logan said. “I paid Mrs. Marshall a visit too.”

  “When?”

  Logan slid a folder across the desk toward Dylan. “When no one was home. That’s a rundown of her finances. She can’t hold out much longer.”

  “Maybe I should make her another offer.”

  “You will. But not yet.”

  Dylan opened the folder and concentrated on the financial worksheets. “You stole these from her computer?”

  “Sat at her desk and printed them out.”

  “Lucky her cowboy nephew didn’t catch you.”

  “I met him.”

  Dylan looked up from the folder in surprise. “When?”

  “On the 4th. He’s a nobody. An ex-con.” Logan leaned forward and lowered his voice. Dylan unconsciously mirrored Logan’s posture as he strained to listen.

  “Here’s the thing about ex-cons,” Logan said conspiratorially. “It’s not that hard to send them right back to prison. If Kendall stands in our way, we’ll make sure that happens to him.”

  “How will you do that?”

  “Leave it to me. In the meantime, you stay away from him. And from Tess Marshall.”

  Dylan sat back with a wide smile. “Glad you’re on my side.”

  “As long as it’s profitable.” Logan said the words lightly, but they both understood the underlying message. They were partners because they each had what the other wanted. Logan needed Dylan’s money and connections. Dylan needed Logan’s expertise and know-how.

  Dylan clapped his hands on his desk and rose. “How about a drink and a cigar?”

  “Neither for me, thanks. And no cigar for you until I leave.”

  “You’re ruining all my fun, Cassidy.”

  “Just looking out for my lungs.” Logan stood and retrieved the folder. It was the only copy, and he intended to hang on to it.

  “Don’t go yet. I’ve got something to show you.” Dylan went to the map table, pulled an overlay from a shallow drawer, and placed it on top of the map.

  The property with the house and stables, located west of the road, was unmarked. But the Whisper Lane property across the road, north of Amy’s cottage, was clearly labeled Phase One. It encompassed land from the road to the area north of Glade Creek. Logan had seen that property with his own eyes at Amy’s family picnic.

  In a few years, the houses and condominiums wouldn’t be lines on an overlay but actual residences.

  “I’m impressed,” Logan said.

  Dylan placed another overlay on the map. “Phase Two.”

  The planned community sprawled on both sides of the road, which, in this version, had been widened. The extra width cut into the cottage property. Just another slap to Amy and AJ, and one they’d find difficult to stop once Dylan’s development was approved. The county could show just cause for taking that swath of land.

  “Do you have a Phase Three?” Logan asked.

  With a satisfied grin, Dylan pulled out a third overlay and placed it on top of the others. He pointed to where the cottage was located. “This hill will be leveled. Along with the current dwellings.”

  “Amy won’t like it. Neither will Sullivan.”

  “She should have done more to look after my interests.” Dylan’s voice turned surly. “It’s what I paid her to do.”

  Logan had no interest in pursuing a conversation they’d already had too many times. Personally, he didn’t care whether Phase Three ever became a reality. Only Phase One needed to be a success. By that time, Dylan’s uncle would recognize Logan as someone who could get things done. He’d have other influential clients, too, who’d become willing donors. Then he’d make his move from lobbyist to politician.

  The only wild card was Amy. Last year a certain state senator, poised to run for Congress, had unexpectedly changed his mind. He said he wanted to spend more time with his family, retired from public life when his term ended, then moved to Florida. Though the gossip mill had been eerily quiet, Logan believed Amy was involved. She’d had a mysterious boyfriend who seemed to disappear at the same time the senator closed his congressional campaign. It wasn’t much to go on, but combined with a few whispers he’d heard here and there, Logan was certain she’d used her influence to end a political career.

  That same influence could ignite his.

  26

  The dark clouds and sunless sky of the dreary mid-July day diminished the usually vibrant colors of the stained glass piece. The rain had started yesterday afternoon and pounded the cottage’s roof throughout the night. Thunderous claps woke Amy in the wee morning hours, and she’d had trouble falling back asleep.

  At least the drapes on the bedroom window had hidden the flashes of lightning, but now the streaks pulsed through the sky past the row of long windows.

  Amy curled in her chair, a blue-and-cream afghan wrapped around her legs. She’d tried to concentrate on her online bank statements, but it was too hard to focus on the numbers with so much noise and bother going on outside. Besides, she was disheartened by how quickly her spending added up. She thought she was being careful, but the balance
indicated otherwise.

