Isle of Hope (31 page)

“Great idea,” Lacey said, bobbling the wallet. “There are a couple of iPads over there with our names on them, right, Nick?”

“Oh, you bet.” Chuckling, Nicki slung an arm over Lacey’s shoulder.

“Hey,” Matt said, snitching a piece of the kids’ cotton candy, “maybe the kids should go along to bid on some toys.”

“Gosh, really? Thanks Mr. Jack!” Debbie scrambled off the bench, the cotton candy all but forgotten as she tugged on Spence’s arm. “Come on, guys, I saw lots of cool stuff.”

“Thanks a lot, Goof Ball,” Jack said, wadding the soggy Kleenex before pelting it at his cousin.

Grateful for the diversion, Lacey slacked a hip in a smart aleck pose, shooting Jack a cocky smile. “You know, Jack, I’m always shocked at just how generous you are with your money—especially given all the splashes you already took for the cause.”

Arms folded on the table, Jack glanced up with a half-lidded smile that had no right to loop her stomach like it did. “Yeah, real shocking, Mike. Just wait till you see how generous I am with payback once I get you back on the dock.”

Heat zinged up her face like a rash gone awry, the memory of their last time on the dock taking her mind in a totally different direction. He was talking dunks in the water, she was certain, but all that came to mind was cuddling on his lap while he stroked and kissed her hair.

Real shocking?
That her romantic feelings for Jack O’Bryen had been rekindled in the span of single night? God help her, nothing could shock her more.

“Uh, excuse me, Lacey?”

“Yes?” She spun around and froze.

That is … until now.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Ben Carmichael stood there, as paralyzed as his daughter, questioning his sanity in even coming here tonight. But Lacey hadn’t returned one of his calls, and the guilt was eating him alive. He’d barely slept a wink since that night, at least not well, and wouldn’t until he could finally apologize and get on with his life. A slow exhale seeped from his lips as he stared at a sea of faces, gaze locking on only one—that of his daughter’s, which appeared as deprived of blood right now as his own. A knot of pride obstructed his air and he swallowed hard to clear it away, hands buried deep in the pockets of his Dockers as he sucked in a deep swallow of humility. “Can we go somewhere and talk?” he asked quietly, quite certain the regret in his tone was no match for the hurt he had caused.

“I thought you didn’t want to talk,” she snapped, shoulders squaring in that defensive posture she’d had when she’d been a teenager, jaw thrust and mouth compressed.

His temper chafed, itching to flare like always when Lacey challenged him with her rebellious air. Gaze flicking around the table, it converged with Tess’s for the briefest of moments before she quickly looked away, clearly telling him he was on his own.
Fine.
With a lift of his jaw, he stared Lacey down, determined to do what he came here to do. “We need to talk—alone.”

He could see a storm brewing in her eyes, gaze thin and patience even thinner, the tic in her cheek twittering as hard as his own. “I’m busy right now,” she bit out, and it took everything in him not to turn on his heel and run like he always had before.

“Is h-he a bad man?” A little girl’s voice wavered with fear.

“No, darling.” Mamaw rose from her chair, smile soft as she patted the girl’s shoulder, her gaze kind as it connected with Ben’s. “Just a very unhappy one.” She made her way to where Lacey stood at the end of the table with a pool of tears in her eyes. “Go,” her grandmother said quietly, slipping an arm around her granddaughter’s waist, barely loud enough for him to hear. “This is the moment you’ve been praying for.”

Lacey didn’t move. Her body quivered as imperceptibly as marsh grasses in a moonless evening while she stared, a single tear slowly trailing her cheek.

“Go,” Mamaw said again.

This time Lacey looked at her, her lip trembling as much as his gut. “For you, and only you.”

“No, darling girl.” The old woman hugged his daughter, pulling back to give a nod to the sky. “For Him, and only Him.”

Offering a jerky nod, Lacey handed a wallet to Nicki. “Get started, Nick. I won’t be long.” Face set, she rounded the table and brushed past him, stalking down the hill to an empty picnic table by the lake.

