Then Came You

by Susan May Warren

  Vivien closed her eyes. “You aren’t staging an intervention, are you? Because I have a plane to catch this afternoon.”

  Issy laughed. “Oh, girl, I so get you.” She pulled the full trash bag from the can, tied it off, and slid the new bag in, snugging the edge around the can rim. “I just thought you could use a friend.” She grabbed the broom and swept glass into a pile.

  Vivien rubbed her hands over her eyes. “Fine.” She gave her friend a sad smile. “Thanks.” Oh, she was going to miss her friends when she got back to New York.

  “Sure.” Issy dumped the contents of her dustpan into the can. “I think between the two of us, we can lift this big one.” She pointed to one of the broken set pieces and picked up the end of it.

  Vivien grabbed the other side and they carried it to the outdoor dumpster, heaving it high enough to toss in with a crash.

  Issy swatted paint chips off her hands and followed Vivien back inside. “Do you really have to leave town?” She pointed to the broken park bench on the stage and picked up one end of it.

  “There’s nothing here for me.” Vivien grabbed hold of the other end of the bench and they carried it out the back door.

  Issy slapped her gloves together, blasting dust off of them before sliding them back on. “Do you remember the unsolicited advice I gave you a few weeks ago?” She followed Vivien back inside.

  Vivien picked up the remaining smaller pieces, one and two at a time, and Issy grabbed the broom again.

  “Don’t let fear rule your heart.”

  “A lot of good that did me,” Vivien snapped.

  Issy swept the rest of the pile into the dustpan in silence and stripped off her gloves.

  “I’m sorry, Issy. I shouldn’t be taking it out on you.” Vivien dropped two empty paint cans into the trash can. “It’s just—I let myself be vulnerable. I tried to do the right thing and take a risk…and here I am. Again.”

  “I don’t have all the answers, Vivie, but I know—I know God’s love is perfect and I know you can trust Him.”

  Vivien tossed the final chunks of set into the dumpster, tugged off her gloves, and reached out to give Issy’s hand a squeeze. “I thought this wasn’t an intervention.”

  “Oh, it’s not. You know when I pull off a full-fledged-Isadora-Knight-intervention, it’s a big production.” She offered a pinched smile. “I bring in the cheer squad. A team huddle. My whiteboard. Definitely a whistle.”

  “Right.”

  “This is just me, as your friend.” This time, Issy stepped forward and wrapped her arms around Vivien in a hug.

  Don’t cry.

  Vivien closed her eyes. “It feels like my dad, all over again.” Her voice cracked and she pulled away, cleared her throat.

  Issy nodded. “I’m so sorry.” She framed Vivien’s face with her hands. “You are not alone.”

  Vivien pulled away. Swallowed. Think happy thoughts, think happy thoughts.

  Her favorite theater technique to not cry when she wanted to.

  And there, her heart was slammed with memories of sunset rides in the convertible. She shoved those down and pulled away. Think different happy thoughts.

  “Well, I think that’s as good as it’s going to get,” Vivien said, not sure if it was a statement about the status of the playhouse or of her own life. She glanced at her watch. She’d have just enough time to finish packing and get to Duluth for her flight. And head off to NYC…alone.

  Issy led the way to the door and held it open for Vivien.

  “You’re a good friend, Issy.” She turned and gave her one more hug. “Thank you for your help.”

  Issy nodded. “Come on. I’ll drop you off.” She looked at her watch. “You probably need to head out soon.”

  Vivien nodded, unable to speak. Well, soon enough she’d feel better—as soon as she could get her feet back onto the stage in New York.

  Chapter 17

  Boone stared at the envelope in his hands, the return address from the City of Kellogg. He’d been chasing the goal for nearly fifteen years.

  If he could just figure out what he really wanted. How to find a path forward from where he was. Because the words on the page formally offering him the position as police chief gave him little satisfaction.

