by Hinze, Vicki
How could it not be?
Because she fleetingly wished it weren’t, sadness seeped into her heart, then burrowed down into the secret place inside her that harbored her dreams. For some reason, she thought of Mary Beth Ladner, of the woman who had been the sunshine of her home, and that flicker of a spark ignited inside her, burned brighter. And the desire to be the sunshine of her own home grew stronger, to a yearning that touched her soul-deep.
Cally glanced expectantly at Bryce. “You’re sure you don’t think it macabre?”
“Not at all.” He stepped to her side. “Walking through a cemetery might not be a typical thing to do on a date, but—”
“This isn’t a date, Counselor. We agreed.”
“Right.” He stroked his beard. “As I was saying, walking through a cemetery might not be a typical thing to do on a nondate date, but it certainly isn’t bizarre.” He cocked his head. “Now, Tony. His presence at Seascape—that’s bizarre.”
“It is.”
“But you know what, Cally?”
“What?”
“It’s comforting, too. Knowing he’s with Suzie, and she’s dreaming but not terrified because she isn’t alone, well, that’s very comforting to me. And I’m sure it is to Suzie.”
“Bryce?”
Cally’s tone set his teeth on edge, his senses on alert. And she’d stopped. Standing stiffly, she stared down at a headstone. “What is it, honey?”
“Look at her name.”
Baffled, Bryce looked down to the gray marble, to the chiseled lettering. “Mary Elizabeth Freeport Nelson.” Not making any connection, he glanced back at Cally. “Collin and Cecelia’s daughter maybe?”
“Yes.” Cally unpinned the yellow carnation from her lapel and placed it on the ground where the headstone and earth met.
“I don’t get it.”
“Mary Elizabeth. Mary Beth.” Cally looked up at him. “Same birth and death dates. Isn’t that strange?”
“Cally, they’re not the same woman.”
“I know.” She shrugged, dusted the dirt from her fingertips, then stood up. “But they have a lot in common, and their names are close, and I’m—”
“Missing Mary Beth?” He curled an arm around Cally’s waist.
She nodded.
“Ah, I think I’m seeing some friendly encouraging of the Tony variety here.”
“What do you mean?” Under the shadow of an evergreen, she looked up at him.
“I think he’s led you to Mary Elizabeth so you could keep her company while you’re here. Kind of a hot line to Mary Beth.”
Cally looked at him as if he’d lost his mind. “Bryce, do you realize how ridiculous that sounds?”
“Not at all, Miss Tate. It’s perfectly logical. You always talk over your troubles with Mary Beth, right?”
“Right.”
“So to be comfortable here you need to talk, but Mary Beth isn’t here. And you haven’t exactly been welcoming to Tony. But Mary Elizabeth, a trusted sister, is here. It makes perfect—”
“Trusted sister? Whose sister?”
“Tony’s.”
Cally’s face went white. “Tony can’t manipulate people like that, can he?”
“Yes, Miss Tate. He can.” Bryce answered softly, and without flourish. “Remember when you were driving to Nova Scotia? That almost irresistible urge to come here?”
“Oh, God.” Cally slumped against Bryce.
“Are you going to faint?”
“No.”
“I think you’re going to faint. I’ve seen women who were about to faint before, and you really look like you’re about to faint.”
“I’m not going to faint.”
“Why don’t we go into the church and sit down, just in case. I’d feel a lot—”
“I’m not going to faint, Bryce.” Cally dragged in a breath and demanded her heart to slow its beating. Her temples fairly throbbed, and she wasn’t at all sure she wasn’t going to kiss the dirt in a dead faint. “He’s manipulating us.”
Bryce cupped her face in his hand. “He’s helping Suzie. He intercedes in her dreams, so she’s not alone. Hatch says Tony’s not supposed to do that—intercede—but he’s doing it anyway. For Suzie and for me.”
“Hatch knows about him, too?”
Bryce nodded. “Tony protects her, Cally. I don’t give a tinker’s damn if he’s a ghost, or an alien from Planet Funnel Cake. He’s helping my daughter.”
