A Dime a Dozen (5 page)

When the kiss ended, I pressed myself against him, wishing the world would simply stop and we could get off together and steal away more time, more time, more time.

“Ah, Callie,” he whispered, his lips at my ear. “I…”

I thought he was going to say “I love you.” Maybe he wanted to, maybe he was. But instead, after a long pause, he pulled away just a few inches and said, “I…I have to go.”

Tears filled my eyes, and though my heart still clung to him, with my arms I released him. He could see me crying, and he wiped away a tear from my cheek. When I looked up at him, I saw there were tears in his eyes as well.

“This time will fly,” he said wistfully. “I promise.”

I nodded, swallowing hard. Holding on to his arm, I walked with him to his car.

“Have we caused a scandal, do you think?” he asked, pulling out the keys to his rental. “Theoretically, I did spend the night.”

I shook my head.

“If I lived in town, absolutely,” I said. “But out here, no one sees anything. It’s all very private.”

He nodded.

“Then I guess it would be okay for me to kiss you again,” he said.

There, beside the car, he swept me into his arms and gave me another kiss that would blaze into my mind, another kiss that I would relive again and again as I thought about him and that whole magical night in the months ahead.

As he drove away into the morning mist, I thought I could very well die right at that moment and find heaven no more perfect than what I was feeling here on earth.

Now, as I sat at the airport on my way to the Smoky Mountains of North Carolina, I knew that in seven days he would be with me again.

I knew this would be the longest seven days of my life.

My cell phone rang, so startling me from my thoughts that I pressed the button to answer without first checking the screen.

“Callie Webber,” I said.

“Did I wake you?”

It was Tom, his voice deep and familiar, his tone intimate despite the fact that he was thousands of miles away in Singapore. I smiled, feeling myself relax at the very thought of him on the other end of the line.

“Nope,” I said. “I’m at the airport, waiting for my flight to North Carolina. I’m so glad you called.”

“I’m glad I was able to reach you before you left. I tried calling this morning—well, last night where you are—but we’ve had more trouble with the line. This is the first time I’ve been able to get through all day.”

“That’s all right,” I said. “I was gone most of the evening. Once I got back to the hotel, I went straight to bed.”

“Big night out on the town?” he teased.

“Oh, sure,” I replied. “Three hours at the police station followed by two hours of church. I ought to be ashamed of myself.”

He laughed.

“Ah, yes, the police station. So tell me all about the big sting.”

Picking up my carry-on, I stood and walked to an empty area where I could talk without being overheard. Tom and I always talked at the conclusion of a case, and he liked to hear every detail. This time was no exception.

“The whole event went off like clockwork,” I said softly, launching into the tale of the party and all that had taken place there. I told Tom about everything, ending with my conversation back at Clement’s house and my presentation of the check from the foundation. “I wish you could’ve seen Clement’s face when he saw that money. He told me that he’d been praying for something like that for almost twenty years.”

“So once again you’ve been instrumental in providing an answer to prayer.”

“It’s
your
money, Tom.”

“That’s why we make the perfect team, Callie.”

I smiled, playing with the strap of my watch. We did make a good team, in every sense of the word.

“Only seven more days,” he said softly, as though he could read my mind.

“I know.”

I held the phone close, glad he couldn’t hear the pounding of my heart.

“Are you okay about going to North Carolina?” he asked. “Any worries?”

“Maybe just a few,” I told him. “A part of me can’t wait to see the Webbers again. Another part of me would like to jump on a plane heading in the opposite direction.”

He sighed.

“In that case, you might end up here in Singapore. I like the sound of that.”

“Hey, listen, if you weren’t coming home in exactly one week, I just might do it.”

I bit my lip. More than once in the past few months I had entertained the notion of simply popping up in Singapore and surprising him the same way he had surprised me last fall by showing up at my house, out of the blue, when I thought he was thousands of miles away. But that was impractical, not to mention expensive, and I knew that his job there was keeping him much too busy to do anything more than work and sleep. That was another reason that he was looking forward to our reunion: He hoped to spend at least a week, maybe two, simply relaxing with me and recovering from the grind of the last four months.

“Well, at least you’re
flying
to North Carolina,” he said. “I talked to Harriet yesterday, and she was getting ready to
drive
there. I told her she was nuts.”

“You shouldn’t have said that,” I scolded, laughing. “She’s scared to death of airplanes, you know.”

“Yeah, she told me. Let’s just hope I don’t ever need to send her overseas. I’d hate to see her have to paddle her way to an assignment!”

I noticed some activity near my gate and saw that my flight had begun boarding. I stood, grabbed my carry-on, and told Tom I needed to get moving.

“All right,” he said. “I hope it goes smoothly for you back there in the coach section.”

He was just teasing, but I knew he hated the fact I wouldn’t fly first class when I was on business for the foundation. That was one perk I wasn’t willing to accept no matter how much he insisted.

“Why, thank you, Tom,” I said sweetly.

We talked a minute more and then said our goodbyes, and as I stood in line to get on the plane, I tried to focus my mind away from Tom and onto my next investigation—one which just happened to involve my late husband’s parents in the very town where he and I had met and fallen in love.

Whatever was in store for me there, I prayed that God would provide the strength for me to handle it.

Three

My final flight reached Asheville a few minutes after 5:00 p.m., providing a gorgeous view of the Smoky Mountains as we came in for a landing. The airport was as low-key and simple to navigate as I remembered, and I easily retrieved my bags and handled the details of my car rental. An hour and a half of driving later, I passed the sign welcoming me to Greenbriar.

