The Shadow of Your Smile (5 page)

Grief had a way of blitzing him, of taking Kyle out when he wasn’t looking. And usually just when it seemed life was playing by the rules, when the good guys would finish first, when Kyle started to believe that everything just might work out.

Emma Nelson could have been the perfect girl. For a few brief hours, she was. Sweet with laughter that could burn away the pervasive chill inside. Someone who knew him back when life felt golden.

He could still feel her in his arms. Taste her lips. It scared him how quickly his mind had written a happily ever after for them.

I’m never, ever returning to the armpit town of Deep Haven.

It wasn’t like he was an official member of the Deep Haven Chamber of Commerce or anything, but her statement left a bruise.

He gripped the steering wheel, hearing again her voice this morning on the phone.
Thank you, Kyle, but I think it’s best if we don’t see each other.
Wow, he’d turned into some sort of sad puppy to call her again, but apparently he needed final confirmation.

He let those words rattle around in his head as he drove past the Black Bear Casino south of Duluth, the parking lot half-full on a Friday morning. By this evening, it would be packed.

Emma was right. Spending more time with her might be lethal to his decision to move back to Deep Haven. But he’d been planning to go home for three years. He’d only known Emma for one night.

Okay, longer, technically, but . . .

How had he never noticed Emma Nelson?

He glanced at his cell phone tucked in the beverage holder between the seats of his truck. He had the urge to call his mother, to tell her that he’d seen Emma.

His mother seemed to understand his need to reroute his life and return to Deep Haven better than anyone. She too could hear the echo of Kelsey’s voice in the empty hallways of the house. She knew why he had to build a life in Deep Haven, help his family find their way back. Finally be there for Kirby, his mom, even his father.

Kyle tapped the brakes as he came over the hill into Duluth, the great Lake Superior harbor spread out below. Although steam rose off the lake past the aerial bridge, the shipyard appeared gripped in the deadlock of winter. Inside the inner harbor, a rumpled, icy collision of rutted waves, inert buoys, and chunky icebergs imprisoned the ships in port. Rusty lakers at anchor dripped massive icicles from their bows. Mountains of snow, debris from yesterday’s storm, mounded the parking lot by the city auditorium.

The entire city appeared to be holding its breath.

The air would only thin as he traveled north to Deep Haven. The harbor in town would certainly be solid ice, probably even shoveled and turned into a skating rink for the locals. The retirees who loved the resort town in the summer would have flown to Arizona or Florida, leaving only the hardy behind. The locals emerged when the mercury dropped, when snow covered the cross-country ski trails, turned the paths in the woods into highways for the snow machines. In the early morning, from his cabin, he could hear the barks of the dogsledders’ huskies rising from the woods where they ran trails.

Sure, Deep Haven might be trapped inside winter’s grasp for four months out of the year, but frankly, Kyle appreciated the isolation.

It kept the troublemakers away.

And with his picking up the reins as a deputy, he planned on making sure Deep Haven stayed safe. No one would die on his watch—not if he could help it.

His cell rang and he answered it. “Hey, Dad.”

“Where are you?”

He braked as he flowed into traffic. “In Duluth. I’m headed home.”

“You might want to stop by St. Luke’s.”

The way he said it, softly, darkly, roused memories that Kyle would rather not revisit. “Why?” he said slowly.

“Your mother took a fall yesterday. She hit her head pretty hard.”

“Is she okay?”

“They moved her out of ICU this morning. But . . . Well, just stop by, Kyle. We’re on the second floor, room 2112.”

Kyle clicked off and tried not to let the memories find him, dig their claws into his chest.

And just when they might be finding their way back.

He wove along Superior Street, turned up Ninth Avenue, found a place in the parking ramp. His heartbeat almost echoed through the massive structure as he exited his warm truck, headed toward the elevator banks.

Last time he’d been here . . .

He wrapped his jean jacket around himself, pushed the button. Emma’s handprint still stained his jacket, and now he noticed droplets of blood along his sleeve.

An elderly couple entered at the next floor, the man holding the woman’s hand. Kyle looked at his boots.

