A SECOND CHANCE ROMANCE BOXED SET

by Lewis, Laurie

  “I have my ways.” George’s green eyes twinkled. One shoulder was a little higher than the other, and his leathered face and hands and the scar that ran down the left side of his face reminded Avery of Rider. She instantly liked the man. His denim overalls were covered by a potter’s apron, and a baseball cap embroidered with the Buccaneer’s logo covered most of his close-cropped gray hair. On first appearance, he seemed to be about seventy, but he clearly possessed a youthful zest and vitality uncommon for his age.

  When Ruth locked her arm in George’s and invited him to join them at the café, he happily agreed. They settled at a table underneath the tent-like café, and the waitress hurried over to take their order.

  “So tell us your secret, George,” Ruth began. “Where did you get your information?”

  He raised his eyebrows, drawing out the suspense, and then he chortled shyly at Avery. “I saw you in church on Sunday, center section, second pew from the back. Then I heard you introduce yourself to someone in the lobby as I was leaving.”

  “What a small world,” Avery answered with a laugh. “How long have you been a member of the congregation?”

  “I’ve never been baptized, so technically I’m still just a visitor. A member of that congregation heard me sing and invited me to join their choir, and I enjoy the meetings.”

  “That’s where I saw you. In the choir.” Avery stuck her hand out across the table and smiled. “Well, I’m pleased to meet you, George O’Hara.”

  “George is quite creative in the kitchen, Avery. You might want to stay clear of his brew,” Ruth teased.

  George dipped his head and chuckled. “Oh, Ruth, stop teasing her. I’ll bring you some tomorrow, Avery. It’s a peppermint tea, but I make it with molasses and a little Colt’s Foot. Ruth won’t try any of my concoctions. Avery, you’ll have to try my slumgullion and vouch for me.”

  She struggled to keep a straight face. “Slumgullion?”

  “Never you mind what it is. You just keep an open mind and I’ll fix you up.”

  Avery was sincerely disappointed when the hour forced her to leave her new friends. She chuckled with pleasure all the way home at the good fortune of meeting such a dear man as George O’Hara.

  She arrived home just as the bakery truck pulled up to deliver her key lime pie. When she walked through the door, the delicious aroma of her Crockpot-warmed roast beef welcomed her. Her computer was the first thing she saw, but the afternoon’s happiness helped her ignore her frustrations over her creative block. She could hardly wait for her guests to arrive, so much so that when Wes opened the door and introduced the girls, the normally reserved Avery rushed to them, catching them in warm hugs as if they were old friends.

  “I’ve heard so much about you from Wes and your father. I feel as if I already know you both,” she gushed, surveying the two, lithe, dark-haired and dark-eyed young women. “You are Emilia,” she guessed correctly as she greeted the more gregarious of the two girls. “And you must be Gina. Your father has reason to be very proud. He has two beautiful daughters.”

  Emilia blushed and beamed in Wes’s direction while Gina remained aloof, apparently resisting any inclination to like the open sweetness of the woman who was welcoming them into their own home.

  Avery noted how both Emilia’s and Gina’s eyes swept the room as if searching for any changes. “I can’t begin to thank you enough for sharing your beautiful home with me,” she added, her smile never wavering. “Tell me, Gina, are you girls responsible for the décor?”

  “We pulled mother’s and father’s things together.”

  “Well, you’ve done a marvelous job. It’s a very inviting home.”

  “Thank you.” She offered a hint of a smile. “We’ve had a few misses. We’ve been the ladies of this house since we were little. Our mother’s mother passed away of a heart attack a few years after Mother died, and our aunts were already busy with large families of their own.”

  “I’m sorry. That must have been very difficult for you, having no women in your life.”

  Gina’s stoicism returned. “We never lacked for anything. Father devoted his life to us. He never even dated. Emilia and me, and this house, are his world.”

  Avery knew the statement was meant to put her in her place. To assure the tenant that she was just that, a temporary resident, with no ties to the owners, or to their home, to which they would be returning.

