Suzanna nodded but other than a quick glance at her mother, said nothing.
“One day Cassie was complaining how Ella never showed any interest in us anymore when Ben was around. I foolishly told her that it was too bad Ella didn’t have a crush on Brandon, because he had one on her.” Grace looked down at her hands clenched together in her lap, embarrassed suddenly by her story. Such a teen cliché. She took another breath. “At the time, I didn’t realize Cassie also had a crush on Ben and was jealous, because he so obviously was more interested in Ella. Unfortunately, I didn’t figure that part out until afterward, when it was too late.” She risked a glance at her aunt and cousin, both staring intently at her.
“Cassie thought it would be fun to play a joke on Ella. She wrote a note, supposedly from Ben but just signed with a B, asking Ella to meet on the lighthouse path during the beach party. I was allowed to go for the first time.” Grace sighed. “I wish now I hadn’t. Anyway, Cassie wrote the same note but signed it Ella and got me to deliver it to Brandon.”
She peered down again but heard someone gasp. When she continued, she couldn’t look up. “We thought it would be funny to see their faces when they realized what was happening. Cassie said no one would get hurt because it was only a joke and I was stupid enough to believe her.” Her eyes welled up and she had to stop. She thought someone was about to speak and swiftly raised a hand. “I need to finish. So when we saw first Brandon and then Ella leave the bonfire, we sneaked away, too, and ran toward the lighthouse path. We hid behind some shrubs and of course, it played out exactly as we’d guessed. Both of them were stunned, then angry. But they were angry at each other for some reason. I guess because they didn’t figure out right away who was responsible until Cassie giggled and Ella heard her. Brandon ran off then and so did we. We got back to the party seconds before Ella and we could tell right away she knew what we’d done. I remember she threw the note we’d given her into the fire.” Grace paused again. “Maybe if she’d kept it, she wouldn’t have been blamed for what happened. I know you heard most of this at the time from the police that Ben went looking for Ella and came upon Brandon. There was some kind of argument. Ben never really said what it was about but Brandon dropped the note he had onto the ground and ran off toward the lighthouse. I just want you to know that I had a part to play that night, too. A big part.”
An intake of breath from Jane stopped Grace. “Oh no. I can’t bear to think about this again.” She lowered her forehead onto her hand and began to cry.
Suzanna gave a choking sound. “Mom...” and got up to walk around the desk, skirting Grace, to kneel at her mother’s side. She wrapped her arms around her mother’s shoulders and laid her cheek against her head. For a long moment the only sound in the room was weeping.
Grace dabbed at her eyes with a tissue and waited until she could speak again. “I’m so sorry. If I could live my life over...if I had refused to go along with it...if only I had...”
Suzanna raised her head. “What, Grace? If doesn’t mean anything. I’m only sorry I spent so many days—months—hating Ella Jacobs when...”
I should have been hating you! Grace finished the thought for her. The pain it brought steadied her, reminding her that she was not the victim. That she deserved this and more. She stood up to leave, wanting them to process all she’d admitted in private.
But just as she got to the door, she heard her aunt say, “Gracie. Don’t go. The three of us need to finish this talk. Over some tea.”
When she turned around, Grace saw her aunt holding out a hand to her. There was still a long journey ahead, but Grace knew she was forgiven.
* * *
WHEN DREW PHONED at the end of the afternoon to say he was on his way back, Grace immediately called Henry to ask him to fill in at the store for her.
“Go,” he’d said when she explained what she planned to do. No questions or concerns. And he’d send Drew to her.
Grace arrived at the lighthouse. The morning tide was still receding so she could only walk as far as where the flowers had been a week or so ago. This was the first time she’d come to the site by herself and it was something she knew she had to do. She walked around, looking for the best place to locate the memorial plaque and jotting notes in the sketchbook she’d brought with her. She was still feeling shaky from her morning meeting with her aunt and cousin but was heartened by their parting insistence that she do whatever needed to be done to make the memorial happen.
