When You Knew (The Cabots Book 3)

by Jamie Beck

  “I got it covered, Ian.” Stanley waved him off.

  Ian sighed, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Guess I’ve run out of excuses to procrastinate the paperwork, then.”

  Stanley smiled. “Wi.”

  Three hours later, Ian, Archer, and Jeremy Fairfax were saying goodbye to Kathleen Falbo, a hospital administrator, and Dr. Merat. They exited the small office and strolled through the crowded waiting room of Sainte Michel, a like-new facility that had been rebuilt after the earthquake, with its whitewashed walls and vivid purple, orange, and green trumpet-flower mosaic wall mural.

  “I still think we should push to load up the Rovers with advanced life-support gear.” Jeremy kicked a stone across the parking lot, such as it was. The kid reminded Ian of an exuberant Labrador. Blond, jumping out of his skin with interest in everything around him, taking on challenges he didn’t fully comprehend. In other words, exhausting.

  Ten years ago, Ian had been the same. Hell, in the immediate aftermath of his father’s death, he’d been bitten by a furious need to do the work of seven men. Today, not so much. These past four weeks had been the least focused of his career, thanks to constant daydreams about what he’d left behind in Oregon.

  “It’s hard enough getting this stuff,” Ian sighed. “Most calls will be injuries from motorcycle crashes, falling out of trees, and shootings. BLSs will be a huge improvement compared with what they have now.”

  “Trees?” Jeremy looked to Archer, as if Ian had been pulling his leg.

  “They climb to get wood for charcoal. There’s never enough wood.” Archer rubbed his chin. “Even with the Rovers, there will still be places we can’t reach, at least not quickly enough. The roads around here are practically nonexistent outside of town, as you noticed on our drive here from Port-au-Prince.”

  Ian knew that hours-long drive along the spiny backbone of a mountain range, on a road that, in large part, was mostly dirt and large rocks. On the upside, passengers had water views on either side of the range.

  “We need to secure the basics, like oxygen and fuel, before we worry about more. In fact, we need to secure those Rovers.” Ian scrubbed his head, itchy from the heat and dust. “The fact that you’re here and prepared to stay awhile suggests your family is making that donation.”

  “My father wants to make sure there’s a long-term plan here. He doesn’t want to ship vehicles that will end up idle or sold for parts in a year.” Jeremy folded his arms and looked at Archer. “You keep saying it’s tough just to get to this point. Keeping funding going month after month, year to year, will require serious muscle and the help of people with money and connections.”

  “It’ll be a challenge.” Archer nodded, cocking one brow at Ian.

  “My dad can help with that. He’s connected to everyone and raises money for lots of causes.” Jeremy looked at Ian. “This initial donation of vehicles and conversion costs is well over six figures, plus what he can raise annually. But in exchange for all of that, my family wants its name on the organization.”

  Ian avoided Archer’s gaze. “We appreciate your generosity. Surely, however, you can appreciate that this is my brainchild, to honor my father’s work and life. I initiated it, with Archer’s help, of course. I’m the one who’s spent time here throughout the years and who committed everything I have to seeing this through.”

  “I’m ready for an adventure, and this looks like a good one. There’s nothing pulling me home, so I can work side by side with you.” Jeremy shrugged. “Without our trucks and money, you might not make it work. Certainly not anytime soon.”

  “No offense, but I think my father’s life is worth at least as much as your family’s spare change.” Ian knew he’d crossed a line. Frankly, that was something Gentry might’ve said. He should regret it, yet it had felt good to be blunt.

  Archer laid a hand on Jeremy’s shoulder, already setting the stage for an apology. “Jeremy, do you mind giving me a minute alone with Ian?”

  “Sorry, Ian. I didn’t mean to offend you. But my dad has conditions. He’s willing to do this for me because this is what I want.” Jeremy nodded. “Okay. I’ll go hit the head.”

  He disappeared back into the hospital, leaving Ian and Archer outside. Ian had seen Archer and his father work together in the past—men with sober faces, rarely disagreeing on anything of importance. Ian’s recent attitude probably shocked the man.

