Where She Belongs (23 page)

L
eaving Jason Owens and Seth Norris to oversee the kids' fishing efforts, AJ stood over the blanket where Shelby chatted with Cassie and Jillian.

“Sorry to interrupt, ladies.”

“Catch anything?” Cassie munched on a chocolate-covered pretzel rod.

“No, but they're having fun trying.” He stretched his hand to Shelby. “Walk with me?”

She tilted her head as if considering his request. Cassie playfully tapped her knee. “Go on,” she whispered.

“If you insist,” Shelby said teasingly. He pulled her to her feet, and they walked along the creek bank away from the others.

“Way to go, Coach.” Jillian giggled.

He flashed a stern look at her over his shoulder. “Who invited her to this shindig?”

“I did,” Shelby said, laughing at his pretend annoyance. “She didn't have to work at the diner this evening, and I got the feeling she didn't want to go home. The girls already love her.”

“And Seth?”

“I invited him too.”

He gave her a skeptical look.

“If you must know, I suggested she ask him. They'd been texting off and on all afternoon.”

“It's about time they got together. I think Seth has had a crush on her forever.”

“Jillian didn't feel the same?”

“She's an unusual teen. More interested in school than boys.”

“Good for her.”

“Yeah, but I feel sorry for Seth. He's going to lose her before he gets her.”

“Why do you say that?”

“She's headed to Dartmouth; he's going to Ohio State.”

“It can still work. If they really want it to.”

He paused to pick up a couple of flat stones and skipped one across the broad creek. “Life won't change much for Seth. He'll be close to home, to his roots. But Jillian is about to enter a whole new world.”

“Funny, I've never thought of you as the cynical type.”

“I've taught long enough to see it happen. Four years in the Ivy League, and Jillian will never be content in Glade County, Ohio, again.”

“Perhaps not.” She took the other stone from him, her fingers grazing the palm of his hand. With a snap of her wrist, she sent the stone skimming across the creek's surface. He counted the hops.

“One. Two. Three. Four.” He lifted his closed hand, and he and Shelby fist-bumped. “Who taught you to skip rocks like that?”

“Who do you think?”

“The same man who memorized poems about white chickens and red wheelbarrows.”

“The very same.”

“I memorized that poem too. Memorized your whole letter.”

Her cheeks pinked, turning his heart to mush. She flung another stone into the water. It plunked, spreading ripples from where it disappeared.

“Did you get your summons?” she asked, staring across the creek.

He shook his head. “Guess they're having a hard time tracking me down.”

Her jaw tensed as she wrapped her arms around her body. “I dread this fight. I'm not sure I can do it.”

“You're not fighting it alone.” He picked a purple thistle growing wild along the bank and handed it to her. “I'll give Amy a call tomorrow.”

“She won't listen to Brett. Why should she listen to you?”

“She may not. But it's worth a try.”

“What happens if we ignore it?”

“It's a lawsuit, Shelby. Ignoring it isn't an option.”

“But if they win, what happens? They undo our deal, right?” She faced him, the words rushing over one another. “They can't force you into their deal, can they?”

“I wouldn't think so.”

“So then we make another deal. Forget the lease option. I'll rent the house.”

“There's more to it than our contract. Richard has been accused of fraud.”

“As if he'd ever do anything that wasn't aboveboard. It's such nonsense.”

“He still needs to be cleared.”

“Poor Uncle Richard.” Her shoulders sagged. “Having his name besmirched like that.”

“He's always been there for us. For Brett and Amy and me. He has to feel betrayed.”

“It's a cruel thing for her to do.”

“Amy's ambitions don't leave much room for loyalty.” Ambition borne of the pain each of them had endured as their parents' marriages fell apart. That unsettling pain had sharpened into unbearable agony when the four of them were killed.

Both he and Brett had coddled Amy, barely thirteen at the time.
Consoling her had somehow made it easier for him to cope with his own grief. Even now, as much as he hated what she was doing to Shelby, he had a hard time blaming her. The stone surrounding Amy's heart was meant to protect her from any more hurt. She couldn't seem to understand how much damage she caused by guarding her own vulnerability.

As he walked in silence along the creek bank, Shelby absentmindedly twirled the thistle's stem between her finger and thumb.

“If Amy won't listen to reason,” AJ said, “I'll call my attorney. She'll know what to do.”

“I guess I should call someone, but I don't know who. Any suggestions?”

“Let me talk to Patricia first, okay? We'll see what she has to say.”

“What about the fee?”

“I'll take care of it.”

