The Orchard House Bed and Breakfast gave me an excuse to stay away from New York. It gave me an excuse to become closer to Mom. It gave me a distraction from the grief of losing Dad, the sorrow of losing the father of my baby. But what if this was all a selfish move on my part?
What would Mom think? What would Aunt Pris say? This baby…in New York it had been my problem alone. But here, surrounded by those I loved, it was so much more complicated. They deserved to know. They all did.
I vowed to tell them by the end of the day.
13
Tripp backed his work truck up to the job site, shoved a hat on his head, and walked over to where the crew was building an in-law apartment onto the side of a modest colonial. Since he’d finished the Martin estimate early that morning, he decided to reward himself with some time in the field performing one of his favorite aspects of construction—framing.
Pedro whistled. “Watch out, boys. The boss is coming down from his office to strap on a tool belt today.”
Tripp grinned at his friend and foreman. “Thought I’d show you boys how to frame without taking all week.”
Pedro’s jaw grew slack, his dark skin shining in the sun. “All week? Boss Man, I was going to have this done in three days, tops.” A slight accent punctuated his foreman’s words. Pedro had come over with his parents from Portugal as a young adult with a wife and two little girls. He worked hard and never compromised on the job—or with his family, something Tripp very much respected.
“Well with my help, maybe we can get it done in two.”
Pedro pointed the back of his hammer at Tripp. “You’re on.”
Tripp inhaled the scent of fresh lumber coming from the pile of two-by-fours and two-by-sixes on the ground beside the foundation. His fingers itched to get to work. “You got the plans?”
Pedro gestured him over to a makeshift table made up of a sheet of plywood and two sawhorses, but not before he caught sight of August with three other guys, gesturing to his phone and laughing.
Tripp jerked his head toward the group. “How’s the crew?”
“If you mean your little brother, I think the word is inconsistent. The beginning of the week was rough, but he was spot on yesterday doing trim at the Learneds’. When he’s into it, he’s into it. When he’s not…well…”
“I’m not paying him to be into it. I’m paying him to do a job. You think he needs to go, Pedro? I respect you. Just because he’s family doesn’t mean he gets to fool around.”
Pedro shrugged. “We always seem to have a lagging laborer here and there. You see what you think today. Or maybe put him on Landon’s job and see how it goes.” Landon was Tripp’s other foreman.
“Okay, thanks.” He looked at the plans. “You want to cut for me?”
Pedro nodded. “Let’s get to it.” He turned to the rest of the crew, shouted out directions.
Compressors jumped to life. They arranged the lumber on the side of the yard. Tripp pressed his nail gun against the wood and pulled the trigger, satisfaction growing as first the floor and then the walls took shape. By mid-morning, one wall stood, and they took a break, the sun already beating hard.
Tripp sat in the shade of a tree near the fence of the property, opened up his water bottle, and took a long swig before he spoke to the crew. “You guys are on top of it today. Good job.” He looked at August, wondered if his presence had made the kid work harder. Today, he’d seen what his brother could do. Follow instructions, use his brain, keep the phone in his pocket. Small things for some, but it made Tripp proud.
“Oh hey, August!” A feminine voice called from the neighbor’s yard.
Tripp turned to see Jenny Simcock leaning over the fence, her low-cut, tight shirt not leaving much to the imagination. He bit back a groan, returned to minding his granola bar. Known as the biggest gossip this side of the Appalachian Trail, he knew from experience that any attention would only encourage her. About a year ago, he’d politely held the door open for her as she came out of Hannaford’s. Once in the parking lot, she’d cornered him against his truck, fishing for an offer for a date.
August stood. “Oh hey, Jenny. Didn’t realize you lived here.”
Jenny fluttered eyelashes too long to be real. “I sure do. Been watching you handsome fellas work hard all morning.”
August looked back at what they’d accomplished, and Tripp could have sworn he saw pride on his brother’s face. “Yeah, it’s coming along I guess.”
