by Irene Hannon
Tracy’s stomach knotted. Could this story get any worse?
She braced as he continued.
“The hospital called me, but I had my phone on silent while I sat in on a crisis counseling session with a battered wife who’d come to us for help.” His voice hoarsened. “By the time I got the message and arrived at the hospital, she was gone.”
In the silence that followed, Tracy tried to process all Michael had told her—but her overloaded brain was in a muddle. Only one thing was clear. He’d come to Hope Harbor in search of answers . . . solace . . . forgiveness . . . absolution . . . whatever he needed to close that painful chapter in his life and move on. Yet based on the tautness in his shoulders and the hollowness in his eyes, his battle with guilt and self-reproach was far from over.
They had that much in common—except unlike him, her failure hadn’t stemmed from an overabundance of unselfishness and empathy. Just the opposite. Michael’s feelings of guilt were far less warranted.
Could she convince him of that without revealing the shame in her own past?
Following her instincts, she reached out to him, scooting as close as the plates between them allowed, resting her hand on the taut fingers he’d wrapped around the edge of the rustic wooden bench. “You were trying to help people who had urgent needs. I’m sure many of the situations you dealt with were emergencies that couldn’t wait. Besides, doesn’t all the good you did mitigate the blame?”
“I tried to use that justification too—and sometimes I almost convinced myself that neglecting her and our marriage was defensible. Deep down, though, I knew it wasn’t. But since she didn’t often complain, I took the easy way out and told myself I’d do better down the road, that I had plenty of time to make it up to her. And then one day, time ran out.”
As Tracy tried to put together a coherent, caring response, Michael spoke again, his expression bleak.
“I have one other confession. I’d like to think I’ve learned my lesson about priorities—but the truth is, given the nature of my work, I’m afraid I could be sucked back into that black hole of conflicting responsibilities if I was ever in another relationship.”
Of all the words he’d said, the last two stuck in her mind.
Another relationship.
This from the man who’d told her he expected the road ahead to be a solo one?
She searched his face. Was he suggesting he might be open to romance after all? With her? Was that why he’d shared his dark story—in the interest of full disclosure . . . and as a warning?
So many questions . . . so few answers.
But did she even want the answers, if they forced her to do a whole lot of soul searching of her own? To dredge up all the pain she’d tucked away in a dark corner of her soul?
Mind spinning, Tracy slowly retracted her hand. She wasn’t ready for this—but she had to respond.
“You could always find a different kind of job, if you think that’s a serious danger.”
As she spewed out a left-brain response that sidestepped issues of the heart, some emotion—disappointment . . . resignation . . . sorrow?—deadened his eyes.
“Yeah.” He focused on the depleted plates between them, shifting his tone into neutral. “Shall I help you gather up the remains of our snack?”
“I can take care of it.”
Without arguing, he rose and put his sunglasses back on. “The weed eater calls. See you later.”
He was striding away before she could respond.
Shep and Ziggy raced up to him, and he gave each a pat without slowing his pace, removing himself from her presence as quickly as possible.
And who could blame him? The man had opened his heart to her, shared his deepest pain, and all she’d said was she was sorry and maybe he could find another job?
Cringing, Tracy stood and slowly began to gather up the plates. She’d blown it. Big time.
So now what?
As far as she could see, there were two possible outcomes. He’d either realize he’d dumped a lot on her at once and cut her some slack while she absorbed it, or he’d pull back and she’d see very little of him during the remainder of his stay.
Who knew which result was better?
But she did know one thing with absolute certainty.
If she wanted to take this relationship to a deeper level, the next move was up to her.
14
“Are you sure you want to let him go?” Cradling Thumper in her arms, Grace nudged the sliding door open with her shoulder.
Anna moved past the teen, onto the patio. “Yes. He’s old enough to survive on his own. I should have set him free a week ago, but I got pretty attached to him, despite all the mischief he caused.” She stroked his soft fur as Grace drew up beside her. “Love can survive setbacks, you know.”
It was a gamble to introduce such a sensitive subject—but the girl needed to talk to someone. Burying her nose in a book in the corner of the living room, as she’d done for the past three days, wasn’t going to solve her problems.
Ignoring the overture, Grace nestled the rabbit closer. “Where do you want me to put him?”
“At the end of the yard. He’ll find some friends in the woods beyond, I expect. I’ll walk back with you . . . but let’s take it slow. I don’t want to fall again.” Anna shortened her steps to buy the two of them a few extra minutes together. Once they got back inside the house, the taciturn girl would no doubt retreat to her book until summoned for another chore.
After several attempts to engage her in conversation produced monosyllable responses, Anna fell silent until they reached the end of the yard. “You can set him down over there.” She pointed to a bush at the end of the property. “We’ll wait here until he gets acclimated.”
Grace did as instructed, then returned to her side.
A full minute of silence ticked by while the rabbit remained motionless.
“Why isn’t he moving?” Grace picked at her peeling nail polish.
“I expect he’s scared. This is strange, new territory for him.”
“Yeah.” She sighed. “New stuff can be scary.”
Anna peeked at the teen. Her face was scrunched up, like she was trying not to cry.
