Forever Glimmer Creek

by Stacy Hackney

  “Well?” Mama asked, her eyes twinkling.

  “Well what?” Rosie said around a mouthful of muffin.

  “My room is beside yours, sugar, and I could hear you pacing half the night.”

  Rosie turned to throw the muffin wrapper away, searching for a trash can and stalling for time, unable to explain the real reason she was awake last night. “If I was awake, it was only because someone else in the house kept me up with their snoring.”

  “Impossible! I was the only other person in the house, and I’m much too dainty to snore. If you heard anything, it was probably a nearby train.”

  “There aren’t train tracks in Glimmer Creek anymore.”

  “Well, maybe it was a buzz saw.”

  “At midnight?”

  “It’s the only explanation,” Mama said.

  “Besides you snoring,” Rosie said.

  “Like I said, impossible.”

  “You’re impossible,” Rosie said, smiling at Mama.

  Back and forth, teasing and laughing—this was what she and Mama did best. Mama wouldn’t yell at her like Henry’s mama or snap at her like Cam’s mama did sometimes. They had their own special communication. Rosie’s smile faded as she thought about her plan to meet Michael, a plan that couldn’t involve telling Mama. There was nothing special about lying.

  “Does this mean you’re not going to tell me what’s wrong?” Mama asked, slinging an arm around Rosie.

  Rosie pulled away, feeling as if a crab were pinching her inside. “There’s nothing to tell. I’m sorry I kept you up,” she said in a rush, anxious to change the subject. “I better get these last papers filed before school.”

  “You can always finish them tomorrow,” Mama said, her eyes puzzled. “I forgot to tell you. Molly Lawler came in yesterday about her property taxes, and I asked her if you could use their old field off Poplar Lane for your film. She said no problem.”

  Now Rosie felt even worse. Here was Mama thinking about her again, helping to solve her problems, the same way she always did. “Thanks for doing that.”

  Mama ruffled her hair. “No trouble at all. I wonder if I missed my career calling as a set finder.”

  “It’s called a location scout,” Rosie said.

  “Location scout—I like that,” Mama replied. “I see an entirely new career in my future. I’m clearly meant for Hollywood.” She assumed a pose, one hand on her hip, the other flung above her head.

  Rosie couldn’t help giggling.

  A jingle of bells signaled an opening of the front door.

  “Now, who could possibly have a complaint this early in the morning?” Mama sighed.

  “I’ll check,” Rosie said, and rounded the corner into the lobby.

  Sheriff Parker stood in the center of the room, his hands in his pockets, rocking back and forth on his heels. Rosie glowered at him. He was the last person she wanted to see before eight o’clock in the morning or before eight o’clock at night. Really, he was the last person she wanted to see ever.

  “Good morning, Rosie,” Sheriff Parker said.

  “The office isn’t open yet. I’m helping Mama out.” Though Rosie was only helping out because Sheriff Parker had gotten her in trouble in the first place.

  “It’s good to see you doing something productive after the other week.”

  “I do a lot of productive things,” Rosie said, trying not to glower at him. “In fact, I’m working on a new project with Mayor Grant, and I’m going to need some permits.”

  Sheriff Parker sighed and muttered something that sounded a lot like not again. “You’ll have to go through all the official channels and fill out the paperwork. I expect it will take some time to process. We do have a system in place for these things, which everyone has to follow.”

  “Fine,” Rosie said shortly. Sheriff Parker made everything less fun with his “official channels” and boring “systems.”

  Mama made her way into the room. “Why, Sheriff Parker, I didn’t know you were here. What can we help you with this morning?”

  Sheriff Parker’s lips curled up in a weird expression like Mr. Waverman’s donkey when she wanted an apple. It looked as if he were trying to smile but his face wasn’t sure what to do.

  “I was hoping for some coffee,” Sheriff Parker said.

  “We don’t have any ready,” Rosie said quickly.

  Mama gave Rosie a surprised look. She gestured to the coffeepot on the table behind the receptionist desk. “Don’t be silly. I made some when I got in this morning.”

  “I thought you drank all of it yourself,” Rosie said, shrugging.