“Hey, Tripp!” Jenny leaned into Tripp’s line of vision. “I like your truck. Is it new?”
“Had it for a couple years, Jenny.”
“Well, it’s real pretty. And oh, I just heard, Tripp! Congratulations on the baby. That’s super exciting.”
Tripp’s granola bar turned to sawdust in his mouth. Whatever false news Jenny intended to spread, it best stop here. “Pardon?”
Jenny’s face was pure innocence. Tripp didn’t buy it.
“My sister mentioned it this morning. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize it was a secret.”
Tripp started to stand to confront whatever messed-up thoughts the crazy girl had clinging to her brains, but changed his mind. He refused to credit her words with a gesture as important as standing. “I’m afraid Lilly’s mistaken. Best set her straight right away.” He looked at the crew, ready to leave this corner of the yard once and for all. “Let’s get back to it, guys.”
But Jenny’s eyebrows rose, her head cocked to the side. “But my sister said Josie was talking about it last night at the restaurant. Lilly got a job at Fresh just a few months ago.”
Tripp looked at the girl. Josie had mentioned plans to go to the restaurant with Maggie. But surely Lilly heard something wrong.
He didn’t appreciate meaningless gossip and rumors at any time, but when they involved Josie, he really wasn’t a fan. What happened in high school with Alan Ash, groundless as it was, had been enough to drive him crazy. Josie didn’t need any of it. And neither did he. What’s worse, the baseless gossip was being spread in front of his employees—men he wanted respect from.
He scrambled for an answer that would shut those little puckered lips up once and for all. “They were probably talking about Maggie’s kids. Those boys are something. Now, if you’ll excuse us, we have a house to frame.” He picked up his water bottle.
“Hmmm…” More finger tapping on the fence post. “I’m quite positive she said Josie was pregnant. And she heard your name more than once.”
Tripp grit his teeth, mind swimming. “And I’m quite positive that Lilly has her information wrong. Have a good day, Jenny.”
She waved, a look on her face that said Tripp was the one with the wrong information.
They returned to framing, the quiet crew grating on Tripp’s already taunt nerves, the easy banter gone. He threw himself behind his nail gun, connecting two-by-fours with lightning speed. But although he sank into the work, Jenny’s words haunted him. They were ludicrous and vicious. Ridiculous. Josie, pregnant. He could more easily imagine Grandpop announcing intentions to join the circus. Josie had told him she didn’t want to be with any man, that she only wanted to concentrate on her studies. She was above reproach, not one to let her heart—or her hormones—get carried away.
At least not when it came to him.
The thought caused a crushing weight to press against his chest. He remembered her silence the past year, the broken look in her eyes upon returning to Camden, her announcement that she might not be returning to New York after all, the way she’d rested a hand on her stomach when they’d gotten into her car after visiting Aunt Pris that first time.
The sun grew hotter, and he fought a wave of dizziness. He pushed through the haze, relishing the simple, satisfying work. He had half a mind to go next door and give Jenny a piece of his mind. He worked hard to be a man of integrity and character, and he didn’t need her botching it up with nonsensical blather.
By lunchtime, they had raised two walls, complete with two jut-outs for a walk-in
bathroom. His phone dinged, signaling a text, and as the crew sought out their lunch coolers, he saw he’d missed a handful of phone calls from Landon, and one from Josie. She’d also sent him a message.
Can we talk ASAP?
His heart leapt in his throat.
He tapped back. Where are you?
He waited, the dots on her phone signaling a response.
Home, doing some research. Are you at the office?
No, can we meet up in the library amphitheater?
His phone rang, Josie’s name lighting up the screen. He pushed the Accept button. “Hey.”
“Hey. I don’t want to interrupt your day. I think a phone call would do, or we could meet up later.”
He sank into her voice, feeling foolish that he believed Jenny’s gossip for even a minute. But all of a sudden, more than anything, he needed to see Josie, to assure himself she was well—to hold her even.
He ran a hand over his face and stifled a curse. He was turning sappy.
“Actually, I’d really like to talk in person. Can you get away?”
