Waterfront Weddings (48 page)

The screen door bounced against the wall. “Alanna Stone.”

Alanna turned to see Patience approaching her, arms wide open for a hug. She slid into the older woman’s arms and sighed. She felt safe, protected.

“It’s about time you got over here.”

“I’ve only been on Mackinac a week.”

“That’s an eternity, and you know it. How many days did you spend over here growing up? It’s practically your other home.” Patience pulled back and studied Alanna. “You carry the burdens of the world still.”

“Something like that.”

“Well, burgers are coming off the grill, so first we eat.”

Alanna followed Patience around the house to the backyard where a patio table waited adorned with a bucket of early flowers, platter of corn on the cob, and stacks of buns and condiments. The aroma of cooking meat colliding with early lilacs embraced Alanna. She inhaled and felt her muscles relax.

Earl Matthews pivoted from the grill. “Hey, girl. Still like them medium well?”

“Yes, sir. No mooing please.”

He grinned and pulled the last burger off. After a prayer, they settled down and ate. When they finished, Earl scooped up the plates. “I’ll leave you to catch up.”

“I didn’t mean to chase you away.”

Patience made a brushing motion. “Don’t worry. He has some DVD he wants to watch. One of those macho adventure movies.” Patience grabbed the lemonade and refilled their cups. “So tell me what’s worrying you.”

“Have you seen Mom painting?”

“Lately? No, she’s been gone.” Patience looked at her with lines between her eyes.

“That’s not. . .” Alanna tried again. “Has she done much painting around the island? You know, hauling all her paints and things around like she used to.”

“Some, but she also said she didn’t need to see it anymore since she’s painted so much. I think her arthritis has bothered her, too. Must make holding a paintbrush challenging.”

“Didn’t she worry about capturing the light?” Mom had prided herself on following in the Impressionist line of chasing the light and capturing the ways it played.

“I’m no artist. That falls to your mom and brother.”

“Right.” Alanna took a sip of her lemonade, the tartness puckering her lips even as it cooled her throat. “Does anyone talk about. . .”

“That day?”

Heat climbed Alanna’s throat. “Yes.”

“Only occasionally. Days like the anniversary. Guess you missed that, huh?” When Alanna nodded, stomach tightening at the thought, Patience slid her chair closer. “You could have stayed. Everyone else did.” She sighed. “You aren’t the only one that day impacted. We all hurt. You can’t have a tight-knit community like this without a death—especially tragic—impacting everyone. We’ve moved on. Even the Cadieuxs understand it was an accident. Exactly what happens when young men go crazy. They haven’t figured out yet that life isn’t guaranteed. The stunts I’ve seen.” She shook her head. “Unfortunately, that one didn’t end well.”

The truth echoed through Patience’s words. Running hadn’t solved anything. Instead, all the emotions of that day exploded inside with each new turn or person confronted.

As she rode home, she prayed. She needed to find the truth, whether or not it was what she remembered.

It was time to let the truth set her free.

Alanna spent Tuesday morning evaluating how many paintings she’d sold during the weekend. If sales continued at this steady pace, the Painted Stone needed more large art.

Alanna hated the idea her mother would ship more paintings while Alanna continued to believe they were frauds. The only alternative was bare walls, and that wouldn’t pay her father’s medical bills.

Several times she had picked up the phone to call, only to be interrupted by customers. This morning she sat in the shop with her e-mail application open trying to form the words for an e-mail. Maybe that would make the tough questions easier to ask. At least then she wouldn’t have to hear the hurt in Mom’s voice when she took it as an accusation.

Alanna stared at the words. They would only make Mom defensive. She rubbed her temples as she considered how to rephrase the note.

The phone rang, and Alanna snatched it up. “The Painted Stone Studio.”

“This is Gerald Tomkin.”

She sighed and pushed back the thought that she should have let his call go to voice mail. “Good morning.”

“Now that the holiday weekend is behind us, I hope you’ve had a chance to consider joining the foundation board.”

The pounding in her temples intensified. “I’m honored. But I’m an attorney. Wouldn’t a CPA be more helpful?”

“You understand the island and its history. You’ll understand what we’re trying to do with the foundation better than some outsider who might have the right piece of paper. After all, you can’t get into law school without brain power.”

She bit back the urge to correct that fallacy. “I really don’t plan to be here long.”

“Mackinac will work its magic. I’m betting you stay.” His cajoling wore down her defenses. It wasn’t like she couldn’t continue via e-mail and teleconferencing after she left. If she wanted.

“You’re persistent.”

“Part of my charm.”

This sounded more like the man she remembered from school, convinced he was always right. . .and usually correct in that assumption. “All right. I’m happy to do what I can while I’m here.” As for the rest, she’d wait and see how the meetings went.

“That’s all I ask. See you tonight at seven thirty.”

“What?”

He hung up before answering.

After the long weekend, the last thing she wanted was to spend the evening sitting at a table with people she barely knew and discuss business she didn’t care about. No, she’d imagined a night with quiet music, a bit of candlelight, and a heaping bubble bath—lilac scented to match the flowers emerging across the island.

A ding from her computer pulled her attention from the burgeoning pity party. “Let this be good news.” She crossed her fingers and moved the mouse to click on the envelope.

An e-mail from Trevor popped up, subject line reading
Ready for more?

Increased ability to tell people no? Sure.

Added chances for true love? Certainly.

More peace and hope in her life? Absolutely.

But as she opened the e-mail, Alanna knew Trevor didn’t mean any of those.

