by Irene Hannon
From her spot by the door, Catherine studied Nathan’s broad back, her stomach clenching. His rigid posture, the flash of pain—and fear—in his eyes before he’d turned away, the tension she could feel emanating from him, told her there was a very good chance he was going to reject her overture. And she couldn’t blame him. Not after the way she’d reacted when he’d broached—in a very diplomatic way—the subject of her behavior toward Zach.
Her son himself had tried to clue her in to her mistake. His comment yesterday, when she’d clung to him after he’d fallen off the fence, had said it all.
“Hey, Mom, you’re squeezing me to death.”
Nathan had seconded that as he’d pried her son free.
“You need to let him go, Catherine, so he can breathe.”
They were both right.
Summoning up her courage, she moved behind him and laid her hand against his arm. “Nathan, I’d…”
He jerked at her touch as if he’d been struck, and she snatched her hand away, backing up a few steps. The light from the window threw his tense profile into harsh relief, and she watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. Hard.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.” She wiped her palms on her jeans.
A parade of emotions strobed across his eyes as he glanced at her. Uncertainty. Fear. Anguish. Dread. And a host of others she couldn’t identify. Until at last they all gave way to an odd combination of resignation and resolve.
Shifting away from her once again, he spoke in a hollow voice she’d never heard him use before.
“My story isn’t pretty, Catherine.”
“Neither is mine.”
“Mine could change things between us.”
That scared her a little. But she already knew he was an ex-con. How much worse could it be? Unless…
“Have you…did you kill someone in your past life?” The question came out tentative. Hushed.
He gave a bitter laugh. “No. But I wanted to.”
Silence fell again. As if he was giving her a chance to retract her offer to listen to his story.
Part of her wanted to back off. Avoid whatever it was Nathan was loath to reveal. But how could she do that, when she knew it had had a profound effect on this man who was fast claiming a piece of her heart?
Straightening her shoulders, she braced herself. “Tell me what happened, Nathan. Please.”
Several more beats of silence ticked by. He didn’t move. He didn’t turn toward her. He just gave her the stark facts in a flat voice.
“I was molested as a child by my father. Repeatedly.”
As his words registered, the world around them went still as death. Catherine felt as if all the air in the room was being sucked out, and the floor seemed to shift beneath her feet. A wave of nausea swept over her, and she pressed her fingertips against the wall to steady herself as the horror behind his terse words registered.
Now she understood the painting at Blue Water Gallery.
And wished she didn’t.
Blinking back tears, she swallowed past the lump in her throat. She wanted to offer reassurances, tell him everything was okay. But that wasn’t true. The past couldn’t be undone. And it was far from okay. The only consolation she could offer was a hug, but his rigid posture discouraged trespassing.
“I told you it wasn’t pretty, Catherine.” He looked at her over his shoulder, his shattered expression clear evidence of the soul-crushing abuse he had suffered so many years ago.
It also propelled her forward. Closing the distance between them, she wrapped her arms around him and held him as fiercely as she’d held Zach yesterday.
For a few heartbeats he froze, as if stunned by her impulsive move. And then he lifted his own arms and pulled her close, burying his face in her hair as he clung to her.
No words were spoken.
None were needed.
Catherine didn’t know how much time passed. But eventually she eased back and took his hand. Dropping down to the floor, she tugged him with her until there were sitting with their backs against the freshly painted wall in the empty room. As he drew up his knees, she angled toward him.
“How old were you when this started, Nathan?” Her question was muted, her tone gentle.
“Seven.” His voice rasped as he stared at their clasped hands.
A year older than Zach.
Catherine closed her eyes and swallowed past the bile that rose in her throat. If anyone ever touched her son like that, she’d…The horror was too great to contemplate. She thrust it aside, repulsed.
