Chapter Twenty
Levi
A lthough I was skeptical and reluctant at first, I took Donner’s advice and didn’t contact Marigold. Instead, I hoped and prayed that she would come back to me.
Two weeks passed with no sight of her.
In the meantime, my routine carried on. I went to football practice and games, hiked with Finn, and ate dry toast for breakfast instead of pancakes.
On the morning prior an important away football game, I found Finn tearing apart a paperback book in the bedroom. How he got it, I’ll never know. The book was torn into so many pieces that I couldn’t decipher the author, title, or genre.
As I attempted to tidy up the aftermath by plugging in the vacuum cleaner, it failed to roar to life. Sighing, I wished I could ask Marigold to fix it, but of course, we still weren’t speaking. If I remembered correctly, there was a shop vac in the basement.
Paper confetti stuck to Finn’s jowls as we descended to the one-room basement, and I was reminded how messy the place was. Note to self: clean this room. Momma might have to help determine what to keep and what to include in a spring yard sale.
If I were to judge my dad on this room alone, I’d assume he was a hoarder. Medium-sized boxes were stacked like columns. Most of the boxes were filled with books. Dad had a hard time parting with the written word. Maybe Finn’s mess was a blessing in disguise. One less decision I had to make.
Weak sunlight struggled to illuminate the dark corners but didn’t succeed. Instead, hazy dust swirled in the air. Unlike the rest of the house, the basement hadn’t been cleaned. In a shadowed nook, a cluster of items lay scattered. The shop vac would be here.
My foot accidentally snagged a box, sending a stack of four boxes toppling down until the top one hit the floor, spilling its contents at my feet. Papers and journals surrounded me in a chaotic array; some sprawled open while others lay with their spines facing downward.
My dad’s distinctive handwriting stared back at me from within these scattered pages. Could one of these be the journal I sought? The journal where he wrote someone into existence on the mountain?
Memories of an antiquated collage library filled with literary classics flooded my mind as a musty scent of aged paper tickled my nostrils. I crouched to inspect the pile. The first journal I picked up could be more accurately described as a notebook. It was filled with scribbled thoughts and novel scene ideas, plot points, character arcs, and setting descriptions. The next notebook contained poems. And the third, favorite quotes.
As I sifted through the pages and papers, a square object fluttered to the ground. Setting the notebook aside, I found an unsealed envelope with my mom’s name written across the front in my dad’s flowing script.
Inside was a yellowed, aged letter. I had to tilt it toward the light of the sliding glass door to interpret the faded words.
Dear Elizabeth,
I don’t have the book with me, so this single piece of paper must suffice.
I must say that I love you. The loneliness in your eyes as we went to bed last night concerned me. So, like normal, I am retreating to pen and paper to tell you how I feel.
Elizabeth, I love you and only you. Feelings for Courtney no longer reside in my heart. I despair showing you my love in a manner you’ll believe. If you could see yourself the way I do, you would never doubt my affection for you.
I married you , Elizabeth Charlotte Shaw, and I’ve loved you since the day you shared your ham sandwich with me on the playground. You know why I tried having a relationship with Courtney. You also know why it didn’t work.
It’s because I loved you more.
I always have.
And yet I don’t regret a single moment of my life or who I’ve loved. Every encounter made it even more clear to me that you are my person.
You are my sunshine, my rain, and my hope. All paths have led to you. And they always will.
All my love,
Duncan
The letter fell on the folded seam as I digested the words.
Dad had dated Courtney King, which meant the initials Marigold and I found on the tree were theirs, just as I feared.
I reread the letter. The first line struck me. Dad mentioned a book. He must mean a journal like this one. He referenced it as if he wrote in it often. Could it be the one I’d searched for? The place he kept his secrets and composed someone? Maybe Courtney?
The journal may be in this pile.
The following hours were spent scouring the box for Dad’s journal. But I did not find the book.
While I enjoyed grasping these pieces of my dad, they were all rather generic. They proved that the man loved to write everything on paper, which—in my mind—proved he didn’t write the suicide note.
I was interested in clues about his killer or who he had created, but neither piece of information was found in this pile.
I read the letter a third time. Momma might know about the journal he’d referenced. Maybe she stored it on a shelf in her bedroom or tucked it into her nightstand.
