Isle of Hope (28 page)

Chapter Twenty-Six

“You sure you want to do this?”

A ball of nerves dipped in Lacey’s throat as she stared straight ahead at the Isle of Hope Marina, gaze fixed on the third cabin cruiser moored on the second dock. “Yes,” she said quietly, the tremor in her tone betraying her confidence. “I figure since Daddy has gone to so much trouble to avoid me, the least I can do is go to some trouble to confront him, right?” Nicki’s hand grasped hers across the console of her car and squeezed, and Lacey slid her a tentative glance, grateful for the support. “Besides, when I stow away in his cuddy cabin, he won’t be able to ignore me, right?”

Nicki chuckled. She offered another press of Lacey’s hand before she propped both arms and chin on the steering wheel, peering at Lacey’s father’s twenty-eight-foot Formula with the cobalt blue bimini. “No, but he can toss your butt over the side, and if it’s all the same to you—that’s my favorite pair of white capris you’re wearing.”

Lacey grinned, glancing down at the form-fitting, cropped-ankle capris that were as light as air. She was pretty darn sure she wouldn’t be giving them back anytime soon because now they were her favorites too. Somehow the thought and the grin eased the muscles at the back of her neck, allowing her orange crop top to expand in and out in a liberating sigh. She tweaked Nicki’s waist, amazed at just how much it meant—and helped—to have her cousin’s support. A calm suddenly buoyed her with hope like the colorful flags billowing in the breeze, their tall masts not unlike arms lifted to heaven while the sailboats bobbed and swayed on the water.

“You know, Lace,” Nicki continued, eyeing the hodge-podge armada of sailboats, yachts, houseboats, and cabin cruisers, “this may not be the best spot for a truce.”

Lacey peered at her cousin. “What do you mean?”

The barest twitch of Nicki’s lips defied the sobriety of her tone. “Well, Robert Mitchum and Gregory Peck didn’t do too well here in ’62, as you recall.” She gave Lacey a sassy smile. “What was the name of that movie again?”

Lacey’s mouth hooked to the right. “Cape Fear, you little brat, and if you’re implying the title is prophetic because the movie was filmed where the marina now stands, you’re dead wrong. Because we both know the good guy wins in the end.”

“You’re right, he does,” Nicki whispered, a glaze of moisture glimmering in her eyes. “In case I haven’t told you lately, I’m proud of you, Lace. It’s not easy to forgive and forget like you’re trying to do with your dad.”

Heat bruised Lacey’s cheeks as she slung the strap of her sack purse over her shoulder and grabbed the container of monster cookies she’d baked per Tess’s recipe. “He won’t be able to resist them,” she’d insisted, but Lacey had her doubts.

“Haven’t accomplished anything yet, Nick,” she said with a shaky sigh, “because it’s Daddy who has to forgive and forget, remember? For me turning my back on him like I did.” She opened the passenger door and slid a leg out, unwilling to take any credit for actions fueled only by the grace of God. “So any credit belongs to God, not me, since I’m not even sure I’ve let my own bitterness go.”

“Maybe not, but you will.” Nicki turned the key, and her trusty Toyota rattled to life. “You sure you don’t need me to pick you up? It’s not a problem, you know.”

“Nope.” Lacey bounced up and leaned in with a smile, hand poised on the door. “I’m taking the optimistic approach and assuming Daddy will drive me home
after
we stuff ourselves with Oreo Overloads to celebrate our new relationship.”

Nicki’s eyes softened despite the crook of her smile. “Okay, sweetie. Well, you know I got you covered. Bless up, girl!”

“Thanks, cuz—countin’ on it.” Lacey closed the car door and tapped her palm twice on the window before Nicki eased out of the parking spot and pulled away. The brief double blip of her horn reminded her that God did, indeed, have her covered. Bolstering her confidence with a deep draw of fishy air, Lacey marched down the ramp to the second dock. Chin high, she made her way to her father’s boat, which was all gassed up and ready to go according to Mark, the seventeen-year-old hottie who worked the dock pumps after school. A tiny smile crept across Lacey’s lips as she sent him a wave, trying to ignore the heat creeping up her neck over flirting with a kid nine years her junior. The one who promised to let her know the next time her father called to have his boat ready and waiting.

