by Irene Hannon
He moved close enough to get a glimpse of a basic bathroom over her shoulder. The fixtures and tile floor appeared to be in decent shape, but the space was bland.
Stepping back into the room again, he planted his fists on his hips and gave it a dubious scan.
“Believe it or not, Mr. Clay, this room has great potential.”
At Catherine’s wry comment, Nathan felt heat rise on his neck. He hadn’t meant for his skepticism to be so obvious.
“I’ll have to take your word for that. The repairs I can do. The decorating…” He shook his head. “Making this room appealing would be beyond my talents.”
“I can take care of that part. I used to be an interior designer.” She moved toward the door. “Let me show you the other room.”
When he leaned around her to open the door, she jerked back.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.” He eased away, pulling the door wide, wondering again why she was so skittish.
A soft flush colored her cheeks, as if she was embarrassed by her reaction. “Thanks.”
She limped through, tugging Zach along with her, but he pulled free. “We’re not crossing a street, Mom. And there aren’t any strangers around. We know Nathan now. You don’t have to hold my hand.”
As he dashed ahead to wait at the adjacent door, Catherine’s flush deepened. Averting her head, she led the way to the second door in silence, inserted the key in the lock and pushed it open. Gesturing Nathan inside, she remained on the threshold as he and her son entered the room.
Catherine’s assessment had been correct, Nathan concluded, inspecting the sorry wallpaper and faded vinyl floor covering. This room was in worse shape.
He shook his head. “I hope the part of the house you’re living in is in better condition than this.”
“Nope,” Zach chimed in. “There were spiders in my room when we moved in. Yuck!”
“Just a few. And they’re gone now,” Catherine corrected her son before answering Nathan’s question. “It’s livable until we get the guest quarters fixed up.”
Her response suggested it wasn’t much better than the room in which he was standing. Making him wonder what had compelled her to buy such a fixer-upper.
As if she’d read his mind, she folded her arms across her chest and regarded him from the threshold. “Prices are very high on the island. Especially property. This was the best I could afford. Besides, it met my criteria of keeping our home and the guest quarters separate. I wanted to maintain some privacy.”
She glanced around the guest room, her features tightening in pain as she shifted her weight to relieve the pressure on her injured foot. “This property used to be owned by an older couple, but they hadn’t visited for a long time. And this section has been ignored for years. According to the Realtor, after the woman’s husband died she became too feeble to travel. But she hung on to this place because it held a lot of happy memories for her.”
“Kind of like you kept those hiking boots you’re wearing, huh, Mom?”
At Zach’s comment, she sucked in a sharp breath. Before she could recover, the youngster continued.
“My mom and dad used to go hiking a lot when I was little. Mom says my dad used to carry me on his back. That was when we lived in Atlanta, before my dad went to heaven.”
As Zach’s last comment echoed in the empty room, Nathan tried not to let his shock register on his face.
Catherine’s husband was dead.
Now he knew why Zach had been with her at the wedding instead of at home with his dad. And why she’d planned to tackle this job alone.
It also explained the deep sadness in her eyes when their gazes met for a brief, compelling instant before she jerked hers away and took a clumsy step back.
“So…do you want to bid on the job?”
“Yes.” His response was immediate. The work was within his abilities, and he wanted to spend more time with these two people who seemed in such desperate need of a friend.
“Could you get back to me by tomorrow with a number? I need to move on this quickly.”
“I can give you an estimate now. For labor, anyway. We can adjust it if the project is finished sooner.” He’d been doing some mental calculations as they’d looked over the structure, and he’d already estimated the number of hours it would take to complete the work.
Her eyebrows rose. “That’s fast.”
He shrugged. “I know about how much time I’ll need. The math after that is easy. And if I finish sooner, the cost will be less.” He named a dollar amount.
When she frowned, he shoved his hands into his pockets. “Look, if that’s too much, we can negotiate. And if you need a reference, the pastor at the church I attend can vouch for me. I’ve done a couple of jobs for him in the past three weeks.”
“It’s not the reference. It’s the bid. I probably shouldn’t say this, but—that’s on the low side for Nantucket. Prices here are high for everything.”
“It seems like a fair wage to me. And I don’t have a lot of expenses.”
“Well…if you’re sure. Can you start Monday?”
“Yes.” A surge of elation washed over him. He’d gotten a job! Maybe not much of one. But it was a start. And that’s all he needed right now. Just someone to give him a chance. To believe in him. To trust him.
Zach grinned up at him. “Maybe you can be my friend, Nathan.”
“Honey, his name is Mr. Clay,” Catherine corrected.
“Actually, Nathan is fine with me if it’s okay with you.” He managed to coax his tense lips into a smile. “I’m not much into formalities.”
He waited for her to reciprocate. Hoped she would. But she didn’t.
“If that’s what you prefer.” She moved away from the door, and Zach and Nathan exited. Once they were out, she locked it and tucked the key into the pocket of her capris. “I’m going to put my foot up again. We’ll see you Monday. Come on, Zach.”
She started to reach for his hand, but when he backed off, she let her arm drop to her side. Then she headed for the door that led into the main house, on the other side of the breezeway.