He followed silently, figuring he deserved all the disdain she wanted to dish out. He had dealt a mortal blow, one that Karen begged him never to divulge, then added insult to injury by implying she wasn’t his daughter. He knew better. Sure, Karen dated a few others in the two months they’d broken up—she made sure he knew about that—but he was the one she’d been crazy about. The one she’d given her all to when he’d pressured her without mercy. And he had—relentlessly. But then he had the gall to blame her when she came up pregnant, accusing her of sleeping with other guys. His gut twisted. What a royal jerk he’d been. When Lacey had come along, she’d favored him right out the gate, but he’d been too selfish to acknowledge it, making Karen pay for
his
mistake. Guilt churned in his gut. She’d deserved better. A heaviness settled as he trailed Lacey down the hill.

And so did her daughter.

She spun around when she reached a lone picnic table on the edge of the lake, eyes blazing in the moonlight. “So … what do you want,
Dad
—or should I even call you that?”

He winced. “I should have never said that, Lacey—I was wrong.”

“And not for the first time—you treated Mom like garbage.”

“I know,” he whispered, gaze dropping to the grass where he fixated on an apple core. Another piece of garbage, just like him.

Rotten. Tainted. Corrupt.

“Why?”

His eyes shuttered closed, Karen’s face haunting him like she did so often in his dreams. “Because I was a selfish, immature rich kid,” he said quietly, realizing for the first time just how wrong he had been. “A cocky punk who was angry that his mistakes caught up with him.”

Her chin lashed up in defiance, but trembling all the same. “So it was my fault, then.”

“Mine—not yours,” he emphasized, head bent to pierce her gaze with his own. “I wasn’t ready for a baby, Lacey, and I took it out on you and your mom, and I’m sorry. In fact, there’s no way I can tell you how sorry I am.” He expelled a shaky sigh. “But I’d like to try all the same,” he whispered, not blaming her one bit if she told him to go jump in the lake. But he had to try. He couldn’t live with himself if he didn’t.

She folded her arms, the action more defensive than confrontational. “How?”

He slipped his hand in his pocket to pull out the latest iPhone he bought to replace the one he figured she lost when she jumped off his boat. He held it out, Adam’s apple bobbing uncomfortably in his throat. “I figured you’d need a new phone.”

Her brows lifted. “A phone? You think a phone can make up for all you did?”

“No!” His palm shot up. “No, no I don’t.” He laid the phone on the picnic table, then slipped his hands back in his pockets as he offered an awkward shrug. “But it’s a start, pathetic as it may be.”

Lips pursed, she stared at him like he was the devil incarnate. And then—ever so slowly—the corners of her mouth edged up so minimally, he thought he might have imagined it in the shadows. “Pathetic is right,” she said softly, a gleam of moisture glimmering in her eyes. “The least you could have come up with is the latest Mac.”

He hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath until it leaked out in one arduous exhale, his chest almost aching from relief. Fighting the moisture that burned at the back of his eyes, he picked the iPhone up and held it out. “I’d give anything to take back what I said that night, Lacey,” he whispered, muscles convulsing painfully in his throat, “and all that I did to you and your mom.”

Answering tears glistened in her eyes as she took the iPhone from his hand. “Anything?” Moonlight glowed in her face like hope.

His gaze locked with hers, features guarded except for the barest trace of a smile. “Almost,” he said, nodding behind her to where dark waters lapped against the rocky shore. “Except jump in the lake.”

The corners of her mouth flickered just barely, as if a smile were battling to break free. “Good.” She strode past him to stop two feet beyond, forcing him to turn.

Her chin snapped back up, but it couldn’t daunt the twinkle in her eyes. “I’ll bring dinner once a week, either scratch at your house or fast food on the boat—your choice.” Her tone was sharp, no-nonsense, and completely matter-of-fact, reminding him so much of himself that a near smile nudged at his lips.

He bowed his head, as if thinking it over, finally responding in a tone that matched hers to a dare. “The house, Tuesdays, six o’clock. We both know the boat’s too risky.”

A bona fide grin slid across her beautiful face. “Deal. And just for the record?” She turned to leave, but not before tossing a crooked smile over her shoulder. “The way I cook? You haven’t seen risky.”

