Isle of Hope

by Julie Lessman

  Just like now.

  Tess fortified with a deep draw of air as she slipped her feet to the ground and leaned forward, arms crossed on her knees. “It’s time for the bitterness to end, Ben,” she whispered, her solemn tone coaxing his gaze to hers. “Between our children, between our families, and between you and me.”

  For the first time in almost eight years she saw a glimmer of the gentleness she knew Ben Carmichael possessed, despite all the stories to the contrary. “I don’t have a beef with you, Tess,” he said softly.

  She hiked a brow. “You could have fooled me.”

  Eyes in a squint, he stared aimlessly into the backyard. “It wasn’t you,” he whispered, grief threading his tone. His Adam’s apple ducked hard in his throat. “I just couldn’t see you without seeing … Adam and …”

  “I understand, Ben, but unto everything there is a season—a time to weep and a time to laugh, and don’t you think both of us are due a little laughter after the heartbreak we’ve endured?”

  He peered up at her with a ghost of a smile. “You don’t seem to have any problem—I hear laughter over there all the time.”

  Her smile took a swerve toward dry. “Yes, well, I’d rather be laughing with you rather than at you, Dr. Doom, if you don’t mind.”

  Her response prompted a trace of a twinkle in his eyes before it faded once again. “Your faith certainly doesn’t seem any worse for the wear.”

  “Actually it’s stronger,” she said slowly, struck for the very first time just how much more she depended on it than ever before. “When I was a pastor’s wife, I thought my faith was strong, but I had no idea how weak it really was. It was almost as if I was going through the motions for Adam and our church back then. More of a long-distance relationship with God than intimate and personal like I have now.” A sense of awe floated over her like a summer breeze kissed by the scent of the sea—calming her, uplifting her, buoying her with hope. She tilted her head, a faint smile of wonder skimming her lips at the revelation that suddenly flooded her soul.

  “God is my husband now,” she said quietly, reverently, “and more faithful than any lover could ever hope to be. True testimony to the fact He causes all things to work together for good to those who love Him.” She glanced up, unable to thwart the tears that stung in her eyes. “Even divorce due to adultery.”

  Ben sat back with a stiff fold of his arms, his smile hard. “Yeah, well, I’m afraid it had the opposite effect on me. I have as much use for God now as I do your ex-husband.”

  “Doesn’t surprise me in the least,” Tess said with a slow nod. “Jack’s the same way, both about his father and God. Flat-out refused to join the others when Adam flew them out to Colorado three times a year before he went overseas, or even to speak to him on the phone.” She couldn’t help a devious smile. “Although I may not be able to coerce him into making amends with his father, trust me, I still have my ways of getting his butt into a church pew every now and then.”

  A semblance of a grin slipped across his face. “Come now, blackmail, Mrs. O’Bryen? Hard to believe of a pastor’s ex-wife who’s now tight with God.”

  Her chin rose in defense, in total contrast to the tease in her eyes. “Good news, Dr. Carmichael—perfection is not a requirement for being ‘tight with God,’ so you’re good to go.”

  “No, thanks—been there, done that.” He glanced at his watch and stood with a gruff clear of his throat. “Well, Beau and I have a fishing date, so I need to head out, but thanks for the cookies, Tess, and the package.”

  “Sure.” She stretched her arms high in the air, hoping to unkink both her muscles and her disappointment over his obvious escape. “Keep the Tupperware—I’ll pick it up next time.”

  He paused, assessing her through a half-lidded gaze. “Next time,” he said, his tone as flat as the press of his lips. “There’s no need for a ‘next time,’ Tess. We’ve talked, we’ve cleared the air, we’re good.”

  She squared her shoulders, her will engaging as taut as a finely tuned bow. “No, Ben, ‘good’ is an amiable friendship like we used to have.” She plucked the package up and tossed it at him. “You know—humorous banter when moles invade my yard, then move to yours? Meaningful chats with cookies and coffee over the best grass seed to buy? Pleasant camaraderie when one needs advice, help, or maybe just a shoulder to cry on?” Picking up the cookies, she strolled around the fire pit to plop them on top of the package he held, giving him a firm jut of her chin tempered by a stubborn smile. “Honest-to-goodness friendship, Dr. Carmichael, guaranteed to help cure what ails you. Like an apple a day to keep the grouch away.” She snatched a cookie from beneath the lid, then whirled to make a beeline for the gate. “You should try it sometime.”

