Where She Belongs (14 page)

A
bell tinkled as AJ entered the gallery, a corner brick building on a quaint street designed to appeal to tourists with its gift shops, restaurants, and courthouse-turned-museum. He stood awkwardly, hands jammed in pockets, in the stillness of the space. Long shelves held a variety of pottery, vases, bowls, and mugs. Painted canvases decorated the walls. Frames of stained glass hung at varying heights in front of the windows, the sun's rays brightening the rich reds, blues, and greens.

He stepped closer to one, a framed rectangle of a brown tree, its branches extending over a broad stream. Wildflowers, purple and red and yellow, grew along the bank, their vibrant colors made brighter by the morning sun. It reminded him of Glade Creek.

“May I help you?”

The voice startled him, and he quickly turned.

A petite woman with spectacles hanging on a chain around her neck smiled at him. “That's a beautiful piece, isn't it? It was designed and created by one of our local artists.”

“Meghan McCurry?”

“How did you know?”

“Lucky guess.”

“Professionally, she goes by Meghan Jensen. Are you familiar with her work?”

“Not lately, no. I'd like to purchase this one.”

“Without asking the price?”

He reddened slightly as dollar signs practically replaced her pupils, then handed over his credit card. “I'm sure it's worth whatever it costs.”

“I wish more of our visitors shared your attitude.” She put on her reading glasses and glanced at his card. “Anderson J. Sullivan.”

“Please, call me AJ.”

“AJ Sullivan.” She said his name slowly then peered at him over the rim of her glasses. “Meghan didn't tell me she had contacted you, though I'm glad she did. I was tempted to myself, but she'd have been so very angry if I did anything like that behind her back. None of that matters now. At least you're finally here. But why didn't you go straight to the hospital?”

AJ held out his hands, palms forward, in a vain attempt to slow down the woman's rapid speech. In the jumble of words, he pulled out the most important ones.

“Is Meghan in the hospital?”

“She's been there since the accident. Didn't she tell you?”

“I haven't talked to Meghan in years.”

“Then how did you know?”

“Know what?”

“About Jonah.”

“Who's Jonah?”

The woman heaved an expansive sigh and leaned against the counter. She seemed to have spent all her words in the roundabout conversation that had left both of them confused.

AJ recovered first. “Where can I find Meghan?”

“If she didn't call you, then perhaps she doesn't want you to find her.”

“I'll go to every hospital in the region if I have to. Please don't make me.”

“Why did you come here, Mr. Sullivan?”

“You'll probably think I'm crazy.”

“Try me.”

“God led me here.”

“I don't think that's crazy at all.” She sighed again. “You'll find Meghan in the trauma unit at Toledo Regional.”

“Is she all right? I mean, what's wrong with her?”

“Just go to her. She needs you.”

Entering the coffee shop, Shelby joined Richard at a corner table. He rose, and she pecked him on his papery cheek before sitting in the chair he held out for her.

“Sorry I'm late,” she said. “UPS stopped by as I was getting in the car.” The cookie jar for AJ had finally arrived, but there had been no time to open the package. She hoped it was an exact replica of the one Tabby had broken.

“You're not late at all.” Richard patted her hand. “Where are your darling daughters?”

“With Cassie Owens. You may remember that her husband Jason and I were childhood friends.”

“I know Jason and Cassie. Not well, but I see them around town once in a while.”

“They've been very welcoming.”

“I'm glad to hear it. I want you to be as happy here as you were when you were a little girl.” The corners of his mouth tilted, and he gave her a teasing look.

They engaged in idle chitchat till the waitress delivered their orders of strawberry shortcake and coffee. Shelby stirred extra sweetener in her cup, her attention focused on the dissolving granules.

“It's nice to get together with you like this, Shelby. But I have a feeling this isn't a social visit. Why don't you tell me what's bothering you?”

Richard's smooth voice reminded her of her grandfather. Not
that Grandpa ever spoke with such perfect diction. But the concern for her, the warmth of affection was the same. If only he were here now, sitting across from her in this little place. Try as he might, Richard could never fill Grandpa's boots.

She raised her eyes to his, catching a flicker of irritation before his expression softened. Surely she had imagined it. Why should he be irritated at her? He was the one who had lied. Willing her voice not to quiver, she tapped her spoon against the cup's rim. “Why didn't you tell me?”

“Tell you what?”

“That Brett was related to the Sullivans. That he's AJ's cousin.”

She searched his age-creased eyes for the answer and saw them darken, shadowed by fear. His smile dispelled the shadow, but it had been there. She wasn't imagining things. What was Richard afraid of?

“I thought you knew.” His placating tone barely concealed an odd quiver. “Brett didn't tell you?”

“No, he didn't.” Her voice rose in pitch, and she glanced around the shop to see if anyone had heard her. Fortunately, the guy at the nearest table was engrossed in whatever was happening on his laptop screen. Sipping the too-hot coffee to hide her uneasiness, she scalded her tongue. This wasn't going at all well.

“Brett is quite taken with you. Perhaps, knowing how you felt about his grandfather, he wanted you to get to know him without that prejudice.” He took her hand in his, his palm clammy against hers. She resisted the urge to pull away. “Would you have given him a chance otherwise?”

