by Irene Hannon
But what captured his attention most were the posters. Vienna. Florence. Rome. Paris. London. Athens. As his gaze moved from one to another, he realized that these were the places he and Maggie had planned to visit together. And he realized something else, as well. He’d seen most of them, while Maggie had been confined to rural Maine, coping with responsibilities that even now her slender shoulders seemed too fragile to bear. His dream of travel had become reality; hers had remained a dream.
He looked down at her slim form silhouetted against the window, the sun forming a halo around her hair, and his throat tightened. He wished with all his heart that he could take her to all the exotic places pictured on her walls. She would love them, he knew, would be as awed as he had been on his first visit. But maybe...maybe she’d managed to see one or two, he thought hopefully.
He nodded toward the walls. “Nice posters,” he remarked casually. “Are any of them souvenirs?”
She gave him a wry smile and shook her head, dashing his hopes. “Hardly. B&B owners may cater to travelers, but they do very little traveling themselves. Especially with two girls to raise. I’ve stayed pretty close to home all these years. I expect you’ve made it to some, or all, of these spots, though.”
He nodded, trying to stem the surge of guilt that swept over him. “Yes.”
“Are they as wonderful as we...as people say?” she asked, the slightly wistful note in her voice producing an almost physical ache in his heart.
“Mmm-hmm.” He cleared his throat, but still the huskiness in his voice remained. “I’m sorry you never got to see them, Maggie.”
“Oh, but I will,” she said brightly, suddenly aware that he felt sorry for her. She didn’t want his sympathy. “I’m going to Europe right after Christmas. Actually, the trip’s been in the works for years. I decided what with the twins going away to college this fall, it was time I started a new phase of my life, as well. I’m going to close the B&B for four months and visit all the museums and take some art classes and just soak up the ambiance. It should be wonderful!”
The sudden spark of enthusiasm in her eyes lit up her face, giving it a glow that warmed his heart. “That sounds great. I know you’ll enjoy it, especially with your art background.” He nodded toward the canvases stacked around the room. “I guess I never realized just how talented you are. I remember you sketching and doing some watercolors, but not painting. I don’t know that much about art, but these look very impressive to me.”
Despite herself, Maggie was pleased by his compliment. “Thanks. I’m not that good, though. I really don’t have any formal training. But Philip—he owns a local gallery—has encouraged me. He even displays some of my work. And he’s been trying for the last year to convince me to have a show at a gallery in Bangor that’s owned by a friend of his. But I’m just not sure I’m ready for that.”
“You look ready to me,” Jake told her sincerely. There was a quality to her work, an emotion, a power, that radiated compellingly from the canvases. Even with his untrained eye he could sense it.
“Philip says so, too. But I haven’t committed to it yet.”
“Is this Philip someone whose judgment you trust?”
She nodded confidently. “Absolutely. About everything except my painting, that is. We’ve been friends for a long time, and I’m afraid he may not be completely impartial.”
An alarm bell rang in Jake’s mind. Maggie had used the term friend, but when she spoke of this Philip, the warmth and familiarity in her voice implied something more. And that possibility disturbed him. Which was wrong. He certainly had no claim on her heart. He should be glad that she’d found a male companion. Considering all the love she had to offer, Maggie wasn’t the kind of woman who should spend her life alone. But even as he acknowledged that his reaction was selfish and wrong, he couldn’t change the way he felt. The thought of Maggie in love with another man bothered him. It always had.
“Well, I think he’s right,” Jake said, biting back the question that he longed to ask her about Philip.
“We’ll see,” Maggie replied noncommittally. “So...you’re heading back to Boston. How did the interview go?”
“I’ll tell you all about it in exchange for a cup of coffee,” he bartered with a smile.
“Oh! Sure. I thought maybe you only had a few minutes.”
“I’ve got an early flight out of Boston tomorrow morning, so I’d like to get back at a reasonable hour. But I can stay for a little while,” he told her as he followed her into the large, airy kitchen.
“Flight?” she asked over her shoulder as she filled two cups.
“Rob and I are meeting at the old house. Before we put it on the market we have to sort through everything and decide what we want to keep. The rest will be sold at an estate sale.”
Maggie turned to him with a troubled frown. “This must be awfully hard on your dad.”
“I’m sure it is,” he agreed with a frown. “He’s accepted the necessity of it, though, and other than a few specific items he’s asked us to save, he’s pretty much left the disposition of everything in Rob’s and my hands.”
“That won’t be an easy job, Jake,” Maggie empathized.
Jake hadn’t really thought that far ahead. But he’d been gone from his childhood home for a long time. The emotional ties had loosened long ago. He expected he’d cope just fine. He couldn’t very well say that, though. It would sound too coldhearted somehow.
“Well, Rob and I will be doing it together. That should help,” he replied.
She placed his coffee on the table and sat down, motioning for him to join her. “So how did the interview go?”
“I guess it went well. They offered me the job.”
Her breath caught in her throat as her heart stopped, then lurched on. “So you’ll be moving to Castine?” she said carefully.
