Miracles and Dreams (4 page)

4

The drive through Mill’s Landing told Jack that six years away had changed little…and everything.

Cole’s Hardware still sat on the corner of Fourth and Main, and Minton’s Drive-In Theater, one of the few that remained in operation in the state, was open for the season. Jack had spent countless summer nights there with Misty, though he could hardly recall the name of even one of the movies that had played. He’d been too busy watching her dark curtain of hair dance in the breeze, admiring the tilt of her nose, the slope of her mouth, and dreaming of coaxing a kiss.

The Landing was different now…the design and feel. The willows had exploded, their long, flowing fingers swaying gently in the last vestiges of moonlight and across dewy grass. A jogging trail flanked the river’s edge. A sign for a preschool he didn’t recognize, Precious Miracles, beckoned beyond the refurbished playground.

Did his son—daughter—play there?

Jack rolled down the window and let the chill of a spring breeze wash over him. The hum of the rental car’s engine wasn’t enough to drown out the memories, so he switched on the radio and cranked it to a volume somewhere between
Lose the Past
and
Wake the Dead
.

The lyrics of a hymn washed over him, bringing with them a sense of peace. So many things were hard right now. Jack wondered who’d rented the car before him. Was this some kind of sign?

Jack brushed a hand across his jaw, startled to find the stubble he’d neglected to shave for several days was morphing into a full-on beard. The cool air revived him, and at the next corner, he turned right and followed the familiar two-lane road.

The hushed sigh between night and dawn was quiet, but he sensed nature inhaling a breath, ready to whisper the morning alive. Birds fluttered in the treetops, and a dog barked in the distance. Low, dark storm clouds veiled the stars. The moon glowed through rifts as the clouds swirled, illuminating a pasture that fronted the road. Just before the telltale fork, a tidy, white-washed house rose into view. It was still there, a lone sentinel.

Floodlights spilled across the darkness, warning travelers to turn right or left. Jack had installed them himself the day after a driver missed the turn and took a midnight plunge across the front lawn. The pick-up truck demolished the porch stairs and rails before its hood came to rest just inches from the living room where he and Misty nestled, watching a movie.

Beneath the light, he noticed the reconstructed porch could use a new coat of sealant, and the shutters that flanked the front windows were a bit weather-beaten. One winked at him as though it knew his deepest secrets. No doubt, the house still had character and held memories—lots of them—but it was beginning to show its age.

A sturdy oak with an array of branches just waiting to be climbed stood proudly to the rear-left of the detached garage. The skin beneath Jack’s right eyebrow throbbed as he remembered falling from an upper limb and scraping his face along the length of bark. The impact when he hit the ground had knocked him out cold, and as he came to, Misty was leaning over him, her face a mask of worry. She’d murmured for him to lie still while she tended his wound with a gentle touch, her fingers like feathers along his skin.

It was the first time Jack knew for sure that he loved her.

“Who’s there?”

The voice startled Jack back to the present. He turned his attention to the front porch and saw Misty’s mother rise from a rocking chair, her cream-colored flannel nightgown tufting in the breeze.

“Mimi.” He used the name they’d agreed on years ago, back when he was in middle school. Mrs. Larsen was too formal for a boy who spent most of his waking hours exploring the great outdoors with her daughter, but Jack felt disrespectful using Mimi’s given name—Judith. So they’d agreed on Mimi, pure and simple. “It’s me…Jack.”

“Well, it’s about time the prodigal son returned.” Mimi took a step toward him. “Park that car and come into the light where I can see you.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Jack did as he was told. He’d learned early on there was no use arguing with Misty’s mom—unless he was in a losing kind of mood. Better to just stick with the program…go with it. He swung the car up the short gravel drive and killed the engine. Stepping into a halo of light, he leaned back against the sedan’s fender and crossed his arms.

“Where is she?” The chilled breeze roused Jack.

“You look all grown up, Jack. Maybe it’s the beard…”

“Where is she, Mimi?” he repeated. “I have to know.”

“In town. Misty’s had a place of her own since…”

“Is the baby OK?” He took a step forward.

“She’s hardly a baby anymore.”

“She?” The breath escaped Jack. “So, I have a daughter.”

