The opening to the drainpipe was wide enough to allow Bill to attempt to shove his torso in, with Misty and Lawrence holding on to his legs to anchor him.
“I can’t reach her,” he said, as they dragged him out. “I’m going to have to get a rope. Gunther’s got some. I’ll be back as quick as I can.” He gripped Misty’s arms. “Stay with her?”
“Yes. We’ll call 911 and keep her calm.”
He squeezed her shoulders, and she kissed him. “We’re going to get her out.”
She saw his Adam’s apple move as he swallowed convulsively, and tension radiated through his touch into her.
Another moment and then he raced away.
Misty leaned over the hole. “Fiona, we’re up here. Uncle Bill has gone to get a rope to pull you out. We’ll stay with you till he gets back, okay?”
Jellybean was barking hysterically, and Misty could hear Fiona wriggling.
“Stay still, honey.” She wasn’t sure how deep the drainage pipe went, but if the child slipped any farther, they might not have enough rope to reach her. They had to do something to calm her down. What tools did they have? She was a musician without a violin, and Lawrence a man lost so deep in pretense he had to run away from the real world.
Her gaze wandered to Lawrence, who appeared completely befuddled, gripping the storybook and shifting his weight from foot to foot. Maybe, she thought, just maybe it was time to let Lawrence do the thing that God made him to do.
“Lawrence,” she commanded, pointing to the Barnyard Boogie book he held. “You have to act it out for her.”
“Huh?” he said blankly.
“The book,” she said. “It’s Fiona’s favorite. Read it with all your acting tricks and make it come to life.”
“But…”
“We have to keep her still so she doesn’t fall farther down.”
He looked from her to the book and back again. “I’m not really a hero, Misty. I’m a fake. I pretend.”
“Then pretend for all you’re worth, Lawrence.”
“I’m no good at real life.” The gloom made him appear so much older, the dim light catching each crease and wrinkle.
“You’re going to be great now, Lawrence.”
“How do you know?”
“Because there’s a little girl’s safety at stake, and somewhere down inside you there’s a real-life hero.” She put a hand on his shoulder. “Please.”
Lawrence stared at her. Jellybean barked and pawed at Lawrence’s shin. He looked down at the dog as if he’d never seen him before.
Misty nodded in encouragement. “Go on.”
“Do you really believe I can help?”
“Yes, Lawrence, I do.”
Slowly he lay belly down on the wet grass, holding the book over the edge of the hole.
“Fiona, it’s Mr. Tucker,” he said softly.
“Louder, Lawrence.”
He gave her another tentative look and then sucked in a deep breath.
“Fiona, stay still,” he boomed in a voice that echoed and made Jellybean stop in his tracks. “And listen to the tale unfold.”
Misty thought for a moment that she had made a mistake. Maybe Fiona would be even more scared at this strange turn of events, but Lawrence continued, voice loud and reverberating as if he were performing Hamlet at the Globe Theater. “The barnyard was full of fun,” he began, “the day the cow came to play.” And then he launched into a performance complete with various accents, including a Southern drawl for the cow and even snatches of song in his surprisingly pleasing tenor.
“ ‘Hooray!’ said the horses, munching their hay,” he intoned.
Jellybean sat enthralled, and Misty would have as well if she had not been so worried about Fiona. She peered into the hole, and she could just catch the white gleam of Fiona’s upturned face as she listened to her favorite story being told by the world-famous star of stage and screen.
Misty’s vision blurred as she watched him read, emotions rolling across his face like the storm clouds as he put everything he had into the performance.
He’d reached the last page, and Misty was about to tell him to read it again when Bill sprinted up, rope in hand, Catherine trailing behind along with a panting Gunther.
Gunther tied one end of the rope around his own skinny waist, and Catherine, Misty, and Lawrence grabbed hold too, bracing themselves as Bill looped the other end around his own middle.
“I’m coming down to get you!” Bill shouted. “Hold on, Fee.”
He let himself down into the hole headfirst as the others strained against the taut rope.
