And Then I Found You (12 page)

The group stopped. Lisa was the leader, and if it were possible, she would wear a
crown or tiara to prove it. “What?” Lisa asked.

Emily attempted to keep walking, moving along the sidewalk as if she’d never spoken,
as if she didn’t need to answer Lisa, which of course she did.

“Oh, you know.” Emily lifted her finger and made a swirling motion at her temple.
“He’s crazy like a worm on hot pavement.”

“Now that’s funny. Worm on hot pavement,” Chaz said and laughed with that low, vibrating
sound that made Emily’s insides expand and reach for something unnamed.

“No, she’s not funny at all,” Lisa said.

“Like you get to decide who I think is funny?” Chaz stepped closer to Lisa.

“Let’s go,” Mattie said. “This is stupid.”

“How do you know old Mr. Forester?” Chaz asked Emily.

“I don’t really,” Emily said. “I hear my aunt Mitzi talk about him. She feels all
sorry for him, so I know it’s not that he’s mean, but ‘not right.’”

“Sad,” Chaz said as they walked toward the church where some grown-ups were waiting
to show the kids what to do with the storage shed.

After the adults had vacated and left the five kids their instructions—empty the storage
shed, sweep it out, then put everything back in a very organized manner—they all stood
staring into the dusty space.

“This sucks,” Lisa said.

Chaz stepped inside, pulling on a string that turned on a bright overhead light bulb.
“Let’s get this over with.”

They split up, each taking a small corner of the shed.

Sissy stood next to Chaz as he swept the back corner, twirling her hair around her
fingers. He pointed the broom toward the ceiling, poking at the corner. Dust, cobwebs,
and dirt fell, raining down on them. “Ew, gross,” Sissy screamed, backing up.

“That’s what you get for flirting instead of working,” Mattie called out from the
center of the room, where she was stacking plastic chairs.

“I’m working,” Sissy said. “See?” She lifted a sewing machine from the corner and
set it on a table.

“Whatever,” Mattie said.

Emily handed a roll of packing tape to Lisa. “Let’s tape these boxes and we’re almost
done.”

“I have an idea,” Lisa said. “Why don’t
you
tape up those boxes and we’ll be almost done.”

Chaz threw a deflated basketball toward Lisa. “Throw that in the trash, Lisa, along
with your meanness.”

“Ha, ha,” Lisa said. “You’re just so funny, Chaz.” She flipped on a light in the back
corner. “Oh, cool, everyone look at this.” Together they stopped to stare at a disheveled
manger scene with the big spotlight shining down like a dim star of Bethlehem.

Manger scenes were something of a competitive sport in Bronxville,
which of course is the last thing a manger scene should ever be,
Emily thought. There were the wooden carved ones, the plastic ones, and the live-animal
ones (which always had a disastrous outcome one way or the other). This particular
manger scene was definitely on the list of
most pitiful
and yet it was Emily’s favorite. Emily was the girl who’d pick the runt of the litter,
the girl who felt sorry for the losing team, so her affection for this mismatched
manger was to be expected. Something sad and beautiful filled the faded faces of the
plastic kings, Mary’s bowed head with her now-yellowed but once-white veil hanging
over her face so you could see only her chin and half smile. Not to mention the crouched,
cracked animals (the donkey was missing a hind leg).

There’d been a scandal of manger donkey–stealing the previous year. Every ass from
every manger scene in town had been taken, and then on Christmas eve they’d all appeared
on the high school principal’s lawn—a statement not one person missed.

“So we get to clean the holy family,” Chaz said.

“I have an idea,” Sissy said in a whisper that sounded more like a hiss.

“No,” Mattie said. “No more ideas from you.”

Chaz laughed. “I love your ideas. What is it?”

“Let’s start our own manger tradition.”

Emily’s stomach flipped over. She wanted to speak, to avert whatever idiot thing was
about to happen. But she stalled.

“The Marys. We’ll steal all the Marys this year. I mean, really, every year it should
be someone or something from the manger scene right? Last year, the donkeys, this
year Mary, next year Joseph.”

“But never the baby Jesus,” Tara said. “We would never do that, right?”

“Of course not. Stop being so scared of everything. Really.”

Chaz laughed. “You up for it, Emily?”

“Only after we do the cleanup. We can take her then, I guess. But won’t they know
it’s us who took her?”

If Emily told them this was her favorite manger scene, if she told them it made her
want to cry to think about taking Mary away from baby Jesus, if she told them they
were idiots, they’d make fun of her.

Glancing out the door, Lisa grabbed Mary around the waist.

“What are we going to do with her?” Lisa asked, holding Mary without lifting.

“Hide her in the back woods until I can carry her home and put her in my daddy’s shed,”
Chaz said. With that he took the five-foot Mary, slung the plastic statue over his
shoulder, and ran out the door. The girls ran after him, disappearing into the dark
shadows. Emily was stuck in the storage shed as firmly as if she were a figurine,
as if someone had to take Mary’s place and she was chosen. The teens didn’t miss Emily
as they ran into the woods, hiding Mary amongst the tangled ivy.

Emily stood under the spotlight of the now-clean First Presbyterian storage shed.
She didn’t understand the need to take baby Jesus from his wooden trough, but she
knew she couldn’t leave him without a mother. Emily closed and locked the storage
doors. With Jesus wrapped in a moldy tarp, she walked away

She’d walked halfway home by the time she wondered what she would do with the baby
Jesus. Guilt tasted like metal in the back of her throat and instead of home, Emily
ran to Sailor’s house.