Almost six
, she thought with a glance at her watch, and stealing a furtive look at the parking lot, she gingerly stepped over the side of her father’s 28-ft. Formula 280 Sun Sport, wasting no time slipping into the cabin below. Complete with dining table, microwave, toilet and sink, the spacious cuddy cabin had everything she needed to stow away, including a porthole to ensure they were far enough out before she revealed her presence.

It wasn’t long before she heard the grind of tires on gravel in the paved parking lot, and peeking out the window, she spied her dad’s black Range Rover glinting in the sun. Her heart stalled when only he and Beau got out of the car. Sadly, she’d almost hoped he wouldn’t be alone—one of his fishing buddies or the rare date—acting as a buffer to guarantee a civil response. A shaky breath wavered from her lips as she pulled the cabin door closed like before, and tucking herself out of sight in a dark corner, she waited.

“Calm down, bud, I’m just as anxious to get on the water as you,” her father said with a chuckle, the sound of Beau’s excited whimpers followed by a gentle rock of the boat when they boarded. Storage doors open and closed several times accompanied by the sound of her dad’s footsteps above as he untied the boat. The smell of exhaust soon infiltrated the cabin when the engine roared, the hull rumbling so hard it was a contest over who was shaking more—her or the Formula. Eyes closed, she felt the sensation of gliding through the no-wake zone, her stomach tightening when the vessel cleared and picked up speed. Between her nerves and the fumes, nausea began to rise and although she’d planned to wait till they were too far out for her dad to turn around, bile clotted in her throat, making her dizzy.

Peering out the porthole, she saw the O’Bryen’s dock zip by and put a hand to her mouth to stifle a heave. “It’s now or never,” she muttered, and opening the cabin door, she gulped in the sea air to clear the fog from her brain and the fear from her throat. Beau spotted her first, his delighted squeal making her wish she’d brought bacon along with the cookies. With her Tupperware in hand, she crept out slowly, peeking up the galley steps.

Face averted starboard, her father’s handsome profile tripled her pulse. Sable hair streaked with silver ruffled in the wind while he stood, body relaxed in casual stance, both hands on the wheel. His loose polo flapped wildly against his broad chest, and all at once Lacey’s heart cramped at the image of a nine-year-old girl leaning against that very chest, helping to steer during one of those rare times Daddy acted like he cared.

Beau danced on his hind legs and barked several times, and the second Daddy glanced her way, his face cemented to stone.

She slowly ascended the steps, purse over her shoulder and Tupperware offered in truce. “Hi Daddy.” She gave a sheepish shrug. “I brought monster cookies,” she said, hoping against hope that the man would at least crack a smile.

He didn’t. “What are you doing here?” he said in the same deadly voice he’d used when she was a child. “And who let you on?”

She swallowed hard, not likely to throw sweet Mark under the bus. “I thought we could talk.”

His jaw calcified further as he wrenched the wheel to the left, banking the boat so fast, it slammed Lacey against the side. The cookie container went flying, crashing open onto the carpeted fiberglass deck. Before Lacey could even breathe, Beau pounced on the scattered cookies, tail wagging like it was the Purina lottery. Her father swore, and Lacey winced. For all his faults, her father had never been a profane man unless she’d pushed too far. He jerked the throttle back to neutral, and the high plane of the boat crashed back to the water, hull slinking into the river in a slow, ominous glide, as if plunging into quicksand.

Like her hope …

“Beau, no!” With a firm yank of Beau’s collar, her father dragged the dog back, pushing past Lacey in an effort to put him into the cabin. He slammed the door closed and turned, the gray pallor of his face not a good sign. “I want every solitary crumb picked up—
now
—before we get back to the marina.” Without another word he shoved by, bumping her arm on his way to the wheel.

Few people knew Ben Carmichael had a temper because he always hid it so well. Except with Lacey and her mom, who somehow always managed to ignite it. And true to form, her Dad’s temper had always lit hers as well.
Like now
, unleashing a once-familiar spark of rebellion, which was tempered—thank God—by her faith. But it was more than enough to put fire in her eyes and grit in her bones. Snatching the Tupperware, she slammed every cookie and crumb back in, her eyes scorching his. “I’ll pick them up,” she said while he glared right back, hand poised on the throttle as if waiting till she was through, “but you need to know, Daddy, that I have no intention of leaving this boat until we talk.”

