Sweet Tomorrows

by Debbie Macomber

  “Sure,” I said, but I wasn’t, and I was afraid Emily could easily see through my façade.

  “I’ll give you two privacy,” she said, and gave my arm a reassuring squeeze.

  I appreciated her thoughtfulness. “Thank you,” I whispered, and braced myself for this meeting.

  Getting up from my chair, I ran damp palms down my thighs as nerves took over my stomach, clenching the muscles. Straightening, I drew in a deep breath, hoping that would lend me courage. I plastered a smile on my face and went to meet the man who had once been my husband’s mentor and friend.

  “Hello, sir,” I said, joining the lieutenant colonel. “I trust you had a good trip to Washington, D.C.?”

  He stood when I came into the room. “Please, Jo Marie, there’s no need to be so formal. Call me Dennis.”

  Ah, so that was the way it was going to be. He intended to warm me up by assuming we were good friends. It was true I liked and respected him. He’d been a comfort when the news came about Paul. We’d kept in touch, especially during the first dreadful year. But now I could feel a shift in our relationship. While we were friendly, this wasn’t a social visit. He had a purpose and so did I.

  He took his seat and indicated I should do the same. He’d come to find out what he could about Mark, and I was happy to tell him what I knew, but not without a fair exchange of information.

  “Do you need anything to drink?” I asked, accepting my role as hostess.

  “Nothing, thanks. I’d like you to tell me what you know about Jeremy Taylor,” he said, leaning forward. His dress hat was in his hand; his eyes trapped mine with a look strong enough to break men, but I refused to be intimidated by the man who’d held me and grieved with me. “I believe I already told you I hired Mark as a handyman. He’s finished a number of projects here at the inn.” I pointed out a couple he could see from where he sat. The fireplace mantel was one of the projects Mark had completed. Some days I caught myself running my hands over the smooth wood in an effort to feel connected with Mark, to feel a link to him through his work.

  Dennis slowly shook his head, as if he found the very idea unfathomable. “A handyman? Unbelievable.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “What is the last communication you received from him?” he asked, ignoring my question.

  “Why is it unbelievable that Mark was a handyman?” At the look of disbelief, I felt I had to ask.

  “Mark was a highly trained, highly specialized officer” was all Dennis was willing to tell me. “He could have taken on any number of high-paying civilian jobs.”

  “He was in intelligence?” I pressed.

  The lieutenant colonel’s mouth narrowed and he slowly nodded as if grudgingly giving up the information. “You mentioned you’d heard from him recently…?” He left the question hanging.

  Not so fast. “He had help getting into Iraq, didn’t he?”

  The narrowed, intense gaze was back. “I can’t discuss that, Jo Marie.”

  That told me he had. “Next question. If you got him into the country, then why can’t you get him out?” I pressed.

  Dennis shook his head, indicating this was something else he couldn’t discuss. Fine. I crossed my arms and legs and said nothing.

  “I need to know when you last heard from him,” Dennis fired back.

  “Why?”

  “It’s important.”

  I weighed my need to learn what I could against any possibility withholding information would harm Mark’s chances of escape.

  “Why is it important?”

  Dennis kept his eyes steadfastly focused on me, not giving anything away. “If I could tell you that, I would, but I can’t. It’s classified.”

  “Of course it is,” I murmured.

  “I take it you have feelings for this man?” He tried another tactic.

  “Did I say that?” I raised my eyebrows with the question.

  “You implied it. Otherwise, why would you contact me?”

  “It was a friendly inquiry.” I wasn’t willingly handing him ammunition.

  Dennis grinned, as if my answer told him everything he wanted to know. “Is that a fact?”

  “It is.” I wasn’t wavering.

  He seemed to be carefully weighing his words. “The information you have might be a matter of life or death,” he said, growing serious once more.

  “Mark’s life?” I wasn’t going to make assumptions.

  “Mark and…others.” This last part was added in a low whisper.

  “What others?”

  He glared back at me.

  “Give me a name.”