Chapter Thirty

“Oh, Debbie—no!” Hands over her eyes, Lacey peeked through two fingers, biting the edge of her lip while Debbie “Wild Child” Holbrook raced towards the Slip ‘N Slide in Mamaw’s backyard. “Slide—
now!
” Lacey said under her breath, right before the little girl’s feet flew up in the air, landing her flat on her back in the first few steps.

“Uh-oh … a little more slip than slide that time,” Nicki said, shading her eyes as she watched Spence and Davey help Debbie up, the boys’ laughter merging with Debbie’s giggles.

“Debbie? Are you okay?” Lacey held her breath, watching with Nicki and Mamaw.

The little dickens glanced over, a grin splitting her face. “Wow, waaaaaaaaaay cool, Miss Lacey, can I do it again?”

Lacey’s smile edged to the right. “Uh … sure … but we’ll need a little more slide than slip next time, sweetie-pie, so I don’t pass out.”

Shaking her head, Lacey stretched back on her chaise in her tank top and shorts, soaking up all the sun she could before the nip of fall chased their tanning days away. Closing her eyes, she emitted a contented sigh. “Thanks for letting me bring Debbie over to play with the boys, Mamaw. She had so much fun running around with Spence and Davey at the fundraiser, that she’s been hounding me ever since to see them again.”

“She’s a precious child,” Mamaw said, her tone wistful as she watched the children play. “Reminds me of both of you when you were small, squealing and sliding and sunbathing for hours on end.”

A bittersweet sense of melancholy shadowed Lacey’s mood as she stared into the backyard, now resplendent with a freshly painted gazebo and lush gardens for upcoming Nicki’s wedding. “Those were some of the happiest days of my life,” she said, voice wistful, “especially when I could come over here when Mom and Daddy weren’t getting along.” Her tone went dry. “Which was most of the time.”

Nicki cocked her head, eyes narrowed in thought. “You know, Lace, you’ve always said that, but after Uncle Ben showed up at the fundraiser last week, I’ve been wondering if maybe some of your frustration wasn’t just from typical teenage/parent head-butting.” She glanced over at Lacey, nose in a scrunch. “Do you think it’s possible some of the bad blood between you and your dad was more how it seemed at the time than it actually was?”

“You were a mistake … a kid I wasn’t even sure was mine.”

Her father’s words pierced all over again, bringing a sudden sheen of tears to her eyes. “I don’t think so, Nick, not after what he said to me that night on the boat.”

“What exactly
did
he say?” she probed gently, silent questions lingering in the air of things both she and Mamaw had obviously been waiting to ask.

Lacey sucked in a harsh breath and expelled it as thoroughly as if it were the pain she’d carried all of these years. “That I was a mistake,” she said quietly, eyelids sagging closed at the weight of the revelation. “That Mom tricked him into marriage by getting pregnant with a kid he wasn’t even sure was his.”

She heard Nicki’s soft gasp, and lids lifting, her gaze locked with Mamaw’s, the glaze in her grandmother’s eyes matching hers. “He never wanted me,” Lacey whispered, speaking the words out loud for the first time since the night she’d cried in Jack’s arms, the very utterance branding her soul. “Which means
I’m
the one who ruined
his
life—and Mom’s.”

Mamaw grunted, the sound so out of character that Lacey blinked. “Oh, malarkey! You didn’t ruin his life, darling,” she said with a twist of a smile, “you saved it.” Laying her knitting aside, she leaned forward, hands folded neatly in her lap. “Your father was nothing more than a spoiled rich boy who dug himself into a hole deep enough to bury a donkey. Trust me—your grandfather and I were not happy when he started pursuing Karen, who, I might add, turned him down repeatedly until he wore her down.”A frail sigh drifted from her lips while her gaze trailed into a distant stare. “She fell harder for him than any boy she’d ever dated, and why not? He was handsome, wealthy, and lousy with Irish charm.” One side of her lip cocked as her eyes reconnected with Lacey’s. “Hard to believe right now, I know, but he was, although your grandfather preferred the term ‘blarney,’ among other less flattering words.”

Lacey grinned outright, memories of her crusty and outspoken Grandpa Phillips coming to mind.

