A chuckle rolled from Nicki’s lips as she set the second suitcase on the foyer floor and hurried to catch up. “Uh, I think that was the plan, Mamaw.”
Lacey cringed. Ah, yes, the plan. In and out. Down and dirty. Like a Band-Aid on a festering sore—yank the sucker off so fast you never feel the pain.
“A plan that slurps marsh water if you ask me,” Mamaw said with a wry twist of lips, modifying one of Nicki’s favorite expressions to make it more palpable. She and Nicki bantered back and forth while Lacey soaked it all in like a woman coming out of a coma after too many years asleep, reveling in her family as if seeing them for the very first time.
With her stylish silver white coiffure, Mamaw looked more like sixty than almost seventy-five. Sleek and slim in white linen slacks, she wore a cotton top splashed with a hodge-podge of ladybugs that clashed with her leopard slippers. Uncle Cam always said she was as cute a bug’s ear, and the memory tilted Lacey’s lips into a smile because it was so very true. Mamaw was one of those cute, little old ladies that dogs liked to sniff and lick, and everybody else wanted to hug. A bunko-playing dynamo, who could be as sweet and deadly as her famous peach crumble pie.
“Spencer, look who’s here,” Mamaw said. She led them into her sunny kitchen overlooking a lavish serpentine brick patio flanked by mulched gardens of roses and boxwoods. Spacious yet cozy, the state-of-the-art country French kitchen and garden were a gift from Uncle Cam, who insisted on “nothing but the best” for the woman who cooked and cleaned and cared for his children. Here amid the wonderful smells of pot roasts and peach pies, Mamaw reigned supreme, providing a haven of hope and home for family and friends. Sunlight was at home here as well, glinting off a golden oak floor and cottage glass cabinets, each complemented by pristine white granite counters that sported every kitchen convenience known to man.
Lacey’s eight-year-old cousin Spencer sat at an antique provincial kitchen table in a nook area backdropped by a lush yard of towering oaks dressed in Spanish moss. Shafts of sunlight spilled through the oversized bay window, illuminating the intricacies of his Snap Circuits, Jr. building project, which sat in a shallow wooden box his dad had probably built for ease of transport. On the edge of the box perched two of Spencer’s favorite action figures that pretty much went everywhere he did, according to Nicki. At the base of his chair lay a snoring Sherlock Holmes—Spencer’s beloved sheep dog—who hadn’t a “clue” anyone else had even entered the room. Spread-eagle on his back, Sherlock looked more like a mop than a watchdog, gray wisps of hair fluttering with every growl of a snore.
“Hey, Lace,” Spencer said in a shy voice that held no hint of the stutter that appeared when he was nervous or excited. Tiny for his age, Spencer possessed an innate gentleness in hazel eyes the exact color of his sister’s, black-rimmed glasses magnifying them all the more. When he blinked, the thick lenses imparted the effect of a baby owl, giving credence to his studious nature and keen intellect. A thatch of brown hair as unruly as his rumpled dinosaur T-shirt barely covered protruding ears while a timid but sweet smile inched across his freckled face.
“Hi, buddy—how’s my favorite cousin?” she asked with a tight squeeze, noting his impressive electrical display.
“Hey—I thought I was your favorite cousin?” Nicki shot a playful scowl over her shoulder, giving Spencer a wink in the process. She pulled a tray of cookies from the oven, and the sweet smell of cinnamon instantly trumped the pot roast, watering Lacey’s mouth. Snickerdoodles … her favorite!
Lacey ruffled Spence’s hair even more than it was. “Nope, you’re too much of a girly-girl who can be a pain at times while this sweet boy here is no trouble at all. Plus he watches sports with me.” She pressed a kiss to Spencer’s head, skimming a finger across his intricate circuit board. “So what’s this, Einstein—circuitry to zap your sister when she gets out of line?”
“Naw.” He gave a bashful duck of his head, offering Nicki and Mamaw a sheepish grin. “This is a burglar alarm.”
“Ohhhhh, I see,” Lacey said, jutting a brow as she watched Nicki sample a cookie before transferring them from the sheet to a plate. “To keep your sister out of the cookie stash so she won’t pork up before the wedding?”