Grace felt a twinge of guilt, knowing that by proceeding ahead she was risking more than Drew’s irritation. In the hours after her confession to her family, she’d decided not to give up. She couldn’t blame Drew for acquiescing to his boss. He had a job to consider and she’d seen his obvious respect for the man.
But she could fault a bureaucracy for being blind to what was important to a community that had suffered long enough. The whispers, the pointed fingers and blame from all those years ago had had a dire effect on the town—on all of them. Suzanna, her parents, Ben and Ella—even Cassie, who’d finished off her high school days without friends and had left the Cove forever.
There was no going back. That’s what Drew had told her and he was right. But she could go ahead if Drew...
She heard him before he came up beside her.
“Henry told me you were here.” He wrapped his arms around her and ducked his head to kiss the hollow of her neck. When she pulled back a long minute later, he was smiling.
“Where were you thinking?”
“What do you mean?”
“The memorial plaque. Where do you think you’ll place it?”
Was he reading her mind now? “I...uh... I’m not sure what you mean.”
His burst of laughter sent a nearby gull screeching skyward. “Don’t deny it, Grace. I know you well enough now to figure out your presence here is all about some new idea and I can guess what that might be.”
She tried to avoid his eyes, but his finger on the tip of her chin held her firmly in place. “Then tell me,” she said.
He ran the finger along her jawline to her lips. “I’m not playing this game,” he murmured, outlining her mouth with his fingertip.
“What game?”
“Where?” he repeated.
“Over there, near the flowers,” she whispered.
“That’s a good place.” He lowered his head, about to kiss her when she stopped him.
“Is that all you’re going to say?”
“Hmm. No, come to think of it, it isn’t all I have to say. I also want to add that you can continue making your plans, Grace Winters, because the lighthouse isn’t going to be torn down.”
She gasped but before she could speak, he said, “There’s a condition however.”
Wasn’t there always? “What is it?”
“I have to be included and involved, every step of the way.”
“You already are,” Grace said and moved slowly into his arms.
She tilted her head back as his lips found hers and when the kiss that seemed to go on forever ended, Grace broke away to gaze up at him. “I can’t believe we’ve come this far and I still haven’t told you.”
She saw the instant worry in his eyes and laughed. “It’s okay. I’m not about to drop another idea on you. At least, not just yet.” She couldn’t resist the tease. Then she ran her fingers down the side of his face. “I love you, Drew Spencer.”
His arms tightened around her. “And I love you, Grace Winters...along with all your pet projects, whatever they may be.”
Grace laid her head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart. She pictured herself standing on the threshold of an opened door and for the first time in seventeen years she felt free.
* * *
Be sure to look for the next Harlequin Heartwarming book by Janice Carter, coming in 2021!
Keep reading for an excerpt fr
om A Bridge Home by Virginia McCullough.
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A Bridge Home
by Virginia McCullough
CHAPTER ONE
WITH A BASKET of clean clothes balanced against her hip, Amy Morgan climbed the basement stairs humming the opening bars of “My Funny Valentine.” A slightly off-key rendition, especially on the high notes, but what difference did it make? The song had looped through her head all day, no matter how hard she tried to purge it from her brain. There was zero chance of that happening, since Valentine’s Day plans were the buzz at work that afternoon.
As the River Street Salon’s receptionist she had a front row seat to the daily small talk. Every woman who came in that particular day was expecting her special someone to show up with a bouquet of her favorite flowers, a box of chocolates or both.
Amy carried the basket of still-warm clothes into the kitchen and plunked it down on a chair at the end of the long table. “Happy Valentine’s Day to me,” she muttered under her breath.
Oops, her words came out louder than she intended. Grandma Barb glanced up from where she stood unloading the dishwasher. “Did you say something, Amy?”
“Nothing important, Grandma. I was just talking to myself—again.” Amy injected an upbeat lilt into her voice.
