12. Chapter 12 Eli
The next morning begins with Sophie standing in the middle of our suite wearing one sneaker, carrying a hairbrush, and talking fast enough to outrun common sense.
"Do you think they'll put the picture on the front page?"
I glance up from tying my boot.
"No."
She looks disappointed for exactly two seconds.
"It's Cedar Hollow," I remind her.
Her expression brightens again.
"Good point. Maybe page two."
I should have known better than to answer.
The newspaper article has been the main topic of conversation Sophie overheard Wren and Maggie talking about the reporter and decided that appearing in the Cedar Hollow Chronicle would be one of the greatest accomplishments of her young life.
Personally, I would rather repair another gas leak.
I've never enjoyed having my picture taken. I dislike being the subject of conversation even more. The idea of becoming part of a feel-good newspaper story makes me want to volunteer for every unpleasant chore at the fire station.
Unfortunately, nobody seems interested in my opinion.
Least of all my daughter.
The suite grows quiet for a few minutes while Sophie disappears into the bathroom to brush her teeth. I finish buttoning my shirt and catch my reflection in the dresser mirror. For reasons I would rather not examine, my thoughts drift back to the hallway outside Sophie's room.
It wasn't anything.
At least that's what I've told myself three or four times since waking up.
We talked.
We stood a little too close.
Wren walked out of the laundry room at precisely the wrong moment.
End of story.
Except it doesn't feel like the end of the story.
I remember the way Maggie looked at me when she told me I wasn't failing as a father. There hadn't been an ounce of pity in her expression. She had simply stated it as though she couldn't imagine anyone reaching a different conclusion.
I can't remember the last time someone offered encouragement without expecting me to argue with it.
Then there was the moment afterward.
The quiet.
The way neither of us seemed interested in saying goodnight.
I had noticed the light catching the copper strands in her hair where they'd escaped her ponytail.
I had noticed the tiny freckles across the bridge of her nose that became visible only when she wasn't wearing much makeup.
I had noticed entirely too many things for a man who kept insisting he needed to maintain some emotional distance.
The realization is more unsettling than I'd like to admit.
Attraction isn't the problem.
I've known Maggie was attractive since the afternoon she barreled into me in the hallway carrying enough luggage to relocate a family of four.
What worries me is everything that came afterward.
I admire the way she listens.
I admire the patience she shows Sophie when reading becomes difficult.
I admire the ridiculous amount of energy she pours into convincing an entire town that books still matter.
Somewhere between blanket forts and library campaigns, admiration has quietly become something else.
That is considerably harder to manage.
A knock on the bathroom door interrupts my thoughts.
"Dad?"
"Yeah?"
"I can't find my other sock."
I smile despite myself.
"It's on your foot."
A brief silence follows.
"Oh."
I shake my head, grab my keys from the dresser, and follow her out of the suite.
Whatever happened in the hallway last night belongs in the past.
At least that's what I tell myself.
The problem is that every time Maggie smiles at me, the memory insists on following us into the present.
A few minutes later, we head downstairs. The Prairie Rose is already awake.
Morning sunlight pours through the tall windows, filling the lobby with soft golden light. Wren has opened the front doors to let in the cool air before another Oklahoma summer day settles over town. The lobby ceiling is repaired and has a fresh coat of paint.
Margaret Curtis is already claiming one of the porch rockers, although she has somehow wandered inside carrying a plate of cinnamon rolls. Earl and Dottie June follow close behind with a grocery sack full of fresh peaches from a roadside stand just outside town.
They don't knock.
They never knock.
The Prairie Rose has become an extension of everyone's front porch, and Wren gave up pretending otherwise weeks ago.
"Morning!" Earl calls. "Thought we'd bring breakfast."
"And peaches," Dottie June adds. "They're only good for about two days, so everybody needs to eat them before they decide to become cobbler."
Margaret takes a bite of her cinnamon roll.
"I support cobbler." Earl says
"You support dessert," Margaret replies.
"Don’t put a man in a box. I contain multitudes."
None of this appears unusual to Wren.
She's setting glasses on the dining room table as though neighbors wandering into the inn carrying baked goods is simply how Tuesday mornings are supposed to begin.
Maybe around here it is.
Sophie slips away to inspect the peaches while I pour myself a glass of orange juice.
That's when Wren looks up.
"Reporter will be here in about twenty minutes."
"I was hoping you'd forgotten."
She laughs.
"That's adorable."
Before I can think of an appropriate response, the front door opens again.
