Redemption Bay. RaeAnne Thayne

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СКАЧАТЬ his heart. “Yes. Your Ben. I thought you might want to know.”

      Her tone shifted from shock to crisp disbelief. “That’s impossible. I’m sure you’ve made a mistake. Ben will never come back to Haven Point. He’s made that abundantly clear.”

      “No mistake. I spoke with him for a good ten minutes.” A wonderful ten minutes. It had been so very long, he had absorbed every word, memorized each mannerism and vocal tone. “He’s in town to help Aidan Caine with a project. Apparently he’ll be here for a few weeks. I thought you might want to know.”

      “What makes you think I didn’t already know?” she asked in a haughty tone. The essence of Lydia, bristly and distant on the outside but so very vulnerable beneath all the layers.

      “Your reaction just now was a good giveaway.” He fought hard to keep the dryness out of his tone. “He also seemed reluctant when I suggested he call you.”

      “So you thought you would step in to make things right between us by calling me, anyway. How very helpful of you.”

      Her hostility stung, though it wasn’t unexpected. Lydia had erected a wall between them long ago, so high and so wide one would never guess they’d once been best friends...and much more.

      “I’m sorry I bothered you,” he said stiffly. “I know if my son were in town, I would want to know.”

      She didn’t answer for a long moment, a silence thick and murky with secrets. Why wouldn’t she tell him the truth, even after all these years?

      “I’m sorry,” she finally said, her voice subdued. “You’re right. I’m a bear today. I think it’s the low pressure system coming in. It’s left me edgy. I was hoping the yoga would help center me. Perhaps I’d better get back to it. Thank you for telling me, Russell. You’re right. I do want to know. I doubt Ben would have called to tell me himself, even though he knows I’m in the area for the summer. I appreciate that you stepped in.”

      “You’re welcome.”

      He should say goodbye but he didn’t want to hang up. Not yet. A cool and distant Lydia was better than nothing.

      “How are you doing?” she asked after a moment. “I’ve been wondering.”

      She sounded genuinely interested, which was more than most people did when they asked that question. His standard response was to say he was fine then deflect the inquiries with a change in topic but that didn’t seem right with Lydia.

      Somehow there seemed more freedom here on the phone, when she wasn’t standing in front of him with those deep green eyes.

      He looked out at the lake, silvery in the sunlight. “It’s been a year and a few weeks now,” he answered, his voice low. “I’m done with all the firsts now. First Christmas without her, first birthday, first wedding anniversary. There’s an odd sort of relief in that, you know? In making it through. I believe I’m finally starting to get used to coming home to a quiet house.”

      “I’m so sorry, Russell,” she said, her tone soft and rich with empathy.

      “Thank you. You know a little about loss yourself.”

      “More than I’d care to. Yes. The first year was definitely the hardest after Lily died. I remember the first time I laughed again at a joke on a television show. I felt so terribly guilty afterward, I cried myself to sleep. But then I began to find more and more things to smile about and realized my life wasn’t over, just different.”

      “Yes. That’s it exactly. It’s a perspective shift. I’m still finding my way but at least I don’t feel like I’m floundering through quicksand anymore.” He appreciated that she was willing to push beyond the usual platitudes and the superficial sympathy.

      “I know I said it at the funeral but I truly am sorry for your loss. Joan was a wonderful woman.”

      “Thank you. She was.” In light of the direction the conversation had taken, he thought perhaps he should just say goodbye and hang up, but it felt so very good to talk to her. He didn’t want it to end.

      “The hardest thing for me is eating alone. Would you...go to dinner with me sometime?”

      Silence met his question and his palms seemed suddenly sweaty. Lord. Why was this so much harder at fifty-seven than it had been at seventeen?

      “Yes,” she finally said. “Yes, I think I would like that very much.”

      The sun suddenly seemed blinding off the water. “Great. Perfect. What about Sunday? There’s a concert at the park afterward, if you’d like to go. Bluegrass, apparently.” He wouldn’t have known that except he was staring right at the poster on the wall outside the diner.

      “Why don’t we start with dinner, then we can go from there.” She sounded overwhelmed suddenly, as if she regretted agreeing to go. He wondered if this was as awkward for her as for him.

      “Dinner is a good start. A very good start. I’ll see you then.”

      And with luck, he would find a way to see Ben before then, too, one more time—and maybe finally, after all these years, together they could pull back the lid containing all the secrets between them.

       CHAPTER FIVE

      MCKENZIE GAZED AROUND her workroom at the women gathered there.

      Her troops.

      Her sister, Devin, sat next to Megan Hamilton, who owned the inn that had burned down last year, and across from Lindy-Grace Keegan, McKenzie’s right hand at the store. All around the battered table in the workroom of Point Made Flowers and Gifts sat her dearest friends, the other members of the Haven Point Helping Hands.

      Her heart swelled as she gazed at their beautiful faces. One urgent phone call, that’s all it had taken, and she had fifteen women willing to drop everything on a busy Saturday morning to see what they could do to help.

      Hazel Selby Brewer and her sister Eppie had obviously been playing tennis, at least judging by their matching white skirts and short-sleeved sweaters that showed off their knobby knees, varicose veins and age spots. Though a year apart—Irish twins, they always informed people proudly—they dressed almost identically. The two were inseparable and had even married twin brothers—though since Hazel’s husband, Donald, died two years earlier, Eppie’s husband, Ronald, had taken over escorting both women around town.

      Hazel and Eppie wore their wrinkles well. They were the oldest of the Helping Hands at eighty-three and eighty-two. The youngest, Samantha Fremont and her best friend, Katrina Bailey, were in their early twenties. They dressed in short shorts and tight T-shirts and both looked a bit hungover, as if they’d partied a little too late on Friday night at the Mad Dog, which had featured a live band the night before.

      In between the two ends of the spectrum were housewives, a real estate agent, a couple of teachers. They weren’t particular about who could come to the Helping Hands meetings.

      She loved every single one of them.

      McKenzie drew in a deep breath that smelled of flowers and raffia and sage. “Thank you all for СКАЧАТЬ