The Shadow of Your Smile (21 page)

Eli drove to the end of the road, his chest burning. He wasn’t angry. Not angry.

Jealous.

He closed his eyes, laid his forehead on the steering wheel, the sun hot on his black dashboard. Kelsey’s music still threaded through him.

Noelle was dancing. With Kyle, both of them laughing.

Around the living room, bathed in the golden light of the late afternoon, lay the remnants of Kelsey’s life—her pictures, her books, her music. And Noelle and Kyle were
dancing
?

Eli gritted his jaw and lifted his head. He turned onto the highway.

Was this some sort of joke to her?

That wasn’t fair, but he couldn’t make it past the roaring in his ears. The way his chest burned as if Noelle had driven her fist into it.

The fact was, he’d been angry with her, or something like it, since the day she’d said,
I’m crying for you
.

The sweetness of her voice had torn through him, left a jagged, raw place.

He was supposed to protect
her
, was supposed to comfort
her
. Not the other way around.

It only made it worse when he’d returned home to another message from the mysterious Eric. He wrote the number down and fought with his desire to bring it to the station and ask the guys to run it through their database.

At least he hadn’t deleted the message. That counted, right?

But the fact that she had people in her life he didn’t know—or once had—unsettled him.

He drove toward town, needing something. Maybe he’d stop by the fitness center, although he hadn’t worked out in months. Or the Blue Moose Café, see if any of his former coworkers were chewing the fat.

The sun simmered low and full on the horizon, a blast of hazy heat that spilled like molten lava into the lake. He put down the visor, the glare almost mesmerizing in its allurement.

Out of habit, he slowed as he passed Lee’s driveway.

What—
wait one second
. He turned in to the driveway, barreling down it faster than he should, skidding to a stop precariously close to her garage, and banged out of his car.

He didn’t even pause to knock, just slammed his way into her house. “Lee! What’s going on?”

No sound. He expected her to be in the kitchen or reading a book in the sunlight that waxed the floor. Or perhaps she wasn’t home—in town doing her volunteer work.

“Eli?” Her head poked up from the basement. “What are you doing here?”

He fought the part of him that wanted to raise his voice, to lash out at her. “There is a For Sale sign in your front yard.”

She came up now, wearing a pair of black yoga pants, a paint-stained yellow shirt, a red bandanna holding back her hair. A streak of tan paint marred her nose. “I should hope so. How else will I get any calls?”

“That’s not funny, Lee. What are you talking about?”

She wiped her hands with the rag she held and dropped it in the sink. “I’m selling my house. I’m moving.” She shrugged. “No big deal.”

“No big deal?” He was shouting and he knew it. “No big deal? No. No way. You can’t sell, okay? You can’t leave Deep Haven.”

She had eyes that could see straight through him, turn him inside out, and she used them now to silence him. “It’s time. I need to leave.”

“No—” He held up a finger, pointed at her, then to the air. “No—that’s not right. You . . . This is your home.”

“This was my home with Clay. I need a new home. Without Clay. Without . . .” She took a breath. “I can’t have a place that requires so much help.”

“My help, you mean.”

Her voice lowered. “Yes, your help. Like you said, you aren’t leaving Noelle. And I don’t want you to.”

“And I don’t want you to go, okay? Listen—” He rounded on her, not sure why he was so angry, fearing it had more to do with Noelle, but this seemed so much easier. “You’re my best friend, Lee.” Wow, had he said that? He winced. “Or you were. I don’t know. I’m so confused.”

“No,” she said softly. “You’re just lonely, like I was. Like I am. And yes, I wanted you to love me. I wanted to be in that safe place, in your arms.” She put her hand on his shoulder. “But it’s not right, Eli. And you know it.”

He swallowed. “You’re just so easy to be with.”

“Because you don’t owe me anything. You haven’t pledged your life to me. You haven’t promised to love and cherish me. You can hurt me and walk away from me and shrug it off—”

“I’d never do that—”

“You
did
it, Eli. You kissed me and then practically told me it was my fault. I didn’t show up day after day on
your
doorstep. You thirsted for the easy world of my friendship, and if you weren’t a man who is trying to follow God, you might have pushed for more. And stupid me might have let you. I might have surrendered the woman I was for the momentary security of your arms. But then what? I’d wake up and be right back where I was, only loathing myself.” She shook her head. “I need to leave Deep Haven. I need to leave you.”

