PRAISE FOR CHRISTINE NOLFI
The Season of Silver Linings
GOLD MEDAL WINNER READERS’ FAVORITE AWARDS
FINALIST INTERNATIONAL BOOK AWARDS
“Charming and sincere, Jada’s journey to reconcile the past left me with a smile on my face and hope in my heart. The idyllic setting only adds to the joy of reading this heartwarming tale of past mistakes and glorious futures.”
—Heather Burch, bestselling author of In the Light of the Garden
“In The Season of Silver Linings we see love on every page. Each novel in the Sweet Lake series offers a special experience for the reader, and the third book may be your favorite yet.”
—Grace Greene, USA Today bestselling author
Sweet Lake
FINALIST INTERNATIONAL BOOK AWARDS
“[This book] has such a charming small-town vibe and endearing characters that readers will find themselves falling in love with quirky Sweet Lake and hoping for a series.”
—Booklist
“In this uplifting and charming story, each room of the inn is filled with friendship, forgiveness, and love.”
—Kirkus Reviews
The Comfort of Secrets
GOLD MEDAL WINNER READERS’ FAVORITE AWARDS
SECOND PLACE WOMEN’S FICTION, ROYAL PALM LITERARY AWARDS
FINALIST INTERNATIONAL BOOK AWARDS
FINALIST KINDLE BOOK AWARDS
“Welcome back to the Wayfair Inn, where discovering secrets and overcoming human frailty are the ingredients for finding love and happiness. Reading Nolfi’s The Comfort of Secrets feels like coming home.”
—Kay Bratt, bestselling author of Wish Me Home
“Poignant, honest, and filled with heart, The Comfort of Secrets has it all. With a natural talent for lyrical prose, Christine Nolfi sweeps you away.”
—Heather Burch, bestselling author of In the Light of the Garden
Second Chance Grill
FINALIST PUT YOUR HEART IN A BOOK AWARDS
“Nolfi writes with a richness of heart that is incredibly endearing.”
—Renee Fountain, Book Fetish
“An emotionally moving contemporary novel about the power that relationships have to transform lives.”
—Susan Bethany, Midwest Book Review
Treasure Me
FINALIST NEXT GENERATION INDIE AWARDS
“A riveting read for those who enjoy adventure fiction. Highly recommended.”
—Susan Bethany, Midwest Book Review
The Tree of Everlasting Knowledge
“Poignant and powerful, The Tree of Everlasting Knowledge is as much a saga of learning how to survive, heal, and forgive as it is a chilling crime story, unforgettable to the very end.”
—Margaret Lane, Midwest Book Review
ALSO BY CHRISTINE NOLFI
The Sweet Lake Series
Sweet Lake
The Comfort of Secrets
The Season of Silver Linings
The Liberty Series
Second Chance Grill (Book 1)
Treasure Me (Book 2)
The Impossible Wish (Book 3)
Four Wishes (Book 4)
The Tree of Everlasting Knowledge (Book 5)
The Dream You Make
Heavenscribe: Part One
Heavenscribe: Part Two
Heavenscribe: Part Three
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Text copyright © 2019 by Christine Nolfi
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Published by Lake Union, Seattle
www.apub.com
Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Lake Union are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.
ISBN-13: 9781542004213
ISBN-10: 1542004217
Cover design by Caroline Teagle Johnson
For my sister Trish
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
BOOK CLUB QUESTIONS
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Chapter 1
The harbor cruise had devolved into a kidnapping.
Slipping past the revelers, Darcy inched toward the relative privacy of the boat’s lower deck. She was the hostage.
That morning, Darcy had stopped in to clean out her office with a minimum of fuss. She’d rehearsed her goodbye to the staff, the usual pithy speech she trotted out whenever quitting the latest job. Just a few quick words about how much she’d enjoyed the year in Charleston as the assistant manager for Big Bud’s Harbor Tours.
The plan went disastrously awry. The moment she’d hoisted the heavy box of belongings into her arms, her replacement—a tall brunette with the smooth gait of a racehorse—appeared in the doorway. A girl from accounting darted in behind her. Together, they wrested the box from Darcy’s grip and pushed her into the corridor.
In their enthusiasm, they pushed too hard. Darcy stumbled headfirst into the flock of assistants on three-inch heels. Southern women understood grooming like nobody’s business, and a cloud of perfume accosted her. Darcy’s flats skidded across the linoleum. Nose tingling, she shrieked. Caught between terror and a sneeze brought on by Lancôme, she pitched forward.
The assistants caught her a thin second before she face-planted.
Once they righted the shuddering plank of her body, Darcy attempted to bolt. She felt like an untamed filly hemmed in by a dozen silk-clad jockeys of varying ages. The women—stronger than they appeared—captured her.
