Family Trees (22 page)

C
HAPTER
27

R
yan was as quiet as the twilight shadows that crept in through the wall of windows before him. He was deep in thought, sitting on the edge of the bed in his Chicago apartment beside a partially unpacked suitcase. Although this was home, he no longer felt he belonged in the finely decorated space. His solemn homecoming had been spent alone, doing nothing more than what needed to be done to bring the apartment back to life. Open the curtains. Turn up the heat. Restart the mail. He was back and he had to carry on.

A short time earlier, while unpacking the last bag, Ryan came across the program from Olen's memorial service. He didn't remember packing it in Bayfield and thought it strange to come across it now. When he withdrew the stiff, folded piece of paper out of his suitcase, he felt the sting of grief all over again. His head dropped. He closed his eyes and sank down onto the bed.

His mind traveled back to the afternoon of the service. He had intended to say good-bye to the friend he lost to the lake. Instead, he reluctantly said good-bye to everything he had come to know and love.

 

In the days leading up to the service, Ryan had done everything he could think of to comfort Shelby and help the Meyers women with the arrangements, but nothing seemed enough. Shelby was distancing herself from him and seemed increasingly uncomfortable in his arms. One of the things he had always admired about her was now creating a rift between them—her strength. Shelby was so determined to take care of everything herself that she wouldn't allow him to take care of her.

After the service, friends had respectfully shuffled in and out of the farmhouse bringing every sort of hotdish imaginable, from tuna to Tater Tot, as well as flowers, Olen stories, and sincere condolences. It was late by the time the last guest left the Meyerses' home. Ginny and Jackie had gone to bed and Ryan was alone with Shelby for the first time all day.

When Shelby said they needed to talk, he knew he wasn't ready to hear what she had to say. “I've been thinking about you, and me, for some time now. I mean, really thinking about us—even before the accident,” she had said, sitting beside him on the faded living room couch with its fringed pillows. “I think you have an incredible gift. Your photographs are lovely. They tell stories and evoke emotion. I want you to share them with people. I know you're still in edits, but you've basically completed the project. You knew weeks ago that eventually you'd need to go back to the city and show them to others.”

“Shelby, wait . . .” he said, shaking his head.

“Ryan, you know I'm right,” she continued. “Staying here would hold you back from some incredible opportunities. You couldn't accomplish what you were
meant
to do.”

“You aren't holding me back from anything,” Ryan insisted. He felt like he was back on the ice, slipping into that dark, unforgiving water. “Come with me—come to Chicago.” His words stumbled out, surprising himself more than they did her.

“I can't.”

“Then I'll stay here.” He tried desperately to keep their love intact. “I'm sure there are things I could do to help you and Ginny with the farm. I could hire more seasonal workers so Ginny could continue living here without needing to worry about the—”

She shook her head slowly and placed her hand upon his chest. “I can't let you do that.”

“Why? I don't understand.” How quickly things changed. He never thought he'd be in this situation, and yet, here he was—in a relationship where he was the only one who could foresee a future together. Despite the media, Olen's passing, and his family's lack of interest, he could see a future with her. He believed in it.

“I appreciate the offer, but we're going to be all right. We can manage alone,” she said. “The thing about Chicago is . . . I'm not like you. I don't take chances. I've tried living away from this town and it makes me feel . . .” She turned her face away, now lightly grasping on to his sweater as she struggled to find the right words. “I belong here, where I'm needed,” she finally said, looking back into his eyes with an expression that broke his heart. “Loving you isn't enough. My future in Chicago is as improbable as yours in Bayfield.”

“Shel, we said good-bye to your grandfather today. You're dealing with so much right now—his death, your mom's visit, and the orchard. This isn't the right time.” He put his hand over hers and clung to it, hoping to change her mind. “I know you don't mean this.”

“I do. It's very clear to me right now. I also know that, because of me, your life is on hold. And I love you too much to let that happen,” she said with a quiet strength. “Ryan, it's time for you to go home.”

Home. Where was home? It wasn't Chicago. It wasn't the residence where he spent his childhood. Or his high-rise apartment on North Lake Shore Drive. Home was the lovely, determined, quirky woman sitting beside him. “You're wrong. Nothing in the city is more important to me than what's happening right here. Right now.” With that, he moved off the couch and knelt before her, placing his hands on either side of her face, flushed with emotion. “Home means nothing to me if I'm not with you,” he whispered. He pressed his lips against her cheek, tasting the salt of her tears and realizing there was little he could do to change her mind. Everything he had come to love was slipping away. He lightly touched his forehead to hers, closed his eyes, and hoped for a better solution. “Please, Shel, I love you.” His lips traveled down her cheek in small kisses that led to her trembling lips.

