Page 112 of Holding Ground

“Since the Fourth of July parade, when they had those huge balloon arches at each end of Main Street. The point is, it was a lot.”

“It was just a birthday party,” Sam says.

“It was a statement. Remember that time Elliott served Baylor a cake from the gas station for her birthday? This year, there were tablecloths. Plural. The man had tablecloths over the folding tables.”

“Emelia has tablecloths. Elliott has Emelia.” Jimmy takes a sip from his thermos.

“Baylor seemed happy,” Sam says, smiling into his thermos.

The other two go quiet. Baylor Mercer—who’s one of the sweetest, bravest, and most fiercely loved kids in Echo Lake, raised by a father who would burn the world down for her—looked happy in a way that she hasn’t ever before.

It’s a different kind of happiness because although her mom couldn’t make it to the party, she has her mother in her life for the first time. And not only that, but she has her dad’s live-in girlfriend, who loves her like she’s her own. Baylor is surrounded by love now more than ever, and she’s thriving.

“Now…” Clyde leans forward as though what he’s about to say is heavy. “Can we talk about Ansel and Collins?”

“Here we go,” Sam murmurs.

“Don’t ‘here we go’ me, Sam. You were standing by the cake table. You saw it too.”

Sam shakes his head. “I saw two people talking.”

“Two people talking. Sam, the man had his hand on the small of her back. You tell me it doesn’t mean something.”

“It doesn’t mean something.”

“She leaned into him when he was talking, Sam. It means something.”

Jimmy does’t say anything, but one corner of his mouth creeps up in what some might consider a smile.

“It’s been almost two years. Not saying there’s a time limit on these kinds of things or that it would be easy, but you know Ansel. That kid hasn’t stood still since he was born, and he was standing still beside her, intent, like he’d found the one place he didn’t want to leave. You tell me that doesn’t mean something.”

“It means something,” Jimmy says. “It’s not nothing, but it’s not ours to discuss. Least not yet.”

The three of them sit with that for a minute. A truck drives by, and the owner of the Bait & Tackle pull into the parking lot and go inside, turning on the lights.

“Moving on,” Jimmy says. “Heard wind that Emelia got a new job.”

“Regional tourism and economic development,” Clyde says, nodding. “Heard it from Dottie, who heard it from Deacon, who I assume heard it from Elliott.”

“That’s a smart hire,” Jimmy says.

Sam sets his thermos on the pavement and folds his hands over his stomach. “Heard something else too.”

Both men look at him.

“Marlene was at the salon yesterday, and Greta said that she heard from Manuel that he saw Elliott in Harvest Cove weekend before last.”

“Harvest Cove? What’s in Harvest Cove?” Clyde asks.

“Hardwood store, salon, bar, café⁠—”

“Jewelry store,” Sam says. “Right on Main Street. Been there for more than thirty years.”

“No.” Clyde’s voice is a whisper.

Sam shrugs. “That’s what Manuel said. Said he saw him with a small bag in his hand.”

“So Manuel saw Elliott, he told Greta, who told Marlene, who told you,” Clyde says.