Seaside Reunion

by Irene Hannon

  Lindsey.

  Perfect timing.

  A smile curved his lips as he followed her progress. Her head was bent, as if she was deep in thought, and she seemed oblivious to the wind that was tossing her hair around her face.

  Only when she drew within fifty feet of the bench did she look up.

  Her mouth formed a silent O and her step faltered before she picked up her pace again.

  By the time she joined him, she was smiling, too. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

  “Great minds and all that.” He scooted over and patted the seat beside him. “I saved you the best seat in the house.”

  She settled onto the concrete bench, depositing a paper sack and a book with a gold cross on the cover between them. “Lunch hour.”

  He eyed the book as she dug into the sack. “Looking for answers?”

  Her hand stilled for a minute, and then she drew out a sandwich. “Yeah. I have been for three years. Want half? It’s turkey.” She held up the plastic-wrapped offering.

  “No, thanks. I ate a little while ago. Nothing that healthy, though. I’m addicted to the Orchid’s French fries.”

  “That can happen.” She opened her sandwich.

  “I have some good news. I just talked to my editor. They’re getting questions from readers who want to know where to send donations to help save The Point.”

  She stared at him. “You’re kidding.”

  “Nope. Are you set up to handle that?”

  “No. But we can be. I’ll call my tax guy as soon as I get back. This is fantastic!” A flicker of excitement sparked in her eyes, reminding him of the old days. The first such spark he’d seen since his return. “I told you your piece would have an impact. You have a talent for that kind of writing. Maybe you should consider doing more of it.” She lifted the sandwich toward her mouth and shot him an expectant look.

  That wasn’t a topic he was ready to talk about. With his editor—or Lindsey. Shifting the spotlight back to her, he tapped the cover of the book. “So is this helping you find your answers?”

  The sandwich froze in front of her mouth for an instant before she took a bite—and gave herself an excuse to stall in the name of good manners.

  Nate wasn’t surprised. He’d been uncomfortable at first yesterday, when she’d pushed him to talk about stuff he’d never shared with anyone. But even as a kid, she’d had a way of listening that made you feel as if nothing else mattered, that nothing in the whole world was more important than what you had to say. She hadn’t lost that knack. Or the ability to radiate empathy.

  Today he wanted to return the favor. Offer her the same sympathetic ear.

  And perhaps find answers to some of his own questions—about her.

  After taking far longer than necessary to chew the mouthful of turkey and bread, she washed it down with a swig of diet soda before she responded. “Not as many as I’d like. And maybe I’ll never find them. As Dad reminded me today, part of faith is trusting in the Lord—especially when things happen that you don’t understand.”

  “That’s not easy.”

  “No.” She examined her sandwich, then set it back on the plastic wrap.

  “I read the articles about your husband. And about the foundation set up in his name. Did the fund ever top half a million?”

  “Yes. By a couple hundred thousand. So some good came out of the tragedy, at least.” She broke off a piece of crust. Smashed it into a little ball in her fingers. “But it didn’t bring Mark back.”

  There was no answer to that.

  “One of the articles mentioned you’d been injured, too.”

  A spasm of pain flickered over her features, and she looked out over the sea. “Yes.”

  “How badly?”

  Her throat worked as she swallowed. A few faint beads of perspiration broke out on her upper lip. Her chest rose and fell more quickly as her respiration grew shallow.

  He watched, shaken and contrite at the realization that even three years later, memories of the incident could induce physical symptoms of trauma.

  “Lindsey.” He touched the clenched fist that lay in her lap. “I didn’t mean to upset you. Forget I asked.”

  More silence.

  Finally, she drew a shuddering breath and turned to him. “You told me yesterday you’d never shared the bad stuff in your past with anyone. I haven’t, either. Not even my dad. Not all of it. But maybe I need to.” She unclenched her fingers and ran them over the Bible beside her. “Maybe I have to let go of my hate and anger and resentment in my heart before there will be room for the Lord. Before I can heal.”

