by Grace Greene
PRAISE FOR GRACE GREENE
Beach Rental
DOUBLE WINNER IN THE 2012 GDRWA BOOKSELLERS’ BEST AWARD
FINALIST IN THE 2012 GAYLE WILSON AWARD OF EXCELLENCE
FINALIST IN THE 2012 PUBLISHED MAGGIE AWARD FOR EXCELLENCE
“No author can come close to capturing the awe-inspiring essence of the North Carolina coast like Greene. Her debut novel seamlessly combines hope, love, and faith, like the female equivalent of Nicholas Sparks. Her writing is meticulous and so finely detailed you’ll hear the gulls overhead and the waves crashing onto shore. Grab a hankie, bury your toes in the sand, and get ready to be swept away with this unforgettable beach read.”
—RT Book Reviews, 4.5 stars, Top Pick
Beach Winds
FINALIST IN THE 2014 OKRWA INTERNATIONAL DIGITAL AWARDS
FINALIST IN THE 2014 WISRWA WRITE TOUCH READERS’ AWARD
“Greene’s follow-up to Beach Rental is exquisitely written, with lots of emotion and tugging on the heartstrings. Returning to Emerald Isle is like having a warm reunion with an old friend, and readers will be inspired by the captivating story, where we excitedly get to meet new characters and reconnect with a few familiar faces too. The author’s perfect prose highlights family relationships that we may find similar to our own and will have you dreaming of strolling along the shore to rediscover yourself in no time at all. This novel will have you wondering about faith, hope, and courage, and you may be lucky enough to gain all three by the time the last page of Beach Winds is read.”
—RT Book Reviews, 4.5 stars, Top Pick
Kincaid’s Hope
FINALIST IN THE 2013 GDRWA BOOKSELLERS’ BEST AWARD
FINALIST IN THE 2013 GAYLE WILSON AWARD OF EXCELLENCE
“A quiet backwater town is the setting for intrigue, deception, and betrayal in this exceptional sophomore offering. Greene’s ability to pull the reader into the story and emotionally invest them in the characters makes this book a great read.”
—RT Book Reviews, 4 stars
“This is a unique modern-day romantic suspense novel with eerie gothic tones—a well-played combination—expertly woven into the story line . . . She rode the wave of excellent writing in her first novel with the same complex writing style that easily draws the reader in.”
—Jane Austen Book Maven, 5 stars
The Happiness In Between
“The Happiness In Between overflows with the warmth, healing, and hope Greene fans know to expect in her uplifting stories.”
—Christine Nolfi, author of Sweet Lake
Wildflower Heart
“An affecting and emotionally resonant tale of love, loss, and the possibility of second chances that’s bolstered by a winsome heroine, well-drawn supporting characters, and a nuanced story full of surprising twists and turns.”
—Kirkus Reviews
“Wildflower Heart is a heartfelt story that is impossible to resist. In this poignant tale of overcoming loss, Greene magically captures the elusive essence of wildflowers and weaves it into both her characters and her setting. Highly recommended.”
—Bette Lee Crosby, USA Today bestselling author of The Summer of New Beginnings
“Grace Greene has a talent for writing engrossing, heartfelt novels, and she’s done it again with Wildflower Heart. At first glance, the book is the straightforward story of a woman recovering from a terrible tragedy, but don’t be too quick to assume you know how the plot will unfold. Unexpected twists will keep readers engaged right until the satisfying ending. This is one novel you won’t want to miss.”
—Karen McQuestion, bestselling author of Hello Love
“Beautifully crafted, Wildflower Heart is an emotionally powerful novel about healing past wounds and starting over. With the lush Virginia countryside as a backdrop, Greene explores the family secrets of a stoic father and his grieving daughter with heart and authenticity—and with surprising twists—that will have readers turning the pages long into the night.”
—Christine Nolfi, bestselling author of the Sweet Lake series
ALSO BY GRACE GREENE
Emerald Isle, NC Novels
Beach Rental
Beach Winds
Beach Wedding
“Beach Towel” (a short story)
Beach Christmas (Christmas novella)
Beach Walk (Christmas novella)
Virginia Country Roads Novels
Kincaid’s Hope
A Stranger in Wynnedower
Cub Creek
Leaving Cub Creek
Stand-Alone Novels
The Happiness In Between
The Memory of Butterflies
The Wildflower House Novels
Wildflower Heart
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Text copyright © 2019 by Grace Greene
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Published by Lake Union Publishing, Seattle
www.apub.com
Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Lake Union Publishing are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.
ISBN-13: 9781542043885
ISBN-10: 1542043883
Cover design by Caroline Teagle Johnson
Wildflower Hope is dedicated to those who grieve and overcome loss.
It is dedicated to those who struggle with emotional or physical crutches of any kind, whether self-medicating, shopping, or something else—any of the things we consume or activities in which we engage to comfort and distract ourselves, many of which are harmful to us or become harmful over time. Loss and struggle are hard but are a part of life.
