Second Chance Summer

by Irene Hannon

“No problem. We should be fine. The church is only five minutes from here.”

  Her aunt chuckled. “Everything’s five minutes from here.”

  “Good point. I’ll be back in a sec.” Grinning, Rachel slid out, followed the path to the door and pressed the bell.

  Fifteen seconds ticked by.

  She tried again.

  Another fifteen seconds passed.

  A flicker of alarm nudged up her pulse.

  Had Louise fallen again? Was she ill? Had she forgotten Aunt El’s offer of a ride and made other arrangements? Should they...

  At the sound of a lock sliding on the other side of the door, she exhaled. There wasn’t a problem after all.

  As the knob turned, Rachel lightened her expression, prepared to greet her aunt’s new best friend...and froze.

  What on earth was the man from the beach doing here?

  While she stared at him, he stared back.

  She found her voice first. “We meet again.”

  He looked past her, toward the car where Aunt El waited. “I take it you’re somehow connected to Eleanor.”

  “Great-niece. I take it you’re connected to Louise.”

  “Grandson.”

  She tried to think of something else to say. Failed.

  He seemed to be having the same problem.

  “Is that you, Rachel?” Louise’s cheery greeting sounded from within the house, and a moment later she hurried into view.

  Once again Rachel found herself staring.

  Was this flower-child senior with the mod hair, funky sandals and colorful knee-length caftanlike garment the same quiet, conservatively dressed woman who’d shared Christmas dinner with her and Aunt El?

  The woman gathered her into a one-handed hug as Rachel tried to process the transformation.

  “Let me look at you.” Louise backed off to scrutinize her. “Pretty as a picture, just like I remember. How do you like the new me?” She did a pirouette, her eyes twinkling.

  “Um...it’s different.” Rachel studied the older woman. “But I like it.”

  Louise laughed. “The very thing Fletch said. The different part, anyway. I’m not sure he’s sold on the updates, but life’s full of surprises, isn’t it? By the way, let me introduce you two.”

  “We’ve met.” The swimmer’s face was unreadable.

  “Is that right?” Louise swiveled her head from one to the other.

  Since the man in question didn’t seem inclined to offer any more information, Rachel spoke up. “We ran into each other at the beach on Wednesday.”

  “Literally.” He folded his arms. “Her dog knocked me down.”

  “Aunt El’s dog,” Rachel corrected.

  Louise’s eyes widened. “Rachel was the woman with the dog you mentioned?”

  “Small world, I guess.” Fletch leaned a shoulder against the door.

  “True enough. Especially on Jekyll Island.” Louise beamed at him. “Now isn’t this nice? Two young people at loose ends for the summer.”

  Her grandson straightened up at once, annoyance tightening his features. “I’m not at loose ends, Gram. When I’m not helping you, I’ll be working.”

  “Not 24/7.”

  Warmth stole onto Rachel’s cheeks. It was obvious to her, if not to Louise, that this Fletch guy had zero interest in her. And that was fine. If she ever decided to go out on a date again, it would be with someone who wanted to spend time with her, not someone shoved her direction by an overeager if well-meaning relation.

  And he’d been shoved, no question about it. Why else would he have shown up on Aunt El’s beach, halfway around the island, when there were perfectly fine beaches much closer?

  If his sudden scowl was any indication, he’d come to the same conclusion.

  As the silence lengthened, Rachel edged away from the door—and the man. “I think we’d better leave or we’ll miss the opening hymn.”

  Louise consulted her watch. “Goodness, you’re right. Fletch, are you certain I can’t convince you to come?”

  “Yes.”

  No hesitation there. An aversion to church—or to her?

  Rachel straightened her shoulders and crooked her elbow. “Why don’t you take my arm, Louise, just to be safe?”

  “Don’t mind if I do. It doesn’t hurt to be extra careful until I ditch this thing.” Louise lifted the cast. “I’ll be back in a couple of hours, Fletch.”

  “No rush. I’ve got some work to do.”

