The Wall Street Journal? She'd sent that particular department a query, weeks and weeks and weeks ago, after she'd first lost her job. It was a long shot, a friend of a friend of a colleague who had an email address for an editor, and she'd heard nothing in response. It wasn't surprising. Editors were busy people, and received plenty of unsolicited queries.
Part time? She couldn't afford to live on that. But if it were temporary, she could maybe figure out a living situation in New York. Way too far to commute regularly. Or, she could crash on someone's couch during the week, and drive home to Virginia for the weekend.
“Hello? Do I get a thank-you? Your everlasting appreciation? Naming your firstborn after me?”
She laughed at his zany candor. “Thank you, Ty. Thank you. Really. I've been trying my hand at some sewing projects here, but I miss the writing very much. I miss the energy, the creativity. Always something going on. Not that nothing happens here. It's just. . .different.” She didn't think she could explain it to him in a way he'd understand.
“Well, if you get a call, it'll be soon. So keep your phone charged down there, in the sticks.”
Karyn rolled her eyes, but smiled. “Thanks, Ty. I appreciate it.”
“Good night, Karyn.”
“G'night.” She ended the call and set the phone down. Then she paced the cottage floor. These past weeks, her little refuge here had become her world. But, the Wall Street Journal? She knew her cover letter and resume' were both up-to-date. She had her best clips organized and ready to attach to her application packets. She was thankful she'd had the presence of mind to be collecting her writing samples, long before her job went south.
“Oh, Lord, what do I do?” She studied the sewing machine, the riots of colored fabric now transformed into sarongs, small, medium, large, and plus-sized. Marge at the Seashell Boutique said with the thousands of tourists converging on the island for the annual pony penning, Karyn's unique sarongs should sell like proverbial hotcakes.
She'd already made plans to copyright her design with what savings she could. If this idea turned into something bigger than she imagined, she wanted to protect her design.
But now, a chance to possibly return to what she had before? Her old life back?
Yet she thought of all she'd gained here.
“Please, Lord, show me the way.”
Chapter 7
Brodie felt the stares as soon as the three of them hopped out of his truck late Saturday afternoon at the shore. Trista strode on one side of him. She carried a bowl of Jell-O salad they'd whipped together the night before. But on the other side of him, Karyn walked along, carrying a tossed salad that looked fancier than the bagged salads he and Trista usually ate.
Nobody asked him about Jenny, though, for which he was grateful.
“Hey, good to see you, man.” Chief Butcher grinned, clapping him on the shoulder. “And this is. . .?”
“Karyn Lewis.” Karyn extended her hand to Chief, and they shook.
“Ah, your family used to live here, right?”
“That's right. I'm back for the summer, at least.” Did she hesitate at those words, or was it Brodie's imagination?
“Glad to have you here. So I heard you're a writer?”
Karyn darted a quizzical glance at Brodie. He shrugged. He hadn't said much about her to them. Probably someone else had.
“Yes, I'm sort of on a hiatus right now, but I am a writer.”
“Well, the newspaper told us they're shorthanded next week, and we really want a local person writing about the penning and such. Do you have a business card or something I can pass along?”
“Not with me, but yes, I have business cards.”
Brodie found himself at that moment wanting Karyn to stay, not just for the summer, but to make Virginia her permanent home. He couldn't ask her that. Whatever was happening between them, he didn't know where it would go. Not yet.
Then they piled into the group of volunteer fire fighters and their family members. Karyn didn't look stiff as a board, or uncomfortable other than at that first introduction. Most of them remembered that life-changing emergency call. But hers wasn't the only one over the years, and like Brodie, the others considered it part of their job. Helping people. Saving them, regardless if it was their own bad choices that got them into the situation.
He tried not to worry about Trista, who'd run off with her friends there. Eating, joking, then volleyball ensued for some, along with horseshoes, washers, and lots of bragging. Karyn held her own in the mixed volleyball game. She had a decent serve that she sent soaring across the net straight at him.
At last, the sun began its descent toward the horizon and they gathered around at the outdoor pavilion to eat again. Eat and play, play and eat. They worked hard enough, for sure.
“Having a good time?” Brodie asked Karyn at last.
“Best afternoon in a while. I like your friends.” She smiled at him, then gazed across the sand. Someone had just lit the tiki torches, and the aroma of citronella filled the air.
“I'm sure they like you, too.” He gestured toward the nearby walkway to the beach. “Want to ditch them for a while?”
“Sure.” Again, was that a flicker of hesitation?
They ambled along, the sand still-warm under their feet. Brodie slipped his arm around her waist, and she didn't pull away. A good sign.
The wind whipped against them, and a seagull soared overhead, then joined a group on the sand. They skittered away from the incoming tide.
The water whooshed over Brodie's and Karyn's feet. She gasped. “Oh, why is that so cold? “ Then she laughed.
“I like hearing your laugh. I forgot how pretty it is.”
At that, her sun-tinged cheeks bloomed redder. “Thank you.” She smiled up at him and leaned closer as they walked. Some daylight still remained, shining to the west of them, lighting the surf with a glow.
