Isle of Hope

by Julie Lessman

  He blinked, confusion fogging his mind. “I don’t understand. What do you mean?”

  She stared at him for several seconds while grief swam in her eyes. “I mean I left to have a baby, Jack,” she whispered, “our baby.”

  She may as well gashed him with a jagged piece of that broken glass—he was bleeding all the same. Shards of shock slashed through his brain with such deadly ease that, at first, he didn’t feel a thing. And then like a fingertip neatly sliced with the sharpest of blades, pain began to throb beneath a scarlet pool of blood, making him fully aware.

  Our baby. Lacey’s and his. A child meant to be the first of many.

  “It happened that night in the dory, Jack,” she continued in a hoarse voice, resurrecting memories of when he’d diverted her from skinny-dipping with a moonlight sail instead. “My cycles have always been so screwy, I never even suspected until after you left for seminary. And then Daddy found the pregnancy kit—”

  “Girl or boy,” he whispered, voice cracking with pain.

  She paused, a muscle in her cheek flickering as she reached to graze his hand. “A little girl—I named her Hope Olivia.”

  At her touch, he jerked away, lids sinking closed. “You named her …” he said, an accusation rather than a statement.

  “Jack, I was young and stupid, and I didn’t want to hurt your career—”

  “My career?” His voice was little more than a hiss, bleeding with pain as his eyes widened in shock, hardly able to believe the woman he loved had so callously pitted their child against a mere job. “Where is she?” It came out a broken rasp.

  Hand to her mouth, Lacey blinked, heaves convulsing her body. “She was b-born with a c-congenital heart d-defect,” she said on a sob, “and d-died in surgery three d-days later.”

  His eyelids dropped like a curtain of despair, questions pummeling his mind while pain pummeled his heart. When was her birthday? How much did she weigh? Brown hair or blonde? Breathing shallow, he rose and walked to the edge of the dock, head bowed as he propped hands to his hips, limbs as numb as his mind. “When was she born?” His whisper seemed to hang in the humid air, hovering like a ghost on the water.

  “April 17, 2007.” She sniffled, voice nasal.

  He stared at the moonlit river, stomach roiling more than the water swirling in a sudden gust of breeze. My daughter died on April 20.

  Her chair scraped against weathered wood, and he stiffened at her approach. “Jack, I know it seems selfish—”

  “Selfish?” He spun around, eyes blazing. “No, I think this goes well beyond selfish, Lace, all the way to brutally cruel.” Ramming a thumb to his chest, he stepped forward, practically spitting in her face. “That was my baby you so carelessly made decisions about, my flesh and blood you abandoned right after you abandoned me.”

  “No, Jack, I swear,” she said with a violent shake of her head, “I didn’t abandon Hope Olivia—”

  “No?” He jutted a brow, tone harsh. “So let me get this straight—you ran away from a fiancé who adored you because you planned to raise his baby on your own?”

  “No … n-not at f-first,” she said, her hesitancy all but declaring her guilt, “but after she was born, I just knew I couldn’t give her up. So we begged Daddy to come, but by the time he arrived, it was too late—”

  “Too late?” Jack whispered, shock adding insult to injury that his daughter’s grandfather—one of the country’s top heart surgeons—never even made it to her side.

  Lacey reached to touch him, but he pulled away, too angry to care about the wince of pain that flashed across her face. “Jack, I’m so sorry. I never meant for any of this to happen, I swear, but I ran scared.” She buffed her arms, a nervous habit he recognized whenever she was frightened or nervous …

  Or guilty.

  Her gaze skittered away. “I … I didn’t think I was ready to be a mom,” she whispered, her fractured words confirming her disgrace, “so when Daddy kicked me out, I saw it as fate. He … said awful things, like a pastor didn’t need a whore for a wife, and that I would ruin your career, and he was right.” She gently grazed his arm with her fingers, removing them before he could do it himself. “I knew you’d quit seminary as soon as you heard, Jack, and I didn’t want that, so you have to believe me—the largest part of me did it for you.”

  “For me.” His voice sounded cold and flat—like his feelings for Lacey at the moment. He held up his forefinger and thumb right in front of her nose, barely a hair apart. “As far as I’m concerned, what you did is this close to kidnapping, and I’m not sure I can ever forgive you.”