“I can't let you do that. They're suing me too.”

He didn't want to talk about lawsuits and money anymore. Nor to have his thoughts consumed with Amy's troubles. Not when he was where he most wanted to be—with Shelby.

Squinting beyond the creek toward the western horizon, he adjusted his ball cap. The sun wouldn't set for a couple more hours, but orange and gold streaked the sky.

“Take a look at that. God's handiwork.”

“It's beautiful.”

So are you
.

Their shoulders barely touched as they gazed at the horizon. A flock of geese cast shadows against the painted sky.

“We should probably get back,” AJ said. “Jason and I still need to bring over your furniture.”

Smiling, she nodded agreement then twisted and focused on a nearby hickory. Its low branches extended from a thick trunk that soared upward in a broad green crown.

“Do you know where we are?” Her face lit up in a bright smile.

“Yeah. Glade Creek.”

“No.” She drew out the syllable. “I mean yes.” Grabbing his hand, she pulled him toward the tree. “Remember the story I told you about my Rebel ancestor?”

“The one who married your I-forget-how-many-greats grandmother?”

“That's the one. Look up into those branches. What do you see?”

AJ bent beneath a low limb and peered into the tree's spreading canopy. “Boards.” He circled the trunk. “Is that a tree house?”

“The remains of one, yes. It was the lookout.”

“For what?”

“And you call yourself a history teacher,” she teased, then pointed to the tree house. “They waited up there, watching for the boat.”

“The Underground Railroad.” He stared into the hickory. Shelby had mentioned her family's involvement before, but standing on the same ground where courageous conductors had stood made it all the more real. “Right here.”

“Which means the hunting cabin was . . .” She scanned the area to gain her bearings, then scampered away from the tree to a broad rise. Standing at the top, she faced him and spread her arms. “Here! Grandma Eliza nursed her beloved Rebel soldier back to health in secret here.”

AJ joined her on the grassy rise, then jumped up and down.

“What are you doing?”

“What kind of floor was in the cabin?”

“Couldn't tell you. I wasn't alive then.”

“If it's wooden, we might find pieces of it.” Bending, he opened his switchblade and dug into the ground.

“Maybe we could find the tunnel too.” She knelt beside him and tugged at the grass.

“There's a tunnel?”

“It ran from beneath this cabin to somewhere near the house.”

“Long tunnel.” He peered that direction. Was it really possible?

“That's the family story.” She shrugged. “Wouldn't it be fun to find out?”

“Maybe we can.” He'd walked this section of the creek bank countless times since he moved into the cottage. He was familiar with its bends, the wildflowers that grew along its banks, the rise and fall of the surrounding pastures and fields.

But now, long-hidden secrets tinted the land with mystery. He imagined hiding in the tree house on a moonlit night while a boat slipped silently onto the creek bank. What had it been like to welcome runaways to freedom, to offer them a safe haven and a new home?

“You want a penny?” Shelby asked.

He chuckled. “My thoughts are worth at least a quarter.”

“I'll give you a dime.”

“Just imagining how it must have been.”

“After the girls go to bed, I'll show you the secret room in the house. If you want.”

“I'd like that.” He stuck his knife in another spot. “I should bring my American History class out here.”

“There's not much for them to see.”

True, but that could change. One of his professors at OSU, Dr. Wayne Kessler, might be interested in knowing about this place. “You're sure this is where the cabin was located?”

“Positive.” Her eyes softened, and her lips curled upward in a tender smile. “This is where Eliza and Jeb fell in love.”

B
rett put his new key into his new lock and entered the apartment. After leaving the hospital, he'd returned to the office and called the apartment's concierge office. His instructions had been explicit.

Nothing the staff hadn't done before.

First stop, the master bedroom closet. He scanned the roomy interior. His Brooks Brothers suits hung on wooden hangers along the side wall. His casual shirts were neatly arranged above a broad built-in of drawers and open shelving.

Tracie's dresses, shoes, scarves, and belts were gone.

Next stop, the master bath. No toothbrush in the holder, no floral-scented moisturizer on the vanity, no Midol in the medicine cabinet.

He owed someone a good-sized tip.

Exhaling in relief, he unknotted his tie and slid it from around his neck, then sat near the foot of the king-sized bed and removed his shoes.

What a day.

At least Tracie was out of his office, out of his home, and out of his life. She had held on tighter than most of her predecessors.

He smirked. Well, perhaps not, but it certainly seemed that way.