This book is dedicated to those who stumble and fall but keep getting up.
This book is dedicated to those who focus on the strength of resilience and not on the stumble.
CONTENTS
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
EPILOGUE
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
AUTHOR’S NOTE
QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
PROLOGUE
My father, Henry Lange, died in June, two months after he and I moved to Wildflower House.
People speak about grief and its stages—denial, bargaining, acceptance, and so on. I don’t doubt the truth of it. In fact, it seems to me that just about anything in life, whether a disliked task or recognizing you’ve wronged someone and should make amends—or even being wronged, yet needing to be the one to forgive—goes through similar stages. We navigate and rationalize our way through life and death, and all t
he in-betweens, until the actual end, and then all the effort expended and pain endured in this life become moot because done is done.
Except for the loved ones left behind to pick up the pieces.
I wandered through the high-ceilinged, nearly empty rooms of Wildflower House, and along its wide, lonely hallways. Over and over, I found myself in my father’s room. His ashes—in a beautiful brushed-pewter urn engraved with his name and dates—stood on his dresser. Seeing the urn, and myself reflected in the mirror behind it, I couldn’t miss his hazel eyes. I had Dad’s eyes and Mom’s straight dark hair. But those were surface features. There was so much more inside me that I’d gotten from my parents. Much that was good, but also much that was not so good, including a sad lack of self-confidence, and a tendency to build walls around my heart and brain to protect myself.
Dad died in June. His hopes and secrets perished with him, but he left me with a maze of unresolved questions and with Wildflower House.
It was up to me to figure out what to do with them.
CHAPTER ONE
“Kara?”
My name echoed along the hallway.
I responded, “I’m in the kitchen.”
Nicole Albers strode into the room. She was an ageless sort of woman—slim, blonde, and always professional. She was about ten years older than me, somewhere in her early forties, but I suspected she’d looked much the same a decade ago and would into the next decade too. She was carrying a large business tote and a handful of postmarked envelopes and ad circulars. She set her tote in a chair and waved the mail in my direction before placing it on the kitchen table. “I grabbed these from your mailbox. Looks like they’ve been there for a couple of days.”
“I didn’t feel like walking down there yesterday.”
“Then drive to it. It’s not a good idea to leave the box unchecked. Someone could mess with the contents, and you’d never know anything was taken.”
I answered her concern with a dismissive look as I moved the stack to the counter. “It’s always junk mail, so I’m not likely to lose much worth keeping.”
She asked, “How are you doing?”
“I’m fine.” Not.
“How’s the project plan coming along?”
“Project plan? I know all about project plans. Did you forget I was a project manager in my previous life?”
Nicole called my bluff. “So you’ve set one up?”
“Not exactly.” I shrugged. “It’s early days. I’m still working from a handwritten list and a box of notes and samples.”
Something about Nicole looked different. It took me a second, longer look to identify what.
“You’re wearing shorts,” I said.
She glanced down and brushed her hand against her shorts and thighs. “Is it a problem?”
“No. You look great. It’s just that you’re always dressed for work—ever ready to do serious business.”
“I am ever ready, but today I’m taking the day off. I didn’t schedule a single appointment.” She looked around the room. “Where’s that box and list? I want to see where you’re at with it.”
I took a bottle of chilled fruit water from the fridge. “Thirsty?”
“Sure. Thanks.”
I poured her a glass of water. As she drank, I lifted the box of samples—the idea box—from where I’d left it in the corner. I set it on the table in front of Nicole. She irritated me. Her manner was abrupt. Abrasive. And she’d been very close to my father—a relationship from which I’d been excluded by being kept in the dark about it. But not by Nicole. It was wrong for me to hold that against her. Especially when she was using her skill, her connections as a lifelong resident of Louisa County and a longtime real estate agent, and her personal time to help me turn Wildflower House into a creative retreat.
Nicole took one look inside the box and shook her head. After a feeble show of sifting through the assorted papers, she stepped back. “You and I need to sit down together to make firm plans and set dates. Kara, you need a business plan. I can set you up with a top-notch accountant. He’ll help you run the numbers and all that.”
“I know what I need.” I was about to warn her that while I appreciated her coordinating the legal end of this project, I would drive the decision-making, when she said, “Can’t do it today, though.”
“Oh?”
Nicole tucked a stray hair behind her ear. “Maddie Lyn needs a little extra attention, so she and I are playing hooky.”
Maddie Lyn was Nicole’s niece. She was almost five. Maddie’s mom had died before I’d met any of the Albers family. Legally, Nicole was Maddie Lyn’s guardian, but Mel, Maddie’s grandmother, shouldered most of the child-raising responsibilities, all the more since Seth, Maddie’s uncle, had left a month ago.
