Share with Me: Seaside Chapel Book 1

by Thompson, Jan

  “My two most favorite ladies in the world!” Ivan declared as he entered the living room. “I’m ready to go whenever you are.”

  When Brinley got off the couch, Ivan hugged her as carefully as he could on his right side. Her lambs-wool sweater was soft and she smelled ethereal. He recalled the song he had written with her in mind.

  Pleasant days indeed.

  “If I stay on your right side, I’ll be fine?” Brinley asked.

  Ivan nodded. “My ribs will heal in a few weeks.”

  “Thank God they’re cracked, not broken, and only two,” Grandma Yun said from her rocker.

  Ivan wrapped his right arm around Brinley’s shoulder. She looked up at his face. “When do they take those stitches out?”

  “Monday, I think.”

  “That soon?”

  “The rest, after Christmas.”

  “Do you need a ride to the doctor’s?”

  “Thanks for the offer, but Matt’s taking me.” Ivan couldn’t thank Matt Garnett enough. In spite of his bluntness, his old friend was a true friend, always looking out for him.

  Matt had been right. There was a better affinity between him and Brinley now that she knew the Lord as he did. Sure, Brinley still had a long way to go in terms of learning what it meant to be a Christian, but at least now they were on the same page.

  Brinley touched his left arm. “I’m praying for you that God will heal your wrist. I am so sorry about it all.”

  Sorry? He didn’t get it, and Brinley didn’t seem to want to explain. Oh well. “The docs said my cast can come off in about six weeks. Then we’ll see. I hope to get back to normal quickly.”

  Back to normal?

  Did he really believe that?

  Somewhere at the back of his mind he knew that his life could never be smooth sailing. It had never been. Once upon a time he had thought he would spend a good number of years on the concert circuit. Then Grandpa Otto died, derailing his plans.

  He had thought that with his Juilliard degree and world-stage experience, he could get hundreds of violin students. It had taken six years to get forty students.

  He had thought that Brinley was the one for him. He wanted to play the violin for her the rest of his life. Now he couldn’t play the violin at all for at least six weeks. After that came therapy and he wasn’t even sure what that involved. His future was sort of fuzzy from here on out, but he wanted to get back to violin. For sure.

  “I have news,” Brinley said.

  “Good, I hope?” Ivan teased.

  “It could be bad, depending on how you look at it.”

  “Go on.” Ivan had to know now.

  Brinley looked at Ivan, then at Yun and then back to Ivan. “It’s finalized. I’m quitting my sales job at Dad’s company, and I’m moving to St. Simon’s permanently.”

  Ivan wondered about the implications of that decision.

  “Say something,” Brinley said.

  “I think that’s great news.” Ivan wasn’t sure what to think, really. Brinley in town every day? What was he going to do with her? He had nothing to offer her. No money to take her out to dinner. No money to buy her a ring—

  What ring?

  “We can be together more than once a month.” Her eyes looked hopeful.

  “I’d like that, Brin.” Ivan leaned down and kissed her forehead.

  “And I can have tea at least twice a week with Yun.”

  Grandma seemed to welcome that. Ivan watched her nod. Still, she was quieter than usual.

  “What are you going to do on St. Simon’s?” Ivan asked.

  “I bought half of Dad’s reno company.”

  “You did?”

  “He would’ve sold me the whole business but he’s such a control freak that it would kill him to be outside looking in. So he only sold me half of it.”

  “Sounds like a lot of work,” Grandma said.

  “Work is good. Besides, I’m working with some good people who know what they’re doing so I’m happy about my reno crews.”

  “What do you do with the houses you fix?” Grandma asked.

  “I’m thinking we’d either sell or rent them out.”

  Grandma looked like she had another question but the clock chimed on the hour.

  “Ladies, we’d better get going.” Ivan helped Grandma to the door. “Don’t want to be late for Sunday School or church.”

  * * *

  Brinley sat on Ivan’s good side at the edge of the pew. He didn’t want anybody bumping his precious left wrist. Seaside Chapel was crowded with people attending one last Sunday morning service before they went out of town for the rest of the year. So all the pews were full.

