Happily Ever After

by Susan May Warren

  “How are my girls?” Brian asked.

  “Great,” Liza replied. “We had a mishap this morning, but Joe saved us and I think we’re back on schedule.”

  “Mishap?” Joe echoed incredulously.

  Mona, too, appeared less than pleased at her roommate’s choice of words. “I think mishap is a little too soft. Try ambush.”

  Brian’s smile dimmed and worry creased his face.“What happened?”

  Joe took a step toward the trio, his eyes fixed on Brian. “Someone poured weed killer all over their front lawn last night.”

  He had to admit, if Brian was the culprit, he was the consummate actor. Surprise flooded Brian’s expression. His jaw slacked and his eyes darkened appropriately in defense of Mona’s property. “Did you report it to the police?”

  Mona blinked at him. “No. I didn’t even think of it.Joe immediately started washing it away.”

  Brian pinned a suspicious look on Joe. “I guess the evidence has been destroyed then, right?”

  Joe’s mouth gaped, and an unnerving anger rose in him. His knuckles turned white as he gripped the putty knife. “I did the first thing I thought of. I saved the lawn.”

  Brian’s green eyes were icy. “Or you saved yourself.”

  Mona and Liza stared in horror at Brian.

  “W-what are you talking about?” Mona stammered.

  Brian’s gaze on Joe never faltered. “It just seems you’ve had a number of so-called accidents around here since he showed up.”

  Mona went ashen. She looked at Joe, and written in her beautiful eyes he could see the signature of doubt. He shook his head, dumbfounded, heartsick.

  Tears glistened in Liza’s eyes. “That’s not true, is it, Joe? You’re not trying to wreck us, are you? I mean, flooding the basement was an accident, right?”

  Joe winced. He glared at Brian, who returned a frosty smile.

  Mona addressed Brian. “I’m sure Joe had nothing to do with this.” Her voice was thin, however, and when she again met Joe’s gaze, all the trust he’d so painstakingly built had eroded from her eyes.

  Joe gave her a desperate look. “I didn’t do this.”

  “Then why are you here, Michaels?” Brian narrowed his eyes at him. “Where do you go at night? Where do you spend your days off?”

  Joe heard the silence of a thousand accusations, and fear rushed alongside anger to suffocate him. The last thing he needed was Brian Whitney getting wind of his brother. Mona would demand to meet him, and from there things would unravel faster than a cheap sweater in the washer. He shook his head, refusing to answer.

  Mona looked as if she’d been slapped. White-faced, horrified. He could see the mishaps mounting like evidence in her eyes. If he could force words out past his clenching chest, maybe he’d be able scrape up something. He managed a feeble, “Mona, listen—”

  “Please get back to work.”

  Her words stabbed his heart. “It’s not what you think.”

  “And what do I think, Joe? Are you trying to destroy me?” Her eyes filled. She didn’t wait for an answer.“Forget it. Please, just finish what I hired you to do.”

  “And you’d better hope nothing else happens around here,” Brian added.

  Joe ignored him. Gritting his teeth, he climbed back up the stool. In an instant, he’d gone from local hero to hired help. No, he’d gone back to pond scum.

  “Show me what you’re working on, Mona.” Brian’s sugary tone soured Joe’s resolve not to practice an old football move on the liar. Joe focused on the ceiling, listening to Brian weave the ladies around his little finger. “You’ve done a miraculous job on this bar and also those darling coffee tables!”

  What kind of man uses the word darling? Joe crouched and scooped up another slab of plaster.

  “Do you think you’ll be ready by opening day?”

  Joe caught Mona’s nod and saw the sparkle of hope in her eye. “I think so. If we can avoid any more ‘accidents.’”

  The conversation came to a crisp halt. Joe felt eyes on him. He forced himself to hum quietly.

  “I came by to give you permission to build a side lot for parking, Mona. But I see my real job here is to persuade you to let me treat you girls to dinner. I know a new steak place about twenty miles down the lakeshore drive. It’s not fancy, but the fare is tasty.”

  Joe could tell by the texture of Brian’s chuckle that the ladies had agreed.

  “I’ll wait on the porch while you change.”

  Footsteps filed past Joe.

