Blackberry Beach

by Irene Hannon

“You, my dear, have a vivid imagination.” Stephanie picked a piece of lint off her jeans.

  “Nope. I’m an actress. Emotions are—”

  Whoops.

  Katherine clapped a hand over her mouth.

  How in the world had she let that slip out?

  But mistakes happened if you got too comfortable around someone, lowered your guard.

  Stephanie’s eyes sparked with interest. “You’re an actress?”

  Too late to backtrack.

  Katherine walked over and sat in the chair across from her. “Yes—but I’m here incognito while I sort through some . . . career issues. Please don’t tell anyone.”

  “My lips are sealed. Does Zach know?”

  “Yes. He and Charley are the only ones in town who do—besides you.”

  “So where is home?”

  “LA is my base—but in my business, you go where the parts are.”

  Stephanie’s brow knitted. “A career as nomadic as mine was.”

  “It can be—although my ongoing role in a weekly TV series keeps me close to LA for much of the year.”

  “May I ask your real name?”

  After Katherine shared it, Stephanie gave an apologetic shake of her head. “I’m sorry. I don’t stay up with Hollywood personalities or watch much TV.”

  “Even if you did, I’m not a household name.” That could change, however, if she accepted the movie role dangling in front of her.

  Stephanie gave her a cautionary look. “You know Zach is happily settled here, right?”

  “Yes.” She didn’t blame the woman for wanting to protect her nephew. “That’s why we’re being careful to keep our relationship low-key. For both our sakes, I’m not comfortable moving forward until I make several important decisions.”

  “Sound thinking.” Stephanie’s forehead smoothed out. “To be candid, I’m in the same boat with Frank. Long-distance relationships are difficult to sustain and often plagued with problems. One of us would have to make a radical lifestyle adjustment—and I can’t see Frank living in New York.”

  “Are you willing to consider relocating?”

  “If you’d asked me that a month ago, I’d have said no. Now . . . I don’t know. Meeting Frank has been an unexpected blessing—and this is an appealing town. There’s really nothing tying me to New York.”

  “I wish I could say the same about LA.”

  Stephanie gave a sympathetic nod. “I hear you. And I thought I was facing a tough choice. But I had a long, productive career, and I achieved all my goals. I imagine your star is rising, and who knows what the future could hold? Romance in your situation is far more complex than in mine—and affects both your personal life and your job.”

  No kidding.

  Katherine rubbed her forehead. “I know—and it wasn’t a complication I expected to have to deal with while I was up here plotting my course for the future.”

  “It wasn’t on my vacation itinerary either.” Stephanie twisted her wrist to expose the face of her watch. “You still want to paint, or would you rather pass after this depressing discussion?”

  “I’ll paint. If I sit around here, I’ll—whoops. Call coming in. Give me a sec.” She pulled out her vibrating cell.

  “Maybe it’s Zach with an update.”

  No such luck. Simon’s number flashed on the screen.

  “Crud.”

  “Not someone you want to talk to?”

  “No. My agent can’t seem to grasp that I don’t want to be disturbed.” She let the call roll and put the phone away. “Let’s go paint. Can I get you a drink while I change?”

  “No, thanks—but if you have a truffle lying around, I wouldn’t object to that.”

  “I do have a few rejects.” She told Stephanie about the batch she’d taken to the tearoom—and the reception.

  “You’re a woman of many talents, that’s all I can say. And rejects are fine with me. They may not be as pretty as the ones you delivered to the lavender farm, but they’ll taste just as delicious.”

  Katherine retrieved two from the kitchen and handed them to her on a paper napkin. “Enjoy.”

  “Every bite—even if they’ll dampen my appetite for tacos.”

  While her guest sank back on the couch to savor the chocolates, Katherine retreated to the bedroom, changed into the same outfit she’d worn while stripping wallpaper with Zach—and mulled over Stephanie’s subtle warning not to disrupt the placid life her nephew had here.

  It was hard to fault.

  Starting something she didn’t intend to finish would be wrong—which made yesterday’s good-bye kiss all the more inappropriate. Zach had been through too much turmoil in his life already, had lost too many people he cared about. For all she knew, his last-ditch effort to salvage his relationship with his dad would also nosedive.

  He didn’t need another broken romance on top of all that.

  What he needed was a woman who had her act together, who’d found her place in the world—as he had—and was content with life in a small seaside town, away from the cameras and lights and accolades . . . and the magic of acting.

  Truth was, she could do without the first three. The compulsion to prove herself to the world had diminished, and notoriety had become more exhausting than exciting.

  Yet she did enjoy the magic part.

  The question was, did she enjoy it enough to walk away from the most intriguing and appealing man who’d ever crossed her path?

  She fingered a piece of wallpaper stuck to her sweatshirt. Pulled it off.

  That wasn’t a question she was going to be able to answer today.

  But in two weeks, she owed Simon a decision on the movie—and that choice could have implications far beyond one starring role.

  In the meantime, all she could do was pray—and hope her pleas for guidance would be answered before that looming deadline was upon her.

  He’d survived.

  As the world around him slowly came into focus and that reality sank in, Richard frowned.