His heart broke, hearing her choke back a cry as she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled his body closer to hers. He kissed her again, with as much love as he could express—but also with the desperation that can only be felt when something wonderful is coming to an end.

 

Now, as he sat in his empty apartment thumbing the sharp edges of the memorial program, he wondered whether he had fought enough for their relationship. Could he have said or done anything differently? If only she believed, as Olen had, that Ryan's love was enough. He looked around his expansive bedroom, perched high on a piece of premium real estate, and he knew he would give it all up just to be with Shelby in that shabby cottage in the woods again.

Ryan flipped the program over in his hands and looked at the portrait printed on the back. It was a photograph he had taken in early November—a simple portrait of Olen, standing in front of the barn, basked in sunlight. He stared at the photograph and remembered their fleeting time together on the ice.
Watch over my family,
Olen had pleaded as they struggled to stay afloat.
Make her happy,
he said of Shelby. Ryan loved Shelby enough to walk away. But in doing so, did he abandon Olen's wishes?

He stood up from the bed and walked to the window, with the program still in his hand. He looked out onto the frozen Lake Michigan, cast violet in the evening twilight and stretching out for miles. Ryan wondered if he'd ever be able to look at that view again without remembering the accident. He laid his hand flat against the window. It was smooth and cold as ice. He had made a promise. Something had to be done, but what?

His move to Bayfield had more to do with breaking away from his family than pursuing his photography. That he knew. What he had never expected was that leaving Bayfield would ultimately bring him heartbreak over losing the people whom he had grown to love like family—the kind of family that served as the wind in his sail, rather than his anchor in the sand.
You have the ability to shape people's perceptions,
Shelby had challenged him months earlier during a walk in the orchard.
Don't run from your obligations. Use your gifts to tell the stories that are important to you.
Passions. Opportunity. Family. Promises to a dying man. Even here in Chicago, he had to find a way to make it right.

Ryan peered out once more toward the lake. It was in that moment that a spark of inspiration, as strong as the one he felt when he saw Shelby sitting on the rocks so many months ago, came to him. He could make it right again.

The idea suddenly
clicked
.

C
HAPTER
28

W
ith each passing year, some people die. Others are born. Friendships are celebrated. Disputes forgiven. People fall in and out of love. And yet the seasons continue on, blissfully oblivious to the passage of time.

And so it was that the ice melted into lake water, the grass was reborn, and flowers colored the landscape. On the Meyerses' farm, Shelby marched through each day without much regard for the next until spring eventually gave way to summer, as it always did, and the orchard was in bloom and full of life again. Shelby was taking care of her grandmother and the farm and that was enough.

“Come on—get in!” Nic called to Shelby from the driver's seat of her run-down, green Jeep Wrangler convertible, which sat idling in the Meyerses' driveway. She rapped her hands anxiously on the steering wheel. “Time's a-wastin'!”

Shelby pulled on the handle and gave the passenger door a swift kick, which released the latch with a
clunk
. “When are you going to get this door fixed?” Shelby grumbled as she opened the creaking car door and pulled herself up into the vehicle.

“Not a priority.” Nic grabbed her canvas beach bag from the front seat and threw it in the back.

“I know, I know, just like fixing the soft top isn't a priority, replacing the blinker and wiper lever that broke off last summer isn't a priority, and . . .” Shelby continued, looking around. “Oh yeah, how could I forget the tire carrier that ‘fell off' two months ago? Seriously, you need a new car.”

“Not. A. Priority.”

Shelby pulled the seat belt across her chest and clicked it into place. “So what is your priority?”

“Getting out of Dodge.” Nic grabbed hold of the stick shift and forced it into Drive. The friends had a day to themselves and Shelby didn't care where they went. She simply needed some fresh air.

She looked over at her friend, the outspoken gal with a no-nonsense approach to life. If something worked, go with it. If it was broken, fix it or move on. Her Jeep was a good example. Nic considered the task of putting the soft top and windows on and off according to the weather to be “a complete pain in the ass.” Shelby recalled driving home with Nic one evening during a rainstorm. The top was down. A pragmatic driver would pull to the side of the road and replace the top. Nic's solution was to accelerate to seventy-five miles an hour so the rain would aerodynamically skip over the top of the vehicle. Shelby returned home that night soaking wet and cold. Rather than being upset, however, she was utterly exhilarated.

“Little Sand Bay?” Nic asked without really asking. At this time of day, they would likely be the only ones walking on the three-mile stretch of sand that was so fine and light it squeaked beneath each footstep.

