A Discovery of Hope (A Coming Home Again Novel Book 3)

by Lowe, T. I.

  “Tell her where the college is located,” I hear JP say from behind me. I pull away and eye Duke.

  “France.”

  France? France… “France!”

  He nods his head. “France.”

  JP storms out of the room, leaving me in pure shock. “But…” I demand the tears to stay put until later. This is obviously what Duke wants. He wouldn’t have applied otherwise. “Wow… You umm… You guys really are awful with the whole sharing concept.”

  He pulls me back for another hug and I sink into it for my own comfort. His news has left me shaken.

  “Sorry. I just didn’t want to get my hopes up too much, so I decided to keep it to myself. Only JP, Savannah, and her husband Lucas know about it. I really didn’t think they would choose me.”

  I push him back and glare at him sternly. “Duke Harris! How could you ever have doubted yourself? I’ve told you time and time again, sky’s the limit for you, my friend. That college board would have to be pure idiots not to choose you.”

  He offers a small smile before gnawing on that loop again. “You upset with me?” he asks quietly.

  I think over everything that has transpired since I’ve met him. “You used me.” I raise an eyebrow at him as a few things begin to click into place. “The bogus summer intern you tricked JP into… You put me here so you could leave.” I see on his face that I hit the nail on the head.

  He’s about to bite the lip ring again, but stops before I get ahold of him. “Well, when you put it that way, I really do suck, but there’s no way I could just leave him. And you can’t deny how suited you two are for each other. I swear it seems divine that you’re here. Willow, don’t you feel it? You belong here.” His eyes are tearing up and it pushes tears out of my own eyes.

  So much for holding it together. He gently wipes them away.

  “When are you leaving?”

  “Their fall semester starts a little later than ours, but I need to head over soon that way I can get settled in.”

  “Do you even speak French?” I question with doubt.

  “J'ai pris quelques cours de français. En plus j'ai un rapide l'apprenant.” The words roll off of his tongue naturally with no hesitation.

  “Well. I have just been surprised again. Duke Harris knows how to speak sexy French.” We both chuckle. “What did you just say?”

  “I’ve taken a few French classes. Plus I’m a quick learner.”

  “I’d say.” I nod my head appreciatively. I gesture towards him and comment, “You don’t have to walk around in this bad-boy façade to grab up the girls. All you need to do is walk around, letting those French words roll off your tongue and you would have them following you around everywhere.”

  “I don’t need tricks to get the ladies,” he smarts back smugly.

  “I sure never see any of them.”

  “If I bring ‘em around, they go and get the wrong idea. I’m not into serious relationships.” He shrugs his shoulder and grows serious again. “You okay with me going?”

  I nod my head. “I’m just really going to miss you. You’re my most favorite purple-headed friend.” I sniff and then we both laugh.

  “I promise I will miss you more. Especially all that weird talking to yourself bit.” I pop his arm at this jab. “Say, Willow, tell me who you talk to?” Duke leans close, wanting me to share my secret, so I do.

  “An angel,” I whisper. He nods his head in approval as though it makes perfect sense.

  JP bustles back in with damp eyes of his own. “It’s all set. We are celebrating in Bay Creek. Go pack a bag, Willow. You’re coming with us.” He gives Duke a bear hug and a manly slap on the shoulder. “I’m proud of you, kid.”

  “Thanks, man,” Duke mumbles out as JP squeezes him tightly.

  He eventually releases Duke and turns towards me. “Hurry up so we can get on the road.”

  “You sure?” I ask hesitantly. He’s never invited me home with him before now, even though he makes that trip almost weekly.

  “Yep.” He pushes me towards the door. “No being a dime holding up a dollar today.”

  I can’t help but snicker. I figured he didn’t even remember saying this phrase to me that drunken night. My head involuntarily shakes at this thought. We sure have come a long way in a fairly short time. Even though it still bugs me that he won’t share what was behind all that.

  I hurry as he instructs and we are zooming down the highway in JP’s Jeep towards Bay Creek within the hour with Duke following behind us in his truck. I have an eerie feeling that I’m heading towards more than just a weekend of celebrating Duke’s scholarship. I try shaking the feeling off. I guess only time will tell.