Maggie walks in carrying her canvas tote, a stack of library flyers tucked beneath one arm. She's wearing a pair of green glasses that somehow match the scarf tied around the tote's handle.
She pauses just inside the doorway.
"Am I interrupting breakfast?"
"No," Margaret says before anyone else can answer. "You're just in time to witness Eli pretending he isn't thrilled about being famous."
"I'm not famous."
"Not yet."
Dottie June smiles as she hands Maggie one of the peaches.
"I think you'll both be wonderful."
I glance at Maggie.
She catches my eye and gives me a smile that is equal parts amused and resigned.
"Ready?" she asks.
"No."
She laughs softly.
"Good. Neither am I."
The reporter arrives exactly on time.
Ben Walker introduces himself to Maggie, as the rest of us in the lobby already know him.
"Morning, folks," he says, balancing a camera over one shoulder and a notepad under his arm. "I appreciate you squeezing me in."
Wren waves him toward the dining room.
"We're easy. Eli is the one you're going to have to convince."
Ben grins at me.
"I've photographed livestock that smiled more than firefighters."
"I believe it."
"See? We've already established rapport."
Within minutes, he has everyone talking.
He asks Maggie about the Stories Saved Me wall and the Book Trail.
She explains how the idea came together while Sophie proudly supplies details Ben never requested.
Wren occasionally jumps into the conversation to clarify facts, while Margaret quietly corrects everyone's version of history from her seat near the window.
Ben snaps photographs as naturally as most people carry on a conversation.
One picture catches Maggie laughing at something Sophie says.
Another captures Sophie showing him one of the Book Trail cards she has tucked into her backpack "for emergencies."
Before I know it, Ben turns his camera toward me.
"Mr. Turner."
"No."
"You don't even know what I was going to ask."
"I've developed instincts."
Ben chuckles.
"Humor me."
Reluctantly, I do.
He takes two quick photographs while Maggie unsuccessfully tries to hide a smile.
"I'm beginning to understand why your daughter is the talkative one," Ben says.
"I've been told."
Sophie nods enthusiastically.
"It's because Dad saves up all his words."
"I appreciate the professional analysis."
Ben lowers the camera and studies the photographs on the screen for a moment.
Ben studies the images on the back of his camera and nods approvingly.
"These are exactly what I needed."
I silently hope that means we're finished.
Instead, a familiar crow echoes through the open front door.
"Oh no," Wren mutters.
Too late.
Elvis struts through the entrance as though he has been invited.
He marches across the polished wood floor with complete confidence, pausing only long enough to inspect Ben's camera bag before continuing toward the group.
"There he is!" Sophie says, delighted.
"The unofficial mayor of Cedar Hollow," Earl announces.
Margaret snorts.
"I voted against him."
Elvis ignores all of us.
He hops onto the bottom step of the staircase, puffs out his chest, and lets out another triumphant crow that echoes through the lobby.
Ben's face lights up.
"Now that's a photograph."
Before anyone can object, the camera begins clicking again.
Elvis turns his head toward the lens as though he has spent years preparing for this exact opportunity.
"He's actually posing," Maggie says, laughing.
"I told you he thinks he's in charge," Wren replies.
Sophie kneels beside the rooster, who graciously allows the attention for approximately three seconds before attempting to peck at one of Ben's shoelaces.
Ben keeps shooting photographs.
"Oh, this is gold."
"I don't think that's the word I'd use," I mutter.
A guest wandering through the lobby pauses long enough to shake his head.
"Only in Cedar Hollow."
"Exactly," Ben says. "This is the picture people will remember."
He lowers the camera and scrolls through the images, grinning wider with each one.
"These are terrific, but I think we can do even better."
He looks toward Maggie.
"The real story is happening at the library."
Then he turns to me.
"If the two of you have another ten minutes, I'd love to get a few shots outside the library with the Stories Saved Me wall."
I glance at my watch.
"I need to get Sophie to school."
Ben nods immediately.
"I understand."
Then Sophie looks up at me.
"We drive past the library anyway."
Traitor.
Ben notices my expression and wisely remains silent.
Maggie shifts her tote higher onto her shoulder.
"We can make it quick."
I look from the reporter...
...to Sophie, whose excitement is written all over her face...
...to Maggie, who somehow manages to look both apologetic and amused at the same time.
I let out a slow breath.
"Ten minutes."
Ben claps his hands together once.
"Perfect."
As everyone heads toward the front door, Margaret calls after us.