Like Never Before (30 page)

“It might be worth asking yourself why you
'd rather fight for paper and ink and other people's futures than your own.”

Maybe it was time to let the desperate push for the newspaper's future rest.

“I really appreciate you letting me know.”

Jonas looked almost relieved at her even-keeled response. “I do wish we could do something to help you out. There are some government small-business-loan programs. I can get you information on any of that, if you like.”

“I'll let you know if I decide that's something I'd like to look at.”

“Dad, Mom wants to know where you are!” Webster yelled from the church entrance.

Jonas grinned. “We never asked him to call us Mom and Dad, you know. All of a sudden, Christmas Eve last year, it just popped out of his mouth.”

“Thanks again, Mr.—Jonas.”

She watched him walk to the church, then reached back into her car for her purse. But instead of walking toward the entrance, she moved in the opposite direction. Away from the parking lot, across the road, down a cracked sidewalk toward a grassy knoll—finally green with spring and home to rows of stones that stretched from the ground.

She passed under the arched wrought-iron entrance of the Maple Valley cemetery, the bustle of the church parking lot fading and a choppy wind breathing through the field.

She didn't know why she went looking for it, didn't even know if she'd find it.

But minutes after the church service would've already started,
she found herself standing in front of a granite stone with a beveled edge, well-kept and surrounded by flowers, silver lettering glinting.

Emma O'Hare Walker

1981–2013

She lived and loved well.

Isaiah 43:19

Logan's wife. Had he placed one of the wreaths or flower urns that adorned the surface around the gravestone? Would he come here in a couple weeks on Memorial Day?

A twig snapped behind her, footsteps rustling in the grass. She glanced over her shoulder. Case?

Logan's father ambled along the sandy path leading toward where she stood now. He lifted one hand to wave as he approached, and she offered a hello in return. Shouldn't he be in his family's regular row in church?

And what would he think of the fact that she was standing here, staring at his son's dead wife's grave?

He stopped beside her. “I thought that was you. Late to church and saw you from the road.”

“I was just . . . well, skipping church, I guess.”

He glanced at Emma's tombstone. “It's a lovely statement, isn't it? ‘She lived and loved well.' You never had a chance to meet her, did you?”

She shook her head. Sunlight filtered through tree branches and streaked in goldish shards over the ebony-hued stone. “Actually, I think I moved to town right around the time she passed away.”

Case sighed. “It was traumatic, that's for sure. For the whole of us, but of course, Logan most of all.”

“I, uh, don't know the verse.”

“It's an odd one for a gravestone, truthfully. All about God doing a new thing. Apparently she once made Logan promise if she died first, he'd make sure that verse was on her stone—because death would be the greatest new thing she'd ever experience.”

“Whoa. That's . . .” She couldn't find words.

“A promise he probably thought he'd never have to keep,” Case finished for her.

One quiet moment passed into another, broken only by the faint rhythm of a woodpecker in another corner of the cemetery and a tangled medley of questions and emotions, until . . .

“I don't know why I'm here.” Abrupt. Off-key.

But Case seemed unfazed. “Because you love my son.”

The wind whipped her hair against her cheeks and stole any response from her lungs. He'd said it so simply. As if it were just plain fact. Not at all surprising or ridiculous or life-altering.

“You love my son, and you're naturally curious about the woman he used to be married to.” Case put his arm around her shoulder, like she'd seen him do so many times to Kate and Raegan. “Emma was wonderful. Bright, fun, creative. Somewhat cautious. Pretty. Even though she was technically Charlie's aunt by birth, I have a feeling if she'd lived, no one ever would've guessed she wasn't Charlie's birth mother. Those are some strong O'Hare genetics.”

“I wonder if Logan sees her when he looks at Charlie.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Maybe sometimes.” Case grinned. “But I have a feeling more often than not, he just sees his daughter who he adores.”

“He does.” And if Case hadn't already seen right through her before now, he would've at that. She could hear the affection packed into her voice. “How's Charlie doing, by the way?”

Case steered her away from the gravestone, and they ended up on the path that cut through the cemetery. “She's taking it
like a champ. Probably would've loved showing off her neon cast to everyone in church if Logan hadn't insisted on keeping her home.”

“And Logan? I tried calling.”

“He's . . . all right.”

She didn't miss his pause, but he went on before she could ask for a more detailed explanation.

“And how about you?”

“Me?”

“I found you in a cemetery on a Sunday morning.”

She couldn't help but laugh, even if it was tinged with something bittersweet. “Oh, I don't know. I just found out the bank is turning me down for a loan. I'd kind of thought maybe I could buy the newspaper from Logan. Now I have a feeling that despite my best efforts and even with the centennial issue we're running this week, we may be looking at a buyout. I could very possibly be out of a job before long.” She slid him a glance. Would he offer words of advice? She hesitated. “I'd like to believe the whole ‘when God closes a door, he opens a window' thing, but . . . well . . .”

It was Case's turn to laugh. “I think that's a ridiculous phrase.”

“You do?”

“Yes, although if my wife were still alive and making me watch
The Sound of Music
twice a year, I would never admit it. I got really good over the years at holding in my groan when the Reverend Mother says that line.” They stopped under the gated entrance. “Way I see it, doors and windows are two different things entirely, with completely different purposes.”

“I can appreciate that.”