  Was that good or bad?

  The answer eluded him.

  Yes, he had his job to fill his days—but without the woman he’d loved . . . without the younger son he’d once doted on . . . with Zach off in Oregon—so far away in every respect he, too, might as well be dead—what was the point of it all?

  But those weren’t questions he should be dwelling on. They were disruptive. Unsettling. And it was important to present a strong, confident face to the world.

  Even if you were shaky and uncertain inside.

  “Mr. Garrett?” The summons came from somewhere to his left, and he peered that direction.

  A woman in scrubs, her hair covered with a cap, mask pulled down, was watching him.

  “Yes?” His reply came out scratchy, as if he were recovering from laryngitis. He tried to clear his throat.

  “Don’t worry about your voice. The hoarseness is from the breathing tube. I’m your surgeon, Dr. Edwards.”

  He frowned at her. Did she think the arteries to his brain were blocked too?

  “I know.”

  She smiled at his gruff response. “Excellent. Sometimes it takes a while for patients to emerge from the mental fog after surgery. You’re recovering fast. Right now, you’re in the ICU—that’s common for the first day after surgery, as we discussed. I expect to move you to a regular room later today. The surgery went fine. We took veins from your leg and redirected the blood flow around three partially blocked sections of arteries in your heart. Any questions?”

  “When can I go home?”

  “Let’s see how you do—but if there are no complications, Friday or Saturday would be realistic.”

  “What day is it?”

  “Tuesday.”

  He’d lost an entire day?

  “What happened to Monday?”

  “Most patients don’t remember much about the first twenty-four hours after surgery. But here’s someone who does.” She shifted aside, and a man took her place.

 
; Zach?

  All at once, the events of Sunday night clicked into focus.

  His son had shown up on his doorstep. And despite a less-than-cordial welcome, he’d stayed the night. Driven him to the hospital. Squeezed his shoulder in the moments before they’d wheeled him into surgery.

  From his scuzzy appearance, he hadn’t left the hospital since then either—nor clocked much shut-eye.

  “Hi, Dad.” He leaned down, putting them on the same level.

  At this proximity, Zach looked even worse. His eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot, his hair was unkempt, and the whiskers on his cheeks and chin had passed the stubble stage.

  “You need a shave—and sleep.” The words rasped past his throat.

  “You could use a shave yourself.” The corners of his mouth rose. “But you’re on the mend. That’s all that matters.”

  “Go home. Sleep. Eat.”

  “I will.”

  “Now.”

  “I’ll get a meal in the cafeteria.”

  “You don’t have to stay.”

  “I want to.”

  A wave of fatigue crashed over him, and hard as he fought to remain alert, his eyelids drooped.

  “Rest, Dad. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

  He stopped struggling. If Zach wanted to stay, he would. That boy had always had a one-track mind once he set a goal.

  It was no wonder he’d caught the attention of management and risen at lightning speed through the ranks at his firm in Chicago.

  If only he’d—

  He lost his train of thought as his hand was grasped in a firm, comforting clasp.

  The contact felt . . . odd.

  No one had held his hands in years.

  No one had to hold his hand now.

  He could cope on his own, as he always had.

  Yet the warmth of that caring, human touch seeped into his pores—and zoomed straight to his heart, chasing away the chill that had kept that defective organ in cold storage since his sons had deserted him.

  No.

  That wasn’t quite accurate—or fair.

  Both had tried to maintain contact, but he hadn’t been receptive to their appeals.

  Thank God he and Joshua had reconnected before his younger son’s death—but Zach walking away from a promising career had been like déjà vu. Why had neither of them taken advantage of the educations they’d received to create a safe, secure future?

  Not that they’d ever been slackers. Both had worked hard at school, been offered excellent positions. But Joshua had turned his offer down flat, and Zach had ultimately followed in his brother’s footsteps.

  Why had they bothered to get fancy degrees if they hadn’t planned to build solid careers, like he and Stephanie had?

  Why?

  “What did you say, Dad?”

  Zach spoke close to his ear, and the pressure on his fingers increased.

  He summoned up the energy to repeat the question he hadn’t realized he’d spoken aloud.

  “Why what?” His son sounded puzzled.

  “Why . . . did you . . . get . . . business degree?”

  He strained to hear the answer over the various beeping monitors around him, fighting the numbing fatigue that was sucking him back down into a black hole.

  Zach spoke, but the words were too faint to hear.

  “What?” He strained toward his son.

  “Rest, Dad.” A gentle hand pressed him back against the pillow.

  “Tell me.”

  This time, Zach spoke closer to his ear. “You said it would be a practical choice. One that would set me up for success.”

  “But it . . . wasn’t what . . . you wanted.”

  “I didn’t know that until later. Josh realized sooner than I did that neither of our degrees were the best fit. But we both hated disappointing you. We always wanted to make you proud.”

  Yet they’d failed.

  Zach didn’t have to say that for Richard to read between the lines, despite his half-groggy state.

  And it was true. He’d been profoundly upset and frustrated after they’d each veered off the straight and narrow to take jobs that offered little of the security and prestige so critical to him after the shattering incident with his first mentor left him destitute and reviled.