  “I expected more enthusiasm from you.” His dad stood facing him, his back leaning against Boone’s kitchen counter. He still wore his expensive suit pants, but he’d shrugged out of his coat and loosened his tie. His gray hair was combed precisely over the thinning spot at the back of his scalp.

  Boone had managed to put him off for three days, but there was no escaping the imposing Roger Buckam when he showed up at zero-seven-hundred wanting to know exactly why Boone hadn’t told him about the phone call from the city or the official selection letter he’d received on Tuesday. “Thought you’d call me as soon as you heard.”

  He’d asked the chief not to say anything, but apparently, someone had talked at the country club. Boone should be grateful it took three days for the news to reach his dad.

  He tossed the letter back onto the kitchen counter. “Guess I’m still in shock.”

  His dad opened the refrigerator and grabbed a bottle of coffee creamer. Poured a generous helping into his cup and set it on the counter. He grabbed a spoon from the drawer and stirred his coffee. “I’ve been talking you up for the job.”

  Boone took the creamer from the counter and slid it back onto the refrigerator shelf.

  It should warm him that his dad was behind him. Pushing him. Boone took in a breath, recounting all the different ways this was the position of a lifetime. His career path goal finally realized. So then why did the thought of it leave a gaping open wound in his chest?

  Embrace the life you have…not the one others expect you to have.

  He swallowed, his mouth dry, and forced the words from his pasty lips. “Great. Thanks, Dad.”

  He probably should have used those acting chops Vivien had claimed he had. Given him a big the-show-must-go-on smile. Said it with a little more feeling. Because the man most certainly did not buy a word he’d said.

  His dad paused mid-sip, his brows lowered into a deep furrow. “It’s what you’ve always wanted.”

  Except, deep down, it wasn’t. He looked over at Roger Buckam, the memory of his senior prom night burning through him. The smell of smoke hanging in the air. The obvious expectation visible in his father’s eyes as everyone wrongly pointed the finger at PJ.

  And the wrecked look on her face the moment he’d chosen to step right into those expectations and turn his back on her. The one person who’d loved him despite what was best for her.

  And he couldn’t—wouldn’t—turn his back on the one person who mattered this time. Because, somehow, in all the craziness of kayaks and coffees, rehearsals and would-be book reading, he’d fallen in love with Vivien and her extraordinary, contagious joy.

  “No, Dad. I think it’s what you’ve always wanted for me.”

  “What does that mean?” His dad put his cup down on the kitchen counter, a splash of brew slopping onto the white surface.

  Too many years of pressure to do the best. To be the best. It erupted like a volcano, rivers of white-hot words pouring from his lips. “You’ve always pushed me to be something. Football star. Top detective. Now chief. And all my life, I have felt like I had to be those things in order to be worthy of being called Roger Buckam’s son.”

  His dad’s face blanched. “You’re a talented guy. I only ever pushed you because I saw how much potential you had. Kellogg needs you as the next chief.”

  Boone faced off with his dad. “Kellogg does? Or you do?”

  His father’s voice dropped, the words edged between his lips. “Don’t let yourself get sidelined again by some girl who’s just going to get you into trouble.”

  “Oh, you mean like PJ? Vivien isn’t PJ.” Boone paused. Took a breath. “And I didn’t do right by PJ when I was a kid, but I sure can do right by Vivien now.”

  “So, w
hat? You’re just going to leave town? Go back to Deep Haven and forget your life as a detective? And do what?”

  His dad stepped forward, a big man. Imposing. Creases around his eyes and a permanent furrow in his brow. Deep lines of worry had etched his face.

  And for the first time, Boone felt sorry for him. Sorry for the man who’d loved Boone’s mom so much that he’d endured her decades of alcoholism. Who’d covered for her reputation as the town tramp. Who’d taken Boone on as his own son, even if he wasn’t.

  Boone offered a gentle rebuff. “I enjoy being a detective. I do. But I don’t want to be chief. I don’t need to be chief to prove myself.” He stopped short of adding to you.

  His dad rubbed his hands over his face and shook his head. “I just—I just don’t want you to settle. You’ve always had promise. Potential.”

