They started toward the water, where the waves lapped up on the rocky shore, creating a calming, unhurried natural metronome. He’d had plenty of time this afternoon to decide how to open the conversation, but when the moment came, he drew a blank, unsure how to apologize.
When the silence grew awkward, he blurted out, “Blake told me I’m a fool.”
Her eyes widened. “He said that?”
“Not exactly, but he made his point. He was right. When you and I talked about our future, I couldn’t get past my fear.” On the boardwalk now, he gazed across the water as a pair of sailboats skimmed close to shore.
“Caleb, when you look out on Lake Huron from Jonathon Island, you can see land over there.” She stepped down to the shoreline and swished her toes in the water. Pointed toward Port Joseph. “But look in the other direction. All you see is water. No shoreline in sight. If you didn’t know better, you’d think this was an ocean.”
Caleb cast his gaze over the lake, from nearby Port Joseph to the seemingly never-ending expanse of water.
“We can focus on the solid, fixed, and immovable nearby, or we can cast our gaze on the mystery in the distance,” she said. “But what looks safest isn’t always.”
“I’m glad you think so, because I have some new ideas to run by you. And they involve risk.”
The light began to shine in her eyes again.
Caleb drew a deep breath and silently asked the Lord to help him not be a fool this time. “First, I plan to offer Josie the job of hotel manager. If that works out, I’ll step down.”
Ariel pressed her hand to her chest. “What about the Kennedy legacy?”
“Apparently, I’m the only one who values the so-called legacy. I heard about it all my life, but the more I think about it, the more I remember that my grandma was the one talking. I think the men mostly see it as an income source.”
“So far, I like the plan. It’ll free you up to play music.”
“Part of the year. The inn always needs extra help during peak season, so I’d like to come back from June through August. But not as a manager. Just to help out wherever Josie needs me.” He held up one hand. “If she takes the job, you and I could diversify the Miss Dahlia and Ariel franchise and form the two new bands. We could call ourselves the Ariel Sullivan band while your aunt creates another. She stays country while we dive into worship music and jazz. What do you think?”
She hesitated at first. Then, as the water lapped against the rocky shore, she smiled. “My aunt had the same idea, with both bands recording and touring separately. Together too, if we want. And we can all work the annual Christmas tour. But what about Drake Hamilton?”
“Not interested. I want to audition for the new Ariel Sullivan band.”
“Make that the Ariel Denton Sullivan band, and you’ll have a good chance of getting that job.” Her smile reached her eyes and his heart.
They started toward shore. “It took a team to help me understand,” he said. “First, my grandfather told me to hire Josie as manager. Then he informed me that the whole keep-a-Kennedy-in-management rule lived only in my head and that I should look to the Lord, not traditions. I also found an old letter from my dad supporting whatever career decisions I make.”
“You have a lot of people in your life giving you good advice.”
He pulled his dad’s card from his shirt pocket. “Including Dad. You can read it if you want.”
Ariel took it and soon handed it back, her eyes misty. “What a beautiful letter, Caleb. I’d like to see the violin.”
There she went again, speaking his name in that way of hers that warmed him inside and made him feel secure, wanted. Safe.
How did she do all that with only two syllables?
When they’d walked back to the inn, Caleb brought the violin to the parlor, along with the land grant, his old guitar, and a hammer and nails. He handed her the brown leather violin case.
From her place on one of the room’s couches, Ariel’s eyes widened as she opened it and took in the instrument’s orange-brown varnish. She ran her finger over its ancient label:Joseph Guarnerius fecit cremone anno 1730. “Wow, this has a spectacular patina. How old is it?”
He thought a moment. “I’m not sure Dad knew. Maybe a hundred years. He inherited it from his grandfather, I think.”
“Annomeans year in Latin.” She looked again at the label. “Caleb, I think it was made in the year 1730.”
Caleb peered over her shoulder. “Maybe. Try it out if you want.”
Ariel lifted the violin with both hands, then took the bow from its holder. She rested the violin on her collarbone, her jaw on the chinrest, set the frog of the bow on the silver-wound G-string and drew it slowly down and up again. Lowering the bow, she seemed to study the violin’s tuning pegs. “Sweet tone.”
“You have a nice touch. Not a single squeak.”
