by Irene Hannon
With one more stiff smile at his parents, she eased past him and headed for the door, Christopher close on her heels.
Once outside she took off at a good clip. But his stride was longer, and he moved beside her, taking her arm as they walked down the restaurant path toward the quiet lane on the bluff above the beach where she’d parked.
“You want to tell me what’s wrong?”
She missed a step, and he tightened his grip. Once she regained her balance, she picked up her pace again. “Nothing’s wrong.”
“Sorry. Not buying it.”
Silence.
“Come on, Marci, talk to me.”
As they approached her car, she fumbled through her purse for her key. “Why didn’t you tell me it was your birthday?”
Was that what this was all about?
“I didn’t want you to feel obligated to get me a present. Your presence at this dinner was gift enough. Is that why you’re upset?”
“I’m not upset.”
“Marci.” He took her upper arms in his hands and forced her to look at him. “I know you’re upset. Just tell me what’s wrong, okay?”
He could feel her trembling as they stood there in the moonlight, the faint crash of the sea on the beach below them unable to mask her soft, sad sigh.
“I’m sorry, Christopher, but this thing between us…it’s not going to work.”
His mouth went dry. “Why not?”
“Our different backgrounds, for one thing. I knew you came from money, but…” She shook her head, as if at a loss for words. “Look, your parents and brother fly to exotic places as easily as I take the bus downtown. Your dad owns a law firm. A Supreme Court justice is a family friend. Trust me, blue-collar Marci would never fit into your blue-blood family.”
He should have told her more about his family’s circumstances, Christopher realized with a sinking feeling. But it had never occurred to him it would be an issue for her. It wasn’t for him.
“You have as much class as anyone I’ve ever met, Marci. And I don’t care about your background. Family pedigree—or lack of one—has nothing to do with how I feel about you.”
“I would never fit into your world, Christopher.” There was a hint of tears in her words now. “There are probably a dozen socialites waiting for you to come back to Boston. Women who know which fork to use with which course. Who know which side of the Seine is frequented by high-class people. Do yourself a favor. Forget about me and hook up with the right kind of woman.”
Stunned, Christopher stared at her. For the first time in their acquaintance she’d given him a revealing glimpse of the insecure woman behind the tough facade she presented to the world. A woman whose trust level with men was as low as the diminutive Brant Point Light, thanks to jerks like the guy in the bar. Whose hardscrabble background made her feel unworthy of mingling with what she considered the upper class.
Somehow he had to convince her that the right kind of woman for him was named Marci Clay.
“Let’s talk about this, okay?” He tried to twine his fingers with hers, but she shook his hand off.
“Talking won’t change our backgrounds.”
“I told you, I don’t care about that. And neither do my parents. They’re not snobs.”
“They also don’t know my family history.” There was a touch of anguish in her tone now as she looked up at him and the moon turned her too-pale skin to alabaster. “Did you tell them my father deserted us? That we lived in a tenement? That J.C. raised us?”
“No.” He raked his fingers through his hair and shoved one hand into the pocket of his slacks. “It never came up.”
“It will. And there’s a lot more you don’t know.”
“Such as?”
A few beats of silence ticked by as their gazes locked. When she spoke, the words came out broken, like shells on a beach that have been pounded by the elements. “Your mom asked me about my other brother tonight. I evaded the question. You know why? Nathan’s serving time in prison for armed robbery.”
Jolted, Christopher took a second to regroup. “Okay. So you have a black sheep in the family. A lot of families do.”
“He’s not a black sheep anymore. We reconciled last summer, after being estranged for a dozen years. And when he’s released next spring, I intend to do whatever I can to help him get a new start. So an ex-con is going to be part of my life. How do you think your parents will react to that?”
“If things become serious between us, they’ll be completely supportive.”
“How do you feel about it?”
“If he’s important in your life, he’ll be important in mine.”
No response.
“Marci, the only thing that matters is the way we feel about each other. I still want you to take the Caring Connections director job.”
More silence, while he prayed she wouldn’t turn him down outright.
“I’ll tell you what.” The tense line of her shoulders collapsed, and she suddenly sounded bone weary. “How about we let things rest for a day or two? Once we get Henry home and settled, we can talk again. You might feel differently once all this sinks in.”
“That’s not going to happen.”
“Humor me, okay?”
“I’m not going to change my mind.”
“Please, Christopher…don’t push on this tonight. Your parents are waiting for you, and I don’t want to spoil your birthday.”
Without giving him a chance to respond, she slipped into the car and pulled the door shut behind her.
He thought about trying to stop her. To make her listen. But it was obvious she wasn’t in a receptive mood tonight.
Stepping back, he let her drive away—for now. But he wasn’t going to give up without a fight.
Marci adjusted a fork on one of the lace-edged placemats she’d found in Henry’s dining room. They’d moved the café table from Edith’s guest cottage to the gazebo for the welcome-home dinner, and she’d set it with Henry’s good dishes. A tiny vase in the center held an array of flowers from his garden, which she’d weeded once more yesterday. The yard looked pristine.
