three
Six months in a foreign country should’ve been long enough for either Thomas to come to his senses or for her to get over him. Janie Mathews stabbed a green bean with more force than needed and shoved it into her mouth. Her mother’s cooking soothed a bit of the homesickness she’d carried the past six months, but it didn’t do anything about her still-broken heart.
Maybe when Thomas saw her—
“Earth to Janie.” Her mother tapped her fork against her glass. A smile deepened the well-formed lines of her face. If it weren’t for the graying at the edges of her black hair, no one would guess she was nearly fifty. “You were going to tell us about your trip.”
Janie blinked at her family all wrapped around their long oak table. The closest in age to her was Olivia at twenty-two. But with Olivia taking after their father’s Scandinavian heritage and her taking after the Italian in her mother, few guessed they were sisters. Between the seven kids, they seemed to have hit every possible genetic option.
The aroma of her mother’s roast and potatoes filled the air, along with the tinkling sound of silverware on china. Her mother had insisted that her homecoming was a celebration. And it was. She had to stop this mental whining.
Janie dabbed her lips with her napkin and searched her memory for a good story.
“Did you eat snails?” Six-year-old Trinity’s face twisted, her blonde pigtails swaying from side to side.
“I did.” Janie leaned forward, forcing her eyes wide. “And I liked them.”
“Ewww.” The three youngest wrinkled their noses.
“I told you, Faith.” Ten-year-old Caleb poked his sister in the shoulder, his dark blond hair in need of a haircut bristling out in every direction.
“But I bet she didn’t eat them out of the garden.” Faith shoved away his hand and tossed her dark curls over her shoulder. She had changed the most over the past six months, shifting from little girl to full-on preteen. “And I’m still not eating the one you found.”
Her mom snapped her fingers at the younger two. “Gideon’s working at the garage again.”
Gideon tossed the hair from his eyes as he stabbed another piece of meat. “It’s a good job and I need money for college next year.”
“It had nothing to do with Danielle?” her mother added with a wink.
Subtle, Mom.
His face blanked as his fork paused halfway to his mouth. “Dan? She’s like one of the guys.”
“I think she’s adorable. She just needs more girls in her life to help her bring out her feminine side.” Her mother sent a pointed look at sixteen-year-old Ellie, who had always been the girliest of them all. Even for tonight’s dinner she had a full face of makeup and her blonde hair styled in perfect beach curls.
Ellie held up her hands. “Don’t look at me. I don’t do makeovers, and frankly, the girl scares me.”
“Dan’s cooler than any of your friends.” Gideon sent her a smirk then pointed his fork at Janie. “But I don’t like her like that.”
Janie suppressed a laugh. She’d missed this. No way did she want to move away from Heritage and miss seeing everyone grow up. She had to find a job here.
Ellie leaned closer. “Did you find a European boyfriend?”
“No way,” Trinity piped up. “She’s gots to marry Thomas.”
“She can’t marry Thomas.” Caleb shook his head as he shoveled another spoonful of potatoes in his mouth. “He’ ma-we-in Mad-a-nin.”
“Caleb,” her father snapped. He rarely talked and never snapped. “Don’t talk with your mouth full.”
She glanced at her dad but he just stared at his food. She scanned the table. Three forks hovered halfway to the intended mouths. She locked eyes with Olivia. Her best friend, her confidante. “What did he say?”
Olivia set her fork down and reached for her napkin. “Thomas . . . is engaged. To Madison Westmore.”
Engaged. To someone else.
Janie stood, knocking her chair back. Her legs shook as if they might give out. “Excuse me.” She raced toward the stairs as the room erupted with voices, most yelling at Caleb. Poor kid, it wasn’t his fault.
Her vision blurred as she pushed through her bedroom door and collapsed on her bed. She buried her face in her Pooh Bear, letting more tears flow. The bear Thomas had given her. Thomas. She huffed and whipped the offending toy at the door just as it opened.
“Hey.” Olivia caught the bear and set him on the dresser. “No need to take it out on me . . . or Pooh.”
“I want to be alone.” Janie flopped back on her pillow and rolled to face the wall.