  Louise shot him a pointed look. “In my day, people didn’t work on Sundays.”

  “Times change.” Fletch edged the door closed as Louise exited, as if he couldn’t be rid of them fast enough.

  “And not always for the better.” The door clicked shut before his grandmother finished her reply. She frowned at the closed door. “Now where are that boy’s manners? He didn’t even say goodbye to you.”

  Rachel guided her down the walk. “Maybe he has a lot on his mind.” Or he’s just plain rude.

  The latter seemed more than plausible.

  “That doesn’t excuse bad manners. I’ll have to have a talk with him after I get back.”

  Rachel rolled her eyes. That would go over real well. Louise’s grandson struck her as a take-charge kind of guy who wouldn’t appreciate criticism. A scolding from his grandmother wasn’t likely to endear Eleanor’s niece to him.

  But who cared? There was no reason for their paths to cross again. Now that they were both on to his grandmother’s—and perhaps Aunt El’s—transparent beach strategy, he’d no doubt get his rays elsewhere. It didn’t sound as if she’d run into him at church, either. Nor did he seem like the gallery-visiting type, so the odds he’d stop in to Aunt El’s shop were nil. They could each go their separate ways and spend their summers exactly as they’d intended.

  Everything was good.

  Rachel helped Louise into the front passenger seat, glancing back at the older woman’s cottage as she reached for the back door. For one tiny instant, she thought she detected a shadow at the window, as if someone had been watching them. Not much chance of that, though, given the man’s reaction to her today—and on the beach.

  But if everything was good, how was she supposed to explain the little wave of disappointment that suddenly dimmed her spirits?

  * * *

  Fletch finished setting the table and strolled over to the stove, giving the simmering pot an appreciative sniff as he stopped beside Gram. “That smells fantastic.”

  “Shrimp and scallop risotto. It’s one of my staples these days—but I must say, it’s wonderful to have someone to share it with.” Gram added more liquid to the mixture and continued to stir. “You missed a fine sermon today, by the way. Reverend Carlson talked about...” The jingle of the phone cut her off.

  “Want me to get that?”

  She shot a dark look toward the portable in its cradle. “If you wouldn’t mind. Risotto needs constant attention.”

  He moved down to the other end of the counter, grateful for the reprieve from a recap of the minister’s remarks, and picked up the remote. After exchanging hellos with Eleanor, he carried the phone back to his grandmother and held it out. “She says it’s important.”

  Gram shoved the heavy spoon into his hand. “Keep stirring or the rice will sink and stick to the bottom and we’ll end up with a burned mess instead of dinner.”

  Without waiting for a reply, she took the phone and greeted her friend.

  Leaning one shoulder against the adjacent wall, Fletch kept the spoon moving as Gram talked.

  “No, I have a minute. I put Fletch in charge of the risotto.” In the silence that followed, her brow wrinkled. “Oh, my. That is a problem. We were counting on them.”

  More silence as she paced over to the rear wi
ndow by the sink. Although she looked out, Fletch had a feeling she wasn’t seeing the stately live oak dripping with Spanish moss that dominated her backyard.

  “Yes, I do understand. These things happen.” Gram sighed. “I guess we’ll have to cancel the second half of the summer, too. Everyone will be so disappointed.”

  Fletch continued to stir as Gram went back into listening mode. As he watched, she caught her bottom lip between her teeth, and her expression shifted from troubled to pensive. “Yes, I see what you’re saying. Everything does happen for a reason.” More silence. “That sounds like a plan. I’ll touch base with you tomorrow morning and put the committee meeting on my calendar for tomorrow night at seven. Talk to you soon.”

  After replacing the handset in the cradle, she rejoined him at the stove.

  “Problems?” He handed the spoon back to her.

