Isle of Hope (2 page)

She fidgeted with the studs on the front of her purse, uneasy with this new Jack, a man-about-town who seemed light years away from the sweet, intense seminary student with whom she’d fallen in love. Brushing the hair from her eyes, her hand was as shaky as her smile. “Well, it’s been great seeing you, Jack. I’m sure our paths’ll cross again since we’re both in the wedding.” With an awkward wave, she turned to manhandle the knob, struggling to open a door that refused to budge.

He reached around and turned it for her, giving it a light shove. It wheeled open as slick as the oil in the pumps. “I’m sure you will,” he said quietly, the warmth of his breath against her neck causing her skin to tingle. “If you’re home to build bridges, I assume that includes Mom and the twins?”

She peeked over her shoulder. “It does,” she whispered, feeling as awkward as if this were the end of a first date. She paused. “How is your mom, by the way—and your sisters?” She rested her hand on the knob to keep her fingers from trembling. “I keep tabs on them through Nick, of course, but I know she hasn’t been in touch with your sisters since …” Her words trailed off, not wanting to put voice to the awful tragedy that had befallen them all.

He cleared his throat, hands back in his pockets. “She’s good. Praying up a storm, as always. Still hounding me to go to church, which I do for her, but I’m not into that stuff anymore.”

Lacey blinked.
Oh, Jack, no …
“B-but that used to be your thing,” she whispered.

He studied her through a shuttered gaze. “It used to be my dad’s thing, too, remember?”

“Excuse me, please.” They both jolted at the presence of an elderly woman who took them by surprise.

“Oh, pardon me,” Lacey said as she held the door open for the lady to enter.

“Thank you, young lady.” The woman toddled past, and Lacey exhaled slowly when the door closed behind her, her gaze flitting back to Jack. “Well, unless I plan on taking a summer job as BP doorman, I think I better scoot. Take care, Jack, and please tell your mom and sisters I’ll be in touch.”

The blue eyes all but burned into hers as he nodded, a shadow of a smile grazing his lips. “Will do.” Turning, he made his way to the door where the blonde with the perfect nails waited with a pout.

Lacey entered the restroom, numb while the door thudded hard behind her. Eyelids sinking closed, she sagged against the worn and peeling wood while she sucked in a sharp breath, fingers kneading the seeds of a headache in her temple.

“Dearie, are you all right? You look as if you’re about to be sick.”

Lacey’s eyes popped open. She managed a smile at the sweet, gray-haired lady who was blow-drying her hands. “I’m fine, thank you,” she said, ducking into the nearest stall. She slid the bolt closed and collapsed against the door, palms flat to the dirty beige steel while her eyes stared straight ahead. She swallowed hard.

Or will be in about two months.

Chapter Two

So help me, I’m gonna throttle you, Matt!
Gunning down his driveway to the backyard, Jack squealed the Z4 to a stop inches away from his mother’s free-standing garage, ready to take on his cousin and best friend—the same friend who’d apparently forgotten to mention his fiancé’s maid of honor was back in town. He jerked the emergency break handle so hard it made a grinding nose that rivaled the obnoxious squawk of a blue heron nesting in his mother’s massive oak.

Go-go-gos … frawnk!

“Oh, put a fish in it,” Jack hollered, glaring at his mother’s unofficial “pet” who acted like he had more claim to their backyard than Jack, which galled him every single time he came home. He slammed the car door hard, drawing a tinge of satisfaction when the bird snapped into alert posture with a raise of his head and wing span flaring wide. Swooping an acorn from the ground, Jack aimed it just beyond the indignant fowl, his mood so sour, he was tempted to hit it dead-on.

“Awwwwwwk!”
The warning cry rose in volume for a full two seconds, alerting everybody in the freakin’ neighborhood that the stupid bird was ticked.

“Jackson Alexander O’Bryen! If you continue to torment Blue, so help me, you’ll be sleeping in that tree and he’ll be in your room.” His mother’s voice carried from the double kitchen window, and Jack leered at the bird who stood in defiance, staunch and smug in his two-foot-wide nest of pine needles, reeds, and twigs.

“Squealer,” Jack muttered, backtracking down the driveway to fetch the trashcans, the faint smell of sun-ripened garbage lingering in the air like his mood—heated and foul.

Sweet Cynthia Marcano sailed past on her bicycle, and he forced a smile and waved, grateful she didn’t stop to chat, something he normally enjoyed and even welcomed. Outside of his family and friends, kids were one of the few things that brought joy to his life. As far back as when he was an Eagle Scout working with special-needs children during the summers, he’d known he’d wanted a career devoted to kids. Honest and open and brimming with wonder, they were little people not yet fully tainted by the world, who seemed as drawn to him as he was to them. Which made his career choice a no-brainer and his and Matt’s volunteer work at the Big Brother organization as natural as breathing. Whether it was family functions or rounds at Memorial, Jack could always be found smack dab in the middle of a group of munchkins, pulling quarters out of their ears or playing catch and basketball with Nerf balls. He’d even taken to carrying snacks and little toys in his pockets, earning him the nickname Dr. Seuss throughout residency. Blame it on the fact he was big brother to three siblings or defender of underdogs on the school playground. Whatever the reason, Jack preferred a rowdy game of basketball with kids than a poker game with the guys. Undeniable proof, Matt claimed, that Jack had never grown up.

