Sea Rose Lane

by Irene Hannon

  Being too full wasn’t the reason for her sudden loss of appetite.

  Disappointment was written all over the girl’s face.

  Eleanor crumpled her napkin into a tight ball. Much as she hated to stand in the way of BJ’s plan, it couldn’t be helped. She wasn’t going to agree to this sort of arrangement without a lot of thought and soul-searching.

  “There’s plastic wrap in the third drawer. You know where it is. And take a piece for that nice young man of yours too.”

  “Eric?” BJ shot her a startled look.

  “Yes.”

  “He’s not my . . . we’re not . . . involved.”

  “No? Ah, well. This old romantic heart of mine has a tendency to get carried away.”

  In silence, BJ rose, wrapped up the remains of her treat and a piece for Eric, then offered a smile that seemed forced. “If you have any questions as you think about this, don’t hesitate to call.”

  “I won’t.”

  Eleanor started to rise, but BJ placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Don’t bother to get up. I’ll see myself out.”

  She sank back without protest. “Give my best to that nice young man—and enjoy the rest of your day, my dear.”

  “Thanks. You too.”

  BJ bent and gave her a quick hug. Half a minute later, the front door clicked shut.

  Eleanor eyed Methuselah, who continued to keep his distance.

  “I won’t squeeze you hard again, my friend. Want to come back and curl up in my lap?”

  He sniffed and, nose in the air, stalked into the living room and his favorite sunny spot on the carpet.

  At least one of the occupants of this house had no ambiguity about his feelings.

  Eleanor pushed herself to her feet, giving her stiff knees a few seconds to loosen up while she placed her empty iced-tea glass on the tray on the front of the walker. Once she got a refill, she’d settle into her chair in the living room and mull over BJ’s proposal.

  At the refrigerator, she paused to examine her collage of photos, as usual. Such happy memories. All those exciting trips with Stan by her side, plus the activities that had brought her fulfillment back in the days when she’d made a difference in the lives of others.

  Except . . .

  She frowned, her gaze skipping from photo to photo. Birthright . . . food pantry . . . church mission work. All worthwhile activities—but her work had been done at arm’s length, from behind the scenes, insulated from those she was helping.

  Come to think of it, had she ever directly touched the life of someone in need, person-to-person?

  Hard as she tried, she couldn’t come up with one instance where she had left her comfort zone to get personally involved. All her life she’d played it safe.

  In fact, the biggest risk she’d ever taken was marrying Stan and moving away from the town where she’d grown up.

  Yet once he died, she’d scurried back here as fast as she could, to the comfort of familiar surroundings.

  She examined the photos again, one by one. Was it possible she was being too hard on herself about her hands-off role? Wasn’t it okay to support charities from . . . a distance? After all, people who worked behind the scenes, removed from the actual beneficiaries, produced lots of positive results.

  But if you were asked to help one person specifically . . . wasn’t there an obligation to do so if you had the ability?

  Yes, Eleanor, there is.

  As the gentle chide echoed softly in her mind, fear bubbled up inside her again—along with denial.

  I can’t do this, Lord. Most of the people I helped years ago . . . they weren’t like me. They were a different color, or spoke a different language, or lived in a family situation or a degree of poverty I can’t begin to understand. We had nothing in common.

  Or did they?

  The lesson Charley had passed on from his grandmother the day he’d brought her those tacos replayed in her mind. The notion that, while looks and language and traditions might differ, all hearts feel the same emotions.

  The woman might have lived thousands of miles away in a foreign country, but she’d been wise.

  As was her grandson.

  A man whose skin was a different color and who had come from a culture that was foreign to her.

  A man she’d known for two decades and had never once invited into her home, though she’d befriended other merchants in town.

  Truth be told, she’d often included people she knew far less well than Charley on the guest list for the annual Christmas open house she’d held until her arthritis finally forced her to give up the tradition.

  Eleanor tightened her grip on the walker to steady herself as the truth smacked her in the face.

  She was prejudiced.

  “Dear Lord.” The whispered words reverberated in the silent kitchen as she locked onto the photo of herself mugging for the camera in the back room of the food pantry.

  She’d never dealt with the people lining up for the food, because deep inside, she’d considered herself better than them.

  Her vision blurred, the photos on the refrigerator melding together in a sea of shame. She might have done worthwhile work—but always with a holier-than-thou attitude. Never had she reached out a hand directly to a stranger in need or made a personal investment in an individual life.

  But she had the chance to do that now.

  With Luis.

  If she could muster the courage to let go of fear and self-righteousness.

  Instead of refilling her glass, she trundled into the living room, lowered herself into her chair, and picked up the Bible from its place on the table beside her. Perhaps the Good Book—and prayer—would offer her guidance . . . and answers.

  Yet she didn’t open the dog-eared pages.

  Because she already knew what she should do. She had the means to add a touch of joy and comfort to a life sorely in need of it, and to help ensure that BJ’s worthwhile program was given a chance to succeed so others in her situation would be able to stay in the homes they loved.