  He blinked.

  “Give me a name,” I repeated. As much as I liked and admired Paul’s commanding officer, I wasn’t completely sure I should trust him. Mark may have gone into Iraq with government assistance, but that didn’t mean he was working with them now. “Any name,” I repeated. “I need to know you have Mark’s back.”

  For the first time since we’d sat across from each other, Dennis broke eye contact. “Ibrahim.”

  A shiver went down my spine. It was a name, but I might have mentioned it to him in our earlier conversation.

  “Not good enough.”

  His eyes were piercing and intense. I held his gaze, unwilling to back down.

  “All right: Shatha.”

  I knew for a fact I hadn’t mentioned Ibrahim’s wife’s name. I slowly nodded.

  “Will you tell me what you know now?” he asked. This was a man who expected his orders to be followed immediately and without question.

  I let his demand hang in the air between us for an elongated moment before I spoke. “On one condition?”

  “Jo Marie,” he protested.

  “Take it or leave it.”

  His shoulders sagged. “What’s the condition?”

  His intense look told me he didn’t appreciate my persistence. “I want to know what you know about Mark,” I said evenly. “I realize if the government or the military helped him it wasn’t out of the goodness of their hearts. He was asked to do something in return for bringing Ibrahim and his family to the States. I don’t need the details. I don’t even want to know his mission. All I care about is knowing if Mark is alive and if you can get him out in one piece.”

  The lieutenant colonel’s eyes flared before he demanded, “Do you think I would come to you if we had that information? We’ve heard nothing for the last two months.”

  Two months? I could see that he was growing more impatient every minute. “I told you about the postcard I received already.”

  “When did it arrive?” He immediately straightened his posture.

  “June.”

  “Could you tell when it was written?”

  “Early May, I think.”

  “Let me see it.” His voice was back in command mode again.

  I left him and retrieved the postcard from my room.

  When I returned, I found Dennis standing and pacing the area behind the sofa. As soon as he saw me, he stretched out his hand to examine the postcard. His gaze quickly scanned the few lines without giving any indication the words meant anything.

  “Mark was badly injured, wasn’t he?” I asked.

  Dennis didn’t deny or confirm my words.

  The comment Mark made about his luggage had nothing to do with any suitcase; Mark was referring to himself. Why he’d sent me a postcard with a picture of the Jeddah Beach Swim Reef remained a mystery. That and something about a bad connection with ANCD. ANCD? I had no idea what that meant. The initials, however, meant something to the lieutenant colonel, although he gave none of his thoughts away. Bringing out his phone, he took a snapshot of both sides of the card and then returned it to me.

  “Okay, your turn,” I said. “Tell me what you know.”

  Silence.

  “A deal is a deal,” I reminded him. “You don’t tell me what I want to know, if I hear from Mark again I can guarantee you’ll never hear about it. Absolutely guarantee it.” Naturally, I w
as bluffing. I would do anything and everything to see Mark safely back in the States; I hoped along with Ibrahim and his family.

  Dennis was in a difficult situation, but I knew he would share with me what he could. As if making peace with himself, he slowly nodded. “All I can tell you is this. We had prearranged pickup dates for Mark, Ibrahim, and his family across the border in Saudi Arabia. If he didn’t make one, we had others scheduled. Six in all. Mark didn’t show for any of the six prearranged dates.”

  My body went stock-still as I struggled against the shocking ramifications of this news. I came face-to-face with my greatest fear: that Mark could be dead.

  “You’ve heard no word from him or Ibrahim?” I asked, grasping for anything that would give me a reason to hope.

  Dennis held my gaze, his eyes filled with pity as he shook his head.

  “In other words, you’re telling me you think Mark is dead.” I was crumbling on the inside, but I hoped it didn’t show.

  Dennis ignored the question. “If you hear anything further, will you let me know?”

  “If you hear anything, will you let me know?” I repeated.

  He hesitated and then agreed. “I will.”

  I studied him and he steadfastly met my look and didn’t flinch. He was a man of his word and I knew I could trust him. “Then I will, too,” I promised.