  The next five minutes seemed like an eternity as Joe fought the urge to plaster all the open spaces on Brian Whitney’s face, especially the gap that caused him the most grief. He breathed out in relief after the girls clambered down the stairs and the Honda roared away.

  Joe sat on the stool and hung his head in his hands. Now Mona thought he was a saboteur. And who knew what fertilizing descriptions Brian was adding to their fledgling suspicions? Maybe he should leave. It would be simpler—and safer—than having to explain his presence in their town, and in their lives. And certainly easier than letting Mona inside his privacy, his past, his pain.

  But what if the saboteur struck again? Mona would be left holding the broken pieces of her dream. Joe clenched his eyes shut. Give me wisdom, Lord. Help me know what to do.

  The truth will set you free.

  Joe opened his eyes. The truth. Which truth and how much? And he wasn’t trapped. He had nothing to tie him down. No home, no responsibilities. He was the most free of them all.

  If he didn’t count the fact that he had a debt hovering over his head . . . a debt he hadn’t figured out a way to pay. But over the past few days he’d all but abandoned the idea of escape. Yes, he’d pay the price, but weren’t investing in Mona’s dream and enjoying Gabe’s friendship worth it? Plotting his redemption would sacrifice precious hours with both of them, stir up feelings of regret, even guilt. He was already going to leave the taste of deceit in his wake. That was painful enough.

  Joe sighed and stood up. The best thing for him might indeed be a quick exit, but he’d made promises, and while he didn’t have much in the way of earthly possessions, he did have his honor . . . well, at least he wanted to have honor. Yes, he was proud of all he’d accomplished in his life, but somewhere along the way, it had taken a southward turn. Somehow all his hard work and his dreams had morphed into a medieval monster, shaking off its tether and swelling to nightmarish proportions. His “career” had even landed him in the hospital. He longed to wrench free of its grasp and start down a different path. A simpler path. With his eyes wide open, aware of the limitations and the sacrifices of the life he’d chosen. He might not choose a different line of work, but he’d certainly redraw the blueprint to include a home and perhaps a family.

  But then again, he couldn’t very well redraw Gabe, could he? Maybe his hobo lifestyle was the best for everyone. And as long as he kept his eyes peeled for trouble, no one would get hurt. Dreaming of a different life now was about as helpful as holding out a sieve in a rainstorm.

  Joe found the lid to the plaster bucket and pounded it into place. Carrying the bucket outside, he put it next to the other construction items—paint, stain, varnish, and tools that he had piled near the side of the garage. Then he returned to the dining room, rolled up the plastic, and folded the step stool. After setting it in the hall, Joe retrieved the broom from the kitchen and began to sweep up the remnants of plaster that had fallen as he repaired the ceiling.

  It would be much easier to rationalize the urge to ditch town if Mona didn’t have a saboteur lurking in the shadows. Was the offender after Mona? Or did the so-called accidents have to do with the house? Was Liza the intended victim? Joe mulled over the horrific possibilities as he swept plaster into a dustpan.

  He dumped the debris into a trash can, then wandered to Liza’s side of the Victorian. Liza was certainly a breed apart from Mona. She’d painted her walls sky blue, and instead of polishing the floor, she’d stenciled an e
laborate seascape on it. Her decorating finesse equaled Mona’s, however. She made good use of the resources at hand. She’d constructed a tall wall shelf from five long, blue-painted boards and red bricks, and painted an old caned chair a creamy pumpkin color. The room felt like Liza—carefree, airy, and cheerful, even if it was a bit whimsical.

  Mona’s side had a more serious tone, yet the warm feeling of home and a pine forest drew him like a cozy fire. If only he could get the proprietor to warm up and trust him again. But after Brian’s Oscar-winning performance, he’d be lucky to have a roof to sleep under when they returned home. Joe continued to sweep in wide strokes, and as the image of Brian’s smile rankled him, he slid the broom roughly under Liza’s shelf. A piece of paper floated into the air and settled in the dust. Joe picked it up and turned it over. It was a boarding-pass stub, dated a week ago, for a Northwest flight to Chicago from Duluth. Frowning, he stuck it in his pocket.