He padded to the kitchen in his stocking feet and uncharacteristically splashed Glenlivet Scotch into a heavy glass. He checked the refrigerator for something to eat, but there wasn't much to choose from.

His phone played its jazz melody, and he shut the fridge door to answer it.

“Hi, Marc. It's about time.”

“You know my workaholic ways. Seeing my patients took priority over snooping.”

“But you did find time to snoop?”

“Before I tell you what I found, I want to remind you that this may not give you any answers.”

“I understand.”

“You also understand you didn't hear this from me.”

“Goes without saying.”

Marc didn't respond, and Brett bit the inside of his lip. Give the doc a moment, and he'd talk.

“Meghan is Type B. Jonah is Type A.”

“Meaning what?”

“His father is either Type A or Type AB.”

Brett's pulse quickened. “You're sure about that?”

“Do you know AJ's blood type?”

“Three or four years ago, Gran had a blood transfusion. AJ and I did our familial duty.”

“You gave blood.”

“Turns out AJ's a universal blood donor, and I'm a universal plasma donor. It became a sort of family joke.” For a while, he and AJ had donated plasma and blood every two or three months. They'd find a Red Cross truck, bare their arms, then grab lunch. Eventually Brett canceled a few times, thinking he had better things to do, and they'd stopped.

He massaged the back of his neck.

“Meaning AJ is O,” Marc said, “and you're AB.”

“Meaning AJ isn't the kid's father.”

“And you could be.”

“Sounds possible.”

“Are you going to tell AJ?”

“I haven't decided yet.”

“Do me a favor?”

“Sure.”

“Be good to Meghan. She's already going through a tough time.”

“Sure, Marc. Your check's in the mail.”

He ended the call and tapped the phone against the counter. Having the right blood type didn't mean Jonah was his son. Who knew what Meghan had done after she disappeared?

Except she'd left because she was pregnant. Because Sully forced her to go.

He wandered into the living room and opened the drapes on the French doors leading to his balcony. The sun, low on the horizon, backlit the downtown skyline.

He'd met her at his grandparents' annual Christmas party. An attractive, small-town girl nervous about which fork to use and any conversational land mines she might encounter.

The first time he saw her standing alone by the sweeping staircase, an anxious smile pasted on her girl-next-door face, he'd known she was AJ's date. The college co-ed his cousin had been shielding from the family for at least half the semester.

Brett should have left her alone. But the temptation to provoke AJ had been too strong. Besides, AJ deserved it.

Brett had learned later what he suspected, that AJ had brought Meghan to a formal uptown affair with platitudes about how everything would be fine instead of schooling her in the finer arts of formal etiquette and small talk. No wonder Meghan had been on edge.

He opened one of the doors, stepped out of the A/C into a wall of heat, and leaned against the balcony's wrought-iron railing.

Only a few miles away, the son he'd never seen was lying in a hospital bed because a traffic accident had broken his bones and put him in a coma.

Strange, AJ hadn't mentioned anything about Meghan's injuries. Given Jonah's condition, the wreck must have been serious. So why wasn't she in a hospital bed too?

He returned to the apartment and grabbed his iPad from his briefcase. Settling on the couch, he put Meghan's and Jonah's names in the search engine and found links to media reports of the accident.

Clicking on one for a Toledo news station, he studied the leading photo. The vehicle's crumpled steel churned his stomach. Scrolling past it, he skimmed the article then returned to the beginning and read it again.

Anger knotted the sickness in his stomach into a tight mass.

Who was this Travis McCurry? And why was Jonah in his car?

After tossing the iPad onto the couch, he interlocked his hands behind his head and paced the room. His breathing slowed as he walked, but his jaw remained tense.

What kind of mom was Meghan to let her son ride with a drunk?

He halted as he caught sight of his reflection in the balcony doors.

What kind of dad was he?

Shelby spread an embroidered scarf across the top of the oak washstand. AJ and Jason had placed the lowboy in the dining room and the washstand against the wall between the study's double doors and the door leading to the patio.

Just like she remembered it.

If only she still had Nanna's ceramic pitcher and bowl. Then it would have been perfect.

AJ walked in from the hallway carrying two large totes. “Here are the contents from the drawers in the lowboy. Where do you want them?”

“On the floor, I guess,” she said. “Is Jason gone?”

“Yep. It's just you and me, kid.” After lowering the totes to the floor, he sat on the edge of the couch and removed the top lid.

“Veering from Cary Grant to Humphrey Bogart, are we?”

“Gran liked
Casablanca
too.”

“Who doesn't?” She knelt on the floor beside the totes, her back against the sofa. AJ slipped down beside her and looked around the room.