  “Apparently I’m slated to whether I want to or not,” he said in a gruff voice, the bite of his words dangerously close to a growl. “Look, Tess, I want to be left alone, all right? And it’s an apple a day keeps the doctor away, which is exactly what I prefer to do.”

  She spun around, cheeks chunky with cookie as she swallowed, totally ignoring the warning muscle that flickered in his cheek. “Sorry, Doc, doesn’t work with annoying neighbors.” She waved the remains of her cookie in the air before disappearing around the house, her cheerful voice trailing after her. “Bon appétit!”

  “Tess!”

  She backtracked to pop her head around the corner. “Yes, Ben?”

  He had that grinding thing going on, so much so she wondered how the poor man had any teeth left. His eyes narrowed to slits of amber, dark brows digging low. “Why is this so all-fire important to you?”

  She paused, studying the man who needed a friend more than anyone she’d met in a long, long time. A veritable gem buried beneath a trash heap of bitterness and blame. She could still see glimpses of the good and caring guy he used to be, and her heart ached over the damage that had been done to them both. Her exhale was shaky and tenuous, like their path back to friendship was likely to be. But she stared him down nonetheless, never surer that this was exactly what God had called her to do. Her solemn words carried the weight of her prayers, her voice lowering to help cushion the sober truth. “Because my family and I need peace and closure, Ben, and so do you and yours.” As if to underscore the importance of her goal, words from her morning devotional drifted through her mind. A gentle reminder that souls were at stake if she just walked away and never looked back, just like Ben wanted her to do.

  For the Lord disciplines those He loves.

  With a scrunch of her nose, she tilted her head, lips curling into a full-fledged grin. “But if you must know, Dr. Garbo, the real reason I’m doing this is as foreboding as the nasty look on your face.” She nodded to the blue of the sky, unblemished by any clouds of concern—like her faith at the moment. “Somebody up there’ll kick my butt if I don’t.”

  Chapter Six

  “Yeah? And how do you know I won’t kick your butt if you do?” Ben muttered under his breath, staring long after Tess disappeared around the house. He blasted out a noisy sigh and headed for the door, bobbling both package and cookies with a scowl. The last thing he needed—or wanted—was to open up communication with his next-door neighbor. His hedges and gates were there for a reason—to keep people, peddlers, and neighbors out of his life. And out of his heart. Not to mention memories too painful to remember.

  He whistled, and Beau came running with ears flopping and that goofy doggy grin that always helped disarm Ben’s sour moods. “Good boy,” he said with a genuine smile, closing the door behind Beau before setting the package and cookies down on the polished stone and teak sofa table his decorator picked out. Squatting, he swallowed his best friend in a fierce hug, crooning his praises as he scratched the animal’s neck.

  Dogs were so easy to trust. Loyal and true, Beau loved him no matter what, be it foul mood or temper, and most importantly, he would never leave him or run away, never abandon him like everyone else.

  His father.

  His mother.
r />   His wife and his daughter.

  Head buried against Beau’s, Ben clung to his animal, the dog’s warm tongue lathering his face. God help him, he had no desire to let another human being get too close ever again.

  God help him?

  Ruffling Beau’s shiny coat, Ben paused mid-scrub, lips taking a hard slant. Not likely given that God hadn’t been there for him before, even after Tess and Adam had badgered him into going back to church on a regular basis. He couldn’t deny there were times when belief in God had felt almost good, almost possible to believe there was a heavenly Father who loved him. But that fairy-tale had been neatly lanced when his best friend and pastor had slept with his wife, destroying any further faith in God.

  Or any human being He’d created.

