Seaside Reunion (14 page)

“So are you leaving this weekend?”

At Jarrod’s question, Nate looked up from the document they’d been reading on his computer in the Mercantile’s coffee nook.

“When do you start school?”

“Not for almost two weeks.”

“Then I’m staying at least another week.” It was a spur-of-the-moment decision, but it felt right. He’d taken six weeks off, and he was only approaching the halfway mark. Returning to Chicago early held no appeal, and he had nowhere else to go.

The boy’s face lit up. “Seriously?”

“Seriously. We’re not done with our article yet.”

“Cool.”

His phone began to vibrate, and he pulled it off his belt to check caller ID. As his editor’s name flashed on the display, he frowned. Clark was an email junkie, reverting to the phone only when he had a very serious matter to discuss.

Nate’s pulse kicked up a notch.

“Check out that last paragraph again and see if there’s anything else I might be able to use, okay?” He rose and started toward the front door.

“Yeah. Sure.”

Once he was in the parking lot, he tapped the
talk
button. “Hi, Clark.”

“Nate. Got your piece on Starfish Bay. You’ve been holding out on me.”

The fried egg he’d eaten at the Orchid for breakfast congealed in his stomach. “That must mean you plan to run it.”

“I don’t
plan
to; I already did. Jeff Gorski is on vacation and we’ve been using syndicated columnists to fill his Viewpoint spot. Your piece will run in tomorrow’s edition. It’s online now.”

The whole world was already reading his private thoughts? He fought down a surge of panic.

“So what else do you have along these lines?”

“Nothing. It was a one-time shot, Clark.”

“There must be more where that came from.”

“Touchy-feely stuff isn’t my shtick.”

“You could have fooled me. Look, I know you like the action assignments. I get that. But there’s no reason you can’t do both. I think you’re on to something. We’re already getting hits on this from our syndication partners. Especially from West Coast papers.”

“That’s great.” He tried to muster some enthusiasm. Lindsey would be happy, even if he was unnerved. “But I don’t know what else I’d write about.”

“Personal experiences. And you’ve had plenty of those. I bet you’ve got another idea already noodling around in your brain.”

Nate thought of the piece Jarrod was helping him research. Could he work that into a commentary rather than a straight reporting article?

“Your silence tells me you do.”

“No.” Nate jumped back into the conversation. “Maybe. I don’t know.” He massaged his temples and looked toward The Point, hidden behind the dense forest, but waiting if he needed it. “I have to think about this.”

“You do that. In the meantime, we’ll see what kind of reader reaction we get to this first foray. You still coming back in three weeks?”

“That’s the plan.”

“Good. I’ve got a couple of assignments in mind for you.”

“Overseas?”

“No. I’ll keep you in the States for a while, unless you’re ready to go back to the Middle East.”

“Not yet.” Maybe never.

“Okay. I’ll be in touch in a day or two with some feedback. Nice work.”

“Thanks.”

As his boss signed off, Nate slipped the phone back onto his belt, willed the mutiny in his stomach to subside, and rejoined Jarrod. Ten minutes later, after Cindy reclaimed her son and disappeared into the aisles of the store to do a little shopping, he checked out his piece in the online edition of the
Tribune
.

Seeing it in print restarted the churning in his gut.

The copy desk had added a headline: “A Tribute to Touchstones.” They’d also run his file photo, a shot taken a year or so ago while he was on assignment in Afghanistan. He’d forgotten they used author photos in commentary pieces. Seeing his words in print was bad enough. The picture made him feel doubly exposed.

“Everything go okay with Jarrod?”

At Lindsey’s question, he looked up over the screen on his laptop. She hadn’t said much to him since their encounter at the town council meeting two days ago, but a subtle nuance in her demeanor gave him hope that for some reason that was about to change.

“Yes. He’s doing well.”

Before he could motion her over and show her the piece on his screen, she pulled her hands from behind her back, where they’d been clasped, and held up a small snow globe.

“I was going through some boxes in the attic, hoping to find some photos to add to our collection—” she gestured toward the front window, where pictures and reminiscences of The Point and the chapel had been appearing over the past twenty-four hours “—and found this. Do you remember it?”

He stared at the small globe. Of course he remembered it. He’d emptied his coin bank to buy it, then labored over his selection while on a shopping trip with his mother. He’d wanted to buy a special Christmas present for Lindsey to thank her for being his friend.

In the end, though, it had turned out to be a farewell present.

He couldn’t believe she still had it.

“Yeah. I do.” The words came out ragged, and he cleared his throat.

Cradling the globe as if it was from Tiffany’s instead of a five-and-dime in Crescent City, she moved closer. “To be honest, I’d forgotten about it. But once I pulled it out, I remembered you giving it to me the last time I saw you. As a matter of fact, I’ve been remembering a lot about the time we spent together. And the fun we had. And your kindness.”

She reached into the pocket of her shirt and pulled out a small photo, laying it on the table beside him. “I found this, too. I’d like to post it in the memory display. Along with this. If you’re okay with it.” She added a small typed slip of paper.

The photo, too, brought back a rush of memories, so vivid he could almost taste the double chocolate mint ice cream he’d consumed that day. He scanned her write-up.

Nate Garrison and Lindsey Callahan Collier, Starfish Bay Chapel ice cream social. Memories like this last forever—and call people home.

She’d added the year at the bottom.

A rush of warmth flowed through him, and his throat tightened again. “Yeah, I’m okay with it.”

Still cradling the globe in one hand, she picked up the photo and paper with the other and slipped them back into her pocket. “Look, I’m sorry I said you were selfish that day at The Point. You’ve never been selfish.”