  “So you kept pushing me? Raising the bar? Assuring at every turn that I knew I wasn’t enough?”

  His dad opened his mouth. Closed it. Then lifted the letter from the counter. “Are you really going to walk away from this opportunity?”

  He’d have laughed if it weren’t for the desperate look on Roger’s face. The man couldn’t even see what he was doing. “Yeah, Dad. I am.” Because, if it wasn’t too late, he finally knew where he belonged. And this time, he wouldn’t—couldn’t—lose the girl again. Not if he could help it.

  His dad nodded and walked to the door. Paused, his hand on knob. “If I was ever the one who made you doubt your worth, I…I didn’t mean to.”

  It was the closest thing to an apology that Boone had ever heard from the man. The door closed, leaving Boone in the silence.

  Thirty minutes later, Boone knocked on the chief’s office door. The man looked up, his eyebrows raised and green eyes alert.

  “Well, if it isn’t my favorite north woodsman.” He stood and bent his lean frame over the desk, taking Boone’s hand to shake.

  “Do you have a minute?”

  “Of course.” Steve gestured to the chair across from his desk and sat back down. “You aren’t worried you won’t pass the fitness test, are you?”

  “No. I’m pretty sure I could smoke most of the department.” Boone tried to lighten his mood.

  Landry laughed. “You look like it.” He picked up his cup of coffee and took a drink. “I was worried when you came back early, but Rachelle assures me that, with the exception of the book, you’ve exceeded all the benchmarks—your blood pressure is down, you’ve found activities to participate in. And, I heard the city has extended you the much-anticipated offer.”

  Boone tugged the letter from the city out of his pocket and laid it down on the desk and sat down. “I need you to know I’m turning down the offer. I wanted you to hear it from me.”

  The smile disappeared from the man’s face, weathered by several decades on the job. “Why would you do that?”

  Boone pushed away the whispers from his past. The ones that told him to earn his way. To be who he was expected to be. “One of the things you told me is that I need to be a man who’s more than my job, and you were right. But the truth is, if I stay in Kellogg, that’s all I’ll ever be.”

  Landry studied him. “I see.” He picked up a baseball from his desk top and turned it in his hands, looking at the autographs of the Little League players he’d coached. “I see,” he repeated.

  Boone ran his hand through his hair. Why did doing the right thing mean seeing hurt and disappointment in the eyes of the people he cared about? “I’m sorry.”

  Landry’s brows raised and he set the ball back down on its wood platform. “Here I thought I was training you up to pass the torch.”

  “I know. I’ve had a great career here—I don’t regret it.” He shifted his right arm, the once-familiar brush of his Glock in its shoulder holster now causing a peculiar chafe.

  “So, this is what I get for putting you on leave?”

  Boone cringed. “Maybe. I finally realized that who I am isn’t dictated by where I came from or what I do.”

  Steve stared at him. Blinked. “Well, good.”

  “What?”

  “Good.” He stood and walked to the front of the desk, leaned against it. “It’s about time.”

  “Sir?”

  “Don’t get me wrong—you’d make an excellent chief. But I started thinking on my way home from camping. No, you hadn’t read the book. And you had more things going on in your life than you ever have before. But…” He rubbed his fingers on his temples. “You looked satisfied.”

  Yeah. Maybe that was it. The feeling of fullness that came with knowing he had nothing to prove. Boone nodded.

  “Go on—get out of here.”

  Boone headed for his office. The clerk looked up, making her blonde ponytail bob. “Hey, Detective. Did that investigator from NYPD get ahold of you?”

  Boone shook his head. “Detective Rayburn? I spoke with him a few days ago. He was going to look into a few things for me.”

  “Check your messages,” she answered.

  “Thanks.”

  He wove his way through the cubicles to his office and picked up his phone, punched in his message code.

  The detective’s voice, with his New York accent, came over the line. “Hey, it’s Detective Rayburn. I followed up on those questions you had. Looks like you were right. Joslyn Vanderburg has a criminal record—mostly petty stuff. But I also looked into that stalker you named, Dennis Campbell. I’m emailing you the details. You’re going to want to see it.”

