Starfish Pier, page 28
Steven tried to convince his lungs to continue inflating and deflating as he waited for Holly’s verdict.
For almost thirty eternal seconds she looked out over the glimmering moonlit water at Starfish Pier. Her brain had to be in overdrive, trying to digest all he’d shared.
She confirmed his assumption when she finally spoke. “That’s a ton of heavy stuff to absorb.”
“I know.”
He waited for her to offer some reassurance. An indication she might be able to accept this piece of his past as she’d accepted his role as a sniper.
It didn’t come.
“I appreciate your willingness to share your story with me, especially since you know my story—and the principles I believe in.”
“It wouldn’t be fair to start a relationship without being up-front about possible impediments. Honesty is the only way to create a strong foundation.” Even if the truth ended up being quicksand instead of bedrock.
“I appreciate that too. I . . . I need to think about everything you told me.”
“I understand.” He rose and held out his hand to help her up, suppressing the powerful urge to pull her back into his arms and beg her to give him a chance to prove he was worthy of her, to believe he’d learned from his mistakes and wasn’t the same man he’d been four years ago.
She put her fingers in his and he drew her to her feet, tightening his grip as the sand shifted beneath her.
“Sorry. I’m a little unsteady.”
Yeah, she would be—as much from his shocking story as from standing on unstable ground.
“I’ll walk you down the dune.”
He picked up the blanket, shook it out, and kept a firm grip on her arm as they negotiated the sloping surface.
Once they were on solid terrain, he released her, stowed the blanket—and kept his distance.
“Don’t you want me to drop you at your apartment?” She held on to the edge of the car door. Tight. As if she was trying to steady herself.
“No. I’m going to stay here for a while.”
“It will be a dark walk back to Sea Haven.”
“In Delta Force, night was our friend. Besides, the moon’s bright. I’ll be fine.”
She hesitated. “I’ll call you, okay?”
“Please.”
She touched her fingers to her lips, as if remembering the incredible kiss they’d shared less than half an hour ago. “I do care for you, Steven. I just . . . we’re very different. Our histories are nothing alike. The life you’ve led is . . . it’s worlds away from everything I know. It’s a struggle to reconcile a lot of what you’ve done with everything I believe.”
“I realize that.”
She slipped off his jacket and held it out. “You’ll need this on the dunes.”
No, he wouldn’t—though he took it from her anyway. A piece of cloth, no matter how insulated, wasn’t going to be able to warm the cold place in his heart.
Holly slid behind the wheel, started the engine, executed a U-turn, and drove away.
Steven remained where he was until her taillights disappeared into the night, then turned and considered the dune as tendrils of fog began to drift past.
What was the point of staying here alone, with only the moon and the waves for company while fog rolled in? He could brood just as easily in the warmth of his apartment.
Shoving his arms into the sleeves of his jacket, he struck out through the thickening mist.
Soon the moon and stars would be obscured. In minutes it would be difficult to see the pavement. To find his way home.
The toe of his shoe hit a rock, and it skittered across the asphalt, disappearing into the shadows.
If he wasn’t careful, he could wander off the road, become disoriented, get lost in the darkness.
Not a bad metaphor for his life, actually. He’d come close to doing that after Laura died. Again near the end of his tenure in The Unit.
Yet he’d managed to find his footing, continue on.
Surely he could do the same if Holly rejected him.
Couldn’t he?
For a decisive, confident man who’d been bested by very few challenges, he suddenly wasn’t at all certain he’d overcome this one.
But win or lose, he’d taken the high road tonight—even if the prospect of traveling it alone from here on out left him feeling as cold and desolate as the harsh, barren peaks of the Hindu Kush mountains he’d known all too well during his missions with The Unit in Afghanistan.
24
Give it up, Holly. It’s going to be light in twenty minutes, and you have to get up in half an hour anyway. If you lie here, you’ll just keep thinking about Steven.
Sighing, she threw back the covers, exchanged her pjs for a T-shirt and sweatpants, and padded toward the kitchen.
Too bad it wasn’t Saturday. She could wander into town, pick up a latte at the Perfect Blend and a cinnamon roll at Sweet Dreams, and drown her sorrows in sugar and caffeine.
But the weekend was two days away, and her students were expecting their usual perky teacher in two hours.
Perky.
Ha.
That came nowhere near to describing her mood since her sojourn to the dunes with Steven Tuesday night after the town meeting.
Yawning, she plugged in her one-cup coffeemaker and went through the motions of brewing her caffeine infusion for the day. Tangling the sheets for two nights in a row while her body thrashed and images of the ex-soldier who’d bared his soul strobed through her mind had not been restful.
She owed Steven a follow-up call—and a decision about whether to move forward—but when had she had time to process everything he’d told her? Her students demanded every bit of her energy and attention during the day. Last night she’d attended a pro-life dinner auction committee meeting. In between, she’d had homework to grade and lessons to plan.
That’s why carving out twenty minutes to sit on her patio this morning and give the situation her full, undivided attention while night turned to day was a priority.
