Branching Out (10 page)

C
HAPTER
14

R
yan checked his watch, realizing he had become so energized and involved in speaking with patrons of the film festival—potential financial backers of the conservation fund—that he had lost track of time. And he had lost sight of Shelby, who he knew must be absolutely exhausted by now.

He excused himself from a small group of some of Chicago's more generous benefactors and weaved through the crowd quickly, trying to find her. Instead, he came face-to-face with his mother.

“Hey, have you seen Shelby? Or Nic?” he stopped to ask Charlotte.

“Yes, about twenty minutes ago,” she said with a knowing smile, standing elegantly with a champagne flute in hand. “In the ladies' lounge.”

“Twenty minutes ago?” He looked over his mother's shoulder to peruse the room again. “Have you seen her since?”

“No, I haven't.”

“So, you don't know where she is?”

“I do, but that's an entirely different question.”

“Mother, please. I'm not in the mood for games. I promised her that we wouldn't stay long, but I got caught up in some conversations over there and—never mind, it's not important. Where is she?”

“I sent her home.”

“What do you mean ‘sent her home'?”

“Well, I suppose I didn't
insist
that she return to the apartment with her friend. It was her decision.” Charlotte lifted her glass and sipped the effervescent wine. “I merely suggested it.”

“I'm leaving.”

Just as he turned to leave, his mother reached for his arm. “Don't go,” she insisted.

“Why?” he asked, looking down with surprise at the grasp she had on him. “What happened?”

“Nothing.” She released him and gave a subtle glance around the lobby, smiling to appear delighted to anyone who might look their way. “As I said, I went into the lounge, only to discover Nic sitting beside Shelby on the chaise, consoling her.”

“She was upset?” He reached into his pocket to withdraw his phone. “I need to call her. Head back to the apartment.”

“You don't need to do that, Will. Everything is fine. She will be fine,” Charlotte said. “Put your phone away for a moment. It would be best if you let me fill you in before you call her.”

He reluctantly lowered his hand and placed the phone back into his pocket. But only for a moment. “All right. Here, let's move over there where we'll have a bit more privacy,” he said, nodding toward a less crowded spot beside one of the caterer's cocktail bars. Once there, he asked, “Now, can you tell me what happened?”

“I went to her right away, of course. As it turns out, a reporter from
Signature
magazine was here tonight and found his way to your wife. She struck up a conversation with him, unaware he worked for the press—particularly
that
dreadful magazine. Anyway, one thing led to another, and before she knew it the man became a bit aggressive—I think that's the word that Shelby used. I won't tell you what Nic called him. Anyway, the conversation turned sour—something about her mother's lover, the baby, I'm not sure what else. It proved to be too much for her.”

“She's been through too much, and I don't know what I can do.”

“I encouraged Nic to take her home.”

“Good. That was the right thing to do. I just wish you had come to me. I would have taken them home.”

“Ryan. You can't be serious. This is your night. Your debut. Shelby understands that, perhaps more than you do yourself. You need to stay here. Nothing more will happen to her tonight. You'll have all day tomorrow to make it up to her. And besides, she isn't alone. Nic is with her.”

“No, it doesn't feel right. I'm needed at home.”

“I'm as concerned about her as you are, dear,” Charlotte said. “But can we be honest? She looks absolutely miserable, William—not just tonight, but for a while now.”

He knew Charlotte was right, but it wasn't the time or place to discuss it.

“You see it, don't you?” she continued. “Pregnancies can be challenging—believe me I do know that much—but I think there's more to it than that. Wouldn't you agree?”

“I'm leaving now,” he said, setting down his cocktail glass on the bar.

Charlotte took his arm and stopped him from leaving. “She needs to learn how to handle herself, you know,” she insisted, taking on the lecturing tone he knew so well from his adolescence. “I realize this isn't the environment that she grew up in, but she made the conscious decision to join our family and she needs to figure out how to navigate. This is her life now.”

“It doesn't have to be. Hell, it doesn't even have to be mine,” he realized with astounding clarity. What a fool he had been. They were both so much happier during the time he lived in Bayfield, away from all of this. “This is your lifestyle, Mother. And you're wrong. She doesn't have to adapt. I do.”

“So young.” Charlotte smiled, shaking her head. “So many ideas of how things ought to be. I understand. I was in your shoes once.”

“With all due respect, I don't think you'll ever know what she's been through. Or how much of an adjustment this is for her.”

