Lake Season

by Denise Hunter

  Ben shook his head, looking starstruck. “That sounds . . .”

  “Impossible?” Molly asked on a wry laugh.

  Ben stared intently at Adam. “Providential.”

  Adam cleared his throat, his insecurities rising like floodwaters. “Of course, we can do a DNA test if you like. It’s a simple matter of a mouth swab.”

  “But we’re 100 percent certain Catherine is your daughter,” Molly said. “There was only one Elizabeth Van Buren in Bluebell, and she was Catherine’s birth mother. Which, of course, makes Adam—”

  “I know this is a lot to take in.” Adam’s heart was beating like a bass drum in his chest. “But my mother lives in Austin, Texas, and she’s very eager to meet you if you’re willing.”

  “There’s nothing I’d love more.” Ben stared intently at Adam for a long moment. “You’re my grandson.”

  Adam swallowed hard. “Yes, sir.”

  “Your only one, apparently,” Molly added. “Adam’s an only child.”

  His grandfather’s eyes drifted over Adam’s features. The man seemed to see everything with those eyes of his. Right down to his soul.

  The back of Adam’s neck heated at his scrutiny. He shifted in his seat, thinking of all the reasons Ben might find him lacking. His unremarkable height and build. His nerdy demeanor. His social incompetency.

  “You have her eyes,” Ben choked out. “The same color, like a stormy sky, I used to tell her. And you have my hairline.” He chuckled, palming his forehead. “Well. The hairline I used to have.”

  Adam breathed a laugh.

  Ben’s smile fell away, a look of wonder sweeping over his features. “My grandson.” He reached out and pulled Adam into an embrace. “Imagine that. Just imagine that.”

  Adam’s arms wrapped around the man’s frail shoulders.

  “Do you see this, Rosa Lee?” Ben’s voice warbled. “Just look at my fine young grandson. Thank you, God. This is beyond belief. My heart is so full. How can I love someone so much—someone I only just met?”

  Adam closed his eyes against the sting, Swallowed against the knot in his throat. He felt so many things in the arms of his grandfather. Acceptance. Belonging. All of it instantaneous. His heart thumped wildly at the foreign concept.

  His grandfather trembled in his arms, and when he drew away he was wiping his face. “And you’re an author, you said?”

  “He’s very famous,” Molly inserted. “And an exceptional writer.”

  Adam shot her a look even as his face warmed at the pride on her face.

  “Of course he is,” Ben said. “That’s wonderful. I used to write a bit, you know. Well, it was just poetry, probably a bunch of schmaltzy drivel, but you must’ve gotten some of that aptitude from me, yes?”

  His hopeful tone made Adam’s lips quirk. “It’s quite likely, sir.”

  “Grandpa,” Ben corrected, his face beaming. “You must call me Grandpa. Now tell me everything about you. And don’t leave out a single thing.”

  forty-five

  Molly watched the rolling landscape pass as they headed east on 40, a smile permanently etched on her face. They’d stayed at the nursing home for over three hours, some of which she’d excused herself for—Adam and his grandfather needed time alone. The sound of their laughter when she returned was music to her soul. As was the serenity on Adam’s face as they left the home.

  She knew just enough of his insecurities to realize what his grandfather’s acceptance must mean to him. She’d been holding her breath as Adam made the announcement, praying the man would receive the news gladly. She’d wept tears of joy when they embraced.

  Molly gave a happy sigh. Well, God, that sure was an amazing thing You did.

  Looking back, she was in awe of how everything had transpired this summer. She was even finding closure for her own wounds. They were healing more by the second. She could feel God working in and around her to complete His good work.

  Thank You.

  “We took pictures,” Adam said into his headset. He’d been talking with his mom since they’d left Knoxville. “I’ll send all of them to you . . . Yes, yes. He’s very eager to meet you too . . . I don’t know. The sooner the better, I think . . . Yes, I know . . . Well, we’ll have to work all that out.”

