Optimism.
Sometimes she wearied of always being the one who looked on the bright side. But what choice did she have? To do anything else would be to give in to despair.
Gabe downed the rest of his decaf, then carried his dishes to the sink.
“Don’t you want another cookie before I put them away?” Tess asked.
He patted his stomach. “I think I’ve had enough. Though that reminds me. I promised some to Jonah. He told me snickerdoodles are his favorite too.”
“Then we’ll make sure he gets at least a dozen,” Tess said lightly. She carried the cookie plate to the counter. “I’ll pack them up right now.”
“I told him I’d drop them off at his house tomorrow. He’s got some kind of doctor’s appointment.”
“Anything serious?”
“Routine, according to Amy. Though I doubt she would have told me even if it were something serious. She’s not very open.”
“She never was.” Tess placed a baker’s dozen of the cookies in a plastic container, separating the layers with parchment paper. “Looks like the two of you have something in common.”
“Meaning?”
“There’s nothing you can’t tell me, Gabe. Whether it’s about when you were in Afghanistan or that prison. You’ve had it rough, and it’s not healthy to keep it all bottled up inside.”
“Look who’s talking.”
“I wrote you every week.”
He stifled a sigh, then jammed the drainer into the sink. “So you did.”
Bright and cheery letters that gave no hint of how hard things had gotten for her since Rusty’s death. He could do nothing to help her while he was behind bars, so she didn’t tell him anything that would cause him to worry.
“Your letters meant a lot,” Gabe said. “Just knowing I’d have mail from you helped me make it through the days. I should have written back. I started to, countless times.”
He’d sent her birthday cards, Christmas cards, with short notes inside. But the letters he tried to write ended up in the trash. Living the dull routine of prison life, ashamed that this was his life, he’d had nothing to say.
“All that matters is that you’re here now. And I’m glad of it.”
“Me too.” He turned on the hot water tap and squirted soap in the sink. Bubbles erupted beneath the spurting stream.
“Let me do those.”
“Already got them started. In the morning, I’ll take a look at the dishwasher. See what’s wrong with it for you.”
“Now don’t be making yourself a honey-do list. That dishwasher has been broken for two or three months now, and I’m getting along fine without it.”
“I only want to help.” He gave her a teasing smile. “Gotta earn my room and board.”
“One day at a time, Gabe. There’s no rush.”
Later that night, he lay in his bed and let her words wash over him. There’s no rush. But he couldn’t hang around here forever. He needed a plan, a direction for his life instead of this aimlessness. If only he could figure out somewhere for a former Marine and ex-con to fit in. Something legal. Where no one shot at you or threatened to blow you up.
He was starving for purpose, for a home of his own, for meaningful work. And someday, some far-in-the-future day, a woman to love with as much respect and passion as Rusty had loved Tess.
While serving his sentence, he’d read the New Testament accounts of Paul’s imprisonments. The great apostle never wavered in his trust that he was running the course God had laid out for him. Gabe ached for that same assurance, that someday all this would make sense. That he could change his plea from “Why me?” to “Thy will be done” and wholeheartedly mean it.
But he wasn’t there yet. For now, the future looked bleak, and his only hope was that somehow, somewhere, he’d hear God’s still small voice.
Instead, other niggling thoughts drove away sleep. How could he get Amy back on a horse? And what wasn’t Tess telling him?
7
Gabe tossed back the covers and planted his feet on the wooden floor. The red numbers glowed on the clock radio, the same one that had been on that same nightstand when he was a boy: 5:45.
Of course it was.
In less than twenty minutes, he showered, shaved, dressed, and made his bed so tautly not even his father could have found a flaw to complain about.
He flipped on the kitchen light, then started the coffeemaker. After pulling on his work shoes, he quietly unlocked the outside door and stepped into the early-morning sunrise. Dew moistened the grass, and birds scolded each other from the limbs of the nearby trees. A peacefulness blanketed the horse farm, the calm before the hustle of a new day.
Once inside the stable, he greeted Daisy first and slipped her an apple-flavored treat. Then he said hello to the other horses while pouring grain into their bins and stroking their noses. After letting the horses loose, he mucked out the stalls, a job he never minded despite the odor and mess. Replacing the dirty straw, inhaling the freshness of the flat golden strands—he wasn’t sure why, but clean stalls held a wholesomeness he found appealing.
No rush, Tess had said.
Too bad he couldn’t spend the rest of his life doing this. But that would be taking advantage of her kindness, and while he appreciated having a place to live while he sorted things out, he needed to get back on his own two feet.
After a hearty breakfast of scrambled eggs, hash browns, and sausage links, he headed to the garage to find the tools he needed to fix the dishwasher. As he crossed the graveled drive, a Jeep Cherokee swung alongside him. The window lowered, and AJ Sullivan propped his elbow on the frame.
“Hey, Gabe,” he said. “How’s it going?”
“Can’t complain.”
“Has Tess told you about the big Heritage Celebration we’re having at Misty Willow in a couple of weeks? That’s when we’re making the official announcement about it being listed on the historical registry.”
“She mentioned it.”