Nathan drew a ragged breath, and he continued in a voice that was rough as gravel. “It went on for four years. He’d show up in my room after dinner, when I was playing or doing my homework. I got to know the pattern. He’d wait for a night that J.C. was at a Scout meeting or basketball practice. A couple of hours later he’d send my mom and Marci to the store on some trumped-up errand. Then he’d come to the room I shared with J.C. Lock the door. Close the blinds. And…” Nathan’s voice broke, and he dipped his head.
Catherine swallowed, trying to vanquish the bitter taste from her mouth.
It wouldn’t go away.
“Did you ever tell anyone?” She squeezed his hand, wishing she could erase the terrible memories from his mind.
His Adam’s apple bobbed again. When he spoke, his words were underscored with bitterness. “No. He played all the angles to keep me quiet. He said he’d beat me if I told anyone. That the abuse was my fault. That I was a bad person. He threatened to leave if I said a word, and that if my family starved in the gutter the blame would be mine.”
All at once, he started to shake. Catherine scooted closer to stroke his face, and a shudder ran through him at her touch.
“I’m surprised I haven’t run you off by now.” His words came out broken. Choked.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
His grip on her hand tightened. “God, it was terrible.” He closed his eyes, and his lashes grew spiky with moisture. “I felt so many emotions a seven-year-old should never experience. Betrayal. Guilt. Shame. And finally, anger. Since I felt like dirt, why not act like dirt? I was always in trouble in school, and once I dropped out I hooked up with a bad crowd. I drank. I experimented with drugs. I turned to crime. I was always searching for something that would make me feel important. In control. Nothing worked.”
“What about your brother and sister? Did your father…”
“No. He didn’t touch Marci. And from early on, it was clear to everyone that J.C. wouldn’t tolerate immoral or illegal behavior. I guess that’s why he became a cop. My father didn’t fool with him. In his sick, twisted mind I was the chosen one.” He dragged his fingers through his hair and shook his head. “I long ago gave up trying to figure out how pedophiles think.”
Several beats of silence passed as Catherine processed all she’d heard. And came to the only possible conclusion.
“You know what’s really remarkable?” She tightened her grip on his strong, lean fingers. “The fact that you turned into such a caring, compassionate man despite all the bad stuff in your life.”
“I wouldn’t have without J.C. He kept believing in me long after I stopped believing in myself and he stuck by me through everything. Thanks to him, I finally saw the light.”
“What was the turning point?”
“Two years ago, I told a fellow inmate my brother was an undercover detective. That little slip blew his cover, and two men died because of it. J.C. could have been killed, too. It was the lowest point in my life. I felt like the worthless piece of trash my father always said I was. And so I…I tried to take my own life.”
Catherine stopped breathing. Nathan had warned her his story was rough, but she’d had no idea.
“I blew that, too, though. And the next thing I knew, J.C. and Marci showed up. Their love gave me a reason to live. J.C. also got me started on the road to faith. And with the Lord’s help—plus a lot of assistance from the chaplain—I reali
zed there are a lot of ways to be in prison that don’t involve metal bars. In time, I made my peace with the past and moved on.”
As his words resonated in the empty room, Catherine tried to absorb all she’d heard. But her brain was on overload.
He captured her gaze, holding it fast as her mind whirled. “I’ve never told that story to anyone, Catherine. Not even J.C. or the chaplain.”
He’d shared his deepest, darkest secret with her.
She’d never felt so touched—or honored—in her life.
“Are you sorry you asked?”
She heard the trepidation in his quiet question. And deep in his eyes she glimpsed the little boy he’d once been: a child hurt, afraid and uncertain, who’d expected nothing but abuse and rejection. Who’d been taught to believe he was worthless and bad.
There was only one way to convince him she didn’t believe that.
Swiveling toward him, she rose on her knees and rested her hands on his shoulders. Surprise flickered across his features, but she didn’t give him a chance to wonder about her intentions. Instead, she leaned over and kissed him.
Just as he’d kissed her yesterday.
