Isle of Hope (19 page)

When she’d first arrived in Isle of Hope, she’d been committed to making amends with her father, almost eager to get on with what she’d felt certain God had called her to do. But every day since, the initial excitement to do the right thing had somehow faded, especially after his cold reception at the hospital when Davey was hurt. With each passing day, she found herself a little further away from being ready to face a man who not only scared her half to death, but one who had made her feel worthless and rejected. Truth be told, she wanted nothing to do with Ben Carmichael, but that was no longer an option.

If anyone turns a deaf ear to My instruction, even their prayers are detestable.

A ragged sigh left her lips as she put a hand to her eyes. “All right, Mamaw, we’ll do this your way,” she whispered.

“No, darling girl, not my way—
His
—the only way you will ever truly be happy.”

Lacey nodded and slowly rose, reaching for her coffee before facing the door.

Mamaw’s frail hand lighted on her arm, her tone gentle. “Now remember, darling—‘the Lord will take your hand and help you—Isaiah 41:13.”

Lacey’s lip quirked. “Sure, easy for Isaiah to say—he doesn’t have to face both my father
and
Mrs. Hedgehog,” she muttered, bussing her grandmother’s cheek with a hasty kiss. “I hope you have a piece of pie cut and ready to go when I get home, Mamaw, because I’m going to need a little pampering after Daddy chews me up and spits me out.” She retrieved the final pie from the counter before plodding to the door with a limp wave, not even bothering to turn around. “Or maybe I’ll luck out and he won’t want the pie, then I can polish it off by myself at Wormsloe.”

Mamaw’s chuckle followed her down the hall. “Oh, he’ll want it all right—the man’s addicted to my peach pie. How do you think I’d get him to open the door when I used to visit?”

“I don’t know, a bullhorn and a stick of dynamite?” Lacey mumbled to herself, thinking she’d never met a more stubborn man than her father.

She was grateful Spence chattered all the way to Davey’s—a completely rare occurrence, which only underscored just how excited the little guy was. He ended up being a godsend at Mrs. Hedgewood’s, saving Lacey a trip inside for a peek at her scar when he hung out the passenger window of her car, begging her to hurry. She’d no more pulled into Davey’s driveway before Spence was flying across the lawn to their front porch as quickly as he could with enough baggage for a month rather than just a day. “Bye, Lacey,” he shouted without so much as a glance back.

Lacey sighed. “Okay, God, it’s You, me and the peach pie, I guess.” Easing her car out of the driveway, she pulled into her father’s drive, heart slowing along with the car as she put it into “Park.” She sat there and stared, stomach churning more than the deer weather vane spinning atop the three-dormer roof, a birthday gift from Mom since Daddy liked to hunt. Lacey’s mouth took a twist. Certainly appropriate since he’d look like a deer in headlights when he saw her on his stoop.
Not unlike his daughter
. Heaving a weighty sigh, Lacey got out of the car with a pie in hand, wishing Daddy would stay true to form and not even answer.
Maybe he’s not home …

With a slam of the car door, she turned toward the house and stopped, scanning her childhood home from the new serpentine rock walkway, up two stories to a brand new and very expensive gray slate roof. Other than the basic bones of the house, she almost didn’t recognize it anymore, its presence that of a stranger.

Like the man who occupied it.

Every single one of her mom’s flower berms in the yard had been replaced with lush grass except in front of the spindled wraparound porch, which was now flanked by meticulously manicured boxwoods instead of her mother’s beloved roses. The delicate pink dogwood that Daddy had given Mom for Mother’s Day was gone, replaced by a sturdy trimmed oak to offer a clean, shaded view of the house. Even the color of the siding was different—stark white instead of the pastel blue Mom had loved, black shutters instead of white, as if Daddy had hoped to erase any semblance of Mom’s feminine touch. Her eyes flicked to the far corner of the porch, now bereft of the offensive hammock that had ignited her father’s temper when he’d found Jack and her kissing in it the night before he left for seminary. The memory now tainted her tongue just like it had tainted her life back then. Nausea rolled in her stomach. The hammock had obviously been kicked to the curb, no doubt, along with the trash.

Just like his daughter.