  “No one can survive without coffee,” Sheriff Parker said with another one of his weirdo smiles.

  Rosie waited for Mama to make her usual coffee jokes—how she would trade her arm for a cup of coffee, how coffee was the only thing she’d bring to a desert island—but she only turned and busied herself pouring Sheriff Parker a cup. “One sugar, right?”

  “You know me,” Sheriff Parker said, reaching for the coffee cup.

  “No she doesn’t,” Rosie mumbled so Mama couldn’t hear.

  Sheriff Parker fiddled with the stirring straw in his cup. “I was thinking about that budget meeting yesterday. Your point about taking the time to allocate costs to the proper department made real sense.”

  Mama waved a hand in the air as if it were nothing, but she looked pleased. “It’s just good business. It helps us see where additional resources are needed within the town infrastructure.” Her voice was oddly serious.

  “Well, it was a good idea. I was never in these meetings when I lived in DC. It’s interesting to see how all the departments work together. If you need help on the budget, let me know. It would be a nice break from answering questions about the state’s law on finding stolen treasure. I got seven calls yesterday alone. I swear half this town is losing its mind over that train treasure.” Sheriff Parker grinned at Mama.

  This was the first time Rosie had ever heard Sheriff Parker sound friendly. Was Anna Lee right about him having a crush on Mama?

  “Mama prefers to work on the budgets alone,” Rosie said.

  Mama cleared her throat. “I wouldn’t say that. My job requires me to work with other people all the time.”

  Had Sheriff Parker’s smile widened? Did he think Mama meant she wanted to work with him? Rosie narrowed her eyes.

  “You told me you could get everything done a whole lot faster if everyone would stop sticking their nose in your business,” Rosie said.

  Mama gasped out a laugh. It was true she had complained about the planning commission last week, though maybe not quite in those words.

  “I did not say that. She’s kidding.” Mama turned to Rosie, her eyebrows somewhere up near her hairline. “Tell Sheriff Parker you’re kidding.”

  Rosie shrugged and hoped he didn’t think she was kidding. She knew she was pushing it, but this was a desperate situation. She couldn’t have Sheriff Parker thinking he had a chance with Mama. He’d never stop hanging around.

  Sheriff Parker only laughed. “Hey, I understand. Sometimes it’s easier to do the job yourself, but keep my offer in mind. I know you’ve got a lot going on with the festival coming up. You probably need your own Miracle to get everything done.”

  Rosie glared at him. She didn’t buy this nice-guy act for one second.

  “The Miracles don’t work that way, you know. Mama isn’t going to wake up one morning to the entire festival planned and her desk cleared,” Rosie jeered.

  “I was only kidding,” Sheriff Parker said in a patient voice, as if she were five years old instead of practically a teenager.

  “The Miracles aren’t a joke,” Rosie said. “They’re real.”

  “I didn’t say they weren’t,” Sheriff Parker said, but there was something about the way he said it. Rosie bet he was one of those people who thought the Miracles were all some big coincidence, one of those skeptical, unimaginative people who wouldn’t notice magic even if it was spitting in
their face.

  Mama placed a firm hand on Rosie’s shoulder, digging in with her fingers. “I thought you had filing to do.”

  “It can wait,” Rosie said, twisting away. “I’d rather stay up front.”

  Sheriff Parker clutched his coffee and took a step backward. “I should get going anyway. But I really am happy to help. I’ve got some time to spare. Things are a lot quieter here than what I’m used to. I’m not complaining though. It’s one of the reasons I moved to Glimmer Creek in the first place.” He stopped and reddened. “Anyway, see you around.” He bumped into the door and stumbled over his feet before turning and heading outside.

  As soon as the door closed behind him, Mama rounded on Rosie. “What was that all about? You were quite unfriendly, bordering on rude.”

  “I was trying to do you a favor and get rid of him,” Rosie said. “You’re the one who complained about Sheriff Parker for a whole year after he moved here.”

  Mama smoothed down her skirt and looked away, avoiding Rosie’s gaze. “Sheriff Parker came from a big city, which is a whole lot different from Glimmer Creek. At first he didn’t understand how we all know each other and pull together and try to avoid conflict if we can. But he’s trying a lot harder these days. It took him a little while to get used to our ways.”