  He replaced his dress hat and walked toward the front door. “I wish I had better news, Jo Marie.”

  “Me, too,” I replied, my heart aching. Mark had made it clear when he left that he didn’t expect to return. I’d promised myself I wouldn’t hang on to the spiderweb-thin thread of hope. And yet that was exactly what I’d done.

  —

  Emily cooked dinner, but I wasn’t hungry and didn’t bother to make a pretense of eating. The numbness had stayed with me all afternoon, that tightness in my stomach, that ache in my heart. I needed to call Bob Beldon; he’d want to know what I’d learned, but I couldn’t bring myself to make the call. Nothing felt real, and yet reality was staring me in the face.

  “You okay?” Emily asked with a worried frown. “I don’t mean to pry, but if you want a shoulder to cry on, I’m a good listener.”

  “Thanks,” I said, “but I don’t feel much like talking.”

  The sympathetic look she sent me said she understood. “Is there anything I can do?”

  I shook my head. “Nothing, thanks.”

  After dinner Emily went up to her room and I retreated into my own. Rover still wasn’t himself, but he looked better than he had earlier. He lay down at my feet as I sat in my comfortable chair. Although I had no interest in watching TV, I turned it on, hoping a distraction would help me out of this blue funk.

  When my cell phone rang, it startled me to the point that I jumped. I reached for it but didn’t recognize the number.

  “Hello,” I said tentatively.

  “Jo Marie? It’s Greg from the party. Karen gave me your number. I hope you don’t mind my calling you.”

  “Greg…Hi.” I did my best to sound pleased to hear from him. I made a determined effort to hide the turmoil churning inside of me.

  “I had a great time over the Fourth.”

  “I did, too.” It seemed like the holiday had been light-years earlier, yet it’d been only a day. That didn’t seem possible. Twenty-four hours and it felt as if a year had passed.

  “I wanted to connect and let you know that I really enjoyed meeting you,” Greg said.

  “Thanks. It was a fun day.” And it had been, although there was little to celebrate now.

  “I was wondering if you’d like to get together again,” Greg said.

  His invitation shouldn’t have surprised me, but it did. I hesitated, unsure what to tell him.

  The silence felt awkward and uncomfortable as I wrestled with how best to respond. My head spun. Mark hadn’t made me any promises. He’d done everything within his power to tell me he wasn’t coming back, despite the few times I’d heard from him. That had been weeks ago now.

  Weeks and weeks.

  He hadn’t made it across the border or made it to the rendezvous point.

  “Karen told me you’re a widow. I don’t know if anyone mentioned that my wife died nearly four years ago.”

  No one had said anything. Four years. About the same time as Paul.

  “I haven’t dated much since, and I have to tell you I’m more than a little nervous about this. If you’re not ready, I understand.”

  “I’m ready,” I blurted out, my decision made. “I’d enjoy seeing you again.”

  We talked for nearly an hour. Greg was a great conversationalist, and when we disconnected I felt better than I had all night.

  It was time to let go, really let go this time, and move forward.

  I was concerned about Jo Marie. She’d been withdrawn and quiet all through dinner, hardly saying a word. She’d picked at her food, too, showing no interest in the blackened chicken Caesar salad, a meal I knew she’d enjoyed in the past. Almost immediately after dinner, she excused herself and escaped into her room.

  Later, when I came downstairs to check on her, I found her in better spirits. I’d heard the phone ring and hoped that whoever she’d spoken to had helped her process whatever it was that her visitor had said that upset her. Seeing that her mood was lighter, I didn’t feel the need to suggest we have tea and a chat. I respected her privacy, but if she needed a willing ear, then I was there for her.

