Isle of Hope (27 page)

Cat scrunched her shoulders, her chuckle tumbling into the misty air. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. I could have been stuck with some whacked-out sister-in-law who would have screwed up our family even more than her freakin’ mo—” Her lips suddenly gummed tight, as if she’d just realized she might upset the balance of an already tenuous truce.

“‘Her freakin’mom’— I know,” Lacey whispered, “go ahead and say it.” Her heart cramped just speaking the words, stunned at how much it still hurt, the damage her family had done. First her, then her mother, and then her father, in shutting everyone out. She bit her lip and looked away, tears pooling against her will. “There are no words, Cat, to express the sorrow I carry inside over what my mother and I did to your family, and I just hope and pray …” She swallowed hard, the taste of her regret a bitter bile. “That someday you’ll be able to forgive us because God knows the scars are deep—on both sides.”

Cat’s heavy sigh floated into the air, mingling with the mist. “I know,” she said quietly, “but the truth is your mother didn’t act alone, Lacey, no matter how much blame I wanted to lay at her feet. And trust me, I laid plenty.” She hesitated for a brief moment before she slowly reached to tug Lacey’s hand, drawing her gaze. “But talking to you tonight … clearing the air, well, it’s suddenly made me realize just how much better it feels to forgive than to hate.” She squeezed Lacey’s palm, affection softening her face for the very first time. “So, yeah, I forgive you, I guess …” Smile lines crinkled at the edge of her eyes. “If you’ll forgive me for being such a bullhead.”

Lacey laughed and hooked an arm around her shoulder. “No, way, Catfish—that’s one of the things I always liked best about you—your spit and fire. Figuratively, that is, not literally.”

“Lace?”

Lacey slid her a sideways smile. “Yeah?”

Cat’s shoulders rose and fell with a cumbersome sigh. “I’m really sorry about your mom and the part my dad played in it all.” She looked away, her gaze moist as she stared out over the water. “Somehow it’s easier to forgive you and your mom because you both came from a pretty dysfunctional household, but Dad …” Moisture pooled in her eyes, her face sorrowful in the purple hues of sunset. “He knew better. The man had it all—a great wife, a great family, and a church that revered and respected him, but it wasn’t enough.” Bitterness edged her tone like the shadows of dusk edged the night. “
We
weren’t enough, and apparently neither was God, and to be honest, Lace, I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to forgive him for that.”

“Yes, you will,” Lacey said quietly, the assurance in her tone as solid as the faith in her heart. She gently tucked her head against Cat’s, the two of them lost in the lazy loll of the river. “Because if God can change a train wreck like me to the point where I’m actually reaching out to a man who not only wants nothing to do with me, but whom I’ve bucked and despised most of my life, then he can change you.”

Cat glanced at her, a touch of awe in her tone. “Shut the front door, you really have changed, haven’t you?”

Laughter spilled from Lacey’s lips as she pulled Cat into a side hug. “In my heart, Catfish, not in my aspirations. I still have a competitive streak a mile long, which is why
I’m
Queen of the River and you’re not.”

“So … I assume you two are done making amends?” Jack ambled down the ramp with a lazy grin on his face, his cocky air more than evident. He stopped behind them to dangle his prize catches over their heads, the scent of fish and man wrinkling Lacey’s nose.

Both Lacey and Cat ducked to the side to avoid the drip of his heavy stringer. “Very impressive, Brye, but I’m not sure who smells worse—you or the fish. I suggest a shower.”

He chuckled. “Right after I clean these babies.” He strolled over to the cleaning station he’d built and tossed them on top before shuffling back, hands butted low on his hips. “So who won? The loser can help me gut and clean.”

The girls exchanged glances. “Deal. But we’re not done yet, are we, Cat?”

A slow grin slid across Cat’s lips when she obviously spied the devil in Lacey’s eyes. “Nope.”

Lacey nodded toward the rope swing where she and Cat had settled so many competitions over the years with the farthest drop. “Despite beating her soundly, your very stubborn sister has challenged my supreme authority as queen, so the rope shall decide.” Lacey raised her hand and Cat followed suit. “Here, help us up so I can shut her up once and for all.”

A husky chuckle rumbled from Jack’s throat as he flashed a smile, arms extended. “Cat’s had eight years of practice, Lace—you sure you know what you’re doing?”

“Oh, yeah,” she said with a smug look, clamping onto his hand at the same time as Cat, Jack’s muscles taut as he drew them both up.