I stuffed the paper inside the envelope and then shoved it into the back pocket of my jeans. Then, I loaded Finn into the truck and drove to Ghost Mountain Farm.
Marigold
My bare feet padded down the stairs and into the kitchen. The scent of coffee wafted from the pot. Other than the tantalizing smell, the kitchen was empty.
As had become my routine over the past weeks, I poured a half-filled mug of robust dark roast coffee, adding a swirl of creamer and sugar. For breakfast, I prepared a boring bowl of flakes mixed with nuts, raisins, and granola clusters. Ezra liked bland, fiber-filled cereal. Levi and I never ate cereal together on the mountain. I begrudgingly adjusted to this morning soup.
When I was done with breakfast and Ezra still hadn’t appeared, I padded back upstairs and peeked into his bedroom.
The king-sized bed was neatly made with a plain black comforter draped over it and two plump pillows. White drapes decorated with black diamond patterns hung serenely from the two gabled windows that overlooked the front yard. Mounted above the sleek dark-wood dresser sat a small TV set. The door to his closet remained closed. Ezra was nowhere in sight.
The room bore few personal touches save for a series of professional photographs gracing the wall above the bed—likely scenes from Italy—and a handful of framed pictures scattered across the dresser’s surface. After peeking behind me to confirm I was alone, I ventured into the room to inspect them.
The first frame displayed a picture of Ezra in a winery setting. The second held a photo of him and Lillian. But it was the third frame that piqued my curiosity.
The five by seven photograph captured a smiling family immortalized in color. They were standing somewhere on the farm, rolling fields and the setting sun behind them.
My fingers glazed over the glass, the smiles, and the family that looked whole and perfect. Ezra’s father was the only person I hadn’t met. His black, windswept hair touched his shoulders, and he and Ezra appeared to be the same height, both with handsome features. Courtney leaned into his shoulder, content and relaxed, while Lillian held Courtney’s hand with a wide smile.
I contemplated Ezra’s expression in the picture. He looked lighter. Freer. His father’s imprisonment, subsequent responsibility on the farm, and delayed dreams added weight to his shoulders and lines to his face.
The sound of tires on gravel startled me. I wiped my fingerprints from the photo with the hem of my shirt and then ran downstairs.
I watched Levi’s truck pull into the driveway. Instinctively, I walked outside in my bare feet and waited for him to park.
After exiting the truck, he saw me standing on Ezra’s porch and stopped midway to his mom’s house. A flutter swept through my belly. Levi had not contacted me since the day I’d left.
Why? Was it to give me space because he knew he’d lied? Did he wish for me to return while he was at football practice?
“Hey,” I said.
He lifted his hand in a forced greeting. “Hello.”
“How are you?”
He shrugged. “Busy. Here to see Momma.”
Footsteps shuffled down the drive. We both turned our heads at the same time.
Ezra’s stubble glittered in the morning light as he walked from the direction of the farm store.
Ah. So that’s where he’d been. His office was upstairs.
He neither spoke nor looked at Levi as he passed the truck. When he reached me, he laced his fingers through mine and walked me up the porch stairs, into the house. I watched from the screen as Levi stood for a few moments. Finally, he made his way into Beth’s house.
“Why did you do that?” I asked, peeling my hand out of his. “He’s just here to visit Beth.”
He gestured toward the kitchen. “Did you have coffee?”
“One cup.”
“Would you like another?”
“I guess.”
After we filled our mugs with steaming coffee, he said, “I’m sorry if I overstepped. Levi irks me.” He set his hand over mine, a gesture I allowed. We’d been flirting with danger since the night we first kissed.
I didn’t want the town to gossip. In my short stay in Sutton, I’d learned that being with someone was almost equivalent to marrying them.
Although Levi and I hadn’t dated, and we only shared one brief kiss, the town was already whispering. Deep down, they still didn’t forgive Levi for breaking up with Lillian—even though she’d married Jackson. I didn’t want to continue the cycle of gossip and blame.
The problem was this: Ezra and I had grown close. Closer than Levi and me. It wasn’t planned, nor was it forced. It had just . . . happened.
“Want to go to the truck graveyard?”
“Yes.” I sighed, relieved for the change of topic.
Levi
The letter was tucked into my back pocket when I opened the worn wooden door to Momma’s house. “Hey, Ma,” I called, helping myself inside. “Momma?”