  Adam chuckled. “You’re going to love him, Mom. He’ll be able to tell you all about your birth mother too. He really loved her. He was so distraught when he first heard about Lizzie having to give you up that he cried . . . I know. It was difficult to watch.”

  Molly didn’t want to think about that part of the day. She wanted to remember the look of wonder that had come over Ben’s face when he realized he was sitting across from his grandson. Precious. Eyes watering, she placed her palm against her chest. Her heart felt so full.

  The blurry landscape passed as they grew closer and closer to Bluebell. To home. Her home, not Adam’s, she reminded herself. The thought that had been trying to push to the foreground for days surfaced now.

  He was leaving in the morning. Flying back to New York. There would be no reason for him to return to Bluebell. The town would just be a pleasant memory he’d revisit as he wrote his story. She didn’t know if she’d even be able to bear reading it when it released. But how could she keep from it when it would be her only connection to Adam? Her only chance to “see” him again?

  She pressed her palm harder against a heart that had gone from full to heavy in the span of a minute. He’d be dropping her off at the inn soon. Maybe a clean break was for the best. She had some groundwork to do herself. She needed to learn to trust again. She couldn’t bring fear of getting hurt into a relationship—certainly not a relationship that had already been scarred by a small betrayal.

  Plus he was leaving. That again. The clock was ticking down. The tires were quickly eating up the miles between Knoxville and Bluebell.

  Adam’s chuckle drew her from her thoughts. He’d begun repeating parts of the story, his mother obviously feeding off every detail. Who could blame her? Molly could hear Adam’s love for her in his patient tone. She had a feeling that the closeness they enjoyed would soon grow to encompass the elderly man they’d just left.

  Molly would comfort herself with that thought when memories of this summer threatened to drag her under. And she was certain they would.

  Adam didn’t hang up until they were nearly to Bluebell. “Sorry about that. She was so excited.”

  “Of course she was.”

  “She said to tell you thank you for all you’ve done to make this happen.”

  Molly shrugged. “I just stumbled upon a letter.”

  “You did a lot more than that.”

  “When will she come to see him?”

  “She’s going to have to figure that out. She has a few things on her calendar to work around, but she’s hoping to make the trip within the month. She’s going to call him tonight though. Can you imagine? Meeting your father for the first time at her age?”

  “Not to mention Ben meeting his child for the first time at his age. Good thing he has a strong heart.”

  “No kidding. The poor guy received a lot of shocking news today. He held up pretty well.”

  “He was a trouper.” She gave Adam a warm smile. “He discovered he has a wonderful daughter and grandson to love. That must be the best kind of day.”

  He cut her a look. “It went really well, didn’t it?”

  “Couldn’t have gone better. I’m so happy for you, Adam. Seeing you with Ben was really sweet. The way he looked at you was something to see.”

  “I’m still a little astounded, I think.”

  “Who could blame you? It’ll settle in, though. You’ll be just fine.” He would be. She suspected all of this had changed him in some really good ways.

  They rounded a curve, and Bluebell Lake came into view, sparkling in the late afternoon sun. She was home. Adam would drop her off and say good-bye, and that would be that.

  The ache blossomed in her chest, spreading outward. She cle
ared her throat. “So . . . I guess you’re leaving in the morning.”

  “Bright and early. Ten a.m. flight out of Charlotte. I haven’t even packed yet. I was too focused on today.”

  “I imagine it’ll be good to get home again.”

  There was a long pause. “I have plenty to keep me busy. Lots of writing ahead of me, and a release coming up next week.”

  “That’s right. Under the Starry Sky. I’m looking forward to it.”

  “I hope you enjoy it.”

  It was as if they were strangers. She closed her eyes against the sting. She had nobody to blame but herself. She was the one who’d shut him down. But now—after such an emotional day—wasn’t the time to resurrect any of that.

  “I’m sure I will,” she said.

  * * *

  Adam put the car in park, his heart tripping in his chest. He couldn’t even look at Molly. Instead he stared out the windshield, his eyes zooming in on the sprawling inn.

  That’s where it had all begun. Where he’d found Molly. Where he’d mistaken her for his muse, only to find she was actually the keeper of his heart.

