As soon as the door closed behind him, Mama rounded on Rosie. “What was that all about? You were quite unfriendly, bordering on rude.”
“I was trying to do you a favor and get rid of him,” Rosie said. “You’re the one who complained about Sheriff Parker for a whole year after he moved here.”
Mama smoothed down her skirt and looked away, avoiding Rosie’s gaze. “Sheriff Parker came from a big city, which is a whole lot different from Glimmer Creek. At first he didn’t understand how we all know each other and pull together and try to avoid conflict if we can. But he’s trying a lot harder these days. It took him a little while to get used to our ways.”
Rosie snorted. “He’s still not used to our ways. I can tell he doesn’t even believe in the Miracles. A sheriff who doesn’t believe in his own town shouldn’t be a sheriff, in my opinion.”
Mama swiveled her head to fix Rosie with one of her trademark tractor-beam stares. “There’s no excuse for your acting rude to an adult. None.” The corners of her mouth sagged like willow branches. “I’m disappointed in you.”
Rosie swallowed, hating to disappoint Mama. “I’m sorry.”
Mama sighed and walked back toward her office.
Rosie stared after her, torn between wanting to apologize again and knowing she was doing Mama a favor in the end by keeping Sheriff Parker away.
The door opened again with a tinkle of bells and a whoosh of air. Mr. Jack strolled in with his wife, Miss Jessie. His graying hair was carefully parted on one side, and he wore a pink shirt and one of his famous bow ties. This one had pink crabs scattered all over it. Miss Jessie wore a matching pink dress. Besides running the Bookworm, Rosie’s favorite store in town, they gave her a real Hollywood movie script on her birthday every year and faithfully watched every single one of her films at least twice.
“Rosie, dear, we’re here to see Caroline when she has a moment,” Mr. Jack said. “The sidewalk in front of the Bookworm has a large crack in it that needs repair. Libby Willis tripped on it yesterday when she came to see me.”
“Is Libby having love troubles again?” Rosie asked, delaying the walk back to get Mama.
Miss Jessie sighed. “She is, poor dear. She’s convinced Tyler is growing tired of her.”
“I hate to say it, but she’s right,” Mr. Jack said.
When he was younger, Mr. Jack had worked for the old trailer manufacturing company on the outskirts of town. One day, there was an explosion at the plant. Mr. Jack was near the front and shoved another worker away from the blast. Most of the explosion debris missed him except for a piece of metal, which ricocheted off his wedding ring. Though he broke two fingers, the ring deflected the metal away from his head and probably saved his life. After that Miracle, Mr. Jack turned into a genuine love expert. He’d matched up at least fourteen married couples in town. The sign on the Bookworm door read: BOOKS FOR SALE, MATCHMAKING OPTIONAL.
“I really thought she and Tyler were going to make it. If I had to cast the perfect high school couple, they would make the callbacks—they were even the right height,” Rosie said.
“Looking right together doesn’t mean feeling right together,” Ms. Jessie said, a regretful frown stealing over her face.
“She’s right. It is too bad though,” Mr. Jack said. “That Libby is a sweet girl. But you know what I always say.”
“Without a spark, the love will fizzle,” Rosie said, repeating back the words Mr. Jack had told her many times.
“Precisely.” Mr. Jack nodded toward the door. “Now, we ran into Sheriff Parker on our way in here, and he and your mama are a different story. Mark my words, Rosie, there’s a real spark between those two.”
Rosie took a step backward. “There can’t be. Mama doesn’t like him at all.”
Mr. Jack chuckled. “Maybe not yet, but she will.”
“You’ve got it wrong this time.” Rosie suddenly found it hard to breathe.
“I predicted three engagements last year alone. When I say there’s a spark, there’s a spark.” Mr. Jack reached down to take Miss Jessie’s free hand.
“I’ll get Mama for you,” Rosie said, hurrying away, not wanting to hear another word about Mr. Jack’s sparks.
“Much obliged,” Mr. Jack called.
Stopping midway down the hall, Rosie waved the papers in her hand back and forth to create a breeze on her flushed cheeks. She steadied herself against a filing cabinet. Mr. Jack was wrong, dead wrong. Mama didn’t want a boyfriend. She’d always said it was her and Rosie against the world. Nothing could change that.
Rosie took a deep breath, then another. The problem was Mr. Jack didn’t have all the information. All he saw was Sheriff Parker mooning around and Mama being nice to him the same way she was to everyone. But in the final cut of Mama’s story, the leading man was definitely not Sheriff Parker. After all, Rosie was about to invite her father to Glimmer Creek. Mama might realize she already had a family and didn’t need a leading man in her life just yet.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Rosie went straight home after school that day to break into Mama’s e-mail. She had no choice. Between this morning’s coffee fiasco, Mr. Jack’s theory, and the festival getting closer with every day that passed, she had to do something. Deep down she knew Mama’s answer if she asked to contact her father—Mama would say no. This was the surest way to reach him.
Mama’s laptop was perched on a desk the color of maple syrup in their small study off the family room. Bookshelves, crammed full of old hardbacks that had belonged to her grandparents, flanked the closed study door. A leather chair, scratched up and sagging, filled one corner, and a worn rug in shades of faded burgundy and gold bunched along the floor. The house was still, but Rosie’s pulse raced.
Pulling up Mama’s e-mail account, Rosie put in the password Mama used for everything—rosie1. Mama’s in-box popped onto the screen. Rosie typed Michael Weatherton into the search bar at the top. One message came up. It was dated three months ago.
Rosie clicked on it and read:
Hi Caroline, I got your message last week. Sorry I’ve been out of touch. My old e-mail address was hacked, and my assistant changed it a few months ago. I’m booked for two indie films this winter, and life has been crazy. Anyway, here’s the new e-mail. Talk soon. Michael.
Rosie sat back and reread the message four more times. She had so many questions. Why would Mama call him? Who had hacked his e-mail address? What indie movies was he working on? She stared at the screen, wishing she could ask him herself.
Shaking her head, Rosie laughed a little. There was no need to wish. Soon she could ask him whatever she wanted, when he came to Glimmer Creek.
Rosie opened up her own e-mail account and started to type. After a few false starts, she ended up with:
Dear Father Daddy Michael,
This is Rosie Flynn, your Caroline’s daughter. I am writing to let you know I am directing a documentary for the Festival of the Fish. The film is about Glimmer Creek’s Miracles and what causes them, which I heard is a special interest of yours. I understand you are filming Revolutionary Threat only two hours away in Richmond (congratulations on the part). I am inviting you to attend the premiere of my film on October 21st in Glimmer Creek. I think you would really like it. Please come.