“I'll tell you this much, though, Amelia. Don't confuse your career with your life. Your newspaper means a lot to you. You love your job, and that's special—it's not something everyone
can say. And losing it would hurt. But not nearly as much as missing out on your life.” He stuck his hands in his pockets. “Well, I'm headed to the church. You could come with. We'll have empty room in our row without Logan and Charlie. You could even stay all the way through the last song.”

He winked on that last part, and she felt her jaw drop. But why was she surprised? This was Case Walker. Where did she think Logan got his observant nature from, anyway?

She walked with Case back to the church and sat in the seat Logan would've if he'd been there. Listened to the whole sermon and stayed all the way until the pastor dismissed them at the end.

Might even have stuck around to talk to the people who sat near her, if not for the text from Ledge.

Stopped by the office on the way home from church. It's not good. You need to see this.

The sight of his bruised knuckles was almost enough to convince Logan not to knock.

Do it. You've been dragging
your feet for too long about too many things.

He knocked.

Rick answered.

Smudges of blue and purple rimmed the ridge of his father-in-law's cheekbone, and a flint edge hardened his eyes. No invitation to come in. “What do you want?”

“To talk.” Yesterday's storms had lapped all the moisture and warmth from the air, leaving an arid cool that felt more like autumn than spring. He should've grabbed a hoodie, especially if this conversation wasn't going to move inside. Which, judging from Rick's rooted stance on the welcome mat, it wasn't.

“I said all I had to say down at the police station last night.”

“Rick, who is it?” Helen's voice drifted from the second floor.

“No one.” He called the reply over his shoulder, then pinned Logan with a leaden glare, as if daring him to counter.

This was pointless, wasn't it? Futile. He'd debated it all day—first this morning as he'd made waffles for Charlie while the rest of the family was at church, and then all through an afternoon of Disney movies and glances at the neon pink synthetic cast on his daughter's arm, already half covered in signatures and drawings.

But he'd had to at least try.

“You know Emma wouldn't have wanted this.”

“Emma's not here.”

He could taste the sour resentment in Rick's tone, hear the bitter words his father-in-law didn't need to say.
Because of you.

He didn't know when it'd happened . . . but it
had
happened. Somewhere along the line, Rick's hurt had morphed into blaming Logan. Maybe it'd been there the whole time and he just had never been home long enough to realize it. Didn't really matter when, though, did it?

“I'm sorry about yesterday, Rick. I overreacted, I panicked. I know that's no excuse, but please hear me when I say I am very sorry.” He'd rehearsed the words the whole way over, but they came out flat now. Unconvincing.

“What's done is done.”

Apology acknowledged, then, if not exactly accepted.

Rick unfolded his arms. “I might have overreacted myself—filing that police report.”

“Well, it doesn't sound like there are going to be any formal charges.” At least, that was the impression the officer had given last night. Although the report would still be filed. If someone did an extensive enough background check on Logan, they could come across it.

Hadley's people could come across it. Who knew what might happen then?

All Logan knew was that if he were advising a candidate in the process of assembling a team of staffers, he'd recommend pristine backgrounds all around. Not even a whiff of trouble.
The last thing you want to do is hand the other side any kind of ammo, real or perceived.

But that was exactly what he'd done with Rick and Helen these past couple months. One misstep after another. He was practically building for them their argument for why he should let Charlie stay with them.

But something firm stitched through him now, sharp and unwieldy. “Charlie's my daughter, sir. I know better than anyone I'm not a perfect father. Don't think that fact doesn't hound me day in and day out. But I
am
her father.” He walked down the cement stairs as the flag jutting from the house slapped against the siding.

“Logan, you should know I'm talking to a lawyer in the morning.”

He froze on the sidewalk, halfway to his car.

“He specializes in custody issues.”

He veered around. “There's no issue here. I'm legally her father.”

Rick grasped the door handle with one hand. “I'm just giving you a heads-up.” With that, he closed the door.

The trek to his car was a near-stagger, last night's too-few hours of sleep not nearly enough to combat the weariness slogging through him now, nor the alarm at Rick's words. He didn't honestly intend to sue for custody, did he? Did Helen support this?

Logan's anxiety only built as he drove toward Dad's house, the residential neighborhood tapering as he neared the edge of town. He never should have come back to Maple Valley.
He should've just let the lawyer handle the sale of the newspaper and stayed in LA. None of this would be happening right now.

But you would've missed out.

On what, the first fist fight of his adult life?

On all this time with Charlie.

On seeing her blossom with the speech pathologist. She wasn't babbling his ears off, but they'd had an entire audible conversation this morning. And Jenessa—a rift he'd once assumed irreversible had not only begun to mend, but he felt like he'd actually helped her some. Ever since the fundraiser, she'd been taking photos for the paper and spending time with Abby building the website.

He'd tried to encourage Raegan the couple times he'd seen her upset about Bear, and it'd been a blast seeing Kate and Colton together, and hanging out with Seth.

And Amelia.

He closed his eyes, only for a fleeting second but long enough for his tire to slip off the gravel road. He jerked his eyes open and steered back into the center of the narrow road.

Amelia.

God, I don't know what I'm supposed to do.

Was it a prayer or just a frustrated declaration?

Do you do signs, God? Is that still a thing? Burning bushes and talking donkeys? Dad
said you'd wait for me, but I don't know how much longer I can wait for you.