  He tightened his sweaty grip on the steering wheel.

  Molly’s seat belt detached with a click. “Well, I guess this is it.”

  “I can walk you to the door.”

  “No, that’s all right. You have a lot of packing to do.”

  A vise tightened around his heart. It was as if she wanted to be rid of him.

  “It’s been an amazing day,” she said.

  “An amazing summer.” And all because of Molly’s persistence. He turned to her, taking her in one last time. That silky soft hair, those amber eyes, so serious just now.

  “Thank you for inviting me on this journey with you,” he said. “If you hadn’t, I never would’ve found my grandfather.”

  “It was meant to be.” She twisted the straps of her purse in the silence.

  He kept waiting for her to rattle on in that endearing way of hers. Nervous energy. But she seemed short on words just now, and the car remained quiet. The air seemed to be charged, a low hum thrumming in the background.

  Did she still have hard feelings about what he’d done? She said she’d forgiven him, but he didn’t want to leave anything unfinished. “I really am sorry, Molly, about before. About hurting you. I’ll always regret what I did.” She had no idea how much.

  Molly just waved him away, giving him a warm smile. “We’ve already covered that. It’s been a pleasure, Adam.” The tremble in her voice about broke his heart. “You’re a kind, wonderful man, and I’m glad you came to Bluebell. I’m glad you stayed at our inn. And I’m glad I got to know you.”

  The lump in his throat swelled. Her words were kind and gracious. But there was something in her eyes, a little flicker of fear that reminded him of the night of her mother’s birthday.

  Her glassy eyes tugged at his heart. He loosened his grip on the steering wheel and took her hand. It felt so delicate in his. He lifted it, pressing his lips to the back of it. Her skin was silky smooth and scented with jasmine.

  He forced words past his achy throat. “The pleasure was all mine, Molly Bennett.”

  “Take care, Adam.” Her smile wobbled as she released his hand. And then she was gone. Slipping from his life as suddenly as she’d slipped in to it.

  forty-six

  The sidewalks bustled outside the glass windows at the restaurant where Adam and Jordan were meeting for dinner. Inside the restaurant the sounds of clinking silverware punctuated the low buzz of conversation. The delicious aroma of grilled steak made Adam’s stomach growl.

  He took a slow sip of ice water.

  Jordan was droning on about movie rights and contractual obligations, and Adam resumed watching the passersby, rushing from work to home or wherever they were going after their busy days at the office.

  He liked the city. It was an environment he’d always thrived in. He often wrote at a coffee shop, preferably at the bar where the blur of life continued just beyond his laptop screen.

  This past week he hadn’t been writing much though. He’d mostly been ruminating. And he’d been on the phone with his grandfather and with his mom. She’d gone to meet him earlier this week, extending her stay in Knoxville to three nights. It seemed the two had bonded quickly. It was good to hear his mom so enthusiastic.

  Jordan had shifted the topic to Adam’s next novel and was about to start pushing him about his deadline. He could smell it coming.

  It was probably time to tell his agent what had been building inside him over the past week. He did feel inspired to write—more than he had in a long time.

  Just not by the plot he’d been working on all summer. Another story was now living and breathing inside him, aching to be told. It featured a strong, cheerful innkeeper, a lost letter, and a happily-ever-after.

  Well. He’d have to use his imagination on that last part.

  Sure, the hero wasn’t Nathaniel Quinn’s usual type. He was flawed and rather ordinary. But he was special in his own way. The heroine would recognize that and so, he hoped, would the reader.

  “And when it airs,” Jordan continued in business monotone, “it’ll premiere first on Mars, then Jupiter and Uranus and so on and so forth.”

  “If we’re going in order it would be Saturn next, not Uranus. But if you’re going by size it would be Mercury, Mars, Venus, then Earth, followed by—”

  “All right, all right. You can daydream and listen. But you have to admit you’ve been a little spacey lately, pardon the pun. And I have a feeling you’re still on planet Earth.” Jordan gave him a pointed look. “Just not necessarily in New York.”

