by Irene Hannon
One in particular.
“Glad to hear it. So tell me what you’ve been doing.”
Michael complied, trying to gloss over his relationship with Tracy—but by the time he’d drained his mug and finished his recap, his father proved that while he’d retired from nine-to-five corporate strategizing, his analytical brain cells were still working fine.
“She sounds like a nice girl, this cranberry farmer. Can’t be easy to be in that kind of business, with this tough economy.”
“No. She works very hard.”
“Is she pretty?”
Pretty?
More like drop-dead gorgeous.
But he tempered his response. “Yes.”
“Nice?”
“Yes.”
“Available?”
He hesitated. “Yes.”
His diplomatic dad knew just when to back off. “Well, you take care of yourself—and if pitching in at that cranberry farm is helping you get back on track, keep doing it.”
“That’s my plan.”
But as he and his father said their good-byes, he was already toying with an idea that might contribute a whole lot more to keeping Harbor Point Cranberries afloat than any amount of sweat equity he could offer.
18
The Lewis family reunion was not going well.
From her wing chair in the living room, Anna surveyed the players. Ellen Lewis’s face was contorted, as if she was trying to hold back a sob. Her husband’s complexion had taken on a florid hue. If Grace’s posture got any more tense, she’d shatter at a mere touch.
And they were only five minutes into this family summit.
“I told you I couldn’t stay here!” Grace directed the comment toward her while aiming a venomous look at her father. “He’s already mapped out my life without consulting me.”
“You’re only sixteen.” Ken started to rise, but when Ellen grasped his arm, he sank back onto the couch. “I think your mother and I know what’s best.”
“So what I want doesn’t count?”
“What you want is what got you into trouble in the first place.”
Grace shot to her feet, as if ready to bolt from the house. “Every time you say stuff like that I want to puke!”
“Honey . . . please sit down.” Ellen’s words were shaky. “Ken . . . we agreed to talk about this calmly, remember? Let’s all take a deep breath.”
As tension quivered in the air, Anna stepped in. “Would you like me to wait on the porch while you discuss this?” Not her first choice, with this family’s future hanging in the balance, but perhaps—with Ellen’s intervention—they could come to a resolution on their own.
If not, she might have to pull out her secret weapon.
“No!” Grace darted her a panicked look. “You’re the only one who listens to me. I want you to stay.”
“Yes, please stay, Mrs. Williams.” Ellen kneaded the twin creases above her nose. “We could use some calmer input, and it sounds like you and Grace have connected.”
“Because she listens! Plus, she doesn’t make me feel horrible about what I did. And you know what? She doesn’t have to. I already feel horrible! I know it was wrong, okay? I made a bad mistake.” Her voice hitched, and regret replaced some of the anger in her tone. “I can’t blame you for being ashamed of m-me.”
“Oh, honey, we aren’t ashamed. We’re worried and upset. Right, Ken? Ken.” Ellen nudged her husband.
“Yeah.”
A heavy silence fell as Grace and her father glared at each other.
Anna sighed. Someone needed to mediate this get-together—and it appeared she’d been elected.
“As long as I’m staying, may I suggest you let Grace tell you what she’s been thinking? We’ve had some conversations about the situation, and I’ve found her to be quite articulate on the subject of her feelings and her options.”
“Yes, by all means. We want to hear what you have to say, honey. Don’t we, Ken?” Ellen sent a silent entreaty toward her husband.
He exhaled. Unclenched his fingers. Leaned back against the couch. “Yeah. You go first, Grace.”
Grace looked over at her.
Anna gave her an encouraging nod. “Why don’t you start at the beginning? With what you told me about how you felt after you moved here, and how hard it was to make friends.”
Slowly the teen sank back into her chair, head bowed, tone muted now rather than defiant. “I don’t think Dad wants to hear all that stuff.”
Ellen took her husband’s hand and met his gaze.
“Yes, I do.” Ken sounded calmer and more in control now. “I knew relocating in the middle of your sophomore year would be hard, and your mom and I should have been more available to you after we got here. But we were busy settling in, and you’ve always been self-sufficient . . .” He exhaled. “Do you want to know part of the reason we’re so upset? We feel some of this is our fault.”
Grace lifted her chin and gave him a cautious look. “Seriously?”
“Yes.”
Her shoulders lost a bit of their starch. “It isn’t, though. I made the bad choice.”
“Tell them about school, Grace.” Anna rested her sling on the arm of the chair, reducing the weight. If she didn’t ditch the thing soon, she’d have a pain in her neck as well as her shoulder.
To their credit, neither parent interrupted Grace as she haltingly relayed how difficult it had been to find friends among the established cliques, and how her boyfriend had filled the gap and eased the loneliness. She discussed the abortion issue, and her parents supported adoption as a better alternative—thank goodness. In the end, she revealed the name of the boy.
“Finally.” Ken jumped to his feet. “I want to have a long talk with his parents.”
Grace scrambled up too, once more on the defensive. “No! I don’t want you going over there yelling and pointing fingers. I’m as much at fault for what happened as he is.”
“I bet he pushed you.”
