Hope Harbor

by Irene Hannon

  “And it’s . . . not funny.”

  But neither was the accident her furry friend’s fault. She should never have lunged for him when he’d attempted a second escape. In fact, she should have released him days ago. He was more than ready to fend for himself.

  Now look at the pickle she was in—flat on her back on the floor, her shoulder screaming in pain with every breath she stingily metered out.

  A bone must be broken.

  Beads of sweat broke out on her forehead, and her heart began to hammer.

  She needed help.

  Fast.

  Trying to keep her body as still as possible, she slowly turned her head and scanned the kitchen for her cell phone. It wasn’t on the counter . . . next to her purse . . . in the charger . . . there! It was on the café table.

  Ten feet away and out of reach.

  Thumper hopped over. Close enough for her fingers to brush his soft fur. He must sense there was no chance she’d snatch him up and relegate him back to his cage. Had he come to offer comfort?

  She stroked his haunch. He was a friendly little guy. Companionable.

  Too bad he couldn’t retrieve the phone for her.

  And too bad she couldn’t just stay where she was, wait for someone to come home and find her.

  Except no one came home to this house anymore but her. Nor did anyone call, other than charities soliciting donations and mechanical voices promising to reduce her credit card debt.

  Father Murphy and Reverend Baker would notice if she didn’t show up to cook, and after a few days Charley would wonder why she wasn’t stopping by for tacos—but she couldn’t wait for one of them to realize there was a problem.

  She had to summon help herself.

  Focusing on the cell, she assessed the situation. At least the phone was on the edge of the table. Within grasping distance if she could manage to sit up and scoot over there. Once she had it in hand, it would be a simple matter of calling 911.

  She could do this.

  She had to do this.

  Bracing for the pain, she rolled to her right side.

  A moan erupted from deep inside her as knives stabbed her shoulder, sucking the air from her lungs. Her whole body grew clammy, and she began to shake. Badly.

  This wasn’t going to work. She’d never make it to the table before she passed out.

  But what other choice did she have?

  A tear trickled out of the corner of her eye, and she swiped it away with trembling fingers. It was her own fault no one cared about her. Hadn’t she made it clear for years she was self-sufficient? Didn’t need anyone? Wanted to be left alone?

  Well, she was alone now.

  That isn’t true. I am with you always.

  She stopped breathing.

  Why had that promise from Scripture echoed in her mind? Was the comforting reminder coming from . . . God?

  No. Not much chance of that. Why would he talk to a stiff-necked woman who had snubbed him for almost two decades?

  Yet . . . if God was with her, might he give her the strength to get to that phone?

  She surveyed the ten-foot chasm separating her from the cell, the distance as formidable as a ten-mile trek. She’d definitely need a source of strength beyond her own to make that trip.

  And since no one else was going to come to her aid, why not put it in his hands and hope for the best?

  “Michael, on behalf of myself, Father Kevin, and the entire board, thank you again for spending the past hour and a half with us, for all the analysis you’ve already done, and for the recommendations you’ll be putting together. You’ve been the answer to our prayers.”

  As Reverend Baker wrapped up the meeting and the board members applauded, Michael’s neck warmed. “I haven’t done that much. Besides, based on everything I’ve learned, you may not be too happy with my suggestions. I’ll offer several options, but given your finite resources, the most practical one might be to simply scale back.”

  “We’ve toyed with doing that in the past, but it’s difficult to say no to people who ask you for help.” Father Kevin folded his hands on the church’s conference room table and leaned forward, his expression troubled.

  “I understand your dilemma.” Far better than they knew. “But operating within more limited parameters and helping some people is preferable to closing up shop and helping no one. I know some of your board members are already stretched to the limit with Helping Hands demands.” He scanned the group seated around the table, his gaze lingering for a moment on Tracy.

  She dipped her chin and gathered up the papers spread in front of her.