She slipped on the pair of flats she kept by the door for forays into the yard, retrieved her fleece jacket from a hook on the wall . . . and drew in a long, slow breath.
After doing intensive research on military snipers, making peace with Steven’s role in Delta Force hadn’t been as problematic as she’d expected. The biggest difference between him and soldiers who killed in battle was that he’d had names to go with his targets—specific terrorist leaders whose elimination would help deescalate violence, stop atrocities, and save lives.
It was hard to condemn a man who took on a tough, soul-numbing job for the noble purpose of trying to make the world a safer, more peaceful place.
His latest revelation, however, had struck closer to home.
Maybe too close.
If her parents had felt as he had, she would never have been born.
She bunched the soft fabric in her fists. Leaned a shoulder against the wall.
Even factoring in his regrets, could a woman with her past and a man who’d lobbied to end the life of his own baby ever find a happily ever after?
Impossible to know with absolute certainty.
Meaning a relationship with him would require a leap of faith—and a boatload of trust.
Perhaps more than she could dredge up.
The light went off on the coffeemaker, and she removed her mug, added cream, and lifted the java to her nose. Inhaled.
The soothing scent didn’t work its usual magic. Her emotions remained as turbulent as the waters off Hope Harbor on a stormy day.
Surviving one failed relationship had been traumatic—but given the strength of her feelings for Steven, if they got involved and the romance crashed and burned, the impact would be far more devastating.
As a headache began to form in her temples, she picked up a dish towel, slipped through the back door, and crossed the concrete pad to her small patio table. After wiping the mist off a chair, she sat facing the sea, mug in hand.
And discovered she wasn’t the only early riser.
Pete was ensconced in his lounge chair, also angled toward the water—and lying still as death.
Her heart stuttered, and she shot back to her feet.
It was too dark to see his face or tell if his chest was rising and falling, but was it possible he’d—
“I haven’t checked out yet, if that’s what you’re wondering.”
At his wry comment, Holly grabbed the back of her chair to steady herself. “G-good morning.”
“Morning. I like to come out here and watch the sky light up. Want to join me?”
No.
She wanted to think about her dilemma with Steven.
But there was no graceful way to decline.
Besides, in case Pete was having any negative thoughts in this predawn hour, companionship might help settle him.
“I could sit for a few minutes before I have to get ready for school.”
She carefully traversed the damp grass and joined him, swiped the terry-cloth square over the chair next to the lounger, and sat. “I see you beat me to the coffee.” She motioned with her cup toward the empty mug on the ground beside him.
“First thing every morning. A leisurely cup of coffee is one of life’s small indulgences. A simple pleasure even lung cancer can’t ruin.”
The dark liquid in her cup sloshed at his unexpected candor, and she steadied the mug with both hands. “I . . . I didn’t realize that was your diagnosis.”
“I haven’t shared it with many people. Patrick. You. The two clerics in town.”
“You’ve been to church?” Her spirits perked up. Had the seed she’d planted taken root?
“No. I played golf with them last week.”
Huh.
Probably not as helpful as church attendance . . . but God worked in all kinds of environments.
At least her prayers for Pete to connect with others in town seemed to be producing results.
As for his medical issues . . .
“I don’t mean to pry, but may I ask if your condition is incurable—or did you just opt not to have further treatments?”
“You and Patrick think alike.”
“You’ve discussed your prognosis with him?”
“Not in any detail—but he’s encouraged me to continue the fight . . . and offered the support of his family no matter what I decide. The town clerics did too—although all I told them was that I was pondering my options. I didn’t mention the paperwork you saw in my kitchen.”
“You know you can call on me too, if I can help with anything. I’m no stranger to medical problems myself.” Since he’d shared part of his story with her, she gave him the condensed version of hers.
“I suspected you had some condition like that. But your health issues aren’t imminently life-threatening, and you have a strong support system. Including, I suspect, Patrick’s brother.”
Her jaw dropped.
How had he managed to maneuver around to that subject?
And how did he know she and Steven had become close?
A faint hint of pink unfurled on the far horizon, and she focused on that. “Um . . . why do you think that?”
He gave a soft chuckle. “I saw the two of you in the parking lot at the gym after the town meeting. Even from a distance, body language can be revealing. In case you haven’t realized it yet, the man likes you. And vice versa.”
She appraised him. Pete might be a new acquaintance—and his initial behavior had been off-putting—but now that she was getting to know him, he appeared to be a kind, insightful man.
Maybe the input of an impartial third party would be helpful in this situation—if she could solicit advice without breaching any confidences.
“We do like each other, but we have very different backgrounds . . . and histories.”
“That can be problematic—or not.”
She squinted at him. “What do you mean?”
“I’m thinking of a story Patrick told me about Jedediah—of cannon fame—and his wife.”
“He didn’t talk much about her in his presentation Tuesday, other than to mention they were married for more than forty years.”
