As he had every evening since Gram’s accident, Connor drove through the deserted district of town, though it wasn’t on his way home from work. Even in the dying light, the shadows seemed longer on this side of the creek, but he explored the alleyways and peered between the buildings. Searching for a ghost. The outline of a man who’d disappeared amid the ruins.
When he’d been looking for Gram that morning over a week ago, he hadn’t had time to confront the shadow in the alley, but now he had no intention of forgetting someone was there.
Maybe it was just a kid playing around. Maybe a druggie looking for a place to get high. Maybe a drifter hunting for something worth stealing. But somewhere, trouble was hiding out among the buildings he owned.
This place might not be worth much, but it was his land. His problem.
As before, he found nothing, but just to make sure, Connor circled by Joe’s workshop and checked that the old guy had locked up for the night. Wouldn’t want anyone stealing his worthless invention.
Connor drove down each dusty street one more time. No one had worked in these warehouses and workshops since he’d been alive, but many of the buildings were still standing tall, as if waiting for someone to blow off the dust.
The structures that had crumbled reminded him of ancient ruins. Forgotten churches from the Roman era, or piles of stones left when a castle fell to Vikings. When he’d been a boy, he’d dreamed of roaming down the Rhine River, seeing the castles and fortresses that survived and the ones that left only crumbling shells.
He’d kiss the Blarney Stone at Blarney Castle and walk the grounds around Marksburg Castle in Germany. He’d always said that he would go someday. Now, he feared someday would never come. It occurred to him that maybe people don’t give up on their dreams—maybe dreams give up on them and simply fade away so slowly no one sees them go.
Connor turned toward home, hardly believing nine days had passed since Gram’s accident. Funny how the world turns upside down then rights itself to a new normal. You settle into it as if life had always been that way. Within two days she’d been running both his house and her shop from her hospital bed in the dining room. Or at least thought she was. All those around her filled in the gaps she’d forgotten.
While still in dusk’s shadow, he parked his pickup behind Gram’s shop and crossed through the darkened rooms. He joined Jillian just as she locked the shop door for the night. She’d said she needed to work a little later to catch up on the quilt cataloging. Running the shop was not what she’d been hired on to do, but she was managing.
With his old pickup parked behind the shop and his Audi at home in case Gram needed to go somewhere, Connor still managed to have his favorite time of day. Twilight, when he walked home with Jillian. It might be only a few blocks, but they were almost alone. They could talk and tease and flirt.
“I’ll work on Gram’s books until you’re ready.”
“Thanks, I won’t be long.” Jillian smiled at him as she did so often lately. That shy little smile that seemed to say they shared a secret.
He stepped into the office, knowing that if he didn’t put a wall between them neither would get any work done.
Half an hour later, she leaned her head in and said she was ready. He stood, leaving the books, knowing they’d still be there waiting tomorrow.
As she closed up A Stitch in Time, he stood close. It was night now and the shadow he’d seen in the district might have crossed the creek. There were a dozen dark hiding places someone could stand and watch the street without being seen.
“What’s for dinner?” Connor kept his voice low. He wished they weren’t standing in such a public place. The need to be closer to her grew with each day.
“No more hamburgers or pizza. Tonight we stop at the grocery store. I’m starving for real food.” She handed him two empty shopping bags. “On our way home, we shop.”
“But the grocery is a block in the wrong direction. I could go back and drive.”
She laughed, as he knew she would. “When I lived in New Jersey one winter, I had to walk a mile from the train to my apartment every night after dark. If it wasn’t raining or snowing, I could cut through a back trail that was once used for coal deliveries. Every time I crossed that trail, I had visions of being mugged. It never happened. Maybe even the muggers felt sorry for me.”
“There is a mystery writer in you, Jillian. What were you doing up north?”
She ignored his question. “No. I’m only a hungry article writer. Walk faster. When we finish dinner, I want to read you two new quilt stories. I’m thinking I’ll have a folder full of photos of quilts made from other things. Granddad’s ties, old T-shirts, overalls from a farmer. And today, I saw one made from all the drapes that were in a woman’s childhood home. The lady said she felt like she was going home when she curled up in it.”
“So you’re telling me it’s going to be all work tonight,” he teased. “No time to just talk.” In truth, he loved every minute they spent together. When she’d offered to help with dinner in the evening, he hadn’t turned her down.
The only downside was they were never alone except on the way home. He liked talking to her, working beside her as they cooked dinner, visiting with Gram’s hospital bed in between them, but the need to touch her was a slow ache inside him. How could a woman he’d never known existed become an addiction so fast?
If he were a different kind of man, he might have just pulled her into the shadows and kissed her, or slipped into her bedroom long after Mrs. K was asleep. If he were a different kind of man... No. He was who he was. He didn’t want to step outside his skin and be someone he wasn’t.
She moved in step with him, unaware of the argument he was busy having with himself.
“I can cook three things: spaghetti, meat loaf and BLTs.” She smiled over at him. “And I can read, so I guess I could cook anything.”