“The great thing about being a Mathews, you never have to go through anything alone. Even if you want to.” Olivia’s bed squeaked as she settled in.
“How can he be . . .” The word lodged in her throat, making her want to heave.
“Do you want to gorge ourselves on ice cream, watch a Nicholas Sparks movie, and cry all night?”
“Maybe.” Janie stared out the window, the moon almost full. “I was so sure God had a plan for us.”
“He does.”
“This plan stinks. I want a refund.” Janie stared at a pile of mementos on her desk that Thomas had given her over the years.
“I didn’t say Thomas getting engaged to Madison was God’s plan, but He does have a plan for you, and it may or may not include Thomas.”
“I don’t want a plan that doesn’t include Thomas.” Her voice softened as she blinked back the tears.
“You say that now. Just remember God’s in control and—”
“Don’t say that!” Janie bolted upright and tossed a throw pillow at her sister. “God’s not in control of Thomas right now. I know it from the way he talks. He’s running from God and I can’t stop him.”
Her sister threw the pillow back. “You’re not supposed to, and you can’t fix whatever is so broken in him right now that he’s acting like an idiot.” Olivia stared out the window, then brushed a lock of blonde hair over her shoulder and focused back on her sister. “And I didn’t mean God’s in control like He’s controlling things. Or that any of this is what He wants. Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t. But God is never out of control. He isn’t up there freaked out by Thomas’s choices, wondering what to do next. God’s still got this.”
Janie wanted to believe that was true. She lay back on her bed and stared at the ceiling. The watermark from the roof leak last summer still snaked across the white surface. It really needed painting. A lot of the house needed painting, but her parents were pretty maxed out on time and money. “Why does being a grown-up have to be so hard? Love. Money. I need a job.”
“Good luck with that. Even the diner isn’t hiring right now.”
“I don’t want to move, but I can’t keep mooching off Mom and Dad, and I don’t really want to watch Thomas marry Madison and settle down with a dozen kids.”
Olivia grunted, reached for the basketball next to her, and shot it straight up, then caught it and tossed it again. “Rumor is they’re selling the house and moving.”
“That’s what’s so idiotic about this.” Janie rolled on her side to face her sister. “Thomas always wanted to raise his family in Heritage.”
He’d been so excited the day he signed the papers to buy Hannah’s half, making him full owner. Fourth generation in that house. Maybe he was running from more than just her.
Olivia tossed and caught the ball again before turning on Janie with wild eyes. “Maybe he’s been taken over by aliens.”
Janie laughed and brushed away a tear. “I think I’d prefer that.”
Her mother’s head poked through the door. “I don’t want to interrupt, but you mentioned earlier wanting to get a job. I don’t want you to feel rushed.”
Mentioned earlier? More likely her mom was listening through the vents. Got to love this old house. But Janie didn’t fault her. There were few people she respected more.
She offered her mom a smile. “I appreciate that.”
Her mom stepped into the room with a magazine in hand. “I found this article about how to turn cake making into a business.”
Cake making? That sounded promising. Janie sat up and reached for the magazine. Wow, these were incredible. She could make cakes that tasted amazing, but they looked like cakes. These looked like animals, a purse, a teapot. Was that a book? She couldn’t create cakes that looked like these. She’d failed art for a reason. Really, who fails art?
Olivia studied the page over her shoulder. “That’s a cake?”
Janie didn’t want to crush her mother’s idea, but she knew her limitations. She pushed the magazine back toward her mother. “There’s no way I could make these.”
“You’re the best pastry chef I know.” Sitting on the edge of Janie’s bed, her mother wrapped her arm around her shoulders. “You’ll never know if you don’t try. Just the thought of you moving away again . . .”
She opened her mouth to say no but couldn’t bring herself to deny the hopeful look in her mother’s eyes. “Thanks, Mom.”
Her mom set the magazine aside and placed a kiss on top of her head. “We’ll get through this, baby girl. You’ll see.” Moisture tinged her eyes as she stood to leave. “One day at a time.”
Janie studied the design in the magazine again. “These ducks look easy enough.”