“No, he didn’t! We both just . . . got carried away. He’s a really nice guy.”
“Right.” Sarcasm dripped off Ken’s single word.
“He is!”
“Ken.” Ellen stood and touched his arm. “Let’s stay calm. It’s more important to talk about what happens next than what happened before.”
“That boy and his family need to take some responsibility.”
“Didn’t you hear a word I said?” A tear trailed down Grace’s cheek, her pitch climbing toward hysterical. “And Mom’s right. I don’t want to keep focusing on the past—I want to decide what to do next.”
“We can do that after we talk to the boy and . . .”
“Let’s sit back down and try to . . .”
“Maybe I’ll run away after all and . . .”
They were all talking at once—and no one was listening anymore.
This wasn’t good.
Anna gripped the arm of her chair. Apparently it was up to her to try to salvage the situation—and she had only one tool at her disposal.
But could she share her deepest secret with these people who were almost strangers? And if she did, would it help them understand that the choices they made today could affect the rest of their lives?
As the shouting match continued, she squeezed the upholstery under her fingers. Years ago, she’d believed God put people in places where they could best serve their fellow travelers on life’s journey. That belief had faded—but might this be a situation where it was true? Where she could help another family avoid the same mistake that had destroyed her relationship with her son?
Perhaps.
But God had better stick close as she took this leap, or she wouldn’t have the fortitude to see it through.
Summoning up her courage, Anna plunged in. “If I could have a word . . .”
The melee continued.
“Excuse me.”
Her raised voice got through to Ellen, who fell silent and shushed the other two members of her family. “I think our
guest has something to say.”
Ellen’s emphasis on the word guest must have registered. Grace and her father stopped shouting . . . and all eyes focused on her.
“If you would all take your seats again, I have a few words to say.”
For a moment she wasn’t certain Grace or her father would cooperate, but once Ellen sat, they followed her example.
“We appreciate your perspective, Mrs. Williams. We want to do what’s best for Grace, and if you have some wisdom to offer, we’d welcome it.” Ellen directed a “muzzle it” look to her husband and daughter, and both remained silent.
Knotting her fingers on her lap, Anna forced her lungs to keep working. “I’m going to tell you a story no one in this town has ever heard—and I would ask that it stay in this room. It’s a very sad chapter from my own life. One I’m not proud of, and which I regret to this day. I’m sharing it with you in the hope it might prevent you from going down the same unhappy path I did.”
She groped for the glass of water they’d offered when she arrived. Took a sip.
“Twenty years ago, I lost my husband, George, very suddenly to a heart attack. After breakfast one Saturday morning, he got up to do the dishes like he always did on weekends. On his way to the sink, he collapsed. It was over that fast. One second he was joking about the weather, the next he was gone. I can still hear the sound of the china shattering on the kitchen floor—an omen, in some ways, of all that was to come.”
Her voice rasped, and she took another sip of water.
“My son, John, was in college at the time. He was very close to his dad—not just because George was a great father but because my husband was a born mediator who understood the value of listening. John was more like me, quick-tempered and too fast on the draw. As a result, we often clashed. But thanks to my husband’s intervention, none of our spats ever amounted to more than a here today/gone tomorrow squabble. Until the spring of John’s sophomore year, a few months after George died.”
Anna paused and fished in the pocket of her cardigan for a tissue.
“Are you okay, Mrs. Williams?” Grace leaned forward, face etched with concern.
“Yes, my dear. This is difficult to talk about—but I’ll get through it.” She wiped her nose and wadded the tissue in her fingers. “One weekend, John came home for a visit. I could tell he was agitated. I hadn’t been sleeping well since George died, and I was constantly on edge myself. I should have given him some space, but instead I badgered him about what was wrong. Finally he told me.” She moistened her dry lips and forced herself to say the hard words. “It turns out the son George and I had raised with the highest of moral standards had gotten another student pregnant.”
Only her harsh, erratic breathing broke the silence in the room—but the attention of every member of the Lewis family was riveted on her.
“I was appalled—and I was even more shocked to learn there would be no marriage. The girl didn’t want a husband at that stage of her life any more than John wanted a wife. I berated him, and he lashed back. Accusations were hurled. Harsh words were exchanged. I told him he was irresponsible, that I was disappointed in him, that his father would be ashamed . . . and a lot of other ugly, hurtful things. Within the hour he’d packed up as much stuff as he could cram into two suitcases and stormed out.”
Her throat felt as parched as the tree in that Job citation Charley had given Michael, and she gulped more water.
“What happened next?” Grace was on the edge of her seat.
“I never saw or heard from him again.”
The teen’s jaw dropped. “You mean he . . . disappeared?”
“No. He went back to college, but he never came home again. I always thought he’d realize the error of his ways and marry the girl, or at the very least apologize for his disrespect the day he broke the news, but he didn’t. Like I said, we were too much alike. Too fast to fly off the handle, too inclined to hold grudges. I didn’t try to understand his perspective or cut him any slack for a poor choice that was no doubt driven by grief and the abject sense of loneliness only people who’ve lost a loved one can understand. I had zero compassion and passed judgment far too fast.”