  “Yes. Such a shame.” Gram leaned close to the pot to gauge his diligence with the risotto, gave a satisfied nod and resumed stirring. “Last year, around Thanksgiving, some of us in the congregation got to talking about how Jekyll Island is such a wonderful family vacation spot. We thought it would be lovely to see if we could find a fixer-upper island house for sale, refurbish it and then invite twelve needy families to come for a week’s stay each summer.” She gestured toward the refrigerator. “Would you mind handing me the bowl of scallops and shrimp on the second shelf?”

  “Not if that means I get to eat soon. My salivary glands are working overtime.” He crossed to the refrigerator and found the bowl.

  “It’ll only be four minutes once I add those.” She gestured toward the bowl in his hands.

  He pulled off the plastic wrap and rejoined her. “Want me to dump them in?”

  “Yes, thanks. This one-handed thing is getting old.”

  Once that task was completed, she went back to stirring and picked up her story. “Anyway, an older gentleman who lived on the island died last winter, not long after the congregation formed a committee to investigate the idea. He hadn’t updated his house in years, and since his family was eager to sell, things moved quickly. We got it at a bargain price, so we had enough donations to cover the full cost of the house. But the plan was for members of the congregation to do most of the renovation work. Then our retired carpenter had to have his hip replaced. Our retired electrician had a heart attack. Now I’ve broken my wrist.”

  Fletch leaned back against the counter and folded his arms across his chest. “It almost sounds like the project is jinxed.”

  Gram sent him a stern look. “Don’t even say such a thing. Of course it’s not jinxed. It’s a wonderful project that could do a world of good for a lot of families. We’ve had a few setbacks is all. We got way behind on our timetable, and we had to cancel the reservations for the first six families. Still, we were confident we could wrap things up by mid-July.”

  “But...?”

  She sighed. “Eleanor’s the chairwoman of the committee, and she just got a call from the youngest couple in our group who we were relying on for some of the heavier cosmetic stuff—stripping wallpaper, painting, cleaning grout...that kind of thing. They’re only in their early sixties and much more agile than some of us. But her parents are in their late eighties, and her father’s had some sort of medical crisis. So they’re going back to Michigan for a few weeks.” She passed the spoon to him again. “That pot’s too heavy for me to deal with one-handed. Would you dish this up while I get our drinks?”

  “Sure.” They switched places, and he scooped generous portions onto plates as she filled glasses with water and added a platter of sliced tomatoes to the table.

  By the time he joined her and settled into his seat, she’d taken her place, as well.

  “So the project is at a standstill.” He draped his napkin over his lap and picked up his fork.

  “Not quite, but progress will be slow. I’m afraid we’ll have to cancel the remaining reservations.” Distress tightened her features. “I hate to disappoint those families, but I don’t know what else we can do. Let’s pray about it, shall we?”

  His fork froze in midair, the aroma of the risotto tantalizing his nostrils. With a concerted effort, he forced it back to his plate.

  Gram bowed her head. “Lord, we thank You for this wonderful food and for family ties. We thank You for allowing us to call this beautiful spot in Your creation home, whether for a lifetime or for a vacation. We pray that You’ll allow our church to find a way to give this gift of beauty and respite to the deserving families who need a break from the daily grind and who may also be in need of an infusion of hope. Guide us, Lord, and inspire us so that we can find a solution to this dilemma. Amen.”

  Fletch picked up his fork again and dove into the risotto, which was every bit as tasty as the aroma had promised.

  “This is great, Gram.” He wedged in the compliment as he shoveled in forkfuls of the hearty concoction.

  “I’m glad you like it. That was another thing we were going to do for our guests—take turns providing meals. I was planning to make this for dinner one night each week for the family in residence. I figured it would be an upscale treat for most of them. Our pastor sifted through candidates he gathered from his clerical friends in economically troubled parts of the South, and they’ve all had some tough breaks. I expect most of them subsist on very basic fare. It reminded me how very blessed people like you and I are to have plentiful food on the table every night.”

  Fletch slowed his pace. Gram was right—and he too often took his comfortable life for granted. “I’m sorry about the program. It sounds very worthwhile. Maybe some sort of solution will present itself and you won’t have to cancel out on the rest of the people.”