Olivia dribbled the basketball a couple times and then tucked it under her arm. “It’s either that or moving.”
Janie sighed and dropped back on her pillow. “I guess it’s time to try tapping into my inner Martha Stewart.”
If Janie said she was leaving town too, Hannah might pitch a fit. Her friend would be struggling to find a local job now that she was back, but Heritage without Janie wouldn’t be the same. Hannah scanned the room of familiar faces for her best friend. No luck. The buzz of the lunch crowd filled the diner, and Hannah snagged a booth by the front window before they were all gone.
The salty scent of fresh-out-of-the-pan fries and grilled burgers permeated the air. Hannah’s stomach rumbled in protest of her missed breakfast.
A too-familiar set of wide shoulders appeared at the counter. “Is my carryout ready?”
Hannah wadded up a napkin and tossed it at his back. “Did you get that box open?”
Luke retrieved the napkin and slid into the seat across from her. “You’ve got to stop throwing things at me.”
“Maybe you should stop deserving it.”
“What’d I do this time?” He dropped the napkin in the middle of the table.
“You haven’t told me about the box.” Hannah snagged a glass of water off Olivia’s tray as she passed by. Olivia rolled her eyes and tossed a straw at her.
“Well, Miss Nosy, I’m headed out to Chet Anderson’s now. Hoping he might be able to help with the combination.”
Aunt Lucy appeared next to them and placed a to-go order in front of Luke. “Ready to order, Hannah?”
She drew a long sip of her water. “Can I owe you?”
“What about your emergency money?” Luke laughed and reached for his carryout.
Hannah pressed her lips together. “That’s for emergencies only. No one is dying. It stays hidden in my purse.”
He shook his head, pulled a few napkins from the dispenser, and added them to his bag. “I’m not sure anything will ever be important enough for those three hundred dollars. You’ll die at ninety-nine with that money still clutched in your hand.”
“Luke, did you want to eat here?” Aunt Lucy shot Hannah a wink. Yeah, that was discreet. “I can put that on a plate for you.”
Luke stood and grabbed the food. “Wish I could, but I need to get out to Chet’s.”
Aunt Lucy waited until he was out the door and then dropped onto the bench across from Hannah. “Here I thought you two finally had a date.”
“If your niece is looking for a date, I’m here. How about Friday night?” Derek Kensington slid into the booth next to Hannah and offered a charming smile. Too charming. With his black hair, blue eyes, and a face that could grace the cover of GQ, Derek could date almost any girl he wanted. And he knew it too. His designer shirt pulled tight on his muscled shoulders as he dropped his arm on the back of the booth.
“No thanks.” Hannah slid a little farther from him. “Don’t worry, though. I’m sure you have a backup already in place. Probably several.”
He pressed his palm against his chest. “You wound me.”
“Of course I do.” Hannah removed his arm from behind her and shoved his shoulder with a laugh. “Now return to your harem. I’m waiting for Janie and you’re in her spot.”
“I’ll concede for now.” Derek stood and leaned on the table. “But I’m not giving up.” He sauntered back over to his friends at the counter.
Aunt Lucy glared at Derek before focusing back on Hannah. “Janie’s coming?”
“I ran into her this morning, but we only had time for a few hugs.” Hannah tapped at her phone screen to see the time. “I hope she doesn’t take too long. I’ve got an appointment to show a house in an hour.”
“The Fergusons’ house again?” Her aunt’s brows pinched.
“The twentieth time is a charm, right? Maybe we need to get more businesses to move in. We just lost the WIFI, but we still have the insurance agency, the bank next door, and a few others like this diner we can count on.”
Aunt Lucy dropped her gaze to the table and slid her aged hand across the smooth surface.
“We still have the diner, right?”
When her aunt looked up, the reassuring twinkle was absent from her eyes. “Uncle Donny’s brother is quite ill. Donny needs to go see him. There’s someone we’ve talked to about taking over while we’re gone, but if they say no . . . the loss may be more than we can handle to keep it open.”
Hannah leaned forward. “Who? I’ll hog-tie them into agreeing.”
“Which is why I’m not telling you. Just pray whatever is best will happen. And pray I find a baker. That’s proving harder than I thought.”