  The hair salon, maintenance on her BMW, weekly mani-pedis, and groceries. The paint for all the cottage’s interior rooms, the mirrors, the portable wardrobe racks. An impromptu trip to the zoo with Shelby, Dani, and the three children, her treat of course. The Cary Grant DVD collection she’d bought, not because of what Brett had said but because she missed Gran so much the day of the Heritage Celebration. And countless other impulse purchases that didn’t seem like much but added up to a great deal.

  Was she ever going to learn?

  Another thunderclap practically shook the cottage from its foundation.

  No wonder the Greeks and Romans believed in the gods of Mount Olympus. It certainly seemed like a giant mythological being was having a major temper tantrum above the clouds. This was the worst storm she’d experienced since moving into the cottage, and she was not enjoying it.

  In fact, she wouldn’t mind hurling a few lightning bolts from a tall mountain herself. One at Brett for not calling to see if she was okay. Another at AJ for the same reason. Didn’t they realize how scary a storm like this could be? Whose idea had it been to install a whole wall of windows in this place anyway?

  Another bolt for Logan, though she wasn’t sure why. Perhaps for drawing her back into a world she wanted to escape. His 4th of July fireworks party had overflowed with interesting people, entertaining conversation, and an elaborate buffet. She’d nibbled on several delicacies while fighting the urge to calculate calories.

  Watching the fireworks from his balcony had been a delightful experience despite the tendency of her thoughts to skitter other places. Shelby and Dani both posted photos of the children ooh-ing and aah-ing as the fireworks broke the black of the night sky. For several minutes, until she caught Logan frowning at her, she’d had a hard time staying off the social media site.

  She wanted to be with the kids, with Brett and Dani, with AJ and Shelby. But she enjoyed the evening with Logan. His attentiveness stroked her ego, and she could imagine herself falling in love with him. Of course she could. If she wanted to.

  They’d gone out a couple more times since then. The candlelight dinner he’d mentioned. A movie at a giant Cineplex. If they were in a relationship, perhaps she’d be at his place today. Lounging in the comfort of his high-rise apartment. Spending her days shopping and their nights dining at the finest restaurants. All at Logan’s expense.

  She’d once planned such a life for herself, but she had miscalculated the senator’s survival instincts. He’d enjoyed her company, her intelligence, her shrewdness, and she’d relished her role as the influential woman behind his dream of running for Congress. Her plan had been to stay with him until he settled in Washington, then find another man who could offer her even more prestige. Preferably someone with his sights on the White House and the wherewithal to get there with her as his hidden muse. The one who really had his ear, a not-so-secret secret known only to the Beltway insiders. They’d curry her favor to get to him, this mythical man of her dreams.

  A dream that seemed more like a sick fantasy now that she’d spent time away from the machinations of politics. She still hated the senator for abandoning her, but the trip to the emergency room had been the wake-up call she needed to seek help for her eating issues. She had been on a downward spiral without any hope of escaping until that night.

  She leaned her head back on the cushioned chair and closed her eyes. Thinking about that nightmare caused her body to tense and her stomach to heave. But she refused to give in to the impulse to empty her stomach. She’d done that by allowing her childhood memories of Gabe to lead her to darker places. She wouldn’t do it again. Not today. Not ever.

  If she couldn’t be strong, she’d have to go back to treatment. Or she’d simply curl up and die a slow, lingering death. Perhaps that was the best she could ever hope for in this life.

  Neither alternative appealed to her.

  She hadn’t wanted to face the truth, but it stared her in the face. She could tell herself the reason she came to the cottage was because of her messed-up finances or because she didn’t have anywhere else to go. But the truth was, she wanted to, needed to, hide herself away from the world she’d known and build a life without either treatment or illness.

  She needed her family.

  Brett hadn’t meant to hurt her when he moved out of the city and settled so easily into the community’s rural rhythms. But she felt the pain of his leaving anyway. Yet the move had been good for him. He was more relaxed, a truer version of his best self than she’d ever known. Despite their recent argument, a strange peace seemed to emanate from him. A peace she desperately wanted but didn’t know how to find on her own.

  At the Heritage Celebration, she had, now that she thought back on it, enjoyed being with Cassie and a few of the other women. True, she had little in common with them, but they’d been open and friendly. No one seemed to have a hidden agenda. A couple may have been a little nosy, but there’d been no malice.

