The Shadow of Your Smile (15 page)

Kyle didn’t want to be jealous, but the beast prowled around, nipping at him as he watched Jason dance with his bride.

Twilight had begun to descend, spilling amber light across the tables, a fire crackling in the hearth of the cozy reception hall. With the hurricane candles and the smell of the pine boughs, he could imagine himself outside, a campfire burning.

Even better would be if Emma were pillowed up against him, her head on his shoulder, swaying to the harmony of the waves on the shore.

Sort of like how Nicole rested her head against Jason’s chest, his eyes closed as Emma sang Aerosmith’s “I Don’t Want to Miss a Thing.”

It took every ounce of discipline not to grab Emma, pull her out onto the dance floor. But then who would play the music? He’d have to come up with something.

“Don’t wanna close my eyes, I don’t wanna fall asleep,

’Cause I’d miss you, babe, and I don’t want to miss a thing. . . .”

Indeed every word could belong to Emma. He might never forget her cute frosty nose peeking out of the quilt his mother made him for graduation or the way she’d let him kiss her, then tucked herself against him.

Maybe Kelsey was trying to set us up.

He should have listened. But a few years ago, he hadn’t been ready for a girl like Emma. He’d wanted a big-city girl, someone who fit into the sports-car life he’d dreamed for himself. But Emma . . . unraveled him in a way he found intoxicating. Like sitting out in the cold last night under the full smile of the moon.

He’d make her love Deep Haven, make her long to return—in fact, he thought he might be halfway there. And then he’d walk her down the little Deep Haven Chapel aisle.

Start the life that he’d plotted out in his mind that terrible day Kelsey died.

He’d seen it all as if it might have been his own day as he sat in the back row during the wedding. The tiny church held about thirty-five guests, a small group for a hometown wedding, but perhaps they had their reasons.

Jason and Nicole didn’t even have a dance at the reception, just this sway in the middle of the floor. That bum, Jason, he had his life planned out. No surprises. No derailments.

When Emma finished the song, Jason released Nicole, smiling into her eyes.

“How about a little Righteous Brothers,” Emma whispered to Kyle as the couple kissed to the tinkling of glasses.

He found his beat chart as she stepped up to the mic.

“Oh, my love, my darling,

I’ve hungered for your touch . . .”

He kept the beat. Wanted to nod.

What was it about Emma Nelson that had consumed him? More than her smile or her music . . .

Kelsey would have approved.

He swallowed. Wait. He didn’t like Emma just because she’d been Kelsey’s friend, did he?

She glanced at him, smiling. Her eyes seemed to settle on him, and he felt his throat tighten.

He was ready for this, right? Ready to woo Emma back to Deep Haven, into his life? When she’d kissed him in the alley outside the 400 Bar, his life had clanged right into place.

The last of the song faded. The guests began to gather their things as the bride and groom made their way to the door. He heard shouting, then cheers as they left the building.

Emma started to pack up her guitar. “Thanks for playing with me, Kyle. You were fabulous. I’ll give you part of what they pay me—”

“I didn’t do it for pay, Emma.” He knelt next to her. “And you’re not leaving that fast, are you?”

“I should stop in and see my mother before I leave town. She was upset last night, and I got home too late to talk to her about it. It’s been hard for her with my dad gone, only Derek here. He’s gone a lot with basketball.”

“Don’t go yet. Please.”

She looked at him, a smile crawling up her face. “Why?”

“We haven’t had our dance.”

“Um,
we’re
the music, Kyle.”

“I have my iPod.”

“You’re so romantic.” But she rose and he pulled out his iPod, searching desperately for something that might draw her close. Oh, good, an old Lonestar album. He called up “Amazed.”

He took out his earbuds, wiped one off, then handed it to her. She raised an eyebrow but put it in, and he pushed Play.

“See?”

“Country music?”

“You’re
in
the country, baby.” He wrapped his arm around her back, took her other hand. “My mother used to dance with me in the kitchen.”

She fit into his arms and let him lead her as they did a gentle two-step.

