Where Grace Appears

by Heidi Chiavaroli

  I tortured myself further by thinking of Dad. A fresh wave of humiliation washed over me. I’d give anything to have him back, and at the same time I was so very glad I wouldn’t have to see the look of displeasure on his face when I finally shared my news. That it involved Professor Finn Becker, a man he had extended charity and fellowship to during my growing up years, would have been the ultimate betrayal.

  “Josie.”

  I blinked, shook my head. “Sorry.”

  Maggie put a hand on my arm. “We need a girls’ night. Bad. And you’re going to tell me what’s going on in that head of yours and what happened in New York, you hear?”

  I sniffed, nodded. “I’m free until September.”

  And maybe even past then.

  My sister took out her phone, started tapping. “I’m heading up the spring fundraiser at the twins’ school. Dinner at Mom’s with the sibs Friday night. Twins have a t-ball tournament on Saturday. Oh, and I’ve got to finish up the last few Bible study lessons for the women’s group. John has track meets on Mondays…” She looked up at me, guilt drawing out her features. “Could you do next Wednesday night?”

  Six days away. I suppose I’d take what I could get. I’d basically ignored my sister the last couple of months, after all. I was lucky to get anything. “Sure. That sounds wonderful.”

  I stood on my tiptoes, searching out Mom. While I’d always been closer to Dad, I felt a sudden, childlike need for the woman who’d always bandaged and kissed our boo-boos, fed us peanut butter chocolate chip cookies, and in short, simply made everything better. While I admired Dad with a fierceness I couldn’t explain, it was Mom who had always been there for us. Mom who could be counted on.

  “So she’s really going for it, huh? Their dream? Tripp mentioned she was thinking right downtown. You know where?”

  Maggie raised an eyebrow. “You saw Tripp?”

  “Just at the house for a minute.” I tried to brush her off.

  She nodded. The brushoff seemed to work. This time.

  “There’s a place for lease on Main. Right near The Smiling Cow.”

  “That’s a great spot. I’m glad to see Mom going after her dreams, even with…” My voice trailed off. The words Dad gone stuck in my throat. Apparently, a year battling grief wasn’t enough for me to voice the obvious. A year working through the stages. Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance.

  Yet knowing the stages and studying them in classes didn’t make them any easier to live through. I wondered where I fell on the spectrum. For the first time since I decided on a career in psychology, I doubted the neat little compartments we attempted to slide grief into.

  “Dad’s dream, you mean.” Maggie shifted from one foot to the other.

  “What?”

  “A bookshop was Dad’s dream. A book-inspired bed and breakfast was Mom’s.”

  “You’re right,” I whispered, remembering now the many B&B magazines Mom had collected over the years, the large scrapbook of clippings she’d carefully tended during my elementary years.

  But somewhere along the way, the scrapbook hadn’t come out as much. Instead, she’d poured herself into her family, coming alongside Dad at every turn with new projects that benefited the community or helped those in need. I didn’t remember the scrapbook sitting on our living room coffee table at all by the time I’d reached high school. I was ashamed to admit I hadn’t thought anything about it until now—until I faced the possibility of my own dreams being crushed.

  I’d always known I wouldn’t think of marriage or family until I’d reached my career goals. But now, for the first time, I saw how a woman could be swallowed up by a man—how intoxicating that could be. I wondered if that’s how Mom felt about Dad. True, she’d been able to finish her degree in the last months of her pregnancy with Maggie, but had she wanted more for her life? While there wasn’t a doubt in my mind she’d do anything differently, I wondered if she ever wished they’d handled their money differently. If they’d saved a little more for rainy-day dreams instead of giving so much away.

  “She should open her bed and breakfast,” I said.

  Maggie shook her head, a smile tugging at her lips. “That’s good of you to say. I thought the same, but we went over the numbers. The life insurance she received from the college was just enough to pay off the last of their debts. Mom doesn’t want to go back there now that she’s free of the burden.”