“Good, because this I gotta—”

Kerplunk!
Jack hit the water like a 200-lb. cannonball, Sperrys and all, a thunderous fountain spray dousing the girls and the deck. Adrenaline pumping from their coordinated yank, Lacey and Cat high-fived, their laughter bouncing off the other shore when Jack finally popped back up, a soppy scowl on his face. “You tricked me,” he said, spitting water like a rusty spigot.

“We prefer to think of it as helping you to clean up, Jack,” Lacey said with a sweet smile.

“Not me.” Cat shot a smirk, hip cocked while she folded her arms. “It’s called payback, Flack.”

“At least I took
your
shoes off,” he groused, slamming a wave of water at them with the slash of his hand.

They jumped back with a giggle, turning to head toward the ramp. “Hey, I’m starved,” Cat said, finger-combing her hair, “and there was leftover apple cobbler as I recall.”

“Ooooo, with ice cream, I hope.” Lacey bent over to fluff out her hair.

The ladder groaned with Jack’s weight. “Hey—where you guys going? I thought you weren’t done.”

Halfway to the ramp, Lacey hooked an arm over Cat’s shoulder before tossing Jack a cheeky grin. “Nope, we’re done,” she said, her grin spanning wide at the sorry sight of Jack’s sopping Dockers puddling his Sperrys. She couldn’t resist a wink. “For
now
.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

“Fine—have it your way.” Tess’s smile was long gone as she sipped a peach iced tea in the moonlit shadows of her patio, waiting for Ben to get home while darkness shrouded both of their houses. She peeked at her watch, mouth skewed in a dry smile. Almost eleven-thirty—another late night for the doctor, apparently, something that was becoming a habit of late. Which just confirmed what Tess suspected all along.

Dr. Doom is avoiding us.

If he came home at all the night Lacey had brought the cookies, it had been too late for his daughter, who had salvaged the evening nonetheless with reconciliation between her and Cat. But now a week later, on a night he
usually
returned by eight after fishing with Beau, he was nowhere to be found. In fact, she hadn’t seen squat of Ben Carmichael for over two weeks now, and after five chats or dinners where she actually
thought
they’d forged some kind of friendship, it kind of ticked her off. So if it took sleeping out on her patio till dawn to tell him what she wanted to tell him, Tess intended to wait him out.

The stakes were too high.

Two down, one to go,
she thought with a tight smile, resting her head on the back of her cushy chair. Lacey was on speaking terms with both Jack and Cat now, and the only holdout was her father. Tess’s smile went flat. Of course, in order to speak, one has to be present …

A shaft of light suddenly lit up the sky over Ben’s hedge like the dawn of a new day, and given the late hour, not too off the mark. The slider door squealed open, and Tess heard Beau whine and bolt toward the back of the yard, most likely in search of a rabbit, before the door closed again. Lumbering up from her chair, she reached for a plastic bag that contained Tupperware with brownies along with two pieces of bacon for Beau. A yawn escaped as she ambled to the back of her yard, recalling the brand-new shiny padlock she discovered on Ben’s front gate just last week, denying her usual access.

Real subtle, Carmichael.

“As if a padlock is going to keep me away,” she muttered, tying the bag to her belt before inching her body through a small opening she’d discovered on her side, hidden behind a massive lilac bush on Ben’s. Wincing from the scrape of the branches, she carefully crawled through, chuckling at Beau’s delirious reception. Quivering on his hind legs with a pitiful squeal, he promptly sat. “You are such a cute watchdog,” she said, fishing the bacon from the bag to toss it his way, “even if you can be bribed.”

With a quick brush of leaves and twigs from her blouse, she marched to Ben’s back door and knocked, waiting several moments before she opened the slider and called inside. “Ben? It’s me—Tess. Can I come in?”

No answer.

She heard a sound from either down the hallway or in the kitchen and called again, to no avail. Stepping inside, she closed the door and paused in the family room, admiring as always, the sleek white leather sectional against the rich teak floor. “Ben?” she said again, trailing a palm along the smooth surface of the polished stone sofa table, a smile surfacing at how far their friendship had progressed in five weeks. She’d managed to coax him into dinner or dessert on her patio or his several times, where they’d chatted and laughed under the stars on those rare nights the kids were gone. Once she’d even talked him into a game of Scrabble at his kitchen bar, sipping lemonade and sparring like siblings over the ineligibility of certain words.