  We reach the city limits of the cozy beach town in a flash. It’s not much different from Charleston, except it feels more touristy and quaint.

  “We’ll head over to my family’s restaurant in a little while, but first I need to go check on my baby,” JP says as he parks in front of the Thorton Gallery.

  “Why two galleries?” I ask as we climb out.

  JP meets me on the sidewalk and places my hand in his as though we’ve done this very thing for years.

  “This is more for tourists.” He shrugs.

  It seems fitting. The building is a standalone and I’m guessing it used to be someone’s beach house with weathered clapboard siding and a tin roof.

  We walk in and JP goes straight to the small desk. Releasing my hand, he grabs up this petite dark-blonde sitting there and hugs her. After putting her down, he introduces us. “Tori Elise, I’d like you to meet Willow Carter. Tori runs the show here.” He points to me. “And this one is starting to run the show in Charleston.”

  “It’s nice to finally meet you. Duke and this guy can’t do anything but talk about you.” Tori smiles warmly as she offers her hand and I take it.

  Well, I wish he and Duke would share more with me, too.

  “Since you’re here, do you mind if I run over to the restaurant and grab some lunch?” Tori asks JP.

  “Not at all.” He drapes his arm casually over my shoulder.

  “Thanks. I’ve been slammed this morning and haven’t had time to eat.” She grabs her purse and heads to the door. “You’ve got a few messages. Y’all want anything?”

  JP looks to me and I shake my head no. “We’re good.”

  Once she’s gone I put JP on the spot. “So, is Tori a girlfriend of yours?” I wiggle my eyebrows at him.

  He chuckles. “No. She’s a dear friend, but nothing like you’re thinking. I met her on a photo assignment and demanded she come back with me to manage the gallery. This is basically her baby now.” He flips through the purchase log of the day, making a few notes, and then pulls up the computer screen. “I personally think she and Duke have a thing for one another, but both are too stubborn to admit it.”

  This piques my interest, so I turn away from studying the photos on the pale blue walls and eye him. “Really?”

  “Yeah. She won’t give him the time of day until he gets his act together. He’s young and is in no hurry.” He chuckles. “Guess what color Tori hates?”

  “I have no clue.”

  “Purple,” he says and we both burst out laughing.

  “Why on earth would Duke dye his hair that color then?”

  “Just to annoy her. He thinks it’s funny. Idiot.” JP shakes his head.

  My laughter comes to a halt when I glimpse something around the corner that I’ve been dying to see. I walk over to the wall-sized photo collage and am struck in awe of it. There’s a bench placed in front of the wall, so I sit and am instantly drawn into the story. JP doesn’t follow, allowing me this personal experience and for that I’m grateful. It’s mesmerizing, and I find myself quietly weeping as I follow the grief-stricken story etched together in the photos.

  There are hundreds upon hundreds of the same image of a field captured in various angles and elements. A collage of suns from the field shine down in the left corner of the mural and the right side
fades to night skies, some cloudy and some crystal clear with millions of twinkling stars. Storms are depicted and ice and frost and fog swirl around the center. And the center… Wow… It is the eeriest part of all. A woman is captured kneeling and she looks to be completely lost and defeated.

  “Hey,” JP says from behind me. “You okay?”

  I keep studying the collage and shrug my shoulder. “I’ve never seen something so eerie in all my life.” I sniff before continuing. “That woman is just so haunted.”

  He sits beside me and studies the images as well. “How so?” he asks on a whisper.

  I point towards her. “Notice how her shoulders are hunched in defeat like the weight of life is too much to bear. The dark shadows under her eyes and the downward slope of her lips.” Goose bumps prick my skin and I shiver. “I feel her hurt and her exhaustion. She’s haunted.”

  He’s stiffens and crosses his arms protectively over his chest.

  Looking at him, I say, “The photographer is haunted, too.” Studying his side profile, etched heavily in grief, it’s clear that he still is.