“She does that a lot,” Cassie said. Amy’s nine-year-old sat at the table swinging her legs and tapping her pencil on her math worksheet.
“Oh, you, don’t exaggerate.” Amy made a face at Cassie before plucking a pair of her grandpa’s jeans off the top of the pile. “How’s that homework coming?”
“Boring. I told you I’m not good at math.”
“You used to be.” Amy immediately wanted to snatch those words out of the air. Couldn’t she have come up with something a little more original? She only seemed to remind Cassie about how her life “used to be.” But whatever she said was the wrong thing lately, and Cassie never thought twice about telling her so.
She waved the worksheet in the air. “My teacher said this is harder than what I did last semester in my old school. It’s three-digit multiplication.”
“You’ll catch on, honey,” Grandma Barb said. She pulled a chair out from the table and eased herself down. She reached out to pat Cassie’s arm.
Amy smoothed the wrinkles out of the jeans and braced for another argumentative answer from Cassie, but none came. Good. If she’d done one thing right, it was drawing a line in the sand when it came to Cassie’s great-grandparents. They were to be treated with respect—and only with respect. No back talk, no antics. Ever.
“As soon as I’m finished folding these clothes, I’ll heat up the stew, Grandma.”
Grandma tilted her head toward Cassie and smacked her lips. “And then we’ll have red velvet cake for dessert.”
Cassie smacked her lips back and grinned.
At least Grandma Barb could bring a smile to her little girl’s face. So could Barb’s gray-and-white cat, named Cloud because her coat resembled white clouds against a gray sky. At the moment, Cloud sat on her haunches next to Cassie’s chair, apparently in the mood to accept whatever attention anyone in the house chose to heap on her.
Amy took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. She had to fight off her own cloud of gloom and doom. She kept a watch on Cassie, who fidgeted with her braid, but kept her head down and finished up the remaining math problems on the page. Then she lifted the pencil high in the air and let it drop onto the paper. “I’m done, done, done.” She slid off the chair and hurried out of the kitchen and into the living room.
Phew. Amy exhaled in relief as if she’d finished her homework.
“I know you’re worried, sweetheart, but your little girl will be fine.” Grandma Barb spoke in a confident tone.
She meant well. Amy gave her that. Her grandmother seemed to have an unending supply of optimism. But Grandma hadn’t read the message from Amy’s teacher about the nine-year-old’s adjustment issues. Or rather, maladjustment. Grandma hadn’t been on the embarrassing phone call with the school’s office manager to set up an appointment with Eric Wells, the new principal. As if Cassie’s bad behavior wasn’t bad enough, Amy had gone to high school with Eric. They’d even worked together as coeditors of the high school newspaper.
“Maybe so, Grandma, but you don’t have to slink into the school tomorrow morning and hope no one notices you showing up at the principal’s office to meet with Mr. Wells.” She grabbed one of Cassie’s pullovers from the pile and quickly folded it and set it aside in a growing pile of Cassie’s things. Her daughter was old enough now to put away her own little pile of clothes, even if she griped about it. Amy herself had lived with her grandparents most of her childhood and doing a bunch of chores was part of a regular day. She’d rebel against them occasionally, but Grandma would shrug off her complaints. Now Amy found herself doing the same thing with Cassie.
Grandma pointed to the window. “Look at that snow. I doubt anyone’s going to be having meetings at the school tomorrow. We’ll be buried by morning.”
Amy turned to look out the picture window behind her. Grandma could be right. The snow was forecasted as barely deep enough to cover the half foot of snow that blanketed Bluestone River a few days ago. But the wind had picked up and blew the snow horizontally. They were in the midst of a whiteout now. “You could be right. Maybe we’re in the path of that giant storm after all.”
Grandma’s eyebrows lifted almost to her forehead in amusement. “I’m sure Les will tell us at dinner.”