  Joe swept the remaining dirt into the dustpan and flicked it into the garbage. Setting the broom aside, he strolled out onto the porch. The salmon-colored sun hung low beneath wispy clouds. He inhaled the wet, fragrant scent of the lawn, and relief drew through him. The acrid smell had been obliterated. He hummed as the image of Mona’s relief, accentuated by her beautiful smile, swept through his mind. Yes, four hours standing barefoot in icy water had been a small price to pay for that smile. He hoped it wasn’t too late to get back into her good graces.

  Joe whistled. Rip bounded from the side of the house, appearing with an old rag hanging in his mouth. Joe met him at the bottom of the steps and reached for the rag. Rip growled playfully but surrendered his toy.

  “Where’d you get this, buddy?” Joe’s nose wrinkled against the dense odor of gas seeping from the stained rag.

  Rip sat, his thick brown eyebrows wrinkling. Joe patted him on the head. “No more stalking other people’s garbage.” He wadded the rag in his hand. “C’mon, boy.I’ll rustle us up some macaroni and cheese. That’ll beat steak any day.”

  Joe tossed the rag in the trash pile beside the garage and climbed the stairs to his apartment, determined not to listen for the purr of Brian’s slick Honda.

  15

  Mona saw his lips move and knew he was speaking, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t comprehend Brian Whitney’s words. His voice simply couldn’t breach the scream of horror in her heart.

  How had she been so blind? Could Joe really be trying to sabotage her and her dreams? Why? Was he an ex-con, like Brian had suggested during the drive to Shoreline Steak House? The word convict had sent a chill through her, and since then she’d been numb to her bones. Her thoughts traveled back to that first day, when she’d asked Joe if he was a parolee on the lam. He’d blushed and assured her, in his charming I-am-your-hero tone, that she was safe with him. Safe! She felt sick.

  She knew so little about her handyman. Yes, he could fix just about anything and skip rocks like a pro across a windblown lake. But his clandestine background and his answers to her questions about what he did in his off-hours had tangled her thoughts on more than one occasion. Unfortunately, judging from his nonverbal, stay outta-my-life answer earlier today to Brian’s accusations, Joe had no intention of even hinting at his secrets. He was mystery personified, and she had let him kiss her. The foolishness of that impulse made her stomach pitch as she stared at her plate and pushed her uneaten cold porterhouse through the steak sauce.

  Liza’s laughter snapped Mona back to reality and informed her she had missed a quip from their host. She offered a smile, but from Brian’s disappointed face, she knew he wasn’t fooled.

  He considered her for a moment with an enigmatic expression. It soon melted into pity. “Now, Mona, don’t worry. I’m sure everything will turn out all right.” He cupped his hand over hers. It was oddly sweaty and added to her unease.

  “Thanks, Brian,” she said, pulling away her hand. She grabbed her napkin and dabbed it at the corners of her mouth, then tucked it beside her plate. There was no point in trying to finish the medium-rare steak, waffle fries, and spinach salad. It might have been the best meal she’d eaten all year, but it still turned to coal the minute it hit her tightening stomach. The urge to run back to the Footstep, not only to assure herself it still stood but also to confront the man who said he wasn’t leaving her with that mess, was swelling to unruly proportions.

  Or maybe, instead of running back to the Footstep, it would behoove her to run to the Deep Haven police station. She wondered what she’d have to do to get the local law to poke around in Joe’s history . . . if Joe was even his real name. Tears pricked her eyes.

  She leaned toward Liza, who was absorbed in Brian’s witty assessment of the local politics, and whispered, “Can we go?”

  Liza angled her a frown. Mona must have looked pitiful, because Liza suddenly smiled gently. “I think we’re ready to head home, Brian,” Liza said sweetly, touching his arm.

  Brian sat back in his chair, frowning. “Are you sure?”

  Mona nodded stiffly. Brian was visibly disappointed.Guilt stabbed at Mona. He’d been so kind to them this evening, trying to distract her from the nightmarish truth that her handyman was trying to ruin her. She gave him a grateful smile. “Brian, thank you so much for this wonderful evening. We really appreciate your kindness.”

  Brian perked up. “My pleasure. Anything for my new neighbors. I just hope you stick around for a good long time.”

