Isle of Hope

by Julie Lessman

  His eyes flicked up to meet hers, and for the first time he realized that whether it was lover or friend, Lacey Carmichael was someone who would always possess a place in his heart. A tomboy little sister with whom he’d teased and arm-wrestled along with Cat and Shan before she morphed into the sassy girlfriend with whom he wrestled in a whole new way. The perfect antidote to an overly serious egghead, one she’d single-handedly taught how to laugh and live and love in a way he had never experienced before. The little brat had become part of his DNA, it seemed, robbing him of a part of his soul when she’d left him behind.

  Until now. Now having her back in his life—no matter the capacity—had allowed the tide back in, slowly filling in some of the gaps in his life. A smile curved on his lips as he watched her fiddle with the clover, her very presence helping to ease the quiet ache in his heart. “I missed you, Lace. Not just ‘us’ together, but you. Your friendship, your fun, your crazy perspective on life that helped broaden my own. I missed having you as part of our family, whether it was the little pest next door or the girl I used to fish and laugh with in between kisses down on the dock.”

  His heart clutched when a film of moisture glazed in her eyes, and with a swell of affection, he carefully swept a few silky strands of hair over her shoulder. “And I know deep down that Cat will feel the same once you two finally talk.”

  She expelled a heavy sigh, the motion appearing to deplete her as she tucked her knees to her chest and rested her chin on top. “Sure hope it goes better than it did with my dad,” she whispered, a rare malaise weighting her words.

  He fought the urge to bundle her in his arms like he used to whenever she and her dad had fought. His jaw hardened at the memory of the high-and-mighty surgeon who had time for everything but his own flesh and blood, and Jack vowed he would never let his practice get in the way of loving family. He gentled his tone. “What happened?” he said quietly, wishing he could give Ben Carmichael a piece of his mind.

  And his fist.

  She gave a tiny shrug. “Oh, he was cold, as expected, a stone wall higher than that silly hedge between him and the rest of the world.”

  “Did he talk to you at least?”

  Her laugh was harsh. “‘Grunted’ might be a better word, but he did finally let me in after I wore out his doorbell, so that’s something, I guess. Or I should say he let Mamaw’s pie in.” A knot ducked in her throat as she stared aimlessly into the yard, the buzz of a circular saw almost drowning out the low drone of her voice. “He asked me why I was there, and I told him I wanted to heal our relationship. ‘We don’t have a relationship,’ he said in that clinical manner of his, ‘that ended the night you cursed me at your mother’s funeral, saying you wished it were mine instead, and that I was dead to you.’”

  Jack winced, well aware that Lacey’s temper and tongue had gotten the best of her at times, triggering Ben Carmichael’s well-hidden temper like nobody else could do. Except maybe me, he thought with a grimace, once I started dating his daughter. Suddenly the calm and collected doctor next door was as cold and belligerent to Jack as he was to his defiant daughter, causing them both a world of heartbreak.

  A world of heartbreak. A vile prophecy if ever there was. A shiver chilled his skin as his jaw clamped tight.

  Expelling a weary breath, Lacey slumped against the tree, grabbing more clover to add to her necklace. “He’s right, of course. I’m the one who turned him out of my life for eight years, so who am I to expect him to welcome me back with open arms?”

  Jack’s lips took a slant. “Uh, the only flesh-and-blood relative he has?”

  Her laugh was bitter. “The only kind of blood Ben Carmichael cares about is the kind he’s paid to pump through patients’ hearts.” She caught her breath and suddenly sat straight up, a smile of wonder dawning on her face as she held up a piece of clover. “Hey, look at this—a four-leaf clover,” she said with genuine awe, blinking at him in that wide-eyed, little-girl way that had always melted his heart. “Do you have any idea just how rare that is?”

  His studied her with affection, offering a tender smile despite the faint cramp in his chest. “Yeah,” he said softly. As rare as someone who brings sunshine to your soul.

  A giggle popped from her lips as she carefully tied the final two stems of her clover to create a full circle. “Who knows? Maybe my luck has changed.” She tilted her head to give him a bright smile with a twinkle of tease. “Or my faith, I should say.”