“That wasn't why he didn't tell me.”

“Then what was?”

If Richard knew Brett's plan, he hid it well. The fear, if that's what it was, had disappeared. Now his light blue eyes showed a curious concern. As he leaned back in his chair, he released her hand.

“Brett hoped to talk me into selling the farm.” She jabbed a strawberry with her fork and dipped it into the whipped cream.
“For some kind of development project he and his sister dreamed up.”

“He should have known better.” Richard chuckled, a hollow and cheerless sound, and the shadow returned. Shelby dropped her fork, its clatter on the floor barely penetrating her senses.

“You knew it.” She barely whispered the accusation.

Richard opened his mouth, then closed it again as his shoulders slumped. Impossibly, he appeared to age before her eyes as his tensed jaw emphasized the hollows in his cheeks. Perspiration dotted his forehead as he rummaged through his jacket pocket and slipped something in his mouth.

Concern overshadowed Shelby's anger. “Are you all right?”

He sipped water, then dabbed at his lips with a napkin. “I'm fine. Nothing wrong with me except old age.” His attempt at a smile failed, and he lowered his eyes.

“Tell me the truth, Uncle Richard. Were you in on Brett's plan?”

“No.” His eyes glistened with regret and something deeper that Shelby couldn't comprehend. “He only asked me to introduce you. I didn't ask him why.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

He sighed heavily. “His grandfather and I were friends for many years, Shelby. Now that Sully is gone, I have a responsibility to his grandchildren.”

“You were more than friends with my grandfather. Nanna was your sister.”

“True.” The sadness in his voice pressed against Shelby's heart. His eyes looked beyond her, into a past before her time. “We were great friends, Sully and me. Always were. We knew Thad too, but he didn't socialize much. Too busy working on his parents' farm. But then the three of us—Sully, Thad, and me—we got our draft letters. We went through basic training together, shipped out to Korea together. For a while we were like the Three Musketeers. But it couldn't last. Too many things changed between us because of that war.”

“What things?” Shelby whispered the question, fearful of breaking the spell that held Richard in its grasp. He shivered, then gazed at her with clear eyes. Affection softened his expression.

“If we hadn't become soldiers, your grandmother would have married Anderson Sullivan.”

Shelby gasped, but Richard continued. “And I would have married Joyanna.”

“But how—”

“Thad came home first, severely wounded. He and Aubrey spent a great deal of time together. By the time Sully and I came home”—he shrugged—“they were making wedding plans.”

Memories of her grandparents flitted through her mind. The special way they looked at one another, the gentle touches that whispered a deep abiding love. A match made in heaven, Grandpa always said. It's what she had dreamed of for herself. What she expected to have with Gary.

Richard's voice drew her from the quicksand of regret. “Sully never recovered from Aubrey's betrayal.”

“Nanna would never betray anyone.” Would she?

“Sully believed she did. They fought, he and Thad. But in Aubrey's eyes, Sully's bitterness only confirmed she had chosen the right man.”

Another puzzle piece clicked into place, revealing Anderson Sullivan's reason for taking Misty Willow, for leaving the house to deteriorate.

“He waited a long time to exact his revenge,” she said, her voice trembling. “And it cost my grandparents, cost me, our heritage.”

The shadow flitted once more across Richard's face. “It destroyed Sully too.” His expression softened. “And Joyanna.”

The photograph of AJ's grandmother she had seen in his cottage appeared in her mind's eye. This lovely woman had comforted Shelby when grief over all she had lost threatened to destroy her.

“They were friends, weren't they? My grandmother and Joyanna.”

“The best of friends. Until Joyanna married Sully. She thought she could reconcile them, but Sully was too stubborn.”

“I should have guessed it before now. They both loved irises. Cary Grant.” A sudden longing overcame her to share this newsflash with AJ. Their grandfathers may have been rivals, but their grandmothers had been friends. No wonder Joyanna cared so much about returning Misty Willow to Shelby.

The wrinkles creasing Richard's face seemed to deepen with remembrance and loss.

“You never stopped loving Joyanna. Did you?”

Crimson spots highlighted his cheeks, and he cleared his throat. “The past no longer matters, Shelby. You have Misty Willow, and Brett can't take it away from you. I promise you, with all that is in me, I will not let him.”

AJ took a deep breath and knocked on the hospital room door before entering. A sandy-haired boy covered with white linens lay in the bed. His pale face looked almost waxen, while an assortment of wires attached him to various monitors. The woman sitting in the chair next to him stared at AJ as she stood.

Meghan.

Her hair, only a shade lighter than her son's, was pulled back in a quick ponytail, and fine lines creased the edges of her gray eyes.

“I've been praying for a miracle.” She crossed her arms in front of her chest as if to shut him out. Her lips pressed into a thin line that tightened her chin into a point. “I didn't expect God to send me you.”

“I didn't expect to find you had a child. Is he . . . is he mine?” AJ's heart thumped, loud and hard, as the anger in her eyes faded, revealing naked vulnerability. She was afraid of him, and that knowledge pushed him to reach across the bed to her. She drew back, and he let his arm drop to his side. “Why didn't you tell me? I thought you had an—”

“That only shows how little you knew me.”