  “You’re right. You’re right. I’ve mostly been in Bluebell—the setting of my work-in-progress.”

  Jordan gave a nod of approval. “Well at least you’ve been writing. I’ll count my blessings.”

  “Yeah . . . about that.”

  Jordan’s hand paused, his glass midway between table and mouth. A look of dread moved over his features. “Adam . . . please don’t tell me—”

  “You can scrap the outline I sent you. I’m starting fresh.”

  “Your deadline is in—”

  “Eight weeks. I know. Don’t worry; I’ll make the deadline.” Having vocalized the idea that had been swelling inside for days, relief washed over him. He was suddenly more certain than ever that this was right.

  “I already sent your outline to Rosewood Press, and Elaine loves it.”

  “That’s unfortunate. But she’ll like this one better. And so will my readers.”

  Jordan leaned in on his elbows. “There’s nothing wrong with the story you were working on. It’s good. It has all the elements readers expect in a Nathaniel Quinn story.”

  “You’re right. There’s nothing wrong with it.” Adam paused pointedly. “But it’s not the story I need to write.”

  Jordan slunk back in his chair, studying his friend. They’d been together a long time. No one knew Adam better.

  Slowly, resignation crept over Jordan’s features. He drew in a breath and blew it out. “Fine. Send me the outline. I’ll look it over.”

  “I don’t need an outline for this story. Trust me, Jordan. I’ve got this. And while you’re at it . . .”

  He took a moment to reassess his decision, making certain. His grandfather’s words had played repeatedly in his mind. It had taken Ben years to realize that his worth or lack thereof wasn’t based on his job or paycheck or even his ethnicity. And Adam’s certainly wasn’t based on someone else’s expectations, not even his father’s. In fact, his father’s disappointment hadn’t been caused by a deficiency in Adam at all, but a deficiency in his father.

  Adam was sufficient just the way he was, because he’d been lovingly and intentionally created by God Himself. Molly and his grandfather had helped him see that.

  “And while I’m at it . . .” Jordan prodded, obviously growing impatient.

  Adam leaned on his elbows. “You can tell Rosew
ood Press I’ll do the interview with Newsline Tonight.”

  Jordan’s eyebrows popped. He gave his head a quick shake before he homed in on Adam, studying him through the eyes of a friend. “Who are you?”

  He was Adam Bradford—and also bestselling author Nathaniel Quinn. The truth felt real. Good. Freeing.

  He was ready for this. Adam’s lips turned up. “I think I’m ready to embrace my true identity, my friend.”

  Jordan broke out into a smile. “Well, hallelujah. It’s about time.”

  forty-seven

  Molly slouched against her pillows, holding the book in her hands—Nathaniel Quinn’s newest release. She’d been at the bookstore bright and early this morning as Mr. Delbert was flipping the Open sign.

  She ran her fingers over the cover, over the raised letters of Nathaniel’s name. It was a beautiful image: a night setting, the starry sky seeming to stretch on and on. In the foreground a couple cuddled in the bed of an old red truck. As beautiful as the cover was, she was certain the story inside was even better.

  She had yet to open it though. And it wasn’t as if she hadn’t had time today. It was a slow Tuesday. After cleaning two rooms and helping Miss Della with kitchen cleanup, she’d gone to Skye’s studio for yoga. Molly filled her friend in on all the details of the Knoxville trip, while neatly dodging the questions about Adam. Skye hadn’t been fooled.

  Molly wasn’t ready to go there yet, not even with her best friend. She was . . . mourning, she supposed. It was the only word that adequately described the hollow, achy feeling in her chest. She missed Adam the same way she missed her mom and dad. The only difference was . . .

  She looked at the cover, her heart squeezing tight. Adam was still living. But somehow that only made it worse. Right now he was walking around Manhattan somewhere, living his life as if he’d never met Molly at all.

  And it hurt. She’d had a lot of trauma the past two years. But Skye had helped her through Dominic and the loss of her parents. She’d help Molly through this too.