  He heard the catch of her breath, right before more tears spilled from her eyes. “Don’t say that, Jack, please—I love you, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

  Heart thundering, he studied her, some of his anger abating when he realized this was the person with whom he longed to spend the rest of his life as well, the girlfriend he cherished and adored up till five minutes ago. The key to a family of his own with the only woman he ever really wanted.

  The mother of his child.

  And the ones yet to come.

  He turned away, head bowed as he gouged his temple with the pads of his fingers, fighting the sting of his own tears. When he finally spoke, his words came out hoarse and halting. “I love you, Lacey, I do, but this …” He listlessly waved a leaden hand. “Is so … hard to get past. You not only broke my heart, you broke my trust … and my dream.” He turned to face her, his expression a mirror reflection of the grief he saw in her own. “I only hope that someday I’ll be able to forgive and forget.”

  She nodded slowly, and then, as if imbued with grace from on high, serenity settled over her like the sudden shaft of moonlight that broke through a cluster of clouds, taming the tragedy in her face. With a subtle square of shoulders, she studied him, her look of tenderness gilded with the peace and strength he’d seen since she’d returned to Isle of Hope, trademarks of the Lacey who now lived for God instead of herself. “Oh, Jack,” she whispered, eyes shining with the same steadfast assurance he’d once espoused himself, “you should know better than anyone—there is no hope without forgiveness.”

  He stared, the truth slamming so hard, it paralyzed both his mind and his body.

  Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us.

  His eyes lumbered closed when he realized Lacey was right. God’s forgiveness had not only saved his sorry life—healing his hardened heart of bitterness and despair—but it could also save his future.

  If he let it.

  For I know the plans I have for you, plans for a hope and a future.

  Their hope.

  Their future.

  A cramp squeezed in his gut. All dangling by a tenuous thread called forgiveness.

  Suddenly, the weight of his sorrow and guilt was too much to bear, and turning away, he crumpled onto the edge of the dock, body shuddering with silent heaves as he sat with his head in his hands. “God, forgive me,” he whispered, “and please—help me to forgive.”

  Lost in his remorse, he didn’t hear or see Lacey’s approach, but he felt the tentative slide of her arm to his waist when she sat down beside him. The steady thump of her pulse as she laid her head on his shoulder, voice frail with regret. “Jack, my heart aches for all the pain I’ve caused and I hope someday you’ll be able to forgive me. Because despite the tragic path that I took, you always have been and always will be the love of my life. And whether you ask me to stay or you ask me to go, I will. But first …” Her voice cracked on a heave. “Will you—can we—grieve the loss of our daughter?” Her fingers dug in as a fractured sob escaped from her throat. “As one?”

  His body stilled, the thud of his heart slowing to beat in time with hers.

  And the two shall become one flesh; no longer two, but one …

  One flesh. One family. One burden borne by two.

  Somewhere deep inside, his bitterness broke, like the end of a raging fever meant to d
estroy, cooling both his temper and his hurt. Wrenching Lacey close, he buried his head in her hair to weep, to forgive, and to heal.

  And in mourning the precious Hope they had lost, another arose, shining brighter and fuller than the harvest moon above.

  Chapter Forty-One

  “I doubt it!”

  Laughter erupted around Tess’s patio table where a rowdy card game was going on after Lacey and Jack’s engagement dinner.

  Ben couldn’t help a contented sigh, stomach full of BBQ while his heart was full of joy. He smiled as Tess squealed and whooped when she won the noisy card game called “I doubt it,” and he seriously “doubted it” that his life had ever been better. Certainly not in high school or college where he drank, caroused, and defied his stepfather ad nauseam, nor in his marriage where he foolishly begrudged first his wife and then his daughter. Tess’s chuckles rose above all the others and all at once her smiling face morphed into Karen’s tearstained one, producing an immediate stab of guilt. Sipping his iced tea, he closed his eyes to battle a familiar malaise with a Scripture Tess pounded into his brain on a daily basis.

  As far as the east is from the west, so far hath He removed our transgressions from us.

  His lids popped open, and he grinned when Tess took a bow. Now that was the kind of geography he could live with. His gaze all but caressed the woman responsible for his change of direction, and his heart stuttered when she gave him a secret smile.