Shelby nodded and they drove in silence—not from a lack of conversation, but because the wind and the raucous blare of an old muffler made it nearly impossible to hear one another. In the absence of words, Shelby leaned her head back on the seat rest, closed her eyes, and enjoyed the sun on her face.

“Have you heard from Ryan?” Nic shouted suddenly, glancing sidelong at Shelby before returning her eyes to the road.

“What?” Shelby shouted back, eyes still closed.

“I said, what's up with Ryan? Have you talked to him yet?”

“No,” Shelby said loudly. She put on a pair of sunglasses to shield her eyes from her hair that whipped about her head.

“Why the hell not?” Nic threw another quick look at Shelby.

Shelby shrugged and put her hand to her ear, feigning an inability to hear Nic's question. But the roar of the engine couldn't drown out her inner voice that whispered,
You gave him up because you were afraid.

Nic surprised Shelby by abruptly pulling off the road and onto a tractor path that was overgrown with willowy field grass and purple-tufted thistles. Shelby thrust her arms forward to brace herself when the Jeep jerked to a stop.

“Are you crazy?” Shelby yelled. “What do you think you're doing?”

Nic jammed the vehicle into Park and twisted her body to face Shelby. “The better question is, what are
you
doing?”

“Me? I'm not the one trying to get us killed!”

“Listen to me for a second!” Nic lashed out. The friends glared at each other without really knowing why they were upset, until Nic spoke again, softer this time. “I wanted to wait until we were at the beach to tell you this.”

“Tell me what?” Shelby dropped her hands into her lap. She didn't like the look in her friend's eyes. Was it pity?

“You're making a huge mistake with Ryan, and you know it.”

“We've gone over this before. You know I—”

Without saying another word, Nic raised her left hand. And there it was. A gold diamond ring as petite and original as Nic herself.

“Oh, Nic. It's beautiful,” Shelby gushed.

“You think so?” Nic asked, looking down at her hand. And then, with uncommon tenderness, Nic left Shelby speechless by asking, “Here's the thing—if I get married and leave town, who's going to make sure you start living again?”

 

Over the past several months since Ryan was last in Bayfield, the town had become a beguiling hostess who welcomed a new set of tourists eager to see the place where William Chambers Jr. had fallen in and out of love. The Lupine Huss Inn prided itself on being the famous Chicagoan's “inn of choice.” The rooftop bar where she and Ryan had met that first night in August now offered the Chambers, the house twist on a Manhattan.
Odd,
Shelby thought upon seeing it on the menu.
He doesn't even like bourbon
. Even the pizza place up the street was in on the excitement, baking Chicago-themed pizza pies in Ryan's honor.

The increase in tourism was good for the town's economy. Shopkeepers could afford fresh coats of paint and more elaborate window displays. Lush baskets of cascading greens and colorful flowers hung from the streetlights down Main. And the town's inns all displayed “No Vacancy” signs at their entrances. Even Meyers Orchard was having a prosperous summer. Visitors came flocking to the farm, presumably to see “where it all happened.” Leave it to Ginny to make sure they didn't leave without a bag of her homemade preserves and sugared doughnuts.

Funny how things turned out sometimes, Shelby thought while walking out of Sonny's Candy Shoppe with a black cherry double scoop in hand. Licking the pink drops that trickled down the side of her cone, she made her way down to the lakeside park and took a seat on a bench. It felt good to sit after a long day at the farm. This would be dinner, she resolved, taking another lick.

Shelby was able to rest unnoticed. She didn't do anything to conceal her appearance. It wasn't necessary. It was quickly apparent that the media interest was more about Ryan than it ever was about her. To Shelby's relief—and her mother's disappointment—Shelby had no more notoriety now than she had before dating Ryan. When someone did happen to recognize her, they either asked her to sign some magazine that had a photograph of her and Ryan together, or they would look upon her with a sorrowful expression that seemed to convey, “poor girl—what will become of her now?” The first encounter she would politely decline. The second she chose to ignore. Inwardly, she wasn't sure which encounter made her more uncomfortable.

As she sat in the park, the taste of ice cream on her lips, looking out on the lake that had been such a big part of her life, her thoughts drifted back to her childhood and an early memory of her grandfather.

“They named this body of water Lake Superior because it is the biggest, grandest body of freshwater in the entire world. And you, my sweet child, get to play in it whenever you want,” her grandfather had said as the two enjoyed ice cream while sitting upon a blanket on a patch of grass not far from where she sat now. She remembered that they were waiting, along with countless others, for the Fourth of July fireworks display to light up the sky over Chequamegon Bay.

“These waters captured the heart of the Chippewa. They called it Kitchi-Gummi, which means ‘great-water,'” he said.

“Itchy-gummy?”