Untying the bag from her belt, she moved toward the kitchen, assuming that’s where he was. She couldn’t help smiling when her gaze lighted on the ridiculously overstuffed and totally “guy” recliner that seemed so out of place—the one Ben butted heads over with his designer.
Absolute proof you can take the man out of the cave, but you can’t take the cave out of the man.

She peeked into the kitchen. “Ben?”

“Tess?”

She spun around, hand to her chest while Ben stood in the hallway in tight faded jeans, worn Topsiders, and a polo. His perennial tan and windswept dark hair implied he’d spent the afternoon and evening on his boat. Face in a scrunch, he approached, surprise etched into every pore on his face. “What are you doing here?”

“Sorry to come over so late,” she said with a sheepish smile, “but I had something important I needed to ask you …” She paused to catch her breath before forging on, the pinch of his brow not a good sign. “And I baked double fudge cheese swirl brownies too, so I figured you’d want some.”

She removed the container from the bag and held it out, the absence of his smile tightening her gut. “I remember how much you enjoyed them last time,” she said in a rush, somewhat unnerved by his lack of response, “so I thought I’d bring you a treat while they’re still fresh.” Hoping to tempt him, she held the container to his nose while she swiped a glance at her watch. “Of course the statute of limitations may be up on fresh …”

“A treat,” he said flatly, a ghost of a smile flickering on his face as he reached for the brownies. “You mean a bribe, don’t you?” He popped one in his mouth and carried the container into the kitchen.

“Maybe,” she said, following behind. “I suppose I do have a favor of sorts.”

“Of course you do.” He set the brownies on the black granite breakfast bar and strolled to the fridge, retrieving a carton of milk followed by two glasses from a sleek ebony cabinet. Easing onto a black leather and chrome barstool, he placed the items on the bar with a wry twist of lips. “But the padlock stays.” He pushed one of the glasses toward her with a dry smile. “Milk?”

“Ah, yes, the padlock,” she said with an off-center grin, joining him at the bar while he poured her a glass of milk. “Nothing subtle about you, that’s for sure.” She filched one of his brownies, shimmying onto a stool to face him. “If you wanted me to stay away, Ben, you could have just come out and said so.”

“I have,” he said with a droll smile, “on a number of occasions as I recall.” He watched her while he chewed, that annoyingly tolerant look on his face as if she were one of his patients. “Would it have worked this time?”

She hiked her chin. “No, but it wouldn’t have hurt my feelings as much as a padlock.”

His face sobered as he shoved the brownie plate away, hazel eyes piercing her straight through. “What do you want, Tess?” he said quietly.

Brushing brownie crumbs off her hands, she avoided his eyes while she drew in a breath to ready for battle, then met his serious gaze with one of her own. Her chin tipped up in challenge. “It’d mean a lot to me if you’d show up for the Camp Hope fundraiser next week.”

“Why?” The hazel eyes never blinked, just stared at her in that unnerving way he had.

“Because it means a lot to me.” She hesitated. “And … to Lacey,” she said quickly, taking advantage of the trace of affection she saw in his eyes. “She’s very involved at Camp Hope, you see, and it could be an icebreaker, Ben.”

His chest expanded as he kneaded the bridge of his nose, his voice tired. “I’m not looking to break any ice, Tess. My life is fine just as it is.”

“That’s a lie.” Her mouth thinned considerably. “Admit it, Ben, you’re a coward. A fearless pioneer in medicine, but a knock-kneed little boy when it comes to opening up and sharing your feelings.”

“You know nothing about my feelings,” he bit back, all fatigue apparently lost in a sudden spark of anger that ignited a bit of her own.

“Yeah, nobody does—that’s the point.” Her eyes shuttered closed as she blew out her frustration, reining in her temper with a deep inhale. “Look, I’m sorry,” she whispered, “I just worry you’ll end up all alone—”

“Excuse me—Ben?” A thirty-something blonde in a bikini stood in the doorway, blue eyes assessing Tess head to toe before they landed on Ben with a sweet smile. “I can’t find the shampoo.”

“Did you check the linen closet in the master bath?”

“No, but I will,” she said with a flash of perfect white teeth. Her glance landed on Tess once again with a curious smile, silence lingering …

Ben gave a gruff clear of his throat. “Uh, Cynthia, this is my neighbor, Tess O’Bryen.” Smile stiff, his gaze flicked back to Tess, his unease palpable when his eyes reconnected with hers. “My colleague, Dr. Cynthia Ritter.”