Her mouth stone-dry, Cally stared up at him. Bryce meant it. Every word. He didn’t care. With Tony helping Suzie, Cally understood that. But how well did she understand? Was she grateful enough to set aside the fear of the oddity that he existed? Question was, did she care?
He was helping Suzie. Suzie, who’d wanted a mother and deserved a childhood. Suzie, whose eyes shined love whenever her gaze fell on her father, her brother or sister, on Cally. Precious, tormented Suzie. Cally owed Tony for what he was doing with her. And she owed him for his treatment of her as well. He’d reached out to help her, too, talked to her internally, until she’d become frightened. Then he’d respectfully backed away. She’d suspected the truth about him, true. She’d been told it. But knowing it deep in her heart and soul, having it confirmed by Bryce, a man she trusted . . . It still felt . . . shocking.
So did she care? No. She didn’t. Not at all. Tony’s being a ghost and being here was weird. Bizarre. Different. It defied social acceptability, theories that death is final, the belief that life exists in a single dimension. It shook to the roots a myriad of basic societal foundations, and a hell of a lot of philosophies. But so what? It was good.
He was helping Suzie.
Thanks, Miss Tate.
The man’s voice. An arrow of shock shot up her spine, set her nerve endings to tingling. Tony?
A warm rush whisked through her, head to toe. At your service.
She opened her mouth, then did what any sane woman would do when she’d mentally accepted a ghost had come into her life. She fainted.
Cally joined Bryce in Suzie’s room. It’d become a ritual, tucking in the kids together. Most girls nine didn’t want that kind of attention, according to Frankie, but Cally figured Suzie hadn’t had it earlier, so she needed it now. And only to herself did Cally admit how much she loved hating the good feelings the ceremony gave her. How much she looked forward to them all being together, sharing their lives.
But as much as she loved hating those things, she hated knowing how much she was going to miss them when their vacation was over and they went home without her. She’d again be alone. Even more empty than before because, with them, she’d been given a taste of what her life as a mother would have been like.
From under the quilts, Suzie looked up at Bryce and Cally, standing side by side near the edge of the spool bed. “On Little Island, there are two graves behind this little fence. Hatch said one was Dixie Dupree—that lady Uncle John used to look for, Daddy.”
“John Mystic,” Bryce reminded Cally.
“I remember, Counselor.” That John had investigated her for Bryce had her prickly, and knowing he and the children would be leaving Seascape Inn without her already had her sad. Prickly heaped onto sad didn’t stack up as a peace-inducing mix of emotions to lug around.
She buried the feelings and tucked the quilt up under Suzie’s chin. Suzie had said there were two graves on the island. That piqued Cally’s interest. “Who’s in the other grave?”
“Hatch said it’s a lost soul. It couldn’t find its way home because it refused to believe it could.”
An odd sensation crept over Cally. Hit her hard. Something else of importance had been disclosed to her through Suzie. And again Suzie’s first message replayed in her mind. If only one has the courage to believe, miracles can happen beside a dreamswept sea.
Suzie stared at the ceiling, her eyes unfocused. “I think that makes my island even more special.”
Bryce smiled, but didn’t remind her again that the island belonged to the children of the
village and not tourists from away. “I agree. It’s a big responsibility.”
She nodded. “I’m nine. I can do it, Daddy.”
“I know.” He dropped a kiss to her forehead. “Good night, munchkin.”
“’Nite.” She curled her arms around his neck, hugged him tightly, then held out her arms for Cally.
She stepped into them, her heart in her throat, vowing she wouldn’t start counting how many more nightly hugs there’d be on her calendar before they left her and she had only the cherished memories of them in her heart. “’Nite.”
Bryce gave her a heavy-lidded look, as if he knew how vulnerable and isolated she was feeling, then clasped her hand.
They walked out into the hallway. Bryce flipped off the light. Cally reached back to close the door, heard Suzie’s whisper, and paused.
“Tony?” she said. “Okay, I just wanted to make sure you were here.”
I’m here, little one. We’re all here. Me, your dad, Cally, and Miss Hattie. You can go to sleep now.
