Every Precious Thing (2 page)

L
OGAN HARPER WAS
having lunch with his dad in the break room of Dunn Right Auto Repair and Service when Joy stuck her head in and said, “Harp, you’ve got a call. Line three.”

“Tell them I’ll call back when I’m done,” Logan’s dad said.

“They said it’s important.”

Harp frowned as he set his sandwich down and stood up. “Who is it?”

“Someone named…um…Mueller, I think.”

“Mueller?” Harp looked at Logan. “Your uncle Len.”

With a smile, Harp walked over to the phone mounted on the wall, and punched the button for line three.

“Len? What’s going on?”

The smile on Harp’s face froze, then faltered. “Oh, no,” he said as he closed his eyes for a moment.

Logan rose quickly from his chair and went over to him. “You all right, Dad?”

Harp shook his head and waved him off. He said into the phone, “When?…I’m so sorry…I understand. Don’t worry about it…Of course. What time?…We’ll be there.”

When he hung up, he just stood there, staring at nothing.

“Dad?” Logan said.

A second passed, then another, and another. Finally, Harp looked over. “What?”

“What’s going on?”

His father hesitated. “It’s…Len. He passed away this morning.”

Len Mueller wasn’t a blood relative, but that didn’t matter. He was as much an uncle to Logan and a brother to Harp as any man could have ever been. The Mueller family and the Harper family had lived on neighboring farms back in Kansas where Harp had grown up. Len had been best friends with Harp’s older brother Tommy. They had both served in World War II, and while Len had come back—minus two fingers on his left hand—Tommy hadn’t returned at all. Len had done what he could to fill in for Tommy—helping Harp, advising him, teasing him, and eventually serving as best man at Harp’s wedding.

Now he was gone, and with him Harp’s connection not just to one man but two.

Two and a half days later, Logan and Harp drove up the coast to Marin County, north of San Francisco. They stayed in a motel in Sausalito that overlooked the bay, then headed to Mill Valley the next morning for Len’s memorial service.

Church first, then a line of cars made their way out to the cemetery where at least three dozen people gathered around the gravesite. Sons, and daughters, and grandsons, and granddaughters, and a few old friends like Harp and Logan. Len had been a kind man, easy with his laugh and his smile. They had all hoped Len would live forever.

Because of his military service, an American flag was draped over the casket, and a four-person honor guard stood at the ready.

“You holding up okay?” Logan whispered to his father.

Harp’s response was no more than a quick nod. Logan could feel every breath his dad took—the shallow, shuttering intakes, the deep gasps, and the pauses in between.

As soon as the reverend finished speaking, the honor guard surrounded the casket, raised the flag, and with practiced precision, folded it into a neat, tight triangle. The servicewoman who ended up with the flag walked over to where Len’s five children sat and reverently handed it to Michael, who, at sixty-two, was Len’s oldest.

The reverend said a final prayer as the casket was lowered into the grave. One by one, the mourners walked by the opening in the ground, dropping in a handful of dirt as they passed.

As Harp’s turn came, Logan rose with him, putting a hand on his dad’s back to steady him.

“I’m okay,” Harp said, then walked to the grave unaided.

When he dropped in his dirt, he paused a second and said something Logan couldn’t hear before he continued on. Logan tossed in his handful of soil and followed his father, catching up to him just before he reached Logan’s electric blue El Camino.

“I don’t know if I can go over there,” Harp said once they were inside the car.

Logan knew his father was referring to the reception that was about to start at Len’s house. “We can go back to the motel if you’d rather,” he suggested.

Harp sat silently for a moment, then said, “It would be rude not to stop by at least.”

“Don’t worry about it, Dad. They’ll understand.”

Harp looked at him, his face a mix of uncountable emotions. “You think so?”

“Yeah, I do.”

His father thought about it, then nodded.

__________

W
HEN THEY PULLED
into the motel parking lot, Harp said, “Maybe we should have gone.”

“We still can, if you want.”

“I just don’t know.”