The elevator opened at the skyway, and he trekked to the reception area, then down to the second floor. He spotted Kirby on a brown sofa in the waiting area, a glass table piled with magazines in the center. He wore his letter jacket, a blue Huskies baseball hat. The kid balanced a Diet Coke in one hand and paged through a magazine with the other.

His father stood with his back turned, dressed in his brown coveralls, as if he’d just come in from fishing, a stocking cap barely balanced on his head, his hair matted as it curled out the back. He stared out over the view of frosty Lake Superior.

“Dad?” Kyle glanced at Kirby too, who looked up.

“Hey, Kyle,” Kirby said, his voice sounding tired.

Eli turned. He had aged about a decade since three weeks ago, when Kyle stopped by to give him the news of his new job.

Their fight still rang in his ears.
I told you that I don’t want you being a cop in this town. You’ll just get yourself killed.

Thanks, Dad, for the vote of confidence. Never mind that his father had moved to Deep Haven as a rookie, built a life there. What, his son couldn’t do the same?

But nothing of their argument was betrayed in Eli’s expression now as he caught Kyle’s hand. His eyes were cracked with red, his beard heavy.

Dread rippled through Kyle. “What happened? What’s wrong with Mom?”

“She was involved in a shooting.” Eli glanced at Kirby, then back at Kyle. “I didn’t want to tell you over the phone. We were just briefed by the Duluth police.”

“What? Was she shot?”

Eli shook his head. “There was a holdup in a coffee shop in Harbor City. She was there, apparently. We don’t know all the details, but the cashier was killed. Your mother managed to get away—”

“Oh, thank God.”

“She ran into the highway, but she took a bad fall, cracked her head on the pavement.”

Kyle could feel his reaction on his face.
Cracked her head . . .
“How bad is it?”

Eli blew out a breath. “She was unconscious for a few hours, but she came to early this morning, about 2 a.m. She has some pain. And residual . . . damage. But we think it will resolve itself.”

Kyle stilled. “What do you mean?”

Eli met his eyes. “She had some memory loss.”

Kirby rose, wearing a stricken look. “You didn’t tell me that last night.”

“Anne Standing Bear is treating her. She seems to think her brain will heal, that it’s not permanent.” Eli rested his hand on his younger son’s shoulder. “I’m sure she’ll be fine. But I thought seeing you two boys would cheer her up this morning.” He turned back to Kyle. “Anne told us we could see her as soon as you got here.”

Kyle couldn’t move. “A homicide? Did they catch the shooter?”

“Not yet.”

“Do they have a suspect?”

“No. Unfortunately, whoever it was got away before law enforcement could arrive at the scene. But they’re hoping your mother might shed some light on the incident, give them some leads.”

“I want to talk to them.”

Eli frowned. “What are you going to do, Kyle? Let the Duluth Police Department handle it. It’s out of our jurisdiction.”

“Just because you stopped being a cop doesn’t mean I will.”

A muscle pulled in Eli’s jaw. “Let’s just take care of your mom.”

“You take care of Mom. It’s about time, anyway. You virtually ignored her after Kelsey’s death. Why did you let her go to Duluth alone? You know how she hates driving in snowstorms.”

“She didn’t ask me, okay? I didn’t even know she was here.”

Kyle stared at him, nonplussed. “You didn’t even know where she was?”

“I was fishing.”

Even Eli, it seemed, realized how that sounded because he winced. Good.

Kyle shook his head. “Of course you were. You’re always fishing. Well, after we see Mom, I’m going to figure out who did this to her. One of us needs to start acting like a cop.”

Noelle liked the doctor—Anne, was it? A heart-shaped face, kind hazel eyes that had sympathized when Noelle complained of a headache again this morning. She’d been the one who agreed to move her out of ICU and nodded when Noelle asked her to call her parents again.

Maybe she should have gone into health care. But seeing people hurt, in trauma . . . the thought made her insides coil. No, Noelle didn’t like hospitals at all. For some reason, they made her nauseous, although honestly, she hadn’t spent much time in one. Just that time her sister had the allergic reaction to the bee sting, but that had been more of a backwoods clinic. And her brother had broken his leg skiing in Vail. But again he hadn’t been treated in a large hospital like this one. She must be at the Hennepin County Medical Center off campus.