  Except maybe my kids. He issued a silent grunt. The ones who weren’t blood related, and the only “family” he cared to have. Exhaling a weary sigh, he rose and made his way to the kitchen, fingers feathering Beau’s head as the lab trotted by his side. His mind reflected on the special children whose lives he saved every year. Special because like him, they had no family who cared. Orphaned, abused, or lost in the foster care shuffle, they were his chance to redeem himself as a father without all the messy and painful involvement that had plagued him all of his life. Kids like Juan Diaz, one of his favorites who brought a smile to Ben’s face every time he saw the boy for follow-up. All of seven years old, the kid was bright, witty, and a real pistol, claiming he wanted to grow up to be just like Ben. A second grunt made it past Ben’s lips. No you don’t bud. His mouth twisted as he dug a Milk-bone biscuit out of the pantry. You’ll end up a crabby old hermit like me …

  “Old” he wasn’t so crazy about, but “crabby” and “hermit” suited Ben just fine, keeping his emotional commitment to a level he could handle. Safe. Casual. Social when necessary. And focused on the people who mattered the most—the kids that needed him. Of course his partners thought he was crazy for doing so many pro bono surgeries a year, but in a way, the Children’s Miracle Network had been his salvation. His chance to give back, to bring a smile to some little kid’s face. And to save lives—lots and lots of lives. He exhaled. Along with a boatload of guilt.

  “I think somebody needs a treat,” he said with a warmth he reserved for Beau, his drill-sergeant secretary Martha, a few select friends, and his pro bono family. “Sit …”

  Beau jumped up and down, front paws jiggling in excitement as he shimmied into a perfect pose, back straight and head high. “Good boy.” Carefully balancing the Milk-Bone biscuit on the animal’s nose, Ben waited several seconds, a smile squirming over both the dog’s life-and-death intensity and a quivering strand of drool. “Release!”

  With a flawless flip in the air, Beau locked enormous jaws on the bone and crunched it to oblivion before nuzzling his nose into Ben’s hand, obviously looking for more.

  “Okay, okay, you’re darn lucky I love you, you know that?” With a grin and an affectionate tousle of Beau’s ears, Ben awarded him two additional Milk-bones before they both traipsed into what most people referred to as “the family room”—a misnomer if ever there was. His smile went south. He hadn’t had a “family” since the day his father died when Ben was only five. The one parent he’d adored, stolen away by a fatal car accident on one of many business trips, plunging his mother into a depression so debilitating, she barely knew Ben was alive.

  The depression finally lifted when she married his stepfather two years later, a sanctimonious physician and taskmaster who shoved religion down Ben’s throat but didn’t live it himself. Before long, the man put a stranglehold on Ben’s mother and him, intent on controlling and bullying them both. Looking back, Ben could almost understand why his mother took her own life, living under the thumb of a pious dictator whom neither of them could ever please. But the scar of abandonment left on her son cut deep, festering through his teens and into his so-called marriage. An all-too-familiar ache throbbed as his thoughts strayed to Karen, and for the thousandth time he wished it had been different. Wished he’d tried harder in their marriage, wished he hadn’t shut her and Lacey out. But his heart was apparently toxic to anyone who even got close, proving once and for all he had no business opening up to anyone ever again. Tears burned the back of his lids, but he fought them off with a hard clamp of his mouth, wondering why, after all of these years, it still mattered at all.

  Forcing his thoughts to the present, he rifled through the mail he’d tossed on his teak serpentine side table, sifting through envelopes for things that did matter. Like The Children’s Heart Foundation or The Coastal Pet Rescue—people and things that gave him a place to channel his love. Causes and surgeries that restored a child’s life, a family’s hope, and his own confidence that he was a man who possessed a heart, even if he never let anyone in.

  Stacking the envelopes in a neat pile, he set them aside and sank into his bomber-jacket leather recliner—an overstuffed lounger his decorator had indelicately referred to as a “monstrosity.” He flipped the footrest up and snatched the TV remote to turn on the 60-inch LED, grateful to be able to relax after a day of back-to-back surgeries. His den—he refused to call it a family room—was comfortable despite high-ticket teak furniture and flooring that lent a sophisticated, almost stark ambiance. A white leather sectional his decorator said he just had to have spanned the length of an ultra-modern room that was as different from Karen’s taste as he could possibly get. Wall-to-wall windows overlooked a manicured back lawn with a smattering of powerful oaks that created a sanctuary surrounded by the tallest, thickest hedges money could buy, utterly and completely private. His lips compressed as he flicked through the channels.

