by Irene Hannon
Only after Zach went rogue did the relationship disintegrate.
Now that he had more insight about why that had happened, was it conceivable he might be able to—
“Could you use a hand?”
He whipped around at the familiar voice, his scraper carving a gouge in the drywall that someone would have to repair later.
Katherine hovered in the doorway of the room, holding a foil-covered tray and wearing her usual dark glasses.
She’d actually left her hideaway and shown up?
His day brightened.
“Another pair of hands would be more than welcome. At the rate this wallpaper is coming off, we’ll be working on it until Christmas. What’s that?” He motioned to the tray.
“Truffles for the volunteers. I’ve been doing a ton of experimenting, and if I eat all the samples myself, I’ll gain a ton. But I’d rather they be an anonymous donation.”
He walked over and took the tray from her. “I can put them in the kitchen, on the counter with a few goodies other volunteers brought. And I’ll tip off my aunt to stay mum about the source.”
“Thanks.”
“I already soaked the paper on that wall.” He motioned to where he’d been working. “Pick a spot and have at it. There are more scrapers in the bucket next to the water.”
“Got it.”
As she walked over to the wall, he detoured to the kitchen, set her offering on the counter—and popped one of the truffles in his mouth.
Not blackberry this time. A different flavor he couldn’t quite put his finger on.
But it was delicious.
He told her that after he rejoined her and went back to work.
“Thanks. They’re infused with lavender and Earl Grey tea. The woman who runs the tearoom Stephanie and I went to inspired me to try incorporating those ingredients. They’re not quite where I want them yet—but they’re getting closer.”
“I don’t see how you could improve on them.”
“I can—and I’ll know when they’re right.” She propped her sunglasses on top of her head and got to work.
A companionable silence descended between them, the muffled conversation of other volunteers and the scuffing of their scrapers providing a muted backdrop, interrupted occasionally by the whir of the saw that had been set up on the front lawn.
Several minutes passed as he tried to shift into small talk mode—but much as he’d hoped Katherine’s presence would distract him, he couldn’t vanquish the dilemma with his father from his mind.
“You’re quiet today.”
He glanced over—but her focus remained on the wallpaper as she methodically scraped off one tiny piece after another.
Though Katherine’s inflection hadn’t reflected annoyance, as Lissa’s had near the end, hearing those same words again stirred up memories of her—perhaps because that terrible period in his life, when he’d lost Josh and struggled with life-changing decisions and incurred his father’s anger, was on his mind.
And Lissa had been part of that.
A major part.
Katherine peeked over at him. “Sorry. That wasn’t a criticism.”
“I didn’t take it as one. It’s just that you aren’t the first woman to say that to me.”
“Stephanie remarked on your reticence too?”
“No.” He went back to peeling off wallpaper.
After a moment, she did too.
But unless he wanted to shut down communication between them, he owed her an explanation. His reply had been too terse—and left too many questions hanging.
Besides, why keep his relationship with Lissa a secret? It was over. And that painful piece of his history had turned out to be a blessing.
He stopped scraping and gave Katherine his full attention. “The other woman who used to tell me that was my fiancée.”
She froze. Sent him a cautious look. “You were engaged?”
“Yes. We broke up after I decided to leave Chicago. Lissa was a model, with lofty career and personal goals. I asked her to come with me, but being married to a barista wasn’t part of her game plan.”
Katherine’s eyes softened. “I’m sorry.”
“I was too—at the time. Not so much now.” He wanted no doubts about that to linger in her mind. “It hurt to discover her feelings for me were based more on my position and earning power than love—but in hindsight, the breakup was a blessing. I don’t think either of us would have been happy in the long term, even if I’d stayed in Chicago. After Josh died and my priorities shifted, I realized we had far less in common than I thought . . . and that what I’d classified as love was more like infatuation. It’s hard to build a long-term relationship on such a shallow emotion.”
“Still—a broken engagement on top of everything else. You had a lot to deal with back then.” Twin furrows scored her forehead.
“Yeah.” He tugged at a loose strip of wallpaper until it pulled away from the drywall—but small remnants remained stuck to the surface. Ones it would take considerable elbow grease to scrape off. “I still do.”
The instant the admission slipped out, he gritted his teeth. With everything going on in Katherine’s life, it wasn’t fair to dump his latest issue on her shoulders.
“Does that mean a new problem has come up?”
“Sort of.” He wasn’t going to lie. “But I’ll deal with it.” He began scraping off the stubborn residue from the last piece of wallpaper he’d removed.
After a few beats of silence, she spoke again. “You listened to my story that day on the beach—and talking through the situation helped. I’d be happy to return the favor. If we close that”—she motioned to the bedroom door—“we’ll have privacy—and I promise to keep whatever you tell me between us.”
Her offer was tempting. An impartial, third-party sounding board—someone who could view the situation without any of the biases he or Stephanie brought to the table—might be helpful.