A nurse had entered after the doctor left and removed her from intravenous fluids, put a Band-Aid over the insertion point in her arm. It ached, but not like her head, which still had a long, slow throb as if her brain wanted to travel out through her eyeballs.

The sooner her parents came to pick her up, the better. Frankly, she couldn’t believe they weren’t sitting beside her bed when she awoke this morning. Instead, a nurse in a pink uniform had taken her pulse, checked her blood pressure, and asked about her name and her address.

Noelle Stevens, University of Minnesota. She lived in those tall Cedar Square apartments near the campus. Yes, the nurse knew of them, and she smiled at Noelle and squeezed her hand.

They’d moved her down the hall and up one floor to another room, this one with a bright window that overlooked a snowy parking lot. Outside, the morning trumpeted into the room, over the empty bed beside hers, across the linoleum flooring. They still hadn’t allowed her out of bed, but she longed to get up, take a shower, put on real clothes. A girl could freeze to death in the flimsy cotton hospital gown. She pulled the cotton blankets up to her chin.

Noelle tried to remember what day it was—Tuesday? She hoped it wasn’t because she couldn’t miss ARTS 3105, Dimensional Painting. How she struggled with shadow and light and adding the right hues to her work. And she still had to finish that portrait for her advanced watercolor class tonight.

Her stomach growled. She could go for a Big Ten sub on whole wheat—

“Noelle?” Anne poked her head into the room. “You have visitors.”

“My parents?”

“No—remember last night, when we said that you were married, had a husband?”

“Did he find his wife?” She had felt sort of sorry for the man as she’d watched him in the hallway, taking the news that she wasn’t the person he thought. He’d clutched the grimy hat, shaken his head, shot another look toward her. She’d closed her eyes and pretended to be sleeping.

Anne shook her head. “Not . . . yet. He’d like to talk to you.”

Perfect. She sighed, braced herself. “What does he want?”

As Anne came in, she held open the door. “I’ll let him tell you.”

She recognized him—what was his name again? He hadn’t changed clothes—still wore those hideous brown coveralls, the filthy cap, but now had a heavy, old-man grizzle on his chin. Two younger men followed him in. The shorter one looked about sixteen, cute with curly brown hair poking out of a blue baseball cap. He wore a stained letter jacket, his hands shoved into his pockets. He looked at her with such longing that she had to turn away. The other was taller than the older man, well-built, with short bronze hair, hazel eyes. He looked like a younger replica of the older man except for the scowl.

He walked toward her. “Hey, Mom,”

Hey . . .
what?

“What did you call me?”

He froze, glanced at the older man. Back to her. Reached for her hand. “Mom—”

Noelle yanked her hand away before he could touch her. “What kind of joke is this?” When she looked at Anne, she saw pain on her face. “This isn’t funny. I told you last night that he was mistaken. What did he say to you?”

“Noelle, please, listen to us. He’s not lying—
we’re
not lying to you. You fell and you lost your memory. This is your husband, Eli, and your sons, Kirby—” she pointed to the younger one, who looked like he might cry, his jaw so tight she could pluck it and shatter glass—“and Kyle.” She nodded toward the older one, whose piercing gaze could nearly impale her.

Anne pulled out a bag from her lab coat. “Here are your personal effects—your wedding ring, a necklace. Your clothes are in a hanging bag in the bathroom.”

She gave Noelle the baggie, and she stared at the ring. Not a big diamond, and the gold wedding band fit against it, welded tight. The setting looked worn, even dirty. The necklace, tangled at the bottom, held a gold charm, a loop with two “heads” at the top. It bore the hint of tarnish.

“I don’t recognize these. Or . . . them.” She swept her gaze quickly across the three men, then held out the bag to Anne. “I don’t know why you think I could be the mother to two grown men, but . . . I mean, really, how old do I look?”

Anne pursed her lips in a tight line.

“I’m
twenty-one
. I’ve never had children.” She lowered her voice, leaned over to Anne. “I’m not even dating anyone.” She held up her hands. “There’s been a terrible mistake here. I would appreciate it if you’d leave me alone.”