  The crowd looked different to Brinley now that she was saved. Her perception of people had changed. She saw individual faces as people and no longer as a collective mass. She saw each visage as he and she was, unique and brilliant. Each person made by God was individually loved by God. Wow.

  And here was Ivan.

  Brinley was sitting hip to hip with him with only room for an iPad sandwiched vertically between them. She found it amusing that Ivan was that modest. After all, they had kissed. And here they were in the sanctuary with an iPad between them. Maybe he was trying to be funny.

  When they stood up to sing in church, Brinley found that Ivan had a terrible singing voice. She was sure that God didn’t count that against him. But wouldn’t it be better for everyone if Ivan shut up or something? Was it a sin for her to even think such a thought?

  I have much to learn about being a Christian.

  After the congregational singing was over, Brinley sat down. She realized that Ivan had dispensed of his iPad. His right arm was over her shoulders now. Claiming her? She wasn’t sure. She was glad he’d stopped singing his awful rendition of the otherwise soothing Christmas medley.

  The soloist who went up front to sing turned out to be Pastor Gonzalez's wife, Olivia. After church today, Yun was going to introduce Brinley to her. Brinley was looking forward to telling someone other than Yun, Ivan, and Dad that she now believed in Jesus Christ. Dad was excited but Mom was leery.

  What about Dillon? Well, Brinley would find out soon enough on Christmas Eve when her older brother would arrive in town.

  Dillon had decided not to fly to Paris for Christmas, but spend Christmas Day on Sea Island as he had done every year.

  When Olivia Gonzalez sang “O Come, O Come Emmanuel,” Brinley finally understood the words to the carol. It was like blinders had come off and she could see clearly without the fog.

  The fog of sin.

  It was only when Olivia was helped down the podium that Brinley realized the soprano leggero could not see.

  Brinley took some notes during Pastor Gonzalez's Christmas sermon centered on Matthew 1:21 which he had someone read aloud in its entirety.

  And she shall bring forth a son, and thou shalt call his name Jesus: for he shall save his people from their sins.

  Brinley’s heart had never felt so loved.

  My sins.

  All forgiven.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Christmas Eve was here, and Ivan was ready. He slowly climbed out of the church van. “I’ll be right back.”

  “Don’t take too long,” Matt said from the driver’s seat. “Have a few more pickups to make before the service starts.”

  Ivan walked up the marble steps to the Brooks cottage on Sea Island, pushed his sunglasses up above his head, and pressed the doorbell with his left thumb. It didn’t hurt too much, but that might be because of the pain reliever he’d taken. That might be also why he didn’t feel pain in his ribs when he breathed.

  His right hand was in his barn jacket pocket, playing with a small gift box. A little surprise for Brinley. He had wrapped it himself. He hoped she liked it.

  Nobody answered.

  He pressed the doorbell again. Lord, please give me patience.

  Now he was worried. Fortunately, before he could conjure up some silly ideas of the whys and wherefo
res, he heard the door click a couple of times and it opened.

  “Merry Christmas Eve!” He stretched out his right hand. “You must be Brin’s brother. I’m Ivan McMillan. Nice to meet you.”

  The man didn’t shake his hand, as if Ivan were carrying some sort of infectious disease.

  “Is Brinley in?” Ivan started getting a bit concerned.

  “She’s getting ready. I guess you can wait inside.”

  “Thank you very much. Are you Dillon Brooks?”

  “Since birth.”

  “Whew. For a moment there I was wondering why a strange man was in Brin’s house.”

  “Our parents’ cottage,” Dillon corrected him. He remained standing in the foyer surrounded by tall trees and an even taller staircase. “What do you want from my sister?”

  “What do you mean?” Ivan felt the large foyer close in on him, the Christmas trees bending down and shaking their accusatory branches at him, contracting around his personal space.

  “Don’t play coy.”

  I should’ve waited in the truck.