  “That’s true.” Reverend Baker nodded. “And it may be easier to make that kind of hard decision if the recommendation comes from a seasoned nonprofit professional like you.” He stood and indicated a table to the side, where several cakes and beverages were displayed. “I hope you’ll stay a few minutes to enjoy some hospitality and give our members a chance to thank you personally.”

  “I’d be happy to.” Michael rose too.

  As the meeting broke up and several people came over to chat with him, the minister put his phone to his ear and withdrew slightly from the group.

  By the time he’d been plied with cake and coffee, the cleric was ending the call and motioning to Father Kevin and Tracy. While Michael continued to converse with the other board members, he kept an eye on the trio in the corner. From their frowns and serious discussion, he had a feeling another Helping Hands case had been dropped in their laps.

  So much for trying to wrangle a few words with Tracy.

  Perhaps that was best, though. What would he say? He’d taken personal discussions off the table during their last conversation at Eleanor’s, and his business with Helping Hands was concluding. There was no other reason for a one-on-one chat.

  Except he liked being around her.

  That was the truth, no matter how guilt-inducing—and dangerous—it was.

  And he hadn’t a clue how to deal with it.

  He ran out of cake and conversation with the board before the two clergymen and Tracy wrapped up, and with no further excuse to linger, he deposited his disposable cup and empty plate in the trash, retrieved his Helping Hands file and notepad from the table, and exited the meeting room.

  Mist had moved in since he’d arrived, and he turned up the collar of his coat as he stepped outside. His decision to drive tonight instead of walk had been a smart one.

  After setting the meeting material on the seat beside him, he started the engine, put the car in gear, and . . .

  Squinting, he peered through the windshield. Was that bike leaning against the side of the church Tracy’s?

  He gave it a more thorough inspection. It looked like the Schwinn she’d been riding the day of the accident. Hard to be certain in the dim light, though. Yet she had rushed into the meeting at the last minute, flushed and out of breath—as if she’d pedaled hard and fast to get there on time.

  Frowning, he tapped a finger against the steering wheel. The trip home, up the hill to the cottage on the bluff outside of town, would be taxing—not to mention dangerous, with the darkness and mist reducing visibility.

  He didn’t like the whole notion.

  His engine continued to idle while the remainder of the board members filed out. Father Kevin crossed the lawn to the rectory. Reverend Baker hurried toward his car.

  Still he waited.

  Several more minutes passed, and he cracked his window as the glass began to fog. This really wasn’t any of his business. He ought to go home.

  But he didn’t.

  Instead, he shut off the engine.

  Ten minutes later, Tracy appeared. She pulled the door of the building shut behind her, tested it, and hurried toward her bike.

  “Tracy!” He slid out from behind the wheel.

  She halted and swiveled toward him. Though her exit had triggered a security light, her face remained in shadows. The surprise in her inflection, however, was clear. “Michael?”


  “Yes.” He walked toward her. Too bad he hadn’t worked on a game plan while he was waiting. Now he’d have to wing it. “I, uh, thought this was your bike. It’s not the best night for cycling.” He stopped a few feet from her, near enough to see the pulse hammering in the hollow of her throat. Had he startled her . . . or was she happy he’d waited?

  He tamped down the foolish flush of pleasure triggered by the latter possibility.

  “I’m used to this kind of weather.”

  “You’ll be cold and wet halfway home, despite that.” He motioned toward her slicker.

  She positioned her Helping Hands folder in front of her, like a shield. “I’m fine. And I have to go. A situation came up that I need to work on ASAP.”

  “I noticed you and the two clerics huddled in the corner. A Helping Hands issue?”

  “Yes. A complicated one.”

  “Want to talk about it?”

  She hesitated. “It’s too damp to stand out here and chat, and I locked the church hall behind me.”

  “We could sit in my car.” Maybe if he could get her that far, she’d agree to let him drive her home. She could always retrieve her bike in the morning.