  “Maybe.” What did he know? He was no theologian. Or psychologist. He was just a man who wanted to offer an old friend the same understanding and support she’d given him yesterday when he’d bared his soul.

  A friend who was rapidly becoming much more.

  Enough to make him rethink his future.

  He moved the Bible and the sandwich he suspected she wasn’t going to finish to his other side. Scooted close. Took her cold hand.

  “I don’t know where to start.” The tremor of unshed tears was thick in her voice.

  “Why don’t you go back to the very beginning? Tell me about Mark. How you met.”

  A subtle easing in her taut posture confirmed he’d made a wise suggestion. Often it was easier to start with good memories and work up to the bad ones.

  The faintest smile tugged at her lips. “He came to Starfish Bay on a fishing trip with some of his cop buddies. I was on summer vacation from my teaching job, and he stopped in at the Mercantile for a candy bar—and stayed all afternoon. He spent most of the rest of his trip fishing for dates instead of salmon and steelhead.”

  She looked out over the ocean, her eyes focused on the past rather than the shimmering water. “I had dinner with him a few times, but I tried to be practical. What were the chances he’d continue to pursue me once he went back to Sacramento? But he did. Anytime he had two consecutive days off, he was here. The sisters kept a room ready for him at the Orchid. And his persistence paid off. I ended up falling in love with him.”

  “And you got married at the chapel?”

  “Yes. It was a day a lot like this one.” She scanned the quiet sea, the blue sky, the clouds billowing in the distance. “Perfect. But from the beginning, I worried about the dangers of his job. He worked in the roughest part of town, and I prayed for him every day. He always downplayed the risks, always reminded me he was well trained. After a couple of years I worried less. And that’s when it happened.”

  He stroked his thumb over the back of her hand but remained silent. Knowing there was nothing he could say to make the retelling any easier for her.

  “The irony was, he wasn’t even on duty that night. We’d gone to a fundraising dinner for Big Brothers. I wasn’t feeling well, so we left early. As we walked to our car in the parking garage, we heard two men arguing. I didn’t pay any attention to what they were saying, but Mark must have heard some words that alerted him it was more than a simple disagreement. He handed me his suit jacket, told me to stay where I was and walked toward them. The younger guy had this wild-eyed look, like he was strung out on drugs, and he pulled a knife. I’ll always remember seeing that glint of light off the blade.”

  Her breath hitched, and Nate touched her hair, smoothing it back. Wishing he could wipe these memories from Lindsey’s brain. But the sad truth was, they would be with her forever—as his would be with him. The best he could offer was comfort…and perhaps something deeper, down the line, if things progressed as he was beginning to hope they might.

  “I remember Mark reaching for his off-duty weapon. But the younger guy rushed him. Mark’s back was to me, and the next thing I knew he’d doubled over. I screamed. Ran toward him. He fell. I launched myself at the guy. I kicked him. Pulled his hair. He punched me in the stomach. Threw me off. My head hit a car bumper and I fell. Right next to Mark. Everything was blurry, but I could see the blood. Too much blood. It cov
ered his whole shirt. Then the guy leaned over me. I thought he was going to stab me, too. Instead, he grabbed my purse, yanked my engagement and wedding rings off my finger and pulled Mark’s wallet out of his jacket pocket.”

  Nate looked down at her bare ring finger. He’d wondered why she didn’t still wear her wedding ring. But he’d never suspected a reason like this.

  He started to reach for her. But her final broken, whispered words stopped him.

  “I remember listening to his running footsteps receding in the distance. And I knew, even before we were found and the paramedics came, that Mark wasn’t going to make it. And neither was our b-baby.”

  Shock ricocheted through him.

  “You were pregnant?”

  She dipped her head, and he felt a drop of moisture fall onto the back of his hand.

  “I’d just taken a home pregnancy test that d-day. Mark was in a rush when he got home from work, and I decided to wait until the n-next morning to tell him. It was his day off, and I thought we could spend it celebrating. But he n-never even knew.”

