Last Chance Christmas (Last Chance #5)(11)
Author: Hope Ramsay

“I come out here sometimes, when I have something I need to think about.” Damn. Why had he told her that?

“It’s really quiet out here. You can almost hear your thoughts.”

Was she reading his mind? “Uh, something like that, yeah.”

He cast his line again. He suddenly wanted to ask her what she was thinking. His thoughts had taken a strange flight of fancy. He’d come out here mad as hell at Dr. Newsome. But he wasn’t mad anymore. His reaction to Lark’s presence underscored the gist of Dr. Newsome’s final recommendation.

Lark drew in a deep breath. “Uh, look, I’d like to apologize for being here. It wasn’t exactly my choice, you know? I mean, what would you do if your father asked you to do something crazy?”

He finished reeling in the line, then leaned the fishing pole against the railing. He turned toward her and rested his hip against the railing. “I actually understand how it can be, having a parent who’s a little different. I mean, my father runs a putt-putt dedicated to God.”

She chuckled. “Yeah. I guess that’s pretty unusual. And speaking of different, Chief Rhodes, do you always fish without bait? It’s kind of a novel idea, really. You get to fish and be quiet and do your thinking without having to clean fish or throw any back.”

He stood there staring at her. In a couple of sentences, she’d managed to sum up his entire philosophy of fishing without bait. And she hardly knew him. Everyone else in town worried about him when he came out here and dropped a line in the river. But this woman got it. How was that possible?

“What?” she said, cocking her head.

“You understand about the bait. I’m kind of surprised.”

She shrugged. “I don’t know a thing about fishing. But I’ve seen those fishing shows on TV. And I always thought it was kind of crazy to throw back fish you spent hours catching. But using your method, you can avoid all that and still get in your fishing time.”

She tilted her head up toward the morning sun and closed her eyes. The silence grew deep and intimate.

So intimate, in fact, that he felt a sudden need to explain himself. Not because he was embarrassed, but because he suddenly wanted her to understand. “I do my best thinking out here.”

“I think people need a place to think. My father was a window starer when he wanted to think.”

“Window starer?”

She opened her eyes and gazed at him. “He used to stare out the window for hours on end. When he was staring, he didn’t like it when I made noise. I guess that’s how I learned to sneak up on people, which is a great skill to have when you’re a photographer. Pop did a lot of window staring after Mom died. I was just a kid, and I learned my lesson well.”

A person could get lost in those brown eyes of hers. “How old were you when your mother died?”

“About six.”

Connection tugged at his chest. “My daughter, Lizzy, was nine when my wife died. Haley, my younger girl, was just two. She was actually in the car when it happened. Thank God she wasn’t hurt.”

“Wait a second. Your wife died?” She pointedly looked at his wedding band.

A jolt of surprise edged through him as he consciously touched the ring with his thumb. “You mean Miriam and the girls didn’t tell you? That would be an absolute first. They’ve been trying to match me up with anything in skirts.” He gave her fatigues a little glance.

He expected her to give him one of her snarky comeback lines, but instead she said, “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“And I’m sorry for yours,” he replied. “Do you mind my asking how you coped with this silent father of yours?”

“I made up an imaginary friend.”

A moment of vertigo hit him. Of all the answers she might have handed him, that one was a huge surprise. It almost made him wonder if Providence had sent her there just to give him some advice. “Tell me about your friend,” he said. He could hear the urgency in his own voice.

“Oh, that’s easy. His name was Carmine Falcone.”

Stone blinked. “But that’s the name of—”

“Yeah, I know. Pop co-opted him after he realized that Carmine was strong and brave and handsome and in charge. He used to joke to his editor that I made up someone with all the qualities that Pop lacked.”

He stared at her for the longest moment, wondering if there were any parallels to be drawn between himself and a weeping angel. He was not a man who liked to cry, that was for damn sure.

She laughed. It was a deep, rich sound. “Man, you’ve got the funniest look on your face. I know what I just said seems mean, but it was kind of true. Pop checked out for a while after Mom died, and I made up Carmine to help me feel safe. Pop figured it out, though. And once he did, he included Carmine in everything we did. He used to set a place at the table for him, not that Carmine liked Pop’s cooking. And then he started writing stories about him. Pretty soon Carmine wasn’t all that real anymore.”

“I’m sorry for prying, but you see my younger daughter, Haley, has an imaginary angel. To be honest, I’m not inclined to set a place for the angel at the dinner table. I’d like the angel to disappear.”

Her eyes softened. “I don’t think wishing her away is going to work.”

“You got a better idea?”

“No. I don’t. But my imaginary friend disappeared the minute Pop spent a little more time with me.”

