by Irene Hannon
It wasn’t until Abby was getting ready to board the plane that the girls themselves got teary-eyed. They’d never been apart for any great length of time, and now they were heading in two different directions, away from each other and the only home they could remember. Abby clung first to Allison, then to Maggie, as Jake stepped discreetly into the background.
“I’ll miss you both so much!” Abby’s voice was shaky and uncertain.
“Call me every day, okay?” Allison implored.
“I promise.”
“Goodbye, Aunt Maggie. And thank you…for every thing.”
Maggie’s own eyes grew misty, but she struggled to maintain her composure as she hugged Abby again. She wanted this to be a happy moment for them, not a sad one. “Believe it or not, I loved every minute of it. Even the old days, when you and Allison used to delight in confusing me about who was who.”
“I guess we were pretty bad about that.” Abby gave her a sheepish grin.
“Well, I survived. I even managed to guide two girls through adolescence at once without losing my sanity. Don’t I get a medal or something?”
“Would a kiss and a hug do instead?” Abby asked and held out her arms.
Maggie smiled. “I think that would be an even better reward.”
Abby embraced her, and Maggie blinked back her tears.
“Now get on that plane before it leaves without you. I can’t run after the plane like I used to run after the school bus!”
Abby grinned. “Yeah, I remember. Ali, you’ll call, right?” Her voice was anxious as she hugged her twin.
“Count on it.”
“You too, Aunt Maggie?”
“Absolutely. Now scoot. The bus is leaving.” Maggie tried without much success to keep her shaky smile in place.
“Okay.” She hefted her knapsack and headed into the security line.
Maggie and Allison waved until she was out of sight, and then, half an hour later, it was Allison’s turn.
As Maggie watched Allison disappear into the concourse, Jake laced his fingers through hers. She blinked, struggling to smile but the understanding look in his eyes made it even more difficult to keep her tears at bay.
“You did a good job with them, you know.” He brushed his thumb over the back of her hand. “They’re lovely, intelligent, confident young women with their heads on straight and hearts that reflect an upbringing filled with kindness and love.”
How was it that he’d known exactly the right thing to say? In the moments before he’d walked over from the sidelines, where he’d retreated to give her and Allison a private moment to say goodbye, she’d been asking herself those very kinds of questions. Had she done everything she could to prepare them for what was ahead? Would the values she’d instilled in them survive their college years? Had their single-parent upbringing provided enough love and support and stability? Had she given them an adequate sense of self-worth, a solid enough grounding, to sustain them through whatever lay ahead? Jake seemed to think so. She didn’t know if he was right. But hearing him say it made her feel better, and for that she was grateful.
“Thank you. I tried my best. I suppose that’s all any of us can do. And I hope you’re right. I hope it was good enough.”
He draped his arm around her shoulders. “I don’t think you have to worry about those two. You raised them to be survivors. But then, they had a good example to follow.”
All at once she was grateful the girls had insisted Jake come along today. His presence somehow helped ease the loneliness of their departure.
“Thank you for coming today, Jake. It was a lot tougher than I expected, saying goodbye. I—I’m going to miss those two! It will be so strange to be alone after all these years.”
Jake turned to face her, letting one hand rest on her waist as he stroked her cheek. “You’re not alone, Maggie.”
She searched his eyes, discerning nothing but honesty in their depths. His intense gaze seemed to touch her very soul, willing her to believe the sincerity of his words. And she wanted to. Boy oh boy, she wanted to, with every fiber of her being! But she had to be cautious. She had to be sure. She still had too many doubts, too many questions. She would move forward, yes. But slowly. Because only time would provide the answers—and the assurance—she needed.
“By the way, the date’s set.”
“What date?” Maggie snagged another forkful of chicken salad, distracted by the balmy mid-September weather. When Philip had called and asked her to meet him for lunch at the outdoor café overlooking the bay, she couldn’t refuse. Even now, her attention was focused more on enjoying the warmth of the sun seeping into her skin than on their conversation.
“The date for your show.”
That refocused her. Fast. “What show?”
“The show we’ve been talking about for a year—remember?”
“You mean the show I never agreed to?”
“That’s the one.” He lifted his iced tea in salute.
Maggie set her fork down with a clatter. “Philip, you didn’t! You know I’m not ready!”
“You’re ready, Maggie. You have been for a couple of years.”
“But…but I never agreed to a show!”
“True. And why is that?”
Maggie bit her lip. “This is too close to my heart, Philip. You know that. I just can’t take the chance. What if…what if I fail?”
Philip leaned forward and took her hand. “Maggie, there’s no growth without risk. You’ve lived a very predictable, quiet life here for as long as I’ve known you. You think things through and try as hard as you can to make everything perfect. And that’s worked well for you with the inn. You have a successful business and a comfortable life. But some things can’t be worked out on a spreadsheet. Sometimes you have to just trust your heart. I know it’s risky. I know how much your art means to you. It comes right from your heart, exposes your soul. That’s why it’s so good—and also why rejection is so scary. But I’m telling you, as your friend and a professional art dealer, that the risk of a show is minimal. I’ve shown some of your work to my friend in Bangor, and he agrees with my assessment. It will be a great opportunity for you to launch a more serious career. I’ll cancel the show if you really want me to, but I think it would be a big mistake.”