“Sorry I’m late.” Janie appeared next to the booth with a box in hand and smiled at Aunt Lucy. “Are you joining us?”
Aunt Lucy stood and offered Janie a hug. “Welcome back. Hannah and I were just chatting. I don’t need to interrupt your time.”
“No interruption. I’ve missed you too. I’ve missed everyone.”
“I can’t tell you how much we missed you.” Hannah offered a side hug as Janie slid next to her. “Don’t ever leave again.”
“That’s my goal—which brings me to this.” Janie pulled the top off the pastry box and moved it to the center of the table.
“Lumpy yellow cupcakes?” Wait—did that one have eyes? Gracious, these were terrifying.
Janie dropped her head in her hands. “I knew this was a bad idea.”
Aunt Lucy slid back into the booth and turned the box around. “What is it?”
Janie pulled out a magazine and dropped it on the table. Reader’s Weekly? She thumbed through a few pages and shoved it in front of Hannah. Cute yellow ducks topped the cupcakes across the magazine spread.
“They’re supposed to be cute. Not . . . that.”
“Maybe you should try a different one.” Hannah scanned the pages, but the ducks definitely looked like the easiest option. She thumbed through a few more pages before she froze and blinked at the headline.
SEARCHING FOR AMERICA’S BEST SMALL TOWNS. $250,000 PRIZE TO SPRUCE UP YOUR TOWN.
“This is perfect.”
Janie scanned the ad. Her nose wrinkled. “Really? You think we’d qualify to be one of the best small towns in America? And how does that help me with a job?”
Aunt Lucy claimed the page and scanned it. “Heritage needs something like this.”
“We could win,” Hannah said. “I just have to find the right way to present us.”
Janie reached for one of the distorted cupcakes and peeled back the paper. “Behind a veil—a thick veil.”
“It says that the town must invest ten thousand dollars and complete an improvement project. Those projects will be judged and the top five will move on to the semifinals. One great project could revive this town.”
“What project would do all that?” Aunt Lucy reached for the magazine again.
“I don’t know, but I’ll figure it out.” Hannah jabbed the page with her finger. “We can do this.”
“We?” Janie held her hands up in front of her. “Oh no, I need to find a job. Or figure out a way to sell these.”
Hannah grabbed her aunt’s hand across the table. “I’ve got it! Hire Janie.”
Janie sat up straighter. “You’re hiring? Olivia said you weren’t.”
Aunt Lucy’s mouth dropped open. “Uh . . . well, not a waitress. We need a baker.”
Hannah pulled a cupcake from the box and shoved it into her hand. “They may be ugly, but I bet you haven’t tasted better.”
Aunt Lucy, who wasn’t sharing their excitement, raised the cupcake to her mouth. “It is good.”
“Good?” Hannah lifted one eyebrow.
“Fine, it’s the best I’ve ever tasted.” Her gaze darted between the two women before she shook her head with a laugh. “It’s only for a couple months, but if you want the job it’s yours. If you promise no fancy animal things on top.”
“Promise.” Janie jumped to her feet. “I need to go call my mom. I’ll be right back.”
“Don’t forget this means you have to help me with the town project,” Hannah yelled after her.
Aunt Lucy stared her down.
“What?” Hannah claimed another cupcake. “Janie’s great. You said so the other night.”
“But the cook I asked to fill in is Thomas.”
“What? Oh . . . that’d be—”
“Yup.” Aunt Lucy covered a laugh with her hand.
“What are you going to do now?”
She patted the back of Hannah’s hand and slid out of the booth. “Pray harder than ever. And hope my nephew doesn’t kill me.”
“Are you going to tell him?” Hannah popped the rest of the cupcake in her mouth.
“And give him a reason to turn me down? Besides, an aunt can hope.” She winked at Hannah and walked toward the kitchen.
Hannah picked up the magazine and read the article over. She had to find a project the board would invest ten thousand dollars in to win that contest. She stared at the run-down, vacant buildings across the street. Maybe Janie was right. She needed a veil. A thick veil.
