Second Chance Summer

by Irene Hannon

  Fletch sent her a cautious look. “What decision?”

  Her eyes never wavered. “I found out about the shepherds a few months ago. One of the guys who was in your recon squad that night stopped by while he was in the area to offer his condolences and see how I was doing.”

  Lisa knew he’d caused Deke’s death—yet she was sitting here talking to him?

  His throat tightened, and the edges of his vision blurred. “I’m sorry. I should have told you myself.”

  “I’m glad you didn’t. If I’d heard the story two and a half years ago, I might have blamed you.”

  “You would have had every right to do that.”

  “No, I wouldn’t.” Lisa gripped his hand. “Listen to me, Fletch. I was the wife of a SEAL. I know what you guys faced on the battlefield. I know the kind of gut-wrenching, split-second decisions you had to make, often without full information. What happened that night wasn’t your fault. Deke would say the same thing. So would you, if your positions were reversed. You did the best you could under the circumstances.”

  Those were almost the same words Rachel had used.

  “And here’s the thing. Neither of us can bring Deke back. Yesterday’s over. Done. Nothing we can do will change that. But we can make choices about tomorrow. I choose love over loneliness—and in my heart, I believe Deke would approve of that. When you love someone, you want them to be happy. And Deke loved me with all his heart...as I loved him.”

  Fletch studied her. Was she sincere, or was she trying to rationalize her decision? Apparently the former, based on her demeanor. She seemed at peace with her choice. Confident about it, even.

  “I can’t argue with your conviction, Lisa.”

  “Because it’s genuine—and right. You were his best friend. You know how much he loved life. How he lived in the moment. How he embraced everything good that came his way and brushed aside the bad. He chose joy. I intend to pass that legacy on to David, and to honor it in my own life. I think you should do the same. Choose joy, Fletch. Let the guilt go. Give it to God and move on.”

  Give it to God.

  Was that what it would take to unburden himself from the yoke of guilt? Was God the spiritual and emotional North Star he’d been seeking all these months?

  Maybe. Both Gram and Rachel had suggested as much.

  But how did you repair a relationship that was in tatters?

  “You folks need anything else?”

  At the waiter’s question, Fletch looked up. A serving of absolution would be nice. Too bad it wasn’t on the menu. “We’re fine. Thanks.” As the man walked away, Fletch refocused on Lisa. “You’ve given me a lot to think about.”

  “I hope you do more than think. You should make your peace with the past and find a good woman to love.”

  “You sound like my grandmother.”

  “Then she’s a smart woman. Speaking from a sisterly point of view, you’re great husband material. Plus, you’d be a wonderful father. David adores you.”

  Fletch ignored the sudden, painful pang in his heart. “I appreciate the vote of confidence. And on the subject of father material...I want to hear more about this man you’re planning to marry.”

  Eyes twinkling, Lisa picked up her fork and plunged into her salad. “Prepare to have your ear bent.”

  While he worked his way through his grilled mahimahi, she made good on her warning—and an hour and a half later, as she finished off a slice of cheesecake, she was still going strong.

  Fletch found himself smiling at her animation. This Mitch sounded like a decent guy, and if he brought joy back into her life, who was he to find fault?

  Joy.

  That was why she looked different.

  Lisa was glowing—just as she used to when Deke was alive.

  And all at once Fletch knew she was right. This is what Deke would have wanted for the woman he loved. The time for weeping was past.

  Perhaps for both of them.

  When he finally said goodbye to her in the parking lot with a kiss on the cheek, a promise to attend the wedding and his sincere best wishes, she gripped his hands and held on tight.

  “Thank you for taking the news so well.”

  “Thank you for not hating me.”

  “I gave my negative feelings to God long ago.”

  More God talk.

  Fletch tugged his hands away and shoved them in his pockets. “You make starting over sound easy.”

  A shadow crossed her face, dimming her glow. “It’s not. It takes a lot of hard work and an openness to the opportunities He sends your way. Six years ago, I would never have foreseen the future that’s now stretching before me. But God’s plans don’t always mesh with ours.”

  Had she and Rachel compared notes or what?

  Lisa touched his arm. “Give Him another chance, Fletch. You won’t be sorry.”

  “I’ll consider it.” It was the best he could offer.

  “Don’t labor over it. Just do it. Life is too short to waste time on regrets and what-ifs.” She slid into the driver’s seat, and when she lifted her face to him, the glow was back. “I’ll call you soon with more details about the wedding.”

  “I’ll be there, whenever it is. Give David a hug for me.” With that, he closed her door, stepped back and watched her drive away—envying the joy Mitch had resurrected in her life.

  Might Rachel have the power do the same for him?

  Maybe—except for the stumbling block he’d shared with no one. Would his secret turn her off...or would she be able to accept it as she’d accepted the loss of his leg?

  Hard to say. And it was too soon to find out. Things would have to get a lot more serious between them before he shared that confidence

  In any case, after his emotional lunch with Lisa, today wasn’t the day to dwell on that question.

  For now, he needed a long walk on the beach to think about a whole lot of other things...including his relationship with God.