  Ivan wanted to walk out of the inquisition, but his legs were stuck there, rooted to the marble floor with the Brooks logo right in the center of the foyer that now seemed more like a rotunda of a courthouse to him. His scruffy shoes seemed out of place. He was not in his element and he knew that Brinley’s brother knew it.

  He watched Dillon lean forward for the kill. “My sister and I are very different from each other.”

  And I love her.

  Ivan caught himself. What did I say?

  “Brinley wants a simple life. Is that what she’s found in you? A simple man?”

  “Uh, I—I don’t know.”

  Wait a minute. What did he call me? A simple man? Or did he mean a simplistic man? Or a simpleton?

  Ivan cleared his throat and prayed quickly. Brinley’s smile filled his thoughts. “Well, when two people fall in love—”

  “She’s not in love with you, Jovan—Ivan—whatever your name is. She just thinks she is. She’s been attracted to every musician she came in contact with since she inherited her music collection from Grandpa Brooks.”

  That can’t be true. I can’t believe that. None of her ex-boyfriends—

  “But you’re the first one outside the family who has ever played a Strad she owns. Which you promptly lost. Do you see how suspicious that is?”

  “Excuse me?” Ivan protested. “I’ve never played any of her Strads.”

  “No? Art told me otherwise.”

  “Art?”

  Art!

  Ivan’s jaw dropped as he realized who had bought the Schoenberg Strad at the auction. It was hard for him to believed that Brinley had paid over five million dollars for it. Why had she done it? Why?

  “Art works for us,” Dillon continued. “I suppose you knew that.”

  “I’m afraid this is the first time I’ve heard of it.” Ivan felt defeated. Why didn’t Brinley say anything?

  “Brin wants to keep Art on the payroll in spite of his injuries. We’re going to get to the bottom of this sooner or later. Our investigators are working with the FBI Art Crime Team. We’re going to get the thieves who stole my sister’s Strad. Let’s hope you have nothing to do with it.”

  “Are you accusing me of something?”

  “A five-point-four-million dollar violin could come in handy for debt reduction.”

  “What? Wait a minute! You’re pushing it, man.” Ivan stepped forward, then thought better of it. He was in someone else’s house. The last thing he needed was to be arrested for assault.

  “My investigators tell me you’re deep in debt,” Dillon went on. “Near bankruptcy.”

  “That’s none of your business.” Ivan flinched and his left hand instinctively reached for his left ribs, thumping them with the cast. Ouch.

  He took short, quick breaths.

  “It’s my business if you’re going out with my sister. What happens to her inheritance affects me.”

  Now Ivan was mad. “Oh, and you think that this”—he held up his cast—“is part of my nefarious plan?”

  “A violinist with a broken left wrist. You’re useless.”

  “Pretty much.” Ivan perked up. “See, we agree on something.”

  Dillon raised his eyebrows.

  “Does it make sense for me to damage my own future?” Ivan sighed. “I may never play again. The violin is all I know. This is how I make my living.”

  “So you need my sister to live on.”

  Many thoughts jumbled up in Ivan’s head, but he couldn’t get a single word out. He realized that no matter what he said, there’d always be a divide between him and Dillon.

  And maybe also between Brinley and me.

  “I think I better go.” Ivan tried to rein in his anger.

  “You’d better.”

  “Better what?” Brinley was at the top of the stairs looking down. “Hi Ivan. I see you’ve met Dill, the best brother in the world.”

  Ivan nearly gagged.

  Brinley glided down the stairs in a simple pair of boot-cut jeans and a Christmas sweater.

  She stopped where Dillon was. “Are you sure you don’t want to come with us to the Christmas Eve service? Lots of room in the church van.”

  “I’m sure, Brin.” Dillon eyed Ivan. “I’ll see you and Aunt Ella back here at six forty-five and we can have dinner out.”

  “Our annual Christmas dinner with only the three of us.” Brinley turned to Ivan. “Maybe you and Yun can join us?”

  “Oh no. We have our own Tiny Tim dinner and are kinda busy.” Ivan smirked.

  Brinley looked at Ivan, amused. “Are you all right?”