  Or used to be.

  Settling on an NCIS rerun he’d seen a half dozen times, his mind roamed to Tess O’Bryen, the next-door neighbor he’d worked so hard to avoid. Against his will, the pinch of his mouth softened the slightest bit, almost giving way to a smile. As much as he hated to admit it, Tess had always been one of his favorite people. Warm, funny, a little bit ditzy, but always able to lighten a mood whenever the four of them got together, even when Karen and he were fighting. A great gal, really, with only a few flaming flaws.

  Too pushy, too perky, and Adam’s ex-wife.

  A constant reminder of all Ben had lost and all he had failed.

  Not the least of which was Lacey.

  Jaw steeling, he squinted hard at the TV. Nope, best to nip it in the bud right now and avoid the woman like the plague. His gaze flicked to the Tupperware container of cookies that taunted on the table by the door, and a colorful word hissed from his lips. With a hard jerk of the footrest lever, his feet hit the floor and he jumped up to retrieve the container, ticked off when he started salivating like Beau with his bone. Returning to his chair, he plopped back down and took out a cookie, mouth watering worse than Pavlov’s stupid dog. Against his will, a groan of pleasure rumbled in his throat at first bite, a deadly reminder of just what a great cook Tess had always been. And how bribery with sweets had always been her favorite way to handle Adam and the kids. Ben shook his head, cookie ecstasy warring with annoyance over exactly what the woman was trying to do.

  Monster cookies … to tame the monster, no doubt.

  Polishing off his fifth one, he snapped the lid back on and tossed them on the table with a grunt, determined to return the others when the woman wasn’t home. Because whether Tess O’Bryen liked it or not, this was one monster with a nasty bite and a penchant for chewing. Aiming the remote, he jacked the volume up with a hard grind of his jaw.

  And he sure wasn’t talking cookies …

  Chapter Seven

  “See? This is exactly why I didn’t tell you in the first place—you get all moody on me, Jack, and start drinking more than you should.”

  Jack peered up at Matt with a half-lidded glare, the near-empty Blue Moon in his hand suddenly as acidic as his mood despite the usual revelry going on at Clancy’s Pub. Their mainstay watering hole following Sunday-night
baseball games, Clancy’s was particularly wild tonight, strains of Coldplay filtering through raucous laughter punctuated by the crack of ivory from the pool table at the back of the bar. For once, the noise got on Jack’s nerves, darkening his disposition even more. His favorite hangout was just too freakin’ joyous tonight to suit, especially with his teammates celebrating another victory that secured their first-place lead in the Savannah’s Men’s League. A lead that called for beers all around, giving Jack the perfect excuse to drown his troubles despite his cousin’s disapproval, who now studied him from the next barstool with concern in his eyes.

  Returning his gaze straight ahead to the hodge-podge of framed jerseys over the bar, Jack gulped another drink to douse the burn of Matt’s silent rebuke, a best friend who’d found faith about the same time Jack had lost his. Matt’s barstool finally squealed when he angled Jack’s way, indicating he had come to the end of his silence. “Come on, Jack—snap out of it. Lacey’s back, so get over it. She’s Nicki’s maid of honor and you’re my best man, so you may as well make the best of it.”

  “The ‘best of it,’” Jack said in a tone as lifeless as his body, fingers limp on the bar while they circled his glass. “And what would that be, Matt? The fact I won’t ever have to talk to her again after you and Nicki are married?”

  Matt upended his Red Bull and banged it down on the bar with a hard crack that told Jack he was ruining Matt’s evening as well as his own. His cousin whirled to confront him with a tight press of lips, his usual happy-go-lucky manner dwindling as fast as Jack’s sobriety. “Come on, Jack, you’re my best friend and this is supposed to be the happiest time of my life, so get a grip and lighten up. Do it for me if not for yourself, will ya?”

  Jack blasted out a noisy sigh and gouged his temple with the pads of his fingers, not anxious to pile guilt on top of an already black mood. “Okay, Matt. I’m sorry. I’m not trying to ruin your wedding, man, really. It’s just that—”