  “So …” he said, anxious to bypass any talk of her newfound faith, “how many days are you volunteering at the camp and what’s Miss Myra got you doing this time?”

  That was all it took to get her off and running with a glow of excitement. “Well, it’s three days a week for now since I’ve already committed to several of Mamaw’s projects, but I’ll kick that up to five when I can, at least until I start my new job in Savannah in August. I told her I’d do whatever she needed—counseling, office work, cooking, cleaning or chief bottle-washer, but when she heard I had a degree in communication arts with a minor in special education, that sealed the deal. Seems her current batch of kids has a fair number of dyslectics and slow readers—five or six or so, ages seven through fourteen—so I’ll be taking over a small class she’s put together to help improve their reading skills.” She paused, sobriety dimming the excitement in her face. “Hey, what do you know about a little tyke named Debbie Holbrook?”

  “Debbie?” Rifling in his glass, he popped another ice cube in his mouth, his chest both warming and cramping over the little orphan who’d stolen his affections the first day she’d hopped off the bus, skinned knees and all.

  All the kids at Camp Hope were wards of the state, orphans or in between foster-care homes at the moment, all short-changed in the realm of home life or health. But few had endured in their short lives what Debbie had. A sigh breezed across his lips as he stared blankly into the yard, his heart melting along with the ice in his mouth. “Well, the good news is she just finished treatment for leukemia last month,” he said quietly, gaze fixed on Matt and Nate while they nailed a sheet of lattice to the back of the gazebo, “and I’m happy to say the little sweetheart is now in remission.”

  He upended the rest of the ice and crunched hard, his smile as stiff as his jaw. “Which is good ’cause she has a host of other problems to deal with, not the least of which are dyslexia and impaired learning.” A pop sounded when he fisted the Dixie cup. “All due to a mother who abused both drugs and alcohol, not to mention her daughter.”

  Lacey’s harsh intake of air broke into his thoughts, drawing his gaze to her face, which had paled considerably. “Oh, no …” she whispered, the raspy croak of her voice telling him eight years may have passed, but it hadn’t changed the care and compassion that had always run deep in Lacey’s soul.

  He swabbed his face with his hand, never more grateful for the medical degree that allowed him to reach out to kids like Debbie. “Apparently she was a mess when she was born according to Doc Miller, Myra’s good friend at Atlanta’s Children’s Shelter, which is where Debbie is from. She’s already had surgeries for a cleft foot and lazy eye, but her vision is still pretty poor due to cataracts that need correction. Her mother abandoned her at the age of three when the heart issues cropped up.” His lips thinned, voice as bitter as the bile that tainted his tongue. “But not before her boyfriend got his licks in with everything from broken legs to dislocated shoulders.”

  “Oh, God bless her …” Pain threaded Lacey’s voice.

  He slid her a sideways glance, unable to keep his remark free of rancor. “Yeah, well, I guarantee there wasn’t a whole lot of that going on.”

  “What kind of heart problems?” she whispered, obviously ignoring the venom in his tone.

  “An atrial septal defect.”

  Her tan faded to a pasty white. “No … not a congenital heart defect,” she whispered, her voice raspy with pain.

  “Afraid so. Just one of the many birthday gifts her mother gave her—a
moderate-size hole in the septum between the left and the right atria, which doctors are hoping will close up on its own, but there’s no guarantee.” He tunneled blunt fingers through damp hair while he expelled a cumbersome sigh. “Which means the poor kid might be looking at surgery down the road on top of everything else she’s had to contend with.”

  Lacey nodded, her gaze lapsing into a faraway stare. “You know, for some strange reason, I felt a kinship with her the moment I saw her, and now I know why.” The graceful lines of her throat shifted while moisture glazed in her eyes. “She’s an orphan with a sick heart that only God can heal, and sometimes I feel the same.”

  Jack bristled at Lacey’s reference to God, wondering if this was how she’d felt years ago whenever he’d pushed the issue of faith. Snatching the crumpled Dixie cup from the grass, he hopped to his feet, not very successful at taming the scowl on his face. “It’s been my experience that God’s a lot better at breaking hearts than healing them, Lace, but God or man, I’m pulling for you both.” He extended a hand to help her up and she took it, her look of sympathy getting on his nerves.