He closed his eyes.

“You have a wife. And you have the unique chance to start over with her. To break down all the barriers of the past and begin again. Don’t run from it.”

“I’m not running.”

“You’re here, aren’t you?”

He drew in a quick breath. “She’s over at the house dancing with Kyle.
Dancing.
To Kelsey’s music.”

Surprise showed in Lee’s eyes.

“Yeah, that’s right. I told her all about Kelsey. I brought home all her things from the storage center, and she’s spent the day reading all about Kelsey and her life. And what does she do? Dances.”

Lee stared at him until finally a slow smile crested over her face. Then she nodded. “Dances. That seems about right.”

He shook his head, turned away, then back to her. “Really?”

“Oh, Eli. If anyone should dance to Kelsey’s music, it should be her parents. Go home. Join in the dance with your wife.” She moved forward, touched his face. “I promise it’s going to be okay.”

Then she rose up on her toes and gently kissed him on the cheek.

Something about the gesture, about her words, released the band of guilt around his chest.
Join in the dance with your wife.

He caught her hand. “Thank you, Lee.”

“Hey, what’s goin’ on?” Derek closed the door behind him, dropped his athletic bag on the floor. He regarded Eli with a strange look.

“I was just leaving. Great game last night.”

Derek smelled of sweat, gym socks, the weight room. Eli could feel the young man’s eyes on his back as he walked out to his truck.

Lee stood at the window, arms folded, nodding.

Maybe it
had
been easier to be around Lee because he didn’t owe her anything. Perhaps he’d begun out of guilt, but after that—well, she’d stood at the door in her wool jacket, gratitude in her eyes, and it had spoken to the frustrated pieces of his heart. His wife wouldn’t even let him in, yet Lee embraced the smallest things he did for her.

You have the unique chance . . . to break down all the barriers of the past and begin again. Don’t run from it.

All this emotional nakedness around Noelle just seemed so . . . Well, a guy didn’t walk around opening his heart. It didn’t seem masculine. Or helpful. Someone had to remain tough. Solid. Put together.

But if he could admit it, he’d never felt so vulnerable—or loved—as when Noelle had cried for him.

He backed out, onto the highway, paused for a long moment.

Then he turned toward home.

Kyle’s truck was gone from their snowy driveway. Eli entered the house, stamped his feet on the rug. He pulled off his boots, hung up his coat, and dumped his hat in the basket. Ran a hand through his hair. Yeah, he looked like a real prize.

Walking into the living room, he noticed it had been cleaned up with the exception of the tiny unicorns. These Noelle had lined up on the top of the piano. Little fairy-tale creatures capturing the sun, turning the ceiling to kaleidoscope colors.

He picked one up, ran his thumb over it.

Thumping came from the back bedroom.

Kelsey’s room.

He headed down the hall and stood in the doorway. Noelle was hanging one of Kelsey’s pictures from the box—she’d created a gallery of sorts over the bed. She’d filed Kelsey’s books back onto the empty bookcase; her shoes nested on the rack hanging from the door.

And beside the bed, her journals.

“I wondered why this room was half-blue, half-purple,” Noelle said softly. She didn’t look at him.

“Because you and Kelsey couldn’t make up your minds,” he answered. “So you chose together.”

She drew in a breath, and it sounded ragged, like she’d been crying. Shoot. He hadn’t wanted that.

Or maybe he had. Maybe that was the problem—he hadn’t wanted her to dance because he wanted her to be in misery like he was. But maybe the time for misery had passed.

Oh, he wanted to dance. Or at least to let himself hear the music.

He watched Noelle pull out the World War II poster of the kiss in Times Square. It curled over her as she tried to affix it to the wall.

Eli came over, held it up. She stepped inside the pocket of his arms to tape it to the wall. “I love this picture. It shows such an emotional moment, a man outside of himself. I have to wonder what happened next.”

“Maybe she slapped him,” he said.

“Or maybe she kissed him back.” She turned in his arms, and now he could see that yes, she had been crying. He let go of the poster, ran his thumb down her cheek.

Why had he ever thought Lee might take Noelle’s place? This was the woman God had given him, the woman who had shared children with him, the woman who deep down knew his wounds, his dreams. And most of all, the woman who knew how to celebrate the life of their daughter.