  Eleanor leaned her head against the upholstered back of the chair, smoothing a finger over the worn cover on the book, the weight of it familiar and comforting in her hands.

  Forgive me, Lord, for being afraid of people who are different than me. Help me find the courage to do what the good Samaritan did that day on the roadside. Give me grace and compassion to overcome my narrow-mindedness and bigotry. Help me drive out any feelings of superiority. Let me see everyone as an equal and a worthy brother and sister—and act accordingly.

  A soft meow sounded at her feet, and Methuselah put one paw on her leg. She leaned down to give him an assist into her lap, where the cat curled into a ball and turned those intelligent amber eyes on her.

  “What would you think about having another person live here with us, my friend?” She stroked his soft fur.

  He adjusted his position, one paw draped over the Bible—as if pointing her toward Scripture for her answer.

  Eleanor scratched behind his ear. “Excellent advice.”

  Easing the book from beneath his paw, she opened it. Some reading . . . some prayer . . . some thinking . . . some sleep. She’d do all those things before she made a decision. In all of her eighty-eight years, no one had ever accused her of being rash—and she wasn’t about to become impulsive at this late date.

  But no matter how long she deliberated or dragged her feet, she knew where the process would lead.

  The real question was, would she be brave enough in the end to follow the direction she received and take the leap into unknown—and daunting—territory?

  The meeting with Eleanor hadn’t gone well.

  As Eric rounded the corner of BJ’s house after the doorbell went unanswered, he took a moment to study her unobserved. She was sitting at the patio table, staring out to sea, distress carved into every line of her features.

  His first instinct was to pull her into a hug . . . but he tempered the impulse. Later, that might be appropriate.
First, he needed to let her tell him what had happened.

  She turned as he drew close, as if sensing his presence, and gave him a shaky smile. “Hi.”

  “Hi back.” He took the chair beside her. “You don’t look happy.”

  Her throat worked as she swallowed. “I should have waited for you.”

  “What happened?”

  He listened as she recounted her visit with Eleanor, resting his elbows on the arms of his chair and steepling his fingers.

  “I have a feeling it wouldn’t have mattered whether I was there or not.”

  “You could be right.” She sighed. “I guess it seemed like such a perfect solution for her and Luis that it didn’t occur to me she’d see any negatives in it.”

  “Maybe she just needs to get used to the idea of having someone else living under her roof. That would be a big adjustment for her.”

  “I don’t think that was the stumbling block. It was more like she was . . .” BJ shrugged. “I don’t even know how to describe it. From the beginning I got the feeling she was unreceptive.” She kneaded the bridge of her nose. “I guess I totally misread this.”

  “Did she say no?”

  “Not in words, but her body language spoke volumes. She asked for some time to think about it.”

  “You want to pay her another visit tomorrow? I could go with you. Strength in numbers and all that.”

  “I guess it might be worth a try. You made quite an impression on her, in case you didn’t know.”

  He flashed her a grin. “She must be easy to impress. I only paid her one very brief visit.”

  “Sometimes it doesn’t take long to discern a person’s character.” She locked gazes with him.

  He studied her. “Are we still talking about Eleanor?”

  “No.”

  The soft breeze ruffled her hair, which was loose and full today. She hadn’t changed out of the slim skirt and soft blouse she’d worn to church this morning, and the hue of the shimmering silk was a perfect match for her jade irises.

  Lovely.

  And hard to resist.

  He tried to satisfy his yearning by reaching for her hand. “I’m trying very hard to remember my promise to you, BJ.” He cleared the huskiness out of his voice. “However, you’re making it difficult.”

  Her throat contracted. “Maybe I don’t want you to remember it.”

  Eric forced himself to take a slow, deep breath. BJ was disappointed in the outcome of today’s meeting. Her emotions were in turmoil. Comfort, not romance, was what was called for—no matter how tempting her implied invitation.

  “I promised you we’d be friends when I leave.”

  “We’re already friends.”

  “I want to keep it that way.”

  “What about what I want?”

  “Which is . . . ?”

  She didn’t miss a beat. “You. Holding me. Like you did that night at the scene shop.”

  “A friendly hug?”

  She hesitated . . . then gave a slow nod. “Yes.”

  That’s not what her eyes were saying—but he’d try his best to honor her verbal request.

  “I can do that.” He rose and tugged her to her feet, giving Little Gull Island a quick sweep. “Casper’s not around, is he?”

  A smile tweaked the corners of her mouth. “I haven’t seen him.”

  “Good. I don’t want another rude interruption.”

  He pulled her into his arms, tucked her against him, and dipped his head to inhale the fresh scent of her hair. Her heart thudded against his chest as he rested his cheek against her temple, and he had to work hard to convince his lungs to keep inflating and deflating.

  Just like the last time he’d held her, this felt right . . . and meant to be . . . and better than any—

  All at once the cell phone in his pocket began to vibrate.

  She jerked back, breaking the connection . . . and let out a shaky laugh. “That was a weird sensation.”

  “Sorry. I’ll turn it off.” He pulled it out.

  “Don’t you want to see who it is first?”

  Not really.

  What he wanted was to go back to that hug.