  Boone logged onto his computer and waited for Rayburn’s email to download. He clicked on it and began opening the attachments. A picture of a man. Dennis Campbell. He opened another one.

  No way.

  Time-stamped security footage of Joslyn meeting with Dennis outside a coffee shop. Before Vivien left New York City. He scrolled through more. In fact, they went clear back to before the first incident that Vivien had told him about.

  He clicked back to Rayburn’s email, and the truth bit into him. Joslyn had set Vivien up.

  And, he’d bet she was responsible for all the flower deliveries too.

  Another email from Detective Rayburn popped up. Boone opened it.

  Not done yet, but I was able to link one of the flower deliveries to Joslyn Vanderburg, as well. She used a prepaid credit card, but that card had also been used to purchase a plane ticket to Duluth at the end of July. Guess whose name was on the ticket?

  Gotcha.

  I’ll send you anything else that comes through. For now, we’re going to keep building the case. I advise letting Vivien Calhoun know. I think Vanderburg is more about harassment and thinks she can fly under the radar, but you never know what’ll set somebody off.

  The thought put a knot in Boone’s gut. He picked up the phone, paused, swallowed hard. After a moment’s more hesitation, he dialed Vivien.

  Ringing, ringing. No answer.

  Okay. So she didn’t want to talk to him. He got it, but this was important.

  Boone tried again. Same result.

  Breathing out his frustration, he punched in Caleb’s phone number.

  Caleb picked up on the first ring. “Hey. Missing us already?”

  “Yeah. I actually am. I’m heading back—I can explain more later. But do you know how I can reach Vivien? She’s not answering her cell. I need to talk to her.”

  Silence.

  “Caleb?”

  “Issy said she left town the day after you did.”

  It didn’t even matter that his doctor had given him the all-clear because Caleb’s words sent Boone’s heart into a manic pace. “Where’d she go?”

  “New York City. Ree told Issy that Ravil was picking her up at the airport. He was putting her back on stage.”

  The exact worst place for her.

  Boone grabbed his notes and shoved them into his go bag. He had a show to catch.

  Vivien stepped from the taxi and hustled down the sidewalk to the theater. The Friday buzz of New York City vibrated in her bones, jar
ring her after three months in Deep Haven. She’d expected three days back in the city would be enough to reacclimate her, but she still didn’t feel settled.

  Maybe today she’d get through rehearsal without a glance back at Deep Haven. Without longing for the soothing sounds of Lake Superior or the wind rustling through the birch trees.

  She looked up at the theater marquee, where a staff member held the letter-changing pole, adding the “h” to Calhoun underneath the show title Beauty and the Beast.

  Her name was being put back onto the marquee. It should fill her with that sense of excitement. The rush. The fulfillment. She waited for it to hit her. Waited for the glow of pride. The validation.

  Nothing.

  If anything, her heart sank.

  She entered through the back door of the theater, her Converse making a dull thud against the concrete hallway. Fifteen cast members had gathered in the green room, discussing published reviews and auditions.

  She’d caught a few curious glances her first day back. The up-and-down eye sweeps casting judgment over her.

  A few heads nodded in acknowledgment. Some genuine smiles from the cast members she’d been closest to.

  Ravil had been more than accommodating, arranging for her room and treating her like his VIP. So she had to share the cramped apartment with three other girls from the show. At least that made rent more affordable. And it wasn’t too long of a taxi ride to the theater.

  “Anything you need, Vivien. I want to keep you happy,” Ravil had said, but there was an edge to his voice. He looked tired and he’d lost weight. She’d asked about his mother, but he’d raised a hand, his eyes turning glossy. Off limits. Instead, he’d turned the conversation to ticket sales and critic invites to her opening night. “You’re going to turn this show around, Vivie.” His smile didn’t reach his eyes. Then, he’d abruptly turned away. “I need to go make some calls.”