Eli had shoved his hands into his pockets, and he seemed to be wincing.

Kyle glanced at Anne, then at his father.

But the younger boy—Kirby?—was staring at her, shaking his head. “Mom, stop it. Just stop it. You can’t be like this!” The pain in the boy’s voice almost made Noelle want to believe them. He appeared so wretched standing there, his eyes glistening. “Don’t you remember me—or Kyle? What about—?”

“That’s enough, Kirby.” The man grabbed his shoulder, a tight clamp of authority. “Just calm down. Your mother had a terrible fall. She’s hurt, and she needs time.”

“I don’t need time. I’m fine. I just need you all to leave.” She gave Kirby a sad smile. “You look like a nice kid. I hope you find your mother.”

“Noelle, it’s time you got up. I have to show you something.” Anne reached for her, started to remove her blanket.

“Hey! Not with them here. Tell them to leave.”

Kyle wore a strange, grim expression. “Don’t worry,” he said softly. “Everything’s going to be okay.”

She frowned at him. Of course it was.

“Okay, men, everyone out. Just for a moment,” Anne ordered.

“I’m her husband!”

“Eli . . . please.”

Kirby had already turned as if he might be fleeing.

“C’mon, Dad. We’ll wait in the hall.” Kyle had turned away also, reaching out for his father. Eli yanked his arm away from his son’s grasp.

Noelle glared at him. This Eli person seemed downright nasty, rude, even violent. She didn’t want to be anywhere near him.

Maybe his wife had run away from him—or maybe he’d hurt her, put her in the hospital.

She’d request that he not be allowed in her room.

Noelle waited until they left before she let Anne help her from the bed. “I don’t like him. He’s so . . . gruff.”

“He’s actually a very compassionate man,” Anne said as she helped Noelle stand. Noelle reached for the bed rail, the room taking a wild spin. “He was the sheriff in Deep Haven for the past ten years.”

“No wonder he’s so hard and dark-looking.”

Anne said nothing as she helped Noelle around the bed, toward the bathroom. “Listen, here’s the deal. You should know that it’s common for someone with your injuries to lose a little memory. Although your vitals seem nearly normal, your brain is still healing from the fall. It might take a few days, even a month or so.”

“I don’t have any memory loss—”

Anne flicked on the light to the bathroom.

Noelle stared at the image of the woman in the mirror. Same blue-green eyes, but the skin around them sagged, tiny wrinkles carved into the corners. Her blonde hair was smashed to her head around a bandage, patches on one side shaved off. She took a step closer, her chest tightening. Thin lines etched her mouth, her lips, and her skin appeared sallow, even sagging. She had jowls.

Noelle ran a hand along her chin, her breath knotting in her chest. She opened her mouth, but something like a whimper emerged.

Oh. No.

“Noelle, you had a C-section with Kirby. You . . . could check that out if you need more confirmation.” Anne turned her, took her hands.

Noelle’s breaths started to tumble over each other.
No, no—

“It’s true. Eli Hueston is your husband. You’ve been married twenty-five years. And Kirby and Kyle are your sons. You live in Deep Haven.”

Deep Haven? She’d visited there with her family a few times, summer vacations. But she would never have wanted to live in such a dark and remote place, so far from civilization.

“This can’t be true. I . . . no . . . I want my parents.”

Anne sighed. “They passed away. Your father died about ten years ago, your mother more recently.”

Noelle backed away from her, pressing herself against the cold tile wall of the bathroom. “No . . . that’s not right.” She began to shake, could feel herself coming apart on the inside. “This isn’t funny. This is not right. I . . . I don’t remember any of this.” Her voice had begun to pitch high, her breaths shaggy, in and out, as she closed her eyes and tried to grab at anything that made sense.

She’d just talked to her dad yesterday. Asked him to go with her to look at a car.

Her mother had promised to make her lasagna if she came home for the weekend.

Noelle wound her arms around herself, slid down to the floor. Opened her eyes and stared at Anne, who crouched before her, her own eyes glossy.

“Please, please don’t tell me that I’ve lost twenty-five years of my life.”