  Rosie snorted. “He’s still not used to our ways. I can tell he doesn’t even believe in the Miracles. A sheriff who doesn’t believe in his own town shouldn’t be a sheriff, in my opinion.”

  Mama swiveled her head to fix Rosie with one of her trademark tractor-beam stares. “There’s no excuse for your acting rude to an adult. None.” The corners of her mouth sagged like willow branches. “I’m disappointed in you.”

  Rosie swallowed, hating to disappoint Mama. “I’m sorry.”

  Mama sighed and walked back toward her office.

  Rosie stared after her, torn between wanting to apologize again and knowing she was doing Mama a favor in the end by keeping Sheriff Parker away.

  The door opened again with a tinkle of bells and a whoosh of air. Mr. Jack strolled in with his wife, Miss Jessie. His graying hair was carefully parted on one side, and he wore a pink shirt and one of his famous bow ties. This one had pink crabs scattered all over it. Miss Jessie wore a matching pink dress. Besides running the Bookworm, Rosie’s favorite store in town, they gave her a real Hollywood movie script on her birthday every year and faithfully watched every single one of her films at least twice.

  “Rosie, dear, we’re here to see Caroline when she has a moment,” Mr. Jack said. “The sidewalk in front of the Bookworm has a large crack in it that needs repair. Libby Willis tripped on it yesterday when she came to see me.”

  “Is Libby having love troubles again?” Rosie asked, delaying the walk back to get Mama.

  Miss Jessie sighed. “She is, poor dear. She’s convinced Tyler is growing tired of her.”

  “I hate to say it, but she’s right,” Mr. Jack said.

  When he was younger, Mr. Jack had worked for the old trailer manufacturing company on the outskirts of town. One day, there was an explosion at the plant. Mr. Jack was near the front and shoved another worker away from the blast. Most of the explosion debris missed him except for a piece of metal, which ricocheted off his wedding ring. Though he broke two fingers, the ring deflected the metal away from his head and probably saved his life. After that Miracle, Mr. Jack turned into a genuine love expert. He’d matched up at least fourteen married couples in town. The sign on the Bookworm door read: BOOKS FOR SALE, MATCHMAKING OPTIONAL.

  “I really thought she and Tyler were going to make it. If I had to cast the perfect high school couple, they would make the callbacks—they were even the right height,” Rosie said.

  “Looking right together doesn’t mean feeling right together,” Ms. Jessie said, a regretful frown stealing over her face.

  “She’s right. It is too bad though,” Mr. Jack said. “That Libby is a sweet girl. But you know what I always say.”

  “Without a spark, the love will fizzle,” Rosie said, repeating back the words Mr. Jack had told her many times.

  “Precisely.” Mr. Jack nodded toward the door. “Now, we ran into Sheriff Parker on our way in here, and he and your mama are a different story. Mark my words, Rosie, there’s a real spark between those two.”

  Rosie took a step backward. “There can’t be. Mama doesn’t like him at all.”

  Mr. Jack chuckled. “Maybe not yet, but she will.”

  “You’ve got it wrong this time.” Rosie suddenly found it hard to breathe.

  “I predicted three engagements last year alone. When I say there’s a spark, there’s a spark.” Mr. Jack reached down to take Miss Jessie’s free hand.

  “I’ll get Mama for you,” Rosie said, hurrying away, not wanting to hear another word about Mr. Jack’s sparks.

  “Much obliged,” Mr. Jack called.

  Stopping midway down the hall, Rosie waved the papers in her hand back and forth to create a breeze on her flushed cheeks. She steadied herself against a filing cabinet. Mr. Jack was wrong, dead wrong. Mama didn’t want a boyfriend. She’d always said it was her and Rosie against the world. Nothing could change that.