The humor in Mamaw’s face faded as her smile did the same. “I remember the day Karen told me your father first mentioned marriage. They’d been dating a year, and she was over the moon that he promised to propose, but ‘
after
medical school,’ he said, although I know she was praying for sooner. I had a suspicion he just told her that to pressure her into intimacies. And he was an outrageous flirt as well, so I always wondered if he didn’t have other girls in the wings, you know? But your mother was a good Christian girl, Lacey—active in choir and youth group—so she stood her ground for a long time, I know. But like I said—your father was used to getting his way, and he did.” Her mouth compressed into a thin smile. “He played, got caught, and then blamed you and your mother for the rest of his life, never taking responsibility for his actions.” The edge of her lip quirked, making her look like a silver-haired pixie with a twinkle in her eyes. “
Until
your grandfather paid a visit to his stepfather, Dr. Randall Carmichael.”

“Oh, good heavens, Mamaw, what on earth did he say?” Lacey’s mouth hung open at the idea of no-nonsense, blue-collar Grandpa Phillips confronting a society physician like Grandfather Carmichael, God rest his soul.

“And more importantly,” Nicki said with a grin, “did he have a shotgun when he said it?”

Mamaw laughed. “No shotgun, but a very clear message that informed Dr. Carmichael that his stepson was nothing but—and I quote, ‘a playboy with a pedigree’—who would never amount to anything in life if he didn’t take responsibility for his actions.”

Jaw gaping, Lacey put a hand to her mouth. “Oh my goodness, Mamaw—I had no idea!”

A soft chuckle rolled from Mamaw’s lips. “Neither did your father until Randall pulled the plug on his stepson’s wild ways, claiming no grandchild of his would ever come into this world illegitimately.” Mamaw shielded a hand to her mouth, voice low as if imparting a secret. “Apparently he bore the scourge of illegitimacy himself, which was far more shocking back in the day. So that, along with being at his wit’s end with a rebellious stepson who frittered away his time and education on less savory pursuits, your Grandfather Carmichael lowered the boom.”

“How?” Lacey was now sitting on the edge of her chaise, rapt with attention.

Mamaw’s jaw jutted up. “Clipped his wings, that’s how. Told your father in no uncertain terms that if he didn’t quit his wild ways and settle down—which meant doing right by Karen and focusing more on his studies—not only would he yank his dreams of med school, but he’d boot him out of the house and the will as well, freezing all funds till he grew up and became a man.”

Lacey exchanged a look with Nicki, their open-mouth smiles a stunned reflection of the other. All at once, they both started laughing so loud, the kids in the yard turned to stare. “Poor Daddy,” Lacey said between ragged heaves, the tears in her eyes now from laughter, “a player who gets his due.” She swiped at the excess moisture and shimmied back into her chaise, studying her grandmother with a curious look. “Why didn’t you ever tell me this before?”

Mamaw gave a small shrug. “You had enough grief over your father, darling—I didn’t want to add to it.”

Shaking her head, Lacey plopped back against the chaise once again, still amazed that the strict, upstanding father who’d berated her on morality had actually been a wild child himself. Another grin slid across her face. “And to think of all the grief he gave me over Jack …”

Sympathy shone in Mamaw’s eyes. “Which is probably one of the reasons, sweetheart. Your father didn’t know a lot about trust since he wasn’t very trustworthy himself back then.”

“Well, I wasn’t an angel by any stretch of the imagination, but to ride me every chance he got, always accusing me of playing around—with a minister’s son, no less—was downright hypocritical. Especially when all along he was no better than me.”

“Worse, actually,” Mamaw admitted. “After your mom and he were married, she received several angry letters from girls he’d strung along while he and Karen were dating.”

“Oh, that dirty dog!” Nicki chuckled. “Who would have thought a bad boy lurked beneath Uncle Ben’s straitlaced and professional demeanor?” She shot Lacey a wink. “I certainly hope you intend to use this valuable information if you two ever get on good terms again.”

“Count on it!” Lacey said with a throaty laugh.

“Speaking of being on good terms again,” Mamaw began, pausing when a sopping wet Spence darted over to drip on her shoes.

