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CHAPTER TWO

THE AUDITORIUM SEATS at Saint Mark’s Elementary School were filled to capacity with parents, grandparents and students who applauded as the final curtain fell on the traditional Thanksgiving pageant. Adam Masterson bolted to his feet and proudly yelled “Bravo!” as his son, Titus, took another bow.

Adam felt his heart swell and his sight blur watching Titus’s smile radiate across the expanse. Titus. The light of his life, the motivation that forced him to get out of bed in the morning despite the shroud of grief he wore since his wife, Amie, had died three years ago. “Well done!” Adam shouted, smiling at Titus, who stood next to Timmy Bosworth, dressed in a Pilgrim costume.

Timmy took Titus’s hand in his and raised it over their heads. “Thank you and happy Thanksgiving!” Timmy announced to the crowd.

The audience erupted in more applause as the curtain fell for the last time.

“Adam,” Sarah Bosworth said, as she hoisted three-year-old Charlotte into her arms, “Titus was wonderful. He recited his lines like a professional actor. I felt like I was right there on Plymouth Plantation with those kids.”

Adam couldn’t help the rush of pride that shot straight up his spine. “He was good, wasn’t he?”

“He was. Timmy told me that he and Titus only practiced three times.”

“I’ll let you in on a secret,” Adam said, bending closer, his hair falling over his forehead. “I think Titus has an eidetic memory. The first time I took him through his lines, he’d memorized everything.”

“No kidding?” Sarah’s eyes widened. “Wish I had that ability.”

Adam glanced toward the stage and saw some of the kids running down the aisle. “He’s been reading since he was three. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised at anything he does.”

“Trust me,” Sarah said. “Gifted children aren’t easy. I know. Both Timmy and Annie are exceptional, and just last week, I caught Charlotte here sitting at the piano playing with Annie.”

Adam chucked Charlotte under the chin. “A prodigy, huh?”

Charlotte tossed her blond curls and laid her head on Sarah’s shoulder. “I like piano.” Charlotte smiled up at Adam.

“Dad! Dad!” Titus shouted exuberantly, as he worked his way through the throng of parents leaving their seats. Titus’s rented Pilgrim costume was faded but fit well. He did struggle with the black hat, which tended to interfere with his ever-present sport band that held his thick glasses in place. Titus’s mom had been myopic, too. But unlike Amie, Titus tended to be quite clumsy, always impatient to race to the next room, the next day and the next adventure.

“Dad! Did you see me?” Titus hurried up to Adam and flung his arms around his waist.

Adam smoothed Titus’s thick black hair away from his forehead and looked down into his eager crystal-blue eyes. His son looked exactly like Adam had when he was “nearly six”—minus the glasses. “I did! And you were the best. You did great.”

“Thanks, Dad.” Titus hugged him again.

Timmy Bosworth rushed up to Sarah, along with his eleven-year-old sister, Annie.

“Mom,” Annie said. “Can I take Charlotte backstage to see Mrs. Cook?”

Sarah narrowed her eyes. “Why does Mrs. Cook want to see your baby sister?”

Annie glanced sheepishly at Titus, who had a conspiratorial expression. “Um. I told her Charlotte could play piano.”

Charlotte squirmed out of Sarah’s arms. “I can play!”

Annie reached for Charlotte’s hand. “Mom?”

“Oh, fine. Go.” Sarah acquiesced.

Adam watched as Annie and Charlotte bounded up the stage steps. Titus said, “Charlotte should think about her future career. Like me.”

Adam jerked his head back. This was news to him. “And that would be…what?”

Titus looked at Timmy, who elbowed him for encouragement. Timmy and Titus were close, now that Titus was in kindergarten. Timmy had taken Titus under his wing, and when Adam had been immersed in a geothermal energy construction project, or if he’d had to drive to Chicago to meet with a prospective client, Sarah generously watched Titus at her house. Adam didn’t know how Sarah juggled three children, a creatively demanding career as a busy commercial design consultant, the summer fund-raising festival for Saint Mark’s and volunteer work for the new Indian Lake Community Center.

Too often, Adam was caught spending late-night hours at his computer rather than doing the laundry, making costumes for Titus or thinking about things like Thanksgiving and Christmas holidays. The only thing that broke his focus on work was caring for Titus. His son was his joy.

“I’ve had a revelation, Dad,” Titus said seriously.

Adam crossed his arms over his chest and glanced at Sarah, who smiled at Titus. “Go on.”