Comforted at hearing Tony’s voice, Cally quietly eased the door shut.
“Miss Tate.” Bryce turned to face her. “You’re confusing the court.”
She stood so close to him, he filled her senses, and she felt more than a little confused herself. Attempting to step back, to gain perspective, she backed into the door. “I am?”
Bryce nodded, clasped her arm and inched her over, against the wall. “I had these strange feelings in there. That you were riding an emotional roller coaster. You felt content, then devastated, then scared as hell, and then incredibly sad. Now you look content again.”
Moonlight from the mullioned windows bathed them in soft, wispy shadows. Her face went hot, and she blessed the darkness for hiding it from Bryce. But being totally honest, if only under the obscuring cover of the night, had grown comfortable. She could tell him the truth. And she would. That much courage, at least, she’d garnered here. “I felt all that, and more.”
He slid a gentle thumb along her chin, stared deeply into her eyes. “Why?”
“A lot of reasons.” She dipped her chin to her chest to avoid his eyes.
“Would you think me a stuffed shirt if I said I like you content?”
“No.”
“Would you, if I said it makes me feel good to know you’re content when you’re with me?”
“No, I wouldn’t. I like feeling content. It’s fleeting, but at least I’m glimpsing it again, and that’s a start.”
“I’m not content.” A fingertip joined his thumb on her face, then trailed a winding path down to the soft hollow behind her ear.
“I’m sorry to hear that.” She was. She truly was. He was such a wonderful man. He deserved contentment, and so much more. Loving. He deserved loving. But that he didn’t find contentment with her didn’t surprise her; she hadn’t expected he would. Still, a pang of disappointment rattling around in the region of her heart couldn’t be denied.
“I’d be closer to contentment with a little assistance.”
What did she do with her hand? She couldn’t continue to hold it midair, and to put it behind her back, she’d have to get even closer to the man. From the hum of blood singing through her veins she was plenty close already. “What kind of assistance?”
He laced their fingertips until their palms touched, then bent his elbow and pressed their clasped hands against the small of his back. “A hug would help. A kiss would be even better.” He lightened his tone, but his expression stayed serious. “I would remind you, Miss Tate, that I’m a man suffering from a multitude of injuries. When Jeremy scraped his elbow, you kissed it to make it better, but . . .”
Con artist. But what a good one. “You want me to kiss your knee?”
“No.”
“Your elbow?” She ran a fingertip along his sling.
“No.”
“Your bruised jaw?”
“You’re getting warmer.” His eyes twinkled and he dipped his chin, touching his mouth to hers.
“Take care with your arm, darling.”
“It can fend for itself. Hugs are rare and I intend to indulge myself to the legal limits.” He pulled off the sling, curled his arms around her, and let out a satisfied sigh that shot sheer joy through her woman’s heart. “God, but that feels good.” He pressed a soft kiss to the cay at her shoulder. “It truly is a nuisance, Miss Tate, to want to hold a woman and not be able to do the job properly.”
Sober and tense, she cocked her head and looked up at him. “Is this more of your campaign? Because if it is, I’d really rather you kept to our agreement and didn’t—”
“No, Miss Tate. No campaign.” He pressed a fingertip to her lips, outlined them with flutters of touch, and his eyes glazed. “This is for me.”
Her heart swelled into her throat then dropped to her knees. No, she couldn’t believe it. Couldn’t do this to herself. “Under penalty of perjury, do you swear, Counselor?” Why had she asked that? Why couldn’t she have recalled Grandma Tate’s crude words of wisdom and not opened herself to this?
“I swear.” He kissed her eyelids, her cheeks, then paused, hovering over her lips. “Cally?”
“Hmm?” Oh, God, this was too good. It couldn’t be real. She’d have to be crazy to believe even for a second it could be anything close to real.
“Let’s dream.”
“Dream?” She dragged her fingers through the hair on his nape. Dreaming sounded good.
“Mmm, just for now, let’s forget everything that’s happened to us. Let’s pretend that there’s only us, and only now. I—I need to dream, Cally.”
