Page 67 of Welcome Home to Ivy Falls

‘Ford, exactly how old is this car?’

‘It’s a nineteen-ninety Mercedes and it runs like a dream.’

‘Where did you get it?’ I said, handing him our towels, tote bags and picnic lunch to load inside.

‘It used to be up at our cabin in the Smoky Mountains. I needed a car and asked my parents to drive it down.’

I shook my head and walked to the passenger seat. ‘And who picked the color?’

‘It used to be gold but the car was parked in a dilapidated barn. Between the winter cold, and the swampy summer heat, it turned into this.’

‘Yes, everyone loves a car that’s Creamsicle orange.’

‘Hey, it has character.’

‘Well, as long as this “character” gets us to the lake and back it’s all good.’

He patted the roof like it was a loyal pet. ‘It’ll get us there perfectly fine.’

The car started with a roar. Damn. Maybe it did drive like a dream.

We pulled away from the curb and left Ivy Falls in the rearview. The way to the lake was all small winding roads shaded by a tight canopy of trees. I’d forgotten how beautiful and green Tennessee could be in the summer. How kudzu climbed the trees resembling a slithering snake. The way the halo of moody sunlight seeped through the broad sway of branches like liquid gold.

More than once he glanced at my hand lying against the seat. By the way he’d behaved like a gentleman last night, it was clear if I wanted his touch I was going to have to make my wishes known. I reached over and threaded my fingers through his and the corner of his mouth happily twitched.

‘When was the last time you were at the lake?’ he asked.

I focused on the scenery to help control the complicated emotions churning in my chest. ‘It’s been fifteen years. I haven’t been back since I left Ivy Falls with my family.’

He stayed quiet, and I liked how he didn’t feel compelled to fill the pauses, but waited for me to share whatever part of my past I was ready to reveal.

When he’d come into the café or P&P, I’d catch glimpses of his interactions with people. He always had an easy smile for Silvio or Barb. Was quick to pull a book down from a high shelf for Miss Marta or Isabel when they asked for help. Even when kids approached him on the street, asked questions, he always took the time to give them a thoughtful answer.

For too many years, I’d lived in a world where men chose cruelty over kindness. I wasn’t sure how to handle someone who led with his heart and not the lower half of his body. A part of me remained guarded, but every minute I spent with him slowly melted the carved iron bars that surrounded my heart.

‘I was twelve. Beck was sixteen. Our parents had friends with a boat. We went fishing. Swam in the coves. It’s a good memory.’ I sighed. ‘It wasn’t until I was much older that I figured out those were the platinum days.’

He gave me a curious glance. ‘Platinum?’

‘That’s what I call the careless times I had with my parents and Beck. To me, they were more precious than gold. Of course, I wouldn’t know that until we’d lost them.’

Even now with all the years of therapy I’d been through, grief still drew all the air from my lungs. To this day, there were still times when I wanted to pick up the phone to call my mom. Tell her about a funny story a kid from the theater had told me. Explain to my dad how when I worked on blocking, or wrote dialogue notes on my script, hope bloomed in my chest like one of Ferris Johnson’s prize roses. It was as if my body knew before my brain that this was what I was meant to do.

As if he could read my mind, sense the sadness building in my bones, Ford lifted my hand and pressed a kiss to my skin. It was such a gentle touch that it eased the ache in my heart.

The sun danced through the trees in wide, shimmering swaths as the canopy thinned and the lake came into view. It was the same azure color I remembered. Small waves made by passing watercraft lapped against the dirt and sand shore.

Ford guided the car through the entrance gate and parked near a stone footpath that led to the water. Once we had all our gear, he slammed the tailgate and immediately reached for my hand. We walked the long, narrow path. Trees crowded the lane until they stopped at a short set of wooden stairs. My gaze flicked to the west side of the shore. It took me a minute but I found what I was looking for.

‘This way,’ I said. We passed young couples lying on colorful beach towels. A loud and raucous game of Spikeball was happening a few feet away. Further down the shore, small tents shaded families from the late morning sun.

Ford hitched up our bags on his broad shoulders as we kept walking. ‘Where are we going?’

‘A special spot.’

We continued our trek until I stopped in front of a beautiful tree with an arched form that looked like nature had made its own umbrella.

‘That’s very cool.’ Ford set down our bags and moved around the tree, examining the thick-barreled trunk and massive swoop of branches.