  My father’s varied interests had run us in the red over the years. If only he’d been as good at fundraising as he’d been at philosophy. As a part-time theology professor at the local community college, Dad was also on staff at our church as a counselor. It was no secret he volunteered more than his part-time hours demanded of him. Add in a start-up soup kitchen, a charity ball for the historical committee, free grief counseling, and even a kid’s camp. All worthy, beautiful endeavors…that we didn’t have money for.

  Even the bookshop Dad dreamed of was intended to be a non-profit launched in Portland to empower and support vulnerable teens and young adults—those in the foster care system, those involved in court, or those out of jobs. I wondered if that’s what Mom planned on doing. If so, would she be able to support such an endeavor long term, particularly in our privileged, relatively crime-free town of Camden?

  I still heard Dad’s voice, reciting the value of treasures in heaven over earthly treasures. And though it was hard at times for me to see past the nonexistent college fund, lack of money for guitar lessons for Lizzie, and Bronson’s second-hand clothes, I never questioned my father—and deep down believed that maybe the five of us were even better off for his rather radical views. But now, with Mom alone and Dad gone, shouldn’t she at least make an effort to go after her dreams—and support herself in the process?

  “What if she sold the house?” I asked.

  “Wow, I’m surprised you’d suggest that. Believe it or not, she actually considered it. But it would only be enough for a decent piece of Camden property, not enough to renovate or build, not to mention all the startup costs a B&B would take.”

  “She could take out a loan. It’s not unheard of, after all.”

  “On the single income of a librarian? I’m not sure she’d get what she needs. Besides, she says she never wants to owe money again, is dead set against it. And I think she’s scared a bed and breakfast wouldn’t take off, that she’d get behind on the loan, and be in the same boat she and Dad have always been in.”

  “It would take off. We’re in Camden. This is like the B&B capital of the country.”

  My sister put a hand on my arm. “She’s excited about the idea of the bookshop, I think. It’s okay. Some dreams are just not meant to be, I guess. And the bookshop—it’s a good thing. A noble project for Mom, a worthy contribution to the town.”

  Something welled up within me, something fierce I couldn’t name, couldn’t voice to Maggie. I tried to push out a half-hearted, “I guess,” but it wouldn’t come forth.

  Were some dreams not meant to come to fruition? I’d never believed that, not with my father’s endearingly optimistic attitude as my champion. But maybe that belief lacked practicality and wisdom. Maybe, as I grew older, I saw the cracks in the foundation of such a belief. Looking at my life the last several months…well, maybe my sister was right.

  “Hey, when’d you show up?”

  I turned at the sound of my youngest sibling’s voice. Blond hair braided and piled on her head, large rust-colored earrings shaped like leaves, pretty face with tastefully applied makeup, and white flowing pants. Everything about Amie spoke of both confidence and a flashback to the sixties.

  I hugged her tight, relishing the feel of her in my arms. No doubt, she was the most challenging of my siblings, the one hardest to get along with, the one with a temper to match my own, the one least likely to embrace the values Mom and Dad tried to instill in us. Then again, Amie wasn’t the one who’d been knocked up by her college professor.

  “Look what the cat dragged in.” A deep v
oice came from behind me. I released Amie to hug my only brother, Bronson. His dark looks and broad shoulders—not to mention his amazing mind—had to leave the college girls drooling. I hoped he used that amazing mind to be smart around them.

  “I thought guys stopped growing at twenty? You keep it up and we won’t be able to see anything but chin stubble and nose hairs pretty soon.”

  “Josie,” Maggie admonished.

  “Me next,” piped a small voice behind me.

  “Lizzie.” I clutched her tightest of all. Though we were complete opposites, we went together like Cheerios and milk, water and sand. And though her sweet, quiet, sometimes anxious nature as well as her scary bout with thyroid cancer when she was fifteen left me a bit protective of her, I didn’t mind the job one bit. While Maggie had always looked after Amie, I’d willingly taken up for Lizzie over the years. All of us fawned over Bronson enough that he could never feel left out—quite the opposite, in fact.