  Yet his firstborn’s point on Sunday night, about respecting each other’s choices and not letting a disagreement over that ruin their relationship, had been valid.

  The very conclusion he’d been dancing around for the past twelve months himself.

  But how to reach out, how to initiate a reconciliation—that had been the stumbling block.

  Maybe because he had too much pride.

  Scratch that.

  He did have too much pride.

  That was the stumbling block.

  Admitting he may have overreacted . . . that it had been wrong to try and force his sons to live lives that conformed to his definition of success . . . that not everyone who refused to fall into lockstep with him was a failure . . . had been a formidable challenge.

  One that required courage—and the kind of touchy-feely conversation he always took pains to avoid.

  But now Zach had sucked it up and done the heavy lifting. The son he’d shunned and disparaged had swallowed his own pride and come to his door to try and bridge the gulf between them.

  He was the one with the guts in this family.

  Richard tried to raise his heavy eyelids, but they refused to cooperate.

  Instead, he squeezed the strong hand that held his. “I’m proud of you.”

  Those were the words he tried to say—but they came out garbled.

  “What?” Zach leaned close, so close he could feel his son’s breath on his cheek.

  He tried again—with even less success.

  Muted voices spoke in the background, and Zach relinquished his grip.

  Richard tried to grope for his hand—but it was gone.

  “I’m here, Dad. The nurse has to check a few monitors.”

  His reassurance registered . . . but the world faded away.

  Yet as darkness claimed him once again, his patched-up heart felt lighter.

  Because while Zach didn’t yet realize it, the long silence between them was about to come to an end.

  21

  Yes!

  Zach was calling her back.

  Finally.

  Katherine pressed the talk button, put her cell to her ear, and sat on the log on Blackberry Beach. “Good morning.”

  “Morning.” A trundling noise that could be a hospital cart came over the line. “Sorry—I just noticed the time. This wasn’t too early to call, was it?”

  “No. I’m actually down on Blackberry Beach, taking an early morning walk. How’s your dad?”

  “He spoke to me a few minutes ago. He was on the fuzzy side, and he’s faded out again—but the surgeon says he’s doing well. They’re talking about moving him out of the ICU in a few hours.”

  “That’s a positive sign.”

  “I know. Thanks for your return message yesterday.”

  “I’m sorry I missed your call after he came out of surgery.” Naturally, she’d picked that ten-minute window to take a shower. “How did it go when you arrived?”

  “We didn’t talk much—but he did invite me to stay at the house.”

  “Also positive.”

  “That remains to be seen. His resistance may have been down the night before surgery. Hard to say what will happen after he’s back in fighting form.”

  “Maybe the surgery will be a wake-up call. Remind him how vulnerable we all are—and how fleeting life is.”

  “Hold that thought. How’s everything with you?”

  Offshore, Charley’s dolphin friend Trixie bowed, her sleek body glistening in the morning sun.

  “If you’re asking whether I’ve come to a decision about the movie, the answer is no. But I still have almost two weeks. In the meantime, I’m working on truffles for the tearoom and—hold a sec. I’ve go
t an incoming call.”

  She checked the screen.

  Simon.

  Again.

  His fourth call in two days.

  The man ought to get a life.

  She ignored the summons and went back to Zach. “Sorry. My agent is nothing if not persistent.”

  “Do you want to take it?”

  “No. I’ll call him back.” Much as she’d prefer not to. A combination of multiple calls in forty-eight hours and several texts was a bit over the top even for him, so it was possible he did have an urgent need to speak with her.

  “Go ahead and do that. I have a few questions for the surgeon anyway, and I want to catch her before she leaves.”

  “When are you coming back?”

  “I’m covered at the shop through Thursday. If no issues arise, I may be back that evening.”

  “Call again with an update if you can.”

  “I’ll do my best. Take care.”

  Psyching herself up for a less-pleasant exchange, she punched Simon’s number. Why listen to all his messages? He could tell her about the latest emergency live.

  One ring in, he answered. “Where are you?”

  She focused on Trixie’s antics, trying not to let the man’s frenzy disrupt the serenity of her favorite thinking spot. “You know where I am. Hope Harbor.”

  “No. I mean, where are you this minute?”

  “On the beach. Why?”

  “How fast can you get back to your house?”

  “Ten minutes.” She rose, giving up the attempt to remain calm. “Where are you?”

  “Cooling my heels on your deck.”

  He was here?

  Again?

  Bad vibes began to course through her as she strode toward the path that led to the top of the bluff. “What’s going on?”

  “If you’d answer your phone once in a while, you’d know. We’ll talk after you get back.”

  The line went dead.

  Heart pounding, Katherine picked up her pace. Despite Simon’s propensity toward over-the-top theatrics, the man seemed to be legitimately rattled.

  This had to be about the movie. Nothing less momentous could persuade him to leave LA behind again.

  And while she wasn’t all that keen to hear his news, she ascended the bluff at twice her usual speed.

  True to his word, he was on her deck. Not cooling his heels but pacing.