Time to face her father again
Chapter Five
Woof-Woof-Woof.
Tess O’Bryen glanced up from her laptop to peer through the thick hedge between Ben Carmichael’s patio and hers. Her heart thumped at the sound of a screen door sliding closed as Ben’s black lab Beau streaked into his backyard.
Saving her patient’s call history in the Hope Hospice & Healthcare file, Tess closed the computer and rose from her comfy patio chaise, never more grateful that she could work from home as an RN. Not only did it give her the opportunity to arrange her schedule to be home for her children, but it offered the chance to catch her elusive neighbor on his day off before he and Beau left to go fishing. Her lips quirked. A neighbor who’d taken great pains to avoid her for almost eight years despite her attempts to restore the friendship. Well, no more. The time had come for Dr. Ben Carmichael—chief cardiac surgeon at Memorial Health—to have a little heart surgery of his own. She carried both her computer and her cell phone inside and placed them on the kitchen table with a heavy sigh. No, it was beyond time, she decided. Not only for her children to forgive and forget regarding Lacey and her family, but for Lacey’s father to forgive and forget regarding Tess’s family as well.
Not to mention his daughter.
Peeking at the pretty painted-wood blue heron clock the kids gave her for Christmas, Tess retrieved the Tupperware container of monster cookies she’d hidden in the pantry. Three fifteen—good heavens, she could set her watch by the man! She ducked into the fridge to retrieve two pieces of fried bacon, silently blessing Jack for taking Davey fishing on his day off. Since Matt had baseball practice with his summer league and Shan and Cat had a teacher’s meeting at the school where they taught, she was home free.
Because that meant nobody was home to question her sanity as to why she was carrying a container of cookies, two pieces of bacon, and a UPS package to “Dr. Doom” next door. She nibbled on the edge of her smile. A nickname coined by her children after Ben Carmichael turned his back on her family, erecting a wall—and a hedge barrier—between his former neighbors and friends. The apple sure doesn’t fall far from the tree, she thought when Lacey came to mind, but it was far past time the fruit was washed and dewormed to make it healthy again.
Container in hand, Tess plopped it on the UPS box with the bacon on top, a stiff smile on her face as she pushed through the screen door of the plantation-style house that had been in her family for years. Ben Carmichael received packages from UPS all the time, but when the UPS man had knocked on Tess’s door today, requiring a signature—a rarity in itself—she’d known it was a sign. The one she’d prayed for since Lacey had brought Davey home three days ago.
Careful to close the screen door quietly behind her, she bolstered her confidence with a deep draw of air. The sweet scent of honeysuckle wrapped around her like the pillared front porch wrapped around the charming two-story house, its white wood planking and Cape Cod blue shutters desperately in need of a coat of paint. Stained tarps and cans of paint were neatly stacked between the peeling porch swing and pretty stone urns spilling ivy and purple petunias, all lying in wait for Jack to work his magic. Shoulders square, Tess carefully made her way down her cobblestone drive to skirt the hedge Ben had paid big bucks for after his divorce. Her mouth pressed into a tight smile as she said a quick prayer.
Okay, God, now to work a little magic of Your own …
Apparently Beau could sniff her—or the bacon—a mile away. His low-throated growls morphed into pathetic squeals through Ben’s wood-slatted fence, the chocolate eyes following her every move while his tale tick-tocked like the metronome on Shannon’s piano. Tess grinned—beautiful music, indeed, the sweet and welcome whine of an oversized Labrador puppy who used to nudge her screen door whenever she’d fried bacon for breakfast. Of course, that was before the hedge of Jericho went up. Lips pursed in an “o,” she gave him little fish kisses. Together with the bacon, the soft popping sounds caused strands of slobber to dangle from Beau’s mouth.
“You don’t fool me for a moment, Beauregard Carmichael—I know it’s the bacon you’re excited to see, not me, but I’ll take it.” She plucked the bacon off the Tupperware lid and waved it in the air, causing sweet Beau to squeal, bark, and dance in circles on his hind legs. Tess’s laughter countered Beau’s hungry howls, unleashing a familiar ruckus that had once been as common as the shrieks of children in her back yard. Unwrapping the plastic wrap, she tossed a piece of bacon high so he had to leap in the air, giggling like a little girl as always when Beau performed his Underdog tricks.