During the last year, the stealthy ways of Big Bud’s staff had become all too familiar. Oh, the women meant well as they bypassed common courtesy—and US law—to scroll through employee files, gathering information with the zeal of hostesses planning a gala. If they discovered an employee birthday on the horizon, the women brought in helium balloons and birthday cake. Anniversaries rated balloons, cake, and small presents wrapped in silver or gold. If a woman left on maternity leave, she would return to find baby gifts stacked on her desk and luscious platters of homemade baked goods lined up in the lunchroom.
Factor in a family pet, and these women pulled out all the stops. When Big Bud’s French bulldog gave birth to a squirmy litter of pups, the enthusiastic staff paid for family photos. They even purchased a burnished-gold frame and hung the best photo in the lobby.
Overall, the niceness factor was sweet, even heartwarming. But these women from the land of Dixie weren’t usually accomplices to a kidnapping. Darcy was still demanding an explanation when they began to circle her.
High heels clacking, they had pushed her out the back of the low brick building and down the gangplank. Before Darcy got a grip on their plan, they’d pushed her aboard the Irma, a two-deck party ship—and the fanciest ves
sel in Big Bud’s fleet.
Bud, his belly jiggling and his beard flapping in the salty breeze, told the staff to return within the hour. At seventy-six, he was no longer seaworthy. Hugged close to his side, his wife—the real-life Irma—waved with merriment. The boat rumbled to life.
Officially kidnapped, Darcy surveyed the retreating dock with frustration. The staff, leaving her alone to stew in her own juices, clattered up the stairwell to the boat’s top deck. Corks popped, and the cheap champagne Bud kept onboard during the tourist season began flowing. With only an hour to get their groove on, the employees weren’t about to waste time.
To the east, a container ship carved a ponderous swath as it lumbered toward Charleston Harbor. The sun, lazy on the fine June morning, lifted above the horizon. Golden light scattered across the foam-capped waves.
The solitude was nearly enjoyable.
The boat picked up speed, drawing cheers from the staff above. The shoreline retreated from view. Resigned to her fate, Darcy leaned against the railing. A one-hour delay didn’t represent a major calamity. Even if it was the worst day of the year.
A voice came from behind. “Aren’t you having a drink, honey?”
One of the secretaries joined her at the prow. Trista, or Trixie—a middle-aged redhead who worked the evening shift. Darcy rarely interacted with her.
“I’m fine, thanks.”
“You’re not celebrating at your own going-away party? There’s nothing wrong with starting the day with a teeny glass of champagne.”
The secretary meant well, so Darcy made an effort to scrape the irritation from her face. “Is there coffee onboard?”
“I’m sorry, there isn’t. Should I find some orange juice? I’m sure there’s some below deck. I’ll make you a nice mimosa.”
With misgivings, she eyed the champagne bottle. “Really, I’m good. I have to be on the road soon.”
The redhead lowered the bottle. “Sure, honey. I don’t want you getting behind the wheel if you’re tipsy.” She lifted her own glass and took a noisy sip. Leaning close, she dropped her voice to a whisper. “Where are you going, anyway? Everyone says it’s a secret. I don’t mean to pry, but I do love a mystery. Did one of Bud’s competitors make you a better offer?”
The friendly curiosity echoed the comments Darcy had become proficient at dodging. The loss from eight years ago still festered like a wound that would not heal. She avoided chatty conversations out of fear that a well-meaning coworker might unearth the details.
Regret sifted through her. After years drifting from one job to the next, Darcy knew how to snuff out the tiniest flicker of friendship.
Only this time, she’d failed. At this particular job, she’d made a friend she’d miss.
The first time ever.
“I don’t have my plans nailed down,” she hedged. Despising the lie, she layered false cheer into her tone. “Something will turn up.”
“Hold on. Did someone on the staff hurt your feelings?” A burst of anger rippled across the redhead’s shoulders. “Is that why you’re leaving? Sweetie, talk to Bud. He’ll fix it.”
“There’s nothing to fix,” Darcy assured her. She didn’t wish to share details about the new job she’d accepted out of state. “I wanted to leave, and Bud’s already found a new assistant manager. It’s time to move on, that’s all.”
“Move on?” The woman stared at her, wide-eyed. “You quit without having something else lined up? Why’d you do a fool thing like that?”
The questions were beginning to feel like an interrogation. “I’ll find something when I decide where to land. It’s no big—” She cut off.
A funny sensation carried her attention to the upper deck.
Is someone watching me?
Employees milled around in small clusters, clinking glasses and gesturing at landmarks. Charleston’s peninsula streamed by, the church steeples gathering sunlight on their pointed spires and the historic antebellum homes peeking out from behind ash-colored shadows. A school of dolphins kept time with the boat. Their sleek bodies slipped through the waves like mermaids welcoming in the day.
The dolphins began arrowing away from the boat. Darcy barely noticed. Shielding her eyes to study the employees above her, she replayed the moments when she’d been hauled down the gangplank to the Irma. She couldn’t recall if she had seen Samson get onboard.
Then she saw him, and dismay snatched her breath.
On the metal stairs leading down to the lower deck, Samson wavered. He attempted a smile.