The dinner was ready, too. She and Heather had prepared the meal together at The Devon Rose earlier today—including the chocolate tarts Henry loved. It was all waiting in his kitchen.
Everything was perfect for his homecoming.
Except the relationship between his two main benefactors.
Marci hadn’t seen Christopher since the dinner with his parents two nights ago. Meaning he’d either been very busy or was having second thoughts.
For both their sakes, she hoped it was the latter.
Because if he persisted, she would be forced to tell him her secret. And from what she’d gathered at his birthday dinner, she’d face a rejection far more devastating—and deeply personal—than one based purely on family background.
The crunch of tires interrupted her musing, and she rubbed her palms on her denim skirt. There’d be time to think about her own problems later. For now, she wanted to give Henry her full attention—and the joyous homecoming he deserved.
Moving to the porch, Marci positioned herself for a good view of Henry’s face as he came around the back corner of the house and got his first glimpse of the gazebo that had risen in the empty corner he’d left behind.
She heard a car door shut. Then another. Next came the sound of the latch on the gate being lifted. Her heart began to thud.
Fifteen seconds later, Henry rounded the corner.
And came to a dead stop.
From her spot half shielded by a profuse hydrangea bush, Marci watched his face.
First came shock. Then awe. Then delight, followed by a flush of pleasure that pinkened his cheeks.
“My.” She heard his hushed comment, saw the sudden sheen in his eyes, and looked at Christopher. He was standing on the other side of the older man, and their gazes met over Henry’s head. For a brief instant, the walls between them dissolved and their hearts touched in a moment of
shared joy and satisfaction.
Together, they’d brought Henry home again.
And thanks to Caring Connections, they’d be doing the same for many more people in the future.
Stepping down from the porch, Marci crossed the lawn to join them.
“Did we get it right, Henry?”
He turned to her, his eyes still misty. “The only thing missing is Marjorie. But you know what? I can feel her presence again for the first time in two years.” He surveyed the yard and shook his head in wonder. “The garden is just like she always kept it, and the gazebo is perfect. How did you manage this?”
“We showed Chester Shaw the photo by your kitchen table, and he drew up the plans. He and Christopher and my brother pitched in to build it.”
“But it was all Marci’s idea,” Christopher added.
Henry smiled at her. “You are one special lady, Marci Clay. Would you mind if an old man gave you a hug?”
“Well, I don’t see any old men around here. But I’d love to have a hug from you.”
She stepped into his thin arms, and he gave her a good squeeze. Shifting toward Christopher, he stuck out his hand. “Thank you both. For everything.”
“Hey, the evening’s just getting started,” Marci said. “You two gentlemen take your seats and I’ll rustle up the first course.”
By the time she returned with a tray of salads, Henry was settled into his place at the table.
“You know, I wasn’t real sure I’d ever be looking at this view again,” he admitted as she put his salad in front of him.
“I told you all along you’d come home.” Marci set the tray aside and took her place.
“I guess the good Lord was watching out for me. I think a little prayer of thanks is in order.”
Without waiting for a response, he bowed his head. Christopher did likewise. Marci wasn’t accustomed to praying before meals, but if ever there was a day to be thankful, this was it. And even though she wasn’t into formal prayers, she’d been sending a few heavenward since her visit to church with Christopher. That hour in the Lord’s house had given her an unexpected sense of peace—and an inkling about the reason for J.C.’s staunch faith and Nathan’s conversion.
“Lord, we thank You for this day of great blessings. For this meal shared with friends. For eyes to see and ears to hear the beauty of Your sea and sky and flowers. For restored health and hope for tomorrow.
“I thank You, too, for sending these two special people into my life when I needed them most. Please bless them as You blessed me, with the kind of love that transcends time. And help them recognize it when they see it. Amen.”
As Henry finished his blessing, Marci didn’t dare look at Christopher. But she could feel him watching her—and knew he was wondering why she wasn’t open to exploring the relationship everyone else in their acquaintance was pushing them toward.
To her relief, he didn’t bring up the subject during the dinner. Neither did Henry. The conversation was lighthearted, and Henry’s stories about his early years on Nantucket kept them laughing. It was a perfect homecoming dinner.
By the time they finished dessert, however, it was clear he was tiring. A cue Christopher picked up as well.
Setting his coffee cup back in its saucer, he smiled at Henry. “I don’t know about you, but I’m ready to call it a night.”
The older man checked his watch. “At seven o’clock?”
“It’s been a long day.”
“For me, maybe. I suspect you have some life in you yet. Why don’t you walk me in and then come back and spend a little time in my new gazebo with this pretty lady?” He winked at Marci.
Ignoring the implication, she rose, keeping her gaze fixed on the table. “If you want to get Henry settled, I’ll start the cleanup.”
Christopher scooted his chair back and stood. “Okay. But I’ll be out in a few minutes to follow through on Henry’s suggestion.”
“That’s my boy.” Grinning at Christopher, Henry leaned on his arm as he got to his feet. Then he reached out and squeezed Marci’s hand again. “Thank you again. For everything.”
Warmth filled her heart as she smiled at him. “It was my pleasure, Henry.”
