The Shadow of Your Smile Read online

  Praise for My Foolish Heart and other Deep Haven novels

  “A lighthearted, punchy story about two wounded souls who find love and a new lease on life . . . [that] nicely balances the funny and realistic.”

  Publishers Weekly

  “Warren’s charming inspirational romance has it all: the boy next door and the princess isolated in her tower, past histories and new beginnings, poignancy nicely blended with hopefulness, and troubled, everyday people doing their best to live according to their faith. Highly recommended.”

  Booklist

  “A truly delightful tale straight from the heart.”

  Romantic Times

  “Warren does an amazing job bringing to life real situations we all face . . . and how [these characters] overcome them and turn to God.”

  CBA Retailers + Resources

  “Delightful . . . a story reminiscent of both Steel Magnolias and the Mitford novels, but with a personality and charm all its own.”

  Crosswalk.com

  “Susan May Warren does an excellent job of bringing her characters to life with real relationships developing, concerns building, and fears being overcome. There is humor, conflict, and deep personal reflection.”

  ChristianBookPreviews.com

  “This delightful tale centered on family, friends, football, and trust in God’s wisdom . . . is a very entertaining and inspiring romance.”

  FreshFiction.com

  “Warren’s characters are well-developed and she knows how to create a first-rate contemporary romance.”

  Library Journal

  “Vibrant characters and vivid language zoom this action-packed romance to the top of the charts. [The Perfect Match] is a one-sitting read—once you pick it up, you won’t want to put it down.”

  Romantic Times

  Visit Tyndale online at www.tyndale.com.

  Visit Susan May Warren’s website at www.susanmaywarren.com.

  TYNDALE and Tyndale’s quill logo are registered trademarks of Tyndale House Publishers, Inc.

  The Shadow of Your Smile

  Copyright © 2011 by Susan May Warren. All rights reserved.

  Cover photograph of couple copyright © by Sam Edwards/Jupiter Images. All rights reserved.

  Author photo taken by Rachel Savage. Copyright © 2010 by Rachel Savage Photography. All rights reserved.

  Designed by Erik M. Peterson

  Edited by Sarah Mason

  Scripture quotations are taken from the Holy Bible, New Living Translation, copyright © 1996, 2004, 2007 by Tyndale House Foundation. Used by permission of Tyndale House Publishers, Inc., Carol Stream, Illinois 60188. All rights reserved.

  Psalm 16:2 taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version,® NIV.® Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.™ Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved worldwide. www.zondervan.com.

  This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Warren, Susan May, date.

  The shadow of your smile / Susan May Warren.

  p. cm.

  ISBN 978-1-4143-3483-7 (sc)

  1. Marital conflict—Fiction. 2. Accidents—Fiction. 3. Amnesia—Fiction. 4. Minnesota—Fiction. 5. Domestic fiction. I. Title.

  PS3623.A865S33 2011

  813´.6—dc23 2011033854

  For Your glory, Lord

  Table of Contents

  Acknowledgments

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  A Note from the Author

  About the Author

  Discussion Questions

  Acknowledgments

  God showed His unfailing love to me once again as I wrote this story. I am deeply grateful to the following people for abiding with me on this journey:

  Sarah May Warren, my beautiful daughter, who let me use her amazing poetry and song lyrics as the foundation for Kelsey’s. Your talent makes me cry with joy. I can’t wait to see what God does with your obedient heart.

  Andrew Warren, my beloved husband, who is Eli and more. Thank you for all your guidance on the “man’s POV” in this story.

  Peter and Noah Warren, my basketball stars who helped me forge an appreciation for the game. (Peter, you are not allowed to tackle in basketball!)

  David Warren, who lets me blather on about my plots and knows just the right questions to ask. You’ll make a fabulous editor someday.

  Rachel Hauck, my writing partner. Stop arguing with me! (Or rather, thanks for pushing me and making me a better writer!)

  Dick Dorr, who listened to my crazy plot with his “I’m not sure I buy what you’re saying” cop look and then helped me straighten it all out. It is a gift to know you. Thank you for your patience, stories, and expert assistance.

  Kathy Johnson (and family), who let me into her life and taught me about deer hunting, ice fishing, snowplowing, and north shore living. You are a true north shore woman, and I’m delighted to call you friend.

  Marybeth Farley, basketball buddy. Oh, were we supposed to watch the game? Thanks for helping me with my “research”!

  Jim Miller, Lynn Shulte, and Margarquet Fortunato, friends at SA. Thanks for your encouragement and being the friendly faces I detour to every day. (Jim—your joke made it into the book!)

  Steve Laube—“Breathe, just breathe, Susie” (how he answers my phone calls). Thanks for being calm.

  Karen Watson, for your steadfast encouragement. I am too much like a puppy, hoping for your pat on my head. Thanks for loving this story.

  Sarah Mason, for again smoothing out my words and story into something readable. I am blessed by your talents!

  My reader friends, for your kind letters, your testimonials of how God has spoken to you through my stories, and for the encouragement to press on in truth. Thank you for reading.

