Starfish Pier, page 22
“When is this assignment due?”
“Tuesday. I was gonna work on it this weekend.”
“I’ll tell you what. I’ll give your dad my email address, and if he’ll take four or five pictures with his phone, I can try to identify what you find.”
“I ’spose that would work.” But Jonah didn’t sound convinced. “It would be easier if you came over, though.” His brow wrinkled and he pushed the cookie crumbs on the table into a tiny pile. “I could maybe pretend you were my grandpa for a while. All my friends have grandpas.”
Pete’s throat clogged at the indirect compliment, but he cleared it at once and mashed his lips together. Sentiment had no place in his life anymore.
“People do all kinds of things by email these days.” He squinted out the window at Patrick. Near as he could estimate, the man wouldn’t finish for another hour.
How did you entertain a first-grader for sixty minutes?
Patrick had said the boy could watch one of the DVDs he’d brought—but kids spent too many of their waking hours in front of a screen as it was.
“You know any card games?” Pete refilled his coffee cup.
“Crazy Eights. Mom and Dad and me play sometimes.”
“Want to teach it to me?” He felt around in one of the drawers for the deck of cards he’d brought with him from Utah but had never used.
“Sure. It’s easy.” Jonah launched into an explanation about the finer points of the game.
They were still at it an hour later as Patrick wrapped up the job outside and joined them after a brief knock on the door.
“Hey, Dad. I taught Mr. Wallace to play Crazy Eights.”
“Who’s been winning?” Patrick grinned and walked over to Beatrice.
“Me.”
“Sorry, Pete. I raised a card shark.” He bent to stroke a finger down his daughter’s cheek. “Everything okay in here?”
“Beatrice pooped.” Jonah gathered up the cards as they finished their hand.
Patrick headed for the diaper bag. “I’ll take care of her and we’ll—”
“Mr. Wallace already changed her.” Jonah tapped the cards into a neat stack. “I watched. He did real good.”
Pete stood, the corners of his mouth twitching. “I’m a fast learner.”
Dismay flattened Patrick’s features. “I didn’t expect you to do diaper duty. You should have called me.”
“You were busy. I coped. And I was rewarded for my efforts with an expert lesson on Crazy Eights.”
“He learned it real fast, Dad. Did you know he used to work with plants?”
Patrick angled toward him, and Pete took the cards from Jonah. “I was a landscaper.”
“Our garden club here could use your expertise.”
There was no way to remind Patrick he wouldn’t be here long without raising Jonah’s antennas, so he let it pass.
“I asked him if he could help me with my school project.” Jonah jumped back into the conversation. “You know, the one about backyard plants? He said maybe you could take pictures and email them to him.” Jonah’s eyes brightened. “But I have a better idea!” He swiveled around. “Why don’t you come and eat with us tomorrow and I can show you our yard?”
The invitation seemed to surprise Patrick as much as it did him . . . but the other man wasted no time seconding it.
“I think that would be great. I know how to cut grass and trim trees, but I can’t tell one flower—or weed—from another. Neither can my wife. This project will require serious research on our part. If you could help Jonah out, you’d earn our undying gratitude—and a delicious meal. Cindy may not be a gardener, but she’s a wonderful cook.”
“Yeah! Mom makes the best desserts ever!”
As the two Roarks waited for his answer, the automatic refusal that formed on his lips died.
A home-cooked meal would be a treat after all the frozen dinners he’d ingested over the past three years.
Strange, but since he’d eaten that taco Holly had brought him, long-absent hunger pangs were beginning to return.
Why not accept? It was only one evening. A couple of hours, max. After that, he could retreat into his cave.
Or not.
Throwing away what little life he had left could be a mistake. Being around people like Holly and Patrick and Jonah—even baby Beatrice—could brighten his final days.
“I was partial to tasty desserts in my day.”
“Does that mean you’re coming?” Jonah’s expression was hopeful.
“Yes.”
“Awesome!”
“My sentiments exactly.” Patrick grinned and began gathering up all his paraphernalia.
Pete helped him, then walked the trio to the door.
Five minutes later, with the children secured in the car and Jonah calling another enthusiastic good-bye out the window, he waved and watched the car roll down Sea Rose Lane.
Only after it disappeared did he amble back inside.
As he passed the urn on the coffee table, he rested a hand on top. “It seems I have a dinner engagement, Sal.”
She didn’t respond in words, of course—but a warmth enveloped him. A sense of her presence . . . and approval.
It was a buoyant feeling.
But it wouldn’t last.
Because his ultimate plan hadn’t changed . . . even if it was somehow beginning to feel wrong.
19
She was not going to run after any man—even if Steven had gotten under her skin.
Holly closed her hymnal and watched the Roark clan out of the corner of her eye as they exited a pew on the other side of Grace Christian and filed down the side aisle.
Steven didn’t look her direction.
Not once.
If she’d harbored any hopes that his failure to return to the porch yesterday at the Helping Hands project hadn’t been personal, his stoic, head-forward departure quashed them.
He wanted nothing more to do with her.