He glanced back toward the group. They were far enough away. He stopped then pulled Karyn closer still, within the circle of his arms.
She didn't pull away, but tipped her head a little so she could look up at him. “Brodie.”
He couldn't help himself. He lowered his mouth to hers, felt his pulse roaring in his ears. She molded against him, reaching her hands up to snake her fingers through his hair as the kiss deepened.
The kiss ended with her soft laugh. She shook her head. “I. . .”
He couldn't recall Karyn Lewis ever being at a loss for words, and so he kissed her again. “I've wanted to do that for a while now,” he said when the second kiss ended.
“I know. Me too.”
He pulled her close and let her lean against him. “I know you might not stay. I know this could only be temporary.”
She nodded with her head on his chest. “I was going to tell you tonight. I might have a job offer coming. I'm not for certain yet. But. . .I don't know what to do.”
“Well, pray about it, and don't worry about it tonight.”
# #
“Don't worry about it tonight,” he said. Karyn tried to process that while she remembered to breathe. Everything felt so right at this moment, when she didn't think about anything else. But she did need to think. And pray, too, like he suggested.
“I'll do my best not to.”
But how could she think when he kissed her again? During this time with Brodie, getting to know him all over again, short time though it was, she'd seen the very real possibility of falling hard for him.
His first kiss had been insistent, full of longing. This one was sweeter, gentler. When he pulled back this time, his voice held a gravely tone.
“I don't know what's going to happen, but whatever does, I want us to work on it together.” He caressed her hair which had come loose from its ponytail.
“All right.”
“Daddy!”
They both jumped, turned to face Trista, who'd come running up.
“What is it, Punkin?”
“They're bringing the ponies in soon.” H
er face lit up brighter than Christmas lights.
“I know. We're going to drive them through town.”
“Chief said I can help once you get them all in the pens.”
“That's great. I'll talk to him about that.” He had to smile at Trista's enthusiasm.
He and Karyn walked hand in hand toward her. The gesture felt natural, comfortable, with prickles of the electricity they'd both felt moments ago. She glanced at the man beside her. Yep, he still felt it too.
But she knew attraction alone wasn't enough to keep a relationship going. She and Tyler had a good relationship, the only she'd had while living in the city.
With Brodie, she knew time had passed, and they were basically getting to know each other again, yet with none of the tap-dance.
Trista chattered away as she walked with them. “I've already got things figured out. I am going to talk to Ms. Fay about letting me work to earn the pony, if they pay for it.”
Ah, a kid's logic. “Honey, I don't think it'll work that way. Ponies are expensive,” Brodie said.
“Everything's expensive. I want a pony more than anything else in the world, and all everyone tells me is no, no, no.” She skittered away from them and reached the group gathered on the beach.
“I want to make her understand.” He huffed out a deep breath. “Her other grandparents, Megan's parents, might be able to chip in, but that's a lot of money for one family to shell out. Nugget's a pretty little pony and I'd hate to start bidding and then have to stop.”
Karyn sighed. “Do you really have room for a pony?”
“We do. Just enough. I think the experience of having a pony would be good for her confidence.”
“She seems pretty confident already.” Karyn didn't want to let go of his hand as they reached the group.
“I know. Part of that is she is always the one to speak firsts. But having a routine of caring for a pony would be good for her. Maybe we should start simple, with a cat, or goldfish.”
“I don't think she'll like either of those substitutes.”
A few of Brodie's fellow volunteers were talking beside a bonfire someone had just lit. Glances as she approached weren't subtle and were definitely informative. The subject of the Megan Brooks and Karyn Lewis's car accident and fatality filtered through the air.
Trista stood nearby with her group of young friends, but at the low sound of her mother's name, she swung around and listened. Her features fell, then her brow furrowed as she narrowed her eyes and looked at Karyn.
“It's your fault my mommy died?” She clamped her hand over her mouth, then removed it, her lips opened wide as she inhaled. “I hate you, and I never want to see you again. Ever!”
Trista ran past them, then up and over the dune. Brodie pulled his hand away from Karyn, then followed in the direction Trista had fled.
Karyn closed her eyes. Hadn't enough people hurt because of what had happened? Evidently Brodie hadn't told Trista much, and this was the worst way she could imagine for the young girl to find out.
Chapter 8
Brodie and Trista left the barbecue. Karyn, it seems, had called Fay for a ride back to the campground.
Apologies had been given. The blame, though, really rested on him. They drove along the now-dark roadway toward town. Trista's occasional sniffle was the only thing that broke the silence.
She knew her mother had died, not long before she was born. It had been enough for her to know that much, when he had decided she was old enough to know why she didn't have a mother like other children. He'd told her the basics, there'd been an accident, her mother had severe brain trauma and wasn't expected to live, and her parents had made the decision to remove her from life support.
He'd made his own fateful decision at age nineteen to tell the doctors to save his daughter, after hearing in the waiting room about Megan's condition. His parents vowed to help him in whatever way they could.
Trista spoke, at last.
“How could you kiss her? The one who made my mommy die?” Now, more tears came in earnest. He wished she was old enough to ride up front, so he could put his arm around her and let her cry.