“I liked working on this pageant and I think I want to go into the theater business.”

Adam coughed and held his fist to his mouth. This was not what he’d thought his brilliant son would say. He’d imagined that Titus would want to follow in his footsteps. Become an engineer or a physicist. Titus was smart and quick and liked working alongside him on his local projects. Just last week Titus had gone with him to Frank Boston’s greenhouse, where Adam had been installing a new geothermal heating unit.

“Theater? You mean you want to be an actor?”

“No, Dad. Timmy’s gonna be an actor. I want to write plays. Like I did for Mrs. Cook.”

Adam’s eyes snapped to Sarah, who shook her head. “What did you write, son?”

“My speech. I did the research, which was interesting. And enlightening.”

Adam mouthed “enlightening.” He was continually surprised at Titus’s vocabulary. He’d bought Titus a dictionary and thesaurus six months ago. He wondered if Titus had read them both cover to cover. “Well, we’ll have to talk about it.”

Titus’s smile vanished. “You always say that and we never do.”

Sarah’s eyebrow arched. She put her hand on Timmy’s shoulder. “Let’s go find your sisters.”

“Sure, Mom.”

She gave Adam a quick hug. “I’m guessing I’ll see you at Frank’s funeral?”

Adam had known Sarah and her group of friends since high school. Adam had been the nerdy guy in high school, wading through CAD programs, tinkering with machines and engines.

Adam had never known his parents, who gave him up for adoption to a church-affiliated foster home only weeks after his birth. They’d left him in a car seat at Pastor Flutie’s front door with a note giving his birth date and name, which Adam always believed was fictitious. Years ago, Adam had tried to track down information about his birth parents, but the time and money he’d spent were wasted.

Pastor Flutie and his wife, Martha, were good people and raised him, along with over thirty other children who didn’t have parents and had come their way.

Though they’d clothed and fed him, given him attention, Adam had always kept to himself. He didn’t voice opinions often, and when he did, he made certain he had all his facts.

Adam had always wanted a family. He’d envied the close-knit Barzonni family and Sarah’s loving mother, Ann-Marie, and he’d been there for Sarah when both her parents died.

Sarah had been a good friend to him ever since he’d come back to town, after Amie died of leukemia. Sarah and Luke had included Titus, and their friendship meant a great deal to him. But he was also careful not to ask too much of them.

Sarah touched Adam’s sleeve. “Look, I know how close you were to Frank…”

Adam felt the emotion in his throat grow hot. He choked it back. “He was like my own grandfather.”

“I know. He loved you, Adam. You did so much for him these past years.”

“I should have done more.”

“Come on. You were with him when he died. If you hadn’t been there… Calling the ambulance. Staying with him at the hospital until…” Sarah’s eyes filled with tears. “It’s so hard.”

Sarah had been through a great deal of grief herself. He touched her hand. It was ice-cold. “I’m sorry, Sarah. All this must remind you of your parents. They were good people.”

“The best. They liked you a lot, Adam.”

“You don’t have to say that. I was such a…dork.”

“Stop. Okay?” She looked down at Titus, who watched them both with serious, probing eyes. “I gotta go. Let me know about the funeral. I’m guessing the family will take care of everything.”

Adam shoved his hands in his jeans’ pockets. “That would be Joy.”

“Oh…my…gosh. Adam. I forgot. I’m sorry. Mrs. Beabots called her and broke the news. Have you talked to Joy?”

“Not since she left for college.” Ten years ago, Joy had been his girlfriend. Adam had given her a promise ring the day before they’d started their senior year in high school. That same day he’d received a letter from Purdue University that he’d won a full-ride scholarship for engineering. Adam had believed that he and Joy would spend the rest of their lives together. She’d promised to love him.

For a foster kid with no love in his life, Joy had been all he’d ever wanted. He was the one who dreamed of a cottage by Indian Lake with a rose-covered fence. He’d envisioned kids and a dog and a life of happiness.

All that year after school, Adam had gone to the Boston greenhouses to work until supper alongside Joy and her Frank. Frank had been the kind of grandfather Adam thought came along only in fairy tales. He gave Adam a few extra dollars to take Joy to a movie or out for a pizza. He loaned Adam his truck to drive them all out to the beach in the summer. Frank had been father, grandfather, mentor and adviser. Where Pastor Flutie had lacked in practical and business guidance, Frank filled in the blanks.

“He was family to me,” Adam whispered, trying desperately not to show the emotion he felt so sharply.

Sarah leaned closer. “I didn’t mean to open that wound.”