  Reassured that Jo Marie was fine, I returned to my room and read until nearly midnight, caught up in a story. Because the room felt stuffy even with air-conditioning, I cracked open the window. Right away a cool breeze swayed through the third-story room. When I turned my light off, my brain was full of the story I’d been devouring. Over the summer months, I try to read as much as possible because it’s difficult to find the time during the school year. While in college I’d gotten hooked on romances and contemporary women’s fiction. However, love stories with happy endings depressed me these days, seeing that I didn’t have one of my own and most likely never would. Lately, I’d really been into mysteries, which seemed a better fit, not that I was looking to murder anyone. The plots were interesting and I enjoyed the challenge of identifying the guilty party.

  My life felt like an ongoing challenge. My house hunt had been less than satisfactory. Even my real estate agent was growing impatient with me, and I didn’t blame her. What I needed and wanted were inconsistent. The only thing I could tell Dana was that I’d know the right house when I saw it. I appreciated her efforts but feared my heart was stuck on the house with the orchard, the one where Nick Schwartz currently lived.

  By nature I’m a light sleeper, but I was deeply involved in my dream when I stirred at the sound of a dog barking. Even in my sleep I recognized that bark—Elvis. It didn’t seem possible that Elvis was outside the inn. Not at this time of the night. My eyes flew open and I glanced at the digital clock on the nightstand.

  Three a.m.

  Not questioning my reasons, I tossed aside the covers and went to the open door leading out to my small balcony. Down below, walking up the driveway, were Elvis and Nick Schwartz. I’d seen a man and a dog late at night once before but hadn’t put two and two together. I couldn’t imagine what they were doing or why they would be here. By all that was right, I should have hesitated, should have ignored Nick and his dog, but did I do that? Oh no, not me. It startled me to realize I was happy to see him. I grabbed my sweatshirt, slipped it over my head, and raced down the two flights of stairs at breakneck speed.

  I flew out the back door off the kitchen, as that was the closest one to the driveway. The security alarm made a series of short beeping sounds. I paused briefly, hoping the alarm didn’t wake Rover or Jo Marie. Apparently not.

  Hurrying onto the driveway, I slowed my pace when I saw that Nick had caught sight of me. Elvis, too. Both stood frozen, as if doubting it was me.

  “Hey,” I said.

  He didn’t answer.

&n
bsp; “It’s the middle of the night.”

  “You going to report me as a trespasser?” he asked, keeping a tight hold on Elvis’s leash.

  “Not my place.” Even if it was, I wouldn’t.

  Elvis went as far forward as the leash would allow, and I bent down to pet his fur.

  “You okay…you know, after the other night?”

  “Fine.” His tone was testy.

  “Did you come to see me?” I asked, hoping that was true, knowing it wasn’t.

  “No. I didn’t even know you were here.”

  This was confusing. “Then why are you here?”

  “I have trouble sleeping,” Nick said, as if admitting a character flaw.

  “I do, too, at times,” I admitted.

  “You own the inn?”

  “No, Jo Marie Rose does.” Clearly he didn’t know much about the town in which he currently lived.

  “You a friend of hers?”

  He was full of questions. “We’re becoming friends. I’m boarding here while looking for a place of my own.”

  “She own the dog?”

  “Yeah.”

  “He recover?”

  I nodded. “Have you ever seen a dog with a hangover? It isn’t a pretty sight.”

  Nick grinned. “Can’t say that I have.”

  “I saw you and Elvis and came rushing down…I wanted to thank you for the other night.”

  He shrugged off my appreciation as though he didn’t want to hear it.

  “Would you like to sit on the porch awhile?” I asked, hoping he wouldn’t refuse. “The view from there is lovely and it’s restful.” Seeing it was the dead of night, the view wasn’t going to be nearly as spectacular as it was in the middle of the day.

  He seemed to be in some kind of internal debate before he nodded. I struggled to hide my smile. He remained leery of me, although he’d taken a huge risk on my behalf the other night at the biker bar. One on one, I suspected Nick could have held his own, but against an entire motorcycle club, well, it would have been ugly.

  He hesitated and it looked like he was about to change his mind.

  “I don’t bite,” I assured him.

  He grinned. “Not sure I believe that.” Whether he did or not, he followed me to the porch.