  * * *

  With a sigh, Rachel adjusted her sunglasses and surveyed the narrowing expanse of deserted beach from the access bridge over the dunes near Aunt El’s.

  “I guess we waited too long to take our walk.” She leaned down and gave Bandit a distracted pat.

  He responded with a pitiful whimper.

  “Yeah, I hear you. I’m disappointed, too. But the tide’s coming in too fast. The steps will be under water in twenty minutes.”

  Too bad she hadn’t checked the tide table when she’d arrived home from Fins instead of plunging into an impromptu bathroom-cleaning frenzy at Francis House.

  At the time, though, attacking grungy grout had seemed a perfect follow-up to a canceled date, another woman and seagull poop.

  Unfortunately, physical labor hadn’t helped her sort through her jumbled emotions. All she had to show for her efforts were a few chipped nails and a cut across her knuckles from a broken tile.

  The suspense novel in her room was sounding better and better.

  As she did a one-eighty to retrace her steps across the bridge, a sudden movement registered in her peripheral vision. Shading her eyes, she peered into the distance. A guy was sitting on the beach, dressed in clothes much too posh for getting up close and personal with sand and surf. Tan slacks, dress shoes, a blue oxford shirt rolled up to the elbows...

  Blue oxford shirt?

  Like the kind Fletch had been wearing at Fins?

  Rachel squinted, trying to make out his profile.

  A moment later, he turned slightly her direction to pick up something beside him, then hurled it into the encroaching sea.

  It was Fletch all right.

  She planted her hands on her hips and stared. What was he doing on the beach in dress-up clothes? How come his Explorer wasn’t parked near the access brid
ge? Where was his lunch companion? Why hadn’t he called her, as he’d promised? His lunch had to have ended two or three hours ago.

  And why had he picked her beach to sit on, when there were so many other choices?

  Stymied, Rachel retreated a few paces, keeping him in sight. She ought to go back to Aunt El’s. If he wanted company, he’d have called or stopped by.

  Go home, Rachel. Let the man alone.

  Sound advice—and she’d follow it. Even if her heart was urging her to do something stupid, like stroll along and pretend she’d stumbled across him.

  How juvenile was that?

  Turning her back on the sea, she marched herself home, Bandit moping along behind her.

  Yet once she was inside the door, her gaze strayed toward the stairs leading to the sky room. From up there, with Aunt El’s binoculars, she could get a closer look at him. But wasn’t that kind of like...spying?

  No. According to that suspense book she was reading, anything people did in public was fair game for observation.

  Quashing the debate between her conscience and her curiosity, Rachel took the stairs at a jog with Bandit on her heels. At the top, she grabbed Aunt El’s binoculars and pointed them at Fletch.

  He was sitting in the exact same position, knees pulled up, still tossing stuff—pieces of driftwood, shells, what?—into the sea. But with the binoculars, she could pick up a few other pertinent details invisible to the unaided eye.

  Like the weary slump of his shoulders—and the force of his pitching. It was almost as if he was angry.

  Or hurting.

  Rachel lowered the binoculars and caught her bottom lip between her teeth.

  “So Bandit...do you think it’s possible he chose that spot on purpose, hoping I’d see him and wander out? Or is that a stretch?”

  The golden retriever gave a quick bark that sounded like a laugh.

  She wrinkled her nose at him. “Thanks for the reality check.” Of course it was a stretch. How many times had she herself gotten disoriented while walking on the beach during her first visit? With most of the landmarks hidden by the dunes, one section of golden sand looked much like another.

  Once more she lifted the binoculars. Fletch seemed so alone...and lonely. His lunch with the brunette had appeared to be quite cozy, but as near as she could recall, neither had seemed that happy. Their expressions had been serious. Nor was the woman anywhere to be seen now. Had she delivered some sort of bad news?

  Rachel set the binoculars back on the small table by the window and debated her options as she descended to the main level. She could forget Fletch was on the beach and read her mystery novel...or solve the mystery of their broken date by joining him. She could simply say she’d seen him from the bridge—no need to mention the sky room—and gauge his receptiveness to her company. Worst case, he’d tell her to get lost.

  Could that be any worse than her past few hours scrubbing grout and wondering what was going on?

  No way.

  Without giving herself a chance to reconsider, Rachel exited the house, leaving a disappointed Bandit whining on the other side of the door. For the second time in ten minutes she crossed the bridge, continuing down the stairs and across the sand toward the solitary figure.

  Hoping she wasn’t about to make a second major faux pas on Aunt El’s beach.

  Chapter Ten

  The closer Rachel got to Fletch, the slower she walked.

  This was a bad idea.

  A really bad idea.

  If he’d wanted to talk to her, he’d have called.

  Instead, he’d come to the beach alone. Meaning he didn’t want company.

  And why was she so anxious to intrude, anyway? Hadn’t she told Gram in no uncertain terms that she hadn’t come to Jekyll looking for romance?

  So why was she seeking out the very man who was undermining that conviction?