“You had your chance to talk.” He restarted the engine with a harsh grind before pushing the throttle forward, “when I begged you to return my calls after your mother died, my letters, my emails.” Anger chiseled his profile while he stared straight ahead, aiming for the marina. “You made your choice then, kiddo, and I have nothing more to say.”

“Yeah? Well, I have plenty to say to you.” The temper she’d inherited flashed like a Fourth of July finale before she doused it, forcing it to sizzle away. Gorging her lungs with a deep swell of air, she clutched the cookies to her chest, desperate to contain the emotions that itched to explode. The same rebellious emotions that had once been, for her, as common as air. “Daddy, I’m sorry for whatever I did to make you so angry, but I’m trying to make amends here, to apologize—”

With a sharp jerk of the throttle, he cut the engine and spun to face her, the deadly calm of his voice belied by the clench of his jaw. “I don’t
want
your apology, Lacey,” he whispered, “I
want
you to leave me alone.”

Temper threaded thin, she struggled to contain it, a fragile fiber of faith holding her back. “Daddy, please …” She moved in close to lay a trembling hand to his arm, “I beg you—give me a chance …”

“Like you gave me?” His gaze chilled her to the bone despite the warmth of the summer night. Blasting out a noisy exhale, he dislodged her hand when he bowed his head to knead the bridge of his nose. “No, we’ve done just fine without each other all of these years, and I have no intention of going back to a life where you give me nothing but trouble.”

“But I’m not here to give you trouble!” she shouted, “I’m here to give you love!”

His head lashed up. “You’re giving me trouble
now
, forcing something that doesn’t exist and never did.” He angled a brow. “I’m the ‘demon father,’ remember? The ‘spawn of Satan you were going to hate till the day you died.’”

She swallowed hard, the vile sting of her own words condemning her on the spot. “I didn’t mean that,” she whispered, knowing full well she did at the time.

“Whether you did or not, the fact remains that you and I are too combustible to ever get along, too damaged to heal the scars both of us have inflicted, and I have no stomach to go there again.” He turned the ignition and lanced her with a cold stare. “So I’m asking you nicely once and for all, Lacey, to let it go and leave me alone.”

She blinked, eyes dry sockets of shock while she stared, hardly able to believe he was rejecting her all over again. Hurt swelled like a river of poison swarming its banks, drowning any reason or restraint. “What kind of monster are you?” she whispered, wanting to wound him like he had wounded her. “A heartless shell of a man who turns his own flesh and blood away!” He seemed to wince before his eyelids briefly closed, as if her own anger had sapped all of his, but she was too far gone to stop. “Why did even you marry my mother, then?” she shouted, her voice as raw as her heart, “only to ruin her life and mine along with it?”

The twitch of his cheek told her she’d struck pay dirt, the mother lode of guilt, apparently, over his failure as a father, a husband, a man. Even so, his gaze remained fixed on the marina a mere mile away as he steered the boat forward.

“Tell me!” she shrieked, shaking his arm. But he ignored her, the tight pinch of his mouth telling her he had no intention of giving her anything at all, not even the courtesy of an answer.

Bitterness buried deep rose like bile while the pain of her past sparked tears in her eyes. Well, he may have gotten away with it for the last twenty-five years, but not anymore. Hurling the container aside, she latched onto his arm like before, only this time she jerked it hard, a rare swear word hissing from her lips. “I want to know why! Why you married my mother if you didn’t love her?”

“I
did
love her,” he shouted. He flung her hand away before he gripped the wheel again, slamming the throttle wide open.

And then it hit her—as hard and biting as the wind that slapped at her face, paralyzing her with an ache so brutal, the air was sucked from her lungs.

It wasn’t Mom. It was me ...
She sagged against the wide captain’s seat, her eyelids flickering closed from the rawest pain she’d ever known. He didn’t just reject her, she’d been a burden he’d never wanted, the poison that had destroyed his marriage. Somewhere a seagull screeched over the rush of the wind and the roar of the Formula, and a scream of her own rose within. A primal cry from a little girl who only wanted her daddy to love her.