  “Never been better. Would you like to go now?”

  * * *

  Everything seemed different about Ivan at the Christmas Eve service at Seaside Chapel. Brinley wondered what had caused him to change. She sat beside him throughout the evening, but whenever she reached for his hand, he would react by picking up his iPad or the hymnal or putting his right hand over the other hand as if to hold his cast. Clearly he did not want to touch her nor did he want her to touch him. His tone had changed so abruptly from last Sunday morning when he was all lovey-dovey.

  What is going on?

  Brinley felt the subtle rejection. Whatever Dillon had said—

  Oh.

  Dillon was all about money.

  It had to be the reason for this change of tone.

  Now it began to affect Brinley and she couldn’t pay attention to the rest of the service.

  Lord Jesus, forgive me.

  Pastor Gonzalez didn’t preach this evening. The program called for a rotation among three other pastors, one from some years before Gonzalez became pastor of Seaside, one from among the current pastoral staff, and one guy fresh out of seminary. Past, present, future? Each had fifteen minutes to talk about the Christ of Christmas.

  At every interval, Brinley was praying for focus.

  Further distracting her was Ivan himself. She tried her best to adjust to his still untrained voice throughout all the Christmas carols and sacred hymns and a cappellas, but at the end of the service, she prayed a somewhat selfish prayer that God would heal Ivan’s wrist as soon as was miraculously possible so that he could play the violin again and, thereby, spare everyone from his lack of vocal facility.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  “You tell Ethan Dad wants to talk to him. Go on, Elisa.” A pause. “What do you mean he doesn’t want to? Tell him it’s Dad.”

  Brinley stepped into the sunroom. She didn’t smile, didn’t give away what was on her mind. There was no way she could imagine that there could be any truth to Dillon’s accusation. In the two weeks she had been close to Ivan—oh dear, had it only been two weeks?—she didn’t think he could be a thief.

  His broken wrist proves it.

  Why would any violinist destroy his own career like that?

  Dillon shrugged at Brinley. She said nothing. It was sad that Dillon had kids and then cou
ldn’t be with them, for reasons too complex to disassemble.

  “Whatever. Tell Ethan Dad loves him. What? Yeah, next week. I’ll pick you up next week.” Dillon nodded into his phone. “Dad loves you too, Elisa.”

  He hung up. “I don’t know what Isobel’s been telling the kids. Ethan doesn’t want to speak with me. Not even at Christmas.”

  “Growing pains?” Brinley asked, leaning against the doorframe like she usually liked to do.

  “Poison is more like it.” Dillon pocketed the phone. On the coffee table was a wine bottle and a glass. He raised the bottle toward Brinley.

  “No, thanks,” Brinley said.

  “You don’t drink anymore?” He filled half the glass. “You’re getting a little weird, sis. Found religion?”

  “I met Jesus and He changed my life.”

  Dillon laughed. He got up and stood at the tall windows. It was dusk outside. “This is about Phinn, isn’t it? He drinks too much. You’re reacting to his—shall we say, weakness?”

  “Phinn? We broke up. I don’t make decisions based on him.” Anymore.

  “I had lunch with him before I flew here.”

  “I thought he’s in Courchevel.”

  “He’s back in Atlanta. His parents kicked him out of the Alps.”

  “For?”

  “Overspending. He’s blitzing through his trust fund.”

  “I suppose on booze and women.”

  “You don’t know that, Brin.” Dillon finished off one glass, then another. “That one’s for you.”

  Brinley was unperturbed.

  “Phinn wants me to tell you he’s sorry. He has a Christmas present for you. I put it under the tree in the living room. You can open it tomorrow.”

  Brinley’s fingers instinctively went to the violin brooch. She touched it, as if to make sure it was still there. “You shouldn’t have brought anything from Phinn. It’s over.”

  “He’s a friend.” Dillon pulled out a pack of Dunhill cigarettes. “He’s a very good friend of mine.”

  Brinley frowned. “You can’t smoke in here.”

  “Dad’s not here. Neither is Mom.” He lit it. “So why not Phinn?”