  Talk about something he could live with!

  “Okay, we have Mamaw’s peach crumble pie and homemade ice cream for dessert.” Her blue eyes scanned two patio tables—hers and his on loan—both clad in white plastic tablecloths to accommodate her children and his, with Nicki, Matt, Mamaw, and Spence. “Anybody hungry?”

  “Ravenous,” he said with a look that had little to do with pie, grinning outright when a touch of color stole into her cheeks. He sighed inwardly, shocked that a heart once as cold as his could now burn with so much love. His gaze happily stole from the perky ponytail and tempting crop top down the tiny waist and trim jeans before trailing back up to a beautiful face that now sported a full-fledged blush. Yep, definitely looking to share more than tables.

  “Need some help, Tess?” Lacey and the girls jumped up while Mamaw rose as well, ready to abandon her game of crazy eights with Spence and Davey.

  “Nope—sit—all of you!” Tess ordered, gently prodding Mamaw back into her chair. “I’ll just bring everything out to divvy up here, so I think I can handle it.” She pushed in her chair with a wiggle of brows. “After all, I just fleeced the whole lot of you in a card game, remember?” Winking at Lacey, she patted Jack’s shoulder while he dealt the cards for another game. “Make me proud, Son, although I doubt anything can top your ring on Lacey’s finger.” Ponytail swishing, Tess slid Ben a private wink on her way to the kitchen.

  Taking advantage of everyone’s preoccupation with card games, he upended his tea and rose to follow, grateful for a few minutes alone with the woman he loved. Easing the screen door open with nary a sound, he quietly closed it again, unable to fight a grin over her off-key singing. Unaware he had entered the kitchen, she stood on tiptoe while tugging paper plates from a high shelf of the pantry, belting out Let it Go so loudly, he was able to sneak up from behind.

  “My thoughts exactly,” he whispered in her ear, making her squeal and drop the paper plates when he slipped his arms around her waist. He burrowed his lips into the nape of her neck, the scent of lemons—compliments of her Herbal Essence Citrus shampoo—driving him crazy. “Let it go, Tess,” he breathed in her ear, “your obstinate rationale for putting me off.”

  With a nervous giggle, she spun in his arms, gaze darting to the screen door before she warded him off with two firm palms to his chest. “Benjamin Carmichael, stop!” she scolded in a near whisper, a trace of a grin sneaking through, “the kids think we’re friends and nothing else, rememb—”

  He muzzled her with a kiss aching to be set free from the moment he saw her this afternoon, smudges of BBQ sauce on her upper lip just begging to be licked away. But the boys had been playing in the backyard and her girls were setting the tables, so he’d put the urge on hold.

  Till now. The perfect moment when nobody could see them through the kitchen window that overlooked the yard rather than the patio.

  The engagement BBQ had been her idea, so she’d insisted on grilling herself, determined he’d come as a guest to help himself to “the best barbecue over the bridge” without lifting a finger. And “help himself” he would, he’d decided, but the only finger he wanted to lift was hers, in order to slide a ring on her hand, something she’d been fighting him on for weeks now.

  “I’m forty-six, Tess,” he’d told her one moonlit night on the dock last week, pinning her with a serious gaze rimmed by trace of humor. “And I’ve spent almost eight years virtually alone until some pesky neighbor barged into my life and made me love her. For almost four months now, you’ve bribed my dog, battered my defenses, breached my house—

  “Fortress, you mean …” she’d interjected with a jut of her chin.

  His smile had faded to soft. “Prison, if we’re squabbling over semantics.” He’d gently brushed the hair from her eyes, placing the mere breath of a kiss to her forehead. “I love you, Tess, heart and soul, and I want you in every possible way.” Mischief laced his tone as he leaned in to nuzzle her neck, his breath warm in her ear. “I’m not a teenager anymore, woman, and don’t have the time to wait, nor am I so inclined, so you have no choice but to say yes …”

  The sound of the kids’ squeals and laughter out on the porch broke into his thoughts, and taking advantage, he devoured her with a lip lock so deep, a low groan rumbled in his throat. “Marry me, Tess, and I’ll take the padlock off the side gate, I swear.”