Logan hated seeing his dad like this. Harp was always the positive one, the one who kept things going and encouraged others to keep their heads up. And to Logan especially, he was also invincible, a stone that shouldn’t crack. That’s how most children saw their parents. Even when Logan’s mother had died, Harp had kept up a strong façade though Logan knew his dad had been deeply affected by her passing. Of course Harp had been younger then, more in control. Now he’d reached an age where he was outliving his friends, including the brother who was not his brother.

“Why don’t we go for a walk?” Logan suggested. “We can grab a coffee, look at the houseboats. They’ll be at Uncle Len’s for hours. If you want, we can go over after we get back.”

Harp almost smiled. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

Most of Sausalito’s famous houseboats were located along piers at the north end of town. It was a long walk, but it turned out to be just what Harp needed. After a while he started talking, telling Logan stories about Len, about Kansas, and even a couple about his brother Tommy—a subject he’d always been less open about. By the time they grabbed a coffee on their way back, Harp seemed if not himself then at least improved.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m up for an early dinner,” Logan said. “Maybe catch a movie on TV after?”

Harp said nothing for a moment. “I’d like to stop by the cemetery on our way home in the morning.”

“Sure, Dad. Whatever you want.”

“Okay,” Harp said, looking relieved. “That sounds good.”

As they crossed into the motel parking lot, Logan said, “There’s that Indian restaurant here that’s supposed to be pretty decent, and I thought I saw a sushi place when we drove in.”

Harp lit up. “Sushi sounds good.” He’d developed a fondness for California rolls in recent years. “Let’s—”

His pace slowed to a stop as his gaze locked onto something in the distance. Logan turned to see what it was.

Standing near his El Camino was Callie Johnson, Uncle Len’s youngest child and only daughter, still wearing the same black dress she’d had on earlier. She was somewhere in her mid-fifties now, and when she’d been a young undergrad at Cal Poly in San Luis Obispo, she’d make a few extra bucks by occasionally driving up to Cambria and babysitting Logan.

Harp shook off his surprise and walked quickly toward her.

“Callie. I’m…I’m sorry I didn’t stay around. I just…”

“It’s okay, Uncle Neal,” she said, using Harp’s first name. “I couldn’t hang around there, either.”

“Well, uh…we’re about to grab some dinner. Would you like to join us?”

“I don’t want to interfere.”

“You won’t be interfering,” Logan said, coming up behind his father. “I’m sure Dad would like a little more company than just me.”

“Well, now that he mentions it…” Harp said.

She smiled and nodded. “All right. Thank you.”

__________

L
OGAN ORDERED SPICY
tuna, while Harp went for his usual. Callie, not as experienced at sushi, decided on the sampler plate.

As they waited for their food, Harp said, “I can’t tell you how sorry I am about your dad.”

“Thanks,” she said. “I know he meant a lot to you, too.”

“He was a special man. I don’t know what my life would have been like without him.”

Callie bit the inside of her lip, obviously attempting to keep her emotions in check. Finally she said, “He left something for you.”

Harp looked surprised. “For me? What?”

“I don’t know.” She opened her purse and withdrew a padded envelope about an inch thick. “It was in a box of things Dad told Michael and me about. He said once he was gone, we should open it and we’d know what to do. There were packages for several people inside.” She looked at the envelope and then handed it to Harp. “This one has your name on it.”

Written across the front in thick black ink was F
OR
H
ARP
. Below this was his address in Cambria. Harp stared at his name for a moment, then looked at Callie and said, “Thank you.”

As he started to set the package on the seat beside him, she asked, “Aren’t you going to open it?”

Logan was sure Harp wanted to wait until he was alone, but Callie was Len’s daughter, and the package was, in essence, one of his last messages. She’d want to know what was inside, too.

Harp also seemed to sense this. “Sure,” he said, and set the package on the table.

A single strip of packing tape held the package closed. Harp carefully ripped it off, then reached inside the envelope and pulled out the contents.

A book. An
old
book.

Harp looked at it, his face growing in wonder. “Oh, my god,” he said.

“What is it?” Logan asked.