  “Not God, Jack,” she said quietly, the solemnity of her words giving him pause. “Human beings. God’s the One Who picks up the pieces, remember?” A sad smile shadowed her lips. “You were the one who taught me that.”

  Blood warmed his cheeks at the very notion of his former girlfriend now preaching to him. “Yeah, I did,” he said with a wry bent of his mouth. “Too bad I’m not buying it anymore.”

  “Okay, people, reinforcements are here,” Justin called from Mamaw’s patio door, arriving late with Sarah after a Home Depot run. He toted a tray of Mamaw’s homemade subs while Sarah followed behind with a fresh pitcher of tea. “The food kind, the tool kind, and the people kind, who hopefully will do more than just sit around and guzzle tea.”

  Matt seared Justin with a narrow look from the bottom step of the gazebo, where he sat tipping the last of his drink along with Nicki and Nate, sweat rolling down their faces. “Hey, Dipwad, we’ve already put in several hours, I’ll have you know.” His gaze flicked to Jack and Lacey with a crooked smile. “Or at least some of us have. Those two over there have spent the last thirty minutes jawing in the shade.”

  “I beg your pardon,” Lacey said, strolling over to give Matt some grief with hands parked on her hips. “It was ten minutes, Ball, and Jack had the posts poured and the beams cut before you two masterminds even figured out which hammers to use.” She arched a brow. “Not to mention helping me dig the entire trench for the berms on either side of the yard.”

  “Only because he got here early to impress Mamaw,” Matt countered.

  Jack hurled the crumpled Dixie cup at Matt. “No, Lazy-Butt, because I was on time and you and Mr. Bottomless Pit there probably stopped at every McDonald’s on the way.”

  Nicki chuckled, ruffling Matt’s hair as she passed by on her way to the patio. “He’s got you there, babe.”

  Matt shot to his feet in time to snatch Nicki’s hand, spinning her around to capture her in a mock threat. “It’s a sad commentary, woman, when my cousin’s ex-girlfriend supports him more than my future wife supports me.”

  “That’s what you get for marrying a church-going woman, Ball.” Jack sauntered over to tweak Lacey’s neck, hoping to ease the tension of their prior conversation. “They tend to be a little too honest to suit.”

  Lacey squealed with a scrunch of shoulders, sliding him a sideways grin. “As I recall, honesty was one of the things you were looking for way back when, Jack O’Bryen.”

  He slung an arm over her shoulder and grinned, ushering her toward the patio where Mamaw was furling a checkered tablecloth over her wrought-iron table. “Yep. Now the only things I’m looking for are a couple of your grandmother’s subs and a tall mug of tea.”

  “We’re not too late, are we?”

  Jack glanced up, jaw stiffening along with the arm he’d hooked over Lacey’s shoulder. Chase and Kelly stood on the threshold of Mamaw’s French doors, the sight of the pretty-boy pastor suddenly spoiling his mood. Sporting a polo that appeared far too snug for a pastor, he hoisted a huge watermelon with one hand, arms sculpted enough to tick Jack off. Beside him, Kelly carried several bags of snacks and chips, her smile lighting up the moment she saw Jack.

  “Hey, Chase, I thought you had to work today.” Lacey slipped from Jack’s hold to give Sarah and Chase a hug, annoying Jack to no end.

  “Finished my meeting earlier than expected, so I thought I’d come over to show these yahoos how it’s done.” He glanced up to grin at Matt and Nate before offering Jack a hand. “Hey, Jack, we’ve missed that killer serve of yours at volleyball, so it’s good to see you again.”

  Yeah, well, that makes one of us ... He shook Chase’s hand and forced a smile. “Just figured you had things well under control, Rev, so I didn’t want to cramp your style.”

  The French doors swooshed open again, and Mamaw stepped out with a gleam of mischief and an oversized pump bottle of Purell, the smell of cinnamon drifting out with her. “All right, young people, warm cookies are in the oven, but not one crumb will be had until these sandwiches are all gone.” She plopped the bottle of Purell in the center of the table with a noticeable clunk, chin high. “And not one sandwich is to be had without sanitizing your hands first, is that clear?” Her twinkling gaze landed square on Lacey with a zag of a smile. “There are those who have no qualms about germs, and you know who you are …”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Lacey squeezed Mamaw’s waist, then quickly complied with an ample squirt of Purell. “Whoops, overkill,” she said with a lift of gooey hands.

