Starfish Pier, page 12
“Is it curable?”
“No. Any disabilities from damage to the spinal cord and nerves are permanent. But there are treatments to help with some of the secondary problems.”
“Such as?”
“In my case, primarily surgery. My first operation, a few days after I was born, lasted eight hours. More surgeries followed to treat a variety of problems—tethered spinal cord, tendon issues, a cyst on my spine.”
He curled his fingers into his palms. “How many surgeries have you had?”
“Twelve. The last one was when I was twenty-four—six years ago. These days, I lead a mostly normal life—or try to.”
Normal?
Not even close.
Nothing about this woman’s day-to-day living had been normal.
While he’d been running track and shooting baskets and working on the fishing boat in the summer, Holly had been in the hospital having surgery or trying to recover from her latest visit to the operating room.
He’d faced major challenges in his life, but none of them came close to what she’d dealt with.
No wonder her parents fussed over her.
“Hey.” She touched the back of his hand. “It’s not as bad as it sounds. As a kid, I was able to do most of the activities my friends did. I roller-skated, rode my bike, went on campouts with my church youth group. All under the superwatchful eye of my parents, of course—which made me kind of self-conscious.” She wrinkled her nose. “These days, I struggle on occasion with walking and balance—and I avoid being the center of attention like the plague—but beyond that and a few other inconveniences, it’s all good.”
He exhaled . . . pulled his feet back . . . and rested his elbows on his knees as he studied her. “I had no idea your story was that . . . complicated.” Or that it would burrow deep inside him and wrench his heartstrings.
She lifted one shoulder. “I’ve tried to keep it quiet since I moved here. I wanted to be independent. That’s hard to manage with people hovering over you—which they tend to do after they know my background. Like my parents do. I’ve asked Mom and Dad to pull back, and they’re trying their best, but it’s difficult for them to let go.”
“I can understand that.”
“I can too. After shepherding me through all those medical procedures and devoting themselves to caring for me, I totally get why they want to do everything in their power to keep me safe.”
“But that kind of care and attention can also smother.”
“Exactly. I had a fine life in Eugene, but it had gotten kind of . . . stale. And insulated. I knew unless I shook up the status quo, nothing would ever change. So when I came across the job opening here not long after my thirtieth birthday, I applied. I didn’t expect to be chosen, but after beating out the competition, I decided this was where I was supposed to be.”
“Any regrets about moving?”
“No. There’ve been a few challenges—like dealing with yard work. That’s tougher than I expected—for me, anyway. But I’ve managed to cope, and that’s empowering.”
“How are your parents handling the separation?” After seeing the three of them together and listening to Holly’s story, it wasn’t hard to predict her answer.
She sighed. “They call every day—multiple times—and come down frequently. I know they miss me, and that’s a major guilt trip. In fact, there are days it makes me second-guess my choice.”
He knew all about the heavy burden of guilt and second-guessing.
But hers wasn’t deserved.
“I’m sure they appreciate your desire for independence. I didn’t pick up anything but love in the few minutes I spent with them.”
“They’ve always wanted what’s best for me—but they’re having difficulty letting go. I’m hoping once they see I’m capable of surviving on my own they’ll worry less about me.”
“So what prompted you to shake things up at this point—aside from turning thirty?” He’d be willing to bet there had been more of a precipitating incident than a milestone birthday and a vague discontent with her life.
She regarded the two snuggling seagulls, the faint parallel lines on her forehead deepening as the silence between them lengthened.
Just when he thought she was going to shut down, she spoke again, her voice subdued. “I dated a guy from church for close to a year. It got serious, and I began to think a proposal was in the offing. But it didn’t work out. Getting involved with someone who has SB can be . . . messy. And difficult.”
Steven narrowed his eyes.
Some guy had seriously dated her knowing she had health issues, only to get cold feet and dump her?
Anger began to simmer in his gut.
This woman deserved better than that.
Relationships could be messy and difficult even between people with normal health. But if you loved someone, you didn’t bail. You worked through problems, discussed them, dealt with the challenges together and—
Hypocrite.
As the well-deserved rebuke smacked his conscience, he winced.
Given his track record, he fell into the same camp as her boyfriend.
She peeked his direction, and he curbed the impulse to spew out a negative comment about her ex. That would be disingenuous. Best to keep it simple—and sincere.
“I’m sorry, Holly.”
And he was—about a lot of things.
“I kind of expected it all along, to be honest. Anyone who gets involved with me would have to be willing to put up with a bunch of hassles. Too many for most people. I mean, I could marry, have children—but there would have to be . . . accommodations.”
“That should be par for the course in any marriage.”
She cocked her head, apparently picking up on nuances he hadn’t intended to communicate. “That sounds like experience talking.”
Not territory he’d intended to venture into today—but after all she’d told him, he should be upfront about that piece of his past, at least.
“I’ve been married. My wife died.” He stood, cutting off any further conversation on the topic.