Harp turned the book so Logan and Callie could see it. It was a hardcover, and though torn a little at one end, the dust jacket was still intact. Arched across the top portion was the title
Lost Horizon
, below this was a brown illustration of some buildings on a mountain, and at the very bottom was the name James Hilton.

Logan had read
Lost Horizon
in high school. It hadn’t been an English class requirement. It was something Harp had suggested he read. And while the story was long dated even then, Logan had enjoyed it enough to read it again in college.

In almost fearful anticipation, Harp opened the cover, sucked in a breath, then touched the inside near the top.

Softly, Logan said, “Dad?”

Harp looked at him, his eyes brimming with tears, and showed Logan what he’d found.

Written on the inside cover in pen was
TOM HARPER.

Harp’s big brother. Logan’s uncle whom he had never met.

“I haven’t seen this since before he left for…before he left home,” Harp said. Logan knew his father had only been ten when his brother joined the navy during the war. “He used to have me read parts out loud to him when he was working around the farm. Said it was good practice for me.”

Logan had never known that. He thought
Lost Horizon
was a book his father had wanted him to read just as a whim. How wrong he’d been.

“He took this with him,” Harp went on. “I thought it got lost over there.”

Callie said, “My dad once told me the day Tom’s plane didn’t return was one of the worst of his life. He must have found the book in Tom’s things and saved it. He probably meant to give it to you long ago.”

“I didn’t realize they actually served together,” Logan said.

Harp nodded absently, his attention still on the book. “They were both ordnancemen on PBYs, just on different planes.”

Callie picked up the discarded packaging and looked inside. “There’s something else,” she said. She withdrew a white, business-sized envelope and handed it to Harp.

This was nowhere near as old as the book. On the front was scrawled
MANILA
.

“What’s that mean?” Logan asked.

Instead of answering, Harp looked inside the envelope, then closed it again without showing it to anyone else.

“It’s nothing,” Harp told him. He put the book and the envelope back into the package, and set it on his lap, out of sight.

There were so many questions Logan wanted to ask—about Uncle Tommy, about the book, about the envelope—but Harp was a million miles away.

After their food finally arrived, and they’d started eating, Callie glanced at Logan. “Dad mentioned your, uh, trip a few months ago.”

“My trip?” Logan asked.

“Where you helped that girl? Brought her back?”

Logan looked at his father. “I didn’t know we were sharing that with other people.”

“You can’t seriously think I wouldn’t have told Len,” Harp said.

Logan frowned, and turned back to Callie. “I got lucky, that’s all. There’s not much of a story to tell.”

She hesitated a moment. “I’m not asking you to tell me the story. I’m asking you for help.”

C
HAPTER
T
HREE

“H
ELP? WHAT KIND
of help?” Logan asked, hoping he was wrong about where Callie was going.

“It…it actually wasn’t my idea. It was Dad’s.”

“Len?” Harp said, looking at her with interest.

She nodded. “When he went into the hospital last weekend, the doctors told us it was very unlikely he’d be coming out. My brothers and I took turns sitting with him so that he was never alone. He slept a lot, but there were a few times when he’d wake and want to talk.” She smiled at the memory. “He and I, we’ve always talked a lot, and when I became a lawyer, it seemed as if we talked more than ever. Every time I ran into a problem case, he was the first one I turned to. I can’t remember a time when he didn’t suggest something I hadn’t thought about.” She paused. “One night at the hospital, he wanted to talk about how work was going, and about any issues I might be having.

“I told him I did have one case that had reached a point where I didn’t know what to do next. Unfortunately, it wasn’t something that could be fixed with a creative motion in court or a well-written letter on firm stationery. He said he wanted to hear about it anyway, so I told him. When I finished, I thought he’d fallen asleep, but apparently he was thinking. After a bit, he opened his eyes and said, ‘You need to talk to Harp.’”

As she said his name, Harp rubbed a self-conscious hand across his mouth.

Callie shifted her gaze to Logan. “That’s when he told me about what you did for that girl, that you’d gone clear to Asia to find her.”

“It wasn’t as big a deal as he probably made out,” Logan said.

Harp frowned. “Don’t listen to him. It was a big deal. If Logan hadn’t been there…” He shook his head.