  “Don’t queer the pitch over a name, Ian.” Archer scowled.

  “The name is the whole reason I’m here.” Ian raised his arms heavenward.

  Archer shook his head. “The mission should be why you’re here. To hell with vanity. You want to honor your father? See this through. If Brian were standing here, he’d let Fairfax have the marquee in exchange for five brand-new, high-end vehicles that can handle this terrain. They’re better than anything you and I can buy, which leaves us more money for supplies and salaries for newly trained EMTs. Come on, Ian. Think with your head, not your heart.”

  Those words also reminded him of Gentry, who’d likely give him the opposite advice. Her way of viewing the world had affected his. “I’ve given up a lot for this cause only to spend my days behind a desk instead of in the field helping people. Now I’m supposed to roll over for some guy I met once, and his inexperienced son?”

  “That paperwork’s just as vital as being in the field and training the locals.” Archer clapped his hand on Ian’s shoulder again. “Your father would agree, Ian. He might even be chuffed to see you tucked safely behind a desk out here.” He waved his hand in the general direction of the village and mountains beyond.

  Ian shrugged. His mother would be happier, that was certain. And Gentry, too, if she knew.

  Even if everything Archer said had merit, none of this felt right. It hadn’t for weeks. He couldn’t access the old fervor. The joy. The sense of accomplishment and contentedness.

  Every night he’d lain awake missing Gentry. Wondering about her and Colt . . . and Smith. Lately he’d had one thought looping through his brain, each rotation cinching the thread tighter: was this worth giving up Gentry and Colt? In the darkness, over the buzz of mosquitoes circling his net, he could hear his heart whisper, No.

  Archer sighed, snapping Ian out of his reverie. “Well?”

  “I hear you, Archer.” He glanced over his shoulder. Jeremy had yet to reappear. “I’ll meet you and Jeremy back at the garage in thirty minutes. Need to make a quick pit stop first.”

  “Where the heck are you going?”

  Ian had already started trotting away, so he waved over his shoulder, calling out, “I’ll have an answer when I see you.”

  Ian jogged the roughly half mile to Hotel Florita, which provided free Wi-Fi in its bar.

  The beautiful little tavern boasted pretty exposed brick and beams and a tin roof. He stood in the corner—near the open arched doorway—uninterested in a drink or anything else going on. He searched for Gentry’s blog site on his phone. Something he’d done many times this past month.

  He’d kept up with Colt’s growth through Gentry’s online journal. He’d checked the site, each time holding his breath, fearful of seeing some personal post about Smith. But so far, she’d referred to him only twice, both times in the context of being Colt’s dad.

  Her antics and the opinions she’d share with other working moms who followed her and asked for advice usually made him chuckle. Her wisdom usually had the theme of following one’s gut. Leading with the heart. Breaking from the crowd.

  It seemed to him that Gentry had lived her life that way until she got pregnant. Then she’d forced herself into a mold of her family’s making. The constant friction between her natural state versus the “expected” state of motherhood and being a Cabot had her chafing from the inside out. Someone ought to tell her to follow her own advice.

  Choices. It always came back to choices and consequences.

  Now Ian had another choice. He had long thought his heart was here in Haiti, with his dad, and with th
e Crawford way. But at some point this summer, his heart had shifted its allegiance. Whether that was a good or bad thing didn’t matter. It was what it was, and it couldn’t be undone.

  When her site finally loaded, his heart sank to his toes.

  Letting Go

  If you google quotes about letting go, you’ll find hundreds. Some are funny. Some are rather obvious. And some cut so close, your heart bleeds. But I think each of us has to come to that point of letting go in our own way, in our own time, and with the knowledge that no amount of hand-holding or wise words makes it any easier.

  For me, that time is now. There’s symmetry to it, seeing as how I fell in love in a month, and now it’s been a month since he left.

  I wish I could be bitter. Anger makes it easier to say goodbye. Yet I can’t even regret the time we shared because it opened my eyes to the possibility of something I’d never believed in before, and I think that’s a good thing for my son.

