Family Trees (10 page)

“Some assembly is right,” he agreed with admiration. “It's still in excellent condition. I'm glad you brought me here—it's incredible.”

She led him past a pile of musty burlap bags and stalls filled with farming equipment and tools, until they reached a quirky space near the barn's double-wide doors.

He listened as Shelby talked about what made the barn so special to her. When Jackie was born, long before “man cave” became part of the modern vernacular, Olen had carved out his own retreat in the barn. Like a makeshift clubhouse for a grown man, the space boasted a secondhand couch, overturned apple crate tables, camping lanterns, and a television connected by a string of extension cords that snaked up a support beam, across the adjacent wall, and into an electrical outlet. On warm nights, after Olen's work was done and a much younger Jackie was tucked in bed, he would go to the barn to recharge.

When he and Ginny were raising Shelby, however, Shelby said that he no longer felt the need to get away. Instead, he welcomed her into the club, she told Ryan with obvious pride. The two spent countless rainy days and summer evenings in the barn with the doors open to the sky. They would watch Packers games with a popcorn bowl between them, play backgammon under the dim light of a camping lantern, read
Little Women
and Judy Blume, and talk about school. The lake. Constellations. Her mother. No topic was ever off-limits.

Ryan took a seat on the lumpy couch while Shelby turned on one of the lanterns. “You talked about everything with your grandfather?” he asked.

“I still do.” The lantern cast a warm golden light across her face. She set it down on a crate and walked to the workbench behind the couch where she had placed a bottle of wine and two glasses before his arrival. “When I was younger, he loved to talk about everything. Homework, farming, friends, boys,” she said, joining him on the couch.

“Boys?” Ryan raised one eyebrow skeptically. “I can't imagine having conversations like that with my parents, let alone my grandparents.”

“Guess I just got lucky,” she answered with a laugh. “Wine?”

He accepted a glass and held it out while she gave him a healthy pour.

“Don't you talk to your parents about what's happening in your life?” she asked, pouring a glass for herself before setting the bottle down beside the lantern.

“Not really.”

“Why not?” Shelby tucked her legs beneath her, turning sideways on the couch to face him.

“I don't know.” He paused, looking down at the armrest while thumbing a firm thread that stuck out of the piping like a stray whisker. “It just wasn't something we did.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Shelby asked, and from the look of concern in her eyes, he realized she was picking up on feelings that he wasn't interested in discussing.

“On my last night here?” he said, trying to sway her away from the topic by setting down his glass and reaching for her hand. “I can think of much better ways to spend this time.”

“I look at you and think how fortunate you are to have had your parents.”

“You have Ginny and Olen,” Ryan said quietly, entwining his fingers with hers. “Besides, parents can be overrated.”

Shelby shook her head slightly. “You don't really believe that, do you?”

“You haven't met mine.”

Ryan took her glass and set it beside his own, then shifted on the couch to face her. Perhaps it was the wine. The night air that breezed in through the open barn doors. Or the look in her eyes that expressed a longing for something that no one but Jackie could give her. Whatever the reason, his attraction to Shelby was undeniable.

“I'm sorry your mother wasn't there for you,” he said, lightly caressing her palms with his thumbs. “But you had two people who loved you.” He raised her hands to his lips for a light kiss.

Ryan pulled up on one knee, drawing her to him. They moved closer together, slowly, with wanting, until they were no more than a breath away from one another. Once he brushed her lips with a kiss, his worries fell away. Family obligation. Disappointments. Choices. When his hand slid behind her neck and his fingers buried into her hair, he hoped to smooth away her mother's verbal lashings. Ryan wanted Shelby to feel protected in his embrace, as he felt in hers.

That evening, as gentle kisses became more passionate and they gradually fell back into the cushions, Ryan didn't think about his impending departure the next morning. Or that, once again, she would be deserted—this time, by no one else's fault but his own. There were no promises between them. Only possibilities of what could be, should he dare to take those steps.

“Shelby?” came Olen's protective voice out of the darkness, just beyond the barn's open doors.

She quickly pulled away from Ryan's embrace and straightened her blouse. “Grandpa?”

Shit,
Ryan thought to himself, feeling like a sixteen-year-old kid caught in the basement with a girl who was up past her curfew.

“I think it's time for your
friend
to leave, don't you?”

“He was just heading out,” she called back, shooting an apologetic look at Ryan. She stood up and reached out to take his hand. “Sorry, I feel like a fool,” she whispered. “Here I am, at an age when I should have a place of my own, and Grandpa is calling me out. As if I'm back in high school.”

“It's nothing,” Ryan assured her while rising from the couch.

“Fair warning—don't say anything to him as you leave.” She groaned. “I'd bet good money that he's out there wearing nothing more than a pair of white briefs and his work boots.”

