Chapter 7 #2
Yeah, he knew the Ezekiel passage. “It also says two verses down: ‘Ye shall dwell in the land that I gave to your fathers.’ Or in my case, the hotel.”
Her playful smile lit the room like the eighty-light chandelier. “Doesn’t count. It says ‘land,’ not ‘hotel.’” Then she sobered. “Does it help you to come in this room again?”
Caleb ambled over to the old grand entrance.
The place he saw his parents leave and never come back.
“It does, but it stirs up the question that always hovers in the back of my mind. Should I stay here and keep the family legacy alive, or should I sell the place and return to the work I love? And no amount of Ezekiel Scripture twisting on my part will help.”
Ariel trailed behind him, touched his shoulder. “Caleb, you need something to call your own. You had a band, but it was Drake’s band. You have an inn, but your grandfather still runs it. It’s your legacy, but if you don’t make it your own now, you never will.”
How did she know exactly what he needed, even before he knew?
The answer came quickly. Even though they’d met briefly before and they’d known each other only three days, she got him. Understood him in ways no one ever had, even his parents. Or Stephanie, the woman he’d hoped to spend his life with.
He pushed aside the thought, preferring to watch her discover—rather, rediscover—this section of the hotel. “I’d like to hear your good memory of this room.”
Her eyes sparkled. “I came here the evening Aunt Dahlia would come to take me to Nashville and make me a star. I was ten, and it snowed that day, the first snowfall of the season. So according to island tradition, school let out for the afternoon. At dusk, we all came here for games and hot drinks and—”
She smiled and sucked in a breath and held her arms out wide.
“And it was the first time I ever had hot sweetened milk with whipped cream. Your mom gave it to me because I told her I didn’t care for chocolate.
” Ariel dropped her arms and wandered to the polished antique table near one of the bookshelf walls.
“I felt so loved that day, so seen because of her and because an older boy let me unlock the door and hold it open for everyone while he gathered firewood. Those keys fascinated me.”
He stepped closer, remembering. “Ariel, I was that boy.”
“Yes, you were.” She smiled that heart-stopping smile of hers.
“I remember wishing I could give these to you that night, since you loved them so much.”
“I wouldn’t mind holding them now.”
He gave them to her, and when his fingers brushed her hand, Ariel’s eyes grew wide, and she stepped back.
“What’s wrong?”
“I just realized what Aunt Dahlia and Doreen would do if they knew we were alone in here.”
Seriously? “It’s not a date, and it’s a public place, sort of. I left the door to the garden wing wide open.”
She nodded, a little of the unease leaving her eyes. “You’re right. It’s probably okay. Please don’t feel offended.”
“I’m not. Your aunt knew what she was doing when she protected you.” He glanced over at the piano. “Want to play something? I doubt Granddad has had it tuned since the day he locked the doors.”
Ariel stepped to the piano as if approaching a queen.
When she sat on the shiny black bench, Caleb didn’t know if he expected to hear a ballad, love song, Christian country tune, or Earl’s new composition.
But he couldn’t have anticipated the sound that soon oozed from the big concert grand, which Granddad had apparently kept tuned all these years.
The song’s melody rang familiar, but the style did not as she played a smooth jazz intro to the world’s most beloved hymn.
“Amazing grace, how sweet the sound…”
Moving into the next line, Ariel enhanced her voice with a jazz flavor, bending just the right notes to intensify the song’s natural emotion. Adding jazz runs and grace notes and walkups to the keys, she told her own rendition of the age-old story of grace.
The mix of perfect piano sound, the most beautiful voice in Nashville, and the little curls the wind had pulled from Ariel’s knot of hair did something strange to his heart. To his resolve to keep an emotional distance from this beautiful, sweet woman.
He sat next to her on the bench, sang a baritone harmony, and watched her eyes grow wide. She didn’t miss a note, though, and played through the last verse, ending with a flourish.
“And grace will lead me home.”
She held the sustain and let the last note ring out and reverberate in the air.
“I knew you could sing, but Caleb, I had no idea what you could do with jazz,” she said after the note finally faded. Her face flushed, she reached for his hand and held it with a tender touch. “So smooth, so rich. You were created to sing jazz.”
“I thought the same about you. And I did not expect you to know jazz chords.”