“Wow. You should write a cookbook.” He acted like he was giving her choices some thought. “Meat loaf. It will be easier for Joe to eat.”
“Did he eat every meal with you before the accident?”
Connor shook his head. “Sunday dinners sometimes. We would get together and all cook in Gram’s little kitchen. Sunnie and Joe would compete for who could make the biggest mess. I think he often ate breakfast with Gram at the Acres after she moved in there. He really cares about her. I think he and Granddad both fell for her in school. Gram loved my grandfather, but Joe still loved her.”
“You think it ever went physical?”
Laughter rumbled out no matter how hard he tried to hold it back. “I don’t want to think about that one at all, but I’d bet the answer would be no. Only, I don’t think it made the love any less.”
He took Jillian’s arm as they crossed the street and went into the market. “Since Gram got hurt, Joe seems to be afraid to leave her. The old guy knows she’s with the nurse in the morning and at noon one or more of her friends always drops by with a meal, but after her nap, he thinks he’s got to be there. It’s his time to be with Gram.”
“So when you get home, he’s there and you have to feed him, right?”
“That’s about it.
“Gram might be slow to heal, but her spirit remains up. I think Joe can take credit for that. She enjoys having Sunnie or me sit by her bed at breakfast. When we leave, the day nurse is there to help her dress, and then there is her routine.”
Connor grabbed a cart and pushed it behind Jillian as she shopped and he talked.
“According to the nurse, Gram is happy when Joe takes over. If the weather allows, he wheels her to the porch. If it’s cold or windy, they play cards.”
Ten minutes later, their argument over the grocery bill ended in Connor finally agreeing to split it. They left the store and walked the few blocks to his two-story white colonial house that Connor had told her he’d grown up in.
“Tell me about your house,” she said as they neared.
He shrugged, never having introduced a house before. “My dad floored the attic as a playroom when my brother and I were little. I built the sunporch across the back so I could add a little study to write. It’s nothing special. Three bedrooms upstairs, a basement no one would want to go in and two sets of stairs, both of which I’ve fallen down more times then I’d like to admit.”
“Did Gram ever live here?”
“No. Gram, my dad’s mother, had a place closer to Main until she checked into Autumn Acres. It was a cute garden home she designed herself when she moved to town after Grandpa died. She and my grandfather lived a few miles out of town when they first married. It is just a little farm his father had homesteaded.”
When she didn’t say anything, Connor continued, “Folks used to call it the ‘newlywed farm’ because every generation that came before me spent time there. They raised my father on that property. He and my mother stayed there until I was born, but my mom was sick after my brother came along a few years later. So they moved in to be closer to the doc.
“My mom and Gram liked living ‘in the nest,’ as they called living in town. Four generations of Laradys and not one farmer. Some claim even the first Larady made his living gambling while his crops died in the field.”
As they banged their way through the kitchen door, Joe hollered from the dining room. “You guys need any help?”
“No, we’re fine.” Connor opened the swinging door. “You and Gram all right?”
“We’re great.” Gram laughed. “Joe talked me into playing poker.”
“What kind?” Connor’s expression made both the senior citizens laugh.
“Texas hold’ em, and she’s winning,” Joe grumbled.
Connor backed into the kitchen, letting the door swing closed. “They don’t need us. We might as well cook.”
Jillian agreed. “I see what you mean about gamblers.”
He winked. “Don’t ever bet against a Larady.”
“I’ll remember that.”
He liked that they talked and laughed as they cooked. Joe was now considered one of the family and never left before dessert was served, so Connor made s’mores while Jillian mixed up the meat loaf.
No one was surprised when Sunnie’s new boyfriend popped over a few minutes before they sat down to dinner. He was skinny, ate everything in sight, had hair the color of the Red River, and never said the right thing at the right time. Add to that one eye was ringed in bruises and his face had more scabs than pimples.
To Connor’s amazement, Gram and Jillian seemed to love Reese.
No accounting for taste. Must be the same reasons why people love ugly dogs.
When Connor complained to Sunnie about him, she simply shrugged and said, “He’s got all his teeth.” Which made no sense.
As he had every night since the accident, Connor left Sunnie with Gram and walked Jillian back to the bed-and-breakfast. This late the streets were dark between streetlights, offering them a kind of blinking privacy.
He’d put his arm around her shoulders or they’d lock arms and casually brush together as they walked. “Tell me something about when you were growing up. I know you moved around, but describe one place you lived.”
“We lived along the coast of Florida once. A tiny house near a beach. I slept on the couch and remember being afraid of the waves.”
He laughed. “How old were you?”
“Seven, maybe eight. I worried that the waves would wash up to the house one night and get me.”
“Was there anything you liked about Florida?”
She smiled. “I learned to play the piano in the basement of a church there. After school, the church had a kind of day care I went to. I didn’t know anyone, so one sweet lady used to let me sit with her on the piano bench while all the kids sang songs and listened to a mini-sermon every afternoon.