The fibers cut into Misty’s fingers as she held on for dear life.
“We’re slipping,” Catherine gasped.
They leaned back, their feet digging into the wet ground, struggling to anchor their shoes in the soaked grass. Gunther was nearly lying flat on his back, his skinny arms tensed with the effort. Time ticked on as they strained to hold their position.
“Pull us up!” came Bill’s muffled shout.
“He’s got her,” Gunther gasped. “Heave-ho on three. One, two…”
They yanked against the weight, but the rope didn’t seem to move.
“Again, on three,” Gunther grunted, and once more they hauled. This time the rope began to yield. Slowly, inch by painful inch, they pulled.
When it seemed to Misty that her trembling muscles could not hold out any longer, Bill was pulled clear of the hole. His face was turned away from her, his hair tangled with dried leaves.
Misty blinked against the drizzle that had begun to fall, not daring to let go of the rope. She did not see Fiona. Her pulse jack-hammered. Had he not been able to reach her? Had he lost hold of her during the ascent?
In the distance came the faint sound of sirens. Would the emergency responders be too late?
Finally, she saw why Bill did not straighten and get to his feet immediately. He had both hands locked around Fiona’s wrists as he slowly pulled her from the drain.
When they were clear, Gunther dropped the rope, and Lawrence and the women did the same. Fiona was cuddled in Bill’s arms, sobbing aloud while he sat cross-legged, rocking her.
“It’s okay, baby,” he crooned. “Uncle Bill’s got you.”
His hair was standing up, dirt caking his cheek and a dribble of blood snaking from a scratch on his chin. But nothing could hide his relief or the desperate love he felt for Fiona.
Catherine knelt next to them, crying, one hand stretched out to touch Fiona’s head, yet stopping short of the contact.
“I’m so sorry,” she said. “She could have…”
The thought was better left unsaid, Misty figured.
Jellybean yipped and licked every part of Fiona he could reach. When he was done, he circled back and pawed Lawrence’s knee. The medics arrived, parking on the road near the shop and then hurrying across the uneven ground. Bill stayed by Fiona’s side as they evaluated her while she was strapped onto a gurney. Misty scooped up Jellybean, and she and Lawrence edged back to stay out of the way. Bill left with the medics, insisting that he accompany Fiona in the ambulance.
“Lawrence,” Misty said, kissing him on the cheek. “You were magnificent with that story.”
He smiled a shy, innocent smile so unlike the smug Hollywood grin. “I guess I was, wasn’t I?”
“Yes, you were.”
He laughed. “I must call Bett and tell her all about it.”
Misty joined in the laughter. “Absolutely,” she said.
She gathered Jellybean, and they returned to the shop before piling into Catherine’s rental car to follow the ambulance with Bill and Fiona back to the hospital.
Catherine drove, her expression stricken.
“I didn’t know what to do, but he did,” she whispered.
“Yes,” Misty agreed. “He’s a good dad, and he loves her.”
“It’s not just about love…”
Misty hefted Jellybean. “Yes,” she said without hesitation. “Yes, it is.”
Bill was relieved beyond belief that Fiona had not suffered any serious injuries. Catherine, Lawrence, and Misty waited the long hours with him at the emergency room after securing Jellybean at Chocolate Heaven. Catherine deciphered the forms and insurance information. He should have been mortified that he could not deal with the paperwork himself, but he could feel nothing but profoundly thankful to God. It was a new sensation to not bother hiding his illiteracy.
After Fiona had been properly checked out, Misty gave Bill a tentative kiss on the cheek and called a taxi to return to Albatross and escort Lawrence and Jellybean home to their trailer.
Bill and Catherine finally arrived back at Chocolate Heaven with their sleepy charge. He carried Fiona to her bed and lay down on the floor, letting her twirl his hair to her heart’s content. He said a prayer out loud, thanking God for keeping her safe, his child, his precious angel.
Her little fingers kept up their hair twirling. “Amen,” she said softly.
He could not hold back tears, though it was his turn to be stricken mute. In his silence, he thanked God again, for the one precious word that promised she would recover and rediscover her voice someday.