“It’s okay. Joy left. She wanted Columbia, her accounting degree and life in New York.” He shrugged his shoulders. “And she got it.”

“She did.” Sarah paused. “When I talked to Mrs. Beabots this morning, she said Joy’s coming back here to arrange the funeral.”

“Of course. Mrs. Beabots talked to Joy…”

“I know, right? Mrs. Beabots keeps up with the whereabouts of all of us. I suppose Frank had told her where Joy worked.”

“Newly and Associates,” Adam said.

“Yeah.” Sarah eyed him, but continued. “She’s flying out of New York today.”

“Today,” he repeated. His heart shook. Joy, who had told him she didn’t want the same things out of life that he did. She wanted to leave Indian Lake and never come back. She wanted a life in New York with hustle and noise and excitement.

She didn’t want him.

She’d given him back his promise ring and told him she was going to Columbia University. She never answered a phone call or an email after she moved.

By the end of Adam’s freshman year, Frank told him that Joy had made it clear that Frank could visit her in New York, where she’d arranged for internships in the summers, but she never wanted to see Indian Lake, her parents’ graves or any of the people of the town, whom she blamed for the car accident that killed them both.

The cut that had hurt Adam the most was the fact that Joy never gave him the chance to comfort her. She never turned to him. The pain of those days was still with him.

Adam had met physicist Amie his senior year at Purdue. She was pretty and bright and they shared common interests. She’d got pregnant on their honeymoon in Chicago. They’d had little money back then, which had bothered Adam. In two years, his midnight “tinkerings” had resulted in patents for his geothermal plans and then sales of the units themselves. Two years after Titus was born, Amie was diagnosed with leukemia. The progression was fast.

“It worked out in the end. I have Titus.”

“We all adored Amie. And Titus is a true blessing. I love every minute he’s around.” She looked at Titus. “I really have, honey.”

“Thanks, Miss Sarah,” Titus said, slipping his hand into Adam’s.

“Speaking of which,” Sarah went on. “Why not let Titus come home with Timmy and the girls and me? Miss Milse is making pies for Thanksgiving. The kids can play video games while you get your errands done.”

“Are you sure? I mean, I don’t want to impose.”

“Dad.” Titus yanked on his hand. “Please? Can I go?”

Adam had to smile. “It’s not much fun hauling cement and nails around, is it, Titus?”

“Not really and the building supply place is so dreary.”

“Dreary.” Adam grinned. Another new word. He wondered if he shouldn’t buy a second thesaurus for himself, to keep up with his brilliant son. No wonder the kid wanted to write plays.

“So? Can I?”

“Sure.” He ruffled Titus’s hair and dislodged the Pilgrim hat. Titus righted it, smiling at his dad. “Thanks for this, Sarah. I really have a lot to do at the greenhouses. For Frank.”

“I know.” She held out her hand to Titus. “C’mon, honey.”

“Titus,” Adam said. “Get your coat and zip it up this time. Don’t forget your knit cap. It’s getting cold outside.”

“Dad. I know.” Titus pouted.

“And you mind Miss Milse. Don’t poke your finger in the pies, and stay away from her Cuisinart.”

“I know, Dad. Sharp knives. Mixers. All off-limits.”

Sarah laughed. “He’ll be okay.”

“I know. I know. It’s just…”

“Hard to be mom and dad?” she asked.

“Something like that.”

“Okay. Let’s go find the girls.” She started to walk away. She looked over her shoulder. “Just text me when you’re on your way to pick him up.”

“I will. Thanks again.”

“No worries.” Titus and Timmy raced ahead of her, both boys yelling for Annie and Charlotte.

Adam chuckled to himself, leaned down and grabbed his sheepskin jacket and slipped it on. Most of the parents and children had left by the front doors to the auditorium. Adam found a couple folded playbills that Mrs. Cook had printed up. He’d come in late, a bad workaholic habit, so he hadn’t grabbed a playbill earlier.

As he started up the aisle, he noticed Titus’s name in bold print. Above his name was that of Mrs. Mary-Catherine Cook.

Above that was the title: PLAYWRIGHT.

Adam halted. “Titus’s teacher gave him writing credit for his little speech.” He was both awed and humbled.

His son was growing up far too quickly. And he wasn’t ready for it.

He put the playbill in his inner jacket breast pocket and walked out into the November cold.

He wasn’t ready for a lot of things. Titus growing up. Frank dying. And he especially wasn’t ready to see Joy again.