  With my new outlook, I can let go in peace, with hope for my future and the family I’ll someday create. Next time I fall, it’ll be with someone who wants the same things I do. That wasn’t him, although a piece of him will always be with me in my dreams.

  I need to compile a “Letting Go” playlist, so leave song suggestions in the comments and wish me luck. Now Boo and I are off to a picnic. Happy weekend, all!

  He reread the post twice, his throat tightening each time, making it hard to breathe. He could call and tell her that he thought about her every single day. Ask her if she and Smith were taking their relationship to a new level. “Next time I fall, it’ll be with someone who wants the same things I do.” Was he ready to leave all this behind? He pushed away from the wall, phone shoved back in his pocket.

  On his way back to the garage, he took that detour along the promenade, his head pounding. He sat on the border wall near a thatched umbrella and stared at the sea, watching the tide lap against the rocky sand. This beach had survived earthquakes and hurricanes. It’d been here long before him and would remain long after he died.

  What made a life worthwhile? Duty and service had a place, but so did love and laughter. So did joy. Gentry had shown him that, and those memories glittered like the sun on the sea in front of him.

  He’d given years of his life to the Crawford way. He didn’t regret them, but he no longer viewed that credo quite the same way, either. His father had done what had made him happy. So had Ian’s mother.

  Could Ian be happier with Gentry than with living up to his dad’s example? Could he have a family his way and still make a difference here and elsewhere? Serve his community, wherever that might be?

  He glanced down the promenade, hand on his chest as if it could calm his erratic heart, watching a young mother with two small children enter a building. I don’t want to chase ghosts anymore.

  He hopped off the wall, antsy but invigorated. Decided.

  Breaking the chains of guilt and duty that had been weighing on him all month, he ran to the garage like a man with the wind at his back.

  “Finally.” Archer said, looking at his watch. “I need to get back to Port-au-Prince. Have you made a decision?”

  “You’re all in? You’re going to stay here for a year or more, come hell or high water?” Ian asked Jeremy.

  “Hell yeah,” he replied.

  “Good.” Ian nodded, still panting slightly from his exuberant run. “Because I’ve made a decision.”

  “We can move forward under the new name?” Archer’s brows rose, and Jeremy’s gaze sharpened.

  “Yes, but I have my conditions. I’ll complete the program paperwork, the manual, and show Jeremy the ropes, but then I’m going home. I’ll return for two-week trips every few months to help, but I’m not going to live here.” Sensing Archer’s dismay, he looked at his father’s old friend. “Jeremy’s an EMT. He can run the training classes. Between Stanley and him, I don’t also need to be here full-time. After all, the whole point is to train locals to do this so they don’t need us at all. Within one to two years, there will be others who can help, too.”

  When neither spoke, Ian shrugged, hoping not to overplay his hand. “That’s my offer.”

  Even if Jeremy didn’t agree, Ian would work hard to find some other willing partner to take his place. Getting this off the ground would have to be enough of a nod to his father. It was time to get on with his life.

  “Sounds good to me,” Jeremy replied, his expression evidencing a bit of shell shock.

  “You’ve got a lot to learn about this place, its people, its customs,” Archer warned.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll help him get up to speed ASAP.” Ian rested his hands on the table where Stanley had been working earlier.

  “Your father would never abandon this project, Ian.” Archer’s sharp tone expressed his disdain. “I’m gobsmacked.”

  “I’m not my father. And I’m not abandoning anything. I’m reducing my role. I’ve brought it this far and can handle paperwork and fund-raising from Oregon. I’ll stay involved, but I don’t need to live here, especially if it’s his name on the door.”

  Archer stared at Ian. He must’ve sensed Ian’s resolve, because he simply said, “Oh, sod it. Jeremy, there’s a lot to do.”

  Jeremy shook Archer’s hand. “Don’t worry. I’m up for it.”

  Archer nodded and then headed outside to the waiting car. Ian followed him.

  “I’m sorry you’re pissed. I’ve given a lot of my time here and to this project. But I’m one guy. It doesn’t all have to rest on my shoulders.”