After Fiona was soundly asleep, he returned to the kitchen and fixed Catherine a cup of tea.
“I am so sorry,” she said for the millionth time. “I should not have taken my eyes off her.”
“It’s okay. You made a mistake, but you won’t do it again. It’s part of the parenting learning curve. Trust me, I’ve made plenty of wrong choices since I started taking care of her. You just learn, one mistake at a time.”
“Bill,” Catherine said, “I think maybe I’ve made another mistake too. A big one.”
He raised an eyebrow.
She nodded. “When we found her in the bottom of that drain, I was paralyzed, but you weren’t. You knew exactly what to do.”
He shrugged. “I just reacted, that’s all.”
She traced a finger along the rim of her mug. “What I saw out there in the field was not an uncle helping his niece. It was a father taking care of his daughter.”
His heart beat hard in his chest. “I know I can’t be what Dillon was in a lot of ways, but I love her like a father. That much is certain.”
“Yes.” Catherine wiped at her eyes. “And it would be wrong for me to take Fiona away from you.”
Bill stood, hands clasped around his own mug, unable to comprehend what he was hearing.
“Are you saying…”
“That you are the one who should raise Fiona. I will help however I can, and I will be on call twenty-four-seven for anything you need read or deciphered or…or for anything, really, but you are her father.”
“I—” he choked out. “I will try every day to be the best father I can be.”
“I know.” She gave him a tremulous smile. “I’m sorry I put you through all this.”
He could not help himself. He put down his mug, picked her up, and whirled her around. She laughed and hugged him until he deposited her back onto terra firma.
“I’d better go. You have a big festival here tomorrow, and I have a flight to catch.” She paused at the door. “You know, for a guy who can’t read, you taught me a lesson today, and I’ll never forget it.”
He watched her go, and his heart was so full he didn’t think he could get a sufficient breath. The single light burnished the little shop in a soft golden glow, and he was pretty sure his soul was lit up with exactly that same tint.
He sank to his knees, hands clasped. “Thank You, Lord,” he whispered. “How can I ever be worthy of such love and blessings?” His eyes traveled to Fiona’s sodden book, lying on the counter where Lawrence had left it.
A smile spread slowly across his face as he understood, finally understood, what a colossal fool he had almost been.
Friday dawned with a partially clouded sky and a note from Lawrence tacked to Misty’s trailer door.
“Will be there for speech at nine. Must run an errand first.”
An errand? He’d taken Jellybean and the leash. She sat up, groggy, checking the time. It was eight thirty. In a state of panic, she dressed, grabbed Lawrence’s speech, and jogged toward town, worrying as she went. It was not possible that Lawrence had made a break for it again, was it?
She made it to the Lady Bird in a record ten minutes, hoping to find that Lawrence had finished his mysterious errand and shown up for the kickoff. A crowd of some forty people were seated on white folding chairs in front of a podium set up on a makeshift dais in the front yard. Silver cloth draped the podium, and a large picture of Lawrence adorned the front.
More people were filing off a tour bus and standing behind the erected chairs. Misty’s skin prickled at the nape of her neck. She scanned the crowd, catching sight of her grandmother and several of her pals in the front row. Nana waved to her. There was no sign of Lawrence. Her cell phone told her it was ten after nine.
Vivian approached, dressed in black, her eyes shadowy with fatigue.
“Well? Where is he?”
“I don’t know. He had to run an errand, he said.”
“If he doesn’t show in another five minutes, people will start to leave,” she hissed.
“He’ll be here,” she assured Vivian. I hope.
Clutching the speech in her hands, she caught sight of Bill in the back row, Fiona in his arms. He looked altogether younger, a wide smile on his face as he jutted his chin at her. Had Catherine booked a later flight so Fiona could experience the festival? His green eyes stood out in the crowd—so green, she knew, they would live in her memory long after she’d left Albatross.
Four minutes, then five. A trickle of sweat began to bead on her brow. Where was Lawrence? Had he run away for more centering? Bolstering?
