Isle of Hope (41 page)

That coaxed a misty grin from Lacey’s lips. “Definitely.”

“And,” Tess continued, delivering both of their teas to the table, “He not only restored and deepened my son’s faith through you—a prayer of mine for years now …” Her lips trembled as she fought the rise of more saltwater, “but He also used you to redeem your father’s soul, Lacey, setting him on the path to be the man and father God always intended him to be.”

Lacey’s face crumpled as more moisture dribbled down her cheeks.

“Oh, honey …” Tess put her tea down to sweep Lacey into her arms again, her chuckle low against the young woman’s hair. “And you know what’s the biggest blessing of all?”

Tess grinned when Lacey shook her head with a little-girl sniff. She kissed her wet nose, swiping away two giant crocodile tears. “
You
, sweetheart—a beautiful blessing to me, my family, my son, and your father. And all because our God redeemed a wrong choice your mom and dad made when they were not much younger than you and my son.” She caressed the damp jaw of this beautiful woman who would, hopefully, one day be a daughter in name as well as in heart. “Because you see, Lacey, not only does our God redeem and restore human beings, He redeems and restores the mistakes they make as well, turning tears of mourning into tears of joy.”

Lacey lunged into her arms, luring another chuckle to Tess’s lips. “Oh, Tess, I love you so much, and I thank God every day for the blessing of you in my life.”

Tess squeezed her tightly, pressing a kiss to her head before pulling back to smile with deep affection. “And I thank God every day for the blessing of
you
in my family, sweetheart, because I have a feeling that this time, it’s really going to happen.”

The hazel eyes dimmed as Lacey gnawed at her lip. “ I pray you’re right, but I can’t help but worry that once Jack hears the truth about the baby, it might ruin everything we have.”

Tess’s chest cramped as water swam in her eyes. “Oh, honey …” Her lip trembled, a mixture of joy, hope, and confidence swelling in her chest. “When guided by love, the truth never ruins hope, darling,” she whispered, “it only sets it free.”

Chapter Forty

Jack’s lure sailed through the air for the zillionth time, soundlessly slicing into the moonlit water, definitely more of a mindless twitch than a skilled cast. The last time he was this nervous was when he took his final boards, his hope for the future shimmering brighter than the diamond ring in his pocket. “Thank you,” he whispered, gaze scanning the starry sky with more hope and joy than he ever believed possible, “for healing my heart of bitterness—first with Lacey and then with You.” His jawbone tensed almost imperceptibly. “And someday, God willing—with my father.”

His phone vibrated inside his back jean pocket, and switching the rod to his other hand, he fished it out, almost fumbling it into the water when he read his mother’s text.

She’s on her way.

The air in his lungs instantly clotted, as thick and humid as the sweltering summer night, in total contrast to the sudden sprint of his pulse. “For crying out loud, O’Bryen,” he muttered, ramming the phone back in his pocket before tossing the rod and reel onto the dock. “This isn’t the M-CAT here, so chill.” Grabbing the lighter sitting on top of the linen-clad table, he lit the staggered candlesticks in the center, his stomach jumping more than the flames that flickered in the summer breeze. He assessed the table with a critical eye—the gleaming china, polished silverware, and envelope-fold napkin his mother had devised, tucked with a Lindt truffle that Lacey loved—and deemed it perfect. He pulled an extra truffle from his pocket and slipped it into the fold with a satisfied smile.

And one special one with a ring inside.

“Oh my, Dr. O’Bryen … judging from the trappings of one the most elegant picnics I’ve seen since I was eighteen, am I correct in assuming you have ulterior motives?” Lacey strolled onto the ramp with a fold of her toned arms, looking luscious enough in a white strapless sundress to set off a whole new set of ulterior motives. His gaze slid from bronzed shoulders kissed by loose strands of silky gold, down a petite but curvy figure that had always driven him wild. A sudden breeze billowed her short flared skirt, showcasing some of the prettiest legs he’d ever seen on a woman.

“Oh, you bet,” he said, voice husky as he hooked her close to nibble her ear, the scent of peaches kicking his hormones into overdrive. She squealed when he dove for her neck. “But first—we eat.”

“Uh, that’s what I’m afraid of …” Chuckling, she squirmed away, palms flat to his chest, looking so adorable with that warning lift of her chin and schoolmarm smile that he wanted to forego dinner altogether and go right for dessert. Which was
exactly
why he’d decided he wasn’t waiting any longer to ask Lacey to marry him … not the second time around. He’d been in love with her for years, dated her for three, and was promised to her for one before he’d lost her the first time. As far as he was concerned, he wanted to get on with his life. A sudden swell of waves crashed onto the shore, as if in protest.

Correction:
their
life.

