by Irene Hannon
He didn’t respond at once, and she refused to meet his gaze, afraid that if she did, her resolve would waver. Only when he sighed and made a move to stand did she look at him.
“Would you think about it at least?” He held up a hand when she started to respond. “Don’t give me an answer now. I’ll call you when I get back. And I’m sorry about interrupting your work. I’ll let myself out.”
Maggie didn’t protest. And as she watched him disappear through the door, she took a sip of her cold coffee. She had no intention of changing her mind. For one very simple reason.
She wasn’t at all sure there was anything to celebrate.
Chapter Four
With a weary sigh, Jake flexed the muscles in his shoulders, then reached for yet another dusty box. Thankfully Rob hadn’t been called back to Atlanta for that job interview until all of the big items at the house had been dealt with. Only a couple of closets remained for Jake to clean out alone. But it was slower—and more difficult—going than he’d expected.
It seemed that Maggie had been right. Even though he’d cut most of his ties with this small house and the town where he grew up, for some reason he found it difficult to be in his childhood home for the last time. He’d come to realize that though his ties to this place were few, they were stronger than he’d suspected. The process of cutting his roots with such finality was unsettling.
As he and Rob had pored over the old scrapbooks, sometimes laughing, sometimes lapsing into quiet, melancholy remembrance, the good days had come back to Jake with an intensity that startled him. The days when they’d all lived here together under this roof, happy and content. The days when he and his dad were not only father and son, but friends.
He’d lingered longest over the faded photos. The photos of himself, flanked by his parents at high school graduation, their eyes shining with pride. Photos older still, of his dad teaching him to ride a bike and to pitch a baseball. For years, Jake hadn’t allowed himself to remember those happier times. The memories only made him sad. Though he’d denied it to himself for more than a decade, the truth was he’d always cared what his father thought about him. But he’d failed him twelve years ago, and many times since in the intervening years.
Jake expelled a long breath. He almost wished he didn’t care. It would make things easier. But he did. He still loved his father, despite the older man’s opinionated views and stubborn disposition. Not that he’d done much to demonstrate that love in the past decade. After his father’s sound rejection of his initial overtures, he hadn’t wasted time or energy on further attempts.
His mother was a different story. She had been disappointed in his choices, as well, but she’d never let that interfere with her love for him. The rift between her youngest son and husband had always caused her distress, and in her quiet way she’d tried to bring them together on several occasions. One of her greatest disappointments was that she hadn’t lived to see a reconciliation.
Maybe his father would have softened over time if Jake had admitted he’d made a mistake. And maybe Jake would have admitted his mistake if his father’s attitude had softened a little. But instead it had became a standoff. It was a shame, their relationship had deteriorated for no good reason. Because as he’d grown older he’d come to realize the enormity of his betrayal in walking out on the woman he had professed to love.
Jake had considered admitting that to his father a few times through the years, but the older man had never offered him an opening. And Jake didn’t want it thrown back in his face.
Sometimes he wondered if his father harbored regrets, too. If he did, he’d never let on. Jake suspected that pride was at the root of their problem. But knowing the source didn’t necessarily suggest a solution. Nor was dwelling on the past helping him finish today’s job.
Jake glanced at the box he had just withdrawn from the closet and was surprised to find his name written on it in his mother’s neat, careful hand. As he sifted through the contents, he discovered she had saved every letter he’d written, as well as every clipping he’d sent. He blinked to clear the sudden film of moisture from his eyes. His mother’s death had been hard on him. He missed her deeply, as well as the direct link she had provided to home. Although he’d continued to write, his father had never responded. It was only through Rob that Jake kept tabs on him. He wasn’t sure if his father even opened his letters.
Suddenly Jake’s gaze fell on the clipping announcing his promotion to lieutenant two years before. His mother couldn’t have put that in the box. Nor the article about the special commendation he’d received last year, he realized, shuffling through the papers. Which only left one possibility. His father had not only opened his letters, but saved them. Which must mean he still cared.
Heart lighter, Jake worked his way through the remaining boxes, eating a slapped-together sandwich as he made one more circuit of the house to ensure that none of the furnishings had gone untagged. Most items were to be sold. A few were to be shipped to his cottage in Maine. Everything seemed to be in order.
Inventory of the house completed, he stepped into the garage and glanced around. There wasn’t much of value out here, certainly nothing he planned to take to Maine. Unless…
His gaze lingered on the boxes containing his father’s woodworking tools. He knew from Rob that they had lain unused since his mother’s death. But why not hang on to them…just in case? Without stopping to reconsider, Jake changed the instructions on the boxes, then headed back inside.
By the end of the day, Jake had reached the last “box”—a small fireproof safe stored in the far corner of the closet in his parents’ bedroom, under the eaves. He read the label, written in his mother’s hand, with a puzzled frown. “Important Documents.” As far as he knew, he and Rob had already located and dealt with all the “important documents.”