She frowned. “When is this show supposed to be?”
“The opening is scheduled for the first Friday in December. It will run for a month.”
Maggie took a deep breath. It was a scary commitment, but Philip was right. If she ever wanted to pursue serious art, she had to make her work available for critique and review. She needed to take this opportunity.
“All right. I’ll do it. I guess it’s time to test the waters, take a chance.”
He smiled. “You won’t be sorry, you know.”
“I hope you’re right.”
“And what about the other…risky…situation in your life at the moment?”
“What situation?”
“Jake.”
Maggie glanced down and played with her chicken salad. “I’m not so sure about that one. It’s even scarier.”
“Well, it would be a shame to walk away from something good just because you’re afraid. And that’s true for everything—from a show to a relationship. Now, suppose I get off my soapbox and change the subject to something less heavy. Tell me about the girls. How are they adjusting?”
The rest of the lunch passed in companionable conversation. But Philip’s words kept replaying in her mind. Was her fear protecting her—or keeping her from something good, as he had suggested?
Unfortunately, Maggie didn’t know.
“Pop! Over here!”
Jake turned at the sound of the familiar voice and smiled at Maggie.
“She’s over there, Dad.” He laid one hand on Howard’s shoulder and gestured toward the church booth with the other.
“Well, let’s go say hello.”
Jake was more than happy to comply. He hadn’t seen enough of Magg
ie these past two weeks, not since the girls left. September was a popular month at the inn, and she was busier than ever, without the girls to help. But no more busy than him. He had been a bit overwhelmed by the workload at school and had been left with almost no free time. It was not a situation he was pleased about, but until he adjusted to school and her business slowed down for the winter, there didn’t seem to be much he could do about it. He had to take whatever limited time he could get with her. And accompanying his father to the church fair—especially knowing Maggie was working at the booth—was as good an excuse as any to take a break from correcting papers.
He gave her a lazy smile as they approached. “Hi, Maggie.”
A flush rose on her cheeks at his smoky, intimate tone. “Hello, Jake.” She moistened her lips, then pulled her gaze from his and turned her attention to Howard. “Hi, Pop.”
“Hi, Maggie. How’s business?”
“That’s what I wanted to tell you. All of the things you made sold already!”
“Really?”
“Yes. And not only that, Andrew Phillips—he owns the local craft alliance—wants to talk to you.
They’d like to take some of your things on consignment, and he was even interested in having you teach a class.”
Howard’s eyes lit up. “He liked my work that much?”
“Absolutely. He said…wait, there he is over there. Andrew!” She waved at a tall, spare young man with longish hair and gestured for him to join them. He strolled over, and she made the introductions.
“I told Howard you were interested in talking with him,” Maggie explained.
“Yes, I am. Could you spare me a few minutes now? Maybe have a cup of coffee or something?”
Howard was beaming. “Sure, sure. That is, if my son doesn’t mind waiting.” He glanced at Jake.
Jake propped his shoulder against the corner of Maggie’s booth and folded his arms across his chest. “Not at all. Take your time, Dad.”
He watched the two men wander off toward the refreshment area, then turned to Maggie with a smile and shook his head. “Now that, Ms. Fitzgerald, is a miracle. Did you see the way my dad’s face lit up?”
She smiled. “Yes. It makes all the difference in the world when a person believes they have something to contribute. Pop just needs to feel like he can still do something worthwhile.”
“Thanks to you, he does.”
Maggie shook her head. “No. You were the one who thought to bring the woodworking tools.”
“But you were the one who convinced him to use them.”
She shrugged. “Well, it doesn’t really make any difference where the credit belongs. The important thing is that Pop seems interested in something again. And he’s looking better, too, Jake. Are…are things improving at all between you two?”
“They’re better. But even though we’re more comfortable with each other, there’s still a…a distance, I guess is the best way to describe it. I don’t feel like we ever connect at a deeper level. And frankly, I’m not sure what else I can do. School is pretty demanding right now, and I just don’t have the time to focus on Dad the way I’d like to. I’m not used to dealing with boys that age, and it’s a real challenge. In fact, to be honest, I sometimes feel like I’m in over my head.”
“Your father raised two boys. Maybe he could offer you a few tips. Have you talked to him about your job, or any of the kids?”
“No. I don’t think he’s interested. He’s never asked about my work.”
“Maybe he’s afraid that you don’t want his advice.”
Jake considered that. She might have a point. During the past twelve years he hadn’t shared a lot of his life with his father. Why should the older man expect him to start now?
“I guess it couldn’t hurt to try.”
“Well, most people are flattered when asked for advice. And your father does have a lot of experience with boys. You might actually…”
“Next Wednesday, then?”