“Sure. I’ll meet you in ten?”
He glanced at the crew. “Better make it fifteen.”
He hung up, walked over to the guys. “I gotta cut out.”
“Office duty calls, eh man?” Pedro bit into a tuna sandwich. “It was nice working with you while it lasted. You did good today.”
Tripp smiled, his friend’s compliment shining light into his spirit. “We worked well together. All of us. Nice job, guys. I’ll be by tomorrow morning with some iced coffees. Maybe we can finish this up.”
He chanced a glance at August, who looked exhausted but happy. Maybe his little brother just needed some time to get acclimated to hard physical labor.
Tripp headed to his car, where he changed into a fresh shirt. To his dismay, he caught Jenny eyeing him from her porch next door. He pulled his shirt over his head, and she looked away.
Trouble, that’s what she was. No doubt she knew his feelings for Josie—didn’t the entire town by now? Maybe she was still sour over Tripp turning her down that day at the grocery store. Who knew what went through that girl’s head?
He put his truck in drive and rolled the windows down, breathing in the thick air. In less than an hour, his world would be set straight again. He should be embarrassed to even doubt Josie. Could one woman’s words so clearly dissuade him of her character?
And yet, perhaps he placed Josie on a pedestal she didn’t deserve. Did he honestly believe she would never want a man if it weren’t him?
Yes, he supposed he did.
And maybe that was his problem.
Finn screamed at the top of his lungs, allowing the loud rush of the wind to compete with the echo of his voice, his diving partners several hundred feet from him imitating his bellow.
To test one’s audacity to stare fear in the face at sixteen thousand feet was nothing short of empowering. To jump out of a plane with no way to turn back, to conquer the fall, to harness the wind…how had he lived before this?
Hurtling one-hundred twenty miles per hour toward the ground felt like flying, and in the moment, he was unconquerable. Untouchable. On top of the world. If he could do this, he could do anything. The cushion of air beneath him pillowed his body and pushed against his face, taking his breath away in the most fantastic of ways.
He realized then how skydiving could become an addiction. It took away all his cares, grabbed hold of him with a tenacity that demanded his full attention—so much so that all else faded away. Almost a spiritual experience, an awakening to the bigness of the world.
His parachute snapped open, creating instant, sacred quiet compared to the volume of wind that had rushed in his ears moments before. With the exception of the soft flapping of the canopy overhead, the world—and its busy, fractured way of life—lay quiet below him. This high up, he knew his place on earth. All that stuff he lived day to day, all that craziness of life, it didn’t really matter. Compared to this—the vastness of the sky and the horizon, the green of the world—everything else proved junk. Man-made drama. He’d let too much of it consume him.
Without warning, a story from the Bible came to him. Jesus, getting up early to go on a mountain to pray. Jesus, seeking to rise earlier than the mess of humanity and press of people who needed Him, the demand of those who sought answers in His teachings. He wondered if Jesus had lived today, if perhaps He would have gone skydiving instead. Prayed on the way down.
Finn shook his head at the ridiculous thought. Jesus skydiving. Get a grip, Becker. This was his escape. And he was ruining it by thoughts of a God he didn’t even believe in anymore.
As he approached the ground, he looked at the horizon to gain a sense of his height as well as to ensure no other divers planned to land at the same time. He spotted his target, felt the wind pulling him toward it, his speed giving him a feeling of weightlessness. He calculated the entry point of his landing pattern, his goal to land on his target within ten feet. The last several times he’d flared too high, causing his canopy to stall and leaving him too high to touch the ground at target which made for a hard landing.
Though his gut told him to flare, he waited an extra moment to avoid the hard landing. It paid off. He landed five feet within target.
A moment later, Sven stood beside him. “Best landing I’ve seen from you, yet.”
He clasped hands with his friend. “Thanks, buddy. It felt good today. Real good.” Yes, indeed. Time to look forward, to embrace the future, and not allow guilt to weigh him down.