But the mystery was cleared up a moment later when he opened the lid. He should have guessed the kinds of things this box would contain, knowing his mother’s definition of “important.” One at a time, he withdrew the items. Her own mother’s handwritten recipe for apple pie. A poem she’d clipped from the newspaper about taking time to enjoy a quiet summer night. Jake’s kindergarten “diploma.” An embossed copy of the Twenty-third psalm, given to her on her wedding day by her father. These sentimental items were his mother’s real treasures. These “important documents”—not expensive rings or necklaces—had been her jewels.
Every item touched his heart—but none more so than the last one. As he withdrew the single sheet of yellowed paper, memories came flooding back of a hot summer day more than a quarter of a century before. The document contained few words, but as his eyes scanned the sheet he remembered with bittersweet intensity the strong emotions and deep sincerity that had produced the short paragraph.
It had been a long time since that document had seen the light of day. But as he carefully replaced the paper and gently closed the lid, he hoped its time would come again soon.
“Is Maggie here?”
The unfamiliar woman behind the desk at Whispering Sails shook her head. “No, I’m sorry. Is there something I can help you with?”
Jake stifled his disappointment. It had been a hectic and emotionally taxing three weeks since he’d left Maine, and he’d had a very long drive up from Boston. He should have gone straight to his cottage in Castine and contacted Maggie tomorrow. This had been a wasted detour.
“No. I was just hoping to see her for a minute. I should have called first.”
Indecision flashed in the woman’s eyes. “Are you a friend of hers?”
“Yes.” Jake wasn’t sure Maggie would agree, but from his perspective the statement was true.
“Well…then I guess it’s okay to tell you what happened. Allison was in a car accident, and Maggie’s at the hospital.”
Jake’s pulse vaulted into double time. “How badly is she hurt?”
“I don’t know. Maggie got the call about two hours ago, and I haven’t heard from her yet.”
“Where’s the hospital?”
The woman gave him directions, and with a clipped “Thank you,” he strode out the door and to his car. Less than a minute later he pulled out of the driveway in a spray of gravel, his foot heavy on the gas pedal, oblivious to the speed signs posted along the route.
By the time he reached the hospital, his body was rigid with tension. He scanned the emergency room, but there was no sign of Maggie.
“Sir…may I help you?”
He glanced at the woman behind the desk. “I’m looking for Maggie Fitzgerald. Her niece, Allison Foster, was brought in some time ago. A car accident.”
“Oh, yes. Ms. Fitzgerald is just around the corner.” She inclined her head to the right.
“How is Allison?”
“The doctor is still with her, sir. We’ll let you know as soon as we have any word.”
He acknowledged her reply with a curt nod, then covered the length of the hall in several long strides, pausing when he reached the door to the cold, sterile waiting room. It was empty except for the lone figure huddled in one corner.
Jake’s gut clenched as he looked at Maggie’s slim form, every muscle in her body tense, her face devoid of color. He tried to swallow, but it was difficult to get past the sudden lump in his throat. How many of these kinds of crises had she endured alone, without even the reassuring clasp of a warm hand for comfort?
Jake had never thought of Maggie as a particularly strong woman. But his assessment of her had undergone a dramatic shift in the past few weeks. She was more than capable of handling emergencies alone. If she hadn’t been, she couldn’t have survived the past twelve years. But that didn’t mean she had to, not anymore. He jammed his hands into his pockets, fists clenched, as a fierce surge of protectiveness swept over him.
The sudden movement caught Maggie’s eye and she jerked, half rising to her feet as she turned to him. The frantic look in her eyes changed to confusion as his identity registered and she sank back into her seat.
“Jake?” Her voice was uncertain, questioning, as if she couldn’t believe he was really there.
“Yeah, it’s me.” He crossed the room and pried a paper cup of cold coffee out of her hand, then took both her hands in a warming clasp.
“But…what are you doing here?”
“I stopped by Whispering Sails, and the woman on duty told me you were here. What happened?”
She drew a deep, shuddering breath and spoke in short, choppy sentences. “Some guy ran a stop sign. Rammed Allison’s car on the passenger side. He walked away. But her…her head hit the window. It knocked her out. She was still unconscious when they brought her in. They haven’t told me anything yet. But I’m afraid… She’s so young, and… Oh, Jake!” A sob rose in her throat and she bowed her head.
Jake watched as Maggie’s slender shoulders caved under the burden of desperate worry. Without even considering her reaction, he sat beside her, put his arm around her and pulled her close.
For a moment, Maggie was sorely tempted to accept the comfort of his arms. A part of her longed to simply let go, to burrow into the haven he offered, to let his solid strength add stability to a world that at the moment seemed very shaky. Part of her wanted that badly.
But another part sounded a warning. Don’t get used to this, Maggie. Don’t even think about leaning on this man. You did that once, remember, and where did it leave you? Alone, to pick up the pieces. You’ve handled crises before. You don’t need him to make it any easier. Because even if he helps you through this one, he won’t be there the next time. And it will be that much harder to face if you accept his support even one time.
Calling on every ounce of her willpower, Maggie eased out of Jake’s arms. He tightened his grip for a heartbeat, but in the end he let her go.
“Ms. Fitzgerald?”
Maggie’s head shot up and she was on her feet instantly. “Yes.”
The white-coated figure walked into the room and held out his hand. “I’m Dr. Jackson.”