Half a minute later, Thumper lifted his nose, surveyed his surroundings, and took a tentative hop.
“That’s a positive sign.” Anna cupped her elbow, taking some of the weight of the sling off her neck. “Once he gets a feel for his surroundings and knows what to expect, he’ll be fine.”
He took another hop. Another. Finally he squeezed through the fence and scampered off into the woods without a backward glance.
“Well, that’s that.” Anna watched him disappear. “I’ll miss that little guy, though.”
“Then why didn’t you keep him?” Grace turned, the only evidence of her almost-meltdown a faint shimmer in her eyes.
“You can’t nurture and protect little creatures forever. At some point, you have to set them free and hope they don’t get into trouble.” A principle as applicable to children as animals . . . and perhaps Grace would pick up her double meaning.
The teen fell in beside her as she walked back toward the house, but the girl didn’t speak until they were nearing the patio. “How come you haven’t asked me anything about . . . anything?”
Anna stopped at the table and motioned to the chairs. “Let’s sit a minute.”
The girl’s shoulders stiffened. “Are you going to lecture me like my mom and dad did?”
“No.” Anna claimed one of the chairs. “I want to enjoy this sunshine and rest a bit.”
Grace gave her a wary look. “You aren’t going to ask me about . . . about what happened?”
“No—but if you want to talk about it, I’d be happy to listen.”
She lowered herself onto the edge of the other chair. “You already heard the story.”
“Not from you.”
“My point of view doesn’t seem to matter.” Instead of anger or defiance, her choked res
ponse held a world of hurt and sadness.
Despite the girl’s bad choices, Anna’s heart contracted. What a predicament to be in at that age, no matter the reason. “It does to me.”
The girl slumped forward and fiddled with one of the cords on her hoodie. “I’m not a bad person, no matter what my mom and dad think.” Tears mottled her words.
“Did they say you were?”
“They didn’t have to. I could see it in their faces when I broke the news. I knew they’d be upset, but Mom . . . she looked like someone had died. And Dad was . . .” She swallowed. “He went ballistic. He started ranting and raving and pacing around the room, and he kept looking at me like he couldn’t believe I was his daughter. I felt so a-ashamed.” Her voice quavered, and she scrubbed at her eyes. “I mean, I always tried to make them proud of me, you know? Back home, I got good grades and was on the debate team and worked as a junior lifeguard—and now one stupid mistake has ruined everything. Nothing will ever be the s-same again.”
That was true . . . but it didn’t mean the Lewises couldn’t still be a family.
“Grace . . .” Anna waited until the teen met her gaze. “You’re right. What happened will change your family forever—but it doesn’t have to destroy it. As long as the three of you stick together, you can survive this. Of course your mom and dad are upset. Any parent would be. But that doesn’t mean they don’t love you. If they didn’t care, they wouldn’t be trying so hard to keep things from getting out of hand. They understand that once that happens, there’s no going back.” Or the mother did, anyway—and sometimes a single voice of reason was enough to avert disaster.
A tear hovered on the edge of the girl’s lash. “I don’t really want to run away.”
“What do you want to do?”
“I’m not sure—but I don’t want to have an abortion.”
Anna frowned. “Did someone suggest that?”
“My boyfriend. But two wrongs don’t make a right, you know? Even though that would be the easiest solution.”
“Did you tell this to your parents?”
“No. We were all yelling. No one was listening to anybody.”
Anna sighed. Been there, done that. And when no one listened, things could degenerate quickly. “So what would you like to do with the baby?”
More lip biting. “I’m not ready to be a mother. I was hoping maybe someone could adopt it.”
“A reputable agency wouldn’t have any difficulty finding your baby a loving home. There are many fine couples out there desperate to create a family.”
“That’s what I thought, but . . .” Fear flickered in her eyes. “What am I supposed to do until the baby’s born? I can’t live at home the way things are.”
Anna cradled her arm, holding it close to her body. “You’ll need the support of people who love you during the next few months. Your decision to carry the baby is a courageous one and I admire you for it, but there will be repercussions. Some people will judge you, others may snub you. There could be issues at school too—and you’ll still have to deal with the father. Your parents are best equipped to be your support system.”
Grace shook her head. “No. I’ll be an embarrassment to them. Maybe I could . . . I could go away somewhere until afterward.”
Not the best idea. Running away wouldn’t change the facts, and the physical distance between her and her parents could lead to an emotional distance they might never be able to bridge.
But now wasn’t the time to bring that up. It would be better if Grace and her parents arrived at that conclusion themselves.
Anna opened and closed the fingers of her left hand, stiff from inactivity. “I’ll tell you what . . . let’s think about this for a few days. Between the two of us, we might come up with some ideas. How does that sound?”
“Okay, I guess.” She twisted her hands in her lap. “And . . . thank you for not treating me like a . . . a slut. I know what I did was wrong, but I was lonely, and he understood, and . . . and we got carried away.” She drew in a shuddering breath. “Anyway, it helps to be around someone who’s calm.”
“It’s easier to be calm if you don’t have any personal involvement.” Far easier. “Why don’t we sit here for a few minutes, then we’ll run down to Charley’s and get some tacos for dinner. You have your driver’s license, don’t you?”