  “Thanks, but there’s not much to talk about. A call came in on the hotline from a mother who just learned her sixteen-year-old daughter is pregnant. She’s a basket case, her husband is ranting, and the daughter is threatening to run away. She’s trying to find a neutral place for her daughter to stay until everyone calms down and they figure out how to deal with this.”

  “Messy.”

  “Yeah. The girl’s locked herself in her room and is holding off on her threat until she sees what kind of options we can offer.”

  “What are you supposed to do?”

  “Go through the Helping Hands resource list and see if I can come up with someone willing to take her in for a couple of weeks.”

  “Doesn’t this family have any relatives?”

  “Not in the area—they’re recent transplants. Besides, they don’t want to broadcast the news.” Tracy massaged her temple. “I really need to go. I have payroll to do for one of my clients tonight too.”

  Payroll? Eleanor had said Tracy was a CPA, but . . .

  “I thought you worked on the cranberry farm.”

  “Accounting is a side job. It helps pay the bills.” The mist grew heavier, and she edged away. “Thanks again for the offer of a ride. The board will look forward to getting your recommendations.”

  With a lift of her hand, she hurried toward the bike, stowed her files in a saddlebag, and took off down the street. Within seconds, her headlamp disappeared in the mist.

  So much for his powers of persuasion.

  A raindrop bounced off his nose, compelling him to pick up his pace as he returned to his car. If this soup morphed into a downpour, she’d be soaked to the skin within minutes, slicker or no slicker.

  Fortunately, the rain remained light during his short drive back to Anna’s. And Tracy didn’t have all that far to go. Less than a mile. If she pedaled hard, she might beat the—

  He hit the brakes as he swung onto Anna’s street and flashing lights strobed across his windshield. Despite the heavy mist, he could pick out a police car and an ambulance.

  Both were parked in front of Anna’s house.

  Stomach clenching, he sped down the street, whipped into the driveway, and jogged toward the open front door—just in time to meet two EMTs trundling out a stretcher.

  Anna, her face gray and scored with new lines, was lying on it.

  “What happened?” He addressed his question to the EMT in the lead.

  “Are you a relative?”

  “No. He’s my guest.” Anna glared at the man. “I already told you I don’t have any relatives. My body may be hurt, but my mind’s working fine.”

  The EMT grinned. “The morphine must be kicking in.”

  “So what happened?” Michael tried again.

  Anna transferred her attention to him. “I fell and hurt my shoulder.”

  “Where are they taking you?”

  “Coos Bay.” This from the EMT in the rear as he passed.

  He fell in beside the stretcher, next to Anna. “Do you want me to call anyone?”

  “We already asked that.” The lead EMT threw that over his shoulder as they approached the ambulance.

  “No. There’s . . . no one to call.” Her voice was more subdued now.

  “Are you sure?” He touched her ice-cold hand.

  Her eyelids flickered closed, and she swallowed. “Yes.”

  “We need to load her up, buddy.”

  He hesitated. A trip to Coos Bay wasn’t in his plans for nine-thirty on this Thursday night—but who else did Anna have?

  “I’ll follow you.”

  “Michael . . . no. Too much trouble.” Her words faded as she disappeared into the ambulance.

  “Give me the hospital information.” Michael filed it away in his memory as one of the EMTs reeled it off and shut the door. A few moments later, the vehicle rolled down the street toward 101.

  “If you want to take off, I’ll lock the place up.” A police officer emerged from the shadows, radio in hand.

  “Thanks. I’d appreciate that.”

  Michael returned to his car, tapped the name of the hospital into his GPS—and tried to psyche himself up for a slow drive north through swirling mist on a winding road.

  He couldn’t muster much enthusiasm.

  Hands gripping the wheel, he hesitated. Anna had told him not to follow her . . . and he’d much prefer to spend what was left of his evening with a cup of coffee, one of her amaretto brownies, and the novel he couldn’t seem to make much headway on. That held far more appeal than a sterile, antiseptic-smelling ER.