Beginning with a
very
short engagement.

He kissed her nose and pulled out her chair. “Don’t worry, Mike—you’re not on the menu,” he said, nudging her into her seat before he scooted the chair in. He opened the sparkling grape juice from an ice bucket on the table while he gave her a smoky look that toasted her cheeks. “Although there are no guarantees for later.” A jittery laugh slipped from her lips, and for the first time he homed in on her off-kilter smile and skittish look, noting the red rim of her eyes while tiny beads of sweat glazed her brow. He set the bottle down and squatted to face her, features pinched in concern. “You okay, Lace?”

“I’m fine, Jack,” she said, a trace of nasal hoarseness in a voice that sounded anything but, “just a little warm and very, very hungry, mister.”

He gently brushed strands of her hair over her shoulder. “Good, because I have all your favorites, babe—chicken salad on croissants, sour cream ripple chips, and—”

“Oreo overload?” The tension in her eyes gave way to a little-girl excitement that never failed to melt him into a puddle.

His low chuckle merged with the sound of water lapping against the dock and crickets crooning on the shore. “Come on, Mike …” he whispered, eyes sheathing closed as he gently swayed his lips against hers. “I graduated med school—what do you think?” He nodded over his shoulder at the cooler stowed next to the storage chest.

Her lip started to quiver. “Oh, Jack …” Lunging into his arms, she almost took them both down. “I love you so much,” she whispered, the raspy quality back in force while she clung as if she would never let go.

He bent his head to hers, a tiny seed of concern sprouting over her rare melancholy mood. “Me too, babe.” Pressing a kiss to her hair, he pulled away, smile softening at the glimmer of tears in her eyes. “Okay, are we going to have to start with a pre-dessert to cheer you up?” With a teasing shake of his head, he nudged the envelope napkin forward, his heart suddenly pounding harder than the breakers on the shore.

With a swipe at her eyes, a tiny grin peeked through. “Pre-dessert?”

Jack grinned. “Maybe.”

She fished her fingers into the napkin pocket and immediately squealed. “Truffles—you remembered!”

His brows slashed low in a mock scowl. “For crying out loud, Carmichael, give me a little credit, will you?”

She peeled the paper from the copper-colored ball first like he knew she would—peanut butter, her favorite—then popped it in her mouth with a sassy smile. “You keep this pampering up, O’Bryen, and I’ll be giving you way more than credit …”

Jack fought a gulp, his throat going bone dry.

“Mmm …” Her lids flickered closed, a low moan escaping as she savored the chocolate while Jack savored her. The glazed look she gave him when she opened her eyes made him grin. “Oh, yum, Jack, I forgot how much I loved these things—haven’t had one in years.”

He squinted. “Seriously? Why? You used to love ’em.”

“Yeah, a little too much as I recall.” Her smile turned dreamy. “Along with the boy who first gave them to me,” she said softly, more moisture glimmering in her eyes.

“Well, then, you have some catching up to do, so one more now and the rest after dinner—atop an Oreo overload, okay?”

Her watery gaze twinkled as she scooped up the second truffle. “Deal. Mmm … white chocolate, my second favorite …” Fingers deft, she wasted no time untwisting the cellophane outside wrapper while Jack jumped up, pretending preoccupation with pouring the grape juice. Tongue tucked into the corner of her mouth, she started to peel the gold foil while he held his breath. All at once, her brows dipped. Slowly rotating the chocolate ball with her fingers, she examined it like a specimen under a scope, confusion puckering her features. “What the heck …?” She sniffed, obviously noticing the hairline split, then rolled it and sniffed again, finally parting the fissure ever so carefully. The whites of her eyes expanded in slow motion as something clunked on the table, covered with white-chocolate goo. When moisture brimmed in her eyes, he knew it had clicked, everything falling perfectly in place.

Just like their new life.

Hand trembling, she picked up the tiny bag to gently finger it, water streaming her cheeks. “Oh, Jack …”

“No, babe …” He rose from his chair and moved to her side of the table, immediately dropping to one knee. “The proper response, Alycia Anne Carmichael,” he whispered, removing the ring from the bag and holding it aloft, “is ‘Yes, Jack.’”

She hesitated too long for comfort, the tears in her eyes flowing too freely now for a woman about to say yes. Only she didn’t. Instead she clutched quivering arms to her waist, while his ring—and his heart—remained suspended in air. She lowered her head. “Oh, Jack …”

Not the reaction he was looking for.

“Lace?” Ring in one hand, he lifted her chin with the other, heart rate careening into an irregular beat. “Babe, what’s wrong? You do want to …” He swallowed the fear in his throat while he gently kneaded her arm, Adam’s apple ducking hard. “Marry me, don’t you?”