Grace’s eyes widened. “You mean you’d trust me to drive your car?”
Not really. But this girl could use a shot of confidence.
“If you passed the test, you must be capable.”
“I am. I took driver’s ed, and even Dad said he was impressed with how well I handle the car. I’ll be real careful too.” The tension in her features eased a few notches.
“I’m sure you will. Now let’s soak up this sun for a few minutes before we go to Charley’s.”
She let her eyelids drop, and the girl beside her fell silent. The sun did feel pleasant—but the solar heat wasn’t responsible for the new warmth in her heart.
For once in her life, she’d tamed her tendency to not only pass judgment but vocalize it. Grace might have used poor judgment and made irresponsible choices, but the girl was also hurting and afraid, her initial bravado no more than an act. It was amazing how she’d opened up once she’d found someone who was willing to listen without condemning her.
Anna filled her lungs with the fresh air. Slowly let it out. Too bad she hadn’t applied that tactic with John. How different the outcome might have been if she’d kept her opinion to herself and listened to him with an open mind.
But if she couldn’t go back and change her past, perhaps she could do her part to give this family a future.
There would be no book reading on the patio for a while.
Michael propped his shoulder against the back window in the annex. Anna and Grace were still sitting at the table, an intent discussion in progress.
Interesting.
What had happened since yesterday, when Anna had told him Grace spent her free time reading rather than talking, to convince the girl to open up? Breaching the barrier the teen had erected between them would have required finesse and diplomacy . . . two traits he wouldn’t have attributed to his landlady.
The woman was full of surprises.
He wandered back to the table and picked up his soda, wincing at the twinge in his shoulder. His full afternoon of weed eating yesterday had taken a toll, as Tracy had predicted. At least he was giving his sore muscles a rest today. She, by contrast, had probably been hard at it on the farm since sunup.
After taking a swig from the can, he opened his laptop and checked his email. A note from his dad. One from his sister. He owed them both an update, based on his sister’s “Earth to Michael” subject line. Several Helping Hands board members had responded to the final recommendations he’d sent yesterday too, including both clergymen.
No note from Tracy on his report . . . though given her crazy schedule, it was possible she hadn’t had a chance to turn on her computer in the past twenty-four hours.
Either that or she was brushing him off—like she had yesterday.
He finished off his soda in a few long gulps and crushed the thin aluminum in his hand. Telling her about his mistakes with Julie had been a gamble—but it had been the honest thing to do. Especially after he’d begun toying with the possibility of acting on the electricity that sparked to life whenever he was in her presence.
The likelihood of that happening now, however, appeared to be remote. Tracy might not have exhibited any visible disgust at his negligence toward Julie and his marriage, but neither had she said a single word that suggested she understood or could forgive him. The hand she’d retracted hadn’t been the only thing she’d withdrawn. Her next comment about changing jobs, offered in a casual, impersonal tone, had confirmed that.
And who could blame her? Assuming she, too, might be persuaded to give romance another try, why would she want to get involved with a guy who couldn’t keep his priorities straight? Who’d g
iven faceless strangers precedence over the woman he’d loved? Who was way too obsessive about his work, to the detriment of every other aspect of his life?
She was smart to ditch him. He didn’t deserve her empathy or consideration.
A knock sounded on his door, and he tossed the mangled can into the recycle bin as he passed.
When he pulled it open, Grace stood on the other side. Michael scanned the yard over her shoulder, but the patio was empty now.
“Hi.” She gave him a shy smile. “Mrs. Williams told me it was your idea for me to stay with her, and I wanted to say thank you. I don’t know what I would have done otherwise. She’s been really great.”
Despite his own funk, he managed to coax up the corners of his lips. “I’m glad it worked out. How are you settling in?”
“Fine. In fact, she just told me I could move my stuff into her son’s room so I can have more privacy. I need to get back and haul it all in there before she changes her mind. But thanks again. She’s a cool lady, even if she is old.”
As Grace hurried across the patio toward the sliding door, Michael stared after her. His suggestion that Grace use her son’s room had gone over like a lead balloon—yet the teen had softened her heart.
Shutting the door, he shook his head. How about that? The town curmudgeon had a new friend.
Except she wasn’t the grouch her reputation had led everyone to believe. Not anymore, at any rate.
Things seemed to be on the upswing for both Anna and her new helper.
Must be nice.
He picked up the high-stakes, high-action novel and paged through it. He had . . . what? Another fifty pages to read? The most exciting part of the book, based on all the reviews.
But who cared how fictional characters resolved their difficulties when real life held much more compelling drama?
He tossed the book onto the table and paced around the annex, doing his best to ignore the prods from his conscience as he thought about Tracy out at the farm, trying to keep all her balls in the air. Harbor Point Cranberries wasn’t his problem, after all. There was no reason to feel obligated to help just because he had strong arms and plenty of time on his hands while she spent her days racing against the clock. Hadn’t one of his reasons for coming out here been to try to get his overactive guilt complex under control? To regain some perspective and accept that no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t fix everyone’s problems?