  Mona stood, gathering her purse. “That’s my goal. Unless the Footstep crumbles around me, I plan on staying.”

  She couldn’t help but notice the odd expression that crossed Brian’s face at her bold words.

  Joe’s truck sat out front, but no light glowed from the round attic window over the garage. Mona didn’t know whether to be relieved or terrified, but she couldn’t escape the sense that the Footstep appeared gloomy and almost menacing in the gray tones of early evening. Brian helped Mona pry herself from his backseat while Liza lounged in the front bucket seat. She didn’t seem to be budging.

  “Thanks for a nice dinner, Brian.” Mona eyed Liza suspiciously as Brian leaned on his car door.

  “Anytime, Mona. I want to help you feel comfortable in Deep Haven.”

  Tears edged Mona’s eyes. To think she’d thought ill of this man only two weeks earlier. She felt properly chastised. “Thanks, Brian,” she repeated hoarsely. Glancing past him, she waved at Liza, who beamed back. Obviously Brian was doing all he could to make her feel as comfortable in Deep Haven as well.

  Mona turned and studied the dark house, feeling her throat burn. Brian’s car door slammed; then the Honda roared away from the curb, driving at NASCAR speed. Evidently, Brian wasn’t wasting any of the lingering twilight he had with Liza.

  The front door squealed, raising gooseflesh as she entered the dark corridor. What if Joe or some other saboteur was lurking in the shadows, just waiting to put the finishing touches on his handiwork? Mona shoved the thought away and fumbled for the hall light. The sudden brightness drove the shadows into oblivion, and Mona laughed nervously at her silly fears. Still, tension hovered as she crept through the house.

  She flicked on the dining-room light and stared at the creamy white ceiling Joe had plastered. Tears pushed at her eyes again and this time slipped over the edge. She didn’t know what to think about her faithful handyman. Was he a saboteur or a savior? Should she fire him or beg him for forgiveness? The look on his face when she’d ordered him back to work replayed vividly in her mind. Disbelief and not just a little hurt. She’d shamed him by putting him in a place he didn’t deserve. He was a handy man, but he’d done so much more than simply plug up geysers and dark holes around her house. He’d believed in her dream; he’d promised to stick beside her. He’d dove into a rapids to save her. That didn’t sound like the average convict. It sounded more like a gift from heaven.

  Yet Brian was right. Problems did surface when Joe was around. The paradox tightened her jaw. Despite Joe’s embracing smile and entranc
ing eyes, she’d have to hawk his every move. Or fire him.

  But she had only three weeks left until opening day. She needed help. She needed Joe. If she wanted to see her dream come true, she’d have to trust that he was more than what he appeared at the moment. And she’d have to trust God to protect her from mishap.

  Would the Almighty protect her dreams after what she had done? An evil voice whispered doubt into her heart. Protection? She didn’t deserve protection. Closing her eyes, Mona hugged her waist. God, help me to trust You and not give in to defeat. You do want this, don’t You?

  Mona wiped the tears from her stained cheeks and jutted her chin. A blaze of determination ignited inside her. She would stay. There was no other choice. She’d invested her life into the bookstore. She couldn’t consider failure. No, regardless of what Joe or an unknown saboteur did to her, she wasn’t going to leave her Footstep of Heaven.

  Mona headed to her room. Her bedside lamp pushed back the twilight, illuminating her stack of Jonah books and her leather Bible on the very bottom. How long had it been since she preferred time with God to moments with Jonah?

  Liza’s accusing words rose in her memory as Mona changed into fleece sweatpants and a clean T-shirt. Still waiting for Jonah? The thought stung. She knew Jonah would never be darkening her doorstep. But was it a crime to dream about the perfect man?

  She returned to the table, pushed aside the books, and tugged out her Bible. She ran her hand over the cover and felt her eyes burn. She’d been hoping for God’s blessings, but had she truly enjoyed knowing Him? She’d been so focused on her goals for so long, the whisper of God in her heart seemed but an ancient echo.

  As Mona flipped through the thin pages, her gaze fell on a verse in Psalm 37: “Take delight in the Lord, and He will give you your heart’s desires.”