“Can we go inside now, Mamaw?” he asked, feet dancing on the hot pavement. “Debbie’s hungry.”

“Figures.” Chuckling, Lacey started to rise.

“No, sit,” Nicki said, bouncing up from her chaise. “I’ll clean and feed these little grub worms—I need more iced tea anyway.” She paused. “Anybody want a refill?”

“No, darling, but thank you.” Mamaw offered a grateful smile.

“Yeah, thanks, Nick—you’re a sweetheart, no matter what Matt says,” Lacey called, earning an answering jest from Nicki when she stuck out her tongue.

“So …” Mamaw picked up her knitting again, peering over her spectacles with a tender smile. “How are the dinners with your father coming? Any progress?”

Lacey scrunched her nose. “Some, I guess, but we’ve only had two so far, so it’s hard to say. At least he opens the door when I ring the bell now, so that’s definite progress. And if grunts count, he even occasionally responds to my questions—but only during commercials, of course.” Her smile canted. “We eat in the family room with the TV, naturally.”

“Oh, God bless him …” Mamaw shook her head, her smile still intact, a clear indication that despite all the trouble Ben Carmichael caused for her daughter and granddaughter, she bore no grudge.
Or
dealt with it long, long ago.

Lacey grunted in the grand fashion of her father. “Yes, well, it’s going to take a boatload of blessings to get through to him, I suspect. The man’s door may be open now, but his heart’s closed tighter than those silly plantation shutters he uses to shut everybody out.” She sighed, wondering if she and her father would ever be close.

“He’s softening, darling, make no mistake.” Mamaw’s knitting needles flew faster than mud-slick kids down a Slip ‘N Slide.

“I don’t know, Mamaw. I thought so when he came to the fundraiser, especially when he almost cracked a smile, but he makes no eye contact, grunts the minimal amount of words, and goes stiffer than those stupid shutters when I even attempt to give him a hug.”

“You mark my words, sweetheart, there isn’t a person alive who can’t be softened by the love of God.”

Guilt wrenched a weak groan from Lacey’s mouth. “But that’s just it, Mamaw, it’s
not
the love of God here—just the frail love of a daughter who’s been rejected so much, her heart is battered and scarred.” Exhaling a noisy sigh, Lacey looked up, meeting her grandmother’s gaze with a misty one of her own. “Whenever I leave, I always hug him and tell him I love him, but he just stands there like a granite boulder, arms limp at his sides and mouth sealed, never saying a word.” She blinked to ward off the moisture that welled, her voice trembling for the very first time. “And I gotta tell you, Mamaw, every single time, a little piece of me dies all over again.”

“Oh, sweetheart.” Placing her knitting on the table, Mamaw rose to perch on the edge of Lacey’s chaise. She cupped her granddaughter’s hand between her own fragile ones, the tenderness of her manner easing the ache in Lacey’s soul. “But in a way, that’s a good thing, Lacey, because your broken heart is not capable of loving your father the way he needs to be loved. The Bible says ‘the human heart is the most deceitful of all things, and desperately wicked,’ which means you can’t rely on it
or
yourself to heal your father’s heart. Only God’s unconditional love is capable of that.”

Lacey’s gaze wandered into the backyard with a zombie stare, her whisper threaded with pain. “Well, God needs to show me how to do that, then, because I’m not sure how many times I can bear Daddy’s rejection before my heart becomes as hard as his.”

A gnarled hand slowly caressed her cheek, drawing her attention to the beautiful face of her grandmother, delicately etched with both wisdom and love. “Ah, but that’s the trick, darling—seventy times seven,” she whispered, her countenance aglow with a faith so strong, the power of it melted into Lacey’s soul. “God’s love is unconditional because if it wasn’t, all of us would be lost. So you see, Lacey, it’s that same unconditional love that saved you, changed you, ushered you from the dark into His glorious light—that will do the same for your father. Only this time, darling girl, it will be
through
you. Through
your
unconditional love that brings dinners weekly without expecting anything in return but God’s joy and approval. Because when one is loved so desperately and so unconditionally as we are loved by God, our hearts long to respond. To love Him back in a way that will not only glorify Him, but bless us as well.”