The Shadow of Your Smile (13 page)

Eli dug his fingers into the steering wheel as he drove up the slick road toward his ice house.

He just had to get somewhere to clear his head, figure out how to erase the feel of Lee in his arms, or reel back time to that moment when he’d lost his mind.

Lee had been sitting there, the compassion in her expression almost too much for him to bear. And he’d simply reacted.

He needed someone who needed him.

But even as he kissed her, even as he’d thirsted for a way to hide from the reality of his fractured marriage, he knew Lee couldn’t slake it. And when he’d pulled away, seen the surprise—the hope—in her eyes, he knew he’d pitched headfirst into a place he didn’t want to go.

He wouldn’t be a cheater. Even if his wife couldn’t remember him.

Eli slowed his truck as it bounced over the rough road.

What hurt worse, however, were Lee’s words, sandpaper on his ego.
You didn’t want to be in that marriage because if you did, you would have
shown up
.

What did Lee expect of him? His daughter had died. Been murdered. And frankly, he wasn’t sure that the entire thing wasn’t his fault. Of course he’d been distant.

Besides, Noelle had hardly shown up either.

The paintings, though—they had the power to undo him. He’d thought he’d been doing them all a favor by taking away reminders of Kelsey. Of course he planned on returning everything someday.

When they were healed.

But maybe Noelle had figured out her own way to heal.

He stopped the truck at the landing. There in the middle of the lake, his silver ice house glinted like a trophy in the sunlight. He backed the truck up to a snowbank, opened the back, and drove the snowmobile off it.

He should have stopped off at home, put on his gear, but . . . well, he couldn’t look at Noelle. Even if she didn’t know him, didn’t care, he couldn’t bear to see her beautiful eyes, beginning to trust a man who had so abominably failed her.

He gunned the sled out onto the snow, not caring how the particles hit his face. He shouldn’t be driving without a helmet, but then again, he shouldn’t be doing a lot of things.

Like kissing Lee Nelson.

He drove faster, catching some air as he hit a drift, liking the speed, the buzzing of the machine against the crisp blue silence of the day.

He reached the ice house. Icicles hung off the roof, long spears that could dissect a man. Inside, he could light a fire, make it cozy.

Camp out here for a few days.

A week.

Maybe even until the end of the month, until they made him drag it off the ice at the end of February.

He closed his eyes, now stiff with flakes in his lashes.

You’d better figure out what you want because guess what—I
do
remember. I remember everything. And I’m not so sure I’d want you anyway.

He’d blown it big with Noelle—and with Lee, who deserved better than to have him show up on her doorstep at all hours of the night.

Honestly, he should be surprised that the kiss hadn’t happened sooner. He’d been harboring feelings for Lee for a good long time. Just never wanted to admit it.

He banged his hand on the handgrip. She hadn’t spoken to him the entire ride home, had gotten out of the car and slammed the door.

He hadn’t missed her grimace as pain shot through her body. He should probably swing by later, see if she needed a ride to the doctor.

No. Wait. He shouldn’t.

He gunned the sled, zipped out again onto the lake, and opened it up, leaning into each turn. The snow plumed up behind him, and he opened his mouth to let out a cry that the motor easily ate.

Round and around—he wore a path, then cut through the middle around the ice house.

Back when they’d first married, he would take Noelle on long snowmobile rides, her arms tight around him as they cut through deer paths in the forest. She knew how to hang on, to move with him, and for Christmas that first year, he’d given her a snowmobile helmet.

He had no idea where it might be now. Probably in the basement with the other unused equipment in their life—tents, snowshoes, skis, bicycles, her tackle box and fishing pole. Before they had children, Noelle had been the kind of wife who joined him in his outdoor pursuits. How many times had she sat in the bow of the boat, rain plinking on her hat, her line deep in the lake, waiting for a nibble? Or even after Kyle was born, she’d hiked out to the woods early in the morning, leaving Kyle with a sitter, and sat with him in a deer stand. He thought she might alert Bambi to his demise, but she’d stayed quiet as he made his shot.

Noelle had learned to hunt, to fish, to camp. She’d joined his life.

And he’d learned . . . ?

He slowed the machine, turned off the motor, put his feet down on the snow. They crunched in the crisp white field as he leaned back on the seat—built for two—and stared at the sky. Faint cirrus clouds looked watercolored upon a blue canvas.

After Kelsey’s death, he’d filled his life with all the things that made him feel safe. But he’d done it alone. No, he hadn’t exactly invited Noelle into his life, so she’d had to create her own. Reconstruct the one she’d loved.

When he closed his eyes, he heard Kyle’s soft voice with its lethal accuracy.
Dad, I’m thinking that in order for you to help Mom get her memory back, you might want to learn who the woman you lost was.

It didn’t matter if she didn’t remember their vows, their life. Because
he
did. And hadn’t he been out on this very lake a week ago, asking God to help him be the husband she needed? How to love her?

He mashed the heels of his hands against his eyes, found them wet.

He’d been about to give up.

In fact—he sat up, the realization ringing through him—he’d been about to give his heart to Lee. He shook his head, hating the man he’d nearly become.

He spoke aloud, letting his voice puff out in the cold as if seeing the words form before him added power to them. “God, I want to do the right thing. Help me want to do the right thing. Even if she doesn’t ever know me, help me be her husband. Even if . . . even if she never remembers me.”

It was time for Eli Hueston to show up.