And he didn’t have to dump the whole mess on her. He could keep it simple. Give her a top line of the current situation, let her offer a few thoughts.
Any input that could help clarify his thinking would be welcome.
Running his finger along the edge of the scraper, he turned to her. “I wouldn’t mind getting someone else’s read on this—and I can give you the gist of it in a couple of sentences.” After closing the door, he relayed the news about his dad’s medical condition—but left out the history piece Stephanie had shared. “I’m trying to decide whether to show up in Atlanta for the surgery.”
Her brow puckered. “I don’t want to be morbid—but how will you feel if there are . . . complications . . . during the operation, and you stay here?”
She’d homed in on the same question he’d been wrestling with.
“I don’t know.”
“What’s keeping you from going?”
Also an excellent question—and one he hadn’t yet pondered.
But now that she’d posed it, the two answers that sprang to mind didn’t sit well.
The first was fear.
Fear of rejection—again. And fear that if a cross-country trip didn’t mend their fences, his last embers of hope for a reconciliation would be snuffed out and his relationship with his father would forever remain broken.
The second was pride.
Putting himself in the position of having his priorities and new career belittled—again—twisted his gut.
Katherine didn’t wait for him to answer before hitting him with a follow-up question.
“And whatever’s holding you back, is it more important than taking this opportunity to try and end the estrangement? Traveling across the country to be with him could send a powerful message.”
“Or not.” Zach rolled a small piece of wallpaper into a tight ball between his index finger and thumb. “He could throw it back in my face. Refuse to talk to me.”
“People can feel differently when faced with their own mortality.”
He studied her. Did
that subtle nuance in her tone mean she’d witnessed such a transformation in her own life?
“Is that experience speaking?”
“Not directly. But I’ve played a few roles that forced me to dig deep and think about those kinds of issues. When you speak the words of a character dealing with a life-and-death situation, you develop an understanding of why people do what they do, even if you don’t agree with or approve of their behavior. Rifts can be mended in that environment, if both parties are willing—and want that outcome.”
“That’s a big if.” He flicked the ball of wallpaper off his finger. “I’ve already tried to mend our fences. The onus to repair the damage in our relationship isn’t on me at this point.”
She cleaned the edge of her scraper with a rag, removing all the jagged bits. “I didn’t mean to imply it was. From what you’ve told me, your dad was pretty unreasonable in his response to the choices you and your brother made. It was almost like he was viewing the situation through an off-kilter lens that was distorting his perspective. Or operating from a very narrow frame of reference that gave him tunnel vision.”
Tunnel vision.
Narrow frame of reference.
Distorted perspective.
That nailed his father’s issue.
Had Katherine listened in on Stephanie’s story this afternoon?
Not possible.
Which meant the lady had excellent instincts. Honed, perhaps, by her career—as she’d noted.
“That about sums up my dad—although he does have an excuse for being that way, as I recently learned.” Saying any more would divulge secrets his father had gone to great lengths to protect—and at this stage of his relationship with Katherine, that would be disloyal to his dad.
To her credit, she didn’t ask for details. “Maybe, armed with that new knowledge, you can give a truce one more try. Worst case, you end up where you are now. But I don’t see how a son traveling across the country to be with his father during a health crisis could produce anything but positive results.”
He could.
Stubborn didn’t come close to describing his father. Once he dug in his heels, he was as tenacious as the barnacles that clung to the rocks at Blackberry Beach.
Yet armed with the new insights about what made his dad tick, perhaps the outcome could be different if he changed his approach. Instead of being defensive or confrontational, why not show a touch of empathy for all his dad had gone through earlier in his career, try to get him to acknowledge how that experience had shaped his reaction to his sons’ choices? If his father did that, it might set the stage for a dialogue that could begin to smooth out their thorny relationship.
He exhaled and massaged the bridge of his nose. “I wish I had more time to think this through.”
“Do you really need it?”
At her soft question, he angled toward her. “You think I should go.”
“That’s your decision . . . and I’m not privy to all the hurt and heartache you’ve been through. But sometimes, if the clock is ticking on a decision and we don’t have an answer, we have to listen to our hearts and take a leap of faith.”
Was she talking about herself—or him?
“Is that what you’re going to do with the movie role?”
“I have more breathing space than you do. I’m hoping if I continue to mull over all the pros and cons, my thinking will clarify and the right choice will be obvious with no leaping involved.” She motioned to the wall. “We’re not making much progress here.”
Deflection.
She didn’t want to discuss the choices she was facing.
Fair enough.
“No, we’re not—but taking a few minutes to talk this through with you has helped.”
“A prayer or two couldn’t hurt either.”
Huh.
She hadn’t bitten when he’d thrown that suggestion out to her on the beach two weeks ago, so he’d assumed prayer wasn’t part of her routine.
But she must have assumed it was part of his.