“‘Every time our eyes meet, this feeling inside me is almost more than I can take . . . ,’” he sang softly. He stood a head taller than her, and she looked up at him with eyes that could name every reason why he couldn’t let her go.

She giggled, and it turned him inside out with joy. “My dad would dance with me sometimes.”

“I’m sorry he’s not here to dance with you,” he said quietly.

“He would have been happy about us, Kyle. He chased off every boy who tried to date me, but I think you would have met with his approval.”

“I would have tried. And I think I’m terribly jealous of every guy you ever dated.”

“There wasn’t a big list, I promise. I was pretty consumed with my music.”

“Me either. My MO was to ask out a girl for prom about four days ahead of time.”

“I didn’t go to prom my senior year.”

He leaned back. “What?”

She shook her head. “It just felt . . . with Kelsey gone, I . . . No, it wasn’t right.”

No prom. “Oh, Emma, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay. Deep Haven holds so many memories I’d like to erase.”

“Even the ones this weekend?”

The slow grin she gave him warmed his toes and worked its way up. “What do you think?”

Perfect. He rested his chin on her head. “So admit it: you’re falling just a little bit in love with Deep Haven again.”

But she stiffened ever so slightly at his words. “I don’t know, Kyle. This thing with you . . . it feels so perfect, but it’s not real.”

“It’s real to me.”

“You don’t know everything about me.”

“I know that I like you. That I am a fan.”

She met his eyes then, with something that looked like pain, and disentangled herself from his arms. She handed him back the earbud. Walked over to the window to stare out at the dark lake.

“Every time I even think of Deep Haven, all I see is Kelsey, lying so perfectly in the coffin as if she’s sleeping. Everywhere I go in town reminds me of her. The coffee shop where we hung out during third hour, when we skipped class, and Artist’s Point, where we’d sit and compose songs as the waves hit the shore. I think about the prom party your mom threw us our junior year at the supper club and watching fireworks over the harbor, snuggled in a blanket even during July.”

Her voice shook a little, and a hot feeling of panic slid through him.

“I haven’t written one song since Kelsey died. I can’t seem to find the words.”

He had the precarious sense of standing on the edge of dark, ragged cliffs, a hand slowly pressing to his back. Especially when she glanced at him, her expression wretched.

“And then there’s my dad. He’s not here, and I can’t think of living here if he’s not.”

He wanted to weep at her words. Because, yes, he understood how it felt to return home to find no one waiting.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I remember the day I came home about three months after . . . after she died. My mom was still barricaded inside her grief, and Kirby and my father barely spoke to each other. I lay there in my room, listening for Kelsey’s voice across the hallway.”

“She said you two always talked at night, before bed.”

“We’d tell each other the best and worst of our days; then we’d cheer each other up, remind ourselves that tomorrow it might be better. Sometimes she’d sing me that stupid chicken song.”

“I remember that song.” She sang softly, “‘Oh, I had a little chickie, but she couldn’t lay an egg—’”

He laughed. “‘So I poured boiling water up and down her leg.’”

Emma turned, and his throat tightened at her shaky smile. “‘Oh, my poor little chickie, how she hollered and she begged.’”

“‘Then my poor little chicken laid a hard-boiled egg.’” He wanted to cry now too, because suddenly he saw Kelsey in Emma’s eyes. Bright, funny, beautiful.

He turned away, hating the sudden rush of emotion over a stupid song.

And how impossibly soft Emma’s voice was when she tiptoed up to him, put her hand on his shoulder. “I know how hard it was for you to come home after she was gone.”

He closed his eyes, finding them wet. Wow, this wasn’t quite the picture of romance he’d envisioned.

He could still hear the Lonestar song playing softly in the background.

Kyle shut it off, stared at his iPod. “It was awful. But what was harder was knowing I wasn’t here. I felt so helpless.”

She looked at him a long moment. Then she eased his iPod from his hand. Ran through the playlist. “I can’t believe you’re a Garth Brooks fan.” She found a song, picked up his earbud, put it in her ear.