  Another drop of moisture hit the hand that covered hers, and her shoulders began to shake.

  Railing against the cruelty and injustice of a world where innocent people suffered and died, he shifted sideways to straddle the bench and pull her into his arms, his hand cradling her head as it lay against his chest. Lord, why did you send down such misery on this wonderful woman?

  No answer came. None was expected. If God was listening, he’d tuned Nate out long ago. And in light of all that had happened to Lindsey, it was no wonder she was having difficulty connecting with the Almighty, too.

  He held her as ragged sobs tore through her and his T-shirt grew damp. He held her while the sun dipped behind the gray clouds that had scuttled in and a shadow fell over The Point. He held her until her tears subsided and the first raindrops began to fall.

  When she at last eased away to dig a tissue out of her pocket, she kept her head down. “Sorry. It’s been a long time since I cried like that.”

  “I’m the one who’s sorry.” He smoothed back her hair, searching for words that would ease her pain. But what could he say that would comfort a woman who’d watched her husband bleed to death? Who’d lost her unborn child after a vicious, senseless attack?

  The rain picked up, and he groped behind him to rescue the Bible he’d placed there. As his fingers closed over it, a comment Reverend Tobias had once made suddenly flitted through his mind. It had been a few days before Christmas, not long after he’d heard his parents arguing—and sensed the perfect little world he’d occupied for the past few months was about to disintegrate. He’d sought out this place of refuge, where he and Lindsey had spent so many happy hours, not expecting to find anyone there.

  But Reverend Tobias had been adding a few final touches to the crèche in front of the chapel. Though the pastor couldn’t have been more than sixty, he’d seemed like one of the ancient sages to Nate, with his patrician features, kindly eyes and thinning gray hair. And what Nate had liked best was how he’d treated the questions of an eleven-year-old with the same gravity and thoughtful consideration as those of the senior members of the congregation.

  On that day, he’d listened as Nate had poured out his angst and asked why God didn’t save his tattered family. The man hadn’t offered any platitudes. Or quoted any Bible verses. Or told Nate to pray. Instead, he’d put his arm around that young boy’s shoulders and said a few short sentences that now flashed through Nate’s mind.

  “I don’t know why, Nathaniel. But I absolutely believe God does. And I also believe someday, when you look back on this bad time, you’ll see how God used it to mold you into a fine and honorable man who is going to make this world a better place. That will be my prayer for you.”

  In hindsight, Nate could see some logic in the minister’s reply, though it had fallen on deaf ears twenty-five years ago.

  But how could God ever use what had happened to Lindsey for good?

  The very question she, too, seemed to be struggling with.

  “You know, they never did catch the second guy.”

  Lindsey’s words brought him back to the moment, and he looked down at her. She was still trembling in his arms as she reached for the Bible. He relinquished his hold on it.

  “They got the man who killed Mark, though. He’ll be in prison for a long time.” She tucked the Bible close to her chest. “He didn’t know his contact’s name. It was a drug deal.” Her voice quavered again, and when she lifted her chin, her tear-ravaged face and the desolate sadness in her eyes twisted his gut. “Sometimes I dream about the baby I lost.”

  He touched her cheek. “You never told anyone about that? Not even your dad?”

  “No. If Mark couldn’t know, I didn’t want anyone else to know, either.”

  “Yet you told me. Why?” He thought he knew, but he wanted to hear it put into words.

  She studied him, her expression pensive. “I don’t know. It just felt…right.”

  Good enough. For now.

  Taking her hand, he swung his leg over the bench and drew her to her feet. As the random drops of rain intensified, he scanned the sky. “We’d better head back fast or we’ll get caught in this storm.”

  She tucked the Bible under her arm and twined her fingers with his. “I feel like I’ve been caught in a storm for three years.”

  He could relate. But his storm had lasted a lot longer.

  Yet as he set a fast pace toward the hidden trailhead that would lead them back to town, he had the oddest feeling the sun was about to peek through.

  And for the first time in a very long while, he experienced an emotion long absent from his life.