  Rachel stopped, her toes sinking into the sand, her confidence eroding as fast as the beach. Better to beat a hasty retreat before he spotted her. As long as his focus remained fixed on the distant horizon, she should be able to...

  Fletch’s head swiveled toward her, almost as if he’d sensed her presence.

  Drat.

  She was stuck.

  Lifting a hand in greeting, she started forward again, aiming a weak smile his direction.

  He didn’t respond.

  Her mouth quivered, but she kept walking.

  She stopped a few feet away, careful not to further invade his space. “I saw you from the bridge.” She gestured behind her. “I was going to take a walk, but the tide was against me. In case you didn’t notice, you’re about to get stranded.”

  The crevices on his forehead deepened as he did a quick sweep of the area around him, where the encroaching water was pinning him into a small crescent of beach backed by a breakwater of huge boulders.

  “Thanks for the warning.” He resettled his sunglasses, as if to ensure his eyes were hidden from her view. “I should be able to squeeze out a few more minutes, though.”

  No invitation to join him.

  No explanation about their broken date.

  No conversation, period.

  This had definitely been a bad idea.

  “Well...don’t wait too long or you won’t be able to reach the steps.” Rachel began to edge back. “Are you parked far away?”

  “I’m not sure. I took a walk after lunch and lost track of the time.”

  She stopped. “You walked all the way here from Fins?”

  His eyebrows rose, and for the first time she sensed she had his full attention. “How do you know I ate at Fins?”

  The sudden heat in her cheeks had nothing to do with the late-afternoon sun sinking in the west.

  “Um...” There was no way out except honesty. “After I got your message, I decided to treat myself to lunch. I saw you and...your friend...on the terrace.”

  “I didn’t see you.”

  Because you were so intent on her.

  “I, uh, didn’t stay. It was too crowded.”

  Fletch studied her, then exhaled. “Why don’t you sit for a few minutes, until the waves chase us away?” He gestured to the sand beside him.

  “I don’t want to intrude.”

  Liar, liar. Why else did you come out here?

  “You aren’t. I was going to call you later, after I collected my thoughts. As long as you’re here, maybe you can help me sort through them.”

  Was he just being polite?

  No. Not based on the frustration—and confusion—in his voice.

  She sat, leaving a discreet distance between them.

  For almost a full minute, Fletch gazed at the horizon as sand crabs scurried past, a dolphin crested the blue water in a graceful arc and gulls soared overhead.

  Rachel kept a wary eye on the gulls.

  “The woman you saw me with was Deke’s wife.”

  Her attention snapped back to him. So he hadn’t broken their date for a romantic rendezvous.

  Relief washed over her, and the snarl of tension that had tightened her shoulders all afternoon began to unwind.

  “She drove down from Savannah this morning. I had no idea she was coming until she called around eleven en route. I was actually at the grocery store getting a few snacks for this afternoon.” Fletch turned toward her. “I’m sorry about the last-minute change of beach plans.”

  “We ended up here anyway.”

  “Yeah. But it’s not quite the mood I had in mind.”

  What mood had he had in mind?

  She kept that question to herself.

  “The thing is, since Deke died I’ve tried to be available to her and David. Lately, I’ve been calling her a lot more than she calls me, so when she told me she
was already on her way I figured something big was up.”

  “Was it?”

  “Yeah.” He lifted a handful of sand and watched the grains trickle through his fingers. “She’s getting married again.”

  A few beats of silence ticked by while Rachel composed her response. “I take it that bothers you.”

  “It did, at first. Now...I don’t know. A lot of what she said makes sense. She’s dealt with her grief and guilt about dividing her loyalties, and she’s at peace with her decision to move forward.” He blew out a breath, picked up a shell from the small pile beside him and hurled it into the sea, watching it disappear under the waves. “I envy her that.”

  Pressure built in Rachel’s throat. She tried to swallow past it, but her words still came out ragged. “I do, too.”

  He angled toward her. After a few moments, he removed his dark glasses. “I have a feeling there’s a story behind that comment.”

  Now it was her turn to look away, toward the far-off horizon. She wasn’t surprised he’d picked up on the significance of those three words...or noticed the catch in her voice. This was not a man who missed much.

  But was she ready to share with him the shame she carried, as he’d shared his with her? His story was different, after all. His blame was misplaced. He’d done everything he was supposed to do in the life-and-death situation he’d faced. The choice had been horrendous: kill or possibly be killed. He’d had mere heartbeats to decide, and no opportunity to gather critical data. Anyone could make the wrong call under those circumstances.

  She had none of those excuses.

  The water crept closer. She studied the frothy bubbles and the undulating pattern of dark and wet sand the retreating wave left in its wake. Seconds later, the slate was wiped clean by a new breaker and a different pattern emerged.

  Too bad it wasn’t as easy to wash away guilt and start fresh.

  Fletch broke the lengthening silence. “I think we’d better move or we’ll end our afternoon with a rock-climbing excursion.”

  At his comment, she checked on the stairs. Waves were lapping at the base. In minutes, the first couple of steps would be underwater.

  She scrambled to her feet. “We can avoid getting wet if we hug the rocks and time this just right.”