“It’s nice to know somebody will be glad to see me,” she said with a crooked smile. Plastic wrap tucked in her pocket, she waved the second piece of bacon for several moments to coerce the pup into howling loud enough to draw the bear from his cave.
“What the—” Ben Carmichael stormed around the corner of the house and froze, the bronze tan he’d obviously picked up on a Caribbean medical convention leeching from his chiseled face. Hazel eyes the color of Colombian coffee with a touch of cream stared back, so wide she swore she could see the ring of striking green around his irises. Dark hair sifted with gray at the temples gave him the distinguished look of a man who was aging well. Although her husband had been no slouch in the looks department, Tess couldn’t deny that Ben Carmichael was a true looker. So much so that she had almost pitied her best friend Karen for being married to a man who obviously caught every woman’s eye. Too good-looking to be trusted, or so Tess had believed, even though Ben had never given any cause for suspicion. No lingering looks, no second glances at other women, no husky comments—nothing in the over twenty years the two couples had been best friends and neighbors. A sudden malaise tempered Tess’s smile. No, instead it had been her husband—a devoted pastor—who had stolen Ben’s wife away, robbing them all of the close family ties and friendship they’d once taken for granted.
“The UPS man delivered a package for you, so I thought I’d bring it over as well as bacon for Beau.”
The man didn’t move, didn’t speak, didn’t blink. Just stared like she’d dropped in from the next galaxy rather than merely next door.
Despite the smile on her face, her chin rose along with the plate in her hands. “And I have monster cookies,” she said in a sing-song tone usually reserved for her children.
Silence. Except, of course, for Beau’s whimpering lament. Her smile compressed. Okay, buster, have it your way. Eyes never straying from Ben’s, she sailed the bacon far into the yard, grit girding her smile as Beau bolted away with whines of euphoria. Because when it comes to the evil eye, Doc, I can outlast a dirty eight-year-old Power Ranger who bucks a bath, so bring it on ...
“Why.” It sounded more like a grunt than a question … and still nothing moved on the man’s body.
Tess hiked a brow, a challenge in her smile. “Why? Because they’re your favorite, silly … or at least they used to be.”
“No,” he bit out, the hard planes of his face calcifying even more. “Why are you here—now?”
Tess blinked, a wee bit worried for his patients if he couldn’t figure this one out. She tapped the package with her fingers, head dipped as if talking to Davey. “Uh, your package?” She paused, expectant. “You know—it needed a signature?” She battled a full-fledge grin over stormy eyes shadowed by beetled brows. Come on, Ben, you can do this.
The fog cleared from his eyes, but the snark remained. With a grunt of thanks, he extended a muscular arm over the fence, his large palm surprisingly calloused for one of the country’s top heart surgeons.
She angled a brow, stealing a page from Dr. Doom’s playbook when her body didn’t budge.
The scowl on his stone face slashed even deeper, revealing a hint of the “gargoyle glare” Lacey had always feared—hard, searing, and more than a little bit scary. And a glare that didn’t faze Tess in the least. If she learned one thing from being best friends with the Carmichaels for almost a quarter of a century, it was that Ben
Carmichael was all bluff, not all that different from her son Jack, really, which was one of the reasons Tess had always liked him so much. Serious, moody, yet a depth of passion and integrity that told her he was a bottomless well of emotion roiling beneath a mirror-lake he worked so hard to convey.
Ah, yes … still waters run deep.
Her smile tipped. And, turbulently it seemed, given the forbidding glower on his face.
He slacked a hip, a motion that coincided with a noisy blast of air to reveal his frustration. “Beau will give you a drool bath, Tess, so just give me the stupid package,” he said in a near growl. He flexed impatient fingers while Beau obliged with a mile-long strand of drool that quivered and swayed like Spanish moss in a breeze.
“Drool I can handle, Ben—I raised three grown children, a bulldog, a basset, and am still wiping up after a hyperactive eight-year-old.” Her chin engaged for battle. “It’s rudeness I can’t abide.”