  Emilia froze and her face flushed red. She finally defrosted and took Avery’s hand, saying, “We’re glad you’re enjoying your stay on the island . . . aren’t we, Gina?”

  “So glad. What a stroke of luck—two homeowners just happening upon such a perfect arrangement, each with a home in the right place, available at the right time. What are the chances?”

  Gabriel had correctly assessed his daughters’ angst. Emilia wanted Avery’s recipe contribution for the cookbook, making it more difficult to assess the sincerity of her comments. But the hurt and suspicion behind Gina’s forced smile were clear, and Avery couldn’t help but imagine Jamie standing before her. She also remembered her promise to Gabriel, to play dumb about the reason for his departure and the girls’ eviction.

  “That’s exactly what I thought when my realtor friend told me about your father’s listing. I was going through a difficult period, and it was like a miracle to me to have a chance to return to Anna Maria, where my family and I had been so happy. I never imagined I’d be blessed to find such a lovely place. I can’t tell you how grateful I am that the timing of your move and mine coincided so perfectly.”

  “The timing of our move?” Gina repeated in a tone that sent Emilia rushing in with diplomatic savvy.

  “Wes told us about the passing of your husband. I’m sorry that’s the reason you came,” the younger sibling offered.

  “He was a special man. We watched him grow sicker for a very long time, but we weren’t prepared to let him go.”

  Gina’s expression softened, and she fumbled with her hands. “Letting go is always hard.”

  Appreciating the complexity of this seemingly impassive woman, Avery wondered what experiences prompted Gina’s comment, but she simply nodded and smiled. She soon had the girls in the kitchen sprinkling dried cranberries and slivered almonds on the salad while they chatted about the island and the house. She took herself by surprise when she asked the girls to continue to use the house and its amenities as before. The girls softened and thanked her for the offer, which seemed to shoo the last vestiges of tension from the room.

  The meal was on the table, but Mark had not yet arrived. Knowing a little of Mark and Gina’s history, Avery broached the topic carefully. “Wes, is Mark still joining us?”

  Wes’s eyes grew large and unsure. “I invited him. I just assumed—” He glanced nervously at the two girls and settled on Gina. “Did he say anything to you?”

  Gina raised her eyebrows. “It didn’t come up.”

  Wes made two phone calls to Mark before he received a reluctant yes, but Mark’s arrival brought a new wave of tension back to the room. He and Gina smiled curtly at each other, and he hugged Emilia and Avery before taking a seat beside Wes. Avery and Wes nurtured the conversation, with Emilia commenting on every nugget of dialogue proceeding from Wes’s lips until Avery could not deny that the attraction between Emilia and her starry-eyed son already exceeded mere friendship. Their connection exacerbated the tension between Mark and Gina. She searched for ways to include the couple, and then her phone rang with a call from Jamie, and she excused herself from dessert, none too sorry to make an escape.

  Mark stood as Avery excused herself to take the call. The courtesy also provided an escape from the tension at the table when he announced, “I’m stuffed. I’ll clear the dinner dishes while you three finish your dessert.”

  Wes stood as well with his own suggestion. “You wash, I’ll dry. Meanwhile, why don’t you two ladies relax on your porch while we get domestic.”

  He and Mark started stacking dishes and making trips to
the kitchen, chatting idly as they worked, until the girls were out of earshot.

  “I take it things didn’t go too well between you and Gina last night.”

  Mark shrugged and scraped a plate. “It was fine. I decided not to get into it with her.” Mark grabbed another plate and kept his eyes fixed on his task. “Remember when I told you about Emilia getting her heart broken? I told you she changed after that. Well, I suddenly realized that was when Gina changed too. I thought maybe if we talked about it, I could find out if getting married caused her to stop loving me or if her coldness has something to do with Emilia’s situation. Those two girls are like one soul in two bodies. What affects one affects both.”

  “Then you should ask her.”

  Mark shrugged and dropped his eyes again. “What’s the point? No matter the reason, it’s over. Understanding why won’t mend the hurt in our marriage.”