Emma always knew that Deep Haven had a lethal ability to woo travelers to the north. Something about the fairyland forest with its frosted trees, the lure of the lake as it murmured mystery from the depths, the footprints of foxes and deer in the snow, the low-flying eagles along the highway. The town could lure someone close with its song, make her forget the reasons she’d fled, and entangle her forever.

The reason you don’t want to go home has less to do with the tragedies in Deep Haven and more to do with the failures here.

Oh, Carrie had a knack for words that reminded Emma of Kelsey. Both girls could always pinpoint exactly what Emma was thinking but didn’t have the courage—or poetry—to express.

Indeed Carrie might have looked into her soul and seen the truth because driving along the shore, drawing closer and closer to Deep Haven, didn’t stir up the dread Emma had expected.

The town turned magical in the grip of winter. The lake sparkled under the sun where skaters glided over the clear ice in the harbor, and curly smoke rose from the coffeehouse. She’d expected a stab of pain as she passed the convenience store, but only the memory of her and Kelsey rolling their eyes over one of George Whitehall’s jokes surfaced. He came in every Saturday morning for a coffee and a banana muffin.

Why can’t a blonde dial 911? She can’t find the eleven!

Oh, Kelsey had been such a good sport.

When Emma passed Artist’s Point, she heard the waves churning through her memory. She and Kelsey must’ve come here a hundred times to put together a new song, try out lyrics while tucked into a pocket of rocky shoreline.

She spied a customer emerging from World’s Best Donuts and heard her father ordering two glazed raised. They’d eat them together at the picnic table, watching the lake, even in winter. She could almost see his laughter, crystallized in the crisp air as she read aloud the crazy police reports from the weekly paper.

Yet somehow she passed through Deep Haven without tearing open old scars.

If only she could manage not to see Kyle Hueston, she might escape with her brain—and her heart—intact. He had no right to linger in her mind after a week. Oh, she hoped Nicole hadn’t lined him up to play drums.

She didn’t want to see him; she didn’t want to see him. Maybe if she kept saying it, she’d find herself believing it.

Who was she kidding? She longed to catch a glimpse of him. More than a glimpse. She kept thinking about that kiss, the way his smile could turn her to syrup. Indeed, feeling as she did right now, he just might have the power to make her change her mind.

Return to Deep Haven.

Okay, right now, she didn’t know what she wanted.

She pulled into her driveway, glad Derek had kept up with the shoveling. His car, however, wasn’t there. As she climbed out, she drank in the smell of home. Woodsmoke, the scent of pine in the air.

Why had she been so afraid?

She walked up to her house, pushed open the door. “Mom? I’m home.”

“Emma?”

She stomped her feet, slid her coat off, hung it on the hook. Her mother had risen from the recliner, but Emma hardly recognized her or the house. Laundry lay unfolded on the family room floor, dishes scattered on the counter. Lee came toward her, no makeup, her hair pulled into a messy ponytail. She wore sweatpants that dragged on the floor and an old Deep Haven sweatshirt.

“Mom, are you okay?”

Her mother hooked her arm around Emma’s neck, pulling her close. “I’m fine.” But as she moved back, she didn’t look fine. Lines edged her eyes, and they appeared reddened. And she held her arm close to her chest. “I slipped a disk in my neck about a week ago. It flared up again.”

Emma dropped her bag on the floor. “Oh, Mom, why didn’t you tell me? I could have come home.”

“You’re so busy, Emma.” Her mother touched her cheek, smiled into her eyes. “You’ve lost weight.”

“Just a little.”

“I’m sorry; we ate the last of the venison stew, but I think there is lasagna in the freezer.”

“Actually, I’m on my way to rehearsal up at Caribou Ridges. The rehearsal dinner is tonight, the wedding tomorrow.”

Her mother wandered back to the recliner. Her tiny moan wasn’t lost on Emma.

“How about if I make you a sandwich before I go.”

Her mother lifted her good arm. “I’m fine, honey. So you’re playing for Nicole’s wedding?”

“Yes. She roped me into it. Where’s Derek?”

“Basketball practice. He’ll be home later.”

Emma picked up the laundry, put it into the basket. “He should fold these.”

“I needed a clean pair of pants and didn’t want to drag this upstairs to fold.”

“How long have you been like this?”

“Just a week. Really, I’m okay.” But she sighed, and the smile didn’t reach her eyes.

Emma picked up the poker and opened the fire curtain, prodded the fire to life, then added a log. She closed the curtain, replaced the poker. “What aren’t you telling me, Mom?”

Her mother shook her head. “It’s nothing. I’m just so glad you’re moving on with your life, Emma. I really hope to get down to the Cities and hear you play. And I can’t wait for Derek to get his scholarship, move down to the Cities, too.”

“What about you?”

That empty smile again. “I’ll move too. I’m tired of living in Deep Haven.”

The words froze Emma, cut through her. “I don’t understand. You love it here. It’s your home—our home. Dad built you this house. Your friends are here; your life is here. You can’t leave.”

Her mother raised an eyebrow, gave a chortle. “It’s time I stopped living a life that’s over. I need to start new. Away from Deep Haven. Like you.”

Emma stared at her, the way she curled into herself on the recliner. Yeah, like her. “I’ll be back after rehearsal, Mom. It might be late.”

“Don’t worry about me, honey. Have fun, and stay out of trouble.” She winked but it looked more like a wince than her usual cheery good-bye.