“A pretty gal from New York, maybe?” his grandfather guessed.
“She’ll be gone soon.”
“And that’s what’s eating at you, right?”
Kirk looked at the older man, then sighed and nodded.
“She’s a looker and has a sweet disposition. Reminds me a bit of your grandma when she was young and sassy. I did that all wrong. Regretted it all these years,” Hiram said slowly.
Kirk was staggered. His grandfather never spoke of his wife. Kirk had never heard him say he regretted things—or that he might be at fault.
“Devon men just can’t keep their women,” Kirk said.
“If I’d treated her better, she might have stayed. Not so with your mother, I don’t think. Your dad did all he could for her—she flat-out didn’t want to stay in Smoky Hollow.”
“Like Alice.”
“Yes, but that gal was restless from the get-go. Think back, all through high school she talked of going someplace else.”
“So did I. And I went. Found I like this place best.”
“Alice needed that chance. Only when she took it, she didn’t like Smoky Hollow best. You don’t have to stay here, Kirk. You’re young, you can do your wood sculptures anywhere, work construction anywhere like you did before. If there’s something sizzling between you and Angelica, don’t let it go.”
“I’ve never heard you talk like this,” Kirk said.
“A man gets to being old and alone and thinks back to how he might have changed things in the past.”
“I don’t see as how I’d change anything,” Kirk said.
“I do. A whole lot. And maybe your dad would be alive today, and maybe I’d have had a house full of young’uns. Can’t change it now, of course. But don’t you make my mistakes. Go after what you want. And make sure anything holding you back is real and not pride or false values. You hear me?”
Kirk nodded.
“We’ll see,” he said.
He didn’t like the way the conversation was going so he changed the topic to farm matters. Easier to deal with his grandfather on routine matters. Just before he was set to leave, Hiram looked at him.
“Have you heard from Webb Francis?”
“Yeah, the other day. He’s doing better. Plans to be at the festival. Front row seat, he says.”
“Is he going to play?”
“Not this year, but he’s anticipating hearing Angelica. He wondered if she’d do a classical piece as well. That’s what she plays in New York.”
“I asked her. She is,” Hiram said.
“Be something to hear, I expect.”
He just hoped he could.
Kirk went to the library after leaving the farm, to use the Internet. He searched on Angelica’s name and was surprised to find how many references he found. Reading through the first dozen or so, he realized how valuable a member she was of the philharmonic—a true rising star. The accolades were heartfelt. The fame of his young neighbor apparently was well established in the music community of New York and parts of Europe.
The last bit of wishful hope that she’d consider staying in Smoky Hollow died.
And he’d be doing her and the music world a disservice to even ask her to stay. She had a bright future. This visit was a short stretch out of time.
He should make the most of it instead of ignoring what was right in front of him. There were two weeks left before the festival. Once that was past, she’d be gone. Could he deal with fourteen days of Angelica and then let her go?