Andrew’s voice interrupted their conversation, and they turned as the two men approached.
“Let me check with my son.” Howard looked at Jake. “Andrew would like me to come by the shop next Wednesday and look things over, maybe work out a schedule for a class. Would it put you out to run me over after school?”
“I’d be happy to, Dad.”
Howard turned back to Andrew and stuck out his hand. “It’s nice to meet you, young man.”
“My pleasure. I’ll see you Wednesday.”
“Sounds like things went well.” Maggie smiled at Pop.
Howard nodded, looking pleased. “Yes, they did. Nice young fellow. He’s a potter. It’s good to talk to people who appreciate handcrafted work.”
“Could be a whole new career for you.”
“Could be, at that.” He turned back to Jake and his tone grew more formal. “I appreciate the ride Wednesday.”
“No problem.”
“Well, if I’m going to be making things for the shop, I need to take inventory. You ready to go?”
“Sure.” Jake shifted toward Maggie and turned up the heat in his smile. “Thanks.”
Without waiting for a reply, he reached over and touched her cheek, then let his hand travel to her nape. He exerted gentle pressure and drew her close for a tender kiss. The impulsive move flustered her, but it had been three long weeks since her birthday. Three weeks with nothing but the memory of their embrace in the fishing shack to sustain him. He needed to reassure himself that she hadn’t had second thoughts about pursuing their relationship.
He searched her eyes, and when their gazes locked for a mesmerizing moment, he had all the reassurance he needed. “I’ll be by later this week.” He made the promise in a voice only she could hear. “We need to talk.”
She hesitated, then gave a silent nod.
He glanced at his father. “Ready, Dad?”
“Whenever you are.” Howard sent Maggie a quizzical look, then turned and walked away.
“I’m surprised she let you do that.” His father muttered the remark as Jake fell into step beside him.
“I think she’s beginning to realize that I’ve changed. At least, I hope she is.”
The older man paused and regarded his son for a moment. Jake tensed, waiting for a derogatory comment, but instead Howard simply turned and continued toward the car. “Let’s go home.” He called the gruff comment over his shoulder. “I’ve got some projects to start.”
Jake followed, trying to absorb the significance of what had just occurred. Not only had his father refrained from making a disparaging remark, but even more important, he had used the word home for the first time. It was a small thing, Jake knew. But it was a start.
Chapter Eleven
Jake dropped his briefcase on the couch and sniffed appreciatively. Since the beginning of the school year, his father had taken over the chore of cooking dinner. The meal was never fancy, given Howard’s limited culinary skills, but the gesture was much appreciated. He was always tired when he got home, and definitely not in the mood to cook. His father’s willingness to step in and handle KP was a godsend. Especially tonight.
As Jake strolled toward the kitchen, he mulled over the encounter he’d had with one of the freshmen this afternoon. Actually, confrontation was a better description. The last thing he needed in this “learning-the-ropes” phase of his new career was a smart aleck kid mouthing off at him. He supposed he could—and perhaps should—report the insubordination to the dean. But that could be the death knell for a budding maritime career, and he was reluctant to take such a drastic measure so early in the semester. Besides, there was something about the boy that troubled him. A look in his eyes of…bleakness; that was the word that came to mind. And desperation. They were almost indiscernible under his veneer of insolence, but they were there, Jake was certain. He just didn’t know what to do about it.
“Hi, Dad.” He paused in the doorway. “What’s for dinner?”
His father shrugged. “Just meat lo
af. I used to make it for myself at home sometimes, after your mother died. She made it better than I do, though.”
“Well, it sure smells good.”
Howard turned to set the table, pausing for a moment to study Jake. “You look tired.”
Jake sighed and reached around to rub the stiff muscles in his neck. “It was a long day.”
“I imagine teaching is quite a change from the navy. Takes a while to get used to, I expect.” Howard placed the cutlery beside the plates. “Go ahead and change if you want. Dinner’ll be ready in fifteen minutes.”
When Jake reappeared a few minutes later wearing worn jeans and a sweatshirt, his father nodded to the table. “Have a seat. It’s almost ready.”
“Can I help with anything?”
“Two cooks in the kitchen is one too many. That’s what your mother always used to say, and she was right.”
Jake eased his long frame into the chair, watching as Howard bustled about. His father was moving with much more purpose and energy these last few days, he realized. Thanks to Maggie. Getting his father back into woodworking had been a terrific idea, and she had known just how to go about it. Considering the success of that strategy, he decided to talk to his father about school, ask his advice. Maggie had been batting a thousand so far, after all. And he was at a loss about how to deal with his problem student. Perhaps his father could offer a few insights. It couldn’t hurt to ask anyway.
Halfway through the meal, his father gave him the perfect opening.
“I saw some of the students from the academy walking down the road today. They look like fine young men.”
“They are. Most of them. But I’ve got one fresh-man—I just can’t figure out what’s going on in his head.”