The Way Home (16 page)

“I know what you're trying to say, Claire. I want to do better. But I'm not sure I can do it. I've been too long . . . the other way. I'll screw up and disappoint you.”

“It's not about me. It's about you. I think, deep inside, you know you can do it. That's why you came here to find me, and why you came back tonight. Even though you knew Liza and I would be upset with you. Part of you knows you can do better, Jamie. And I do, too.”

Before Jamie could reply, Claire said, “I think I've said enough. More than enough for now. It's time for you to think about these things we've been talking about. I will, too. I need you to know that if Liza lets you stay, this is your last chance. I won't be able to stand up for you again. Do you understand me?”

She hated to put it in such a final way. She wasn't even sure that if he crossed the line again, she could turn her back on him completely.

Jamie nodded, his expression solemn. “I do . . . And thanks, Claire. Thanks for helping me.”

“Don't thank me yet. We still have to see what we can work out in the morning.” She paused by his bedside. “Jamie, do you remember when I taught you to pray?”

“Yeah, I guess. That was a long time ago.”

“Yes, it was,” Claire agreed. She had taught him some simple prayers: grace before meals and a prayer of thanks to say at bedtime and the Lord's Prayer, of course. “It doesn't matter if you remember the exact words but do you remember how I told you you could talk to God, to ask for His help any time you needed it?”

He glanced at her and then away. “Yeah, I remember.”

“Do you ever?” she asked quietly.

He shrugged. “Sometimes . . . Not lately.”

“God is a friend we can call on for help, even if we've been out of touch a long time. He wants to help you,” she assured him. “I can try to help you, but I can only do so much. You might make a decision to help yourself now. I hope you do. But when all is said and done, it's the one above who will help you make the right choice—and help you talk to Liza tomorrow. He'll help you stick to your promises and commitments, too. Because it won't always be easy,” she added. “But with God, all things are possible. Tell Him all your worries, everything that's in your heart, and I know He will help you figure this out.”

She wished him good night and closed the door behind her. Back in her own room, she couldn't fall asleep long after her bedside light was shut. She said prayers for Liza and Jamie, and for herself, too. Asking for Jamie to make the decision to stay and for Liza to give him one more chance. And the wisdom and faith to accept whatever happened.

I know you can't change someone who doesn't want to be changed, Lord,
she said finally.
But please work on Jamie's heart so that I can have one more chance to help him.

Chapter Ten

B
EFORE
Claire headed down to the kitchen to start breakfast on Thursday morning, she glanced up the hallway to Jamie's room. The door stood open and the linen from his bed had been stuffed into a pillowcase and left in the hallway, the same way she had taught him when they cleaned out a guest room.

She took a few steps toward his door and looked inside. It seemed—empty. No clothes draped on chairs or doorknobs. No big shoes on the floor. She didn't see his duffel bag either.

Had he left already? Without saying good-bye to anyone?

He must have been unable to face her. He knew how disappointed she would be when he gave his answer.
No, I can't commit to do the work it will take to change and move forward with my life.

Staring at the empty room, Claire felt stunned and sad.
I thought he'd at least try. He sounded so sincere about wanting to keep this job.

She couldn't believe that he hadn't at least left a note
.

She looked around the room, on the dresser and night table. But there was no note. She noticed the bit of beach glass near the lamp stand and put it in her pocket.

Downstairs, she checked the mail table in the hallway and then the kitchen. No notes there either. Claire felt another wave of loss wash over her but knew she had no say in this matter. If this was what he wanted, nothing she could do or say could keep him here.
Or should keep him here,
she reminded herself.

Liza would be relieved. That was some consolation.

Still, she wondered,
How can I help him now? Even if I call his cell phone, he probably won't stay in touch with me. He'll be too angry—and ashamed.

Why did God bring us together? I thought it was so I could help him. Now there's just sadness and disappointment. It's almost worse than the first time, when he was a boy.

Claire sat at the table with a cup of coffee, thankful for a few minutes alone to gather her thoughts and get control of her emotions before Liza came down. They faced a busy day shorthanded, a full house of guests checking in, and lots to do. She couldn't wallow in sad thoughts about Jamie. She had let Liza down enough lately.

Still, she couldn't help a tear or two that squeezed out the corners of her eyes. She sighed and dabbed them with a paper napkin.

A noise out in the yard drew her attention. Metal clattering on metal. She stood up and looked out the back window, expecting to see Daniel there early to fix something.

But it was Jamie. His long, lean body staggered across the yard, paint cans dangling from both hands, and a few brushes and rags tucked under one arm.

Jamie? Jamie was still here?