There was no answer.
I walked through the house to the rear deck and saw her kneeling in the garden.
The slap of the screen door alerted her to my arrival. “Levi, what a surprise,” she remarked, pushing herself up with a hand on her knees.
“I can help,” I said, nodding toward the bucket of weeds nearby.
She straightened, placing her hands on the small of her back. “I’d love to sit a spell.”
As we settled into the porch swing, its chains protested with a screech. She sank into the cushions and let out a satisfied sigh. “I’ve missed having you around,” she said.
Using my foot to set us swaying softly on the deck, I replied, “I miss you too, Momma.” I didn’t bother with pleasantries. “I found a letter.”
Leaning forward, I retrieved the envelope from the rear of my jeans and handed it to her.
Tears immediately threatened to spill from her eyes. She must have recognized the handwriting. “Your dad wrote me often.”
“Have you read this one?”
She pulled the paper from the delicate envelope and unfolded it. Her fingers went to her mouth as she scanned the words. A single tear ran down her cheek. “I wish you hadn’t read this. I should have known you’d find such things at the cabin, but I never . . . ” She wiped the tear away. “You must wonder about Courtney and your dad.”
She knew me far too well. “Yes. I’m curious, but that’s not the only reason I showed this to you.”
“You are a mystery, Levi, so much like your dad. Your brother has always been easier to read. Have you talked to him? He called yesterday.”
I leaned forward. “No. Mom, please. The letter referenced a book. Do you know which book Dad was talking about?”
She read it again. “Yes. Duncan and I wrote letters to each other in it. I must have had it when he wrote this.”
“Do you know where it is?”
“No.”
That’s not the answer I was hoping for. “What do you mean?”
“I haven’t seen the book in years. I assume it’s at the cabin.”
“It’s not.”
She let out a sigh. “Good, because I don’t want you reading it. Those were personal letters.”
“There were only letters in the book?”
She nodded and looked at me curiously. “What were you expecting?”
I’d hoped there would be a reference to who Dad wrote into existence. An indication of his mental state at the end of his life. Something other than love letters to my mom. That was sweet, but she was right. I wasn’t interested in them.
Could Momma know who Dad had penned?
No way.
She would have told me.
“I was hoping to discover more about Dad. Mom, you must admit, he would never have written his suicide note on a computer. If this is how he communicated with you, this is how he would have done it.”
She gripped my arm with a light touch. “I’ve made peace with your dad’s death, Levi. There’s been no sign of it being anything other than . . . ” Her hand fell as she faltered, unable to say the word.
Suicide.
My dad’s name didn’t seem to fit together with the word suicide .
Her warm hands clenched mine as I reached for her and held her. Instead of arguing, I just sat with her, listening to the breeze in the orchard.
“Levi,” she whispered, her voice soft yet firm. “Please move on. I’ve loved having you here, but you don’t belong in Sutton. You should be in Nashville with Colton. I know your heart longs for the music. You are an artist. Don’t ruin your life by staying here.”
She was right. My body itched to create, but I couldn’t do that until I learned the truth.
Even if I returned to my passion, Nashville might not accept me. As far as music fans were concerned, I was washed up. Old news. But Momma wasn’t talking about me being successful. She desired to see me happy .
I squeezed her hands. “I love you, Momma.”
She squeezed in response. “I love you too.”
When I tried to stand, she pulled me to the chair. “I’m not finished,” she said. “You mustn’t think ill of Courtney because of the letter.”
I sat, curious but also hesitant to hear about my dad’s dating life. “How long did they date?”
She sighed. “Only a few months. I hope you don’t assume I hated Courtney. I didn’t. Your dad and I dated on and off. He was with her during one of our ‘off’ times.”
This was new information. “Why did you and Dad break up?”
“You’re a lot like him. Or you were . All passion. He’d get so caught up in a song or a book idea that he’d forget about me. It took me time to realize he wasn’t disinterested when he pursued his art first. He was distracted. I learned to love that part of him.”
Was she digging into my failure with Lillian? “I never forgot about Lillian.”
“But did you include her?”
This wasn't supposed to be about me. Time to go. “Thanks for talking to me.”
“You won’t think differently about Courtney?”
I stood for a second time. “No. Dad ended up with you .”
“Consider what I said. You don’t belong here. I’ll be fine if you move.”
