02_The Hero Next Door (15 page)

G
ive it up.

With a resigned sigh, Heather threw back the covers and stood. With her father under her roof and J.C. making inroads on her heart, the few fitful hours of sleep she’d clocked since that kiss in the garden were all she was going to manage. She might as well get an early start on her baking.

An hour later, as she slid the first batch of scones into the oven, the sound of running water upstairs alerted her that her father was up. Wiping her floury hands on a dish towel, she headed for the foyer. The last thing she needed was for him to get dizzy and take a tumble down the stairs.

He was exiting the bathroom as she reached the landing, already dressed in a pair of beige paints and a dark green shirt. He gave her a tentative smile. “Good morning, Heather.”

She acknowledged his greeting with a dip of her head. “Would you like some breakfast?”

“All I need is toast and coffee.” He inspected her voluminous apron, already smudged with flour and chocolate. “I was thinking last night—maybe we could set aside some time to talk on Monday, when the tearoom is closed. I know how busy you must be running this place single-handedly.”

She liked that plan. It would give her a chance to get more comfortable in his presence before they dived into the heavy stuff. “Okay. Are you ready to go down?”

“Yes.” He took her arm with one hand, steadying himself on the banister with the other and favoring his sore knee as they descended.

Once in the kitchen, he insisted on preparing his own simple breakfast, shooing her back to work. Although she was conscious of the glances he sent her way as he ate at the small oak table, he didn’t attempt to start a conversation.

Things got livelier once Brian joined them. The two men in her house enjoyed a spirited game of checkers, and after Brian went off to surf, her father took a book to the garden. J.C. dropped over, too, and at Heather’s invitation, he joined them for dinner again.

To Heather’s relief, the weekend passed with far less tension than she’d expected. Her father played the role of house-guest with consummate ease, pitching in with the dishes, straightening up after himself, engaging in light, pleasant conversation when J.C., Edith and Chester dropped by. And his rapport with Brian, underscored by deep affection on both sides, warmed—and softened—Heather’s heart.

In the end, she was forced to admit her sister and Brian had been right.

Her father was a good man.

On Sunday night, as they cleaned up after dinner, J.C. drew her aside. “I’m off tomorrow. A makeup day for the holiday. Would you like me to keep Brian occupied?”

She’d told him that Monday was D-day with her father, and she gave him a grateful look. “Are you sure you don’t mind?”

“No. One of the guys at work is into deep-sea fishing. I thought Brian might enjoy that. I could take him out for pizza afterward.”

Hot tears pricked her eyes. “You’re amazing.”

He gave her that half-hitch grin she loved. “Hold that thought.”

She did. And it kept her awake half the night.

But as she tossed in the dark early-morning hours, it was the coming encounter with her father that kept her as restless as the tide.

He was waiting when she came out of her bedroom the next morning, sitting in a chair near the top of the stairs, a small Bible in his hand. And he didn’t appear any more rested than she felt.

He closed the Bible. “Good morning.”

“Good morning. If it’s okay with you, I thought we could grab some doughnuts and coffee at Downyflake and head to one of my favorite spots on the island. It would be a good place to talk.”

“That sounds fine to me.”

Half an hour later, Heather pulled the car to a stop at her favorite access point to Ladies Beach. Slinging a tote bag over her shoulder, she juggled the cardboard tray of coffee and a bag of doughnuts as she offered her father an arm. After selecting a spot in the shelter of a dune, she spread out two large beach towels, helped him sit and passed out the food and drink.

As she’d hoped, the two of them were the sole occupants of this stretch of windswept beach. Sipping the steaming liquid, she let the familiar peace seep into her soul. The cerulean water sparkled in the morning sun, as if sprinkled with diamonds, and she drew in a cleansing breath of the tangy salt air. She watched a sandpiper play tag with the surf. Listened to the caw of a gull high overhead and the muted thunder of the breaking waves. Felt the breeze caress her cheek.

Turning to her father, she found him in a similar contemplative mood, his gaze fixed on the distant horizon.