He giggled, a soft and gentle sound that made her wanna hug him all over again. Painfully shy with strangers, Spencer was diagnosed as borderline Asperger’s Syndrome, resulting in behaviors other children considered odd such as finger twisting or the slight fluttering of his fingers when he turned a page in a book. According to Mamaw’s letters, kids called him “oddball” or “Dense Spence” at school, making it difficult for him to make friends, an ongoing worry for both Mamaw and Nicki. Especially with his father on naval commission halfway across the world, an officer on the USS George H. W. Bush. The poor little guy never really knew his mother since Aunt Susan passed away from cancer when he was barely two, which was when Mamaw stepped in to help Uncle Cam.
“Hey, I’ll have you know I baked these especially for you, you little brat.” Nicki sauntered over with the plate of cookies and a pursed smile. She plopped them on the clear end of the table with a thud and patted a chair, chin pointed at Lacey. “Sit. I have exactly fifteen minutes till I have to drive Spencer to his first baseball practice before clocking in for my shift, so I want the Reader’s Digest version of a Cliff Note update, please.”
Lacey’s smile took a slant. Easy.
Saved by faith.
Dumped by fiancé.
Strong-armed by God.
She inhaled deeply, the sweet smell of cinnamon and sugar filling her senses like God’s love had filled her heart. Where to begin? How to tell them that she hadn’t lost a fiancé, but gained a life? That the old Lacey with the salty tongue and sexy ways had traded in profanity for purity, and sex for sanctity? She stalled by rifling through the cookies, nudging past the darker ones burned to a crisp like Nicki preferred to inspect the lighter ones she favored. Extra cinnamon crackles on pale-yellow dough, slightly underdone. Night and day. Her smile went wry. Just like her life now that God had intervened. She scrunched her nose as she flicked a particularly dark cookie aside. “Uh, not exactly sure where to begin …”
“Excuse me, young lady, are you going to finger every cookie on that plate?” Mamaw clunked three blue ceramic saucers on the table with a familiar scold that sparkled with tease. “Are your hands clean, I hope, or will I have to make you eat each cookie you mauled?”
Lacey laughed, jumping up to wash her hands at the sink. “Nope, sorry. The pump at the BP leaked, so they’re pretty grimy, I’m afraid.” As my life used to be. The thought poured peace through her body like the tap water into the sink.
Nicki leaned a hip to the counter and gave the Keurig caddy a spin. “So what’s your pleasure? We have cinnamon roll, macadamia nut cookie, hazelnut, and crème brulee.”
“Oooo—macadamia nut cookie, please,” Lacey said. She retrieved Half & Half from the fridge and hurried back to the table where Mamaw was admiring Spencer’s burglar alarm.
Circling Spencer from behind in a tight hug, Mamaw kissed his head. “Okay, mister—you need to head up and put your uniform on, all right?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Spencer said, shooting Lacey a shy smile before removing his circuit box from the table, carefully placing the action figures safely inside. He roused Sherlock from the dead in the process, who shook a windstorm of floating hair before he followed him upstairs with a yawn.
Lacey waited till she heard the squeak of the steps before turning to Mamaw. “How’s he doing?” she said quietly, her grandmother’s last letter about Spencer’s bout of depression still weighing on her mind.
Mamaw sighed, the sound too heavy for such a tiny woman. “Better, I think, especially now that we signed him up for Little League.” She offered Nicki a smile as her granddaughter plunked two steaming cups of coffee on the table for her and Lacey. “I think he’s excited about the prospect of making new friends.”
Nicki cut loose with a grunt as she settl
ed into her chair with a cup of her own. “Or any friends at all,” she said with a sad crook of her mouth. “The poor little guy has had a pretty rough year.”
“True,” Mamaw said, “but we’re hoping that will turn around, especially since this is not the parish league with all of his classmates.” A sigh feathered her lips. “I’m praying he can get a fresh start, maybe build some self-confidence before the next school year.” She took a sip of her coffee then set it aside, hands folded in her lap as she homed in on Lacey with laser precision. The sharp blue eyes that had missed nothing when Lacey was growing up now narrowed into serious grandma mode. “Spencer will be fine, I think, but what I want to know now, darling girl—will you?”