  He gave the screen a quick scan, trying to place the vaguely familiar name. Oh yeah. The guy his father had introduced him to after church today.

  Huh.

  He’d assumed the man’s request for contact info was mere politeness to make up for picking his brain for ten minutes.

  “Go ahead and take it.” BJ eased back and retook her seat.

  No reason not to now. The romantic mood was gone—through no fault of Casper’s.

  As soon as Eric said hello, the man got down to business.

  “I enjoyed meeting you earlier today. After I got home, I did some googling—and I’m impressed with your background. Your father said you’re visiting between jobs, but I wondered if you were planning to be around long enough to draw up some incorporation paperwork for the new business I mentioned. It appears you’ve had plenty of corporate legal experience. I could find an attorney in Coos Bay, but I’d rather work with someone from Hope Harbor.”

  Eric focused on the horizon, where a large ship traveling to places unknown hovered in the mist between land and sea. How should he respond to the out-of-the-blue request?

  When the silence lengthened, the man spoke again. “I understand you’re here on a vacation of sorts, and I don’t mean to infringe on that. But based on your experience, I don’t think this would be a major commitment. Unless you’re planning to leave within the next week or two.”

  “No. I’ll be around for a while.” He glanced over at BJ, who’d retaken her seat at the table.

  “In that case, could we get together tomorrow to discuss this? If you decide to pass after that, I’ll understand.”

  Why not? The only other item on his Monday agenda was working on his painting.

  “Sure. I can do that.”

  After arranging to meet at the café for a late breakfast, they said their good-byes.

  “That sounded interesting.” BJ crossed her legs.

  Eric tried to ignore her shapely calf as he sat beside her. “Yeah. That was the . . . uh . . . guy who cornered me at church this morning. He needs some legal assistance.”

  “I guess he wasn’t mooching after all.”

  “I guess not.”

  “Are you going to help him out?”

  “I didn’t come down here to work—but it sounds like a simple incorporation, which wouldn’t take long. I’ll have to research fees for that sort of job, though. I have a few law school friends I can contact who are single practitioners in smaller towns. They should be able to give me what I need—if I decide to let work interrupt my time off.”

  “Mmm.” She looked out over the sea. “Speaking of work infringing on play—I’m curious about something.”

  Her tone was casual, but some subtle undercurrent put him on alert. “What’s that?”

  She transferred her attention to him. “I know you put in long hours in Portland, but how come you’re not married . . . or involved . . . with someone? You’re a well-educated, accomplished man who also happens to be a nice guy. I would have pegged you as a chick magnet.”

  His neck warmed. “That was direct.”

  “We agreed to be honest with each other. And since you know my whole dismal dating history, I didn’t think that question was out of line.”

  No, it wasn’t. He did owe her some relationship background—except there wasn’t much to tell.

  “I’ve never been serious about anyone. I date on occasion, but my job has always been my focal point. I was never willing to invest the time required for a long-term relationship.”

  “And you never got lonely?”

  The wistfulness in her inflection tugged at his heart, and he thought back to Charley’s comment in the cove yesterday. The man had nailed it.

  “With my grueling work schedule, I didn’t have a chance to get lonely.”

  “Maybe it was a
blessing in disguise, then.”

  A few weeks ago he might have agreed with her. But since he’d been home . . . since she’d entered his life . . . he was all too aware of what he’d been missing.

  And if he went back to that lifestyle—no, when he went back to that lifestyle—he had a feeling it was going to be a lot harder to keep the loneliness at bay, no matter how many hours a day he worked. “It might have been.”

  “I bet you never had a problem getting a date if you wanted one, though.”

  “No.” Why play coy?

  “Lucky you.”

  “Dating isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, BJ. Noisy bars, crowded restaurants, making small talk, discovering fifteen minutes into the date that you have no desire to spend the next three or four hours with someone and then having to endure the rest of the evening.”

  “You never met anyone whose company you enjoyed for a whole evening?”

  “Once in a while. But never anyone I was willing to sacrifice billable hours for.”

  She gave a soft laugh. “That is utterly unromantic.”

  “Until now.”

  At his caveat, her laugh died. “What . . . what do you mean?”

  He had no idea.

  “I . . . uh . . . meant that if we’d met in Portland, I would have found time to see you.”

  “Oh.”

  That was all she said—but it was obvious from her subdued tone she’d hoped for more. That she’d wanted him to say he liked her enough to think about reconsidering the future he’d carefully laid out.

  But he wasn’t there yet. Might never be. Changing direction after the years of effort he’d plowed into his career was a decision that required a lot of careful thought.

  And until he was ready to make it, the wise course was to steer clear of the subject.

  “So are you going to pay Eleanor another visit tomorrow? I could go with you after you finish at the house for the day, if you like.”

  “I think I’ll wait until she gets back to me. If she says no, I can give it one more try.”

  I, not we.

  She was pulling back.

  And who could blame her? She’d been very clear about her interest in him, and he hadn’t responded the way she’d hoped. After all the hurt she’d endured in previous dating experiences, she was wise to protect herself.