A Time to Forgive. Marta Perry
floor and be reflected in the wide windows that overlooked the water. The strains of music flowed over her, and her hands clenched nervously. She was an outsider, as usual.
Then someone tapped her lightly on the shoulder. She turned, heart thumping, to find a tall stranger holding out his hand.
“Dance?”
She looked into sea-green eyes in a boyishly handsome face. He smiled, and her heart turned over. Holding her breath, afraid to break the spell, she took his hand and followed him onto the dance floor. When his arms went around her, she felt as if she’d been waiting all her life for that moment.
They’d danced; they’d talked. They’d gone onto the veranda and watched the moonlight on the water. Adam had plucked a white rose from a table arrangement and tucked it in her hair, calling her Cinderella, because she was the one unknown at the dance. It had been a fairy tale come true.
Right up until the moment she’d called to ask permission to stay later. She’d heard her mother weeping, her stepfather shouting. She’d raced out, hoping to get to them in time to avoid the inevitable. She hadn’t.
She leaned back in the pew, staring dry-eyed at the window. That night had cut her past in two as cleanly as any knife, but she didn’t cry about it any longer.
Probably she remembered Adam because she’d met him that particular night. She didn’t believe in love at first sight or fairy-tale endings—they were for dreamy adolescents. Life had taught her that love, any kind of love, inevitably came with strings attached.
Adam didn’t remember her, and that was for the best. If he had, it could only have led to an awkward conversation.
Of course, we danced together one night, didn’t we? Whatever happened to you?
No, she certainly didn’t want to have that conversation with an Adam Caldwell who was considerably more imposing than the seventeen-year-old he’d been then. Imposing, that was definitely the word. She glanced at the spot where he’d stood, frowning at her as if he didn’t believe a word she was saying.
The friendly voice she remembered had deepened to an authoritative baritone, and Adam’s hair had darkened to chestnut brown. He seemed broader, stronger. Life had given more wariness to his open face, added a few lines around his ocean-colored eyes.
But he still had that comfortable-in-his-own-skin air that said he was sure of himself and his place in the world. He was a Caldwell of Caldwell Island. And he still had that honeyed drawl that could send shivers down a woman’s spine.
Maybe she’d better concentrate on the reasons she’d come back after all these years. With this commission, her fledgling stained-glass business was on its way. She’d never have to work for someone else or let another take credit for what she’d done.
For an instant her former fiancé intruded into her thoughts, and she pushed him away. Her engagement to her boss had confirmed a lesson she should have learned a long time ago—love always came with strings attached. Jason Lockwood had shown her clearly that he’d only love her if she did what he wanted.
Forget Jason. Forget everything except the reason you’ve come here. This memorial was her chance, and she wouldn’t let it slip away because Adam Caldwell was, for some inexplicable reason, opposed to it.
More important, being here would let her fulfill the promise she’d made last year when her mother was dying. She’d finally erase the shadow Caldwell Island had cast over both their lives for too long. She wouldn’t fail.
She focused on the image of Jesus’ face in the window, the silence in the old church pressing on her. Fredrick Bauer, her teacher, had always said a person couldn’t work constantly in sanctuaries without being aware of the presence of God. Somehow she’d never been able to move past an adversarial relationship with the One Fredrick had insisted loved her.
Still, she knew God’s hand was at work in bringing her here. Why else would she have found Mrs. Telforth’s ad when she’d needed a reason to be here? Why else would her talents have been just what Mrs. Telforth needed?
You brought me here. If this is Your will, You’ll have to give me a hand with Adam Caldwell. I don’t know why, but I know he’ll stop me if he can.
Tory was ready to take on Adam Caldwell again. She looked over the items she’d spread across the round oak table in the Dolphin Inn’s small sitting room that evening. Her credentials, photos of windows she’d designed, the four-page spread in Glass Today magazine featuring a project she’d worked on.
Miranda Caldwell, who’d been working at the desk when Tory checked in, had insisted she use the sitting room for this meeting with Adam. The Caldwells who owned the island’s only inn turned out to be Adam’s aunt and uncle, making Miranda his cousin. The sweet-faced woman had been only too happy to talk about Adam.
He and Lila were so happy—her death devastated him.
Was that the reason for Adam’s reluctance about the memorial window? Did he find his memories too painful? She paced restlessly across the room, stopping at the window to brush aside lace curtains and stare at boats rocking against a dock. Across the inland waterway, lights glowed on the mainland.
Adam’s a real sweetheart, Miranda had said. Everyone’s friend, the person the whole community relies on. And the family peacemaker, as well.
Tory didn’t have much experience with family peacemakers. Her family could have used one. But she didn’t think Adam intended to use his peacemaking skills on her.
A firm step sounded in the hallway. He was coming. She moved quickly to the table.
“Ms. Marlowe.” Adam paused, filling the doorway.
She hadn’t been as aware of his height and breadth in the high-ceilinged sanctuary. Here, there was just too much of him.
Her hands clenched. Concentrate on the work.
“I have some materials I thought you might be interested in.” She gestured toward the table.
He didn’t move. Instead he glanced around, as if it had been a while since he’d been in this room. His gaze went from sofa to mantelpiece to bookshelves. His eyes looked darker in the twilight, like the ocean on a cloudy day. He’d changed from the white shirt and khakis he’d worn earlier to jeans and a gray pullover that fit snugly across broad shoulders.
“My cousin Miranda must like you, if she’s letting you use the family parlor.”
“I didn’t realize.” She followed his gaze, suddenly off balance. Now that she looked around, it was obvious this was the family’s quarters. She’d been too caught up in herself to notice. Photos of babies, children riding bicycles, fishermen holding up their catch, weddings—a whole family’s history was written on these walls. Everything about the space was slightly faded, slightly shabby and obviously well loved. “I didn’t mean to impose.”
“Miranda wouldn’t have told you to use the parlor unless she wanted you to.” He crossed to the table, moving so quickly that she took an automatic step back and bumped into its edge. He reached out to flip through the photos she’d spread out. “You’ve had a busy afternoon.”
Her efforts to impress him suddenly seemed too obvious. “I thought you might like to see projects I’ve worked on.”
“Trying to convince me of your abilities?” His smile took the sting out of the words.
“Not exactly.” She took a breath, trying to find the best way to say this. It was too bad diplomacy wasn’t her strong suit. “This is an awkward situation. Your mother-in-law hired me, but it’s important that you be satisfied with my work. After all, you knew your wife better than anyone.”
The strong, tanned hand that flipped through the photos stopped abruptly. He pressed his fingers against the table until they whitened.
She’d made a mistake. She shouldn’t have mentioned his wife, but how else could they discuss the memorial?