The Shadow of Your Smile (16 page)

Kyle could only wait so long before he had to report for duty. He’d sat in the Blue Moose Café, waiting for over an hour, but Emma never showed.

Once he’d changed, been briefed, and checked the log, he’d driven by Deep Haven Community Church. The service was just letting out, and he felt a little like a stalker as he sat across the street, cataloging the people exiting the building.

He saw his father’s truck, and the presence of it gave him pause. To his knowledge his father hadn’t attended church since Kelsey’s funeral.

Then again, Kelsey’s death had derailed all their faith in some way. His own words, spoken under the canopy of brilliance last night, beautiful Emma breathing out puffs of captured breath beside him, came back to him.

Kelsey told me once that faith wasn’t about trusting God when it was easy. Faith appeared when God seemed farthest away.

God hadn’t seemed simply far away after Kelsey died. It felt like He had disappeared. Trust had to be earned, didn’t it?

Fact was, a large part of him missed God, had missed asking Him to help with his basketball games. Missed knowing that God was on his team.

Missed trusting Him. He sighed and drove down the hill toward the highway. According to the log, a 911 call had come in about a domestic disturbance near Spoon Lake. It nagged at him. Especially since the address listed was near the Nickels’ place.

He’d just check it out, make sure everyone was okay. The way Billy Nickel had curved a possessive hand over his girlfriend’s shoulder bothered him.

Then he’d drive by the Nelson place. Emma had probably overslept. After all, he had gotten her in pretty late.

He’d barely slept a wink, his brain churning up too many possibilities. Maybe he could get her a gig at the Lucky Penny, the supper club in town. And certainly Caribou Ridges could add her to their list of wedding musicians. What about a job with the music association in town? Hadn’t he seen an ad on the grocery store board listing a job opportunity?

She wanted to stay. He could see it written in her eyes, shining as he kissed her, holding on to the hood of her snowmobile suit.

He was braking at a stop sign when a red Subaru bled past him. He clocked it at twenty-one miles over the 30 mph speed limit.

That called for lights, a bleep of his siren. He pulled out, but the car didn’t slow. He bleeped again.

The driver braked, then slid over to the shoulder. Kyle got out and walked to the passenger side. Knocked on the window. The driver leaned over, rolled it down, and looked up.

Emma. She had capped her head with an embroidered tuque, wrapped a pink scarf around her neck over a fleece jacket. Her suitcase and guitar lay in the backseat, her Fender speaker in the passenger seat.

She glared at him.

“Uh, hi, Emma. I . . . Where are you going?”

“Home, okay? Was I speeding?”

“Just a little. I had you at fifty-one. It’s a thirty here.”

“Fine, whatever. Ticket me.” She sat back in her seat, wrapped her mittened hands around the steering wheel.

Ticket her? “I don’t want to ticket you. What’s going on?”

She held up her hand as if to push him away, but he noticed her chin trembling. He bent over into the open window. “Emma, are you okay?”

“Just give me my ticket and let me go, Officer.”

Officer?
“I don’t understand. I thought we had a breakfast date today. And not only do you stand me up, but now I find you pulling a Dukes of Hazzard out of Deep Haven. I thought you were going to stay—”

“I’m not, okay? This is over, Kyle. It’s time I faced reality—stopped playing around.”

Her words hit him as if in the gut. “I wasn’t playing around, Emma. I like you.”

She had blades in her eyes. “Yeah, why? Why do you like me, Kyle?”

Her question froze him. Because . . . because . . .

“That’s what I thought. You don’t know. Well, I’ll tell you what—
I
know. You took one look at me and said, ‘Oh, there’s an adoring female I can manipulate.’ You Huestons are all alike.”

What—? “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You wanted someone who could adore the great Kyle Hueston. But that’s not me—okay, it was me, but not anymore. I don’t need you tangling up my heart in some fantasy. My life is not in Deep Haven. Leave it at that.”

“No, I’m not going to leave it at that! You love it here—you know you do. But you won’t admit it. And I don’t know why!”

“You don’t want to know why.” She turned back to the windshield, watching the oncoming traffic.

“Try me.”

“No! Listen, maybe you can act as if it never happened, as if some crazy kid didn’t drive into our little town and shoot two people we loved. You want to put a big Band-Aid over it and call it fixed—”

“That’s not true.”

“Then what? Why do you have to live here?”