Fate was often cruel, and Samson Dray had suffered more than most. Shuttled through South Carolina’s foster care system, he’d carried his biblical name into adulthood on a slight build. With skin the color of teak, and dreadlocks that swung across his narrow shoulders, he smiled often and with genuine affection that never failed to brighten the atmosphere at Big Bud’s. The eighteen-year-old was newly released from foster care.
When tourists stood ten deep at the counter, grumpy from the Lowcountry’s swamp heat and wilting in their bright vacation clothes, Samson handed out icy bottles of water. If he noticed an older couple in the crush, he would drag folding chairs from the storage room and invite them to sit near the wall, out of the general chaos. A fussy toddler in the crowd was soothed with a lollipop; boisterous children received bags of peanuts and a gentle request to quiet down. Given Samson’s easygoing nature, they readily complied.
In between busy periods when tourists waited to board the fleet of boats, Samson dispensed with his role of cheerful butler and danced among the island of desks in the main office, happy to run errands for the staff or handle odd jobs for the elderly Bud and his wife.
The redhead caught the silent exchange between Darcy and the dark-skinned teen everyone at Big Bud’s treated as a favorite. Smiling faintly, she excused herself.
The moment she’d gone, Samson climbed down the stairs.
Darcy swung her attention to the water. This wasn’t how she’d planned to exit Samson’s life. Not trapped a mile from shore without a rehearsed script at the ready.
As he loped across the deck, erasing the distance between them, she came to a depressing conclusion. She’d devised no plan for how to say goodbye.
Sparing her a recriminating stare, Samson rested his elbows on the railing. He gazed out to sea. Waves lapped at the side of the boat. Darcy followed his cue, pretending interest in the landmarks streaming past. Spidery threads of embarrassment crawled up her neck.
Proffer an apology? Or remain silent until he fires up the salvos I deserve?
The silence grew oppressive. Breaking it, he said, “You sure are ugly.”
Relief spilled through her. “You think?” She hadn’t expected his standard greeting on their last day together. An inside joke, really. Samson had come up with the gem last winter after she took him to Green Island Bar for shrimp po’boys and three men had hit on her in as many minutes.
“I hate to point out the obvious,” he quipped, still refusing to look at her. “You’re uglier than normal today.”
“My special gift.”
“Guess we all need a talent. Although I don’t know how you go out in public without a sack over your head.”
“I knew I forgot something.” Gulping down the salty air, Darcy kept her eyes trained on the waves. “I did take special care with my ugly routine this morning. Seemed appropriate for my last day on the job.”
“Time well spent. You could scare fish from the water.”
“My intention, of course.”
“Your office is all packed?”
“Don’t ask what happened to the box of my stuff. Someone stole it. Right before they manhandled me onto this boat.”
Tiny cowrie shells clicked on Samson’s dreadlocks as he nodded with faint amusement. “Don’t you worry none, Darcy. Theft is exactly what you need. I’m sure Irma herself is tearing through the box as we speak. Lord knows what Bud’s better half will find inside.”
No personal effects were hidden
in the box—a minor point. The notion of anyone rifling through her things bothered Darcy. That was another inside joke—Samson liked to tease her about her paranoia. She detested sharing personal information for reasons never explained to her young friend.
Discussing the shattering events of the past was even more out of bounds.
“I hope Irma doesn’t make off with my gel pens,” she said, dismissing the thought before it triggered sharp, unwanted memories. “I’m partial to the ones with purple ink.”
“Then you’re out of luck. Irma likes anything purple.”
“She does?”
Samson grunted. “Plan on buying new pens,” he replied. There was no telling if he was joking. “Older ladies like Miz Irma wear dresses with big pockets. Haven’t you noticed? She’ll be filling hers.”
“Nonsense.” He was joking. Darcy laughed, releasing some of the tension brewing inside her. “Irma keeps a Bible on her desk, right next to her pot of African violets. No way does she steal.”
“For a college-educated woman, you sure are dumb. There’s larceny in every soul.”
“Not yours.”
“Like you know what’s inside me. We haven’t been friends very long.”
“I know people.” Darcy attempted to add something else. Words failed her.
Samson never borrowed a paper clip without asking. Considerate, decent—his raw goodness was hard to understand. A childhood short on love and long on disappointment should have tempted him to pitch his tent on the wrong side of the law. Some people were onions: peel back enough layers, and there was nothing underneath. A precious few were like apples. Life had bruised Samson, but he retained a solid core.
On the railing, his fingers stilled. “Darcy, do you want the God’s-honest truth? I’ve been doing my best to channel meanness. Working real hard at it too. I just don’t know how to get the meanness to bubble up inside me.” He slid a glance in her general direction; it seemed more fearful than accusatory. An indication of distress, maybe anguish. With lightning speed, he returned his attention to the harbor. “So you’re going. Farewell. It’s been nice knowing you, and all that. I’m not dumb. I know you won’t change your mind. Your stubborn streak is harder than stone.”
The Road She Left Behind Page 1