  Without looking away from the collage, JP asks, “Why would you say that?” His voice has gone hoarse.

  I gesture again to the images. “The angle of each shot is always focused on the same area. The concentration and numerous amounts of photos in itself expose a hint to the tragedy that haunts the field.”

  Before I can continue, JP abruptly walks away, leaving me to mourn for whatever he can’t properly mourn himself. I don’t focus on what’s behind the hurt. I focus on what’s before it as a wise photographer has taught me, and the answer is obvious. This dark haired woman and JP are haunted. I can’t speak for her, but I know he needs to forgive the past and release himself from it.

  Later, he comes back to me as I continue to sit and gaze at the mural. I feel invested in the story and can’t walk away. I notice he’s wearing his sunshades, masking his eyes, and I can guess what he’s hiding behind them. He pulls me to my feet and places a soft kiss on my forehead. “Let’s go. I have someone I’d like you to meet.”

  We wave goodbye to Tori, who is back and on the phone. She waves and offers a sad smile as I guess it’s obvious we’ve both been crying. Only a few minutes from the gallery, we pull up to two pristine beach houses that look like antiques. They are so inviting with deep porches and lazy rocking chairs that are mostly filled with people casually hanging out. He parks to the side of the one that has the small sign declaring it to be the Thorton Seafood House.

  JP guides me around the corner where I spot the woman in the photograph, talking sassy to a bunch of kids while they eat what appear to be hushpuppies. JP points at her and whispers, “Look. She’s not haunted anymore.”

  “How do you know?” I ask while we watch her feed a toddler a piece of the tasty looking treat.

  “She’s my sister,” he says before calling out to her. “Savannah!”

  His sister looks up and her face breaks out in a wide grin. There’s no sign of the pain from that picture. She seems completely free of it. I sigh in relief for her. I just wish her brother would figure out how to find the same peace.

  Once we near, she says to JP, “It’s about time you brought her home.” The siblings exchange a warm hug before looking back to me.

  I offer her my hand. “It’s really nice to finally meet you.”

  “Same here,” she says.

  “You look absolutely nothing like JP and Julia,” I blurt out as I seem to do anymore. They both laugh and there I catch a resemblance of some sort, maybe in the set of their mouths.

  “Savannah belongs to the mailman,” JP explains, and of course I don’t believe him. She whacks him in the gut.

  I point to the little guy clinging to her leg. “Now, that one definitely belongs to you.”

  She laughs as she scoops him up and places him on her thin hip. She’s a few inches taller than me, so she also has that in common with her siblings, but I think that is the extent of the resemblances.

  JP presents his fist to the little guy and the little guy fists bumps it with his tiny one. “Yo, Bradley. I want you to meet my good friend Willow.”

  The little guy with his mop of chocolate colored curls smiles and says, “Yo.” He presents his tiny fist to me so I follow suit. All the other kids are running around along the inlet bank, not paying us any mind.

  Savannah hollers at one of them. “Sammy, get your butt over here.”

  A boy I think is around the age of twelve or so looks up and drops the stick he was digging in the mud with before walking over to us. He has a head full of shaggy dark-brown hair and looks vaguely familiar. “Hey,” he says to me.

  “Hello,” I say, offering him a smile.

  Savannah drapes her arm over his shoulder, and he leans into her affectionately. “This is my son, Hair-too-Long. We also call him Sammy on occasion.” She ruffles his hair. “He refuses to let me cut it. You already know his older brother. We call him Hair-too-Bright.”

  And in this moment a puzzle piece falls into place. Duke is Savannah’s adopted son. Which means JP is his uncle. Well… Things are starting to make better sense.

  I look at JP and cross my arms. “You and Duke really stink at filling someone in on something.”

  Savannah laughs as Bradley scurries away with Sammy. “You didn’t know?”

  “Nope. Those two don’t understand how to share details. I think they’ve made it a game of keeping me in the dark.”

  JP pulls me close and plants a playful kiss on my forehead, and I notice Savannah grinning even wider with this. “Your face was just priceless. Wish I had captured it with my camera.”

  I try shoving him off, but he’s not having it.