“Because it’s my home! And because maybe I can make sure that it never happens again!” He didn’t mean to raise his voice and schooled it now. “You have no idea what it’s like to get a phone call from your father while you’re a hundred miles away telling you that someone killed your sister.”

“And you have no idea what it feels like to be the one who should have died instead.”

What—?

“I was supposed to work that night, but I had a band concert at school. Kelsey worked in my place. The worst part is, she was going to go with your mother to watch your basketball game.” She looked away. “So, see, I don’t even know why you would want to be with me, Kyle. If it weren’t for me, she’d be alive.”

Oh, Emma. His anger deflated with the sorrow in her words.

“It’s not your fault,” he said quietly. “You didn’t know Parker was going to lose it and shoot my sister. Or your dad. Do you seriously think I’d be angry with you for being the one who
lived
? That’s crazy.”

“Now you see why I can’t live here.”

“That’s not true, and you know it. You just want to believe that because it’s easier than facing the real problem.”

“And what is that, O All-Knowing One?”

“It’s easier to ignore the memories than to believe that God can fix them. It’s easier to walk alone in your pain than to share it.”

Her eyes glittered. “Yeah, well, maybe it is. Maybe we don’t need you Hueston men trying to comfort us. We have this figured out, thanks.”

He recoiled. “I’m not trying to comfort you, Emma. I’m trying to—”

“Seduce me?”

Oh. Wow. That hurt more than he expected. “If you’ll notice, I’ve been nothing but a gentleman—or tried to be. I’m not sure where that came from, but—”

She wiped her mitten under her eye, and despite the fact that he wanted to throttle her, he had the urge to get in the car, pull her to his chest. But he was in uniform. He cut his voice low. “Please, don’t leave. Let’s talk.”

“No. I’m not going to be the convenient girl that swoons into your open arms. I’m not her.”

“I never thought you were convenient, Emma.”

“No, you just thought I was easy. You didn’t have to work at it with me—I came prepackaged to fall for you. Well, guess what, Hueston? I’m no longer a fan. Either give me a ticket or back off.”

He searched her face, read the fury there, and stepped back, nonplussed. “I don’t understand what’s going on, Emma—”

She pulled out and tore down the road.

Convenient?

He gritted his teeth so hard his jaw cracked.
Convenient?

Kyle climbed into his cruiser. Clocked her at forty-seven.

He waited until she was over the hill, where the speed limit changed, and then turned and headed up the hill toward Spoon Lake, winding his way into the woods.

Prepackaged? Didn’t have to work at it?

Okay, maybe the fact that she’d once liked him had attracted him, but . . .

Why do you like me, Kyle?

Did he have to have a reason?

Maybe if he knew the answer, he wouldn’t be traveling down Spoon Lake Road and would instead have his sirens on, chasing the runaway out of town.

He turned north, toward the Nickels’ place, and was passing the gravel pit, now a field of glistening snow, when a flash of blue caught his eye. He slowed, then put the cruiser in reverse.

There, behind a pile of debris and snow, he glimpsed the trunk of a car. A Dodge Dart. The taillight was smashed.

Kyle pulled in, parked a few feet away from it. The helmet painted on the rear window tightened his gut. He got out.

The air smelled crisp with a hint of woodsmoke, balsam. His boots crunched in the snow as he approached the car. It seemed to be wedged into the bank, snow cascading over the front end. Someone had made a poor attempt at camouflaging it with pine boughs. He pulled them off the hood so he could look inside.

Nothing seemed amiss—a ratty blanket lay on the backseat; a dirty, broken piece of plywood covered the floorboard on the driver’s side. Fuzzy white dice hung from the rearview mirror, the logo for a local casino emblazoned on the side.

He walked around the car. At the back end, black footprints marred the snow.

Kyle went to his car, fished out a crowbar from his trunk, and returned. Wedging the crowbar into the Dart’s trunk, he worked it, the sound of crunching metal whining into the air. Suddenly the trunk popped open.

And there, crammed inside, lay the skinny body of Billy Nickel.

Noelle didn’t know the words, but she felt them, and they lingered inside even as the congregation finished singing, then filed out of the sanctuary.

I’m finding myself at a loss for words,

And the funny thing is it’s okay . . .

She had no words for the kind people around her, shaking her hand, asking her how she felt. No words for the way Eli had changed over the past three days, his demeanor patient—like now, as he stood beside her, not touching her, but close enough to intercept friends, to say their names a moment before they greeted her.

As if he was running interference. Protecting her.