“Hello.” Tone as cool as her body, given the goose bumps that covered more skin than her suit, Dr. Barbie offered the perfunctory nod, her smile as plastic as the doll she favored.

“Hi.” Tess lifted a palm, suddenly feeling way overdressed. She tucked a loose strand of hair over her ear in nervous habit before she whisked the brownie container from the counter. “Brownie?”

A shadow of a smile played on the woman’s lips. “No, thank you—the shower calls.” She did an about face in the skimpiest swimsuit Tess had ever seen, tossing a smile over a beautifully sculpted shoulder. “Nice to meet you, Tess.” Her eyes flicked to Ben’s and held. “I won’t be long.”

Tess’s jaw sagged as she watched her sashay through the family room and back down the hall, barely able to tear her gaze from the hypnotic sway of the woman’s hips. She didn’t bother to hide the gape of her mouth when she turned to Ben with a spike of her brow. “Well now, I can see my worries of your loneliness are completely unfounded.” She slid off her stool as heat steamed her cheeks. “Enjoy the brownies, Ben.” Spinning on her heel, she darted from the room.

“Tess, wait—”

Ignoring Ben’s voice, she fisted the handle of the slider and opened the door, allowing a quick scrub of Beau’s snout before letting him in and escaping outside. The salty scent of the marsh hit her full force, its distinct sulphur smell sharper than usual. Not too far off, the hoot of an owl carried through the thick, humid night, a distant and eerie call, but probing nonetheless.

Who-who-who …
made a fool of themselves tonight?

“Uh, that would be me,” Tess muttered, tromping through Ben’s backyard like the obnoxious and nosy neighbor she’d just proven herself to be. “What in the world was I thinking?” She grunted, slapping at the limbs from the hedge hole while she bulldozed through, the sting of the branches hurting a lot less than her pride. “Well, apparently I wasn’t.”

“Ouch!” She froze on the other side, sucking air through clenched teeth when she felt a sticky wetness slither her arm. “Great, just great!” she hissed, the coppery smell of her own blood making her mad. With a rare show of temper she hauled off and kicked a mole hole, finally stomping on it like a wild woman until she was completely out of breath. A weak moan withered on her lips as she put her hands to her eyes, shoulders hunched and spirits as bleak as the bare spot beneath her feet. “For crying out loud, what is wrong with me?”

You’re jealous.

The thought, so utterly absurd, struck with a blow that could have drawn more blood than the stupid hedge. “No,” she whispered, shaking her head with almost as much force as when she’d bludgeoned the poor lawn. “That’s ridiculous. Ben is nothing more than a neighbor and friend.”

Really?

Her eyelids slammed closed, and instantly her chest cramped at the image of an overstuffed bikini on a body ten years younger than hers. “No!” Her eyes popped open to a moonlit yard riddled with as many holes as her good intentions appeared to be. “I’m doing this because it’s the right thing to do, for Lacey’s family and mine,” she whispered, the sound harsh to her own ears, “and to restore a friendship that was once very dear, and that’s the
only
reason.”

Of course it was.

Until tonight.
When one overdeveloped Barbie doll pranced into Ben’s kitchen like she owned it.

And him.

A low groan rattled from Tess’s throat while she stumbled toward her patio, feeling every single ache of middle age as she sank into the wrought-iron chair. “God, forgive me,” she whispered, more ashamed of her feelings than her air-headed behavior. Ben Carmichael was off-limits as a man, and she knew that. Other than the fact he was nice to look at—if you ignored the scowl—never once had she entertained the thought of anything more. Only friendship.

Or so she thought.

She put her head in hands.
Lord, I am such an idiot, and a blind one at that …

The realization that she might suddenly be attracted to him—possessive of him—throbbed more than the gashes in her arm. Sucking in a sharp rush of air, Tess made an iron-clad decision that tightened her jaw along with her resolve. He wanted privacy? Fine. She’d give him all the privacy he and Dr. Barbie could handle, with an emotional padlock of her own. From now on, any communication between Ben Carmichael and her would begin from
his
side of the hedge, while she put up a hedge of her own—through prayer.

Prayer that he and Lacey would reconcile. Prayer that both families would finally be healed. And prayer that she could be the supportive neighbor and friend that Ben Carmichael desperately needed.

And nothing more.

Because despite her deep faith in God, a true passion for prayer, and a belief in the Bible that went beyond bone deep …

This was one time when “love thy neighbor” was just not going to work.