She gave a slight gasp at his abrupt move—but recovered quickly and pushed herself to her feet. For an instant she faltered, but he restrained the urge to grab hold of her. Acting like her parents would not endear him to her.
And until he’d had a chance to digest everything she’d told him, decide if he should let their relationship progress beyond the casual acquaintance stage, he didn’t want to jinx himself.
“I’m sorry about your loss.”
Her gentle sympathy was more than he deserved.
“Thanks.” He swallowed past the lump in his throat and tried for a dispassionate tone. “She’s been gone four years, so I’ve learned to deal with the grief.” He motioned toward the parking area. “I’ll walk you back to your car.”
“No need. Stay awhile if you want.”
“I’m ready to go. I came to see the tide pools, and they’re disappearing.” After giving the rocks that were still visible above the water a quick scan, he refocused on her. “But the treasure beneath the surface was worth the trip.”
She looked up at him, and he locked gazes with her. Willed her to realize he was talking about more than the secrets the tide pools had revealed. That he appreciated how she’d opened up to him—even if he wasn’t willing to reciprocate.
Her lips parted slightly as she searched his face, and the tiniest hitch in her breathing gave him his answer.
Message received.
Dipping her chin, she made a project out of removing the band from her hair, stowing it in her jacket, and retrieving her keys.
When she lifted her head, she seemed to have regained control of her emotions—though the tiniest tremble in her fingers betrayed her.
“Shall we?” He indicated the far end of the beach.
He fell in beside her as she trekked down the hard-packed sand, shoving his hands in his pockets so he wouldn’t succumb to the urge to take her arm.
At the small, loose-packed dune that led to the cars, however, she paused.
“May I offer an arm here?” He crooked an elbow.
“Thanks. I managed to cross this earlier, but it wasn’t pretty.”
It wasn’t pretty going back, either. Sand wasn’t easy to walk on for anyone—especially uphill. For Holly, it required a major effort.
If he wasn’t 100 percent certain she’d object, he’d sweep her into his arms and carry her across.
By the time they reached the cars, she was winded.
“Sorry.” She tucked her hair behind her ear. “Shifting sand and SB don’t mix.”
“You got through it. That’s what counts.”
“With a little help from a friend.” She unlocked her door and brushed remnants of sand off her slacks. “Thanks for the tour out there.” She pointed toward the sea. “If you hadn’t come along, I’d have chickened out after a few more steps and missed a fantastic show.”
“You can thank Charley for my opportune arrival. I hadn’t planned to come out here today until he reminded me about the tide pools while I was at the stand buying tacos.”
“Must have been fate.”
Or something more.
God might not have much interest in him these days, but perhaps he’d been watching out for Holly on the treacherous rocks. If ever there was a woman who deserved special blessings and graces, she was it.
“Whatever the reason, I’m glad I had company.” He opened her door for her. “Enjoy the rest of your day.”
“I’ll try—but I think the best part is over.”
Leaving that enigmatic remark hanging in the air, she slid behind the wheel, started the engine, and backed out. After executing a U-turn, she drove away.
For a long while after her taillights disappeared, Steven remained where he was, mulling over her last remark.
Had she meant the best part of her day was seeing the tide pools—or spending an hour with him?
Based on the undercurrent of electricity thrumming between them—and her willingness to tell him her story—his money was on the latter.
And he’d sent her several signals that he’d enjoyed their impromptu excursion too.
Not smart.
Exhaling, he leaned back against the jeep and folded his arms.
The two of them wouldn’t be a good match—for reasons unrelated to the disability that had been the kiss of death in her previous relationship.
This stumbling block was with him.
For despite the medals he’d won overseas for bravery, he was no hero. Nor was he worthy of a woman like Holly. Given the odds she’d overcome and all she’d gone through to achieve a normal life, she was the real hero.
No way did she deserve to be hurt by another man—a likely outcome if he caved and asked her out.
And that wouldn’t be fair to her.
Maybe he couldn’t change the past or redeem the mistakes from his marriage, but he could ensure no other woman was ever again hurt by his insensitivity.
Meaning it would be dead wrong to encourage the interest of someone who would run the other direction if she knew his history.
It wouldn’t be easy to walk a wide circle around Holly, but that was the honorable course.
He pushed off from the car and opened his door.
Besides, now that he was making progress in his relationship with his brother, that had to be his priority. He’d come here to help Patrick, not pursue a romance. Getting involved with a woman would only distract him.
Even if a certain teacher with sparkling hazel eyes was already playing havoc with his concentration.
11
Why was Patrick’s car in the driveway at four o’clock on a workday?
As Cindy swung in behind her husband’s Focus, a tingle of worry rippled through her. His shift at the mill didn’t end for half an hour, and he was supposed to pick up Beatrice from the sitter and Jonah from aftercare while she cooked dinner.
Only once before in their marriage had he come home early, after an accident at the mill had resulted in a dozen stitches.