“Isaiah taught me, years ago. Most people think he plays only country. To me, jazz has the most passion, the most impact of any genre. It’s unpretentious in style yet emotionally complex.”
It sure was. “Is this the new sound for your band?”
She laughed. “Just for fun. Aunt Dahlia has a lot of wonderful qualities, but jazzy isn’t one of them.”
Caleb had to agree. “Want to play through your new songs?”
Ariel stood and got out her guitar and the music, then quick-tuned to notes he hit on the piano. They played each new song the writers gave her, adding vocals and improvising a bit to try various styles.
They saved “Mercy Song” for last.
“You called it right,” Caleb said after they’d run through it twice. “This song is amazing.”
“Before I saw ‘Mercy Song,’ I didn’t know if we needed a new subgenre or simply a fresh way to present the same kind of music we’ve always played.
Maybe more complex arrangements. Or a change in our concert style, like interactive stage props or a country-themed backdrop.
” Ariel set down the guitar and moved back to the piano seat.
“But honestly, I think the problem is the music.”
“The new songs from the other writers suit the band. They’re not bad, just familiar. Any band could play these songs and recognize them as yours.”
“Staying on brand can be good. However, I still need to refresh this band as much as you need to refresh this inn.” Ariel stood from the bench and stretched, glanced around the room again.
“Caleb, what if you did reopen this wing? Its vintage feel will resonate with a lot of people, and not everybody can afford the Grand.”
“It wouldn’t take much work. Michelle’s kept it in perfect shape.”
“What do the guest rooms look like?”
“Leather, built-in bookcases, lots of wood, like this room. Rich, dark colors and upscale vintage rugs and curtains, antique furniture.”
“Grandfather chic.”
He grinned. “If you say so.”
Ariel gathered her music and stashed it and her guitar in the case. “Rehearsal’s in our suite tonight at seven.”
Caleb started to agree. Then on impulse…“Why not meet here instead?”
Her eyes widened. “And defy your grandfather?”
“He already wants to boot me out, so it can’t hurt.” He gazed at the door, the ancient entrance. “What if this section of the inn really can be redeemed? My family’s sins atoned for, the pain healed, relationships mended? It won’t happen as long as we keep treating the parlor like a shrine.”
“According to all I’ve seen and heard since I got here,” she said, “there’s every chance your grandfather will ask you to leave.”
Three days ago, he would have considered that a blessing. The problem was, since Ariel Sullivan entered his life, he was no longer sure.
The next afternoon was one of those days when she felt like an only child.
Wearing running clothes and sunglasses, her hair tucked under her Goodness of God cap and her favorite jazz playing through her earbuds, Ariel listened to her brother’s voicemail while she ran down Blueberry Boulevard toward the boardwalk.
She hung up without leaving a message, knowing Ethan never listened to them; he simply called back.
Or, more often, didn’t, since getting his farm back in shape and dealing with Sam’s problems took so much of his time and energy.
She couldn’t blame him. The man had more on his plate than he could handle, raising Sam without the boy’s mother.
To his credit, since the death of his late wife, Shelly, two years ago, he’d tried to keep closer contact with Ariel.
But their age gap always seemed to stand in the way.
Living almost eight hundred miles apart, when she wasn’t touring, hadn’t helped either.
Ariel didn’t need anything in particular today. But her conversation with Caleb in the parlor had stirred up a kind of homesickness she didn’t know how to describe or cure.
Sometimes a girl just needed her big brother, right?
She pulled up her sister Charlotte’s number and got her voicemail too. And Mama and Daddy were taking Sam to the bounce house in Port Joseph this afternoon, so she shouldn’t bother them.
Even her cousins Dani and Kate didn’t answer. Aunt Dahlia had made herself unavailable too, saying she wanted to answer emails and conduct business before getting ready for tonight’s rehearsal.
So she dialed Isaiah’s number. No answer. And naturally, no voicemail, since the man refused to use it.
Fine. Ariel would just run and pray.
She stepped onto the boardwalk with beautiful blue Lake Huron and its screeching seagulls to her left and a view of Island House Inn on her right.
The scent of lilacs hit her even here, mingled with the aroma of Jonathon Island fudge.
Passing the marina, the ferry dock, and the public beach, she caught sight of Aunt Dahlia and a tall, craggy-faced man with white hair and beard and a splinted right hand as they exited the arts center.
Isaiah, here on island. This day just got a whole lot happier.