Eli couldn’t help himself. She drew him in with her blue-green eyes, that tentative smile, the smell of her, so familiar, so new.

He kissed her.

Tenderly. Not sure if she might slap him or kiss him back. But she made a little sound, curled close to him, her arms winding around his shoulders. She always fit so perfectly in his embrace, and that was familiar too. It stirred up feelings he’d long ago locked tight.

He let them out, just enough, and deepened his kiss, wanting to lose himself but afraid of what might be on the other side.

And she kissed him back. Timid at first, then with something of confidence.

Like she too might be letting go, hoping.

When he finally broke away, he cupped his hand to her face. Searched her eyes.

She gave him a slow, suggestive smile.

Oh.

Oh.

His mouth dried. “I . . . well . . .”

Noelle looked away. “I’m sorry. I just . . . I want to remember so desperately, Eli. And there’s something about the way you look at me, the way I feel when I’m in your arms, the way you just kissed me, that feels so right.” She raised her eyes to him. “I want to be your wife again.”

His throat tightened, his chest burning. His wife. Again. He could barely find his voice. “I’ve missed you so much. And I want that too. But . . . you don’t remember us being together, Noelle. Are you . . . are you sure this is what you want?”

“We’re married, right?”

He nodded.

“Then I want you, Eli Hueston. Don’t sleep in the den anymore. Be my husband tonight.”

He let a slow, rich smile slide up his face. “Do I have to wait until tonight?”

She grinned. “How long do we have before Kirby gets home?”

Emma sat on a barstool at Mulligan’s, red-and-yellow neon lights splashing into the dark pub, alive with conversation. She leaned into the mic, trying not to care that no one paid much attention to the girl on the black padded stool, one foot hooked onto the bottom rung, crooning out a lonely tune on a Saturday night. It ended and she received a smattering of applause.

Outside, drivers splashed muddy slush onto the sidewalks. She hated March, with the crusty, dirt-edged snow caving into the damp streets. The March thaw turned the world gray and bleak, the wind still toting a bitter edge as it stung her face.

And to make it all worse, her brother’s semifinal basketball game was Monday. Right during her audition. She longed to be home, to pack the stands with the rest of Deep Haven, to cheer the boys on to state.

She could still remember Kyle in his high school basketball uniform, the surge of excitement when he sank the final three-pointer for the win.

She segued into another Joe Cocker cover. “‘Ain’t no sunshine, when he’s gone . . .’”

Emma had spent the past two weeks digging up new songs, probably too many from the era of angst, but they seemed to capture the tumult of fear inside her that seemed to only grow as the day of her audition approached.

Monday. She had two more days to put words to the reams of music she’d worked out, each with a fresh, tangible hope that words might swirl to the surface of her mind.

She’d even purchased a journal and sat for hours waiting for something poetic to appear. Instead, she found herself doodling Kyle’s name, words that he said to her on the phone at night, feelings that arose when they hung up.

She wouldn’t name it love, not yet. But something about his low, calm voice greeting her at midnight when she got home from work, as she brewed a cup of hot cocoa and curled up on her chair, as he told her about the happenings of Deep Haven that day, had seeded new feelings beyond those of any high school crush.

He told her about his life, and he listened to her music—sometimes adding a strange verbal beat to the songs she’d play him while on speakerphone.

She finished the song, let the last of the music die out, and smiled as a fresh table of college boys burst into applause. They called out requests, mostly new stuff—Rihanna, Gaga, Beyoncé. She wrinkled her nose.

“You’ll like this one,” she said and launched into Mötley Crüe’s rowdy version of “Smokin’ in the Boys Room.” Then she slowed it down with Lennon’s version of “Stand by Me.”

Her father would have appreciated tonight’s lineup.

The boys raised their glasses to her as Carrie took their orders. Her roommate wore a green tie-dyed shirt and a pair of impossibly skinny jeans, her hair in short pigtails.

Another group of patrons rose, smiled at her as they shoved some green into the tip jar, then headed for the door.

At least she’d be able to make next month’s rent. But sooner or later, she’d have to face the facts.

She had failed Kelsey. And their dream.

Someone at a far table had started singing along, and the husky, twangy sound roused a memory as she closed her eyes and lost herself in the song.