Jack caught her attention with an airy wave as he lounged against the side wall of the inn. Somewhere in the crowd, Todd Bannington probably sat, waiting to see if his investment was a sound one.
Five more minutes rolled by.
Vivian took her by the elbow. “We have to stall. You have his speech. You’re going to have to say it.”
“Me? Oh no. There’s no way I’m getting up in front of all these people.”
“You have to.”
“What about you?”
“You’re his assistant on this film. You have credibility.”
Misty’s body began to shake. “I don’t give speeches.”
“It’s time to start.”
“I can’t. I just can’t.”
Vivian grunted. “Fine. I’m done with this whole thing. I’m going to lie down and wait for all these people to leave once Lawrence disappoints them.” She began to make her way through the ever-growing throng.
Misty looked at her shoes, pressing as far away from the crowd as she could. The conversations were getting louder now, the sound crashing in on all sides as the clock ticked away the minutes.
Lord… Misty wanted to pray that God would immediately throw the side door of the Lady Bird wide open to disgorge Lawrence for his anxious fans. Failing that, perhaps a fire alarm or an earthquake to jolt the people away, somewhere, anywhere but their current location only a measly few feet from her. But the rest of the prayer did not come out. Misty’s eyes locked on Bill’s. He gave her another smile, and she recalled how it felt to let her light shine just a bit through the cracks. To step out of herself to try to bless the town that had twined its way around her heart and the people who had done the same. Was there just a little left to sparkle? One more ounce of light, of courage, to shine out of Misty Agnelli?
Knees trembling, she climbed onto the dais and faced the microphone. The crowd went still, a phenomenon more terrifying than their chatter. Every eye was laser-locked on her, blazing down on her hiding spot under the bed.
Lord, help me, she finished silently before she gripped the microphone in a sweaty fist.
“G-Good morning, ladies and gentlemen,” she squeaked. “I am…uh, Lawrence Tucker’s violin tutor.” She saw Nana Bett elbow the man next to her, face wreathed in an enormous grin. “I…um, since Lawrence is delayed, I thought I c-c-could read you part of his speech before he arrives.”
She thought she heard a groan from the throng. Her breath was coming in desperate pants. I’m going to faint. Right here, in front of all these people and Nana. In front of Bill and Jack and movie lovers from far and wide.
Sparks danced in front of her vision, and she was almost ready to bolt when she caught Bill’s gaze again, so calm and encouraging.
You’re doing great, she could imagine him saying. He gave her a thumbs-up.
The paper had gone limp and crinkled in her death grip. She smoothed it out. “So let me start by telling you a f-few interesting things you may not have known about Lawrence Tucker.” She’d made it to number three when she realized she could no longer decipher Lawrence’s handwriting.
Where was that fire alarm? The friendly earthquake? She tried to swallow, but her throat had gone completely dry. “When will he be here?” an elderly lady called from the second row.
“Uh…well, I am not completely…”
And then, as if cued by the maestro, Lawrence appeared, strolling jauntily past the crowd. Jellybean shot up to the platform, leaping into Misty’s arms with such velocity she almost dropped him. Lawrence swept up to the foot of the dais with Tinka under his arm and a loaded canvas bag hanging from his shoulder.
Thank You, God, breathed Misty.
“Tinka!” Vivian shouted, running to take the dog from Lawrence. “You found her,” she said, with a look of astonishment for Lawrence. “How?”
“Well,” he boomed grandly. Then he paused, sighed, and continued in a voice that was not at all like a stage icon, but very much like a regular man who wanted to help a woman he cared a good deal about. “I heard she was missing, Viv, and I know how much she means to you. Jelly and I have been out all night searching for her.”
Vivian blinked very hard and pressed her lips together. She seemed to notice the bag at the same time Misty did. The fabric writhed and undulated.
“What is in that bag, Lawrence?”
With the legendary swagger back in his voice, he said, “You’ll never guess, ladies and gentlemen. So let me tell you a story you won’t believe.”