The look she gave him was more of a woman in pain than a woman in love, and for several ragged beats of his pulse, his world dangled as precariously as the ring.

She peered up beneath lids weighted with grief. “More than anything in this world,” she whispered, her voice shrinking into a mournful sigh. “But first, I need to tell you something.”

A brain freeze swallowed him whole, as if the clench in his chest was privy to some vile news he didn’t want to know. Placing the ring on her plate, he stood without a word and reclaimed his seat, carefully leaning back in his chair with a tight brace of arms. “Whatever it is, it won’t affect our relationship.” His words sounded a whole lot more confident than he.

“I hope not,” she said quietly, the quiver in her voice icing his skin. She avoided his eyes while she traced the ring with the tip of a shaky finger. “Or at least I pray not.”

The muscles in his gut constricted. He was not a man prone to anger. Not unless something posed a threat.

To the woman he loved.

To family.

To friends.

To a child.

“For crying out loud, Lacey, spit it out,” he said too sharply, rattling the dishes when he slammed a fist on the table in an uncommon show of temper. One of his mother’s wine glasses goosed in the air before it rolled off the table and crashed on the dock, breaking into several jagged pieces.

Her body jumped, hand recoiling like the ring had singed her finger. Palm to her chest, she stuttered, words tumbling forth as if the crash of his fist had jolted them loose. “Okay, J-Jack, then, h-here it is—I d-didn’t leave eight years ago because I d-didn’t love you enough …” She sucked in air as if gorging all the strength she would need, “I left because I loved you too much.”

He blinked, confusion fogging his mind. “I don’t understand. What do you mean?”

She stared at him for several seconds while grief swam in her eyes. “I mean I left to have a baby, Jack,” she whispered, “our baby.”

She may as well gashed him with a jagged piece of that broken glass—he was bleeding all the same. Shards of shock slashed through his brain with such deadly ease that, at first, he didn’t feel a thing. And then like a fingertip neatly sliced with the sharpest of blades, pain began to throb beneath a scarlet pool of blood, making him fully aware.

Our baby.
Lacey’s and his. A child meant to be the first of many.

“It happened that night in the dory, Jack,” she continued in a hoarse voice, resurrecting memories of when he’d diverted her from skinny-dipping with a moonlight sail instead. “My cycles have always been so screwy, I never even suspected until after you left for seminary. And then Daddy found the pregnancy kit—”

“Girl or boy,” he whispered, voice cracking with pain.

She paused, a muscle in her cheek flickering as she reached to graze his hand. “A little girl—I named her Hope Olivia.”

At her touch, he jerked away, lids sinking closed. “
You
named her …” he said, an accusation rather than a statement.

“Jack, I was young and stupid, and I didn’t want to hurt your career—”

“My career?” His voice was little more than a hiss, bleeding with pain as his eyes widened in shock, hardly able to believe the woman he loved had so callously pitted their child against a mere job. “Where is she?” It came out a broken rasp.

Hand to her mouth, Lacey blinked, heaves convulsing her body. “She was b-born with a c-congenital heart d-defect,” she said on a sob, “and d-died in surgery three d-days later.”

His eyelids dropped like a curtain of despair, questions pummeling his mind while pain pummeled his heart.
When was her birthday? How much did she weigh? Brown hair or blonde?
Breathing shallow, he rose and walked to the edge of the dock, head bowed as he propped hands to his hips, limbs as numb as his mind. “When was she born?” His whisper seemed to hang in the humid air, hovering like a ghost on the water.

“April 17, 2007.” She sniffled, voice nasal.

He stared at the moonlit river, stomach roiling more than the water swirling in a sudden gust of breeze.
My daughter died on April 20.

Her chair scraped against weathered wood, and he stiffened at her approach. “Jack, I know it seems selfish—”

“Selfish?” He spun around, eyes blazing. “No, I think this goes well beyond selfish, Lace, all the way to brutally cruel.” Ramming a thumb to his chest, he stepped forward, practically spitting in her face. “That was my baby you so carelessly made decisions about, my flesh and blood you abandoned right after you abandoned me.”

“No, Jack, I swear,” she said with a violent shake of her head, “I didn’t abandon Hope Olivia—”

“No?” He jutted a brow, tone harsh. “So let me get this straight—you ran away from a fiancé who adored you because you planned to raise
his
baby on your own?”

“
No
… n-not at f-first,” she said, her hesitancy all but declaring her guilt, “but after she was born, I just knew I couldn’t give her up. So we begged Daddy to come, but by the time he arrived, it was too late—”

“Too late?” Jack whispered, shock adding insult to injury that his daughter’s grandfather—one of the country’s top heart surgeons—never even made it to her side.