Had there been another mishap?
Pulse accelerating, she jammed the brake to the floor, yanked her keys out of the ignition, and dashed toward the house.
The back door opened as she reached the stairs to the stoop.
“I’ve been watching for you.” Patrick moved aside so she could enter.
She ran up the steps but stopped on the threshold to give him a quick scan.
There were no visible bandages, cuts, bruises, or plaster casts.
That was a positive sign.
Yet the charged vibes in the air spelled trouble.
“What’s wrong?”
“Come on in. We can talk over there.” He motioned toward the kitchen table, where a cup of tea was steeping with her favorite, soothing chamomile blend.
Her heart picked up speed again. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
“Not out here.” He took her arm and gently tugged her inside, closing the door behind her. “Let’s sit.”
Whatever he was about to tell her was bad.
Maybe she should sit.
After depositing her purse on the counter, she crossed to the table, dropped into her chair—and braced.
Patrick retrieved a mug from the microwave and joined her, gripping it with both hands when the coffee inside sloshed close to the edge.
Panic bubbled up inside her. “Did the mill close?” Hard to believe, after four generations of Fishers at the helm. But stranger things had happened.
“No.” Patrick took a sip of coffee, set the mug down on the table, and stared into the dark depths. “But I’ve been laid off.”
Laid off.
The message registered . . . but it didn’t compute.
“I-I don’t understand.” She rubbed her forehead, trying to make sense of the news. “You were just promoted four months ago—and you have more tenure than most of the employees. If they had to lay off people, why would they include you?”
A muscle twitched in his cheek, and he slowly lifted his head. “There weren’t any other layoffs. I was the only one.”
“The only one?” She gaped at him. “Why would they—”
As understanding dawned, the question died in her throat.
His drinking had caught up with him at last.
“Oh, Patrick.” She wrapped her cold fingers around the ceramic mug to warm them as a million questions—and worries—tumbled through her mind. “What happened?”
“I made a few mistakes on the line. They talked to several of the guys and put two and two together.” He laid his hand on her arm, his fingers as icy as hers. “I’ll make this right, Cindy. I promise. As long as I see a counselor and they’re confident I’ve got this under control, they’ll let me come back in six weeks.”
“Are you willing to do that? See a counselor?”
“Yes. I called this afternoon and set up an appointment.”
At least there was one constructive outcome from this experience. Plus, her prayer had been answered—no one had gotten hurt in the wake-up call.
But how were they supposed to feed the kids and pay the bills for the next six weeks? Her major car repair last month and the trips to the urgent care center for Jonah’s asthma episodes had eaten up their meager cash reserve.
“I can try to get a few more hours at the Myrtle—but they don’t need another full-time employee.” Her temples began to throb. “We don’t have enough money saved to tide us over.”
“I’ll do my best to hustle up odd jobs around town.”
“You need to focus on detox.”
“I can’t do that twenty-four hours a day. I have to find something else to occupy myself. A few odd jobs will help fill in the gaps. And I can work on the cannon project too. I talked to the city manager today, and Marci at the Herald. They were both interested in the idea of finding a public home for it here.” His Adam’s apple bobbed. “I’m sorry, Cindy. I never meant for it to come to this.”
“I know.” Yet this day had been inevitable. People on a downward spiral eventually hit bottom.
The scariest part was, some of them stayed there—despite their best intentions to lick the problem.
Would her husband be one of them?
“It’ll be okay.” He squeezed her arm. “As long as you stick with me, we’ll get through this.”
At the fear lurking in his eyes, a ripple of shock shuddered through her.
Was he actually afraid she’d leave him?
“Patrick—we took vows. Through better or worse. I meant them. If you’re serious about beating this, we’ll figure out a way to manage for six weeks.”
“I’m serious.” He rubbed the tip of his index finger across a scratch in the oak table. “I went up to the lighthouse today after they let me go. I sat there for hours, thinking. And I realized that if everyone—my family and the people at work—is convinced I have a drinking problem, it’s possible I do.” He swallowed. “To be honest, that kind of freaks me out. I mean . . . drinking killed my dad—and he took Mom with him.”
“But he never admitted he had a problem. Taking that step is huge.” She picked up her tea, downed a soothing sip, and broached a subject sure to be touchy. “You know, I bet Steven would be willing to help us out with a small loan if our funds run low.”
Patrick’s face reddened. “I don’t want to ask my brother for money.”
“It would only be a short-term loan.”
“He may not have any excess cash either.”
“More than us, I expect. His charter business keeps him busy, and I doubt he had much opportunity to spend money during his military career overseas. It may be worth asking.”
“Let’s see how we do on our own first.”
“Okay.” No sense pushing the issue if Patrick wasn’t receptive. Besides, the day could come when they had no choice. “You may want to tell him about the layoff tonight, though. Hope Harbor is a small town, and the grapevine is active. This isn’t the kind of news a family member wants to get secondhand.”