“But . . . surely in all these years you’ve considered getting in touch.” Ellen seemed as stunned as her daughter by the shocking story.
“No. Both of us, I think, felt the other hadn’t reacted appropriately. And the truth is, we didn’t. We waited each other out, until the gap grew too long to bridge.”
“So you don’t know what happened to the girl or the baby . . . or where your son lives . . . or anything?” Grace stared at her.
“I have no idea what happened to the girl or the child. Thanks to the internet, I do know my son lives in Seattle, is married, and has one daughter.” She released her tight grip on the tissue and flexed her fingers to restore circulation.
“You could contact him, couldn’t you? I mean, that minister today said it’s never too late to reconnect.”
“Nineteen-plus years is a long time, Grace—and there’s much to forgive on both sides. But I didn’t tell you all this to burden you with my problems. I told you in the hope my story might soften your hearts and help you understand the importance of listening without judging. To realize that estrangements are sometimes never repaired. Please don’t destroy your family as my son and I destroyed ours.”
As silence once again fell in the room, Ellen swiped her fingers across her eyes. Grace sniffed. Ken’s expression was thoughtful . . . and touched with remorse, if Anna was reading him correctly.
His next words confirmed that conclusion.
“First of all, thank you for sharing that painful story with us, Mrs. Williams. It was a wake-up call. My wife and my daughter are my world—and you’ve shown me how fragile that world can be if we forget that love has to be the first and most important emotion we bring to any problem.” He took his wife’s hand and looked at Grace, still sitting alone across the room. “When you were a little girl, we always called ourselves the Three Musketeers, remember?”
She nodded.
“I’d like us to be that way again. All for one, one for all. We’ll get through this if we stick together.” He rose and pulled Ellen to her feet. Moving toward his daughter, he extended his hand. “Can we try again?”
Anna gripped the arm of her chair as Grace hesitated.
God, please give this family a second chance!
Finally, the teen rose and took a tentative step forward. Then another. Once she put her hand in her father’s, he pulled her into his arms. Ellen joined in the group hug.
Letting out a slow breath, Anna relaxed into the chair.
They were going to be okay.
And as she watched this family begin to bind its wounds, as she thought about Reverend Baker’s sermon and the story of the prodigal son, a tiny flicker of hope ignited in her soul.
If the Lewises could mend their fences, was there a chance she and John could too?
Not likely, given the length and depth of their rift.
But now that Michael had managed to get her out of her self-imposed isolation, going back into it didn’t hold a whole lot of appeal. And if she was going to rejoin life, she wanted her son—and his family—to be part of her world.
Yet reaching out to him would be risky. If he rejected her overture, that door would be closed forever.
And she wasn’t certain she could survive such a final, crushing blow.
“We’re really sorry to interrupt your Sunday, honey.” Uncle Bud took the proffered prescription and led the way to the kitchen. “The good Lord knows you needed a day off.”
“It’s not a problem. This is what family does. How’s Nancy?” Tracy opened the refrigerator and took a quick inventory.
“She’s down for the count—and not at all happy about it. She says if she’d known the community property clause in our marriage included germs, she might have had a few second thoughts before saying I do.”
Tracy chuckled as she remov
ed some defrosting chicken breasts Nancy must have intended for Sunday dinner. “I don’t think so. She grabbed the gold ring when she got you.”
“Nope. I’m the lucky one.” He filled a glass with water and pulled a teaspoon from the drawer for the cough medicine. “What are you doing?”
“Fixing dinner.”
“Oh, sweetie, you don’t have to do that. Why don’t you go spend the afternoon with Michael? You could take a walk on the beach or sit on the wharf or go for a drive.”
No sense telling him she’d been daydreaming about those very possibilities until his call.
“I need to eat too. I might as well cook for all of us. Unless you were planning to prepare a gourmet meal?” She smiled at him over her shoulder. Even after years as a widower, he’d never learned to make more than an omelet and a grilled cheese sandwich.
He shrugged. “There’s some soup in the pantry.”
She gave him an appraising sweep. “You need more than soup. How much weight did you lose while you were sick?”
“A pound or two.”
“Or five or six. We need to get some meat back on those bones, and soup won’t cut it. Go ahead and take Nancy’s medicine up. I’ll get dinner going.”
“You shouldn’t be lingering in the house, with all the germs flying around.”
“The windows are open, and I’ll wash my hands a lot. Unless you don’t want me to whip up my famous chicken in white wine sauce.”
His eyes lit up. “You know that’s my favorite.”
“Yes . . . and Nancy has everything I need for the recipe. You still want me to leave?”
“Well . . .”
She grinned. “Go take care of your sick wife.” She waved him off.
He left with no further argument.
By the time he returned, the meal preparations were well under way.
“How is she?”
“Crabby.” Uncle Bud sat at the kitchen table. “I had no idea she’d be such a bad patient.”
“What’s sauce for the goose . . .”
“Very funny. So what plans did we interrupt for your day?”
She pulled out some green onions and began chopping. “I had some accounting work to do.”