She didn't understand at first, though her heart filled with happiness. She opened the door and called out to him. “Jamie . . . what are you doing?”

He turned and set some of the cans down on the grass. “I thought I would work on the fence awhile. Unless you need me to do something else this morning. There's not much left to paint. I can be done in an hour or so . . . It shouldn't have taken so long,” he admitted.

That was true. He had dragged out a task that should have taken a day, but at least he admitted it.

“All right, that's fine. But I thought you were gone. Your room looks empty and the linen was out in the hallway.”

He looked confused for a moment. “I picked up my stuff a little, put things away. You always tell me to change the sheets on Thursday.”

“Oh, right.” She did tell him that. So he was just trying to be neater. To clean up his act, Claire quipped to herself.

“I thought about what you said. You called me out. You and Liza gave me a chance, and I shouldn't have paid you back like that. Like, being a total slacker. If Liza lets me stay, I'm going to work hard, and mind what you say. I want to do better, Claire. I think I can this time.”

“I'm happy to hear that, Jamie. Happier than you can possibly understand.” She smiled at him, the edges of her eyes still wet from her tears. “Liza isn't up yet, but she will be soon. You still need to talk to her,” she reminded him.

Jamie walked to the back of the property to start the fence, and Claire headed back to the kitchen. Her heart felt light, like a balloon that might float up out of her chest and sail into the sky.

She found Liza in the kitchen, pouring herself some coffee.

She turned from the counter as Claire came in. “What's going on out there? Did you tell Jamie he could stay?”

Liza sounded angry. Claire knew why. This wasn't the plan they had agreed on. Liza was supposed to have the final say.

“He decided that on his own. He was up so early, I thought he had left without telling anyone. He cleaned his room so well, it looks empty,” Claire admitted.

“Really?” Liza leaned back. She looked doubtful. “Is that supposed to make everything all right again?”

Claire sighed and shook her head. “Not entirely. I know that. But he says he's ready to change, to try hard here. Liza, I didn't say he could stay. But I didn't think you would turn him away. Will you at least talk to him?”

Last night, Liza had promised that she would. But Claire thought it was possible that she was so annoyed this morning, about Jamie just jumping back into the work, that she might change her mind.

Liza didn't answer right away. “All right, Claire. I'll go out in a few minutes,” she said finally. She took a sip of coffee, her expression growing more serious. “You know I'm more doubtful about him than you are. No matter what he says. But I can't refuse you this favor. I guess I can forgive him and we can try again.”

“Thank you,” Claire said simply. She felt so grateful and relieved. But there was even more pressure now for Jamie to keep his word and more pressure on her to see that he did.

That's all right,
she decided.
Some battles are worth fighting
. They had more time together now. That was the main thing. She would somehow persuade him to start studying for his graduate equivalency diploma. He couldn't get anywhere in life without a GED. Claire tried not to think too far ahead. She watched Liza walk out to Jamie and sent up a small prayer.

Thank you, God, for giving us both another chance. Please help Jamie to keep his promises to me and Liza . . . and please show me the way to keep the promise I made to him
.

Then she took the bit of beach glass from her pocket and put it back where it belonged, in the glass bowl on the kitchen windowsill, with the rest of her collection.

* * *

G
UESTS
began to arrive at noon. Claire was thankful to have Jamie there, helping with the luggage and the many other demands of the day. As the inn filled up, they had no time for any more debates or soul searching. It was time to see if Jamie was going to follow through on his promise to work hard. Or if once again, he had just been stringing them along.

But he did work hard, Claire was relieved to see. On Sunday morning she wondered if she could slip away for church and perhaps leave Jamie to help Liza serve breakfast.

Outside the kitchen window, the sky hung heavy and low with banks of dark gray clouds. Claire flipped on the radio and tuned to the all-news station. The newscasters were all talking about one thing—the big storm that was moving into the area.

“Batten down those hatches, folks, whatever that means,” a weathercaster warned with false cheer. “This system is blowing in with some high winds and heavy-duty precipitation. You folks on the coast might think we're being hit by an early hurricane. The worst of it should strike right at the peak of high tide. It's going to be windy and wet out there for a while. But with any luck, this mess will blow past quickly . . . ”

A storm? Why hadn't they heard of this? They had been so busy this weekend and the weather so fair, she and Liza hadn't paid much attention to the forecast.

They had to pay attention now. Claire decided to wake Liza. They needed to prepare—take out flashlights and maybe even board up some windows. And wake up the guests and get them off the island quickly before the land bridge was flooded.

As Claire was heading upstairs to wake Liza, she passed Avery coming down. The poor girl was working such long hours she had circles on top of circles under her eyes. But she did seem much more upbeat this week. She had told them business was picking up a bit, and she felt she was on the right track.