No words, either, for the feeling, ever since the morning she woke up in the guest room, that something had changed. A presence lingered deep inside her and left her with the sense that she wasn’t alone.

Even if she had no idea who was wrapping an arm around her neck, hugging her into a mohair scarf.

“When I heard about your fall, and then you weren’t here last Sunday, I thought,
Oh no. Not more trouble for this precious family.
” The woman had fluffy white hair, kind eyes. She wore the purple scarf over a black two-piece leisure suit.

“Thanks, Edith,” Eli said.

Apparently a leisure suit was appropriate attire for church.

Do I wear sweatpants to church?
She’d hollered this out the bedroom door this morning, downstairs to where Eli sat reading. Perhaps his Bible, although she didn’t get a good look.

“Sometimes!” he hollered back. “But mostly jeans.”

Jeans? To church? Instead she found a pair of gray wool pants in the back of the closet, a black sweater, and tied her hair up into a sleek bun. Then she’d added a pair of silver earrings, a necklace, and heels.

Eli stared at her all the way down the stairs.

“What?”

“You look nice.”

She wasn’t sure why the compliment warmed her—she still hadn’t rooted up any real feelings for the man. But a girl could love a look of appreciation, right?

Now she nodded at the white-haired woman as Eli steered her away. “Usually we go home for lunch, but I thought maybe I’d take you out.”

He held up her coat while she slipped into it. “Really? I cook on Sundays?”

“Pot roast. And yes, you cook every day.”

She shook her head. “I am a terrible cook.”

He opened the door for her, offered his hand as they skated out into the slick parking lot. “You
were
a terrible cook. You got better. Lots better.” He covered her hand with his—a simple gesture, but it heated her to her bones. “I was hoping you might give me a haircut this afternoon.”

Kirby caught up to them as they reached the truck. Eli opened the door, helped her inside. Kirby hopped in the back.

Noelle waited until Eli climbed in the opposite side. “A haircut? I cut hair too?”

He started the truck and turned down the heat until the engine warmed. “Uh-huh. You’ve been cutting my hair for twenty-five years. Still shave Kirby bald every summer.”

“All that luscious, curly hair?”

Kirby leaned forward. “See, now, two weeks ago you would have called it a greasy mop.” He winked at her as they pulled out.

She snapped on her seat belt. “I don’t know, Eli. I can’t remember my haircutting days or techniques. What if you end up bald?”

“Hair grows. And I have hats.” He drove down the hill, braked at the stop sign, then looked to pull out.

She followed his gaze.

“Hey, there’s Kyle,” Kirby said.

Indeed. Standing at the passenger side door of a red Subaru, dressed in his uniform. He seemed to be arguing with the driver.

“Probably a local trying to talk him out of a ticket,” Eli said.

His cynicism jarred her. “People do that?”

He laughed as he pulled away, nothing of humor in his tone. “Everyone is hiding something. But that’s the problem with being a small-town cop—when you recognize someone, you can’t treat them like a criminal.”

“Even if they broke the law.”

“Depends on what law they broke. But yes, you have to live next to these people. You have to watch how you treat them. Unfortunately, that kind of mentality can get people killed.”

His face had changed as he spoke, grown harder, and briefly he returned to the man she remembered from last week.

Angry. Hurt.

Something had happened to him on the job. The realization jolted her, and for the first time, she wished she knew his life, more than her own. What must it feel like for him to lose his wife, to get back this stranger?

“I’m sorry my memory hasn’t returned.”

He glanced at her and frowned. “The doctor said it would take a while. You’ll get it back.”

“I really do want to remember.”

“I know.”

But the little lilt at the end of his voice made her wonder.

They dropped Kirby off at a fellow player’s house—apparently he planned on working out after church, joining his teammate’s family for lunch. She missed him already as he slid out of the car, lifting his hand to them as they drove off. What had she been thinking—a greasy mop?

Noelle and Eli ate at a tiny hometown diner with pictures of past football and basketball teams hanging on the wall and sat at a table under a poster-size map of Lake Superior. Next to it, smaller pictures depicted the town in the early days—1910, 1930.

Eli ordered the voyageur’s special, a venison-and-wild-rice omelet. She opted for the yogurt parfait, a glass of orange juice.

“You mentioned that we used to have family in the area,” she said, sipping her juice and looking at him over the rim of the glass. “Why did they move away?”

He fiddled with the gold ring on his hand. “My parents died, actually, and my brother and his wife live in Ely. He’s with the border patrol.”

“Oh. I suppose they move people around a lot. Like the military.”