Seth had played a major, almost parental role in her life for the last year or so—a significant impact in terms of Maddie’s young age. It was hardly surprising that his move cross-country had unsettled her.
That makes two of us. Aloud, I said, “Where is she?”
“Front porch. She has her crayons and a coloring book. I told her not to color your bench.”
“Really?”
“Sure. She’s reliable with crayons, so no worries.”
“I mean, you really left her out there alone?”
“What’s wrong with you, Kara?” Her smile was slightly chiding. “Maddie Lyn is safe on the porch and can amuse herself for a short time. If she needs me, she’ll call for me.”
“It’s hot out there.”
“It’s still morning, and it’s shady on the porch. I’m not staying long. I dropped by to find out where we’re at with the project.” Her smile dimmed. “More than that, I wanted to see how you’re doing.”
“I should ask the same of you. Are you okay?” The dark areas under her eyes seemed to be disappearing more rapidly than mine, but I didn’t make any assumptions about that. I knew Nicole had had deep feelings for my father, and I couldn’t imagine—didn’t want to imagine—the depth of her grief. She’d done her crying, as I had. But it was her nature, as it had been my father’s, to move on. Compartmentalized, someone had said of them both.
Seth. It was Seth who’d said it.
I put my hand to my heart as its beat responded to the thought of him. Seth had been my almost sweetheart before he’d left to take a job in Los Angeles. I missed him. I tightened my jaw and looked away.
As if reading my mind, Nicole said, “Have you heard from Seth?”
“He called a few nights ago. Have you spoken to him?”
“Mom did. She said he sounds good. Maybe a little homesick. But I suspect she heard what her heart wanted. He and Maddie Lyn did a video call.”
“I’m sure Maddie was delighted. I hope the job works out for him. He’s an excellent writer.” I paused, then added, “When I spoke to him, he seemed a bit swamped learning the ropes of a public relations business. I tried not to complain. I don’t want him to think he should be here, you know? Or make him feel guilty about letting us down by leaving. He needs to focus on what he’s doing out there in the new job.”
“As we’ll focus on what we’re doing here.” Nicole spoke firmly as she pulled a folder out of her tote and plopped it on the table with gusto. “Read these when you have some time. It’s information about building codes and other permitting requirements that you need to know. Tell me when you’re done, and we can discuss it in more depth.”
My heart sank. A welcome rescue came as I spied a small face peeking around the doorframe. Wispy corn silk–colored curls caught the light.
“Maddie Lyn? Is that you?” I asked.
She stepped forward with a shy smile and held out a cup with a hard plastic pink straw sticking up through the lid. I took her gesture to mean she needed a refill.
“Thirsty?” I asked. “I’ll get you some juice.”
The little girl smiled but scanned the room. She’d been here before with her Uncle Seth, so I knew she wasn’t checking out the decor. She h
anded me her cup, and I went to the fridge.
“Maddie Lyn,” Nicole said. “I asked you to please wait out front. I’ll be done super quick. Just another minute.”
“Maybe she—”
Nicole raised her hand, cutting me off with a firm smile. “Maddie Lyn, I’ll be right out. Thank Miss Kara for the juice, and please wait on the porch.”
Maddie nodded, whispered a barely audible “Thank you,” and retreated. We heard the screen door shut.
“Seriously, Kara, it’s up to the adult to be firm.” Nicole pressed her manicured fingertips together. “Consistent love and discipline. Reliable routine. These things give a child a sense of security.”
Maybe, I thought. I didn’t have any mothering experience myself. I’d almost had that chance and had lost it. But I suspected Nicole might be aiming a tad wide of her intended mark. She was great when it came to business, and she knew everyone in the county, but maternal instincts? Not so much.
I asked, “Maddie seems much quieter than usual. How’s she adjusting since Seth left?”
“That’s why we’re doing something special today. She misses him, no question.”
“He’s like a father to her. It’s not easy being left—left out or left behind—by the people you love.” I sighed.
Nicole said, “That’s true. She’s been bugging me about coming over to your house. Is she hoping she’ll find him here? Despite knowing he’s working a new job on the far side of the country? Maddie’s too young to grasp the distance. I’m sure that’s why she came into the house just now. Probably thought she’d tiptoe in and find him waiting to surprise her.”
“What the brain knows and what the heart hopes for are often different things.”
“Who knows what’s going on in someone else’s head and heart? At best, it’s a guess.” Nicole looked sad.
I empathized. She was finding it difficult to manage her four-year-old niece’s heart and expectations. Nicole was logical in the same way that my father had been—well meaning when they remembered you were there, but not natural nurturers.
“Let’s not keep her waiting. She’s eager to spend the day with you.” I moved toward the kitchen door, hoping Nicole would follow. “By the way, I’m hiring that contractor you recommended to renovate the kitchen. He’s supposed to start next week with pulling out the cabinets.”