  Noelle longed for the redemption that came with a fresh snow. The way it blanketed the northern woods of Minnesota with lacy grace, frosted the shaggy limbs of the white pine, turned the grimy dirt roads and highways to ribbons of pristine, unblemished white. The crisp bite of a shiny morning after a blizzard had the power to woo a new spirit to life inside Mrs. Eli Hueston, mother and wife of the former Deep Haven sheriff, when she stood on the deck of her woodsy home, steam from a cup of coffee swirling into the chilled air.

  In moments like those, she almost believed that everything could be made new.

  But this snow offered no such redemption. This snow, a mixture of sleet and flake, bulleted Noelle’s windshield, crusts of ice piling in the corners, turning her wiper blades to razors. This snow transformed the highway into a lethal slick of black ice as she crawled along the shore of Lake Superior to her tiny north shore hamlet.

  Eli would surely discover her transgressions now.

  Noelle turned her wipers on high to sweep the sleet faster, cranked the defrost to full. She should have scraped her windshield better before leaving Eric’s office, but she’d checked her watch, calculated her route home, and bargained on her car heating faster than the storm.

  Again, she’d opted for survival mode.

  But that’s what this trip was a
bout, wasn’t it? Surviving?

  Or maybe it was about living again.

  The road from this stretch of northern Minnesota into the northeast corner of the state appeared eerily vacant, the storm turning the late afternoon to pewter gray. She had switched her lights to dim, the brights only making the snow appear three-dimensional as it buffeted her. Deer lurked under the cover of black pine, poplar, and birch trees that walled either side of the road, ready to throw themselves into traffic.

  In this weather, a touch of her brakes might spin her right into the ditch.

  Maybe she should have spent the night in Duluth, but then she’d certainly have explaining to do.

  In the cup holder of her ancient Yukon, her phone buzzed. Noelle fumbled with the earpiece, glancing at the road, then back to the phone. Lee. She finally wedged the earpiece in, clicked the button.

  “Lee? Are you still there?”

  The voice, splotchy with the poor reception, cut through the rhythm of the wiper blades, the pummeling of the sleet. “Noelle, where are you? You missed yoga this morning. And Sharron said she’s covering your visitation at the care center.”

  Not yet. She couldn’t tell Lee just yet.

  It would be a big enough scandal when the news did surface. She hoped to hold it in for at least five more months. Just until Kirby’s graduation. Then she could exhale.

  They’d all exhale, probably. Especially Eli. She wasn’t deceiving herself—he would be as relieved as she with her decision.

  “I had to run to Duluth.” True enough.

  “Today? There’s a winter storm advisory. Didn’t you listen to the weather report this morning?”

  She could picture Lee, always beautiful with her long auburn hair, a trim body that needed no yoga, probably sitting in her immaculate home, staring through the window at the lake as it pounded the rocks outside her house.

  Her lonely house. Noelle admired Lee for her strength, but Lee had filled her life with so many activities since that horrible day that being snowbound could curl her into the fetal position if it weren’t for the telephone and her son, Derek, classmate of Kirby.

  If they had a snow day tomorrow, Kirby would dig out the snow machine and spend the day carving trails in the woods. How they used to relish the rare snow days of the north. One year—Kirby had been about ten—he and Kyle and Kelsey had spent the day building a snow cave . . .

  The memories could rise like knives to skewer her, carve her breath from her lungs. Focus on the future.

  “I heard we might have snow, but I had an appointment.” Also true. Noelle lifted her foot from the gas as she rounded a curve.

  “Oh no, it’s not . . . ,” Lee said, worry in her tone.

  Bless her for remembering. The last few years had turned their friendship stiff, but Lee had tried all the same. Noelle should remember that.

  “I got an all clear from the biopsy—the report came in the mail a couple weeks ago.” Noelle should have mentioned it to Lee, but she’d been so busy preparing for today. In a way, the clean report had only confirmed for her that it was time. “But I had some follow-up to do.” Like figuring out how she got here, a forty-six-year-old woman who longed to start her life over.

  “Are you going to be okay?”

  Yes. She had to believe it. Yes. “I’m fine. Did you say they called a winter storm advisory?”

  “Yes, although I’m sure the basketball team will stay for practice in hopes their game won’t be snowed out tomorrow.”

  Noelle made a face. Perfect. Sometimes her family’s devotion to small-town sports could make her bang her head against the dashboard.

  Still, if it weren’t for Kirby and his athletics, she might have lost herself completely.

  “I hate Kirby driving home in this storm in that decrepit Neon. I told Eli to change his tires out for winter treads, but . . .” If she’d been home, she would have put on the four-wheel drive in her SUV and trekked to the school.

  She hated to ask, but that’s what fellow sports moms did for each other. “If Kirby lands in the ditch, can you pick him up?”

  “Where’s Eli?”

  The obvious question, of course. And in earlier years, the answer might have been easier. In town. At the station. Or in his cruiser.

  But since he’d retired a few months back, who really knew? “He said he was going up to the lake, fishing. I expected to be back before he returned but—”

  “Absolutely, Noelle. Don’t worry about a thing. I’ll make sure Kirby isn’t left alone.”