  Yet she had no one else—or no one she was willing to contact. And she’d reached out to him. Offered to pray on his behalf.

  He had to go.

  Sighing, he pressed on the gas and pointed the car toward the highway.

  How in the world had he managed to get himself so enmeshed in this small community in a mere two weeks, anyway?

  It didn’t make sense.

  But once Anna was safely home, once he handed over his recommendations for Helping Hands, he was going to focus on his reason for coming to Hope Harbor in the first place. He’d spend time alone. Walk the beach more. Think. Plan. Perhaps even pray a little himself. This trip was about evaluating his life and discerning his future, and there would be no more detours.

  It might not be easy to forget about Anna and her estranged son, the problem-plagued Helping Hands organization, or a cranberry farmer who right now was getting ready to burn the midnight oil as she struggled to help a family in crisis while juggling two jobs.

  But he was going to give it his best shot. The last thing he needed in his life was more complications.

  As the rain intensified, reducing visibility further, he increased the speed of the wipers. A mileage sign for Coos Bay was caught in his headlights for an instant as he passed, then receded into the blackness behind him.

  Funny.

  Two weeks ago, desperate to stay in Hope Harbor, he’d turned down a perfectly nice hotel in Coos Bay. Anna’s invitation had seemed like a godsend.

  Now . . . he wasn’t so sure.

  Because if staying in this town continued to distract him from his real purpose for being here, maybe her generosity hadn’t been such a blessing after all.

  10

  “I think she’s coming back to us.”

  As the unfamiliar female voice spoke, Anna struggled to lift her eyelids—a gargantuan task.

  Once she managed to prop them open, the world was a blur. She squinted at the two figures hovering over her—a woman she didn’t know and . . . her heart stumbled. Could that be . . . ?

  “John?” She reached toward him.

  He took her hand in a warm clasp. “No, Anna. It’s Michael. Your tenant.”

  Michael.

  Of course.

/>   John hadn’t been part of her life for a very long time.

  Swallowing, she blinked away the fuzziness and gave her surroundings a once-over. Was this a . . . hospital?

  Yes.

  The memories flooded back. The fall in her kitchen. The excruciating pain in her shoulder as she’d scooted inch by painful inch over to the table and called 911. The ambulance ride in a haze. The prick of an IV needle. Blessed relief . . . then nothing until now.

  She glanced down at her left arm, which was supported by a pillow and captured in a sling—but it wasn’t in a cast.

  That was a positive sign . . . wasn’t it?

  “I didn’t break it?” She tipped her head toward the injured appendage.

  “No. You dislocated your shoulder.” The scrub-attired nurse finished fiddling with the IV and walked toward the door. “I’ll let the doctor know you’re awake. She’ll want to talk with you before she signs the release order.”

  Release order.

  What sweet, sweet words!

  Anna closed her eyes. She could go home to her house and her critters and her normal life.

  Thank you, God. For this blessing . . . and for giving me the strength I needed to get to the phone.

  The silent words came unbidden—but they were deserved. It was only right to give credit where it was due. No way would she have been able to drag herself across the room through the agonizing pain without divine intervention.

  “How are you feeling?”

  She raised her eyelids as Michael took the nurse’s place beside the bed, scrutinizing him. He looked exhausted—and he needed a shave.

  “Why did you come? I told you not to.” Her response came out sharper than she intended.

  He lifted one shoulder, his demeanor still friendly despite her rudeness. “I figured you’d need a ride home if they let you leave—and it would be a long taxi trip to Hope Harbor.”

  A pang of shame washed over her. This man owed her nothing, yet he’d gone out of his way to be a good Samaritan. At the very least, he deserved a heartfelt thank-you—and an apology for her bad temper.

  “I’m sorry.” The words came out stiff, like a window that hadn’t been raised in years and had to be forced open, protesting loudly all the way. “That wasn’t very gracious of me. I appreciate your kindness. What time is it?”