“We do need to talk about this, and I'll tell you more than I did when you were smaller. Since we missed dessert, we'll stop at Tastee Cone for ice cream. Does that sound okay to you?”
“Yes. Can I have one with sprinkles?”
“Sure.”
He pulled off at the Tastee Cone a mile or so down the road, and they stayed in the truck to eat their cones. He let her sit up front beside him. Good old Tastee Cone soft serve, a holdout from his childhood. All the while, he prayed inwardly for the words to soothe his daughter's heart.
“This story is really Karyn's and your mother's to tell. But I'll tell it to you. I wasn't there that night. They went to spend time with some friends, and I didn't go. Your mother and I, well, we'd had an argument. What about isn't important now.
We only had the summer before we all started college. Karyn was moving to New York and your mother and I were going to start at Salisbury State.”
At least that had been the plan. He didn't know if she'd changed her plans about college when she discovered she was pregnant, and would wait until after she had the baby. Trista. He shook his head and licked his cone. Most fathers had time to prepare. He'd had mere moments to say, “Please, try to save the baby.”
The best decision of his life.
Since Trista still kept eating her ice cream, he continued.
“They were heading home one Saturday night in June, a few weeks after graduation. Someone said Karyn might have been speeding, reaching for her phone, or both. No matter what, the car slid on some gravel, and flipped.”
“Oh. Well, it's her fault, then. Why didn't she go to jail? People who make people die should go to jail.”
He sighed. Some things weren't always so clear-cut. “First, your mother wasn't wearing her seatbelt. She would forget to do that, a lot. If she'd been wearing it, she probably wouldn't have been thrown from the car. The accident hurt her brain too much for her to live, so the hospital kept her alive until they could get you out. You're our miracle baby.”
“But what about Miss Karyn? Did she get hurt?”
“Yes. Both of her legs were broken and she had a bad bump on her head. As soon as she was safe enough to move, her parents moved her away where she could get help at closer to their new home, near Washington, D.C. Grandma and Grandpa Brooks told the court not to send her to jail. Instead, the judge let her do community service.”
He waited again, and Trista said nothing more. She began to crunch on the cone, as did Brodie.
“But you like her. A lot.”
“I do. Very much. We were all very, very good friends when we were younger. I'm glad she's my friend now.”
“Friends don't kiss and hug like that.”
He'd never gotten a response quite like this about Jenny, even though Trista didn't particularly like her.
“No, I like her more than a friend, like a girlfriend.”
“But. . .people who wreck cars and hurt people are mean. And Miss Karyn's not mean. But she hurt someone. . .”
Ah. So that was the problem. Not only did her beloved Miss Karyn hurt someone, it was also Trista's own mother.
“Oh, Daddy. I want to stay mad at her. But I really like Miss Karyn, too.” Trista let out a sob, and flung herself on his shoulder.
He rubbed her back, then took a bite of his cone before continuing. “I know. I was mad at her. But I had you to think about. You were in the hospital a long, long time.”
“A preemie.”
“Me being mad wasn't going to bring your mother back. It still hurts inside sometimes, when I think about her not seeing you now, growing up, learning all kinds of things.”
“Grandpa says maybe God lets people have a telescope in Heaven, so they can see us sometimes.”
“Maybe. I don't really know. That would be nice, though.” He ate the last bite of his cone.
T
rista sat upright, then leaned out the open window and gazed up at the night sky. “Dear God, please tell my mommy hi for me. Let her know I'm okay, and tell her about Nugget. If You can help me get Nugget somehow, that would be great. But if not I will try to be thankful. Amen.”
The prayer both made him smile and fight away burning tears at the same time.
“That was a good prayer, Punkin.” He mussed the top of her hair. “You ready to go? You feeling any better? I'm sorry you found out this way.”
She nodded. “I'm ready to go.”
# #
“Oh, Aunt Fay. It was awful.” Karyn shook her head. “I can't imagine what a horrible shock it must have been for her.”
They sat on the front porch of Yellow Cottage. Aunt Fay had heated water for two cups of chamomile tea, no matter that it was a humid late July evening.
“Ah, surely it was a shock for her. Have you talked to Brodie since?”
“No. I called you to come get me. The fire crew and their families are nice, really. I do like them. But it felt like me-against-the-world, and all I wanted was to leave.” Karyn pinched the bridge of her nose. “I could have stayed, I guess. But she was so upset, I figured me being there wouldn't help. And maybe they needed to talk, just them.”
“He's done a good job with her, though. In spite of all the obstacles.”
“In spite of the hole of Megan not being here.” She tried not to sigh.
“Trista will always miss her mother, and yes, Megan did leave a hole.” Fay slipped her arm around Karyn. “Honey, if it's one thing I've learned, there is no hole someone leaves that Almighty God cannot fill, if we but let Him. Filling that hole doesn't mean they don't matter anymore, that we don't miss them, that it doesn't hurt sometimes. It's when the missing times come, because you know they do, kind comfort from above pours down.”
Karyn shed a few more tears, for missing her friend, and all the “could-have-beens” that Megan missed out on. No rewind or reverse button. She'd given up on that a long time ago.
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