  “Thanks, Lee. How’s Emma?” Noelle managed to ask without a hiccup in her voice, although a burr filled her throat. Someday, perhaps, she could ask without the pain.

  “She’s fine. Still playing her music in the Twin Cities. I think she has a gig this weekend.”

  She thought? Sometimes Noelle hated Lee for how easy it all came for her.

  Noelle heard the sound of the dishwasher being unloaded, plates scraping together. Lee probably only had to load it once a week nowadays.

  Maybe Noelle should have invited Lee to go with her. But she had to do this alone.

  Would do it alone. After all, who else did Noelle have who might understand what it felt like to look in the mirror and not recognize the woman she’d become? Lee had survived, even become stronger after that terrible day. She couldn’t possibly understand what it felt like to want to leave it all behind.

  To want to forget.

  Not that Noelle wanted to erase the last twenty years of her life. Just parts of it.

  Heart-wrenching, horrible, breath-stealing parts.

  But not even God could heal the wounds and put their family, her marriage, back together again.

  “I’ll be home soon.” Ahead, Noelle spied the lights of the next town shining out of the grayness. “I’m going to stop and get some coffee. If Eli shows up looking for me . . . just tell him I’m on my way home.”

  Silence, then, “He doesn’t know you went to Duluth?”

  Noelle tapped her brakes as the speed limit decreased. “I meant to tell him, but . . .”

  No, actually, she hadn’t, and she could nearly hear her pastor in her head. A lie of omission is still a lie.

  But was it a lie if they never talked about anything? If she and Eli had been reduced to two barely compatible roommates? He’d been sleeping in the den for more than a year now. It had somehow ceased to matter if she informed him what she was doing.

  Ever again.

  “Be safe,” Lee said, her voice sounding distant, even odd.

  But it could be the storm, the pitch of her tires as Noelle slowed to pull into the Mocha Moose coffee shop along the highway. She could use something to keep her awake for the rest of the two-hour drive.

  “Thanks, Lee,” she said, but her friend had already clicked off. Probably she’d simply lost the signal—it happened too often up here in moose country. She parked, grabbed her purse, and trekked across the lot. She shouldn’t have worn her three-inch dress boots. But she hadn’t been thinking of the storm when she’d dressed this morning.

  She’d been trying to find a pair of suit pants that didn’t pinch at the waist, didn’t appear to be from the eighties—the last time she’d interviewed for anything that mattered. She’d been trying to remember how to fix her blonde shoulder-length hair into anything but a swept-up ponytail, and rehearsing her answers.

  Why do I deserve enrollment in the Duluth Art Institute?

  She had some feeble replies, none that seemed overly compelling. Eric Hansen had seemed nice enough about her responses, however. Said he’d contact her.

  She stamped her way into the coffee shop, the warmth fogging her sunglasses. She pushed them on top of her head and walked to the counter. A cheery gas fire crackled in the hearth, leather chairs for reading propped before it. A chalkboard along the back listed the specials.

  “Just in time. We’re about to close,” the girl behind the register said.

  Noelle scanned the board. Oh, why not? “A white choc
olate mocha with extra whip.” She dug into her purse. “And can I have those little chocolate chip sprinkles?”

  The perky cashier, a blonde probably fresh out of high school, grinned at her. “Celebrating?”

  Perhaps she was. The restart to her life, the road to something she could live with. Noelle nodded as she paid, then walked to the next counter to wait for her drink.

  When the mocha arrived, she added a cozy to the cup, then took a sip, emboldening herself for the storm outside. The chocolate warmth seeped into the empty crannies inside, fortified her, if only for a second.

  She could do this. With or—and this was more likely—without Eli.

  She’d come to accept that, at least mostly. If only she could go back in time, figure out when it had started to unravel, maybe they’d still have a marriage worth saving.

  One last stop in the facilities and then she’d head for home. She ducked into the ladies’ room, and that’s when she heard the noises. Shouts, raised voices. She cracked open the door and froze.

  Standing in front of the counter were two men wearing ski masks—or one she’d call a boy because his stature didn’t resemble the broad-shouldered girth of the other man. The larger held a gun on the cashier. Noelle recognized a 9mm Glock.

  The skinny one handed over a paper bag. “Fill it up, then get on the floor.”

  Really? A coffee shop holdup?

  Still, petty thieves lurked in the north woods too. Look at what had happened in Deep Haven.

  Well, no one was going to die today.

  Noelle’s heart slammed against her ribs as she fumbled in her purse for her cell phone. Shoot, she’d left it in the car, in the cup holder.

  But there was the door, two steps away . . .

  She took a breath, then flung open the restroom door and raced for the exit.

  “Hey!”

  One of them turned, and she might have heard a shot as she leaped onto the sidewalk, diving for her car.

  A hand caught her arm, yanked her back. “Where do you think you’re going?” She clawed at his ski mask even as he dragged her back into the coffee shop.

  Inside, he slapped her hard, her jaw ringing. Brown eyes, a tattoo on his hand in the webbing of his thumb.