I gave her a quick kiss on the brow. “I’m not ready to leave yet.”
“And Levi.”
I stopped at the door. “If you find that book, don’t read it. Bring it to me.”
Was she hiding something?
Maybe it was filled with sappy love letters between my parents.
But still, I wouldn’t promise. “I’ll let you know if I find it.”
Marigold
I discovered the exact part needed for the 2018 Ford F-250 amidst the decrepit remains of a retired 1999 F-250, its body marred by rust and its engine a charred shell, while the speedometer boasted a staggering 295,392 miles.
Ezra sat on the lowered tailgate. His gaze drifted between the distant horizon, the swaying trees, and the looming barn in the distance.
“What are you looking at?”
His focus shifted to me. “You.”
“I mean, what were you looking at a second ago?”
“You.”
I slammed the truck door and settled beside him. The metal beneath me was warm but not too hot because of the large shady tree above. “No, you weren’t.”
“Actually, I was. I was thinking about you.”
“What about?”
His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “My friend, Jake, who works on the farm, asked if we were dating.”
I swung my legs like a nervous child. “Oh?”
“I told him no, but I’ve been sitting here thinking about it.”
I wasn’t ready to talk about such things. “I went into your room this morning,” I said. “Looking for you.”
He clasped his hands behind him and reclined slightly against them. “Did you? I apologize. I was attending to some business.”
“I saw the picture of your family on your dresser. It was the first time I’ve seen your dad.”
His jaw hardened as she shut his eyes. “I remember that day. I was visiting from the Bruno Vineyard Winery and Lilly was in town for a visit after she passed her NCLEX exam for nurses. Momma made pulled pork with barbeque sauce, fried green tomatoes, creamed corn, cornbread, and the best warm peach cobbler with ice cream I’ve ever tasted. Father was arrested the next year. We had Thanksgiving, Christmas, and Easter together before he was taken, but I remember that day more than the holidays.”
Both love and grief permeated his words. “I’m sorry,” I said.
His eyes opened. “I hate Levi.”
My legs swung faster. “Why do you hate Levi? Don’t you assume Duncan turned Samuel in?”
“I know Duncan turned him in.” He leaned closer. “I’m sure you’ve heard Levi moan about his father’s death, but I doubt he thinks about my father, the one who’s alive but not present. Because of Duncan Shaw, my father didn’t get to walk Lilly up the aisle at her wedding. He doesn’t get to climb into bed with my mother every night. He can’t smell the fields or feel the wheel of a tractor under his grip. He’s here, but he’s also not. Levi isn’t the only one who lost someone.”
I couldn’t tie these loose ends together. Both Levi and Ezra believed things for which they had no proof. Both could be right, and both could be wrong. Living in the in-between seemed almost impossible.
“I’m sorry,” I said again.
“Mari, I don’t wish to talk of these things. May I kiss you again?”
For two weeks, our fingers had brushed when we were close. He’d casually hold my hand, or his fingers trailed along my back as he passed, but we hadn’t kissed. Kissing was an admission that we were moving forward, and I wasn’t sure if I was ready. I was still holding onto the hope that I would find my memories and learn of a love I already had.
As sunlight filtered through swaying leaves, casting playful patterns on his face while he awaited my response, I chose not to reply verbally.
Instead, I intertwined my fingers with the smooth skin at the base of his neck where delicate hairs tickled my touch, and drew him closer for a kiss.
In that moment, I resolved to embrace both hope and progress. I would be strong. I would kiss Ezra King and be his girl and belong to him because he treated me with both respect and kindness.
Despite the lingering ache in my chest echoing Levi’s ominous words—a truth I struggled to accept—I pushed those doubts aside.
Ezra’s lips left a trail of kisses from my cheekbone to the soft spot below my ear as he guided me back until we were lying in the truck’s bed.
As he gazed down at me, I saw the faint scar on the side of his head. The injury he wouldn’t tell me about. I looked at his hands. The knuckles that lovingly held me were covered with white scars from demons he’d fought over the years, along with new red marks.
He leaned in to kiss my neck. “Ezra?”
“Hmm?”
“Will you tell me the story about how you were hurt?”
His stubbled chin grazed my jawline as he hesitated before replying, “Maybe later.”
And because I wanted him to kiss me again, I let it go.