Ryan laughed out loud, despite the awkwardness of the situation. And then, knowing Olen was watching, he refrained himself. Ryan gave Shelby a discreet hug and whispered into her ear that he understood. Before they walked out of the barn together, she stopped beside the glowing lantern on the apple crate.

“So, I guess this is good-bye.” Shelby looked him in the eyes, offered a slight smile, and turned out the light.

C
HAPTER
11

I
t was mid-September, only a few weeks after she and Ryan had parted ways, and Shelby was remorseful. She couldn't believe that she had put herself in a position that, before meeting Ryan, she had successfully avoided. Heartbroken over a tourist. As the days went on, she cared less about how much she enjoyed her time with Ryan and instead, grew more critical of herself for breaking her convictions.
For God's sake, I barely even know him!
she thought.
So why can't I get him out of my mind?

Fortunately, she had her work. The orchard's early apples were ready for picking and there was enough work on the farm to keep her distracted.

 

The Lupine Hus Inn hadn't changed much since the boutique hotel opened over a century ago. In fact, the hotel's restored interior was integral to its popularity. Visiting the inn was akin to being whisked away in a time warp. The upstairs guest quarters looked just as they did when the inn opened, except now the crimson carpet, one of the few things that had been replaced several times over the decades, was pink and threadbare. The staircase railing was worn smooth by the hands of countless guests, and the floorboards groaned under each visitor's weighted footstep. The sagging space had the clean, yet aged, scent of lemon and leaves.

On the main level, the walls of the intimate dining room were covered with photographs and memorabilia that had been collected over the years. Diners sat at the simplest of wooden tables and chairs, furniture built for feeding the masses rather than contributing to the room's décor. And every Friday night, from spring to fall, the inn boiled fish outside in a huge pot that hung low and heavy over a tended fire pit.

But today wasn't Friday. Rather than partaking in the fish boil, Shelby and her grandmother were sitting at a corner table enjoying BLT sandwiches and tomato soup when a waitress named Margaret Aikin carried a portrait-sized picture frame into the dining room.

“Now where's Margaret going to find room for that?” Shelby nudged Ginny.

“Lord knows, they don't need anything else on these walls,” Ginny agreed, briefly glancing over her shoulder at Margaret and then returning her attention to a piece of bacon that had fallen from her sandwich.

Shelby watched Margaret carefully remove a Frankie Avalon
Bikini Beach
movie poster and replace it with something new. At first, Shelby couldn't see what it was because Margaret blocked her view. Once the frame was centered, Margaret stepped aside to admire her work. That was when Shelby saw a photograph and newspaper article displayed side by side within a cream-colored mat. Shelby dropped her spoon and it hit the table with a
clang,
skipped off the surface, and fell to the floor.

“Ryan?” Shelby blurted out, suddenly pushing her chair back with a loud scrape. She stood up from the table and rushed to the frame as Margaret walked away. It was him. The man she hadn't expected to see again was now staring at her through the other side of the glass.

She put her hand over her chest to calm the nervous energy that pulsed rapidly through her heart. Ryan's image was placed alongside a
Duluth Herald
article that had been published in the Sunday paper.
Two days ago,
she thought.
What was I doing on Sunday? I don't remember reading the paper. Why didn't anyone tell me?

Shelby turned to Ginny and mouthed, “It's
him,
” while pointing to the article. Ginny shrugged her shoulders and offered a knowing smile, before taking another bite of her sandwich and licking a dab of mayo from the side of her mouth. Shelby scanned the rest of the article, which described Ryan's interests in outdoor sports, his amiable nature, and his penchant for low-key travel destinations. As he wasn't interviewed for the article, several Bayfield locals were asked to give their impressions of him. It didn't surprise her that their responses were brief. This town wasn't drawn to the limelight. Their quotes offered little more than William Chambers is “an attractive fellow,” “appeared friendly enough,” “kept to himself,” and “seemed pretty normal to me.” Shelby read to the end of the article.

William Chambers. How could she have been so naïve? Did she ever ask for his last name? She couldn't remember asking, but that seemed unlikely. Of course she had asked. People asked those things! Or did he tell her and she simply didn't make the connection? He probably evaded the question altogether, just like he kept all of the important details about his life so vague. Ryan from Chicago. That was how she referred to him. Ryan from Chicago. Staying a week. A tourist. Keep things simple. No last name required. It wasn't like she was going to see him again. So why did he lie about his name?

She stared blankly at the framed display, unaware that Ginny was now standing beside her.

“Well, look what we have here,” Ginny said, setting her hand on Shelby's shoulder. “It's a nice photograph of him.”

Shelby swiveled sharply to face her grandmother, causing Ginny's hand to drop.

“He's very photogenic, isn't he?” Ginny continued. “Nice strong jaw on that boy.”