As if sensing her perusal, he looked her way. “This is a perfect spot.”

A melancholy smile touched her lips. “I don’t know if I’ll ever use that word again. The pursuit of perfection can be disheartening. And expecting perfection only leads to disappointment.”

He examined the lid of his cup. “You certainly didn’t have an example of perfection in me.”

She shook her head. “I wasn’t talking about you. I was thinking of myself. And, to be honest, Mom.” She ran her fingers through the sand. Swallowed. “I’ve learned some things recently that have given me a new perspective on what happened twenty years ago. From Susan. And Edith. And from Mom.” Shaking the grains from her fingers, she withdrew her mother’s half-written letter from the tote bag and held it out to him. “I found this a few days ago in Mom’s Bible. I think you should read it.”

Walter regarded the folded sheet of paper. “I don’t know what that is, Heather. And I don’t know what you learned. But nothing changes the fact that I made a huge mistake that destroyed our family.”

“You did make a mistake, Dad. But I’m beginning to think it didn’t have to destroy our family.” She moved the letter closer and gentled her tone. “Please. Read this first.”

Aiming a speculative look at her, he set his coffee cup back in the cardboard tray and withdrew his glasses from the case in his shirt pocket. A quiver ran through his hand as he took the sheet of paper, unfolded it and began to read.

Heather watched him as he gave the letter his full attention, noting the faint tremor in his lips, the subtle twitch of the muscles in his jaw, the moisture gathering at the corners of his eyes. She knew what he was thinking. It was the same thought she’d had when she’d read the letter, after the initial shock had passed.

If only…

But the past couldn’t be changed. All they could do was look to the future. And she at last felt ready to do that.

After he finished reading, he refolded the sheet of paper and brushed a hand across his eyes.

“I wish I’d known all that years ago,” Heather said softly. “And that I’d let Susan talk to me about you and Mom and the problems you had. I never knew about the job issue.”

“You discovered everything when you were meant to.” He reached over and grasped her hand with the strong, solid grip she remembered. The one that had guided her back onto the dance floor so many years ago and restored her self-esteem and confidence. “Besides, it doesn’t change the speech I’ve been waiting to give for twenty years. It just saves me from having to provide as much background.”

Releasing her hand, he laced his fingers tightly around one knee and looked into her eyes, letting her see all his pain and regret and contrition.

“As you’ve discovered, your mom and I had different views on life. I wanted to strike out on a new career. She thought it was too risky. And she was right. I had a home and family to think about. Opening a bookstore was a selfish dream. But I couldn’t see that back then. On the day of my reunion, we had a huge argument about it.”

Walter took a deep breath, his features flexing with anguish. “I went to the reunion alone. Drank way too much alcohol. Found a sympathetic ear in a divorced classmate. You know the rest.” He wiped a hand wearily down his face and picked up the letter again. “I hoped your mother might forgive me, but I understood when she couldn’t. No matter what this letter says, I’m the one who destroyed our family. And I want you to know not a day has passed that I haven’t regretted my terrible mistake. I’m so sorry, Heather. So sorry.”

At his choked expression of remorse, Heather’s heart contracted. As she had done for two decades, her father had put the blame for the destruction of his marriage and his family squarely—and solely—on his shoulders.

But she didn’t see it that way anymore.

Some of the blame rested on her mother.

And a lot rested on her.

If she’d been willing years ago to listen to his side of the story, to find a way to forgive him, she might not have been able to put her family back together again. But the father she’d loved—and who’d never stopped loving her—could have been part of her life.

The thought of all those wasted years twisted her stomach into a knot.

Reaching over, she squeezed his fingers. “I know, Dad. And I also know the fault wasn’t only yours. I’m sorry I couldn’t see that sooner.” Tears shook her voice, and she swallowed.

Relief and gratitude smoothed some of the tension from his features. But regret remained. “And I wish I’d pushed the issue long ago. But I was afraid you’d reject me again, and I couldn’t face that. I guess that’s one positive that came out of the brain tumor. It gave me the courage to come here.”