“Avery, have you heard the weather report? We're in for a big storm today. You should probably close the café and put boards on the windows. Maybe I can find some wood in the barn for you.”

Avery stared at her curiously. “I thought there weren't any bad storms around here until September.”

“We can get a sudden summer squall that tears the shutters right off the building,” Claire assured her. “It doesn't have to be hurricane season. The radio is on in the kitchen,” she added. “You can hear the reports. I'm going up to wake Liza. I'll be down in a minute.”

Avery went into the kitchen and looked for the radio. She turned up the sound and listened as she helped herself to coffee and a muffin.

It looked like Claire was just about to make pancakes and bacon for the guests. If all she had said about the weather was true, their breakfast would not be the usual, leisurely affair. Thankfully, she would be at the Peregrine by the time the crowd of guests were rushing out of here.

She listened closely as the storm alert came on. It did sound bad. Thunder, lightning, heavy rains, and high winds. The possibility of hail?

Claire had not been exaggerating. But what should she do?

She didn't have the tools or supplies to board up her building. Even if Claire gave her some wood, she couldn't put it up herself. She could barely hang a picture on a hook. But she could stop at the General Store and at least buy some tape for the windows. That would help.

Avery took an extra cup of coffee and headed out to her SUV. As she drove toward the island's village center, her cell phone rang with a call from Gena.

She just wanted to make sure Avery had heard about the forecast and wasn't thinking of trying to stay open during the storm. Avery assured her that she wasn't. They decided that Gena would call Teresa and Jack and make sure that they didn't head over to work.

“You're going to need some help closing up. I have to help Gerry get his boat secure,” Gena said, mentioning her husband. “We might need to take it out of the water. But we'll try to come over right after we're done at the dock.”

If the storm doesn't start by then,
Avery thought. She didn't know how long it took to pull a fishing boat out of the water, but felt sure it wasn't a small job.

“That's all right. Don't worry. I'll figure it out.”

“I'll ask Teresa or Jack if they can come help you,” Gena said. “Or maybe you could ask the McNultys . . . or Mike Rossi?”

Avery didn't find either of those choices appealing, each for different reasons.

“Don't worry,” she said. “Weather forecasters always exaggerate. I'm sure it won't be half as bad as they say.”

“Are you taking this seriously?” Gena sounded concerned.

“I just pulled up at the General Store, about to buy tape and batteries and all kinds of stuff. That's serious, right? Don't worry, I'll be fine.”

“All right. I'll call you later,” Gena promised.

The small store was so crowded, Avery had to park on the opposite side of the square. She glanced at the overlook as she walked across the cobblestones. Banks of grayish-blue clouds hovered over the horizon. The ocean looked dark and deep, a mysterious blue-green hue today. Even the air felt heavy and thick. Avery could barely get a good breath. Some rain would be a relief from this.

The brightly lit General Store was a sharp contrast to the desolate square. The small space was crowded with customers, their arms full of groceries and household needs—bread, milk, water, eggs, batteries, and flashlights.

Avery headed for the aisle that held hardware supplies and had to wait her turn to squeeze in and check the shelves. Which she found were practically bare.

She had a hammer somewhere around the café, she recalled, but couldn't find a pack of nails.
I don't have any wood, so what's the difference?

She grabbed a few rolls of wide tape and decided that would have to do. She also found a box of large white candles and what looked like the last pack of D batteries for her flashlight, which felt like a small victory.

“Got everything you need, miss?” the woman at the register asked.

Avery had been in the store a few times so far and knew that the cashier and her husband, who worked behind the deli counter, were also the store owners. Marion and Walter Doyle were their names.

“I think so . . . Do you really think this storm is going to be that bad?”

Marion shrugged. “Hope for the best, prepare for the worst. That's what I always say.”

Avery nodded. Who could argue with that?

Avery parked her SUV in front of her café. She saw the neighboring store owners scurrying around to secure their shops. Down at the end of the street, the Lazy Tuna was already sealed up tight with wooden flaps that came down over the windows; the big open front of the restaurant was covered with a pull-down metal gate. Avery had seen the restaurant closed up that way during the winter when she first came looking at real estate.

It looked as though Mike was taking the weather forecast seriously. The realization ramped up her concern. Her building didn't have any protection like that, and now the lovely trio of French doors facing the ocean seemed like an awfully bad idea.

And they'll cost a fortune to repair if the wind blows them in.

Avery didn't want to waste time thinking about that now.
Hope for the best, prepare for the worst
. Marion's motto rang in her head. She set to work doing just that.