“I felt welcome tonight, John.” Elaine seemed careful to keep some distance between them.
John pulled his jacket tighter around himself and looked at the half-moon hanging over the Baxter house. “I guess they’re ready for me to have friends.”
Her expression changed but only slightly. She smiled. “I’m ready for that too.”
“Good.” He reached out and gave her hand a single squeeze. They’d avoided each other for two months because John was determined to give Elaine the space she seemed to want. If she was looking for more than friendship, he was the wrong man. He wasn’t ready to love again, and he had a strong sense he might never be.
The memory dissolved as Elaine’s car pulled into the drive. A slight thrill passed through him. He was looking forward to the day more than he’d expected. Elaine made him laugh with her subtle sense of humor. Spending a day with her would get him out of the house, away from the memories of a lifetime of Thanksgivings past.
John took a last look at the house before he stepped outside. This was the day each year when Elizabeth would haul out the Christmas decorations and turn the Baxter house into a wonderland of red and green and twinkling lights.
Since her death, the banister had gone without garland, the mantel without pine branches and bows, and three decades of decorations had stayed in boxes. Last year this had been one of the hardest days of all. He’d spent most of it sitting in his recliner—the one next to her rocker—looking through photo albums of smiles and laughter and loving moments lost forever to yesterday.
He would not spend the day that way this year, though. He turned and closed the door. As he did, he left behind the trace of cologne he hadn’t worn in years. Today he would find another kind of smiling and laughter, shopping and joking and enjoying time with a woman he couldn’t wait to spend the day with—Elaine Denning.
His friend.
Someone was knocking at the door, but Bailey Flanigan could barely open her eyes.
“Bailey . . . get up. Come on!” The voice was Connor’s.
“Please . . .” She groaned and turned over. “Let me sleep.”
She had stayed up late Thanksgiving night, going over audition songs with Connor and texting Tim Reed. It was three in the morning when she’d turned off the lights and finally fallen asleep.
The door opened and Connor leaned in. “Bryan Smythe’s here. I’m serious, Bailey. You have to see this.”
Bryan Smythe? Bailey sat up. It took only a few seconds before her body responded. She jumped up and ran into her bathroom. “What in the world?” She looked over her shoulder at her brother. “Why?”
Connor grinned. “You need to see for yourself.”
“Ugh. I can’t go down looking like this.” She ran her fingers through her hair and splashed cold water on her face. The mirror told her she still looked half-asleep. There were pillow creases across her right cheek.
“It doesn’t matter.” Connor’s tone was almost frantic. “He’s waiting. Come on.”
After Connor left, Bailey darted into her closet, water still dripping from her face. She pulled off the T-shirt and flannel leggings she’d been sleeping in and slipped into a sweatshirt and the first pair of jeans she could find. Ever since she and Tanner Williams broke up, her social life had been one extreme or the other. Meanwhile, Tanner had been seeing a senior girl with a reputation for sleeping with her boyfriends. Bailey and Tanner rarely looked at each other when they passed in the halls, and many weeks Bailey could come home form school five days straight without so much as a single call or text from any guy.
On those days, Cody Coleman, the senior football player who lived with them, would pat her on the shoulder and smile at her as if she were a child. “Don’t worry, Bailey. They’ll be lined up one day.”
Her attraction to Cody had cooled a lot since he moved in with them. He dated a different girl every few weeks, and he treated Bailey like she was thirteen instead of sixteen. Sometimes she couldn’t wait for next year, when he’d leave for college and they could be finished with him.
Bailey pulled her hair back in a ponytail and hurried out her bedroom door. The text messages from Tim the day before ran through her head. Do you ever think about the future, Bailey? . . . How things might wind up? She had kept her answers short. Tim Reed was rarely in such a pensive mood, and she wanted to know what he was thinking. A few texts later he wrote, Let’s go to the park Friday. You and I need to catch up.
What was this with Bryan? She rounded the corner and headed down the hallway. Sure, he’d acted interested a few months ago. But he’d been out of the picture for a while. Rumors around CKT had him seeing someone at his high school. So why was he here this morning?
She made it to the entryway, and there, standing just inside the front door, was Bryan. He held an enormous bouquet of roses—red and yellow and white. A small note card was tucked in near the middle.
Bailey gasped softly and looked from the flowers to Bryan. “What . . . what’s going on?”
He shrugged. “I finally had a morning to myself.” He took a step toward her and held out the bouquet. As he handed it to her, he grinned. “I might not call every day, Bailey, but I’m thinking about you.” Bryan hesitated; then he moved back toward the door. “I wanted you to know.”
She wasn’t sure what to do next. “For no reason?” She lifted the flowers close and smelled them. “You brought me roses for no reason?”
His eyes answered her question before he did. In them she could see confidence and determination directed entirely at her. “You’re reason enough.” He gave her one last smile and raised his hand. “Bye. See you around.”
Then, before she could hug him or thank him or get any more information than that, he turned and jogged down her walkway.
Bailey went to the door, stepped outside, and raised her voice so he could hear her. “Thanks. They’re beautiful.”
He waved and flashed a grin that said he enjoyed this—being mysterious and unexpected and beyond romantic. He was in his car and back down their driveway before she could catch her breath.
What was he up to? And why this morning? She pulled the card from the bouquet and opened it.
White because I will always treasure your innocence, yellow because we were friends before anything else . . . and red for all that I hope lies ahead.
Always,
Bryan
Chills passed down Bailey’s neck and spine. “Okay, Bryan,” she whispered as she smelled the flowers again. “Could you be any more amazing?”
She was heading back inside, still trying to make sense of it, when from the far left side of the house she heard her mother scream.
“Mom?” Bailey set the flowers down and raced toward the sound. She heard her father and the boys running behind her.
They arrived at the guest room door at the same time, and Bailey covered her mouth. Her mother was kneeling on the floor, her eyes wide and scared. “Call 911. Hurry. He’s barely breathing.”
Connor jumped into action, racing past their mom and grabbing the phone.
Her dad rushed into the room and knelt near her mother. “Does he have a pulse?”
“Barely.”
Her dad looked like he was going to cry. He moved in closer. “How could he?”
“Pray, Jim.” Tears spilled onto her mother’s face. She looked at the rest of them. “Pray!”
“Is he . . . ?” Bailey couldn’t finish her sentence. She stayed frozen near the doorway.
Cody Coleman was sprawled on his back, his face and arms gray. The entire room was filled with a pungent smell. That’s when Bailey spotted it. Only then did she have a clue what had happened. Lying next to Cody was a bottle of liquor—hard liquor.
The bottle lay on its side, and from what Bailey could see, it was no longer full.
It was completely empty.
Karen Kingsbury, Forever
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