“Where's Lila?”

“Three guesses.”

“Only need one.”

“The girls wouldn't go to bed without her.” She combed her hair with her fingers, twisting it into a loose bun, then allowing the strands to slip through her hands. “I'd get them a dog of their own if I knew we'd be staying here awhile.”

He shifted to face her. “Why wouldn't you be?”

“The lawsuit.”

“I thought we weren't going to talk about that anymore today.”

“You asked. Besides, not talking about it doesn't make it go away.”

“You can't leave.”

“If they win, I'll have no choice.”

“Where would you go?” The tone of his pitch tightened. “Not back to Chicago?”

“I don't want to go anywhere.” But since receiving the summons, an unexpected idea had niggled its way into her heart. As reluctant as she was to accept it, she couldn't ignore it either.

“Maybe God has a different plan for me.”

“Such as?” His voice slightly cracked, and he cleared his throat.

“I moved here to re-create memories.” She looked past him to the washstand. “But I'm not a kid anymore. I'm a mom.”

“I don't follow.”

“I love this place. But I've realized what I love most are the memories I have of my grandparents. All the things we did together, the special connection I had with them.”

“It's an important legacy. Not everybody has that.”

“I have a responsibility to give that kind of legacy to my children.”

“But your parents are in Africa.”

“I know.”

He stared at her, his eyes widening. “You're taking them to Africa?”

Her eyes burned, and she bit her lip. The mere thought of returning to the mission field filled her with dread. But what if that's where God wanted her to be?

“Maybe that's where we belong.” She rubbed her thumb against the solid gold of her wedding band. If she'd stayed at the mission instead of coming back to the States, she would never have met Gary. Never have been in a marriage that didn't work. Never have known the grief of being a twenty-eight-year-old widow.

Never have had Elizabeth and Tabby.

“Wow.” AJ turned the exclamation into a two-syllable word. He laced his fingers behind his head and held his elbows tight against his cheekbones.

“Maybe Mozambique is my spacious place.”

“Your spacious place?”

She nodded. “It's what your gran told me. That day I ran away, and she found me by the 'gagement tree.”

“‘He brought me out into a spacious place,'” AJ quoted.

“‘He rescued me because he delighted in me.'”

“It was one of Gran's favorite themes. There's another Scripture too, she used to say. ‘I will be glad and rejoice in your love, for you saw my affliction and knew the anguish of my soul. You have not given me into the hands of the enemy but have set my feet in a spacious place.' Psalm 31:7 and 8.”

“She said that to me too.” Shelby closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “I didn't want to leave here. I loved my parents, but I never wanted to go with them.”

“But you want to go now?”

Looking down at her hands, she barely shook her head. “It was their dream, their calling. Not mine.”

“I'm not a theologian.” AJ sighed heavily. “God knows I have my
own questions about his will for my life. But Shelby, if God wanted you overseas, don't you think he'd put that dream in your heart?”

“My girls are growing up without knowing my parents.” That heartache had been with her since Elizabeth was born. Now, to pursue her own obsessive dream, she'd moved them away from Gary's parents. Guilt pressed against her spirit. Sometimes it seemed nothing she did was right.

“Is there any chance your parents will move back here?”

“They came home when I got married and after the girls were born. But they always seemed restless to get back.”

She had tried to understand the calling they felt so strongly, the eternal perspective they brought to every decision they made. But if they wanted to be near their granddaughters, they could come home. As far as she knew, they'd never even considered the possibility.

“Sometimes I think . . .” She hesitated, unsure about sharing her secret fear with him.

“You think what?”

“I think they might love their mission more than us. More than me.”

“That can't be true, Shelby.” He slipped his arm across her shoulders and drew her close. She nestled her head against his shoulder, breathing in the familiar notes of his aftershave.

“I want to believe I'd do anything for God that he wanted me to do,” she said softly. “But I don't have their commitment.” Though that was her own fault. Somehow she'd become a Sunday morning Christian, sliding into a meaningless routine of worship, service, and prayer.

Several months ago, convicted of her negligence, she'd lain on the floor beside her bed in tearful remorse. Holding on to the multiple Scriptures promising God's steadfast love, she'd sought his guidance.

“With all my heart, I believed God brought me home to Misty Willow. But what if it was all wishful thinking?”

“He did bring you here, Shelby.” AJ rested his chin against her forehead. “He knew I needed you.”

“I need you too.” A lone tear dampened her cheek. “But Meghan and Jonah need you most.”