Zach’s farewell was much warmer and delivered with a megawatt smile. “Next time you come, I’ll show you the toy soldiers my grandma and grandpa sent me from Germany, okay?”
“That sounds great.”
Beaming, the youngster trotted off to follow his mother inside. A moment later, Nathan heard the distinctive sound of a lock sliding into place.
Retracing his steps down the gravel path in front of the house, he mounted his bike and set off for town, mulling over all he’d learned today—and wrestling with a new question.
Why had Catherine Walker moved far away from her home to start a new life in a rundown house on an island where everyone was a stranger?
As Nathan pedaled toward town, the answer eluded him. Yet one thing did become clear. While some of his questions about the beautiful violinist and her charming son had been answered today, a lot more had cropped up to take their place.
On the plus side, though, if all went well with the job he’d have ample opportunity to find some answers.
No. Scratch that. There was no if about it. Everything would go well. He was done messing up his life. He might not be able to delete the dark chapters, but he was determined to fill the ones yet to be written with light and grace.
And maybe, with God’s help, he could help a wary woman and a lonely little boy do the same.
Chapter Three
“My goodness! That’s amazing.”
At Edith’s comment, Nathan swiveled in his seat, paintbrush in hand. His landlady was staring at the canvas on the easel he’d set up in her garden, just outside his rental cottage. Her lips were slightly parted in astonishment, the chocolate-chip cookies and glass of milk she was holding apparently forgotten.
Feeling self-conscious, Nathan picked up a rag and wiped a smear of paint off his hand.
“I appreciate your enthusiasm, but I don’t have any traini
ng.”
“Who cares? You have talent. That’s even better.” She moved closer to examine the painting of a little boy on a beach, his head tipped back to the sun, arms lifted, his face the embodiment of joy and innocence and optimism.
“I saw the pen-and-ink drawing you did of The Devon Rose as a wedding present for J.C. and Heather, but I had no idea you were such a talented painter.”
Although the praise pleased him, Nathan felt uncomfortable. He’d had so little affirmation in his life, he had no idea how to respond. “I’m not that good.”
“Baloney. I’m no artist, but I know a…”
The half-moon gate to Edith’s backyard opened, and her neighbor, Kate MacDonald Cole, walked through.
“Kate…come over here!” Edith called.
Much to Nathan’s dismay, the red-haired charter-boat captain joined the group. He wasn’t used to an audience.
“Look at this.” Edith gestured to his painting. “Is that amazing or what?”
The younger woman moved closer to peruse the work in progress. When at last she transferred her attention to him, Nathan could tell by her expression that she was impressed.
“I agree with Edith. Did you paint this here in the yard?”
“No. I did most of it at Dionis Beach over the past couple of weeks. But it only needs a few more touches, so I decided to finish it up here.”
“How long have you been painting?”
“Not long. I didn’t have access to any good painting supplies in…until I came here. I did pencil sketches and pen-and-ink drawings.”
Kate gave him a steady look. “You’re good enough to do this professionally.”
Heat suffused Nathan’s neck. “I don’t think so.”
“You listen to Kate, young man,” Edith chimed in. “Her late husband was a very successful artist. She knows talent when she sees it.”
“I’ll tell you what…” Kate propped her hands on her hips and surveyed the painting. “Why don’t I mention you to the owner of the gallery where Mac sold his work? She’s always on the prowl for up-and-coming artists. That way, if you decide you want to market your work, she’ll already know your name.”
“I don’t know…I’d planned to focus on carpentry and house-painting jobs for a while.” Those were the skills he’d learned in the prison program. The ones he was comfortable with. Painting had always been just a hobby, a way to pass the time. And to express the emotions locked in his heart.
“Why in the world would you want to paint a house when you can do this?” Edith gestured toward the canvas.
“To put food on the table?” Nathan flashed her a quick grin.
Kate chuckled. “Good point. It’s not easy to make a living as an artist. But you’ll never know if you don’t try, as Mac used to say. How about I mention your name, and you take it from there? Or not. It’s the Blue Water Gallery on India Street. The owner is Monica Stevens.”
“Okay. Thanks. I’ll think about it.”
“Are the girls ready, Edith?” Kate asked.
“Yes. They’re in the kitchen, taking the chocolate-chip cookies off the pans.”
Kate rolled her eyes. “Why do I think they’re going to pick at their dinner tonight?”
“I told them to eat only two each.”
“And you’ve been out here how long?”
“Five minutes.”
“I rest my case. See you later, Nathan.”
With a wave, she jogged toward Edith’s back door.
“I better go in and referee.” Edith set the milk and a plate of cookies on the table beside Nathan. “These are for you.”
Ever since he’d arrived, his Lighthouse Lane landlady had been dropping treats off at the cottage his siblings had rented for him in the corner of her yard, starting with the pumpkin bread that had been waiting for him when he’d arrived. He was beginning to feel guilty.
“I appreciate the cookies, but you don’t have to keep feeding me, you know.”