He nodded. “In about three weeks.”
Three weeks! That hardly even gave her time to adjust to the idea! “That fast?”
“Well, Rob’s in a bind. The sooner I take Dad off his hands, the better. And I think I’ll like the job a lot. I’ve been an instructor for a few classes in the navy, and I enjoy teaching. And this job will let me stay close to the sea, which is a real plus.”
His voice had grown thoughtful, and Maggie looked at him curiously while he took a sip of coffee, again struck by the sense of maturity and quiet confidence that he radiated. The high energy she remembered—exhilarating but sometimes undirected—seemed to have been tamed and channeled toward specific goals.
“So, since I had a lot of leave accumulated, I’m taking a month off while they process my discharge—to get things squared away for my new life. I found a nice two-bedroom cottage that’s available right now and signed the papers yesterday,” he finished.
“It seems like you have everything pretty much under control.”
“Logistically, yes. Dealing with my father...that’s another story.”
“Well, he’s had an awful lot to adjust to, Jake. Maybe he just needs some time.”
“Time I can give him. I’m just not sure that’s all it will take.” He glanced at his watch regretfully and drained his cup. “I’ve got to go. It’s a long drive back to Boston. But I’ll be back, Maggie. And I was hoping...well, I thought maybe we could have dinner then to finish catching up and celebrate my new job.”
She looked into warm brown eyes that, with a single glance, had once been able to fill her heart with light and hope and promise. But that was then. This was now. And she wasn’t the starry-eyed bride-to-be that she’d been twelve years ago.
And yet...sitting here with him now, she felt an awfully lot like the young girl she used to be. Which was not a good sign at all. Her best plan would be to avoid him until she straightened out the emotional tangle she’d felt ever since his reappearance.
“So what
about it, Maggie? How does a dinner celebration sound?”
She looked down and ran a finger carefully around the rim of her cup. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea, Jake.”
He didn’t respond immediately, and she refused to meet his gaze, afraid that if she did, her resolve would waver. Finally she heard him sigh, and only when he made a move to stand up did she look at him.
“Would you think about it at least?” he asked quietly. “Don’t give me an answer now. I’ll call you when I get back. And I’m sorry about interrupting your work. I’ll let myself out.”
Maggie didn’t protest. And as she watched him disappear through the door, she took a sip of her cold coffee. She had no intention of changing her mind. For one very simple reason. She wasn’t at all sure there was anything to celebrate.
Chapter Four
With a weary sigh, Jake flexed the muscles in his shoulders, then reached for yet another dusty box. Thank heavens Rob hadn’t been called back to Atlanta for that job interview until all of the big items at the house had been dealt with. Only a couple of closets remained for Jake to clean out alone. But it was slower—and more difficult—going than he’d expected.
It seemed that Maggie had been right. Even though he’d cut most of his ties with this small house and the town where he grew up, for some reason he found it surprisingly difficult to be in his childhood home for the last time. He’d come to realize that though his ties to this place were few, they were stronger than he’d suspected. The process of cutting his roots with such finality was unexpectedly unsettling.
As he and Rob pored over the old scrapbooks, sometimes laughing, sometimes lapsing into quiet, melancholy remembrance, the good days came back to Jake with an intensity that startled him. The days when they’d all lived here together under this roof, happy and content. The days when he and his dad were not only father and son, but friends.
He’d lingered longest over the faded photos. The photos of himself, flanked by his parents at high school graduation, their eyes shining with pride. Photos older still, of his dad teaching him to ride a bike and to pitch a baseball. For years, Jake hadn’t allowed himself to remember those happier times. The memories only made him sad. Though he’d denied it to himself for more than a decade, the truth was he’d always cared what his father thought about him. But he’d failed him twelve years ago, and many times since in the intervening years.
Jake sighed. He almost wished he didn’t care. It would make things easier. But he did. He still loved his father, despite the older man’s opinionated views and stubborn disposition. Not that he’d done much to demonstrate that in the last decade, he admitted. After his father’s sound rejection of his initial overtures, he hadn’t wasted time or energy on further attempts.
His mother was a different story. She had been disappointed in his choices, as well, but she’d never let that interfere with her love for him. The rift between her youngest son and husband had always caused her distress, and in her quiet way she’d tried—unsuccessfully—to bring them together on several occasions. One of her greatest disappointments was that she hadn’t lived to see a reconciliation.
Maybe his father would have softened over time if Jake had admitted he’d made a mistake. And maybe Jake would have admitted his mistake if his father’s attitude had softened a little. But instead it became a standoff. It was a shame, really, Jake thought with a pang of regret. Because as he’d grown older he’d come to realize the enormity of his betrayal in walking out on the woman he had professed to love.
Jake had considered admitting that to his father a few times through the years, but the older man had never offered him an opening. And Jake didn’t want it thrown back in his face.
Sometimes he wondered if his father harbored regrets, too. If he did, he’d never let on. Jake suspected that pride was at the root of their problem. But knowing the source didn’t necessarily suggest a solution. And dwelling on the past wasn’t helping him finish today’s job, he reminded himself.