Some of the warmth evaporated. “Yeah, I have been.” His father had drilled that into him.

“I don’t believe that.”

“Believe it.” Maybe someday he’d tell her about that painful episode from his past. But this wasn’t that day, despite her public gesture of friendship with the photo. “I did do one unselfish thing recently, though. Take a look.” He angled the computer and motioned her to come closer.

She hesitated for a second, then circled the table and leaned down toward the screen. Her lips parted as she began to read, and she twisted her head to stare at him. “I don’t understand.”

“I sent the piece to my editor. He liked it. It’ll run tomorrow in the spot usually reserved for one of our regular columnists, who’s on vacation. The online edition comes out earlier.”

“No.” She shook her head, twin furrows creasing her brow. “I understand that you decided to send the piece in. What I meant was, why did you change your mind?”

With her face inches from his, he found himself mesmerized by the flecks of gold in her brown irises. By the long lashes framing her eyes. By the soft, supple shape of her lips.

Willing his pulse to steady, he shifted his focus back to the screen. “After I cooled down the other day, I thought about what you said. And I agreed. A piece like this might help create some positive public sentiment about The Point. And it’s already been picked up for syndication. From some papers in this part of the country, in fact.”

She didn’t respond at once, and when the silence lengthened he risked a glance at her—only to have his lungs short-circuit at the tenderness in her eyes.

“This was a huge stretch for you, wasn’t it?”

Breathe, Garrison.

“It’s a lot different than the stuff I cover on my regular beat.” He knew she was looking for more than that, but he didn’t trust his voice.

To his surprise, she didn’t push. Instead, she laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me until we see if it has any effect.”

“It’s already had an effect.”

She wasn’t talking about the Save the Point campaign. Her soft, personal tone told him that. And he didn’t pretend to misunderstand.

“I’m glad.”

She gave him a tentative smile. Removed her hand from his shoulder. Moistened her lips and straightened up, her fingers still wrapped around the snow globe. “I don’t know how much sightseeing you’ve managed to work in since you’ve been here, but I was thinking about going hiking in Prairie Creek State Park tomorrow morning. Would you like to join me?”

“Are you going to the redwoods?”

At Jarrod’s question, Lindsey swung toward the boy as he rounded a shelving unit, a bag of pretzels in his hand. “I don’t know. We’re, uh, talking about it and, uh…”

“Yes,” Nate replied, answering both their questions.

“Cool! Could I come, too?”

Lindsey pivoted back to Nate. She seemed to be trying to communicate some message, but he didn’t have a clue what it was. So he, too, stalled.

“We’d have to talk to your mother first.”

“Okay. I’ll get her.” The boy took off.

The instant he was out of earshot, Nate gestured Lindsey closer and lowered his voice. “What’s going on? I got your vibes but not your message. And talk fast. My guess is he’ll be back in less than sixty seconds.”

Following his prompt, she leaned down. “Cindy told me he used to love to go to the redwoods with his dad. But since he died, Jarrod has refused every offer she’s made to take him back. I think this might be a breakthrough of some sort. Although to be honest,” she caught her lower lip between her teeth and swept a few imaginary crumbs from the table with her fingers, “I wasn’t planning on a threesome.”

She’d been hoping this would be more like a date.

That was the best piece of news he’d had all day. No, all year.

But it wasn’t going to happen tomorrow.

“I’d prefer it just be the two of us, too. Based on what you’ve told me, though, I don’t see how we can say no.”

She sighed. “Me, neither. I guess we’ll—”

“Here’s my mom.” Jarrod rejoined them, tugging Cindy along by the hand behind him.

“What’s this I hear about a trip to the redwoods?” She addressed the question to both of them, her expression equal parts hope and caution.

“I already told you, Mom.” Jarrod heaved a sigh. “They’re going to the redwoods tomorrow to hike. Can I go with them? Please?”

“Were you invited?”

The boy gave her a blank look. Then a faint flush crept across his cheeks. “I can’t remember. I think so.”

Nate stepped in. “We’d be happy to have him join us.”

“Are you sure?” Cindy addressed the question to Lindsey, her expression skeptical.

“Absolutely. I haven’t been for a while, and I don’t remember all the best trails. I bet Jarrod would be a great guide.”

“I would! I could take you on the Brown Creek trail. We might even see some banana slugs.”

“Banana slugs? Sold.” Nate grinned at him.

As Cindy regarded her son’s animated face, Nate detected a slight shift in her features. A subtle easing of tension, perhaps. “If you’re sure, that would be fine.”

At Jarrod’s whoop of joy, two customers poked their heads around the ends of aisles to check out the activity in the coffee nook.

Cindy shushed him, discussed arrangements with Lindsey and paid her bill, then led a smiling Jarrod out of the store.

As the door closed behind them with a cheery ring of the bell, Lindsey rejoined Nate, still holding the snow globe. “Thanks for doing that.”

“Not a problem. It would be nice to go back to Chicago knowing my trip accomplished some good.”

“Maybe a lot of good.” She indicated the computer. “My guess is that piece will resonate with a lot of people. It could end up saving The Point.”

“I think you’re expecting too much from one article.”

“I’ve read it. I’m not expecting too much.”

He smiled at her. “You’re very good for my ego.”

“I wasn’t so good the other day at The Point when I said you were selfish. And everything that’s happened since has proven how wrong I was. This.” She hefted the snow globe. “That.” She pointed to the computer, where the touchstones story remained on the screen. “Your volunteer tutoring with Jarrod. And what you did for him just now.”

“What I did just now was the result of a prod from my conscience. I’d have preferred to have the day alone with you.”