Her father scooted into her memory, having changed out of his uniform, wearing sweatpants, a printed T-shirt of some ancient band, his wool slippers. He raised his hand as she looked up. “Don’t stop. It’s wonderful.”

He seated himself across from her, in that decrepit brown tweed chair he had in college, bobbing his head. And then, as she reached the second chorus, he’d just stared at her, grinning.

Like she might be the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

I miss you, Daddy.

It wasn’t fair how life changed, turned on her in an instant.

She glanced toward the entrance as the door opened for another diner. He came in alone, wearing a dark jacket, the light catching his bronze hair, the wide shoulders. He just stood there by the door as if waiting for his vision to adjust to the darkness, looking around the room.

Emma nearly hiccuped her words, her heart swelling, lodging inside her chest.

Kyle.

What was he doing in St. Paul? At Mulligan’s? She finished the song, but by that time he’d caught her eye, smiled, and helped himself to a front row table.

Carrie set down a menu before him, then gave him a second look and shot Emma a glance.

“I’ll be back in twenty, folks. If you have any requests, give them to your server, and I’ll see if I can accommodate you.” Emma slipped the guitar strap over her head, set her guitar on the stand, and stepped off the stage, grinning at Kyle.

He stood. “I hope you didn’t stop for me because I’d just as soon you kept playing.”

They stood there for a moment, and oh, she wanted to leap at him, to throw her arms around his neck. Smell Deep Haven and the woods on his skin.

But she refrained, taking a breath, waiting . . .

He reached out, pulled her to himself. “I’ve missed you.” He pressed a kiss to her cheek.

She wanted to turn her head, but instead she released him and slid into the opposite seat. “What are you doing here?”

He raised an eyebrow.

“Please. You know what I mean. I talked to you last night—you didn’t say a word about coming down.”

“I wanted to surprise you. And bring you this.” He pulled a folded journal from his inside pocket and slid it across the table to her.

Her breath caught at the familiar cover. “This is ‘Life Lyrics,’ Kelsey’s song journal.”

He nodded. “My dad brought her stuff out of storage for my mom to read through.”

“Does this mean she got her memory back?”

“No, but she’s trying.”

Emma’s mind went, however, to a picture of Eli kissing her mother and she shucked it from her brain. Kyle was not like his father—he was kind and funny and creative and spontaneous and . . .

And she wasn’t convenient. Kyle had traveled five hours to sit across from her with that crazy grin on his face.

She opened the notebook, immediately captured by Kelsey’s loose, almost whimsical scrawl. Stanzas, some circled, others crossed out, words underlined in the margins, all surrounded by doodles, betrayed the way she thought. Random. Poetic.

Pure Kelsey.

Emma paged through, found a few finished products she recognized, other half songs they’d never finished.

On the last page, she found the song Kelsey had started in the attic.

There are broken rainbow moments,

And dandelion wishes that don’t come true.

Her throat tightened as she read the title. “‘Emma’s Song’?”

There are times it don’t seem fair,

Like He’s never there.

But He’s watching over you.

Her breath hitched and she looked at Kyle. “She wrote this song for me?”

“Most of a song. It seemed to end right after the bridge.” He leaned over, pointed to the last stanza.

There are times you want to quit;

Let God take care of it.

He loves you so . . .

“I was thinking you and I could finish it. You know, for your audition?” He said it in a small voice, more hopeful than confident. “And we could take some of her other lyrics, set them to music too—maybe some of your new stuff?”

She drew in a breath, paged back through the journal. The “Steps” song and “Rescue Me.” Yes, she knew these lyrics—Kelsey had read them aloud to her, trying them out.

She’d heard music, even then, behind them.

“Are you sure, Kyle? She’s not here to sing them.”

“But you are.” His eyes met hers, wouldn’t let her go. “She left these behind for you, Emma. And you can give them a voice, bring Kelsey’s dreams to life. I know she’d want you to have them.”

She blinked away the burning in her eyes. Lyrics. Life—no, dream-giving—lyrics. She closed the book, smiled at him. Nodded. “I have one more set, and then we have work to do.” She got up. “Do you have any requests?”

He seemed to consider her offer for a moment, then grabbed her hand, pulled her down into his lap. “Just one,” he said softly and kissed her.