The town looked exactly as I remembered it. Coming around the curve and down the hill, I could see rooftops peeking through the trees and, beyond that, the glimmer of the sun setting on Greenbriar Lake in the distance. I took a deep breath as I continued to drive. In an odd way, coming here almost felt like coming home. This place was in my blood, as much a part of me as the color of my eyes or the sound of my voice. It owned a piece of my heart.

I thought back to the first time I had come here. I was a nine-year-old kid ready for a week at Camp Greenbriar, the local Christian summer camp that covered 300 acres of wooded lakefront property. I had loved it so much that I continued to return as a camper every summer through age fifteen. When I turned sixteen, I started coming back as a junior counselor. To me, summer would always mean the sparkling lake, the shadowy blue mountains, the intoxicating smell of dirt and moss and pine.

Anticipating that smell, I rolled down my window and inhaled deeply. Knowing I was almost to the Webbers’ house, I slowed as I passed the big Cornerstone Community Church, which had a giant sign out front announcing “Free Concert Tonight!” by a Christian rock group. Though, according to the sign, the concert didn’t begin for another hour, the parking lot in front of the church was already filled to overflowing.

Just past the church, I made a left turn into the Webbers’ long, winding driveway. As their house came into view through the trees, I had to blink away sudden, sentimental tears. I had been afraid I might feel anxious or depressed once I got here, but the opposite was true. As I pulled to a stop and looked up at the house and then out at the lake behind it, I was flooded with a calm sense of peace and contentment.

After the long flight and then the drive, my legs were stiff as I climbed from the car. I had brought along some Ghirardelli chocolates from San Francisco as a small gift, so I grabbed the box from the backseat, shut the door, and started up the walk. I was a bit concerned about the number of cars parked in the driveway. The Webbers had said they would be having “a few people” over so that I could meet the directors of the different migrant programs MORE was affiliated with. But this looked like more than a few, and I wished suddenly that I had asked them to hold off on all of this until tomorrow. We should’ve reserved tonight for a private reunion for the three of us, not a public gathering with 50 of their closest friends and associates.

Holding my breath, I knocked on the door and tried to decide what the Webbers were to me now anyway. With Bryan gone, were they still my in-laws or were they my “former” in-laws? When the door opened and I was face-to-face with Bryan’s mom and dad, I knew there was nothing former about it. These people were still my family.

“Callie!” Natalie cried, her arms flying open. “Honey, I’m so glad you’re here.”

We hugged, holding on for a long, long time. I didn’t realize until that moment how much I had missed her. Once we pulled apart, Dean was there for a hug as well.

Finally, I stepped back and looked at them, thinking that in two years they hadn’t seemed to age a bit. As always, Dean sported trim gray hair and just the slightest paunch under a tailored shirt and sweater-vest. Natalie, with her silver bob and genial face, looked almost like an older, female version of Bryan.

“You look beautiful, my dear,” she pronounced, reaching up to touch the back of my short hair. “Elegant as ever, and this hairdo is perfect for you.”

Thanking her for the compliment, I gave her the chocolates and stepped inside. As Dean closed the door behind me, I could hear voices and music coming from the other rooms, and I quickly realized this wasn’t just a small welcoming reception, but an out-and-out party.

“I’m so sorry,” Natalie said softly, leaning toward me, “but this thing has escalated out of control. Some of the cousins found out you were coming and spread the word among the family, and before I knew it, the house was completely filled with relatives who insisted on being here when you arrived. They even brought food, and it looks like they’re here for the duration.”

“That’s all right,” I said, feeling butterflies fill my stomach. “It’ll be nice to see them.”

We stepped into the parlor, and before I could blink, I was assaulted by the loving hugs of cousins and aunts and uncles and two of Bryan’s brothers and their wives and children. For a moment, I hesitated, wondering if I was strong enough for this after all.

After the hugging and kissing, I realized the room was decorated with balloons and streamers and a big banner over the hearth that said “Welcome Back, Callie! We Love You!”

Overwhelmed, I accepted a glass of iced tea someone thrust into my hand. Then I sought out a stool at the kitchen counter and sat, wishing suddenly that I could withdraw from the confusion surrounding me. One by one, relatives exclaimed about how much younger I looked with shorter hair, how great it was to have me here, how much they had missed seeing me. Someone asked how I had been, and before I could answer, someone else asked how my flight was. Women set out food and children ran through the room grabbing at streamers, and the best I could manage was to take a deep breath and remind myself that this was family.
Enjoy the moment, Callie. These are people who love you
.

In the corner I could see Bryan’s Uncle Rob about to light up a cigar, and I predicted that his wife would catch him at the first puff of smoke and shoo him out the door. Sure enough, she was just chasing him outside when Natalie started sending everyone else into the backyard, asking the women to take the food they had brought and set it up on the picnic tables for an impromptu covered-dish buffet. It was nearly dark, but someone flipped a switch, and suddenly the deck and yard were awash in glowing yellow lights.

After washing my hands at the sink, I busied myself with putting ice in cups, slowly relaxing enough to enjoy the conversations that ebbed and flowed around me. It was touching, I had to admit, that so many of Bryan’s relatives had wanted to see me when I came. Perhaps, this was easier after all. We could get the social part out of the way this first night, leaving me free to get more work done as the week progressed.

Once all of the relatives were outside, things quieted down a bit, and I was able to focus on my goal here, which was to evaluate the Webbers’ charity for a grant. I thought about Dean and Natalie Webber and how they had come to be involved with helping migrants in the first place.

The area in North Carolina where they lived was known as “apple country,” and its rolling hills were dotted with apple orchards both large and small. In fact, there were so many orchards there that at harvesttime there weren’t enough local workers to handle the job of picking all the fruit. That’s why every July and August migrant workers would flood the region, coming north from Texas and Mexico and staying until the harvest was finished at the end of October.