“That’s right.” Mimi slipped back into the chair, pumped furiously. “Why now, Jack? After all this time…”

“I just found out.” He glanced at his watch. “Not even a full day ago.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Just tell me where to find Misty. I need—”

“What about what Misty needs?” Mimi smoothed her gown over her knees as it fought with the breeze. “You’ve waited six years; another hour won’t hurt. Come in. You look like you can use a cup of coffee.”

“But—”

“No buts.” Mimi stood and held up a hand like a cop directing traffic. The rocker’s rails slapped against the porch slats, shocking the night as friction worked magic to bring the chair to a stop. “Give Misty a chance to down her coffee, too. You’ll get a whole lot further reasoning with her that way—and let me tell you, Jack, the road ahead is sure to be rocky.”

****

“Tie your shoes, Allie.” Misty coaxed as she packed Allie’s lunch box. “We have to get going.”

Allie plopped onto the kitchen floor and tugged at the laces of her sparkly-pink tennis shoes. “Can I have three cookies today?”

“
May
I,” Misty corrected. “And two Oreos are more than enough.”

“But I share with Sally. Her mama doesn’t pack her cookies…just peanut butter with no jelly. Sometimes she doesn’t even pack a juice box.”

“Is that so?” Misty knelt to double-knot Allie’s laces. She was sure, if she didn’t, they’d come undone before she and Allie even finished the ride to school. “Maybe her mom has a good reason for no cookies.”

“Maybe.”

But Misty added a third Oreo to the zippered plastic bag and tossed in a second juice box, just in case.

She handed the lunch box to Allie, adjusted the child’s flowered headband, and patted her on the bottom. “Head to the car.”

“Yes, Mama.” Allie skipped through the front door and across the drive to their car. “I talked to Lucky last night, and he wants us to keep Ralph—just for the weekend, though.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes, Mama.” Allie waited as Misty unlocked the car. “He told me. Will you come in after school and help me carry him?”

“He has a cage, right?”

“’Course, but Mrs. Barnett said it’s not a cage—it’s a playground. And Ralph has a big box of food. Mrs. Barnett says he likes lettuce and carrots and all kinds of salad stuff, too.”

“We can manage that.”

Allie chattered all the way to school. Usually, Misty idled through the car line, dropping Allie at the front walk. But, today she parked the car and walked Allie to the entrance.

“Honey, here’s something for your art project—your family tree.” Misty handed Allie a photograph. “Show it to Mrs. Barnett, OK?”

“Who is it, Mama?”

“It’s…your daddy.” The words stuck in Misty’s throat like glue. “I wrote his name on the back for you.”

“This looks like the Landing. Did he used to live here, Mama?”

“Yes, he did. We went to school together.”

Allie turned the photo over. “Jack Sea…Sea…”

“Seaton.”

“Jack Seaton…Daddy.”

“That’s right, honey. He’s your daddy.”

5

After dropping Allie at school, Misty headed to the post office and then the grocery store. She was out of coffee, and that was simply unacceptable. Already, her head throbbed from caffeine deprivation. Maybe she should swing by Anderson’s Coffee Shop for a to-go cup and grab one of their delicious cinnamon-apple muffins, too.

Her belly growled with longing, but a quick glance at the clock on the dash told her daylight was burning—and fast. Allie had a short school day due to teacher meetings, and she had to be picked up again in just a few hours. Misty should be elbow-deep into the Web-design project by now, downloading photos and tying up loose ends. The meeting with Spence Tucker loomed. She sighed and tapped the gas…there was certainly no time to waste on indulgences today.

She headed south, away from town. The sky was angry with the threat of rain, and if she hurried, she’d beat the storm. So much for mowing the lawn later that afternoon—those plans were dashed. Oh, well…one more day, half-an-inch more growth, wouldn’t hurt. The rain made it a good day for inside work—computer work. Besides, she’d be glad to put this job to bed, move on to something new. She had a few solid leads.

Misty followed the two-lane road a few miles before turning right onto Maplewood and then taking a quick left onto Connor Court. After a pause at the four-way stop sign, she continued down to the end of the quiet road where her house stood at the top of the cul-de-sac. It was a small house, but Misty was excited by its potential. The yard backed up to a pasture, and word was the owner had no intentions of selling the land anytime soon. That meant a lot of open space for Allie and a great view of the Smoky Mountains from the back deck.