“Sure she will,” Nicki said with a defiant thrust of her chin, eyes stormy. “She doesn’t need that loser to be happy—it’s his loss, not hers.”
Lacey couldn’t stop the grin that tickled her lips. “I’d hardly call the valedictorian of UC Berkeley School of Law a loser, Nick, but thanks for the support.”
“So what happened, sweetheart?” Her grandmother laid a frail hand on Lacey’s arm, the concern in her eyes bringing moisture to Lacey’s own.
“We just grew apart,” Lacey whispered, well aware that the fissure between her and Tim had probably begun long before she’d started attending Joy’s church. Although she’d known Joy for almost eight years now, it hadn’t been until Lacey’s engagement to Tim, when she needed a church for the wedding, that Lacey found her curiosity about Joy’s faith growing. Her friend had always persisted in talking to her about God, sure, but Lacey had never really seen the point. God had let her down years ago. Besides, she’d achieved everything she’d ever wanted on her own—a job she loved, a hunky fiancé, a gorgeous townhouse in the best part of town, and a cozy six-figure income between the two. But somehow six months out from the wedding of her dreams, she sensed deep down that something was missing. And it hadn’t been until she started attending church with Joy—to Tim’s utter dismay—that she finally understood what it was.
Peace.
She looked up at Mamaw now and realized it had been her grandmother’s unflappable faith that had gotten Lacey through every heartbreak of her life. From years of loneliness as an only child, to years of teenage rebellion that set her at odds with her father, Mamaw had been relentless in prayer, becoming Lacey’s anchor. Through a volatile divorce between her parents, a bitter estrangement from her father, and finally the heart-wrenching pain of losing her mother—it had been Mamaw she’d turned to, not God. Tears sprang to Lacey’s eyes as she placed her palm over her grandmother’s, suddenly aware that God had never left her as she supposed, but His love had been alive and well through the powerful faith of both her grandmother and her friend Joy.
“What do you mean, you grew apart?” Nicki wanted to know. She glanced at her watch with a frown. “He wasn’t cheating on you, was he?”
Lacey laughed, not sure when Tim would have had time to “cheat” with his grueling, make-partner-or-die hours at San Diego’s top law firm. “No, nothing like that, I promise. I guess you might say it was more like me cheating on him.” Her teeth tugged at the edge of her lip. “With God.”
“Come again?” Her cousin’s brows shot straight up.
The shock on her face was so comical that Lacey battled a grin with a gruff clear of her throat. “Uh, I turned over a new leaf and became a good girl, Nick, just like you did when you met Matt. You know—going back to church?” She gave a little shrug, a sad smile lining her lips. “And I guess Tim couldn’t see himself married to a—and I quote—‘professional prude.’”
Her cousin blinked, eyes as round as the snickerdoodles on her plate. “You mean you two stopped having—”
“The same viewpoint on life, yes,” Lacey said quickly, heat warming her cheeks as she shot Nicki a pointed look, mere mention of her former lifestyle embarrassing her in front of her grandmother. She released a tentative sigh, laden with both relief and regret, wishing she had come to her senses long before she’d depleted a good chunk of her savings on wedding deposits. “So we parted ways, and that was that.”
“Wow.” Nicki slumped back in her chair. “When you do something, Lace, you go for broke, kiddo.”
“I know,” Lacey said with quiet quiver of air, “literally.” She took a bite of her cookie, her spirits rebounding. “But the truth is, I may be lonelier and broker than before, but in a strange way, I’m also happier.” She popped the rest of the snickerdoodle in her mouth and chewed while she slipped Mamaw a sheepish smile. “I’m just kicking myself I didn’t listen all those years you tried so hard to drum faith into my head.”
“You listened more than you know, sweetheart.” She squeezed Lacey’s hand.
“I’m ready.” Glove in hand, Spencer clomped into the kitchen wearing a short-sleeved blue “Hurricane” jersey so big it came to his elbows.
“Wow, cleats and everything,” Lacey said with a low whistle. “Looking pretty sharp, Spence.”
“Yeah.” Spencer grinned, pushing his glasses back up his nose. He adjusted the rim of his blue baseball cap, then pounded a tiny fist into a brand-new baseball glove that was almost bigger than him.