  Hope.

  Chapter Twelve

  “So what do you think?” Nate regarded Jarrod as the boy finished reading his piece on children who’d lost parents. He’d dived into it on Sunday morning, and for the past two days he’d left his room at the Orchid only to eat and pay a quick visit to Lindsey at the Mercantile.

  “It’s awesome.” The youngster looked up from Nate’s laptop at the table they were sharing in the coffee nook.

  “Did you see the credit line?”

  “Yeah.” Jarrod’s gaze flickered back to the words at the bottom of the last page: With special thanks to Jarrod Peterson for his research assistance. “You think people will like this as much as the one on The Point?”

  “Hard to say. But if you and I like it, that’s all that matters.”

  “Yeah. Hey, can I show this to my mom?”

  “Sure. I’ll email you a copy. But remember, my editor hasn’t seen it yet, so there could be some changes. I wanted you to read it first, though.”

  The boy’s chest puffed up. “You know, I’ve been thinking, maybe I could be a writer someday.”

  “No reason you couldn’t be.” And that was true. His reading and writing skills had improved significantly in the time Nate had been working with him. Writing hadn’t even been on the agenda, but Jarrod had decided to summarize articles he read—and he’d done an excellent job. According to Lindsey, his math skills had also taken a quantum leap.

  “Your mom’s here, Jarrod.” Lindsey leaned around the counter and called out to him.

  He checked the window as she pulled in. “Okay. I’m coming.” He rose and gathered up his books—including the one Lindsey had been working with him on before they’d piqued his interest in reading by making him a research assistant. A bookmark stuck halfway through suggested he’d picked it up again, with far better results.

  At the threshold of the coffee nook, he paused. “So when are you leaving?”

  “Probably sometime next week.”

  “I’ll see you again then, right? Even though today was my last tutoring session with Ms. Collier?”

  “You bet. I wouldn’t leave without saying goodbye. Besides, I have to tell you what my editor says about our article.”

  “Right.” He fiddled with the books in his arms. “Would it be o
kay if I emailed you once in a while after you go back to Chicago?”

  “I’d like that.”

  “Okay.” He lifted his arm in farewell and backed away. “See you around.”

  Seconds after the bell over the door jingled, Lindsey joined him. “He’s like a different kid. You did a great job with him, Nate.”

  He watched Jarrod jog toward his mom’s car through the plate-glass window, his step upbeat, a smile on his face. Odd. For years, he’d put himself in the line of fire, seeking meaning and worthiness and redemption by risking his neck. But none of those efforts had filled up the empty place inside him. Yet risking his heart by helping a young boy…by writing the piece on The Point…by sharing his secrets with Lindsey…by reconnecting with his past—and with God…had put him on the path toward a better future.

  Not what he’d expected when he’d heeded the call to return to Starfish Bay—but then again, there’d been a lot of surprises on this trip.

  He shifted his attention to one of them. The warmth in Lindsey’s eyes infused him with the same glow he’d felt as a kid whenever she’d beamed her approval after he’d signed on for one of her scary adventures. Like the cliff-hanging hike down to Agate Beach—or so it had seemed to his eleven-year-old eyes as he’d watched her scuttle over the rocks like a crab while he’d crept along at sea-turtle pace. Yet by the end of the summer, his confidence bolstered, he’d become as adept as she was at maneuvering through the jagged boulders.

  Fingering the stone in his pocket, he smiled at her.

  She gave him a quizzical look. “What are you thinking?”

  “About how you pushed and prodded me way outside my comfort zone as a kid.”

  The corners of her lips lifted. “You were a bit of a wimp in those days. But you turned out okay.”

  “Thanks at least in part to you.”

  She dismissed his comment with a shrug. “Don’t give me too much credit. My motivation was more selfish than altruistic. I didn’t want you to slow me down.” Shifting her weight, she shoved her hands in her pockets, her tone growing pensive. “But maybe you were the smart one, after all. Sometimes caution is good.”