Luke had seen many girls fall to the charm and money of the Kensington family over the years, but he’d never thought he’d have to worry about Hannah. Shifting into a lower gear, he turned onto the old dirt road that led to Chet’s, a dust cloud stirring up behind him.
He’d always thought—hoped—that once he got his life together, it would be him and Hannah together. She deserved the whole American dream, and he wanted to be the one to give it to her. But a successful job in the white-collar world didn’t seem likely if he couldn’t even pass that class.
Maybe he should have spent more time studying, but he had work. Then there were all the hours he was putting into his house—the house that in its best shape wasn’t near what Derek had to offer.
The guy had actually looked right at Luke out the front window of the diner as he slid his arm around Hannah. Was this some sort of game to him?
Luke’s fingers tightened around the steering wheel as he pulled into Chet’s long dirt drive. The three voice messages he’d left on Chet’s phone hadn’t produced any answers. Time to see if good old-fashioned bribery would.
He grabbed the Styrofoam container of biscuits and gravy in one hand and the metal box in the other and headed for the house. He eyed the dilapidated building with its peeling paint and a shutter hanging off one hinge. Had it been this bad a few months ago when he’d been here, or had the winter taken a big toll?
A pop and a crack split the silence as the first step gave way. Luke caught himself against the rail, nearly spilling the food in the process. He pulled out his foot and scanned the rest of the porch, choosing the spots that appeared most sound.
The front door flew open as a wrinkled face leaned out. “I don’t want any—Luke?” The frown transformed into a grin as Chet attempted to smooth the mess of gray hair that probably hadn’t seen a comb in over a week.
Luke needed to check on the guy more often. “Afternoon, Chet. I brought lunch.” He lifted the food container.
“Come on in.” Chet waved his leathered hand over his shoulder and disappeared back inside.
Luke followed him through the entry toward the living room. “I left you several messages on your voicemail.”
“I still haven’t figured out that crazy phone. Technology will be the death of me.”
As run-down as the house’s exterior had become, the inside was the polar opposite. The furniture, straight out of the Sears catalog from 1962, was clean and in good shape. Alex Trebek spouted questions to three contestants on an old analog TV that sat in the corner, a converter box propped on top and rabbit-ear antennas sticking out the back. Chet wouldn’t replace anything until it was completely worn-out.
The place smelled of mint and pipe tobacco from the man’s one vice, although he claimed he was quitting. He’d been claiming that as long as Luke could remember.
He set the food on Chet’s ever-present TV tray and took a seat on the brown tweed sofa, setting the black box on his lap.
Chet sank back into a plush brown recliner and reached for the container. “What’s this?”
“Your favorite.” At least it used to be.
The wrinkles in Chet’s cheeks doubled with his grin as he lifted the top. “Don hasn’t lost his touch.”
“Go ahead, eat while it’s hot.” Luke offered him a napkin-wrapped plastic fork and knife from his shirt pocket.
“Don’t mind if I do.” He took his time with his first bite before he looked back at Luke. “They’re hiring an assistant fire chief.”
“Yup.”
“Applying?”
“They’ll give it to Ted.” Luke flipped the numbers on the box.
“Ted?” Chet shoved another bite in his mouth. “That kid wouldn’t make a good leader if you cracked him in the head with the fire hose.”
“Ted’s a good guy. And third generation in the department.” Luke, on the other hand, was a man without. Without connection. Without family. Without a past.
“You should apply.” Chet forked another bite.
If he didn’t, he’d be letting Derek believe he’d gotten to him. “Maybe.”
“What’s that?” Chet pointed to the black box and reached for the remote. Jeopardy! went silent.
“Found it in the wall of the house. Did your sister have a lockbox?”
Chet’s blue eyes narrowed on the box, the fork halfway to his mouth. Then he set the food down and wiped his mouth with the napkin. “Whatever’s in it can’t be worth all the trouble of opening it.”
Luke swallowed. Maybe he was more like Chet than he wanted to admit. A rock settled on his chest.
He slapped the box. “I want to get this open. Are you going to help me, or am I going to have to try over a million combinations?”