Forget. Pretend. Dream. Yes. Yes, she could do that. She could kiss him from the heart out, knowing it was only a dream. “Oh, Bryce. Sometimes you’re just so damn perfect.”
“I’m not.” He cupped her face in his hands, breathed against her lips. “But you make me wish I could be. I want you with me. I want you to want to be with me.” He shuddered and his hands trembled on her face. “Dream with me, Cally. Please. Dream with me.”
Her fears crumbled, and she settled into the kiss, eager to dream.
The rocking chair squeaked.
Her hand at her chest, Cally darted her gaze over to the fireside chair. “Miss Hattie. Good grief, but you startled me.”
“I’m sorry, dear.” She held some sewing in her lap, but her reading glasses sat on the stone ledge of the fireplace. “Can’t you sleep?”
The light from above the stove shone on the lenses. Without them, Cally felt sure Miss Hattie had been doing more thinking than stitching. At the fridge, Cally poured herself a glass of milk, then softly closed the door. “Evidently not.”
“Bryce?”
“In the hallway, on the floor.”
“I thought you two had stopped that, since Suzie hasn’t been bothered with that dream.”
“We had. We just wanted to talk.” Cally inwardly sighed. What they’d wanted was to prolong their dream. God, but it’d been magnificent. It would have been so easy to let it lapse into making love. So easy . . .
“I see.”
Cally feared Miss Hattie did see. Too much. Stifling a sigh, she sat down at the kitchen table and took a long drink of milk. The cold going down her throat felt good. “Men.”
“Isn’t it the truth?” Miss Hattie sighed and tapped the floor with the toe of her slipper to set the chair to rocking. “As Hatch says, ‘Ya gotta love ’em.’ ”
Its squeak sounded comfortable. And comfort felt good. “You know Bryce is making me crazy.” No surprise there. Miss Hattie seemed to have the pulse on the feelings of everyone at the inn. “Is Vic what’s getting to you?”
“Oh my, no. Vic is one of my dearest friends, but no more than that.” Miss Hattie’s cheeks went rosy. “I’m just missing my soldier.”
And clearly worrying. Did she see and hear Tony, too?
Surely not or she wouldn’t be missing him. Should Cally tell her he was here? That he was a ghost? Would that comfort her and give her a measure
of peace?
She knows, Cally.
Tony. Her fingers stiffened on the glass, but she was determined not to fall into another faint. He was good. Real and good, and that was a blessing. A miracle even. If Miss Hattie knows you’re here, then why is she missing you? And why is she so worried?
I can’t explain that to you. I know the answers, and I would explain if I could, but I can’t. I am doing everything I can, Cally. I swear I am.
Miss Hattie wasn’t the only one worrying here. Tony’s voice fairly reeked of fear. Whatever this was about, it was bad, bad news for both of them. I see.
Not yet. But you’re beginning to. Look, I don’t want to intrude on your chat with Hattie, but I wanted you to know I’m doing all I can for Hattie and to ask you not to mention me hanging around to her. It upsets her, because we can’t really be together. Frankly, it upsets me, too.
I’m sure it does. They had that kind of love Lucy Baker and Miss Millie had talked about Cecelia and Collin sharing. That rare and mystical, forever-after kind of love that Cally hadn’t so much as glimpsed and doubted she ever would.
I wanted to also tell you that I’m proud of you.
Tony, proud of her? For what?
Dreaming with Bryce. No, don’t be embarrassed. I didn’t play voyeur, Cally. That’s a promise. I just waited to see if you’d dare to dream. When you did, I left. That leap took a lot of courage on your part, and you did it. You’ve beaten yourself half to death for it ever since, though. Because you have and you shouldn’t, I figured I’d best point that out to you—that you should be feeling great about your progress. That’s what’s important, Cally. You took the leap. When next you doubt you have courage, you remember that, okay?
Choked up, Cally swallowed hard. I’ll try.
And quit telling yourself you’re forty kinds of fool for indulging in a little fantasy. Reality is a hell of a taskmaster at times. Dreaming a little is a blessing that can get you through a lot of really rough spots.
It can be a curse and create some rough spots, too—if you’re foolish enough to forget you’re dreaming.