Spirits diving, she gathered up her purse and sweater and stood as Cindy peeled off from the rest of her family, who continued toward the back, and cut through a pew to join her.
“Morning, Holly.”
“Hi.” She tried to call up a smile—and ignore Steven’s broad back disappearing toward the rear of church.
“I know you’ve taken your neighbor under your wing, and I wanted to let you know he and Patrick hit it off.”
“Steven implied that yesterday. I’m glad.”
“I can see why you’re concerned about him.” Cindy lowered her volume and leaned closer. “Pete shared his plan with Patrick yesterday, and gave him permission to tell me. He said you already knew.”
A surprising development, considering Pete had sworn her to secrecy.
“I thought he wanted to keep that under wraps.”
“I don’t think he intends to announce it in the Herald, but I suppose he doesn’t mind a few people knowing. Anyway, Patrick’s convinced that if he had a support system here, he might rethink his decision.”
“I came to the same conclusion. That’s one of the reasons I introduced the two of them. The more people he gets to know, the more involved he becomes in the community, the more likely he’ll realize he has other options. I told him he’d be welcome here at Grace Christian too, but he didn’t bite.”
“Church attendance could come. In the meantime, Patrick invited him to dinner tonight, and he accepted.”
Another bit of news to brighten her day. “That’s wonderful!”
“I agree. Since he knows you, I wondered if you’d like to join us too. It can’t hurt to have a few familiar faces around the table. He may feel more comfortable—and be open to a repeat invitation.”
God bless Cindy for her kindness. But . . .
“Are you certain you don’t mind another mouth to feed?” With money tight, every dollar could matter for the Roarks.
“We’re not having a fancy meal, and I always make a huge pot of stew. We’ll have leftovers whether you come or not.”
“If you’ll let me contribute to the dinner, I’ll be happy to join you. Could I bring dessert?”
Cindy grinned. “Jonah already promised Pete I’d provide that—but how about bread or rolls or biscuits to go with the stew? Would that be too much trouble?”
“Not at all. My mom’s biscuit recipe is super. I’ll whip up a batch and we can pop them in the oven at the last minute at your house. Give me a time and an address.”
After they worked out the details, Cindy continued toward the rear of the church.
Holly waited a few extra minutes in case the family had lingered in the vestibule, and when she left at last, none of the Roarks were in sight.
Good. After yesterday’s encounter, it was too soon to cross paths with Steven again.
Especially after he’d ignored her for the past hour.
“Holly! Happy to see you. How’s the wrist coming along?” Reverend Baker extended a hand as she approached the exit.
“Improving.” She returned his firm shake.
“Thank you for honoring your commitment to Helping Hands yesterday despite your injury.”
“I was happy to pitch in. The organization does excellent work.”
“I couldn’t agree more. I also wanted to commend you on that piece you wrote for the Herald about the cannon. It was very thought-provoking.”
“I don’t know.” She sighed. “It seems to have created a ton of controversy. People on both sides of the issue are up in arms—pardon the pun. A town meeting is going to be scheduled in the next couple of weeks.”
“Controversy isn’t always bad. It can force us to think about moral issues we too often gloss over. You may have done a public service by taking a stand.”
“What’s your opinion on the cannon?”
The minister linked his fingers behind his back and pursed his lips. “It’s still in formation. Hope Harbor is such a haven of peace. I’d hate to see that disrupted. I know we can’t ignore the violence and evil in the world, but I’m not certain we have to have a reminder of it staring us in the face every day.”
More congregants joined them, cutting the conversation short, and after a quick good-bye, Holly continued toward her car.
Outside, the sun had broken through the earlier mist, and the warmth lifted her spirits.
The situation with Steven might be a bust, but at least her minister wasn’t offended by her write-up on the cannon—and even saw some merit in it. Plus, Pete had agreed to have dinner with Patrick and Cindy and their children—suggesting he was rethinking his reclusive ways. If they continued to interact with him, convince him he had a support system, it was possible he’d also reconsider his decision and leave God in control of his destiny.
But that would take time—and the clock was ticking.
She could only pray he’d see the light before his health worsened and he took the final, fatal step that had prompted his move to a town filled with strangers who wanted to be his friends—and who were already his brothers and sisters in the Lord.
“Why are there six place settings?” As the number of plates registered, Steven stopped filling the water glasses and angled toward Cindy.
In the background, Patrick’s expression grew sheepish, and he slipped into the kitchen.
Bad vibes began to ripple through him. The kind that had always sensitized his nerve endings in the presence of danger.
“We’re having other company today besides you.” Cindy set salt and pepper shakers on the table, her manner breezy. As if the other guests were of no consequence.
But they were. He could sense it.
“Since when?”
“Since yesterday for one, this morning for the other. Don’t worry. There’s plenty of food.” She smoothed a wrinkle in the tablecloth and turned to go.
“Wait.” Executing a fast maneuver, he stepped in front of her. “Who’s coming?”
She arched an eyebrow at him. “You have an issue with us extending hospitality to two people who would otherwise eat dinner alone?”
“Not in principle. Who’s coming?”
“Pete Wallace accepted our invitation yesterday. Do you know him?”