  Eyes tender, she pulled back to cradle his cheek. “You know we can’t do that, Ben,” she said softly, the glow of love in her eyes more intoxicating than all the liquor he’d once consumed. “This is Jack and Lacey’s time to shine, and I don’t want to risk upstaging it or possibly upsetting one of the happiest times for both of our families.” She perched on tiptoe to plant a kiss to his nose. “Besides, we agreed to ease in slowly and get to know each other a little better so we’re sure it’s what we really want to do, yes?” She arched a brow, her smile tipping in tease. “Honestly, Dr. Doom, I had no idea you could be so pushy.”

  He dove for her neck with a half growl, making her giggle and squirm when he tugged on her lobe with his teeth. “You agreed, not me, Tess, and I know I want you, which is good enough for me. And as far as being pushy, you taught me everything I know.”

  “Uh-oh, I’ve created a monster,” she said with a giggle that was more of a gasp, jerking away with a glazed look that made him want to kiss her all over again. She warded him off with two stiff arms, cheeks flushed and lips swollen, a clear indication she was experiencing the same desire as he. “I need ice cream,” she croaked, attempting to wiggle free.

  “Tess,” he whispered, locking her close, “just say yes, please, and we can set the date later …”

  She stared, the rise and fall of her chest in rhythm with his own shallow breathing as their gazes fused with a heat that threatened to burst into another firestorm of passion. Shuddering with a shiver that merged with a sigh, she gently stroked his sandpaper jaw. “Let’s just say it’s a definite maybe, all right?” she said softly, eyes smiling before they settled into serious. “But keep in mind that when it comes to marriage, Dr. Carmichael, neither of us are experts, so I think we need to give it the test of time and prayer, don’t you?” The edge of her lip tipped. “Especially given the chemistry. We’ve already seen how attraction can skew an outcome the wrong way.”

  She was right, of course, but that didn’t mean he had to like it. “How long?” he groused, tunneling his fingers into her hair with a scowl. “Another month? Three months? Six?”

  Her mouth crooked. “Six months, starting today.”


  He groaned and butted her to the counter to kiss her hard, not giving a whit that her mussed-up ponytail veered off-center.

  “With good behavior, Dr. Doom,” she rasped, voice breathless.

  He couldn’t help it—he grinned. God help me, I’m crazy about this woman! Reality suddenly struck, and he expelled a strained quiver of air, the task ahead sobering him considerably. And God’s help would be a must to ensure good behavior till he put a gold band on her hand. “Agreed,” he said softly while he leaned to nuzzle her mouth with his own. “But keep in mind, Mrs. O’Bryen, that a long engagement won’t be doing either of us any favors.”

  The squeal of the kitchen screen door registered too late, and with a slam of his heart, Tess jerked violently from his arms as if he had thrust her away, the whites of her eyes circled in shock while she stared at her daughter.

  “Uh, Mom?” Shannon stood on the threshold, the fire in her face a perfect match to her mother’s. “Hate to interrupt, but there’s something you need to know.” Her somber gaze flicked to Ben and back as she held the screen open, the blush in her cheeks slowly bleaching to chalk. When she finally spoke again her voice faded so low, Ben could barely hear it over the ragged beat of his pulse. With a hard swallow, Shannon blinked at her mother while a lump bobbed several times in her throat. “Daddy’s home.”

  Chapter Forty-Two

  The screen door quietly thudded closed, and it wasn’t until several erratic heartbeats later, that Tess even remembered to breathe. Steadying herself with a hand braced to the counter, she slowly met Ben’s gaze, which appeared as catatonic as her own.

  “What’s he doing here?” he hissed, his caustic tone clear-cut evidence that Ben had a ways to go in the forgiveness department.

  “I have no idea,” she whispered, body trembling as she tugged on her crop top and smoothed back her hair. She and Adam seldom connected anymore after he left for Zambia several years back. Since then his communication via phone and letter had been mostly limited to the children per Tess’s request. Ingesting a deep draw of air, she suddenly realized that when it came to complete forgiveness, maybe Ben wasn’t alone. With a brush of sweaty hands down the sides of her jeans, she took a timid step toward the door. “I haven’t seen him for two years and only talked to him once since then.” She placed a gentle hand on Ben’s arm, an apology in her tone. “If you’d rather not stay, Ben, I’ll understand. You can leave through the front door, and I’ll call you when he’s gone.”