Better set her straight on that.
“It may not help either.”
She cocked her head. “You’re on the outs with God too?”
“I wouldn’t go that far—but we haven’t talked much since Josh died.” He plucked a sponge out of the bucket of water and squeezed it dry.
“Because he didn’t save your brother?”
His stomach clenched.
How had they gotten on this subject?
He swiped the sponge over the wall, dropped it back in the bucket, and attacked an obstinate strip of wallpaper with renewed vigor. “I realize prayer doesn’t always work.”
“Actually . . . it does.”
He stopped scraping and frowned at her. “How can you say that? Josh died.”
“What did you pray for?”
“A miracle. I wanted Josh to live.”
“He did live. He does live. Just not where you can see him. And while you were thinking of a miracle in terms of Josh, God may have used your brother’s trials to bring about a miracle somewhere else.”
“He didn’t pray for himself, Zach. He prayed for you. Those prayers could be why you’re here.”
As Charley’s comment about Josh replayed in his mind, he tightened his grip on the scraper.
He’d refused to consider the man’s theory that day, but if his brother had been praying for him—could God have used Josh to bring about a miracle? Nothing as flashy or dramatic as the multiplication of the loaves and fishes or walking on water, but a miracle that was profound in its own way?
Like the miracle of a man rediscovering what really mattered in life, realigning his priorities, and making a new start.
He took a long, slow breath.
All these months here in Hope Harbor he’d paid lip service to his faith. Followed its principles as best he could, went to church every Sunday, said an occasional prayer.
But none of it had come from the heart.
Maybe it was time it did.
Maybe it was time to stop going through the motions of his faith and begin to live it. Reconnect with God as he longed to reconnect with his father.
There was no question the Almighty would be more forgiving—and more willing to welcome him back.
“Sorry.” Katherine tucked her hair behind her ear and went back to scraping. “I didn’t mean to barge into your faith life. That’s private territory, and I—”
“Hey.” He touched her hand.
She looked over at him, her blue eyes inches from his. Her mouth a whisper away.
A mouth that had stirred sweetly beneath his mere days ago.
And it was a temptation of the first order.
But another kiss wouldn’t be wise. He wasn’t ready to make any promises . . . and she didn’t want complications.
They were in a holding pattern until something changed.
He cleared his throat and dropped his hand. “Where you’re concerned, there aren’t any no-trespassing signs . . . and I’m glad you came today.”
The corners of her lips tipped up. “Thank you. I’m glad I came too.”
She went back to work and launched into a new, less personal topic.
Fine with him. It would be far too easy to let himself get carried away by another woman who might not share the dream he’d come here to pursue.
Until Katherine settled on a course for her future, it was prudent to play it safe.
In the interim, he had decisions to make about his own future . . . and how far out on a limb he was willing to go to try and reconnect with his father.
And his deadline was much closer than hers.
17
“This room’s ready for installation, as soon as the painting crew finishes.” Stephanie leaned the final piece of crown molding in the corner, dusted off her hands, and turned to Frank. “Shall we join the mudding brigade? The master bedroom is in dire straits, and I’m ready for a quieter chore. Or do you want to call it a day? I know this wasn’t in your afte
rnoon plans.”
As she waited for his reply, she held her breath. Working side by side today with the most appealing man she’d met in ages had been an unexpected pleasure, and she wouldn’t mind extending their partnership for another hour or two.
His neutral expression was difficult to interpret—until the corners of his mouth rose. “I can stay awhile. Lead the way.”
Mercy.
The man had a killer smile.
An invigorating surge of energy zipped through her, and she strode toward the staging area. “All the supplies are in the garage.”
After collecting what they needed, they moved on to the bedroom, where she swept a hand over the walls. “Do you want to work in the same area or divide and conquer?”
Frank didn’t hesitate. “Let’s stick together. It’ll be easier to talk.”
Yes!
Not only had he stayed, he wanted to converse.
Another positive sign.
In fact, Frank had been giving her nothing but positive signs since he’d arrived.
Had he had a change of heart after declining her invitation to the lecture—or was that wishful thinking?
Wait.
Make that foolish wishful thinking.
What about the life waiting for her in New York? Did she really want to encourage a man who had no intention of moving? What would be the future in that—except potential heartache?
The very same questions she’d wrestled with ad nauseam while debating whether to extend the invitation to the lecture. In the end, asking him had been an impulsive leap of faith—and disappointed as she’d been by his refusal, at least that had put the matter to rest.
Yet his actions today suggested the regrets he’d sent may have engendered other regrets. That he was interested in exploring their mutual attraction.
However . . . it was also possible she was getting ahead of herself. Frank’s sociability could be nothing more than an attempt to let her know his negative response to her invitation hadn’t been personal. That he liked her as a friend and wanted to make certain she wasn’t offended.
From a logical perspective, that was a plausible conclusion.