Amy chuckled. “In great detail.” After a stroke forced her Grandpa Les to slow down, he’d become even more dedicated to news and weather watching. Unfortunately, it took a little effort for him to move around, but he balked at using a wheelchair, at least in the house. On the other hand, in his eighties now, like Barb, his mind hadn’t lost a beat.
Amy returned the piles of folded clothes to the basket and set it aside to put away after dinner. She took out the pot of stew she’d made that morning before work, and while it heated, she warmed the rolls in the oven and brought bowls and plates to the table. Grandma could finish setting the table without having to get up from her chair.
“We have our system, don’t we?” Barb smiled as she plucked silverware out of the wire basket on the table.
“Like the old days.” As happened so often since she’d been back in Bluestone River, a wave of nostalgia gently rolled in. Sometimes she couldn’t help but long for the simpler days of her childhood with Grandma and Grandpa, whose unconditional love had nurtured her when her parents wouldn’t—or maybe couldn’t.
“Speaking of systems...” She smiled at Grandma and went to the arched entry into the living room. “Time to come to the table, you two. Do you need help, Grandpa?”
“Nah.” He inched to the edge of the chair and braced his hands on the arms to lift himself to his feet. “Cassie will walk next to me. Maybe she’ll let me hang on to her hand.”
Cassie nodded eagerly. “You bet, Grandpa.”
She sounded so sweet. How could this be the same girl who’d refused to make valentines in class that day? Even worse, she’d dumped art supplies in the trash? It hurt knowing that today’s episode wasn’t the first. The other day, Cassie had instigated a name-calling match with a boy in her class.
“Hold on to your hats, girls,” Grandpa Les said as he sat in the chair Cassie pulled out for him. “Just saw the weather update. Winds are picking up.” He tapped the tip of Cassie’s nose. “I bet you’ll be home tomorrow and helping me put together that puzzle we’ve got going. What do you want to bet they call off school?”
“Lots of Valentine’s Day plans up in
smoke, too, I suppose,” Grandma said.
“Not ours,” Amy said, trying to sound upbeat. She looked at her grandparents and her daughter. The three of them were her holiday plans. “Pass the bowls and I’ll dish up the stew.”
“And eat fast,” Cassie said, “so we can have cake.”
Grandma and Grandpa jumped in with their usual teasing about Cassie’s sweet tooth, so like their mother’s they’d say fondly. Amy couldn’t deny it. For the next few minutes, she enjoyed the comfort of the warm rolls topped with melting butter and a generous dollop of honey. The scent of thyme and garlic in the hot stew on the cold night made all her problems seem a little less serious.
After they’d cleared away the cake plates, her grandparents opened the cards Amy bought to give them, one from her, one from Cassie. She’d had some warning about Cassie acting out in the previous days when she couldn’t coax her daughter to even glance at the cards they were giving to her grandparents. Cassie cared about one thing only, and that was choosing the valentine to mail to her father, who apparently hadn’t bothered to send his daughter a card. At least nothing had arrived in that day’s mail. Cassie had checked yesterday and the day before, and she’d do it again tomorrow. It remained to be seen if Scott bothered to call before Cassie’s bedtime. She stopped trying to predict her ex-husband’s actions. Scott had been a major-league sweet talker before they were married, but those days were long gone.
Nothing could excuse Cassie’s outburst at school, but Amy had a pretty good idea what had prompted the hostile behavior. If only she could convince Scott that Cassie’s disappointments had piled up. Amy had resolved to at least try to stop keeping score of Scott’s broken promises, both to her and to Cassie, but she couldn’t expect her daughter to do the same.
Later, she leaned against the doorjamb of Cassie’s room and looked on as her daughter put her clean clothes away. She even took time to even out the piles of clothes in her dresser. Cassie claimed not to like anything about her new home or school, and Bluestone River was just a dumb little town, but for all that, she kept her room as neat as could be. Like mother, like daughter.
His Saving Grace Page 23