She waved his comment aside. “Someone needs to. You could stand to put on a few pounds. Get Heather to give you some of her scones with clotted cream and strawberry preserves. That’ll do the trick. And I have the hips to prove it.” She patted the ample anatomy in question and chuckled. “But they’re worth every pound. See you later, young man.”
With a flutter of fingers, she retreated to her house.
As silence descended in the quiet, private yard shielded from the world by a tall privet hedge, Nathan picked up a warm-from-the-oven cookie and took a bite. Nirvana, he thought, savoring the burst of flavor from the gooey chocolate. It was funny how simple treats—or acts of kindness, like the painting supplies from his siblings that he’d found waiting for him in the cottage when he’d arrived—could bring a sudden lump to his throat. As could the heady scent of freedom, the trill of a bird and an endless expanse of sea or sky.
In hindsight, he wondered how he’d survived all those years of confinement—and the demeaning, soul-shattering experience of being treated like an object rather than a person.
Yet the latter hadn’t been confined to his decade behind bars, he acknowledged as the cookie caught in his throat. That legacy went back far longer.
Taking a swig of milk to dislodge the lump of dough stuck in his windpipe, he forced his thoughts in more pleasant directions.
Unbidden, an image of Catherine Walker and her son flashed through his mind. He still couldn’t get over the fact that their paths had crossed again. And based on her expression when she’d opened her door yesterday, she’d felt the same way. Except she hadn’t seemed especially pleased about the odd twist of fate.
Yet she’d offered him the job.
Meaning he could look forward to a lot more interaction with the wary violinist and her charming son. And if he was very lucky, maybe one day down the road her wariness would subside and he’d find the answers to some of his questions about the intriguing—and appealing—duo.
“Zach! It’s lunchtime!”
As she called her son, Catherine carefully lifted her injured foot off the wicker ottoman in the breezeway, where she’d had it propped all morning. She hadn’t planned to hover over Nathan during his first morning on the job, but Zach had balked at her plan to keep him inside for a few days while she observed the newcomer from a distance. In the end she’d capitulated, setting herself up in the breezeway with a stack of decorating books and a pad of paper so she could play with layouts for the two B and B rooms—and keep an eye on her new carpenter.
She’d soon realized, however, that her concern had been unnecessary. If anything, Zach had disrupted Nathan’s life rather than vice versa. Not that you’d know it by watching the man, though. He had the patience of Job. And he was good with kids.
Rising from the lounge chair, Catherine took a moment to steady herself before trekking to the kitchen to fix lunch. The two male voices continued to converse in the psychedelic room, one calm and mellow, the other high-pitched and animated. The exchange had been going almost non-stop all morning.
At one point, assuming Zach was getting in Nathan’s way, Catherine had stepped to the door and cautioned him not to bother the older man. But Nathan had won a friend for life when he’d responded that Zach was helping him—and doing a good job. At the compliment, her son’s chest had puffed out and he’d displayed the bucket of wallpaper scraps he’d peeled off the bottom of the wall.
It was the kind of considerate thing David would have done, Catherine reflected as she limped toward the kitchen door, a pain pill high on her priority list. Yet no pain pill could relieve the ache in her heart as she thought about the man she’d loved—and the father Zach would never know.
Pausing at the door to call her son again, she fought down a wave of despondency. Two years ago, everyone had told her the grief would dissipate over time. But why had no one warned her that the loneliness and sense of loss would intensify?
“Zach!”
Her second summons came out shaky—but it produced results. The littl
e boy appeared moments later, followed by Nathan.
“Sorry he didn’t come on the first call. I was cleaning up his hands. They were a little sticky from the wallpaper paste.” Nathan gave her a probing look. “Everything okay?”
“Yes. Fine.” She pasted on a smile, trying to squelch the uncomfortable feeling that this stranger had just tapped into her deepest well of sadness. “But I don’t want to be late putting Zach down for his nap.”
“Oh, Mom.” Zach thrust out his chin and folded his arms across his chest. “I’m too old for naps.”
A pulsating pain—a twin to the one in her foot—began to pound in her head, and Catherine rubbed her temple as a wave of nausea swept over her. “We’re not going to argue about this, Zach. Go into the kitchen. Now!” The words came out sharper than she intended, and when tears welled in Zach’s eyes, her nausea ratcheted up a notch.
“You don’t have to get mad about it.”
“I’m not mad. I’m…” All at once, Catherine’s stomach revolted. Covering her mouth with her hand, she turned and clumped toward the bathroom as fast as her broken toes would allow.
She made it just in time to lose whatever breakfast remained in her stomach.
When she finally stopped retching, a soft knock sounded on the bathroom door.
“Mrs. Walker? Are you all right?”
She closed her eyes. Nathan had followed her in. Meaning he’d not only witnessed her bad temper with Zach, he’s also heard her empty the contents of her stomach into the toilet.
Not an auspicious beginning for their employer/employee relationship.
“Mrs. Walker?” The concern in his voice edged up a notch.
“I’m okay.” She took a deep breath. One part of her wasn’t happy he’d trespassed into their private quarters. Another part was touched that he’d cared enough to take that chance. She wasn’t sure which reaction was stronger. And she wasn’t in any shape to figure it out. “Where’s Zach?”