  As if on cue, Gina appeared in the doorway with a glass in her hand. “You forgot this one.” She whispered to Wes, “Emilia is waiting for you.”

  Wes took the hint and left the room, casting a hopeful glance Mark’s way.

  “You overheard what I said to Wes,” Mark said with a sigh.

  Gina nodded, silently placing the glass in the sink as she stared out the window at the water. Mark turned to stand by her side.

  He cleared his throat. “We’ve recently learned more about one another by accident than we ever did by living together.”

  Gina turned her head and stared at him with confusion in her eyes.

  “I stopped by the house last Thursday evening, searching for the old paint can.” He brought his eyes up to meet Gina’s. “I overheard you and Emilia talking about us.” He searched Gina’s face, but her expression remained blank. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. I think the gist of the conversation was that falling in love was the worst thing that could have happened to us. I heard you say that you still love me but that falling in love changed everything between us. Then you told Emilia that it’s really over.”

  Gina’s hand came up to her mouth, and her eyes began to moisten. She turned away from him and fell back against the sink. “I don’t know what to say.”

  Mark hunched forward and sighed. “At least I know you don’t hate me. Strange as it sounds, that helps somehow.”

  “I don’t hate you.” Silent tears began to fall. “How could you ever think that? Next to Emilia, you’ve always been my best friend.”

  Mark reached for her hand, and she didn’t pull away. “Then what went wrong? Was I right? Did what happened to Emilia somehow change things between us?”

  Gina tried to avoid Mark’s eyes, but he finally persuaded her to look at him. “Maybe,” she whispered.

  “How can you compare us to some summer philanderer walking out on your sister? I jumped through hoops to make you happy. Before our wedding you tried to change me. You knew who and what I was . . . just a plain, uncomplicated man who only wanted a wife and family. But you wanted a dandy to trot out to parties like a pooch on a leash. And didn’t I try? You know I did, for as long as I could, but why did you ask that of me?”

  Gina lowered her gaze to the floor. “I don’t know. I guess I was testing you.”

  “Testing me? Why?”

  She shook her head softly, offering no explanation. Eventually she drew a shuddering breath and admitted, “She loved him so much, Mark, but he tried to change her. And even though she did everything she could to become what he wanted, he still left her. I thought that could never happen to us, but I saw that it could. I felt you withdrawing from me.”

  “I never left you, Gina. I wore out. That’s not the same thing. You should have known—”

  Guilt began to play across Gina’s face, but Mark’s final words clearly rallied her defenses. “Should have known what, Mark? It’s not like either of us has ever really seen a normal marriage. We’re two friends who love each other, but that’s not all it takes to make a successful marriage!” She began to cry again. “Yes, I love you, but I’m just not made of the stuff marriage requires. It’s humiliating to say this, but being married to you taught me a few unflattering things about myself. I discovered that I need unflinching security and constant reassurance. I also learned that I can’t or won’t turn myself inside out for someone else. And when I hurt, I cut and run, and when life gets complicated, I protect myself. Maybe that sounds selfish, but that’s how I’m made. Maybe you really are different from me. Maybe you can swallow your hurt and stay another day. But I’m afraid of waking up ten years down the road, growing more bitter every day until I finally walk out, and what if I have children by then? No. It’s better this way.”

  Gina collapsed against Mark, who remained stiff for a time before slowly surrendering to her need by sliding his arms around her.

  “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” she mumbled between shuddering breaths. “I do love you.”

  “I know . . . I know. . . ” He buried his moist eyes in her hair.

  Avery’s phone call lasted only a few minutes, but when she reentered the room Wes drew her onto the deck and away from Mark and Gina’s conversation. She understood their need for privacy, of course, but being the third party around doe-eyed Wes and giggly Emilia was like trying to fit a thirteenth egg into the carton, and Avery was ready for everyone to simply call it a night.

  Relief came when Mark called Emilia, who headed for the kitchen and then returned looking concerned.