  Rosie took a deep breath, then another. The problem was Mr. Jack didn’t have all the information. All he saw was Sheriff Parker mooning around and Mama being nice to him the same way she was to everyone. But in the final cut of Mama’s story, the leading man was definitely not Sheriff Parker. After all, Rosie was about to invite her father to Glimmer Creek. Mama might realize she already had a family and didn’t need a leading man in her life just yet.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Rosie went straight home after school that day to break into Mama’s e-mail. She had no choice. Between this morning’s coffee fiasco, Mr. Jack’s theory, and the festival getting closer with every day that passed, she had to do something. Deep down she knew Mama’s answer if she asked to contact her father—Mama would say no. This was the surest way to reach him.

  Mama’s laptop was perched on a desk the color of maple syrup in their small study off the family room. Bookshelves, crammed full of old hardbacks that had belonged to her grandparents, flanked the closed study door. A leather chair, scratched up and sagging, filled one corner, and a worn rug in shades of faded burgundy and gold bunched along the floor. The house was still, but Rosie’s pulse raced.

  Pulling up Mama’s e-mail account, Rosie put in the password Mama used for everything—rosie1. Mama’s in-box popped onto the screen. Rosie typed Michael Weatherton into the search bar at the top. One message came up. It was dated three months ago.

  Rosie clicked on it and read:

  Hi Caroline, I got your message last week. Sorry I’ve been out of touch. My old e-mail address was hacked, and my assistant changed it a few months ago. I’m booked for two indie films this winter, and life has been crazy. Anyway, here’s the new e-mail. Talk soon. Michael.

  Rosie sat back and reread the message four more times. She had so many questions. Why would Mama call him? Who had hacked his e-mail address? What indie movies was he working on? She stared at the screen, wishing she could ask him herself.

  Shaking her head, Rosie laughed a little. There was no need to wish. Soon she could ask him whatever she wanted, when he came to Glimmer Creek.

  Rosie opened up her own e-mail account and started to type. After a few false starts, she ended up with:

  Dear Father Daddy Michael,

  This is Rosie Flynn, your Caroline’s daughter. I am writing to let you know I am directing a documentary for the Festival of the Fish. The film is about Glimmer Creek’s Miracles and what causes them, which I heard is a special interest of yours. I understand you are filming Revolutionary Threat only two hours away in Richmond (congratulations on the part). I am inviting you to attend the premiere of my film on October 21st in Glimmer Creek. I think you would really like it. Please come.

  Love Sincerely,

  Rosie

  Rosie wanted to write about
how she planned to work in movies just like him. She thought about reminding him how he’d sent her the camcorder and promised to come see her first movie. She longed to tell him this was his chance to meet his only daughter. But she didn’t. She kept the letter short, not wanting to say the wrong thing and ruin her chances.

  Hovering the cursor over the send key, Rosie blew out a long breath. Her hands were trembling. Mama wouldn’t allow Rosie to call Michael or send him a letter. She always said it was best if she contacted him and told Rosie what he said. Now Rosie was doing the exact thing Mama refused to let her do. It had seemed like such a good idea last night, but at this instant it felt dishonest and sneaky. Looking at the e-mail made her insides ripple. Once she hit send, there was no way to take it back.

  The front door opened with a faint scuffle. Rosie froze. She checked the clock on the computer. Mama was home early, way too early. Rosie inhaled a sharp puff of air. It was now or never. She closed her eyes, held her breath, and clicked send.

  Mama called her name from the hall. Rosie exited out of her e-mail account, but Mama’s e-mail remained on the computer screen. Rosie scrambled to close out of the account, but the computer froze. Mama called her name a second time, footsteps moving toward the study. Nothing moved on the screen. The little room spun in ever-quickening circles, leaving her dizzy and nauseous. She should never have broken into Mama’s e-mail account; she should never have sent Michael an e-mail. She held down the power button. One second, two seconds, three seconds. The screen flickered. The study door opened just as the computer shut itself down. Rosie stood and exhaled.

  “Hey, sugar, whatcha doing?” Mama asked, leaning against the doorframe.

  Rosie moved her body in front of the computer. “Oh, nothing. I was just reading.”

  Mama gave her a quizzical look. “Were you using the computer?”

  “No,” Rosie said, and saw the light of the computer dim out of the corner of her eye. “I mean yes. I was reading on the computer.”

  “Is this for school?” Mama asked.