“Close enough.” He had laughed, placing his hand tenderly atop her head and stroking her hair. “A long time ago, French fur traders traveled the Ottawa River and Lake Huron by canoe until they came to a beautiful inland sea. No one knew this place existed! They celebrated their discovery and announced that they had found
Le Lac Supérieur,
which means ‘Upper Lake.' And today, we call it . . .”

“Lake Superior!”

“That's right, honey. She is
your
lake. You can count on her being cold. And beautiful. And great. But most of all, you can count on her to always be here for you.” He leaned in and kissed the tip of her nose. “Just like your Gran and me.”

 

“Is this seat taken?”

Shelby turned toward the familiar voice and raised her hand to block out the sun. “John.” She smiled and scooted over on the bench to make room.

“Hey,” he said simply, dropping his backpack on the grass and taking a seat by her side.

She never felt rushed with John or obligated to speak when all she wanted was to enjoy the quiet. He always knew that of her. Today was no different. “Ice cream?” Shelby asked, handing her cone to John. He put his hand over hers and took a lick of the melting treat.

“Thanks,” he said, letting go of her hand. “You okay? I saw you over here and you looked so serious.”

“Just thinking.”

“Wanna talk about it?”

“They're out there somewhere—Jeff and Grandpa. I can feel it.”

He nodded and followed her gaze to the water, which was alive with waves and boats and swooping gulls.

“Crazy?” she asked.

“Not crazy,” he assured her, putting his arm around her shoulders and pulling her closer.

She welcomed it and leaned into his body. “They both loved this place, you know?”

“They did.”

They sat that way for a while, quietly passing the ice cream back and forth until they reached the cone itself.

“Why are you here?” Shelby asked, considering how he had just appeared in the park.

“Wow, that was abrupt,” he said, straightening his posture. “Do you want me to leave?”

“Sorry, no—no,” she apologized. “I mean, how did you find me?” She hadn't told anyone she was coming to the park and hadn't noticed his car at the shop when she walked past. But then again, she wasn't really paying attention to her surroundings.

“I just came off the ferry and saw you sitting here. Thought you might need some company,” he answered matter-of-factly.

“I do.”

“This isn't just about Olen and Jeff, is it?” He faced her and leaned forward, setting his clasped hands across his knees.

She shrugged her shoulders and turned the cone around between her fingers.

“I know what's bothering you and I know it will all work out,” John said.

“You do?” She knew John hadn't wanted to discuss Ryan after he returned to Chicago for good, so she was surprised he'd be willing to bring him up now.
Is it really that obvious?
she wondered. She had been trying so hard to move on.

“Sure. Nic and Hank will be back here all the time. Just wait,” John said. “I never thought I'd be the one to say this, but she's a good friend for you. Just because she's getting married doesn't mean your friendship will change.”

Shelby sighed.
This has nothing to do with Nic,
Shelby wanted to say, but couldn't. She stood and walked to a nearby garbage can. Tossing the cone into the bin, she noticed black flies hovering clumsily over the sticky edges of its rim. The filthy insects reminded her of why she was really downtown, taking refuge in the park. She was avoiding the putrid mess that was awaiting her back at the farm.

“Am I right?” John's voice called out from where he sat on the bench.

She shook her head and turned away from the bin to face him. “My mother came back today. We haven't seen or heard from her since the memorial service.” She rubbed the back of her neck. “Guess I've been hiding out, trying to avoid the unavoidable.”

Shelby didn't need to elaborate. John knew her well enough to understand the heaviness of her words. He stood up, slung his backpack over his shoulder, and walked over to her. “Why is she here?”

“Now that the ice is out, we'll be dispersing Grandpa's ashes this week.” Shelby dug her hands into the pockets of her denim shorts and looked down at her feet, kicking at the grass. “Gran and I didn't expect to see her again, but she called out of the blue yesterday and said she wanted to be a part of it. It made Gran happy, of course.”

“And you?”

“I don't know—she's never been the sentimental one, so I'm not sure I trust her motives. But he was her father. So there's that.”

John set his hand upon her lower back and looked at her with understanding. “Need some company?” he asked with a look of understanding. Then he raised his fists in a comical boxing pose and added, “If she gives you any trouble, I can take her.”

Shelby watched as John danced around her, throwing out jabs and punches into the air, laughing. “Yeah, I'd appreciate that,” she said, giving him a slow-motion punch to his chin. His head whipped to the side and he grabbed his chin before falling to her feet in feigned agony.

Perhaps it was the stress of her mother's return. Or the surprise that Nic was moving on. Or the comfort of John's company. For whatever reason, as Shelby walked through the park with John, Ryan was not the foremost thing in her mind. That alone was enough to lighten much of the emotional weight she had been carrying.