“Th-this is Jake West.” Maggie shook his hand and indicated the man beside her. “He’s a…a friend of the family.”
The two men shook hands as well, and then the doctor turned his attention back to Maggie. “Let’s sit for a minute, okay?”
Jake took her hand again. This time she didn’t pull away. She wanted—needed—to feel a connection between them, a tactile reassurance that she wasn’t alone.
“Your niece has a slight concussion, Ms. Fitzgerald, and a bruised shoulder. Nothing more, it appears. She was very lucky that the other driver hit the passenger side of the car. We’d like to keep her overnight for observation, but she should be fine.”
“Thank God!” Maggie’s body went limp.
“You can see her now if you’d like.”
“Yes.” She nodded and rose. “If you’ll just show me the way, Doctor…”
“Of course.”
“I’ll wait here for you.”
At Jake’s comment, she turned back to him with a frown. “You don’t have to.”
“I want to.”
Maggie was too exhausted to argue. Besides, she had a strong suspicion it wouldn’t do any good anyway. “I’m not sure how long I’ll be.”
“I’m in no hurry.” Before she could argue further, he settled into one of the chairs and picked up a magazine.
Short of telling him to get lost, Maggie was left with no choice but to follow the doctor.
Thirty minutes later, Jake looked at her in surprise and rose quickly when she reentered the waiting room. “Is everything all right?”
“Yes. Allison’s all settled now. She wanted me to go home and get some rest.” She didn’t tell him that when Allison found out Jake was there, she’d just about pushed her aunt out the door.
“I think she’s right. You look done in, Maggie.”
“It’s been a long day.” She brushed a hand wearily across her eyes, aware that her fingers were trembling. Jake was, too, based on the direction of his gaze—and his next words.
“Why don’t you let me take you home?”
“What about my car?”
“Do you need it for anything else today?”
“No.”
“Then leave it here. I’ll bring you back tomorrow to pick up Allison.”
“That’s too much trouble. I couldn’t let you do that.”
“Come on, Maggie. I know you’re a strong woman and very capable of running your own life, but it’s okay sometimes to let other people help. Besides, my mother always taught me to do at least one good deed a day. If you cooperate, I can count this for today.”
Maggie was torn. In all honesty, she felt too shaky to drive. And she was exhausted. But she definitely did not want to feel indebted to Jake, didn’t want to owe him anything.
“Look, this is an offer with no strings, okay?”
She stared at him. He’d been pretty good at reading her mind once upon a time. It was rather disconcerting to think he still was.
“And if you feel that you have to do something to repay me, here’s a suggestion,” he continued. “You can go with me to pick up Dad at the airport next week. A familiar face might help smooth over what’s sure to be a rocky beginning.”
Maggie considered his request. It seemed like a reasonable trade.
“Okay, that seems fair.”
She was rewarded with a warm smile. “Great. Let’s head home.”
When he took her arm and guided her toward the door, she let him. Again. His protective touch felt comforting. Not that she’d allow it to happen again, of course. Tomorrow, after a good night’s sleep, she’d feel stronger.
And then she’d keep her distance.
“Well, this is it.”
Maggie turned to look up at Jake as they waited near the security gate at the airport, noting his tense expression. She wanted to reassure him that everything would be all right, but she wasn’t sure that was true. From what Jake had told her, he and his father wouldn’t have an easy time
of it.
Just then the passengers began to emerge, and Maggie felt Jake stiffen, almost as if he was bracing for a blow.
A few moments later Howard West appeared. At least she thought it was Jake’s father. But the frail figure trudging wearily toward the waiting area bore little resemblance to the robust man Maggie remembered. There was nothing in his dejected posture or delicate appearance to suggest the man she had once known. Maggie’s grip on Jake’s arm tightened, and she felt a lump rise to her throat.
“He’s changed a lot since Mom died.” Jake touched her shoulder, his voice gentle. “And even more since the heart attack. I should have warned you.”
“I guess I should have expected something like this. But somehow I never thought that…well, I don’t know, he just seems so…so lost…”
Jake glanced back toward his father and nodded. When he spoke, his own voice was slightly uneven. “I know. He should have made a better recovery. But after Mom died, he lost interest in a lot of things, and once he had the heart attack he just sort of gave up on life. He keeps getting more frail. It’s hard to accept sometimes. He was always so strong.”
Howard looked up then. His gaze fell first on Jake, and his eyes were so cool, Maggie could almost feel the chill. His mouth tightened into a stubborn line and he lifted his chin, defiantly, as the two men looked at each other across a distance that was more than physical. They remained like that for several seconds, until finally, sensing a need to break the tension, Maggie took a step forward and smiled.
Howard transferred his gaze to her, and the transformation in his face was astonishing. The glacial stare melted and the line of his lips softened as a genuine smile of pleasure brightened his face.
“Hi, Pop.” She greeted him with her pet term of endearment for him.
“Maggie.” He held out his arms. “Nobody’s called me that in years. Aren’t you going to give this old man a hug?”
She stepped into his embrace, and his thin, bony arms closed around her. There was almost nothing to him, she realized in alarm as she returned the hug. When they drew apart at last, there was a telltale sheen to his eyes.