Pete Wallace . . . Pete Wallace . . . Oh, right. Holly’s neighbor. The one she was worried about.
“No—but I know who he is. Who else—”
The bell chimed, and Cindy skirted around him. “I have to answer the door.” She hurried toward the front of the house.
Planting his fists on his hips, he scowled after her.
Fine.
He’d corner Patrick.
He found his brother hiding in the kitchen, pretending to monitor the stew.
“What gives?”
Patrick held up his hands, palms forward in surrender. “I want you to know I had nothing to do with this. I invited Pete, but asking Holly to join us was all Cindy’s idea.”
A jolt rolled through him.
Holly was coming?
The woman he’d run from yesterday like a scared rabbit?
The woman who’d kept him awake half the night as images of her strobed through his mind?
The woman who’d dominated his dreams after he’d finally fallen into a restless sleep?
He bit back a word he tried not to use anymore.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Cindy didn’t mention it until ten minutes before you got here—and I was afraid you’d bail if I called to alert you.”
“I still might.”
“Cindy would be upset—and she means well. Cut her some slack. You don’t have to stay long.”
Conversation filtered in from the living room. A male voice he didn’t recognize, and Holly’s sweet, musical tones—which were growing closer by the second.
He stiffened as Cindy appeared around the kitchen door and tossed him a guilty look, followed by Holly, who was toting a covered pan in her good hand.
Her jaw dropped and her step faltered as their gazes collided.
“Patrick, why don’t you introduce Steven to Pete while Holly and I get her biscuits going? I left him in the living room with Jonah.” Cindy flashed him a nervous smile. “I don’t think introductions are necessary in here.”
Steven glared at her.
“Sure.” Patrick headed out of the room, leaving him to follow.
Holly edged away from the doorway. “Hello, Steven.”
“Hi.”
“I, uh, didn’t expect to see you here today.”
“Likewise.” It was important to make it clear he’d been blindsided too, lest she wonder if he’d been a party to this awkward setup. Cindy bore all the blame for that—and she was going to get an earful about it later.
He maneuvered past Holly, catching a faint whiff of the pleasant floral scent that always perfumed the air around her—and never failed to undermine his resolve to keep his distance.
Gritting his teeth, he continued toward the living room.
He’d made his decision yesterday at the Helping Hands project, after he’d found her on the porch sporting that tiny streak of yellow paint on her cheek and had had to summon up every ounce of his willpower not to finish what he’d started at her house last Sunday as they were parting.
Being around her was dangerous. The spark between them was potent. It wouldn’t take much for it to ignite—and that would only lead to heartache for both of them.
It was safer to keep his distance.
A plan he’d intended to follow until Cindy had decided to become a matchmaker.
He tried to focus on the older man in the living room as Patrick introduced them. Attempted to join in the small talk.
But knowing Holly was steps away in the kitchen was a major distraction.
Fortunately, Patrick and Jonah kept the conversation moving.
Fifteen minutes later, Cindy announced dinner. Steven took a deep breath and stood, psyching himself up for the next encounter.
If Cindy had put him next to Holly for the meal, he’d have to eat—and leave—fast. A manufactured emergency on the boat would suffice as an excuse.
At the table, however, he found himself seated next to Jonah, with Holly across from him, beside Pete.
That ought to be more manageable.
Or not.
Because once they all sat, she was front and center in his line of sight. Had she been beside him, he could have ignored her. Or tried to.
Patrick offered a brief blessing, and as Cindy ladled out the stew, his brother picked up the conversational ball.
“Tell us about your career as a landscaper, Pete. How did you get into that business?”
The older man buttered a biscuit he’d taken from the basket being passed around the table. “It was chance, really. I always assumed I’d follow my father into law. But during high school, the only summer job I could find was at a nursery. As it turned out, I enjoyed the work—and after the owner saw I had a knack for design, he took me under his wing. I ended up getting a degree in landscape architecture, went to work for the nursery full-time, and bought him out when he retired.”
“How did you meet your wife?” Cindy bit into her own biscuit.
Pete’s features softened. “She was the daughter of one of my first customers after I graduated. I went to her parents’ house to discuss a landscape job, and she and her mom wanted to plant azaleas. I tried to discourage them. The soil in Utah is too dense and alkaline. But Sal looked me in the eye and said, ‘There has to be a way to make azaleas and Utah dirt compatible.’” He gave a soft chuckle and dabbed the corner of his mouth with his napkin.
“Was there?” Cindy leaned forward.
“Yes, but it took a lot of work—and it was an ongoing effort.”
“How did the azaleas do?” Cindy continued to give Pete her full attention.
“Fine, as long as we kept a careful watch over them, made certain they got the nutrients they needed, and took steps to accommodate changes in the weather.”
“Sounds like a recipe for a happy marriage.” Cindy leaned back.
“No argument there.” Pete took another bite of stew. “Sal and I often thought about that first meeting whenever an issue arose between us. She’d always say, ‘Remember the azaleas. We can work this out.’ And she was right. If two people are committed to each other, they can find a way to smooth over differences.”