  “Trust me, I’m adding that to my prayer list.”

  He half expected her to ask him to pray, too—but she didn’t. Perhaps she’d finally reconciled herself to the fact that her grandson and God had parted ways.

  Still...he hoped God listened to the devout woman across from him, who’d always had such a firm belief in the power of prayer.

  And he hoped He gave her exactly what she asked for.

  Chapter Three

  As Rachel finished emptying the dishwasher, Aunt El pushed through the door from the attached garage, a thick file folder in hand. “Thank you for taking care of that, dear. I didn’t expect the meeting to run this late or to have to eat early and leave you on your own for dinner.”

  “I wasn’t on my own. I had Bandit for company.”

  At the mention of his name, the golden retriever appeared from the living room and padded straight for Eleanor, who stroked his head.

  Rachel wiped her hands on a dishtowel. The usual sparkle in her aunt’s eyes had dimmed a few watts, and there was a slight slump to her shoulders. Even before she asked the question, she had a feeling she knew the answer. “How did it go?”

  Eleanor set the folder on the glass-topped kitchen table and sighed. “Not great. If we had any additional money, we could pay people to do the renovations. But we needed every penny in the fund to buy the house, even though the sellers gave us a great deal and took part of the value as a tax write-off. With some of our key volunteers sidelined, we just don’t have the manpower to get the job done.”

  “I’m sorry. I know how important this project is to you.”

  “Thank you, my dear.” Her aunt patted her hand. “I guess I’ll make the cancellation calls to the rest of the families in the morning, between customers at the gallery. Right now, I believe I’ll take a bath and call it a night. Are you all set for your first program tomorrow?”

  “Yes. Organizing the art supplies I hauled down from Richmond and getting the lay of the land at the hotel were my priorities today.”

  “Did you work in any beach time?”

  “A couple of hours—only because Bandit made me go.”

 
; The golden retriever looked up at her and wagged his tail.

  “Good for him. R&R is wonderful for the soul. Did you see Fletch again?” A spark of interest kindled in the older woman’s eyes.

  “No. He probably found a beach closer to Louise’s house.”

  This was the perfect opportunity to discuss last week’s obvious setup...but in light of the problems her aunt was dealing with, Rachel didn’t have the heart to bring it up. Besides, it was a moot point. If she’d read him correctly on Sunday, Louise’s grandson had been as miffed about their respective relatives’ manipulation as she was—which had flopped, in any case. There wasn’t much chance he’d want anything further to do with the rude woman who’d gawked at his artificial leg and sicced a seventy-pound dog on him.

  “I suppose so.” Eleanor positioned the folder in the middle of the table, opened it and riffled through the sheaf of papers. “Such a pity to disappoint so many people.” She expelled a long breath and turned away. “Waffles at eight?”

  “You don’t have to spoil me. A bowl of cereal is fine.”

  “Nonsense. You can eat cereal at home. A visit to Jekyll Island should be filled with special treats.” Her aunt winked. “But if it makes you feel better, I’m glad to have an excuse to eat real breakfasts myself for a few weeks a year. The rest of the time I subsist on cereal, too.”

  They had the same conversation every summer, and as usual, Rachel capitulated. “In that case...I’ll look forward to it.”

  “In the meantime, sweet dreams. Bandit, are you coming?”

  The dog rose from his sitting position and trotted after his owner.

  As Eleanor disappeared down the hall, Rachel drummed her fingers against the countertop. It wasn’t even ten yet. Too early for bed and too dark to go for a walk on the beach. TV held no appeal, and if she dived back into the taut thriller she’d taken to the beach earlier she’d stay up far too late reading just one more page.

  Maybe she’d end the day with a soothing cup of herbal tea.

  Choosing a bag from her aunt’s large selection, she eyed the folder on the table. It was a shame about the church project—though she’d always thought it too ambitious for the aging congregation. Still, she couldn’t fault their generous spirit. They were living the values Reverend Carlson preached from the pulpit every Sunday and doing God’s work.