Misty frowned as she approached the end of the cul-de-sac. An unfamiliar black sedan, not there when she’d left earlier, was parked near the foot of the drive. Were the neighbors having morning company, or was the car owned by another annoying door-to-door salesman who scoured the street, looking for a way around the sagging economy?

Misty noticed a rental tag on the rear bumper. Her senses piqued, she switched off the radio and avoided scraping the interloping car by mere inches as she swung into her drive. Coasting to the shelter of a trio of mature Bradford Pears that had come into full bloom, she killed the engine. Grabbing the pound of coffee beans she’d snagged at the grocery and slinging her purse over one shoulder, she slipped from the car as thunder rolled in the distance.

She made it two steps before he advanced from the shadows and the deep rumble of a voice startled her.

“Where is she, Misty? Where’s my daughter?”

****

“Jack…” Misty’s voice whispered over the growing breeze as coffee beans exploded across the concrete drive like shotgun pellets. Jack sidestepped the shrapnel, grabbing Misty as she began a swan-dive to the pavement.

“Hey, there…” He gathered her against his chest, breathing in the familiar scent of peach-vanilla that mingled with the sweet promise of impending rain. Her face went ashen against the dark contrast of her hair, startling his pulse into a sprint. “Breathe, Misty.”

She sputtered and gasped, and Jack watched her summer-blue eyes roll back. He gave her a stiff shake as a lump of fear lodged in his throat. “Misty, you have to breathe.”

“Jack…” She croaked as if she didn’t believe what she was seeing.

“That’s right.” He drew a sigh of relief and smoothed dark hair from her smooth cheek. The locks were longer—and sleeker—than he remembered. “Relax. I’ve got you.” In an instant, the years melted away and Jack felt as if he’d never left her side.

But he
had
left…no denying it.

“Let go of me.” Misty’s eyes widened as her gaze locked with his. A flash of lightning illuminated the sky and with one, quick move her fist slammed into his chest.

“No.” Though the force of her blow chased the breath from him, he held tight. “You’re going to fall.”

“I don’t care.” She lashed out at him once more before breaking his hold. She staggered backward, her hands grasping the air until she found her bearings. “Oh…oh my…I’m dreaming.” Her head wagged side-to-side, her eyes two shimmering stones set against a stark, white canvass. “I have to be dreaming.”

“If you are, then I am, too.” Jack widened his stance and stood at the ready, just in case she decided to go for the face-plant again.

“No…impossible.” She continued to shuffle back, putting a healthy distance between them. “It’s more like a nightmare.”

“Ouch. That hurt.” Jack crossed his arms, wincing.

“Good.” Misty pinched her thigh, grimaced from the sting. “Nope, I’m awake and this
is
a nightmare.” She cocked her head, took one more look at him, and fell to her knees to scoop up what was left of the coffee beans. Her voice wavered in the growing breeze. “What do you want, Jack?”

He took a step toward her. “I want Allie…my daughter.”

“No.” Misty dropped the beans again as if they were burning embers. She collapsed into a ball, her head lolling into her hands. A high-pitched shriek filled the air, battling waves of thunder, and it took Jack a moment to realize the squeal was coming from Misty—she was wailing.

“Hey, don’t do that.” He quickly closed the distance between them and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Misty, please…”

“Please what?” Her voice was rapid-fire. She shrugged him off. When she glanced up, her blue eyes smoldered and tears streaked her cheeks. “Go away, Jack.”

“No.” He stood over her as a crack of thunder rocked the ground. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“You have to.” Lightning danced like flickers of static over a live wire as she stood to face him. Though tears dripped from her chin, her voice held steady as she repeated, “You have to go, Jack.”

“No, I don’t.”

“In that case…” Her chin lifted and her mouth curled into the defiant little pout Jack remembered. Good, they were getting somewhere now. “I guess I’ll call the police.”

Oops, not the direction he was aiming for.

“And tell them what—that I want to see my daughter?” He paused for a moment, his gaze unwavering. Though Misty’s words had wounded, his pride refused to show it. “You know, maybe that’s a good idea. We could straighten this mess out a lot faster.”