“‘Looking back on the memory of the dance we shared ’neath the stars above . . . ,’” she sang, her beautiful eyes in his.

He gathered her into his arms, something breaking inside. “Deep Haven is more than the sad memories, Emma. I have to believe that—you have to believe that. You don’t have to remember only the tragedies. Maybe . . . maybe we can help each other remember the happy times too.”

She stared at him as if his words had pinged inside her.

“Don’t you have happy memories?”

She drew a breath. “Of course I do. I just . . .”

“Let me help you find them, please. Don’t say good-bye, Emma, not yet. Not until we finish our dance.”

Not until we finish our dance.

Emma drove home with the stars winking at her and the memory of Kyle’s scent, his amazing arms around her.

In two days, he’d managed to mute the haunting memories of Deep Haven, to make her listen for something more.

So maybe she’d stay in Deep Haven just a little longer.

She pulled into the driveway of her dark house. After the wedding, Kyle had driven her to his cabin, tucked her into a baggy snowmobile suit, and lured her onto the back of his sled. With her clinging to his parka, he’d motored them through the woods down to town and over to Honeymoon Bluff, where they could watch the moon trace silver ripples on the lake.

He stopped the engine and let the song of the night spill over them, his voice crisp and small in the darkness.

“The summer before I went away to college, we all took a canoe trip to McFarland Lake. Kelsey and I were in one canoe, my dad and Mom and Kirby in the other. We set up camp, and my dad made his favorite biscuits on a stick. I think the dog ate every single one of them. But the best part was the fact that Kelsey made us all get up at the crack of dawn, before the sun was even up, and look for the morning star. I’ll never forget—we sat in the canoe, our paddles on our knees, shivering and waiting for Venus to appear over the horizon. She said it was her favorite part of the day—God’s reminder of His faithfulness right before the dawn.”

Emma had climbed off the machine then, sat on a picnic bench, her snowmobile suit crunching under the stiff grip of cold. “She had great faith, Kelsey did. Always made me a bit angry that she could look at life so positively. Like nothing touched her.”

He came and sat beside her, their shoulders brushing against each other. “Things touched her. Like when Jazz, that kid from my class, was killed in a snowboarding accident. She mourned him even though she barely knew him.”

“I remember him. Loved Dr Pepper?”

“I think the randomness of it shook her.”

“She wrote a song about him, you know. About the people that pass through life, leaving their imprint in the grace of fresh snow.”

“She had amazing poetry.” His breath crystallized as he spoke. “Kelsey told me once that faith wasn’t about trusting God when it was easy. Faith appeared when God seemed farthest away.”

“Like right before the dawn, when the stars have faded?”

“And the morning star appears.”

His voice was like a melody, sweet inside her.

But maybe she was simply stuck in the nighttime.

They’d sat there on the bench, talking way too long about memories of Deep Haven. He recounted the state championship basketball game but then moved on to his training days in Alexandria. She’d told him about Tim and Brian and the other guys she’d gigged with, and he’d gotten real quiet when she mentioned some of the venues.

Finally, when she had started to shiver, he piled her back onto his snowmobile and headed home.

She’d wanted to stay in the enclave of this fairy tale, warming herself to the fire he’d built in his fireplace, but it would do no one any good for her to wake up in his arms. Even if he’d been the gentleman he’d promised he was in the parking lot of the pancake house.

He did, however, invite her out for pancakes the next morning. And what girl could say no to that smile?

He drove her to her car, lonely in the parking lot at Caribou Ridges, and she left him there, crunching into her own driveway long after midnight. Standing in the glow of the garage light, she listened to the breezes, the waves, the faintest lullaby of music in her heart. Instead of going inside, she climbed to the garage attic, where she traced the moonlight over the old brown chair and saw Kelsey there.

Kelsey sat, of course, strumming her black Gibson. She only played enough to find the chords, and now the sheets lay at her feet.

What took you so long? I’ve been here for hours. Listen to this new song. It’s not done, but it’s a start.