It didn’t take him long to respond. Gripping her shoulders, he molded his lips to hers in an expression of gratitude and caring so powerful and heartfelt it left her breathless.
When at last he released her, she could feel him trembling.
“Thank you for sharing all that with me, Nathan. I’m honored,” she whispered.
His gaze caressed her face, and the warmth in his eyes now looked a whole lot more like love than gratitude. Her heart skipped a beat.
“Thank you for accepting me despite all the bad stuff.”
“That bad stuff is part of what made you who you are today.”
He grimaced. “I wish there’d been an easier way to get here.”
“I do, too.”
Squeezing her fingers, he checked his watch and sighed. Then he rose and gave her a hand up. “I need to get to my other job. Will I see you at church Sunday?”
“We’ll be there. I have some fence-mending to do with the Lord, too.”
He smiled and touched her cheek. “Thank you again…for everything.”
Striding across the room, he pushed through the door and disappeared around the front of the house.
For a long while after he left, Catherine remained in the empty room he’d restored with such meticulous care. Just as he’d restored her life.
All at once, a heartening wave of hope washed over her. If he could build a new life after all the damage that had been inflicted on him, surely she could find the courage to do the same.
And if she was very lucky, perhaps that life could include the man who’d befriended Zach—and was fast becoming much more than a friend to Zach’s mom.
Chapter Eleven
As Nathan stepped outside the church on Sunday, he scanned the crowd on the lawn. In seconds he picked Catherine out. She was off to one side. Digging through her purse. Looking gorgeous.
A slow smile curved his lips. The rays of sun peeking through the trees gilded the honey-colored highlights in her hair, and her silky, teal-green blouse and black pencil skirt flattered her slender figure.
His appreciative perusal was interrupted by a chuckle from behind him, followed by a gentle shove.
“You’re creating a roadblock, dear brother.”
Marci’s amused voice brought a surge of heat to his neck, and he quickly moved out of the path of traffic.
She was right on his heels. “You better go catch her before she gets away—or some other guy snags her attention.”
He hesitated. Although that had been his plan, following through on it now would only verify Marci’s assumption that he was interested in Catherine. And that, in turn, would lead to more ribbing.
“What are you waiting for?” She planted her hands on her hips and tipped her head. “It’s obvious you find her attractive. So go for it.”
He strove for a casual stance, all the while keeping Catherine in his peripheral vision. She was walking around the side of the church. Alone. Had she let Zach attend Sunday school? Was she going to retrieve him? Would he have a chance to talk with her before she took off?
“Why are you so bent on marrying me off, anyway?” he replied distractedly.
One of Marci’s eyebrows arched. “Did I say anything about marriage?”
The heat on his neck surged past his collar. He’d walked right into that one.
She folded her arms across her chest and gave him a smug look. “This is more serious than I thought. What do you think, Christopher?”
As her new husband joined her, he grinned and draped an arm around her shoulders. “I plead the Fifth.”
“Coward,” she grumbled.
He tugged her closer. “I will add one thing, though. He who hesitates…” He lifted one shoulder and winked at Nathan. “Come on, Marci. Your brother doesn’t need our help to go after what he wants.”
“I’m not sure about that. You and I are going to have a long talk later,” she called over her shoulder as Christopher took her hand and tugged her the other direction.
Ignoring his sister’s parting comment, Nathan strode across the lawn, heading in the direction Catherine had disappeared.
As he rounded the corner of the building, he saw her emerging from a side door, Zach’s hand in hers. As she stepped outside, a young mother exited behind her, the little boy Zach had talked with after the service last week by her side.
“Excuse me…”
At the woman’s summons, Catherine angled toward her.
Nathan slowed his steps, but was close enough to hear the exchange.
“I was hoping to catch you and introduce myself. I’m Lauren Douglas, and this is Adam.” She smiled and rested her hand on the youngster’s shoulder. “Our sons met last week.”