Nicki hopped up and carried her cup and saucer to the sink. “Okay, sport, we’re outta here in two shakes and a shimmy.” She tucked both dishes into the dishwasher.
“Don’t forget his water bottle in the fridge,” Mamaw reminded.
“What’s a shimmy?” Spencer asked with an adorable owl blink of eyes.
“It means we need to hustle if I’m going to get you to practice and then me to work on time, capiche?” Nicki grabbed a water bottle and ambled over to kiss Mamaw’s head and squash Lacey in a bear hug. “Soooo glad you’re home, Lace, and can’t wait to catch up tomorrow.” Her brows danced with mischief. “It’s my day off, you know, and I have a surprise planned.”
“Uh-oh.” Lacey eyed her with suspicion. “If it includes any male other than Matt or Spence, your name is mud, Phillips, you got that?”
“Mmm … Mrs. Nicki Mud Ball.” She flashed a grin. “I like it, although Matt’s mom, Mrs. Ball of the Hamptons, may not.”
Mamaw chuckled while Spencer scrunched his nose. “What’s ‘capiche’ mean?”
Lacey pinched Nicki’s waist before jumping up to give Spencer a quick squeeze. “It means give your cousin a hug before you leave,” she said, tugging on his baseball cap. “You may not know this, kiddo, but I was top pitcher on my softball team, so you and I are gonna have to play catch, and I’ll even hit you some grounders.”
“Gosh, you mean it?”
“You bet, slugger. How ’bout tonight after you get home?”
“Cool!” He flashed her a smile that melted her heart and spun on his heels to follow his sister to the door.
“Oh, and Lace?” Nicki paused to hook her purse over her shoulder. “I was supposed to be off tonight so I was going to pick Spence up from his practice at six, but I’m filling in for a friend at work.” She fluttered her eyelashes in a pitiful plea. “So would you mind saving Mamaw the trip? It’s at the Paulson Complex.”
“No problem.” Lacey gave Spencer a wink. “Of course we may have to detour for some Oreo ice cream at Coldstone on the way home.”
“Yes!” Spencer fist-punched his glove, luring huge grins to all of their faces.
“It’s good to have you home, sweetheart—for all of us.” Mamaw’s soft words punctuated the slam of the front door.
Expelling a loud sigh, Lacey slumped back in her chair. “Thanks, Mamaw, I wish everybody felt the way you do.”
Her grandmother leaned in to fold her arms on the table, her pensive gaze assuring Lacey that she understood all too well. “You haven’t talked to him yet?”
“Yet?” Lacey grunted. “More like ‘since.’” She rubbed her arms and expelled a shuddering breath heavily tainted with guilt and remorse. “I was so angry when Mom died that I barely spoke to him at the funeral, remember? It was so convenient to just blame
him for the way it all turned out, for the total destruction of our family. I mean he was the one who turned his back on me long before Mom ever left him.”
Her gaze lagged into a cold stare while a shiver skated her spine. “It’s only been the last few months that I finally realized how wrong I was to do the same. To turn my back on him after Mom died—not returning his calls, his letters, his emails.” Regret constricted the muscles in her throat as her voice trailed into a whisper. “Until they stopped coming altogether ...” Her eyelids fluttered closed briefly as feelings of grief and hurt tiptoed in at the corners of her mind, reminding her just how much she had wished him dead back then instead of her mother.
God, forgive me, please …
She opened her eyes to her grandmother’s tender gaze, which reflected the same grief Lacey still bore in her soul. Laying a veined hand over Lacey’s, she gave her a gentle squeeze. “I know you came back to help Nicki with the wedding, darling, but we both know the real reason you’re here.”
A knot of fear convulsed in Lacey’s throat. “I know,” she whispered, “but there’s been so much time and bitterness between us, Mamaw, that I worry it’s too late.”
Mamaw’s chuckle was soft. “It’s never too late to love, darling.”
Lacey expelled a wavering breath. “I know that, too,” she said with a skittery smile. “I just don’t know how …” —she chewed at a piece of skin on her lip— “to do it, you know?”
Mamaw smiled and patted her hand. “It’s not difficult, darling—you show up on his doorstop one evening with one of my peach pies he so adores and say, ‘Dad, we need to talk.’”
Isle of Hope Page 4