She watched as the two men slowly crossed the yard, one tall and strong in body, the other a bit stooped and strong only in spirit. Yet they were both men of integrity and deep moral fiber, whose hearts beat with the same kindness and caring and decency. And they both considered her special.
But they were wrong, she reflected, her smile fading. She was flawed. And tainted. And sinful. She’d made bad mistakes, and though the passage of years had diminished their power to keep her awake at night, it hadn’t reduced their magnitude. Nor, much to her regret, had time helped her find a way to rectify them.
Loading the tray with dishes, she hefted it up. And thought about all the years she’d spent at Ronnie’s doing this very thing as she pursued her degree and clung to the dream of a better life.
The degree had come. And when she got home, she’d find a job far away from Ronnie’s. In that regard, her dream had come true.
As for any dream she might harbor about a certain doctor—it seemed far less likely to be realized.
Because based on Christopher’s parting comment, he didn’t intend to let the evening end without bringing up the discussion they’d tabled the night of his birthday. Meaning she was going to have to tell him about her past.
And it wasn’t going to be pretty.
“Stop fussing, Christopher. I’m fine. Trust me, I’ll sleep far better in my own bed than I ever did at that rest home with all those old folks. You go back out there and keep Marci company.”
Smiling, Christopher picked up the medical alert button on the nightstand. “Remember this is here, Henry. And promise me you’ll keep it with you whenever you’re at home. That’s part of the deal, okay?”
“Thanks to Patricia,” he grumbled.
“I happen to agree with your daughter on this point. It’s a good safety measure. If you’d had one with you when you fell, you could have called for help immediately.”
“Okay, okay. I guess it’s a small price to pay for independence.”
“Keep that in mind.” He walked to the bedroom door, stopping on the threshold to smile at the older man. “Good night. And welcome home.”
“Thanks, Christopher. Now you go out there and smooth talk Marci into taking the job with Caring Connections.”
“I’ll do my best.”
Closing the door behind him, Christopher heard the clatter of silverware against china in the kitchen. He’d honored Marci’s wishes to defer the discussion about them until Henry was home, but he wasn’t going to wait any longer to talk this through. He couldn’t. With her departure a mere nine days away, time was running out.
“Need a hand?” He strolled into the kitchen and snagged a dish towel.
Shooting him a quick look over her shoulder, she dug back into the suds in the sink. “There isn’t much left to do. We prepared everything at The Devon Rose, and I already cleaned the carrying containers and put them in my car. I’m just about finished with the china and glassware.”
He picked up a plate with a delicate gold rim and an off-white embossed filigree pattern around the edge. “Did you see how Henry’s eyes lit up when he realized you’d used Marjorie’s good dishes?”
A soft smile touched her lips. “Yes.”
“You made his homecoming special.”
Shrugging, she rinsed a crystal glass. “I’m just glad he could come home.” Turning off the water, she wiped her hands on a towel and picked up the plates Christopher had dried. “I’ll put these away in the dining room.”
She made several trips back and forth, and by the time she returned from her last one, Christopher was laying aside his dish towel.
“Chester said he’d come over Friday and pick up the table and chairs.” Marci wiped down the counter and hung the dish rag over the faucet. “I thought Henry might want to put one of t
he wicker rockers from the back porch in the gazebo, with the little side table.”
“I’ll take care of it this weekend.”
“Thanks.”
She reached for her purse, and he frowned. “You aren’t planning to leave, are you?”
“The party’s over.”
“Not according to Henry.”
She gave a soft, melancholy laugh and shook her head. “He never gives up, does he?”
“No. That’s one of the reasons he came home.” Christopher propped a shoulder against the wall and folded his arms. “It’s also one of the things he and I have in common.”
She took a deep breath. The resignation—and deep sadness—in her eyes shook him.
Uncrossing his arms, he took a step toward her. “What’s wrong?”
“I was hoping you’d realize our different backgrounds were a problem and let this go. That would have been easier.” She closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead. “There are other reasons why this won’t work, Christopher.”
The cold, deadly finality of her tone left a hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach.
“Why don’t we go out to the gazebo and talk about them?”
She acquiesced with a nod, but the spark that was so much a part of her seemed to have been snuffed out.
He followed her across the yard in silence. She chose the same place she’d occupied the day he’d asked her to take the job, sitting on the edge of the raised platform of the structure and setting her purse beside her.
He hadn’t liked the outcome that day.
And he had a strong suspicion he wasn’t going to like the outcome tonight, either.
Settling down beside her, he rested his forearms on his knees. And waited.
She didn’t talk for a couple of minutes. Instead, she looked at the sea, its surface placid in the early evening. But the ocean around Nantucket was deceptive, Christopher knew. Beneath the calm veneer, rip tides and strong currents seethed, roiling the waters.
He sensed a similar inner turmoil in Marci, though her expression was composed.
“I told you about my upbringing, Christopher.” Her words were soft but matter-of-fact. As if she’d distanced herself from the story she was about to tell. “My family was dirt poor and dysfunctional. After my father left and my mom died, we were even poorer. If it hadn’t been for J.C., I don’t know where Nathan and I would have ended up.”