  Even when she felt unsure of what Cassie and the others would think of her—telling herself she didn’t care while knowing deep down she did—she hadn’t put on the mask. And they seemed to like her anyway.

  Another flash of lightning split the sky, and Amy sighed heavily. Enough soul-searching and philosophy. She opened her book, The Silmarillion, and prepared to enter a world she’d visited several times before. Tolkien’s creation story, with its musical motifs and imaginative beauty, never failed to calm her restless mind.

  Thunder sounded, ended, then the pounding continued. Except it didn’t come from the sky but from her front door.

  She jumped from her chair and peered through the window. Gabe stood on the porch, huddled within an ugly brown slicker. His beat-up Stetson covered his bent head. She hadn’t seen him since the 4th of July, and that had been almost two weeks ago. Unexpected warmth flowed from her toes and spread through her entire body until she glowed.

  In the depths of her mind, a little thought took shape. Perhaps the peace Brett had found wasn’t because of where he lived but who he was living with. His love for Dani, her love for him, had made him whole. Just as Shelby’s love for AJ had healed the heartache he’d carried for so long.

  “Amy?” Gabe’s voice carried through the storm.

  She opened the door only wide enough for him to squeeze through. “Wait there,” she ordered, pointing to the small square of tile right inside the door. “I’ll get you a towel.” Before he could reply, she hurried to the tiny bathroom, grabbed two plush towels, and rushed back to the door.

  “What are you doing here?” She tried hiding her giddiness, but it was no use. “I’m so glad to see you.” Embarrassed by her gushing, she laughed too loudly. “I mean, I didn’t expect to see you.”

  “I told you I’d bring over my famous chili when it stormed.” He placed the box on the floor, then shrugged out of the slicker. She traded him the towels for it and the hat. “Or did you forget?”

  “I guess I didn’t think you really meant it. Especially since . . .”

  “Since what?”

  “I haven’t seen you around lately.”

  “Been working long hours. What about you?”

  “Oh, keeping busy.” She folded the slicker into itself to keep the dripping to a minimum. “I’m going to hang this from the shower. I’ll be right back. Make yourself at home.”

  “Okay if I take over the kitchen?” he asked as he dried his hair with one of the towels.

  “You know where it is.”

  She quickly hung the slicker over the shower rod to dry it out and placed the soaked hat on a towel on the pedestal sink. After examining her face and hair in the mirror, she dusted on powder and blush, stroked mascara on her lashes, and brushed her hair.

  Her rainy-day clothes—a cozy old sweatshirt of Brett’s, yoga pants, and heavy socks—were fine when she was alone. But not now. Though if she changed, he’d know she’d changed.

  What to do, what to do?

  27

/>   Gabe slipped off his boots, then carried the box to the kitchen. By the time Amy appeared, he had plugged in the Crock-Pot and was chopping scallions on the wooden cutting board he’d brought with him.

  She wore dark jeans that skimmed her long legs topped by a royal blue sweater.

  “You didn’t have to change.” In fact, he was kind of sorry she had. She looked beautiful, of course. The blue of the sweater deepened the blue of her eyes. But he’d enjoyed seeing what she wore when she wasn’t expecting company. Though she’d be even more appealing in one of his old sweatshirts than the large OSU-emblazoned one she’d been wearing.

  “This is supposed to be a lazy, kick-back, stay inside to stay dry kinda day,” he said.

  “I can change back if you want me to.”

  “How about helping me with the mise en place instead?”

  “Oh, wow. That’s impressive.”

  “I bet you didn’t think I knew that phrase.”

  “Just tell me what you want me to do.”

  He handed her a block of cheddar cheese and a grater. She eyed it suspiciously. “Good thing you came prepared. All I have is a pot for boiling water. And an egg pan.”

  “Hopefully I didn’t forget anything.” He put the scallions in a glass dish, then opened a bag of corn chips, which he poured in another bowl. “I made the chili yesterday so the ingredients have had plenty of time to get acquainted. I hope you’re hungry.”

  Her face clouded and he broadened his smile. He didn’t want to nag her like Brett too often did. But it was hard to ignore what she’d told him.

  Her one word—food.

  He lifted the Crock-Pot lid, speared a piece of the Conecuh sausage on a fork, and held it out to her. “Try this and tell me what you think.”

  She daintily placed the meat in her mouth, and her eyes widened as she savored the flavor. “Delicious,” she said.

  “Isn’t it? I had to send for it all the way from Alabama.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “No, I’m not.”

  “When did you do that?”