  “I hope you don’t cock this up, Ian.” Archer slid into the back seat and closed the door.

  Ian stepped back and watched the old Jeep drive away, then returned to the garage. He found Jeremy in the small office. The one where he kept Quackers on the olive-green metal desk that looked like something from the 1960s.

  Quackers could be left out in the open because no one in his right mind would steal that thing, and Ian liked the reminder nearby.

  “And what, exactly, can he say to me that you can’t?”

  “Everything.”

  Jeremy gave it a cockeyed stare. “What the hell is that?”

  Ian crossed his arms. “A gift . . . from a friend.”

  “Not a very good friend, apparently.” Jeremy chuckled.

  Ian didn’t respond. He wouldn’t try to explain the priceless gesture Gentry had made when she gave him Quackers, or how often he’d replayed the last words she’d said to him the day he left her home. “You hungry?”

  Jeremy patted his belly. “Starved.”

  “Let’s go.” Ian nodded and took him to a nearby café. While he listened to Jeremy prattle on, his mind wandered. He expected more cognitive dissonance about his decision. Its absence made him more certain.

  Now he’d have to persuade Gentry that he’d changed. That he wanted the same things she did. A phone call wouldn’t be enough to prove anything. He needed to show her that he could be spontaneous. That he could fill her life with happy surprises, too.

  That blog post meant the clock was ticking, if he wasn’t already too late. Time for drastic measures. He’d raid his small savings to fly home tomorrow, then come back and transition Jeremy for a few weeks. After that, he’d return to Oregon for good.

  He swigged his beer. “Jeremy, are you up for a challenge? ’Cause I’ve got an emergency, and I need your help.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Freedom

  According to Merriam-Webster: the absence of necessity, coercion, or constraint in choice or action

  According to me: the only way to live

  Gentry pushed the empty stroller across the lawn, past the majority of employees at the picnic, to the CTC patio, where some of her family was sitting. Smith walked beside her, proudly carrying their son. Although Colt had been calm this morning, he grew wide-eyed at the noisy, bustling crowd, and started to cry.

  “Come on, Colt. Don’t be scared of these nice people.” Smith’s deep voice mig
ht melt the panties off dozens of women, but Colt wasn’t soothed. Smith offered Gentry an amazed smile. “You’ve got an iron will to deal with this every day without jumping off your deck. He’s tough.”

  “He’s perfect.” She wiggled Colt’s foot. “He’s just particular and sensitive. It makes him special. He’ll learn to manage it, eventually.”

  “Manage what?” her mother asked, reaching for Colt as they approached.

  “His inability to control himself.” Gentry parked the stroller beside the table.

  Her mother tossed her and Smith a look and snickered. “You didn’t.”

  Smith chuckled, but Gentry had grown tired of the digs. Granted, she’d waged as many battles as Spartacus with her mother, so she’d earned her rep. But how long until she got credit for any change? Ten months of doing everything she could think of to prove herself hadn’t made a dent.

  Her dad enveloped her in a hug before shaking Smith’s hand. “Welcome back to town. Gentry enjoyed her trip to Pasadena the other week. It’s great to see you two working together to give Colt some family time.”

  Exactly what hadn’t been a priority during her childhood.

  “He deserves the best.” Smith tipped his head, leveling Colt with an adoring smile. Colt kept fussing, though. Then again, he was in Gentry’s mother’s arms. Not the most comforting place.

  “Here, Mom. I’ll take him.” Gentry plucked him from her mother.

  “Actually, let his father take over.” Her mom gestured to Smith. “I want to talk to you about the campaign for a second.”

  “I just got here,” Gentry sighed.

  “Let’s get it done so we can enjoy the party.” Her mom smoothed her skirt. “Come inside for a minute.”

  Gentry shot Smith an apologetic grimace. “Sorry. This should only take ten minutes.”

  “Take your time. I’ll hang with your dad,” he replied amiably.

  “I’ll introduce you to Colby,” her dad offered. “You didn’t get to meet her last time you were in town. Come with me.”