Jake glanced at the box he had just withdrawn from the closet and was surprised to find his name written on it in his mother’s neat, careful hand. As he sifted through the contents, he realized that she had saved every letter he’d written, as well as every clipping he’d sent. He blinked rapidly to clear the sudden film of moisture from his eyes. His mother’s death had been hard on him. He missed her deeply, as well as the direct link she had provided to home. Although he’d continued to write, his father never responded. It was only through Rob that Jake kept tabs on him. He wasn’t sure if his father even opened his letters.
Suddenly Jake’s gaze fell on the clipping announcing his promotion to lieutenant two years before. His mother couldn’t have put that in the box. Nor the article about the special commendation he’d received last year, he realized, shuffling through the papers. Which only left one possibility. His father had not only opened his letters, but saved them. Which must mean he still cared.
With a suddenly lighter heart, Jake worked his way steadily through the remaining boxes, eating a hastily assembled sandwich as he made one more circuit of the house to ensure that none of the furnishings had gone untagged. Most items were to be sold. A few were to be shipped to his cottage in Maine. Everything seemed to be in order, he thought with satisfaction, as he stepped into the garage and glanced around. There really wasn’t much of value out here, certainly nothing he planned to take to Maine. Unless...
His gaze lingered on the boxes containing his father’s woodworking tools. He knew from Rob that they had lain unused since his mother’s death. But why not hang on to them, just in case? Without stopping to reconsider, Jake quickly changed the instructions on the boxes, then headed back inside.
By the end of the emotionally draining day, Jake had reached the last “box”—a small fireproof safe stored in the far corner of the closet in his parents’ bedroom, under the eaves. He read the label, written in his mother’s hand, with a puzzled frown. “Important Documents.” As far as he knew, he and Rob had already located and dealt with all the “important documents.”
But the mystery was cleared up a moment later when he opened the lid. He should have guessed the kinds of things this box would contain, knowing his mother’s definition of “important,” he thought with a tender smile. Carefully, one at time, he withdrew the items. Her own mother’s handwritten recipe for apple pie. A poem she’d clipped from the newspaper about taking time to enjoy a quiet summer night. Jake’s kindergarten “diploma.” An embossed copy of the Twenty-third psalm, given to her on her wedding day by her father. These sentimental items were his mother’s real treasures, Jake knew. These “important documents”—not expensive rings or necklaces—had been her jewels.
Every item touched his heart—but none more so than the last one. As he withdrew the single sheet of slightly yellowed paper, memories came flooding back of a hot summer day more than a quarter of a century before. The document contained few words, but as his eyes scanned the sheet he remembered with bittersweet intensity the strong emotions and deep sincerity that had produced them.
It had been a long time since that document had seen the light of day. But as he carefully replaced the paper and gently closed the lid, he hoped that its time would come again soon.
* * *
“Is Maggie here?”
The unfamiliar woman behind the desk at Whispering Sails shook her head. “No, I’m sorry. Is there something I can help you with?”
Jake sighed wearily. It had been a hectic and emotionally taxing three weeks since he’d left Maine, and he’d had a very long drive up from Boston. He should have just gone directly to his cottage in Castine and contacted Maggie tomorrow. This was obviously a wasted detour.
“No. I was just hoping to see her for a minute. I should have called first.”
The woman looked at him uncertainly. “Are you a friend of hers?”
; “Yes.” Jake wasn’t sure Maggie would agree, but from his perspective the statement was true.
“Well...then I guess it’s okay to tell you what happened. Allison was in a car accident, and Maggie’s at the hospital.”
Jake’s face blanched. “How badly is she hurt?”
“I don’t know. Maggie got the call about two hours ago, and I haven’t heard from her yet.”
“Where’s the hospital?”
The woman gave him directions, and with a clipped “Thank you,” he strode out the door and to his car. Less than a minute later he pulled out of the driveway in a spray of gravel, his foot heavy on the gas pedal, oblivious to the speed signs posted along the route.
By the time he reached the hospital, his body was rigid with tension. He scanned the emergency room quickly, but there was no sign of Maggie.
“Sir...may I help you?”
He glanced at the woman behind the desk. “I’m looking for Maggie Fitzgerald. Her niece, Allison Foster, was brought in some time ago. A car accident.”
“Oh, yes. Ms. Fitzgerald is just around the corner.” She inclined her head to the right.
“How is Allison?”
“The doctor is still with her, sir. We’ll let you know as soon as we have any word.”
He acknowledged her reply with a curt nod, then covered the length of the hall in several long strides, pausing when he reached the door to the cold, sterile waiting room. It was empty except for the lone figure huddled in one corner.
Jake’s gut clenched as he looked at Maggie’s slim form, every muscle in her body tense, her face devoid of color. He tried to swallow, but it was difficult to get past the sudden lump in his throat. How many of these kinds of crises had she endured alone, without even the reassuring clasp of a warm hand for comfort?