“Hang on!” Shelby burst out, and then just as suddenly lowered her voice to an agitated whisper. “Hang on—you
knew?
”

“Of course I did—don't be silly,” Ginny said matter-of-factly. She leaned in to take a closer look at the article. “Clever headline, don'tchya think?”

“Why didn't you say anything?” Shelby strained to keep her voice down.

“What was there to say? A nice young man comes knocking on your door. Who am I to stir the pot?” Without her bifocals, Ginny had to squint to read the article. “Did you read this, Shel? Did they interview any of our friends? I wonder if this reporter spoke with Mary—I ran into her the other day and she mentioned speaking with Ryan at the Heritage Center while he was here. Did I mention she's doing research on the old brickyard? Anyway, I imagine she talked his ear off.”

“Outside,”
Shelby said through clenched teeth before taking her grandmother's hand and leading her out of the dining room. Once they were outside, standing in the gravel parking lot that spread out beyond the front entrance, the two women turned to face one another.

“This wasn't about stirring the pot! It's about clueing me in to the fact that he was someone—you know . . .”

“Famous?” Ginny stated the obvious without inflection, as if she had been asked something as simple as the color of the sky.

Shelby knew her grandmother was playing it cool just to have fun at Shelby's expense and, God love her, it was working. Ginny had probably been waiting for the day when it would finally dawn on her.

“This is crazy,” Shelby said, shaking her head.

“I'll tell you what's crazy—how easy it is to get you riled up,” Ginny said, placing her hands squarely on her hips. The joke had run its course and she was ready to get motherly. “If you calm down, you'll realize that it isn't so important
who
he is—it's
what
he is.”

“A liar? A manipulator?”

“He's the first young man to get your duff off the farm to have a little fun—something you haven't done since Jeff passed away.”

“Please don't bring Jeff into this.”

“You were smiling again. And for that, your grandfather and I don't give a damn who he was as long as he treated you well.”

“Grandpa knew, too?”

“Of course he knew. In fact, I'm pretty sure most everyone around here recognized him,” Ginny said, without hiding her amusement. “Well, except you, that is.”

“Everyone except for me. Well, that's just perfect.” Shelby threw her arms out at her side. “This changes everything!”

“And why's that?”

“I can't believe I have to explain this to you, of all people . . .” Shelby began to pace like a tiger in a tight cage.

“Has he changed?”

“No. But he—”

“He isn't who you thought he was?”

“Yes, but it's more than that, Gran.” Shelby clenched her hands into fists and forced out the words. “Ryan, my ass. He didn't even give me his real name!”

“Nope.” Ginny reached out for Shelby's arm to stop her pacing.

“He deceived me,” Shelby seethed, now shoving her balled fists under her arms in an attempt to regain control of her emotions.

“And there it is,” Ginny said with a sigh. “Yes, I suppose he did. It's a shame, really. Now you have no other recourse but to go back to your usual ways.”

“What?”

“It's all right, Shelby. I understand. You have your easy way out. Just put him out of your mind.”

“What do you mean, ‘easy way out'?”

“Nothing. Let's just get back inside. My lunch is getting cold and this conversation has run its course.”

“Gran, he played me. Can't you see how that makes me feel? He must think I'm an idiot,” Shelby said.
Oh my God. That's it. He was probably laughing at me the entire time. I'm sure he and his friends had a great time talking about the dimwit who didn't recognize William Chambers. If he ever comes back, I'd love to give him a piece of my mind.

“I don't think so,” Ginny said reassuringly.

Shelby continued to mumble angrily. “A toy to play with and discard.”

“You and I both know you're much too smart to be someone's plaything. Come on. We raised you better than that.” Ginny chose her next words carefully. “If you want to put him in a box along with the others who have betrayed or left you, then be my guest. That's what I mean by taking the easy way out. But before you cast him aside, consider why he might have kept his identity from you. Think, Shelby. What drew you to him in the first place? Are you forgetting the connection you felt with him? Perhaps that's all you needed this summer. Maybe that's what you both needed.”

Shelby unclenched her fists. “I'm not sure what to think,” she admitted quietly.

“It will come to you,” Ginny offered. “Now, I'm going back inside. Are you coming? Or are you going to continue stewing?”

“One more thing, Shelby,” Ginny said, looking carefully at her granddaughter. “Why are you getting so worked up anyway? You told me that everything between the two of you was casual. I know you didn't expect to see him again. So why are you letting this get to you?”

“I'm not sure. It was supposed to be nothing, but then . . .” Shelby said, more to herself than to her grandmother. “Who knows? Maybe I can walk it off. See you back at home?”

Ginny nodded. “Just chalk it up to one of life's little surprises.”

Shelby walked off toward Main Street, but before reaching the sidewalk, she stopped to call out thanks to her grandmother.

Ginny paused at the inn's entrance, nodded with a wave, and disappeared back inside.