She read and reread the words, a heavy sensation cloaking her.

The words confirmed in black and white Jonathan’s accusations and her fears. What it didn’t do was explain why. Dread shrouded her at the thought. Could she fix this?

Alanna looked out the window, wondering when Mom stopped and Trevor started painting. No wonder something felt different. He would have the feel for Mackinac, but his perspective would differ from Mom’s. That would also explain the lack of geraniums. A guy wouldn’t notice that detail. No matter how much he trained himself to copy her style, he wouldn’t achieve perfection.

Jonathan walked by, and Alanna swiveled on her heel, hand to her face, and ducked beneath the counter. Maybe he hadn’t seen her. The last thing she could handle at this moment was talking to him. He’d see right through her when he asked how she was. He always could.

After the three-day weekend, she didn’t have the reserves to pretend this latest twist didn’t upset her. The rest of her family might not follow Christ, but she did—one good thing that came from leaving the island and heading south for college. She’d looked for friendship wherever she could find it, even in campus ministries. She hadn’t expected to find Christ at the same time. How could she reconcile what they were doing? Was it even possible? Her gut told her it wasn’t, which meant she’d have to confront them and figure out how to get them to understand why it mattered.

Alanna waited another moment. Surely Jonathan had continued on his way. After all, he’d had a busy weekend, too, with that wedding.

For years she’d imagined she’d marry long before her thirtieth birthday. Now she just avoided weddings. That was easier than seeing how close she’d inched to the date without even a boyfriend.

Boyfriend
.

She puffed hair off her forehead with a breath. What a ridiculous word after a certain age. Namely anytime after college. Really, couldn’t someone come up with anything better?

And who said thirty made her an old maid? She needed to get her nose out of a book and into the real world. A world where women married later and later. She deflated. It might work for them, but she’d imagined life with someone to share it with before adding a couple of kids to their union. In fact, that someone had been the man on the other side of the window for too long. But like it or not, he was taken—it was time to slay that vision permanently.

Maybe then she could move on and find her Prince Charming.

And maybe one day he would stop looking like Jonathan Covington each time she pictured him on his white horse.

Alanna’s calf muscles tightened, and she groaned. Hiding here all day wouldn’t work.

She inched her way up until she could see over the top of the counter. Her gaze locked with Jonathan’s, where he stood looking in the window. Heat flooded her cheeks, and she sank back down.

Could things get worse?

A
hint of warmth touched the day as Jonathan headed down Market Street. The clock said it was time for lunch, and his stomach agreed. He ignored the fact he could have reached restaurants faster if he’d taken Main.

His path had nothing to do with passing the Painted Stone.

Yeah right. He shook his head but didn’t alter course. If he happened to glance in that large window as he passed, it didn’t mean anything.

Other than the fact he had a divided heart. He’d spent part of Sunday evening with Jaclyn and Dylan, and when his thoughts hadn’t strayed to Alanna, he’d enjoyed it. But his mind wandered more as the picnic wore on.

He sidestepped a bike and frowned at the kid riding it. The sidewalks weren’t the place for those. At least the island had emptied at the close of the long weekend. He had a couple of weeks until his next event, giving him plenty of time to plan and dream up business. If he could maintain focus. . .a big “if” right now.

Maybe he should find a replacement for Alanna and usher her to the ferry and off his island home. His peace had abandoned him the morning she showed up at the cottage. He didn’t like being poised for any sound from her side of the tree line. Took all the relaxation out of being home. In fact, he might as well move down to a Main Street apartment.

He slowed at the studio, hands in his pockets, and looked inside. A blur of motion by the counter caught his eye. He glanced around but didn’t notice anyone in the Painted Stone. Maybe he should make sure Alanna was okay.

“Jonathan. Just the man I wanted to find.”

“Hello, Gerald. Headed to lunch?”

The man patted his trim stomach. “In a bit. First, I need a favor.”

Jonathan eyed him. What would it be this time? “If I can.”

“Escort Alanna Stone to tonight’s meeting.” He eyed Jonathan like an eagle spies its prey. He must have found what he was looking for in Jonathan’s expression. “I knew you wouldn’t mind.”

“There’s a meeting tonight?” Jonathan scrambled for any plausible excuse to get out of going. Alanna wouldn’t agree to anything Gerald asked. After all, she’d spent hours during the summers bemoaning what an awful teacher and principal he was.

“Got to finalize some plans for the lilac festival if we hope to raise any money. If we want to use your plan for the swing festival, we’ll try out the process during the lilac festival.”

Sounded like another way to get free services. Too bad he didn’t have an out since he sat on the board. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“I knew you would. See you tonight.”

Jonathan bit back the impulse to say, “Yes, sir,” and turned back to the window. As he did, Alanna’s blond head peeked above the counter. Had she hidden there this whole time?

He bit back a smirk. She must feel something, even if he merely annoyed her. It gave him a place to start.

He set his chin at a cocky angle and sauntered into the studio. All he missed was the fedora to pull off the Humphrey Bogart air she’d always loved in those old black-and-white movies.

As the bell jingled, she stood and brushed the front of her shirt. Now that he looked more closely, she seemed to have adopted the style of one of those classic actresses. Boatneck T-shirt and pedal pushers, or whatever they called those short pants.

“Jonathan, you can’t tell me you came here this often when my parents ran the studio.” She crossed her arms, and a soft swipe of color lit her cheeks from the inside.

“Gerald asked me to escort you to tonight’s foundation meeting.”