He accepted Sven’s invitation to get a drink with some of the other jumpers, one a dark-haired beauty with flirty eyes. Closer to his age than the last couple of women he’d dated, he couldn’t help wondering what it might be like to share his hobby with a love-interest, a partner.
At the bar, he finagled his way to sit beside her at the group’s table. Come to find out, Katrina was a lawyer for the NFL who hated the drama of having girlfriends and chose to unwind on the weekends by skydiving. After a couple of drinks, they broke from the group and sat by themselves against a quiet wall chatting about jumps, work goals, and the many museums they both wanted to see in the city. When Katrina asked him back to her apartment, he couldn’t think of a single reason to say no.
He’d promised himself new beginnings, after all. The past behind. The future ahead.
So when he woke in the middle of the night in the unfamiliar apartment beside Katrina’s enticing figure, he simply couldn’t make sense of the tears that were once again flowing, soaking her high-end sheets. How could these tears possibly belong to him?
He’d had an amazing day, the best in a long time. Why then, wasn’t that enough for some inner part of him that still couldn’t move past Josie Martin?
14
I stretched out my legs, allowing the sun to warm them from where I sat on the top step of the library’s backyard amphitheater. I loved the quiet here, almost sacred. The scent of honeysuckle, the boats bobbing in the harbor, the expanse of green grass centered below.
Aunt Pris had gushed—as much as Aunt Pris could ever be capable of gushing—over Mom’s breakfast that morning. Once I cleared up the estimate with Tripp, I didn’t see anything stopping us from getting the go-ahead.
I caught a form out of the corner of my eye and stood at the sight of my friend. His hair stuck up at odds and ends as if he’d recently doused it with water and ran his fingers through it. Dirt crusted the thighs of his jeans. A pull of attraction started in my belly, spiraling to the nerve endings throughout my body. Without warning, my thoughts turned to that day last summer—the bench overlooking Curtis Island, the pain of losing Dad coupled with Maggie’s marriage. How I had sat alongside that bench with Tripp, openly sulking.
I had mumbled against Tripp’s shoulder, hiding against him when the tears failed to stop. “Everything’s changing. I feel like I’m not just losing my sister, but my dearest friend.” I brought my knees to my chest, rested my chin on them.
>
Tripp wriggled his hand beneath my own. “You’ve got me.” His voice was quiet, solemn. “I’ll stand by you all the days of my life, Josie.”
I tugged my hand from his. “Don’t, Tripp. Please. Not now.”
“Yes, now.” He said the words with resolve, surprising me.
“What?”
“I’ve loved you forever, Josie. Even when I tried to help myself, I couldn’t. I’ve tried to show you, and you won’t see. I’ve tried to tell you, and you won’t hear. Things are changing, yes. Why don’t we change with them?”
I moved to stand, but he kept hold of my hand until I couldn’t help but meet his gaze. “You’re not running away this time. I want you to hear, and hear me good.”
“Tripp….”
“Josie, I want you. More than I’ve ever wanted anything. I know I don’t deserve you, but I’ll work hard all of my days to deserve you. For the rest of my life if you’ll have me. Be with me forever. Marry me, Josie.” He tilted his head, questioning, pleading.
Oh, how I wanted to lose myself in those sincere dark eyes, to accept his offer of love and security and friendship for life. Yet, those weren’t my plans. Career first, love second. In that order, no exceptions.
If I were to become Tripp’s wife, I’d lose myself. He’d expect me to stay in Camden, to never find a bigger purpose outside of our quaint town, never fulfill my dreams. The dreams I planned before I was old enough to ride a bicycle. See the world. Befriend learned men and women. Make a name for myself. Help humanity.
I could do none of it by staying in Camden. By becoming a wife. Quite simply, I loved my liberty too much to give it up for any man. Even one as winning as Tripp Colton.
“You are too good for me. I wish I could give you what you want, but I can’t. I can’t be this next step into adulthood for you. I can’t go and settle down yet, Tripp. You know I can’t. I won’t.”
Where Grace Appears Page 12