“You sound like my daughter’s shrink. She thinks Haley’s problems are my fault. She says I need grief counseling.”

“Maybe you do.”

“How old were you when you got over your imaginary friend?”

She looked away for a moment before she spoke, as if she was weighing whether to tell him the truth. That worried him a little.

“Well,” she said at last, “I stopped talking to him when I was about ten. But Pop never got over him because he became the hero of all Pop’s books.” He could sense the sorrow in her words. She was grieving for her father. He probably shouldn’t have pushed her.

Or maybe she just needed someone to talk to.

To be honest, Dr. Newsome had a point. He needed to talk out some things, too. But not to some therapist. He’d much rather talk to Lark. She seemed to understand even without him explaining stuff.

They fell into a warm and comfortable silence. He turned and leaned his hands on the railing and watched the river. They stood side by each, not touching. He was aware of everything about her. Her heat, the way the sunlight turned her hair red, her smallness next to him.

Eventually, he broke the quiet. “So did your father ever remarry?”

“No. He wasn’t very good at letting things go.”

“Well, I guess I get that. You know, everyone keeps telling me I need to move on. Find another relationship. But I’m not good at change. I’m not even sure I know how to do a relationship. I got married when I was eighteen.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not good at relationships either. I’m always on the move. I really don’t have a home.” She turned around and placed her hand over his. Her palm was warm and small. “Don’t worry too much about Haley’s angel. Just give your daughter some attention, and eventually she’ll let the angel go. And if you want to talk about it, you know where to find me.”

“Until you leave.”

“Until I leave.”

She gave his hand a little squeeze that practically branded his skin. Then she turned and headed back up to Hettie’s house. He watched her go, surprised that a woman wearing fatigues and boots could look so desirable. And right then it occurred to him that he no longer wished to run Lark Chaikin out of town.

Chapter 7

Lark spent the rest of the day researching the events of 1968.

A call to the public library confirmed that Nita Wills wouldn’t be back at work until the day after tomorrow.

A trip to Orangeburg to search the Times and Democrat’s news archives on the coverage of Ezekiel Rhodes’s death proved pointless because there simply was no coverage of it. There wasn’t any coverage about Pop’s decision to take an African-American to a segregated diner either.

She asked a few questions around town at the post office, the yarn shop, and the hardware store, where Stone’s younger brother was decidedly hostile. She got nothing.

The citizens of Last Chance either didn’t remember what happened in 1968 or didn’t want to talk about it. And she sure got the feeling that no one really wanted her to be there asking questions about the past.

It was after three o’clock when Lark finally stopped in at the Kountry Kitchen for a late lunch. As usual, she’d been so focused on her research that she’d forgotten to eat and now was ravenously hungry.

She took a booth near the back, ordered a hamburger, and watched the ebb and flow of the customers. At three-forty-five, the place was overrun by teenagers, no doubt students from Davis High, based on the sweatshirts and letter jackets prominently displayed.

It might have been the 1950s, based on the number of milk shakes ordered and delivered, except for the fact that the kids at the counter were a diverse bunch. It struck Lark that in a small way, Pop had contributed to this scene playing out in front of her.

Lark found herself staring at one of the students—a coltish, dark-haired girl with green eyes. She looked vaguely familiar. And after staring at her for a few moments, it became obvious that the girl was just as curious about Lark. Eventually the girl excused herself from the group she’d been sitting with, picked up her soda, and headed in Lark’s direction.

“Excuse me,” the girl said. “I was wondering, are you Lark Chaikin?”

“I am.”

The girl slid into the facing seat. “Hi. I’m Liz Rhodes, and I was wondering if I could talk to you for a minute.”

“You’re Chief Rhodes’s older daughter.”

The girl’s cheeks colored. “Yeah. And he’d probably have a seizure or something if he knew I was talking to you.”

“Really? That’s interesting.”

“You do know that Daddy totally wants to run you off?”

“I got that impression. I’ve been trying to decide if he’s prejudiced against Yankees or just suspicious of anyone new in town.”

Liz smiled, and it changed her face. Whoever her mother had been, she must have been some kind of beauty. “Daddy’s not prejudiced against anyone in particular. He was in the marines and, unlike a lot of folks in town, he traveled the world before he ended up here. But he is kind of overprotective.”

“I noticed. It’s actually one of the things I like about him.”

Liz cocked her head. “You don’t hate him?”

“Why should I?”

“Because he’s not helping you. He’s totally sided with Granddaddy.”

“I get the feeling that most folks in town have sided with your grandfather. It’s discouraging to know that everyone thinks my father is responsible for Zeke Rhodes’s death.”

“Oh, but you’re wrong. There are plenty of people in town who think your father was a hero.”