“We still have a lot to do to get ready, and I could use some help. It’s a temporary job, but if you’re interested . . .”
“I am.”
“Appreciate your enthusiasm, but don’t you want to know the details first?”
“I’ll do just about anything that needs doing.”
“Glad to hear it. I have a teacher’s training thing at the high school tomorrow, so can you start on Thursday?”
He’d start that very minute if AJ wanted him to. “Just tell me what time and where to be.”
“Come to my place. Say around nine.” AJ grinned. “I know the farmers around here consider that a late start, but I like to have breakfast with my girls.”
“Can’t blame you for that. Besides, then I can help Tess with the morning chores around here.”
“There’s one other condition.”
“What’s that?” Gabe asked warily.
“Tess told me you played baseball in high school. I want you on our church softball team.”
Gabe chuckled. “Whatever I was expecting, it sure wasn’t that.”
“Does that mean you’re in?”
“I haven’t played in a long time.”
“It’ll come back to you. Besides, it’s mostly for fun.”
“Yeah, right.” Gabe chuckled again, enjoying the long-lost feeling of being included in something good. “I’m in.”
“Great. First game is tomorrow night. Tess can tell you how to find the ballfields.”
“What about practice?”
“Meet me there an hour early. We’ll get you warmed up.”
“You’re the boss.” Gabe gestured toward the house. “You want to come in? There’s still coffee in the pot.”
“Thanks for the offer, but I’ve got to get going.” AJ pulled an envelope from the Jeep’s console. “Could you give this to Tess for me?”
“Sure.” Gabe glanced at her name on the envelope. “I am grateful for the job, AJ. For the chance.”
“We’re glad to
have you for a neighbor. Glad, too, that Tess has someone here. It’s been lonely for her since Rusty died.”
“I know she misses him.”
“We all do.” AJ gripped the steering wheel with one hand and shifted gears with the other. “I’ll see you in a couple of days. Come early if you want pancakes.”
“I’ll do that.”
Gabe stepped to the side while AJ backed up and headed down the drive. No wonder Tess thought so highly of the Sullivans.
He peered toward the sky, squinting against the sun’s cheery brightness. It’s a start. Thank you.
Amy pressed the slender roller into the painting tray and applied the luscious shade of dark teal to the top of the cabinetry beneath the cottage’s long row of windows. She’d already painted the shelving and sides of the lengthy built-in. Though most of the cabinets had open shelves, four had doors, which she’d taken outside. They were next on her to-do list.
For now, she delighted in the smooth movement of the roller across the cabinet as the rich paint covered the faded ivory. As fanciful as it sounded, giving the cottage a makeover was like a healing balm to her restless spirit.
Besides, the rooms probably hadn’t been painted since before AJ moved into the place. That must have been, what, at least six or seven years ago? He probably thought once was enough. He was oh so wrong.
Amy doubted he’d have repainted Gran’s bungalow before his wedding if Shelby hadn’t insisted. Men!
Though, to be honest, Amy had behaved badly when she heard about that project. She understood it—the bungalow was Shelby’s home now. And she’d made terrific color and fabric choices. But it stung to see Gran’s home transformed from a serene showplace to a lively kid-friendly jamboree.
Surely AJ felt it too, at least a little. He’d spent the most time there with Gran. Going to church, treating her to lunch, and watching all those silly Cary Grant movies.
Amy pressed the roller too hard onto the cabinet, and paint splatted onto her shirt and the window.
“Great,” she muttered. She hurriedly wiped the paint off the glass, then smoothed the splotch on the cabinet.
She could have done all those things with Gran too, if she’d lived as close to her as AJ did. It wasn’t Amy’s fault she had to work ten-hour days or that she was obligated to attend more social functions in a week than AJ attended all year.
After finishing the final section, she stood back to admire her work. The gleaming color was a perfect complement to the pale teal walls and the glossy white baseboards and window frames. No longer a worn-out man cave, the entire room now had an air of sophisticated tranquility.
Her conscience panged as she balanced the roller’s handle onto the tray. What if AJ felt the same way about the cottage as she did about the bungalow? That by repainting the room, she had erased his presence from it?
He had once sought refuge from hurt and loneliness in this place, just like she was doing now.
Her cell rang, interrupting her gloomy thoughts. Ignoring it, she washed her hands at the kitchen sink. After the voicemail alert sounded, she accessed the message.
“Hi, Amy. This is Logan Cassidy. Been a long time since we chatted. When you get a moment, I’d like to talk to you about one of your former clients. Call me. Thanks.”
She smiled to herself, pleased to know her prior employer had lost at least one client when she hadn’t returned. Hopefully more than that. Sometimes she missed the rumor-shooting gallery, though she was glad the bull’s-eye was no longer on her own back. She’d had enough of that last year after abruptly walking away from her prestigious position.
Not that she’d exactly walked.
No, she’d danced the hours away and ended up in a hospital emergency room. Abandoned and alone until Brett arrived. These past months, including two stints at the clinic, had been grueling. She never wanted to go through that again.
A day at a time. She only had to get through one long, lonely day at a time.