He nodded but didn’t look at her, appearing almost relieved when his meal arrived.

He did need a haircut—his dark hair long and curly, brushing against his collar. But after Noelle appeared in her outfit, he’d cleaned up for church, wearing a pair of brown dress pants, a white shirt, a patterned blue-and-brown tie.

“You like your parfait?”

She nodded. “I gotta figure out where my girly shape went.”

“Three babies,” he said, then stiffened.

She stared at him, the words like a knife through her. “
Three
babies?” Oh, no wonder they had a guest room. Probably, at one time, she’d wanted to fill that with another child.

He didn’t look at her. “We lost one.”

She reached out to take his hand. “I’m sorry. I wish I could remember that. Did we know if it was a boy or girl?”

His breath leaked out, tremulous, and he pulled away. “A girl.”

A daughter.

She’d had a daughter. Was it a miscarriage? Stillborn? She longed to ask, but suddenly she felt like a voyeur into his grief.

Eli had returned to his food, as if he’d very much like to drop the subject.

Okay. Well, she’d give him his privacy. At least until she remembered more.

But the silence opened between them as they finished their meal, the chatter of the café rising to fill the void. As Eli paid, she could read trouble on his face.

He didn’t speak again until they reached the truck. Then he stood at the door, considering her. She shivered, her wool jacket too light for this northern breeze.

“I have to show you something,” he said quietly. He opened the door and helped her in, then went around to the other side and put his key in the ignition. “I’ve been trying to figure out how for the last couple days. See . . . I didn’t know about it, and I have to admit I was a little shocked. But I think maybe it would help.”

“What on earth are you talking about?”

Eli backed out, drove them away from Main Street, up the hill, took a left, and finally stopped before a quaint little white church.

“What is this place?”

He sighed, opened his door. “The art colony.”

Noelle met his eyes as she got out, holding on to his arm. “The art colony?”

“Yeah. It’s a place where local artists rent rooms to work in.”

Meaning pulsed between them. “And you just found out about this place?”

He raised his eyebrows, and she heard his voice ring back at her.
Everyone is hiding something.

Why would she hide a room at the art colony? What had she been doing there?

He held out his arm for her as they crossed the street, but stiffly, without welcome. The door was unlocked, and he opened it, followed her in. “Upstairs, to your left.”

She liked the place. A wooden floor in the main area downstairs, posters advertising everything from pot throwing to textile classes to print work—even a dancing class. Framed art lined the staircase as she climbed to a loft.

“Your space is to the right.” He held out a key dangling from a key ring.

Your space.
The words rippled inside her.

She inserted the key, turned the knob. The door swung open.

If she could design a space to create in, it would look exactly like the room before her. Bright windows overlooking the town, the lake, an armchair with an ottoman, sketchbooks stacked on the floor. Pictures dangled from yarn stretched across the far end of the room. And along the wall, canvases of finished watercolors.

“I
do
paint.”

“Yes,” Eli said, his voice sounding funny. “Apparently you do.”

Noelle walked over to the unfinished picture of a rocky point. A sketched form of two bodies in the middle evidenced more to paint. “Who was I going to put here?”

He shrugged, his hands in his pockets. For a moment, her heart went out to him, the way he stood at the door as if afraid to enter. He appeared old. Forsaken.

“You didn’t know about this place?”

“I just found out a couple days ago. Kirby knew, but he didn’t bother to tell me.”

“Why would I keep this from you?”

The question played on his face, emotion ringing his eyes. “I’m sure you had your reasons.”

She turned back to the painting, tracing the unfinished outline with her finger. “It looks like a couple of girls . . .”

“It’s your painting.”

It was her painting. As were the rest. She picked one up. “Why would I paint red Chuck Taylors?”

Eli shrugged again, and if his feet hadn’t been standing completely still, she would have guessed he was in an all-out sprint away from her.

Wow, this room really hurt him.

She picked up another painting. This one of a tree. “I love the angle of this picture. As if I’m standing at the bottom, looking skyward. Did I take this photo?”

He turned away, not answering.

She put down the painting, walked over to him. Touched his shoulder. “I don’t know why this room bothers you so much, Eli, but don’t you see—this is good news. I didn’t lose myself all these years. I recognize my style in these paintings. Maybe if I try to paint something, my memory will come back.”

He looked at her then, his eyes wet. Then he breathed out, a long exhale. As if he’d been holding in something for far too long.

“I would be very happy if you would paint me a picture, Noelle.”