“Mmm. Perhaps. But, then again, you may not know everything about your father's and my early years. But that's for another day.”

He reached for his mother's waist and leaned in to give her a kiss on the cheek before leaving. “Thanks for being there for Shelby tonight. I appreciate it.”

Before his mother could answer and just as Ryan was pulling out his phone again to call Shelby and head outside to find a car, they were interrupted by two college-aged women.

“Excuse me, Mr. Chambers,” the taller of the two women interrupted. “I usually don't do this, but, um, may I have your autograph? I mean—can
we?
”

“Sure. Of course,” he said, accepting her event program and ballpoint pen. “What's your name?”

“Emma Covington.”

“Covington?” He signed his name quickly and returned the program to her. “I know a Covington.”

“You do?” she asked, blushing and grabbing her friend's forearm to steady her enthusiasm. “Wow. I mean, cool.”

“Where are you from?”

“We go to the University of Iowa, but we're staying with my roommate's parents this weekend,” she said, eager to strike up a conversation.

“In Evanston,” her friend added.

“Yeah, they're in Evanston,” the taller gal said.

“So you don't know the Ashland Covingtons?” Ryan asked. He knew it was a long shot, and he was eager to leave, but if there was a slight chance he could get some information. . .

“Um, no, but my grandma does. How did you know?”

“What's this about, William?” He had nearly forgotten that his mother was standing at his side.

“By any chance, are you related to a Chad Covington?”

“Yes,” the young woman said, clearly delighted. “He's my uncle, but I haven't seen him in, like,
forever
. How did you know?”

“Just a hunch,” he said, glancing at the time on his phone. Shelby was with Nic. She would be all right. A few more minutes weren't going to hurt. “Do you have a minute? Can we talk privately?”

The college students looked at each other as if they had just been given backstage passes at a rock concert. He knew their answer would be “yes” before they replied.

C
HAPTER
15

I
n late October, Shelby and Ryan were sitting in their sunlit kitchen, enjoying a quiet Sunday with several morning papers sprawled out on the table beside coffee cups and empty plates peppered with crumbs.

The reviews for
Lake Views
were in and, for the most part, favorable. There were some naysayers, which was to be expected. “Self-serving documentary filled with superfluous shots of Lake Superior's indisputable beauty, but lacking in any groundbreaking editorial content” was one review comment that stayed with Shelby.

The cool manner in which Ryan flipped through the reviews was incredible to her. She wouldn't know from the look on his face whether the words were supportive or not of the documentary. He smiled either way.

“It's visibility, Shel. The minute this review came out, more people heard our story. Of those, maybe a handful will offer support. And that's more support than we had yesterday.”

“But this reporter just called you self-righteous! Can he get away with that?” she blurted out one morning while reading an online review.

“Of course. It's one man's opinion. Even if I don't agree with him, he's certainly entitled to it.”

“But based on what he's saying here, about sustainable fishing and Native American treaty rights, Ryan, this reviewer didn't even see the film! We did nothing at all to disparage any of the fisheries or fishermen on the lake!”

“It's not worth the fight, Shel,” he said calmly. “Like you and the press here. They painted a portrait of you that was completely untrue and what did we do?”

“I tried to ignore it. And then they said I was aloof. Cold and self-absorbed.”

“Yes.” He laughed, not because of how difficult that time had been, but because of her dour expression. “And then—?”

“And then, they grew tired of that story and moved on.”

“We'll keep the good reviews. Promote them. And we'll try to ignore the rest. Focus on the positive—just like we did with you.”

“I don't know that I'll ever be equipped for this,” she said, leaning back in her chair.

 

“Shel, we're going to be late!” Shelby heard Ryan call out from the entryway of their apartment. After a leisurely morning at home, she was now in the kitchen, throwing the last of the ice into an over-the-shoulder cooler that was just big enough for two. They were heading out for a day at the Art on the Lake event in the Park District, and she wanted plenty of water.

“Go ahead and get the elevator; I'll be right there!” she called back.

She heard his footsteps move swiftly across the foyer until he was standing beside her at the kitchen counter, helping her zip the cooler. “Don't tell me you were planning to carry this yourself?” he asked, tilting his head with raised eyebrows.

“Yes?”

“You know what your doctor said—from now on, you need to let me do the heavy lifting.”

“I wanted to bring some extra water,” she said.