She paused on the first step of the porch, eyelids shuttering closed when her conscience pricked, reminding her once again that it had been
her
decision to turn her father away after her mother’s funeral, not his. Fortifying with a massive draw of air, she slowly mounted the stairs to the porch, hands damp beneath the pie, which had long since cooled from the oven. Finger quivering, she pressed the doorbell like it was a detonator switch, back-stepping several feet when she heard the familiar
bong-bong-bong
of the doorbell
,
a sinister sound that had always reminded her of a horror movie. Seconds ticked by like eons, a surreal passage of time where her mind and body moved in slow motion. Only her sweat glands seemed to be working overtime, glazing her with a trickle of moisture between her breasts. She tried the doorbell again, but its ghostly sound was met only by silence, making the pounding of her pulse in her ears all the more deafening.

“He’s not home, sweetheart,” a voice called from the street.

Lacey spun around, almost dropping the pie. Her heart took off in a sprint as she blinked at Jack’s mother, who peeked around the hedge. “Oh, Mrs. O’Bryen, hello! My grandmother asked me to drop a pie off for my father, but I have one for you, too, that I planned to deliver next, when I came to say hello.”

“Yes, Spence told me, so I thought I’d let you know that Ben seems to roll in after eight on Fridays, so why don’t you come over here to wait,” she said, hurrying forward with a welcoming smile. Her face was aglow and void of makeup except for a touch of gloss and a fine sheen of moisture, no doubt from the high humidity. Wispy strands of honey-colored hair fluttered loose from a messy ponytail that made her look more like a fresh-scrubbed teenager than a mom in her forties. Scampering up the porch steps like a girl half her age, she promptly relieved Lacey of the pie. “Here, let me take that for you, and you can pull your car on the other side of the Wall of Jericho,” she said with a wink. “Then join me on the patio in the back.”

Lacey grinned, suddenly remembering one of the main reasons she’d always loved spending time at the O’Bryen’s. Jack’s mom had been a dynamo of smiles and fun, joining in on games of Twister and wiffle ball with the kids while Lacey’s parents and Pastor O’Bryen watched from the sidelines. Mrs. O’Bryen trotted off, and Lacey felt the vise around her ribs slowly loosen, Jack’s mom’s reference to the “Wall of Jericho” luring a chuckle from her lips.

Favorite memories came rushing back of her, Cat, and Shan cuddled together on the O’Bryen’s couch watching musicals and old movies, especially one of Lacey’s favorites,
It Happened One Night
. The reference to the infamous “Wall of Jericho”—when Clark Gable divided the twin-bedded motel room he shared with Claudette Colbert into two parts by stringing up a clothesline—certainly fit for the gargantuan hedge her father had put in. Strolling back to the car, Lacey supposed if anyone might succeed at dismantling her father’s walls, it would be Tess O’Bryen. She started the car and backed out, her smile slipping away into a silent sigh. Heaven knows she and her mother certainly hadn’t.

Parked in front of the O’Bryen’s house, Lacey left her purse in the car and grabbed the second pie before locking the door and pocketing the key. A wealth of memories flooded as she made her way down the cobblestone drive to the back of the house. A squawk from above drew her attention, and she glanced up at the towering oak that shaded the back patio as she rounded the corner.

Go-go-gos … Frawnk!
The sound brought a grin to her lips at the sight of a particularly noisy blue heron standing over her nest.

“Oh, Blue, hush—that’s no way to greet company.” Mrs. O’Bryen took the pie from Lacey’s hands and sniffed, rolling her eyes in a grand show of ecstasy while she nodded to one of the white wrought-iron chairs. “Spence mentioned you brought us a pie, so bless you because there just happens to be a tub and a half of my best homemade vanilla bean ice cream in the freezer, just waiting to be scooped alongside. Sit, young lady, while I get you a drink. Sweet tea, lemonade, or water?”

“Sweet tea would be great, thank you, Mrs. O’Bryen.” Lacey gladly sank into the blue and white striped cushion, the pie she’d brought for her father almost taunting her from the center of the table where Tess had placed it. Quickly averting her gaze, she breathed in the heady mix of marsh and honeysuckle that instantly took her back to better times. The gurgle of a fountain happily melded with Mrs. O’Bryen’s off-key humming, warming Lacey as much as the summer sun peeking through leafy branches that swayed in the salty breeze.