It was Sailor who saved the day. It was Sailor who went with Emily into the poison-ivy
infested woods and retrieved Mary, delivering both to the storage shed before anyone
knew they were gone, reuniting mother and child. And it was Sailor who whispered,
“Now we have to get you and your mom together.”

eleven

BIRMINGHAM, ALABAMA

2010

Jack’s house was warm and spacious, the living room filled with scattered pillows
and sports magazines. Kate looked up at the coffered ceiling, at the carved woodwork
and limestone fireplace, at the buffed hardwood floors and the plank walls painted
dove grey. Baseball cards sat in piles on the coffee table. “Welcome,” Jack said and
held out his hands. “You never did see the house finished.”

“It’s gorgeous,” Kate said. “Really. Have you ever thought about doing this for someone
else?”

He laughed and held up his hand. “No way. I could never do this for someone else.”

“I like the colors.”

“Maggie chose those,” he said. “She wanted to be an interior designer for a little
while. That was before she wanted to be a photographer and then before she wanted
to work on her family farm, forming a gourmet goat cheese business.” Jack smiled and
Kate followed him toward the archway she remembered would take them to the kitchen.
The hallway walls had the same plank board. Framed photos of Birmingham landmarks
hung on the wall.

“These are hers?” Kate asked.

“Yep.” Jack said without turning around. “I’ve always loved them. Great photos. She
was good at it.”

Kate reached forward and touched his shoulder. “I’m sorry you went through that terrible
time,” she said.

“Thanks, that’s sweet,” he answered softly.

They walked into the kitchen with the stainless appliances, the stone countertops,
and vintage lamps hanging over the island.

“Wow. This is amazing.” Kate touched the countertop.

Jack pulled a bottle of wine from a small refrigerator under the counter and poured
Pinot Grigio into oval stemless glasses, handing one to Kate. “You know, I never told
Maggie about Luna, or about you. I meant to. A million times I meant to. Even when
we had Caleb, or I snuck off to mail those letters to you, I promised myself I’d tell
her. I’ve never forgiven myself for that deception. But I was afraid that it would
change everything.”

“I don’t think there’s anything to forgive and I don’t think there’s a right way to
do these things. She still doesn’t know?”

“No.”

Katie took a long sip of wine. “I haven’t told Rowan.”

“Rowan?”

“The guy. The guy I’m dating. The guy who has an engagement ring in his bedside drawer.
The guy I love, but panic every time I think about anything that sounds like ‘forever.’”

He nodded. “Ah, that guy.” He smiled. “Yes. Forever has always tangled you up.”

“That’s not true,” Kate said, following him out.

He ignored her comment and they entered the living room, holding their wineglasses
and sitting on opposite chairs. They faced one another over the baseball card–laden
coffee table and thirteen years. Comfortable, Jack prodded Kate forward with questions
about her life.

“Enough about me,” she finally said. “I mean, aren’t you tired of hearing about me?
Don’t you want to change the subject?”

Jack leaned forward. “I’ve wondered about you for years. So no, I don’t want to change
the subject.”

She smiled, warming inside as if the sun had just risen instead of fallen. “Do you
want to go get dinner?”

“Good idea.” Jack stood. “Come on. I’ll take you to my favorite restaurant.”

*   *   *

Highlands Bar and Grill overflowed with people on a spring night, spilling out onto
the sidewalk in Southside Birmingham and then into the bar where not a single barstool
sat empty. Jack greeted the maître d’ with a firm handshake. “Burt, I know I didn’t
make reservations and it’s a Saturday night, but my dear friend surprised me and of
course I want to show off my favorite restaurant. Any chance you could find us a table?”
Jack introduced Kate.

Burt, in his crisp white shirt and skinny black tie, looked like he was in a Frank
Sinatra cover band in his spare time. He nodded. “Nice to meet you, Kate. Let me show
off Birmingham’s finest.” He motioned to a table snuggled in the back corner by a
window. “That should be available within fifteen minutes. Why don’t you two go get
a drink and I’ll come get you in a few.”

“Thanks, Burt. Seriously. I so appreciate this,” Jack said.

Burt smiled. “It’s not for you.” He nodded at Kate. “For the lovely lady.”

Jack placed his hand on Kate’s lower back and guided her to the bar. She’d changed
into a summer dress, one of her favorites from the new Show Me Your MuMu line. It
was made of the finest pale blue linen, and fell slightly off her left shoulder to
form a low V down her back where Jack’s hand now touched skin. Warmth spread from
his hand in every direction. She wondered, did he feel the heat also? Or was she conjuring
the old magic on her own?

“What would you like?” Jack asked.

“What do you usually get here?”

“They have a drink called the Orange Thing. It’s made with fresh-squeezed orange juice,
vodka, and some secret ingredient that causes addiction.”

“Sounds perfect,” Kate said.

To the bartender, Jack made a motion with his hand, which must have been sign language
that only the two of them understood because within a minute, two drinks appeared.
“You must come here a lot,” Kate said.

“Yes,” Jack said, and then stared at her. Kate turned away with heat rushing, a river,
underneath her skin. “You are really beautiful, Katie. I remembered you that way,
and it’s nice to see I was right.”

“That’s so sweet. Thanks. You’re making me blush, and I don’t blush easily.”

He lifted his glass and she did hers. They clinked their drinks together in a toast.
“To renewed friendships,” she said.

Jack smiled and they both took a long sip.

Kate leaned against the bar and dug into her purse for her cell phone. “I need to
make a hotel reservation. I decided quickly to come here and didn’t know where I’d
stay, or if I would stay, so I need to do that. Any ideas?”

“You can stay with me. Caleb is at Grandma’s. I have two guest rooms and an empty
house. It’s silly for you to get a hotel.”

Without hesitation, something she only later noticed, she placed her phone back into
her purse. “That would be nice.”

Men and women stopped by the bar, shaking hands with Jack, greeting him and meeting
Kate. Half an hour later, Burt came to seat them, and Kate asked, “Do you know everyone
in town?”