He had the grace to blush, a ruddy color that blotched its way up his neck, just shy of a well-defined chin that sported a shadow of beard. His lips thinned as he unlatched the lock. “It’s kept you away till now,” he muttered, jerking the gate ajar enough to slide through, blocking Beau in … and Tess out. A tic flickered in his angular jaw as he reached out again, palm up. “Thank you for the cookies and the bacon. Now, may I please have my package?”
“Sure.” She secured her hold on the box with a blazing smile. “After we talk.”
His mouth flat-lined, deader than a corpse in the hospital morgue. “I don’t need this,” he mumbled, jerking the gate open to retreat into his yard before slamming it closed again. “Keep it.” He stormed away in a huff, Beau in his wake.
Well, that went well. She stood her ground for several moments, pretty sure that any package that required a signature had to be important enough for him to relent. And she was equally certain he expected her to park the package inside the gate or on his front porch as she had in the past.
Poor deluded man. Did he not know she was a veteran in the trenches when it came to children demanding their own way? Apparently not. Mouth skewed, she shimmied a finger beneath the Tupperware lid to steal a cookie and leaned against a towering pine tree, humming the Jeopardy song with a waggle of her head. “Doo-doo-doo-doo, doo-doo-doo …”
A mild curse sizzled the air on the third stanza as he reappeared. “What are you still doing here?”
She studied him while she chewed, her manner matter-of-fact. “Enjoying one of the best monster cookies I’ve ever made, if I must say so myself.” Popping the remainder into her mouth, she swallowed before bobbling the package in one hand. “The secret is extra peanut butter and extra chocolate chips, you know, and uh … looking for this?”
He scowled, the hazel eyes as thin as the dead pine needles beneath her feet. “No, I’m looking for the ‘secret’ to get rid of an obnoxious neighbor.”
“Easy as monster cookies, my friend—just open the gate and let me in.”
He continued to glare, but the barest crook of his lip told her she had breached his defenses. “What do you want, Tess?” he whispered, almost as if he didn’t really want to know.
Her look was open and honest, and her voice gentled, suddenly void of all tease. “I need closure, Ben,” she said quietly, “and so do you. And heaven knows we both could use a friend who understands the pain of betrayal.”
A heavy sigh escaped him as he hung his head to knead the bridge of his nose. Without a word, he opened the gate and walked away, obviously expecting her to follow as he rounded the corner of the house.
“Okay, Dr. Doom,” she said to herself, almost giddy at the prospect of finally clearing the air. “It’s no gabfest, but it’s a start …” Closing the gate with a backward kick, she headed to his patio, barricading a silent grunt with a clamp of her smile. Clear the air? Ha! Only after bulldozing a mountain of garbage.
“This is a mistake,” he said quietly, hunched on the edge of one of the British green Adirondack chairs they’d sat in around his stone fire pit so many years ago. Hands loosely clasped and head bowed, his mind seemed to wander somewhere faraway, his lifeless stare locked on the slate patio mortared with moss.
“Why?” she asked, strolling over to the door to let a whining Beau back in the yard before she took the seat on the opposite side of the pit, placing both cookies and package on a side table. The perennial pup instantly darted past in pursuit of a rabbit at the far end of the yard, where a privacy fence was overrun by what had once been Karen’s prized climbing roses. Knees angled to the side, Tess settled in like old times with her feet tucked beneath her and palms flat on the arms of the chair. She strove for an air of calm, but inside her heart thundered against her ribcage, her desire for reconciliation a fragile dream hanging by a slender thread of hope.
He glanced up beneath hooded eyes, moody and morose. “Why? Because I’m of no mind to dredge up the vile pain from the worst time of my life, that’s why.”
“Maybe you need to,” she said softly, eyes in a squint. “You know, face it once and for all to find the peace and healing you need?” Her voice faded to a bare whisper as her eyes searched his. “And the forgiveness.”
Vaulting to his feet, he bludgeoned a tight-fisted finger in her direction. “Look, Tess, if you came over here to peddle your sanctimonious mumbo-jumbo, I don’t want to hear it. I’m fine just the way I am.”