  From somewhere in the corner of the large room, Marianne Norbert, head librarian, proud member of Aunt Pris’s quilting club, and the tallest woman in town at six-feet, counted down to singing For She’s a Jolly Good Fellow. The crowd parted and there was Mom, the candles on the cake lighting her delicate features, so like Maggie’s. Though the lines around her eyes and mouth ran deeper than last time I saw her, she looked happy. A bit tired, perhaps, but content, her chestnut hair pulled back in a loose ponytail, her eyes scanning the crowd in appreciation.

  Maybe Maggie was right. Maybe the bookshop was a good thing, even if it wasn’t her original dream. Maybe dreams took different forms, shifting and shedding and growing into something more suitable, better even.

  Mom blew out the candles, then opened her eyes, her gaze landing on me. Her mouth formed my name against the applause and she rushed toward me, arms outstretched.

  I sank into her embrace, willed the tears not to come. For though I was just shy of twenty-four, if there was ever a time I needed my mother…if there was ever a time I needed to be in the embrace of everything home, it was now.

  3

  Tripp didn’t presume to know much outside of building things. Except for the one fact he was learning faster than he wanted—that fact being, women were trouble.

  Namely one woman in particular.

  Tripp closed his eyes, promising when he opened them that Josie Martin would be pushed to the darkest corner of his mind and the estimate he worked on would be at the forefront. He kept them closed for another moment, seeing for the twentieth time that day Josie sitting at her kitchen table with that haunted look in her eyes.

  He shook his head and dragged in a deep breath, opening his eyes to look at the drawings on his office desk. The proposed colonial on Sherman Cove would run a pretty penny. If Colton Contractors secured the job, it would keep Tripp’s biggest crew busy for most of the fall.

  And Grandpop happy.

  Little by little, Edward Colton was releasing the reins of his beloved business to his grandson. Tripp knew it wasn’t easy for him, even at the ripe age of eighty-two. But Grandpop had nothing to worry about—the business of fixing and building things, of creating something lasting, functional, and beautiful out of wood and nails, ran in Tripp’s blood. Sure, it may have skipped a generation with his father, and been lost on his younger brother, but it was there, inside Tripp, sure as the sunrise over Camden Harbor each morning.

  He finished listing the lumber he needed for the second floor and the last of the rooms, including finish work, then sent an email to his supplier to get a price on it all. Once he heard back, he’d add that price to the labor and subcontractor estimates.

  If the job went through, maybe he’d even be able to get his hands dirty himself. Surely, the office work wouldn’t suffer too much if he got out with the crew for a couple of framing days on this one.

  A knock sounded at the door.

  “It’s open!”

  Clothed in a surfing t-shirt better suited for a California beach than a construction site, his younger brother had always been more at home with a pencil and sketchpad or surfboard than a hammer and pouch of nails.

  And at the moment, that was the problem.

  Especially after his talk with Pedro the night before. By the time their conversation was over, Tripp had just enough time to get to Hannah’s retirement party to wish her well before the library started emptying out. He’d helped Josie and her siblings clean up the place, and Josie had seemed happy enough. If only it weren’t for those anxious eyes at her kitchen table earlier in the afternoon. What was troubling her?

  “Hey, bro.” August pushed back dirty blond hair and took a seat in one of the two chairs across from his desk, an ankle casually draped over a tanned knee. “You wanted to see me?”

  Tripp shoved his calculator aside. “Yeah…you missing school yet?” Better to ease into the conversation.

  “Only been out a week, not much to miss except the girls.” He wiggled his eyebrows.

  Tripp would have to address too much partying at college at a later date. Even he knew one lecture at a time was all any kid could handle.

  He sent up a quick, desperate prayer for the course of the conversation. He’d never quite known his place with August, a brother seven years younger. Both boys had been under their grandfather’s care since August was six and their parents had died in a train crash while on a business trip in France. While Grandpop supplied their every physical need, emotional ones—particularly August’s—had been harder to meet. Tripp played the part of older brother as much as the part of subsidiary father, something August didn’t exactly appreciate.