“That's great, but no lifting,” he insisted, slinging the cooler pack over his shoulder with ease and leading her out of the kitchen. “I know you're more than capable of taking care of yourself. But right now, your job is to take care of the baby, and allow me to take care of you.”

Before opening the front door, he kissed her on the cheek until she relented and returned his smile.

“Okay,” she lamented. “But just because I'm pregnant does
not
mean I'm weak or dependent on you. Besides, you weren't going to bring a cooler. I
am
taking care of myself, and the baby.”

“No. I would have just bought some drinks for us,” he said.

“When we have perfectly good water here, right out of the tap.”

“Come on, let's get out of here.”

Just as they were leaving, Shelby stopped again. “Wait! My phone—”

“I have it,” he said, setting his hand on the small of her back to usher her out of the apartment, locking the door behind them.

“Jacket!”

“You left it in the car.”

“I still can't believe you roped me into doing this event,” he said, rocking back and forth on his heels while they waited for the elevator doors to open.

“It'll be good for you. And besides, you'll be helping Adrien.”

When the elevator arrived Ryan swung his arm in to hold the door for Shelby. She took a step into the elevator and then stopped short. “The ice! I think I left the door to the freezer open!”

“No, no—it's okay,” he said, taking her hand and walking her back into the elevator, pushing the button to the lobby. “I took care of it. We're all set.”

“I feel so scattered,” she said, casting her eyes away from her reflection in the mirror. “Maybe we should cancel.”

“Cancel?” He laughed. “What's going on with you today?”

The elevator doors closed with a quiet
shush
as Shelby leaned into the brass railing that ran across the three mirrored compartment walls. Glancing sideways at the wall, she could see the reflection of her round belly stretching across the cotton fabric of her white T-shirt. The physical reminder of the changes happening, both in her body and in her life. Nothing was as it used to be. And she wondered to herself how long it would take before she accepted those changes.

“I'm sure we'll have a great time,” he tried to assure her. “Remember, this was your idea.”

Poor guy,
Shelby thought. She knew this wasn't his idea of a “great time.” Lugging some of his framed prints down to the park to join Adrien Bouchard, a French-Canadian artist who shared Ryan's interest in Great Lakes photography, in his booth down at the popular art event. Ryan was doing it for her. And for her hometown, which he now loved nearly as much as she did. She knew that much was true. That was the easy sell when she first had the idea to partner with Bouchard and raise additional funds for Olen's memorial fund. The harder sell was convincing Ryan that it was okay to be a “celebrity guest” to help draw in patrons. It was just for a day. How bad could it be, really?

 

Shelby sat comfortably in the back of the black sedan, enjoying the soft leather seating and the warm stream from air from the heating vent as it blew over her shoulders. She looked over at Ryan, who held her hand but kept his eyes on the view out his passenger door window as they drove down North Lake Shore Drive.

“Is something wrong?” she asked. There had been a slight shift in his mood the moment they left the apartment, barely noticeable. But it was there.

“Nothing at all,” he answered, turning long enough to offer a weak smile before looking back out the window.

“Is it the art fair? I'm sure they'd understand if we didn't—”

“It's okay, Shel,” he insisted. “Really. It's nothing.”

She looked down at their clasped hands, knowing that he was noticing the change in their lives, just as she was. But, unlike her, he wasn't talking about it with her. He was careful to keep everything upbeat. “It's all for the sake of the baby,” he would say—and he'd mean it. She admired that in her husband. He would do anything for the sake of her and their unborn child.

All of her life, Shelby thought of cars as nothing more than a mode of transportation. It didn't matter what make or model, how old, what color or condition the vehicle was in as long as it moved her from point A to point B. She never dreamed that one day she would be living in a cosmopolitan city, in a spacious apartment overlooking Lake Michigan, with a driver available whenever she needed to travel about the city.

Contrary to her upbringing, Ryan grew up in the back of a chauffeured car beginning with his first trip home from the hospital after his birth. His parents owned their own cars, of course, but Ryan told her that they, on the one hand, always preferred the convenience of a driver. He, on the other hand, was eager to drive at sixteen—purchasing a used Jeep Wrangler, much to his parents' chagrin, so he could feel “normal” while driving with his school friends to see a movie or grab a slice at a neighborhood pizzeria. Later, as a young man on his own, Ryan preferred walking, biking, and taking the metro over driving. It never occurred to him to hire a driver. Ryan wouldn't think of it.