“Here you go, sweetheart,” Mrs. O’Bryen said with a bright smile, placing a tall glass of iced tea before her, beautifully garnished with a sprig of mint and a fresh peach wedge. She reached up to pull the chain on the woven ceiling fan overhead before plopping into her chair with a languorous sigh. “Oh, that feels so good, doesn’t it? And it’s Tess, remember?”

Lacey nearly moaned at her first sip of tea, wondering how she could have forgotten that Jack’s mother made the best peach tea she’d ever tasted. “Oh my, how I’ve missed your tea, Mrs. … uh, Tess,” Lacey quickly amended, unable to stop herself from gulping half of it down. A smile wrapped around her sigh. “Nectar of the gods, bar none.”

“Why, thank you, Lacey Anne!” Reaching for her
Better Homes & Garden
magazine off the table, Jack’s mother shimmied back in her chair with legs tucked beneath, head resting on the back of her chair. She slowly fanned herself while studying Lacey with a gentle gaze. “But goodness, I’m hoping you missed more than the tea, because I certainly have.”

Lacey blinked, unable to thwart an unexpected sting of tears. She nodded, her throat suddenly closing up.

“Oh, honey …” Tess hopped up and rounded the large, rectangular table, squatting to embrace her in a tight hug. “You were like one of my own, sweetheart,” she whispered. “If ever two people were meant to be together, I had so hoped it would be you and Jack.”

“Me too,” Lacey said with a soggy sniff, pulling away to swipe at her eyes with an embarrassed chuckle. “But I guess it wasn’t meant to be.”

Tess stroked several fingers down the curve of Lacey’s cheek, searching her face with a wistful smile. “Are you sure, sweetheart? Sometimes God throws us off with a detour that’s meant to make us grow before it leads us back to what He intended all along …”

A ball of emotion ducked in Lacey’s throat. “Well, it certainly took
me
long enough to do some growing, Tess, especially in my faith, but …” She inhaled shaky air before expelling it once again, praying that Jack’s mother would understand what she was about to say. “It appears that Jack and I have …” She locked gazes with his mother, a sting of regret damp in her eyes. “Grown in different directions.”

Understanding flickered across Tess’s face as she nodded and rose, padding back to her chair with a heavy sigh. “Ah, yes, my son’s rapid decline in faith and extreme bitterness toward his father.” Her mouth quirked into a sad smile as she nodded heavenward. “Both of them.”

“Nicki tells me Jack has little or no faith anymore,” Lacey said quietly, brows sloped in pain to match the thread of disbelief in her tone. “She says he has no use for church or God, opting for a lifestyle that flies in the face of every belief he once held dear.”

Tess nodded, the sheen of moisture in her look confirmation of just how much she grieved for her son. “I kept hoping it was just a phase after his father left,” she whispered, but it seems the hate and unforgiveness toward Adam has hardened his heart to stone, and Cat’s too, no matter how much Matt, Shan, or I try to talk to them.”

“I’m so very sorry, Tess …” The ache in Lacey’s heart bled into her tone.

The barest of smiles shaded Tess’s mouth. “Me too, sweetheart, but hope is a byproduct of faith, so my money’s on the God of Hope to do His thing with my son.”

A sigh quivered from Lacey’s lips. “That’s certainly my hope as well.”

“
Which …
” Tess reached across the table to graze Lacey’s fingertips with her own. “Is one of the reasons I’m so very glad you’re home. I believe you could be the answer to my prayers, the key to unlocking my son’s heart and rekindling his faith.”

The air swirled still in Lacey’s lungs. “I … I don’t know how, Tess. I’ve only just begun living my faith, so I’m little more than a baby at all this.” She lowered her eyes when her cheeks grew hot. “You probably weren’t aware, but back when Jack and I were promised, my faith was pretty nil, and my morals even worse. I’m ashamed to say that it was Jack who actually kept us above board, his faith that carried us through, not mine.” The muscles in her throat convulsed as she slowly looked up. “I’m not sure how someone as new and inexperienced as me could ever reach someone as bitter about religion as Jack.”

A gentle smile softened the worry lines in Tess’s face. “Out of the mouth of babes hast Thou ordained strength,” she whispered. “Besides Jack still cares about you, Lacey, so as his friend, you have more power than you know.”