And maybe not. All he knew was he sure got a kick out of lighting up their faces with Donald Duck voices and yogurt-covered raisins or even gummy bears when the pediatric nurses weren’t looking. Shy or loud, short or tall, it didn’t matter—kids always seemed to bubble with giggles and fun and an innocence he found hard to resist.

Kind of like Lacey before Nicki ruined her.
His sour mood instantly returned with a vengeance, complete with the smell of garbage. Sucking in a deep breath of polluted air, he hefted the cans with a little too much force and stalked down the driveway, all but slamming them against the wall inside the garage. Throat constricting, he bowed his head and braced a hand to the wall, eyes shuttering closed as memories surfaced of the last night he’d seen the girl that he loved.

“Come on, Jack, I dare you.”

She’d shot up out of the river like a tow-headed sea nymph, water sluicing down gentle curves of her T-shirt that tempted way more than they should. Her chuckle had been husky and low as she paddled in place off his dock, the sultry sound floating toward him like the mist on the water—hazing his mind, clouding his will. “This is our last night before you leave for that stuffy seminary,” she’d said with a toss of her head, “so let’s make a memory to keep us warm while you’re gone.” With a scrunch of her nose, she’d wiggled in the water and shot him a pixie grin that came off devil may care.

Devil may care.
Jack grunted. That certainly nailed it to the wall. The edge of his mouth jagged up.
With a freakin’ nail gun.
He cocked a hip and sighed, tunneling fingers through his hair as the memory lapped against his mind like the warm, salty waters of the Skidaway River. Against his will, he shook his head, fighting the seed of a smile. Lacey Anne Carmichael had to be the biggest little brat on the Isle of Hope and absolutely everything Jack had ever wanted. Intelligent, warm, and brimming with life and fun and adventure, the perfect complement to his serious and sensible self. Half tomboy, half vamp, she was an adorable little girl in a woman’s body whose heart had always beat in time with his own. A best friend as deep as the rolling river who sparkled and shined on the surface with a sense of humor that made him laugh.

Until the summer that everything changed. The summer of her senior year after her cousin Nicki moved from California to Isle of Hope, tainting the girl to whom he was promised. He’d arrived home from college, and suddenly Lacey was different—wilder, crazier, as if hungry for a lifestyle forbidden by a strict father with whom she’d never seen eye-to-eye. From honor-roll choirgirl to temptress in the blink of a semester. Sure, Jack knew she’d always had a streak of the rebel—she’d been his next-door neighbor and sisters’ best friend forever, after all. But he just assumed graduation and turning eighteen would soften the edges. Help her settle down and become what he always hoped she would be—a pastor’s wife.

His.

The heron started squawking again, and Jack lasered the fly-catcher a dagger look on his way to the backdoor. “Get over it, duckbill—this was my backyard before you were even an egg in the nest.” He let the screen door slam behind him as he entered his mother’s large old-fashioned kitchen with its exposed brick and white wood and glass cabinets. “The heart of the home,” his father would always say when everyone congregated there for games or homework while his mother cooked dinner. Then, as now, heavenly smells of pot roast or apple pie filled the air along with his sisters’ chatter or his mother’s laughter, but today Jack was in no state of mind to join in.

“My-my, aren’t we in a ‘fowl’ mood today,” his sister Cat teased, her strawberry-blonde hair trailing bronze shoulders. A glint of mischief sparkled in sky-blue eyes as she chopped carrots at their antique kitchen table, scarred and scuffed with many a family dinner or board game.

“Hey, I thought you had a date with Jasmine tonight.” Cat’s twin sister Shannon paused with a paring knife in one hand and a potato in the other. Two tiny lines puckered at the bridge of her freckled nose, indicating concern. At twenty-five, Shan was the “gentle twin” who worried about everybody including the flippin’ heron.
Which
might have brought a smile to Jack’s face if he wasn’t in such a pond-sucking mood.

“Yeah, Dr. Romeo,” Cat piped up. “What’s up? Did Miss Loreal #9.5 Pale Blonde discover you’re seeing several other shades as well?”

“Catherine Marie, hush,” his mother said with a warning scold, always the peacekeeper.

Jack wished he had a nickel every time she’d insisted their home wasn’t a warzone, but a haven from all the attacks and pain the world doled out. He scowled as he rifled through the soda cans at the back of fridge.
Too bad Dad never got the memo.
“What the freak happened to the Red Bull I bought last week?” he demanded, rising to give Cat the evil eye. “There were two cans left yesterday.”

Cat raised her palms in the air, brows arched high with innocence. “Hey, don’t look at me—Matt is
your
best friend, remember?” A slow smile wended its way across her full lips. “He stopped by to borrow that new jacket of yours,” she said with a grin, “along with your last two Red Bulls.”