She pinned him with a level gaze. “Sure you are, Ben. That’s why you’re known as the Terror of the fifth floor at Memorial, Dr. Snark to your nurses, and Dr. Doom to every kid on the street. The girl scouts won’t darken your door, you haven’t spoken to your neighbors on either side for almost eight years, and your daughter is a virtual stranger.” Her lips thinned into a tight smile as she arched her brows. “Other than that, sounds ‘fine’ to me.”
He slammed his chair out of the way as he stalked to the back door. “Leave the package or not, I don’t care.”
Tess’s body tensed in the chair, her voice firm. “Lacey’s back, Ben—for good. You care about that?”
He froze on the threshold, fist knotted on the knob. Hard muscles flinched in a broad back as stiff as the frame of the door beneath his white-knuckled hand.
Seconds ticked by like the lethal pulse of a bomb, every one echoing her own heartbeat as it thudded hollow in her chest. And then, the angry bluster seemed to slowly seep from his body like a balloon with a slow bleed of air, massive shoulders shrinking into surrender with the drop of his head. Her heart squeezed at how difficult this was for him. “Please talk to me, Ben,” she whispered, her voice a low ache. “Don’t close me out again.”
Still framed in the door, he gouged his temples with forefinger and thumb, all fight appearing to leak out along with the air-conditioning from his house. With a cumbersome sigh that slumped his shoulders, he closed the slider and made his way back to his chair, sinking into the slatted seat with eyes closed as he rested his head against the back. “When?”
“Over the weekend. She’s staying with Karen’s mother and her cousins.”
Generous lips normally full in repose now pinched in a downward curve as he kneaded his temple with the ball of his hand. “How did you find out?”
“Jack ran into her at the BP on Saturday, then she dropped Davey off from his first baseball practice that evening.”
Mouth cemented into a hard line, he peered up beneath dark lashes the same color as thick ebony hair edged with silver “How is she?”
“Nervous.” Tess studied him with gentle eyes. “She told Jack she was back to make amends.”
He grunted, the sound bringing a trace of a smile to her lips as she reflected on the hard-nosed surgeon who had a knack for making people nervous with his testy manner. A belligerence Tess suspected was more to keep people away rather than a nasty personality or out-in-out meanness. She’d seen the real Ben too many times in the past, before his wife had cut out his heart. A serious man with strength of character and a dry wit. And a wall of steel a
round his emotions that would make the impassable hedge look like air.
One side of his mouth crooked. “Nervous, huh? Yeah, well, I tend to bring that out in people apparently. It’s a gift.”
A smile twitched on her lips as Beau made an appearance with a half-chewed Atlanta Braves baseball cap, sliding into a comfortable spot next to Ben. “Only if you’re an ostrich, turtle, or a mole looking to shut everybody out. Now me? I’d rather be at peace with the world, you know?” She wriggled a cookie from the container, then extended it across the fire pit with a wriggle of brows. “More nice surprises that way, like monster cookies from a really nice neighbor.”
He stared at the cookies proffered, then at her before he finally took one, the barest trace of a smile on his face. “I’ve actually dreamed of these.”
“Well then, see? Dreams come true when one is at peace with the world and nice to their neighbors.”
That formidable jaw chewed slowly, deliberately, while those hazel eyes nailed her to the chair. “You at peace with the world, Tess?” he asked quietly.
She broke eye contact to scrub Beau on the head, his question catching her off-guard because she knew what he was asking. Had she forgiven Adam? The very question she asked herself almost every single day of her life when she prayed for the father of her children. The popular seminary student with the Dennis Quaid smile who had wooed her relentlessly until she said, “Yes.” The same man who swore to love her till death do us part. Only it wasn’t death that had ended their marriage. It was adultery with her neighbor and friend.
A death all the same.
She forced a casual tone, avoiding his stare. “Not for a long time I wasn’t, but I think so now, at least with Adam, although it’s been far more difficult for Jack and Cat, both with their father and …” She glanced up to meet his gaze. “Your daughter.”
His jaw shifted as he looked away, a grinding motion she’d always noticed whenever they’d played board games. He’d been a fierce competitor back then, Mr. Do-or-Die, no matter how much they’d tried to laugh and tease him out of it. A fighter to the bitter end, bent on winning.
Isle of Hope Page 6