  Chase wasted no time. “Here, I’ll help you out.” Wearing a grin, he massaged and manhandled her palms so long, Jack was sure the excess Purell had to be bone dry. After twining his fingers with Lacey’s, he pulled her into a hug. “Now I’ll be germ-free and sweet.”

  Jack fought the urge to roll his eyes while he glanced at his watch, his mind already made up. He wasn’t staying around for another episode of the Chase and Lacey Show. “Okay, grunts, I gotta go, so don’t botch up my hard work.”

  Lacey whirled around, eyes wide. “What do you mean you have to go?” The deep ridge in her brow made him happier than it should. “You just told me you were starving.”

  “That’s before I remembered a meeting I have,” he lied, giving her ponytail a light tug.

  He ducked when Matt pelted one of Mamaw’s homemade pretzel nubs his way. “Come on, O’Bryen, you never told me about any meeting.” Taking a second shot, Matt missed him again. “You’re just trying to bail out of work.”

  Jack threw Matt off with a lazy shrug before snatching a pretzel to nail him mid-chest. “You have a real talent for the obvious, Ball, but your aim could use some work.”

  “Come on, Jack.” Kelly had that familiar coax in her tone. “These guys need all the help they can get. Besides,” she said with a sultry dance of brows, “I was kind of hoping for a glimpse of you without your shirt. You know, all sweaty and laboring in the sun?”

  Plate piled high, Justin laughed and draped an arm over Kelly’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, Goshorn, I’ll ditch my shirt if you want.”

  Jack waved off all protests as he edged towards the door. “Another time, Miss Goshorn. I realize these jokers are poor seconds, but who knows?” He gave her a wink before nodding toward Chase. “Maybe the preacher will comply. So long, everyone.” He gave a final salute.

  “Wait! At least take lunch with you.” Lacey butted the guys out of the way to grab a paper plate and load it with two hoagies and all the fixin’s.

  “That’s okay, Lace, really—” He fisted the knob, anxious to flee.

  “Halt!” She froze his hand to the door with a no-nonsense schoolteacher tone, giving him the stink-eye like she used to whenever she wanted her way. A bittersweet grin tugged at his lips when she cocked a stern brow. “Not one more step, O’Bryen, until I get this plate loaded with food and covered with foil, is that under
stood?”

  Nicki confiscated one of Matt’s three hoagies and plopped it on her plate instead. “Uh-oh, Jack, she’s in teacher mode now, so I suggest you do as she says.”

  “Yeah, or she may send you to the principal’s office,” Sarah said with a giggle, bumping her hip to Kelly’s. “Or Miss Goshorn’s.”

  “Follow me, please,” Lacey ordered, prodding him aside to march into Mamaw’s kitchen where the smell of snickerdoodles cooling on the counter watered his mouth. Placing his plate on the island counter, she retrieved foil and another paper plate from the pantry, promptly filling it with cookies before covering both. She stacked and handed them over, then swiped a bottled water from the fridge and plunked it on top. “There.” She looked up with a victorious smile. “That should hold you till after your meeting.”

  “Thank you, Miss Carmichael,” he drawled in his best suck-up-to-teacher tone. He chucked her on the chin. “You may be bossy, but I wish all my teachers had been as pretty as you. I’ll bet all the boys toe the line in your class, don’t they?”

  She surprised him with a soft blush. “As a matter of fact, they do, and you, Mr. O’Bryen,” she said with a twinkle in her eye, “would do well to remember that.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Without notice, she stood on tiptoe to brush a gentle kiss to his cheek, and the air heaved still in his throat. “Thanks, Jack, for all of your help,” she whispered. “You and Chase are the only ones with construction experience, so the rest of the guys would be lost without you.”

  Chase.

  Figures. “No problem, Lace—glad to do it.” He hefted the plates in the air. “Thanks for the eats—they’ll be gone before I’m a block away.”

  “Good.” She followed him down the hall and opened the front door. “See you soon, I hope.”