As she poured a glass of juice and dutifully recorded it in her notebook, she chased away her gloomy thoughts by mentally flipping through the clients she’d left behind. Who was most likely to turn to Logan Cassidy for assistance?
A rap sounded on the front door, and Gabe smiled at her through the window screen.
“Hey, there.” He held up a container. “I brought Jonah’s cookies.”
“I thought you were dropping them off at Brett’s house.”
“I’m without wheels and you live closer.”
The annoyance she wanted to feel wasn’t cooperating. Probably because he’d kept his promise to Jonah.
“Come on in,” she said. “Door’s unlocked.”
As Gabe entered, he eyed the canvas-covered furniture she’d pulled willy-nilly into the center of the room and wrinkled his nose at the smell of fresh paint.
“You’ve been a busy girl.”
“Woman.”
“Excuse me?”
“I’m not a girl. Or hadn’t you noticed?” She added only the merest hint of suggestiveness to her tone.
“I noticed,” he said flatly. “I didn’t mean any offense.”
So much for teasing the grown-up stable boy. “None taken.”
There was a moment of awkward silence, but Amy didn’t feel the need to end it.
Finally Gabe did. “Have you heard from Jonah? Or his dad?”
“Not yet.”
“I was just wondering how his appointment went.”
“It’s nice of you to be concerned.”
“Aunt Tess told me something about the accident. Said her church had been praying for Jonah.”
“I think a lot of people were doing that.” But not me. Amy had been so wrapped up in her own life, she’d given little thought to Jonah during the long weeks he’d been in a coma. At that time, the boy had been Brett’s problem, a mistake they all thought had been dealt with when Meghan discovered she was pregnant. Sully paid her to disappear, but last year AJ had found her and Jonah too. A child none of them knew existed.
If Amy could go back to that time, to when Jonah was unconscious and Meghan needed all the support she could get . . . But that was useless thinking. The past couldn’t be relived, only discarded.
“Are there enough cookies in there for me to try one?” she asked with more enthusiasm than she felt. Habit calculated the calories before she could stop the number from flashing in her brain. Dread filled the empty spaces inside her and knotted her stomach. She pressed her hand against her abdomen. If he said yes, she’d have to eat one. She couldn’t.
A smile started at one corner of Gabe’s mouth and gradually spread to the opposite side. A noncommittal, lazy smile that caught her breath and quickened her pulse.
“I’m sure there is, but only if you promise not to eat them all.” He popped open the lid and tilted the container toward her.
“Maybe I better not.”
“Not even a small one?”
He didn’t mean it. She knew he didn’t mean it. But the placating words sounded so much like something Brett would say. They echoed in her head until she couldn’t stand them anymore.
“Who told you?” she asked, then stepped backward and closed her eyes. She was overreacting, but she couldn’t stop herself.
“Told me what?”
She took a couple of deep breaths and let other words flow inside. I am fearfully and wonderfully made. My soul knows it very well. The self-talk calmed her breathing.
“Amy, are you okay?”
She opened her eyes but didn’t meet his gaze. “I’m fine,” she said.
“Can I get you something?” he asked. “Maybe a glass of water?”
Before she could answer, he grasped her elbow and led her to a chair. She perched on the canvas-covered arm, and he knelt beside her. “What just happened?”
“Nothing.” She stared at her bare feet and toes polished a vibrant and glittery violet. So appropriate for summer, she’d thought, when the pedicurist offered her a choice of colors. Flecks
of teal paint dotted her flesh.
“I thought for a minute there you were going to pass out,” Gabe said.
She met his gaze and felt self-consciously warmed by the worry in his hazel eyes. The same hazel eyes that had looked into hers a lifetime ago before he slipped the jagged arrowhead into her hand. The simple gesture had given her more comfort, more strength than he could possibly know. That was the last time she’d seen him.
Did he remember that moment as clearly as she did? Did he remember it at all?
Gabe shifted his weight as he knelt by the chair, his hand temptingly close to Amy’s bare leg. He closed his fingers into his palm. “What can I do?”
“I’m fine, really. I think I forgot to eat lunch. What time is it?”
“Around 2:30 or so.”
“That late?”
“Sure you don’t want a cookie?”
“I’ll have a salad instead. How about you? I have plenty.” She stood, and he rose beside her to be sure she didn’t keel over.
“I’ve already eaten.” He pushed the container into her hands. “I’ll leave these with you and get going. Let you eat in peace.”
“Please don’t go. I mean, I wouldn’t mind a bit of company.”
“Are you sure?”
“I have sandwich stuff too if the salad doesn’t do it for you.”
“If you insist. I never turn down a home-cooked meal.” He chuckled. It was a lame attempt at humor considering all the institutional meals he’d eaten over the past several years.
“It’s not really home-cooked,” Amy said.
“Close enough.” Definitely better than prison food. He followed her to the step leading to the tiny kitchen. As she walked around the counter, she closed the notebook lying there and stuck it inside a drawer.
“Anything I can do to help?” he asked.
“I can handle it.”
“Know your way around the kitchen, huh?”
She gave him an enigmatic smile, then pulled a container of meat and cheese and another of mixed greens from the fridge.
What Hope Remembers Page 5