Catherine returned the woman’s smile. “I’m Catherine Walker. And this is Zach.”
“Nice to meet you both. Are you new on the island?”
“Yes. We’ve only been here since early May.”
“Well, welcome to Nantucket—and to our church. I’m having a birthday party this Tuesday for Adam, and I’ve invited all the children in his Sunday-school class. Zach would be very welcome. We’re going to have pizza and hot dogs at the house and play a few games.”
Nathan noted Zach’s eager expression as the little boy cast a pleading look up at Catherine.
“Can I go, Mom?”
She hesitated. Nathan watched her moisten lips. Swallow. Straighten her shoulders. “Yes. Thank you for inviting him.”
Withdrawing an invitation from her purse, the other woman handed it over. “All the details are on this, but call if you have any questions. We’ll look forward to seeing Zach.”
The two little boys grinned at each other as Lauren ushered her son toward the street.
“This is so cool, Mom!” Zach hopped from one foot to the other, unable to contain his excitement. “Hey, Nathan!” He waved as he caught sight of his older buddy. “I’m going to a party!”
A becoming flush tinted Catherine’s cheeks as she turned toward him. Taking Zach’s hand, she crossed the lawn.
“I heard, champ.” Zach tousled the little boy’s hair, but his focus was on Catherine. “That was a big step.” He smiled his approval,
Her flush deepened, but her gaze didn’t waver. “It was time.”
“Good morning!”
At the cheery greeting, Nathan turned toward his landlady’s familiar voice. She was huffing a bit as she bustled up to them after making a quick detour to her car, an oversized purse in one hand and a plate of homemade cinnamon rolls in the other. Her husband, Chester, whose ornery cowlick had—as usual—refused to be subdued despite a generous application of hair gel, followed a few steps behind.
“My dear, I’ve seen you at services and have been meaning to introduce myself. I’m Edith Shaw and this is my husband, Chester.” She gestured over her shoulder
, and the older man gave a shy dip of his head. “Hello, Nathan.”
“Good morning. Edith and Chester own the cottage I’m living in,” Nathan explained to Catherine.
“Nice to meet you both. I’m Catherine Walker, and this is my son, Zach.”
“I’ve noticed Zach during services. A fine, handsome young lad.” Edith smiled down at him, and he beamed back. “I thought you and your mom might like some cinnamon rolls. They always perk up a Sunday morning.” She winked at Zach and handed the plate to Catherine.
“Those look really good!” Zach watched with interest as the plate transferred hands. “Thank you!”
“You’re very welcome.” The older woman turned her attention back to Catherine. “How’s the inn coming along?” When Catherine gave her a surprised look, she chuckled. “My dear, it’s a small island. Becky and I are in the garden club. Since she handles real estate all over the island, she’s always a good one for news.”
After living in Edith’s backyard for almost six weeks, Nathan was used to her full-speed-ahead style, but Catherine hadn’t yet gotten her sea legs. He stepped in to help.
“The inn is coming along great. I can guarantee it will be ready to welcome its first visitors in August.”
“I’m not surprised. I’ve heard good things about your skills. Such a talented man.” Edith shook her head. “You know he paints, of course. Pictures, that is, not walls.” She gave Catherine a keen look.
“Yes.”
“Ah.” A satisfied smile lit her face, and she shot a meaningful glance in Nathan’s direction as she tapped the plate of goodies. “There are plenty of cinnamon rolls to share, my dear. And if ever you need a sitter, don’t hesitate to call. I love kids. I watch my neighbors’ two girls, and in the not-too-distant future I’ll be watching this one’s new niece or nephew.” She gestured toward Nathan.
J.C. and Heather hadn’t told him about the day care arrangements for their imminent arrival, but he wasn’t surprised. From what he’d seen, Edith was a natural with kids. And she lived just two houses down from The Devon Rose. What could be more perfect?
“Thank you. I’ll keep that in mind,” Catherine replied.