Her hand tightened on his. “Susan says the prognosis is good.”

“It is. But surgery always carries some risk. And I didn’t want to leave this world without making one more attempt to mend our relationship.” He gave her a tremulous smile. “I’m glad I did.”

She managed the whisper of a smile, too. “So am I.”

“You know, we have a lot of catching up to do.”

“I have all day.”

“I do, too.”

And so they sat there for hours, Heather filling him in on her life on Nantucket, while Walter told her of his gratifying but lonely years as a bookseller. They talked until the sun began to dip, until at last hunger compelled them to pack up and head back to the car. After picking up sandwiches at Bartlett’s Farm, they toured the rest of the island, finishing their day by watching the famous sunset at Madaket Beach.

When at last they returned to The Devon Rose and
ascended the steps, he turned to her. “It was a good day, Heather. Thank you.”

“It was a good day for me, too.”

“Can I give you a hug?”

“I’ll be disappointed if you don’t.”

He reached for her then, pulling her into arms that no longer had the strength of youth or the power of an invincible superhero. Instead, they were the welcoming, sheltering arms of a father who might not be perfect, but whose love had endured even in the face of rejection.

And that was enough.

“Hey, J.C. Got a minute?”

Glancing up as he exited the large room near the front of the station where the summer special officers hung out, J.C. saw Burke standing in the door of his office, a disposable cup in his hand. In his Chicago days, Burke had never been far from a swig of java. Some things never changed.

“Sure.”

To J.C.’s surprise, Dan Holden, head of the detective division, was in the office, too. In his short stay on the island, Dan had called on him a few times for assistance with a case.

“Have a seat.” Burke gestured to a vacant chair as he rounded his desk and took his own seat. “Joe Martin informed us a few days ago that he plans to take early retirement in October. We’ll be looking for a good detective to replace him. Any interest?”

Burke was offering him a job.

Stunned, J.C. tried to process this unexpected turn of events. He’d always looked upon this job as temporary. Yet the appeal of his old life in Chicago had faded over the summer. In truth, he was tired of dealing with the gritty side of life. Tired of the politics in a big-city police department. Tired of never knowing when he left for work in the morning if he’d end up on a slab in the morgue.

Nantucket was a whole different world. Sure, there were some shady characters here. Yes, there was small-town politics. But he didn’t feel as if he had to watch his back every minute. And he liked dealing with people who appreciated his assistance, who thanked him for his efforts and who often shook his hand after he resolved an incident.

It had other attractions, too. Including a lovely tearoom owner.

“At least he didn’t say no right away.”

At Dan’s amused comment, J.C. rejoined the conversation. “I might be interested. It depends on a few…personal things.”

“That’s good enough for today. I just wanted to plant the seed.” Burke’s phone began to ring, and the two other men rose as he reached for it.

J.C. followed Dan into the hall. “I appreciate you and Burke thinking of me for the vacancy.”

The other man waved his gratitude aside and continued toward the steps to the second floor. “It’s good to find competent people.”

Flattered by the compliment, J.C. exited and headed south to his assigned sector for foot patrol, mulling over the offer. When he’d come to Nantucket, he’d been praying for guidance, answers and release from guilt. The guilt was largely gone, and he’d gotten some answers. Perhaps the job offer was the guidance he’d been seeking. Maybe it was a sign that it was time to leave his old life behind.

And start a new one on this windswept island, with the woman who had stolen his heart.

“It’s a teacup, Aunt Heather. J.C. and I picked it out yesterday at an antique store on our way back from fishing. I’m going to send you another one at Christmas. Maybe by the time I go to college, I’ll be able to replace all the ones I broke.”

Heather looked down at the wrapped package Brian had thrust into her hands as they waited in the airport for the flight
that would take him and his grandfather back to St. Louis. What a change from the sullen teen who’d arrived a little over three weeks ago, she reflected.

“Thank you, Brian.”

The loudspeaker boomed, announcing their flight, and Heather motioned toward her father, who was seated nearby. “Take care of your grandfather on the way home, okay?”