  Now, with classes out, Tripp would also play the part of employer, something he relished as much as a nail through the thumb.

  “I talked to Pedro last night. He has some concerns about the Banks renovation.”

  “I don’t know what he said, bro, but I wouldn’t listen. That guy’s got an entire jackhammer up his—”

  “That guy is my best foreman and your immediate supervisor. You’ve been on the job four days, August. None of the guys are going to take kindly to you screwing around. Just do what he asks you to do. If he tells you to clean, clean. If he tells you to move lumber, move it. And put your phone away until break time.”

  “I’m not some kid, okay? I don’t need you to tell me when I can and can’t use my phone.”

  Tripp’s anger mounted, the fuse to his temper a short one August knew the best way to ignite. “You’re right. You’re not a kid anymore, so start acting like an adult.” Great balls of fire, now he really sounded like an overbearing parent. But he couldn’t stop. Didn’t August see how his actions affected the entire business? “You don’t get a pass because your family owns the company. You don’t get to sit on your sorry behind and play on your phone because of your last name. If anything, your last name means you should work all the harder.”

  “Okay, okay, Grandpop. Chill, all right?”

  Tripp gritted his teeth and fought the urge to pound his fist into the mahogany desk and stand up to deliver his wrath. Instead, he eyed his brother with the reserve one might give a chicken in the henhouse destined for that night’s dinner. “No one asked you to work your summer at Colton Contractors. You could just as easily have gotten a job waiting tables and flashing those dimples for tips at any number of the restaurants around here. Maybe it’s just not a good fit, August, and maybe that’s okay.”

  His brother exhaled with much show, swung his head dramatically to the side. His long hair landed neatly over one eye. “You’re right. Are you happy? Give me another chance. I’ll do better, I promise.”

  Though his heart wasn’t in it, Tripp would take whatever his little brother would give. Tripp reached toward the side table and grabbed a package of gray t-shirts embroidered with the company name. He threw it hard at August. “One more thing. Make sure you’re wearing one of these every day. No more surfer-dude t-shirts and no holes in the pants. Got it?”

  “Yeah, yeah. Man, you’re getti
ng more like the old man every day.”

  Tripp hated to admit it, he really hated to admit it, but August was right. Still, the business couldn’t be run on rainbows and unicorns. Someone had to get junk done. And yeah, that person was him. So while he’d rather be out in the field, what got done in this office made what happened in the field possible.

  “Wait. I saw Josie outside Dr. Sutka’s office today. She’s back, right? Is that what’s got your panties in a bunch?”

  “August…” Tripp swallowed the rest of the warning, tried to ignore the familiar, humiliating pain that threatened to rip him in two wherever Josie was concerned. Everyone had thought they’d end up together, including him. What had gone wrong?

  August had seen her at the doctor’s? Probably just a checkup, surely nothing serious. Josie was the picture of perfect health, running marathons up and down the Maine coast. He’d been at every grueling finish line to cheer her on.

  Maybe it hadn’t been enough, though. Maybe she wanted more than cheering. Maybe he’d buy some new running sneakers this weekend, see if she wanted to take a few laps with him. Surely, he could handle a few miles pounding pavement if it gave him an excuse to spend time with her, to figure out what was going on with those sad gray eyes….

  August walked around the desk and put a hand on Tripp’s shoulder. “Man, I know it sucks, but you gotta get back out there. You’re not too ugly for an old man, after all. There’s gotta be a girl desperate enough to take you up on a date.”

  Tripp broke loose with a grin, backhanded his brother’s abs, causing him to curl over in mock agony. August didn’t lose his playful smirk. “And hey, if you can’t win her with your looks, flash her your wallet. We all know Grandpop’s millions are going to you.”

  Tripp grabbed August in a headlock. “I’m not so old I can’t take you out in five seconds, flat. Don’t you ever forget it.” He released him, messed up his hair to get in one more good jab.