  “We have to leave now, Avery. Gina’s not . . . feeling well, and I need to get her home.”

  “I understand,” Avery replied. If anyone understood the sick feeling that comes from a broken heart, she did.

  “Can I come by tomorrow to discuss the cookbook promo with you?”

  “All right, but I’ve got an eleven-to-four shift at the museum. We’re working on plans for a July Fourth gala or something. Anytime after five would work for me.” She saw a visibly shaky Gina on the beach, heading away from the house.

  Emilia turned for the deck stairs, calling back over her shoulder, “I’ll be here at five.”

  “Hold on,” said Wes. “I’ll go with you.”

  Emilia stopped and looked at Wes. “Gina needs me, Wes . . . just me.”

  “Can we get together tomorrow, after your meeting with my mother?”

  Emilia glanced nervously in the direction of her sister. “I’m not sure. Call me in the morning, all right?” Then she hurried away.

  “You’d better check on Mark,” Avery said, trying to deflect her son’s broodiness. Before he made it to the kitchen, Mark appeared in the doorway, his red-rimmed eyes partially concealed behind the screen door.

  “Thanks for dinner, Avery. I’ve got to go. I just wanted to say thanks.”

  “You know you’re always welcome, Mark.” Avery’s throat felt tight with empathy. “If there’s anything I can do, for you or for Gina . . . ” she offered, but the distraught young man merely offered a weak smile, shook his head, and headed for the front door.

  Wes caught up with Mark in the driveway to persuade him to stay. He placed a gentle hand on his friend’s shoulder. “I’m really sorry, Mark.”

  Mark’s mouth drooped at each corner, and his eyes seemed old and tired, but it was his stooped and rounded shoulders, and his plodding gait, that displayed utter loss.

  “She loves me,” he said with a morose chuckle. “She can’t be married to me, but she wants me to know that she loves me. What am I supposed to do with that?” He kicked angrily at a palm frond that dared to hang within his reach. “All I’ve ever wanted was a wife and family and home of my own—the things I never really had myself. Aren’t those good things? Things we’re supposed to want out of life? Gina wants us to go backwards, to love each other without commitments or expectations. I can’t do that. Even if I could, it’s not what I want.”

  Searching his soul for something that might bring comfort to his new friend, Wes remembered something his father had told him when Wes’s world seemed to be falling apart. It was
a different situation, to be sure, but maybe his father’s advice would help Mark.

  During his senior year, Wes found himself on a precipice of faith. He saw only two choices—follow what his parents and the Church had taught him, or step away and choose the seemingly firm foundation of science. He was so torn about the incongruities that he could scarcely pray for days. He even stirred up debates that planted doubts in his siblings’ minds.

  He and his father finally had a long talk, and Wes uneasily confessed the root of his troubles. As Wes remembered it, the conversation that followed went something like this:

  * * *

  “I could answer your questions, but the answer that’ll give you lasting peace is the one you find on your own. I’ll help you find it, but in the meantime, promise me you’ll hold on to the ladder.”

  “What ladder?”

  “The ladder of faith. Each rung is a higher degree of understanding. It requires us to stretch beyond our current understanding. If you can’t reach the next rung, then just hang on to the one you’re on.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Tell me what’s got you so confused?”

  Wes felt ashamed to answer, but after several moments of silence, he finally put his fears into words. “I’m learning things that challenge everything I’ve been taught about God—how life began, creation, our divinity. Even the history of the Bible. I can’t make sense of it, and if I can’t, I don’t see how I can believe other principles of the gospel.”

  His father’s response shocked him. He didn’t seem surprised, and he didn’t panic. Instead, he went point by point with Wes through different gospel principles.

  “Do you believe in Heavenly Father, Wes?” he asked.

  Wes timidly replied with the answer he thought his father wanted. “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  The question startled him, but after careful thought, Wes remembered times when the Spirit had undeniably testified to the existence and love of God—moments from testimony meetings at Scout camps and youth conferences and the family’s devotionals on Christmas Eve. “I’ve felt His love.”