Jack stifled a curse, well aware his mother did not allow “language” in her house. He punched the fridge door closed, wishing it were Matt’s face instead. Huffing out a tired sigh, he closed his eyes to massage the bridge of his nose. No, that wasn’t fair. Matt and he shared everything—
except
news of Lacey Carmichael’s return, apparently—and normally Jack’d give him the shirt off his back. He issued a silent grunt. Or the jacket.

His mother wiped her hands on a dishtowel and hurried over to give him a quick kiss on the cheek, hands braced to his arms. “You said you wouldn’t be home till late—what’s going on?”

He gave her a reassuring hug, the magic of “family” slowly unraveling the knots at the back of his neck. “Nothing’s wrong, Mom, I just have a headache, that’s all.”

“I have Ibuprofen,” she volunteered, the tenderness in her tone reminding him just how lucky he was to have her and his family. Loose strands of her shoulder-length blonde hair escaped from a messy ponytail atop her head that made her look more like a big sister in her thirties than a mother halfway through her forties. “A natural beauty,” his dad would always say with pride in his eyes, “no need for a stitch of makeup.” The memory calcified Jack’s jaw.
But apparently not “beautiful” enough, huh, Dad?
He shook the negative thought off to focus on the positive—a mother who had not only been the heart of the home, but was now also the head.

Without question Tess O’Bryen had a glow about her, whether from summer humidity or good genes, Jack wasn’t sure. Although if asked, she’d swear it was clean living and deep faith, her pale blue eyes sparkling with tease as she said it. And a clean heart, Jack reflected with a swell of love, turning to retrieve a glass from the cabinet so she wouldn’t see the sheen of emotion in his eyes. A kind and gentle heart, so very full of mercy.

Unlike my own.

“I’d rather have a brew,” he muttered, hoping to throw her off the scent of his bad mood with a smart-aleck jest, knowing full well she didn’t appreciate his occasional beer anymore than she did his salty language.

“Did you and Jasmine have a fight?” she asked, ignoring his comment while she slipped behind to give him a shoulder rub. At six foot three, he towered over her five foot three by a mile, but it never seemed to stop her from babying him with back rubs or hugs. Her voice lowered several octaves as her fingers kneaded the back of his neck. “Goodness, Jack, you’re as tight as a two-by-four.”

“With just as much charm.” Cat plopped carrots into the pot of boiling water and strolled over to pat his cheek. “At least tonight.” She ducked out of reach before he could slap her away.

“All right, young man, I want the truth.” His mother turned him to face her, eyes thinning into mother mode with a menacing fold of arms. “You were as happy and high as Blue in his tree when you left an hour ago, almost giddy over deserting your family to find a bachelor pad in the city—”

Jack interrupted with a low groan, grinding his temple with the ball of his hand. “Mom, I’m twenty-nine years old, for pity’s sake, and fresh out of med school—it’s a house, not a bachelor pad.” He retrieved a glass from the cabinet as well as the bottle of Ibuprofen she kept there. “And I am not ‘deserting’ my family—Savannah’s a measly 15 minutes away.”

She snatched both from his hands to fill the glass with tap water and hand him two pills. “Don’t change the subject. Something happened in the last hour to bring you home with a headache and a nasty mood, and I want to know what it is.”

His jaw tightened.
No you don’t, trust me.
He shot the Ibuprofen in his mouth and chugged the entire glass of water.

“Come on, Jack, this isn’t like you.” Shannon’s soft voice was quiet and low, her blue eyes pert near as big as the potato in her hand. “Mom’s right—something’s wrong, so what gives?”

“Yeah, buddy, out with it,” Cat said, all jest fading away as she washed her hands at the sink, her voice conveying a thread of worry that matched her sister’s. “It’s not like you to be a crab for no reason.”

Jack patted her arm and shuffled over to the table, sliding a chair out next to Shannon. He sat and straddled it, arms folded over the back and chin resting on top. His gaze wandered into a faraway stare. They would find out eventually anyway, and they needed to know. His eyelids lumbered closed, and instantly he was barraged with memories that took the ache in his head straight to his heart. Noisy games of Scrabble or “spoons” in their large, homey kitchen where family, friends, and neighbors all seemed to thrive. He could almost hear Lacey’s giggles bouncing off the sunny cream-colored walls alongside his sisters’ or see peas in flight across the supper table when his parents’ backs were turned. Pinochle games and laughter between Lacey’s parents and his while the kids played Twister on a black-and-white linoleum floor that smelled of Clorox and Mop & Glo.

“Jack, you’re starting to scare me,” his mother said quietly. “What on earth is wrong?”

Everything.
A nerve twittered in his cheek.
The ghost of families past returning to haunt.
He peered up at his mother who watched him over her shoulder while stirring something on the stove with a crimp in her brow. Her lavender tank and blue jean shorts revealed a slim and toned body, compliments of Pilates. Sucking in a deep draw of air, he pushed the words off his tongue, their taste as bitter as his memories. “Lacey’s back.”