Emma walked over, sat next to her. Kelsey flicked her blonde hair back before picking out the tune. Emma could already hear where she might add a lick, change up a chord, but soon, the words of the song pulled her in.

“There are broken rainbow moments,

And dandelion wishes that don’t come true.

There are times it don’t seem fair,

Like He’s never there.

But He’s watching over you.”

Emma closed her eyes in the stillness of the attic, letting the song cascade over her, Kelsey’s strong vibrato resonating through her.

She finally flicked on the light. A round wool carpet covered the plywood floor, and on the table were papers that bore Kelsey’s handwriting, some of Emma’s. They hadn’t finished the song. She picked up the papers, stared at the pages, and debated fetching her guitar.

She sang a cappella, her voice emerging weak and feeble. “‘There are wishes on shooting stars that finally come true . . . for you.’”

She put the pages down, wishing Kelsey had finished it. In her mind, Emma saw Kelsey look up, grin at her as she began to hum.

“What happened to the ending?”

“I just made it up. I don’t know how it ends.”

Me either, Kelsey.

She heard Kyle then, humming in the darkness tonight as they’d danced to Garth Brooks’s song about leaving life to chance, opting for the pain if they could only have the dance.

But see, she’d never operated with a belief in chance, in fate. Which only left her with the option that God had taken Kelsey.

Instead of her.

Emma let that thought slide through her—cold, brutal. She turned off the light and headed inside.

She woke the next morning to the fragrance of bacon, the whine of the floorboards, and for a second she was seventeen.

Hey, Ems, want some breakfast?

She had always known when her father came home from a night shift, or left for a morning shift, by the creak of the floorboards above her basement bedroom. She’d had to train herself not to listen for the groan of the house, smell the eggs he made every morning.

She lay there, one arm flung over her head. What was it with the sudden onslaught of memories? But perhaps they weren’t so bad. Her father, standing in the kitchen in his uniform, pouring her a cup of coffee. Her mother, pink bathrobe cinched tight, kissing them all before they left for school, for work.

What had Kyle said about helping her find happy memories? Last night, Kelsey and her song. Today, her father.

So maybe she could fall in love with Deep Haven again, find a way to live here.

Especially with Kyle in the picture.

She could help her mother, move into the attic, start to play weddings and gigs around town. She knew plenty of musicians who made a living playing around the county.

Emma kicked off the down comforter, the chill slicking through her. She shivered and pulled on her bathrobe, then slid her feet into leather slippers.

The stairs creaked as she climbed, and she hid a crazy shard of disappointment when she spied her mother at the stove, cooking eggs in a cast-iron pan.

“Hey, Mom.”

Her mother turned. She looked brighter today, a sort of energy radiating off her that seemed almost surreal. “Emma! I’ll cook you eggs too.”

“No, that’s okay. I . . . I have a breakfast date.”

“Oh.” But her smile didn’t fade. “Well, me too, actually. I need to get going. I just thought I’d make up something for Derek.” She slipped the eggs onto a plate. “Now he can reheat them.” She put the plate in the fridge, turned, and headed toward the door. She sat on the bench, reached for her boots.

“Aren’t you going to church?”

“Not today.”

Emma frowned at that. “If you want me to go with you, I will.”

Her mother looked up, surprise written on her features. Then she shook her head and bent back to her boots. She winced a little.

“Is your neck still hurting you?”

“It’ll be better.” She stood, grabbed her coat. “You probably need to get going. Call me when you get home.”

“Actually, I might stay a few days.”

“You don’t have any gigs lined up?”

“I have . . . a few days free.”

Her mother raised an eyebrow but then turned and picked up her purse. “Perfect. You can help me pack up your room. I’ve been thinking of going through it anyway.”

“Pack up my room?” She had the feeling of watching a car careering out of control on ice, and she wasn’t sure how to stop it. “Why?”

Lee wore a smile that seemed too bright, too eager, and seeing it, Emma felt her chest tighten, although she couldn’t exactly put a finger on why.

“Because I’m going to meet with a Realtor, Emma. Like I said, it’s time I leave Deep Haven.”