Until now, when he had a family to protect.

“Do you remember the first time we met, down at the park in Bayfield?” Shelby asked as the car pulled up to a stoplight at an intersection, trying to pull him out of his thoughts as he stared at pedestrians and bicyclists moving freely along the path that lined Lake Michigan's shore.

“Of course, but technically, that's not where we met.”

“No, no, I don't mean when we
actually
met—I mean our first date.”

He turned back to her now with a warm smile. Shelby was happy to see she had his attention. “Was it a date? I've never been quite sure.”

“What?” She laughed. “Of course it was a date.”

“I don't know. The way I remember it, I invited you to go out for drinks, but the only reason you joined me was because you were getting so much pressure that night from Ginny and Olen,” he teased. “In fact, I'll bet if it wasn't for them, you never would have shown up.”

“No, I would have,” she said, smiling back at him. “I think.”

“Uh-huh,” he said, and then paused, looking into her eyes. “Have you ever thought of what would have happened? You know. If you hadn't shown up that night?”

Her mind flashed to a dark thought that perhaps it had been a mistake. If they hadn't met, perhaps he would have married someone else. Someone who was better suited for his lifestyle.

“Olen and Ginny had matchmaking instincts that day—I will be eternally grateful that they shoved you out the door that night.” He laughed and then lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it. “But to answer your question, yes, of course I remember that night.”

It had been a beautiful night, and a frightening one. The moon shone on the water. Long talks on a warm summer evening. Music coming off of the rooftop bar of The Inn. And then the terrified screams of a woman whose son had fallen into the dark water in the marina. Without hesitation, Ryan had run to the marina and instinctively dove into the water to save the child. It was the moment that had broken the ice between Shelby and Ryan that night. His protective nature was the first thing that truly drew her to his character, so it was not surprising that it would still be evident today.

Reaching the event site, their car continued to drive slowly through barricaded streets, past food trucks, fair stands, and visitors on the streets and sidewalks.

“I had no idea this place would be so crowded!” Ryan said, leaning forward to peer out the windshield. He spoke with their driver, who assured Ryan he could drive them down to a reserved parking area by the shore that was close to their outdoor gallery space.

“This is crazy,” Shelby agreed. “I heard this event was busy, but this . . . this makes Applefest in Bayfield look like a regular Sunday afternoon in the park. There must be thousands of people here.” She looked at her husband, doubting once more whether this was a good idea. The little bit of publicity the fair organizers had done must have carried far and wide, because this was an incredible turnout. And based on her observations of Ryan and his family, it was going to go one of two ways. The crowd would either respect Ryan and be polite and gracious—which she fully expected of Midwesterners—or become overly excited and she would regret ever getting him involved.

Once the car was parked, Ryan grabbed her cooler and an over-the-shoulder satchel that held his laptop and extended his hand into the car to help her out.

“Ready?” he asked.

“Absolutely.”

 

The steady stream of people flowing in and out of Ryan and Adrien's tent had been supportive and gracious. Perhaps it was because Ryan had agreed to participate without publicity or fanfare—just two photographers selling their work for a good cause. Or perhaps it was the event's friendly, Midwestern vibe. But Shelby felt more relaxed, and more herself, beneath the tarp of the pop-up art tent than at any gilded theater reception or crowded evenings with champagne glasses raised and superficial conversations with people whose names she could never recall. There were simply too many new people in her life to keep it all straight. Too many strangers. While Ryan seemed to glide effortlessly through those evenings, she felt like a child hanging on to her father's hand, unsure of where to go or whom to meet with next.

As the months passed, she wasn't gaining a sense of belonging in her new environment, something Shelby realized she had loved while living in Bayfield. Now her self-confidence was shifting as quickly as the inner changes of her pregnant body. She realized that in this unstoppable metamorphosis she was becoming someone she barely recognized. She was retreating further beneath Ryan's social and professional shadow.

 

“You're in your element today,” Ryan said warmly, coming up behind her and reaching his arms around her waist. There was a brief lull in the crowd and this was the first time they could talk uninterrupted since arriving at the fair.

“Isn't this an incredible turnout?” She wrapped her arms over his. “People really seem to love your work.”

“Honestly, I'm more excited about people's reaction to hearing about our fund-raising work. There's a real interest here. I've been thinking—we may even want to expand it to cover Lake Michigan, or even the Great Lakes in their entirety.”