  “Don’t take it personal. Duke plays his cards close to his chest.” Savannah looks out towards the children and reminds me of a mother hen watching after her baby chicks. “He’s been through a lot.”

  JP explains, “Savannah got wind several years ago about the boys practically living on their own. Their parents died and their uncle was trying to care for them, but he's a truck driver and not home much. Duke was raising Sammy pretty much by himself. My stubborn sister wasn’t having it so she and her husband adopted them.”

  “Poor Duke missed out on being a kid. He even got behind a few years in school while trying to tend to Sammy and get him to school. Once they were with us, I encouraged Duke to just be a kid. I even let him hang out with JP, hoping some reckless boyness would rub off on him. It worked, too. As soon as they were settled in with us, he took to expressing himself.” She smiles fondly. “Next thing I know he comes home with bright purple hair. He didn’t dabble with the tattoos and piercings until he turned eighteen. I don’t mind it though. It makes Duke Duke and I’m just glad he gets to be himself.” There’s no way she’s much past thirty, but she sounds so wise and motherly. I’m so thankful Duke has her.

  We spend a while at the restaurant, having lunch with the sweetest lady I have ever met, Miss May. It’s obvious JP and Savannah adore her. And boy does she know how to make a crab cake. We sit on the back porch of the restaurant eating leisurely as we watch the Creek Kids, as Savannah calls them, scurry around. Every so often she’ll sass something to them and they sass right back at her. It’s quite amusing. She acts as though she doesn’t care for them, but it’s clear she adores them.

  Once JP and I are loaded back up in the Jeep, I work up enough nerve to ask him something I’ve wondered about the entire afternoon. I place my hand on his arm before he shifts the Jeep into gear. “Will you please take me to the field?” I have such a strong need to visit it.

  Without a word, he nods his head somberly before pulling onto the road. Moments later, he is parking on the edge of a dirt road and tossing his sunshades onto the dash. We exit the Jeep and begin a slow walk down the road, saying nothing. I feel like whatever this is, it’s momentous for him to share it with me. I decide to let him lead us in the direction we are about to take, both figuratively as well as
quite literally. With my hand securely in his, JP pulls me along until we reach a dark dirt field. It’s plotted out in neat rows, but not planted that I can tell. No weeds and no stones are in sight. The area surrounding it is well groomed as well. It’s apparent lots of care is put in the upkeep.

  JP doesn’t stop at the edge of the field as I had suspected. He keeps walking us deeper into the right area of the field before coming to a stop. There’s no evident marker, but I’m guessing by the storm in his eyes one is not needed. Letting go of my hand, he squats down and runs his hands in the loose soil.

  “My nephew is named after my cousin, Bradley. He was more like a brother to me. Lived with my family most of his life, actually. We shared everything, even a bedroom.” A sad smile forms around the edges of his mouth. I sit on the edge of the mounded row behind us and say nothing as I wait for him to continue. JP follows suit and rests his arms on his drawn knees.

  Waiting, I listen to the birds singing out from the trees lining the field. This place is very secluded with no homes or buildings around. The sun is high in the afternoon sky and I know it will begin slouching shortly.

  Clearing his throat, he finally continues. “Me and Bradley… We did everything together and were always getting into mischief. And we were always getting hurt. One time we had the wild idea that Bradley could hoist me up the side of our two story house with a rope that we slung into the large oak tree in the yard while I scaled the side. Like a pulley system, you know. I nailed it too, all Spiderman style.” He glances over at me and I nod my head in understanding. I also convey with the nod that I know he’s telling the truth. There’s a different edge to this than his tall-tales that I’m starting to pick up on.

  “Dude accidently let go of the rope as I was near the roof. I fell and ended up with a broken wrist and a cut over my eye.” He leans towards me as he points to the faint scar over his right eyebrow. “Man, was he sick with guilt. I was the one with the cast and the stitches, but I know for certain, Bradley hurt worse than I did. We were like that. Always hurting worse when the other hurt.” Tears begin to pool in his eyes, then plummet down his face and through the blond stubble along his jaw.