Chet studied him as he pressed his lips into a thin line. “Fine, although I think it’s a bad idea to go digging into the past. Nothing good can come of it.”
“If it was Lottie’s, let’s try dates: birthdays, anniversaries.” Chet pushed out of his recliner, shuffled over to a bookshelf, and withdrew an old Bible. He slid back into his seat and opened the cover, his wrinkled finger sliding across the page.
“Generations of births, weddings, and deaths of my family are recorded here.” His eyes grew glassy. “Only one date left to enter. Generations of Andersons—and I’m the last.”
What was he supposed to say? Luke would have loved to become a member of the family, but that had never happened. Not legally.
Chet cleared his throat and rattled off a set of numbers.
No luck.
Five attempts later, Luke shook his head. “You sure it’s a date?”
“Nope. But if it’s not, I don’t know where to start.” Chet stared down at the page. When he spoke again, his voice was husky. “Let’s try Timmy’s birthday.”
“Her husband?”
Chet’s eyebrows lifted. “Her son. But I guess she never talked about him to you, did she? Her husband and Timmy died in a boating accident about ten years before you came to live with her. That’s why I encouraged her to take you in. Thought it might help her heal.”
An ache grew in his chest, sending pain down his arms and legs. “I guess it didn’t work.”
“But it did. You were good for her, whether you saw it or not.”
His mind flashed to the day he’d seen the adoption papers in the trash. He’d never been good enough for her even after he’d spent twelve years trying.
Chet’s voice rattling off a set of numbers shook him out of his thoughts. He dialed them in and pushed the button. As the latch flipped up, a cool sensation washed over his nerves. So it wasn’t that she hadn’t wanted to be a mom—just not his mom.
“Going to open it?” Chet eyed him with an unreadable expression.
Luke nodded and lifted the lid.
Papers. Lots of papers.
The breath Luke hadn’t realized he’d been holding escaped in a whoosh. He leafed through the documents, but nothing stood out. He picked up the first one and opened it. Mrs. Shoemaker’s wedding certificate.
“The box belonged to her, that much is settled.” He glanced up at Chet. The man studied his every move.
Luke lifted the box to pass it to Chet when his own name caught his eye. He reached for the paper and unfolded it. His own birth certificate. Or at least a copy. He smoothed it out. He had the original somewhere in the files the state had released to him when he turned eighteen, but it’d been a long time since he’d looked at it. Talk about the last of the family line. Perhaps Chet was right. History was best left as history.
He studied his father’s name, trying to feel some sort of connection to his heritage. Then he found his mother’s name. His heart paused and then picked up double time.
Sarah Eleanor Johnson.
Sarah? His mother’s name was Ann. Wasn’t it? Or had he muddled that memory in his head too? He closed his eyes, still picturing the bold A-N-N in red letters on the white blouse. Maybe he couldn’t even count on the few memories left in his head.
Something wasn’t right. But was it the memory or the paper?
“What’s that?” Chet’s gruff voice broke into his thoughts.
“My birth certificate.” He passed the box to Chet. “The rest seems to be your sister’s personal documents.”
The tense muscles that had creased Chet’s forehead eased as he took the box. “I’ll figure out what to do with them.”
“Mind if I take this?”
“Nope, it’s yours.” Chet slammed the top of the box and set it on the far side of the chair. “I’m beat. After that good meal, I think I’m going to take a nap if you don’t mind.”
“Of course.” Luke stood, scanning the certificate again as he walked back to the door.
“And take this.” Chet followed him and held out an envelope. “It’s a letter of recommendation for you for the assistant fire chief.”
“How did you—”
“I typed it up as soon as I heard about the position. A lot of people believe in you, Luke. You need to learn to believe in yourself.” He offered Luke a firm pat on the shoulder. “Now promise me you’ll apply.”
Believe in himself? If it were only that easy. Maybe he’d be more confident if he knew more about who he really was. He wasn’t even sure of his mother’s name.
His hand tightened on the birth certificate. Or maybe it was time to stop looking to an empty past to tell him who he was, and instead grab ahold of his future.
Luke shoved the birth certificate in his pocket and extended his hand to Chet. “I’ll apply.”