“When I showed some interest, she taught me a little and gave me a few beginner books. I played those simple songs so many times I memorized every one. I never wanted to go outside to play, so I practiced three hours a day. She always came down and told me she’d been listening and was proud of me.”
“Did your dad play?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think so. My dad had the first finger of his right hand cut off about two inches.”
“Rig or rodeo?”
“What do you mean?”
“Riggers working the oil field have been known to lose a finger in the chains. Calf ropers can lose part of a finger if they dally incorrectly.”
“Dally?”
Connor grinned. “You know, a couple of wraps of the rope around the horn of a saddle. Ropers have lost fingers in rodeo events, even here in Laurel Springs.”
“Really? Dad never mentioned how he lost the finger, but I’d bet rig over rope.”
He could feel her stiffen, mentally pulling away even though her hand still rested on his arm. Connor kept his voice low, calm. “When I was a kid, first grade maybe, a guy lost a finger at our Pioneer Days Rodeo. He was calf roping, but I remember he wasn’t a cowboy because I heard some of them say he’d have known better if he worked cattle regularly. Back then lots of the oil field workers would sign up for the rodeo just for something to do even if they hadn’t been on a horse for a while.”
Connor covered her hand with his. “You all right?”
She nodded. “It just sounds so scary. As a kid, I guess I never thought about how my father’s finger got messed up. It was just his hand.”
“He didn’t talk about himself much, right?”
“Like, never.” She tugged on his arm, and they moved onto the sidewalk of the bed-and-breakfast.
“It must run in the family,” Connor added.
They reached the door. Mrs. Kelly had left the parlor light on, as always. Connor had the feeling he was stepping into the past when he entered the B and B. Jillian called the place Tattered Tara. She wasn’t far off. Mrs. Kelly’s place might not be as big as the Gone With the Wind Tara or surrounded with land, but he had a feeling some of the furnishings might be old enough to have survived the Civil War.
“You want some hot cocoa?”
He shook his head as he followed her into the Victorian parlor. It was dark except for firelight dancing across the draped walls.
With no sign of Mrs. Kelly, Connor pulled Jillian slowly to him. He’d been waiting hours for one moment alone.
Neither said a word. She just wrapped her arms around his neck and moved against him. They’d talked; now it was time to feel.
He kissed his way across her cheek and finally greeted her like he’d been wanting to all day. A slow, deep hello kiss as he felt her heart next to his.
When they were both out of breath, he straightened but didn’t let go of her. “I never get enough of you. I want you to stay here, with me, forever.” There was so much more he wanted to say but it was too early. He’d probably frighten her.
His forehead pressed against hers, guessing he’d said too much already.
“I can’t stay. You know that. It’s not my way. But I will promise to not leave without saying goodbye. I won’t disappear on you, Connor.”
“Fair enough,” he said, knowing that nothing about her leaving was fair. All his life he’d been without someone who fit, someone who matched just with him. She was like a half of him that had always been missing. He was only whole when she was with him. Caring for her wasn’t like a cold he caught and would get over.
She tickled his ribs. “We can’t stay like this. Mrs. Kelly is somewhere in the house. She’ll see us. You have to leave.”
Connor fought the urge to scream that he didn’t care. He just wanted time with Jillian. A moment, an hour, a day, didn’t matter because no matter how much, it would not be enough. “I’m not going tonight. Not if the shy ghost pops out from the cellar,” he said. “I’m not leaving until you play for me. There is an old piano in the sunroom. Just one piece and I’ll go.”
“I’ve tried that old upright. It’s out of tune. I haven’t practiced in months. It would hurt your ears. Probably do permanent damage.”
Connor laughed as he took her hand. “I don’t care. I have to hear you play.”
“What if I only know ‘Zacchaeus Was a Wee Little Man’? That was very popular in the church basement.”
“Then I’ll sing along.” He took her hand. “I’m not leaving until you play.”
He was still tugging her behind him when they passed through the kitchen with Mrs. Kelly at the sink washing up. She turned, wiping her hands on an apron that read It’s hard to make a comeback when I haven’t gone anywhere.
“Evening, Mrs. K.” Connor smiled. “Mind if we borrow your piano for a few minutes?”
“No,” she answered, her eyebrows raised in shock. “Go ahead, Mayor.”
Connor managed to yell thanks as they disappeared into the shadowy sunroom. He sat Jillian on the bench, opened the dusty piano and waited.
“Aren’t you going to sit down?” she asked without touching the keys.
“And give you room to bolt? Not a chance.”
He watched her fingers move over the keys as if finding their places. She started once, then twice. On the third try, she began to play. A gentle tune he hadn’t heard in years. “Edelweiss.”
The slow, whispering song seemed to circle the room. Warming all the shadows. Calming his world. He closed his eyes, taking in the music as if it were a pure gift.
When she finished, he lifted her up into his arms and kissed her, still hearing the melody in his head.
For one moment there was no place, no person, no world, but her in his arms.