“I don’t suppose romance was relevant to the topic under debate. Nor was the subject matter suitable for a family audience. But she and Jedediah had a rocky start.”
“How so?”
“Before he met her, she was a . . . what’s the genteel term? . . . a lady of the evening.”
Holly stared at him. “Seriously?”
“Yes. Patrick found a number of the notes they sent each other while they were courting—or I should say, while Jedediah was trying to convince her to let him court her—and they’re pretty definitive. She’d left that life behind but felt it had tainted her forever and made her unsuitable to be the wife of a successful shipping merchant who was also a man of impeccable integrity.”
“She obviously changed her mind. Any idea why?”
“Patrick showed me the letter he’s convinced persuaded her. Jedediah said her past was of no consequence. That if God could forgive her, he could too. All that mattered to him was the woman she was today—and the tomorrows he hoped they could share. It brought a tear to my eye, let me tell you.”
“That’s a beautiful sentiment.” And food for thought.
“I agree. After all, if God is willing to give people a second chance, why should we do any less?”
A loud belch echoed in the stillness, and Holly looked toward the offshore rocks.
The silver-white harbor seal who often sunned himself there gazed at them with doleful eyes.
“Ah.” Pete chuckled. “Casper’s arrived. He comes most mornings.”
Holly’s lips twitched. “You’ve taken to naming the resident marine life?”
“Nope. I mentioned the seal to Charley on my last taco run, and he told me his name.”
That sounded like the town’s artist. Given his acquaintance with Floyd and Gladys, the man didn’t limit his friendships to the human species.
She glanced at her watch, finished off the last of her coffee, and stood. “I have to get to school.”
“Tell Jonah I said hi.”
“I’ll do that. See you later.”
Pete lifted a hand in farewell and went back to watching Casper’s antics.
As she crossed the damp grass, she scanned the heavens. It appeared they were in for fine weather today. The sky was turning blue, and soon the sun would rise above the hills and dispel the last of the mist, allowing for a clear view far into the distance.
That’s what she needed too—a clear view of what lay ahead so she’d know how to proceed.
Sadly, that wasn’t as simple as the sun sweeping away the fog. No one could predict the future.
But Pete’s story about Jedediah and the woman he’d loved was worth mulling over as she pondered next steps.
Steven paused outside Reverend Baker’s office, resettled his sport jacket on his shoulders, and adjusted his tie.
Not his usual wardrobe on a Thursday afternoon—or any day—but a job interview wasn’t part of his normal routine either.
And why else would the minister have called yesterday and asked him to meet with Father Murphy, Michael Hunter, and himself? The three of them wouldn’t waste their collective time if he wasn’t under serious consideration for the director job. Any one of them could have phoned or texted him with a thanks but no thanks.
If a future with Holly wasn’t to be—and given her silence since their impromptu visit to Starfish Pier Tuesday night, that seemed the logical conclusion—at least the Helping Hands job still appeared to be a possibility.
He lifted his hand and knocked on the door.
A few seconds later, Reverend Baker pulled it open. “Come in, Steven—and please excuse the casual attire. Our golf game ran long today, and Kevin and I didn’t have a spare minute to change.”
The golf-shirt-clad priest rose as he entered. “It ran long because I spent half the game waiting for my friend here to dig himself out of sand traps. How are you, Steven?” He extended his hand.
“Fine, thank you. Michael.” He shook the third man’s hand too.
After declining the minister’s offer of a beverage, he claimed the seat at the table Michael indicated.
“We shouldn’t be too long—and I apologize for not telling you dressing up wasn’t necessary.” Reverend Baker sat. “This isn’t a job interview.”
Steven’s stomach dropped, but he did his best to maintain an impassive expression.
So much for his hopes that—
“What my colleague here is trying to say is that the job is yours if you want it.” Father Murphy gave the minister an exasperated look. “You could have started with that, you know.”
The two men indulged in good-natured banter for a moment, but Steven tuned it out as he digested the news.
They were offering him the job.
But also much, much more.
They were giving him a new beginning, in a career that would allow him to do worthwhile work that fed his soul.
While he might never be able to fully atone for all his mistakes, this was an opportunity to begin making amends.
“I think we’ve surprised him.” Michael smiled his direction.
He refocused on the conversation. “Yes. I was concerned my background would work against me. The best I hoped for today was a chance to ace an interview and plead my case.”
“The three of us met the day after you and I talked.” Michael linked his fingers on the table in front of him. “After seeing you around town during the past year, hearing stories about the low-key behind-the-scenes assistance you’ve provided to residents in need, and reviewing your credentials, it didn’t take me long to conclude you’d be an excellent fit for the organization.”
“We felt the same,” Father Murphy said. “We didn’t see any reason to prolong the process or broaden the search. Of course we realize you may want to explore other options. Nonprofit jobs like this won’t make you rich—in worldly goods. We’ve prepared salary and benefit information for you to review, and we’d be happy to reconvene in a few days after you’ve had an opportunity to think about it.”
