02_The Hero Next Door (13 page)

He lifted one shoulder. “It’s your decision, Heather. But you know how your mother wanted to get right with the Lord before she died? It could be your father wants to get right with you.”

“It’s a little late for that.”

“Are you sure?”

Propping her elbow on the table, she dipped her chin and massaged her forehead, where a dull ache had begun to throb. “I used to be. Now…I don’t know. But even thinking about getting back together with my dad somehow seems disloyal to my mom.”

“Did she encourage the rift?”

“No. She never spoke badly about him to me. And she never discouraged me from talking to him when he called, or
suggested I ignore his letters. It was my choice. It was the only tool I had to punish him for what he’d done to our family.”

“What exactly did he do?”

At his quiet question, Heather wrapped her hands around her cup, letting the heat warm her cold fingers. “He had a fling with his high school sweetheart the night of their class reunion. According to Susan, he drank too much at the event.”

“Did he drink a lot as a rule?”

“No. I can’t ever remember him having so much as a glass of wine.”

“Where was your mom?”

“Susan says he and Mom had a fight that day, and she stayed home.”

“Sounds like a lot of things went wrong all at one time.”

“That’s no excuse for infidelity.”

“I agree.” J.C. folded his hands on the table. “How did your mom find out about this?”

“A friend of hers had been at the reunion, and when she went back to her hotel, she saw him go into the woman’s room. She called my mother, and Mom went over to check things out herself. Marched right up and knocked on the door. My dad was in there.”

“And that was the end of the marriage?”

She thought she detected a hint of recrimination in his tone, and her anger flared. “Of course! Would you expect her to hang around with a man who didn’t respect or love her enough to honor his marriage vows? How would she ever have held her head up again in front of her friends?”

“Is that what it was all about, then? Pride?”

“No! It was about infidelity. And betrayal. And shattered trust.” She shook her head and expelled a bitter, resigned breath. “All the things that seem to be the legacy of the Anderson women.”

A few beats of silence ticked by as J.C. rested his elbows
on the table and steepled his fingers. “I think I just figured out why you’ve steered clear of relationships,” he said softly.

She gave a short, mirthless laugh. “Do you blame me? My father, my brother-in-law, the one guy I was serious about—they all cheated. What does that say about the judgment of the Anderson women?”

“I have confidence in the judgment of one of them.”

Her throat tightened. “I don’t. And I’m not up for that discussion today. I have to decide what to do about my father.”

Compassion softened the strong planes of his face. “You could try forgiveness, like Reverend Kaizer talked about last Sunday.”

Heather shook her head. “That sounds good in theory. But all that turn-the-other-cheek stuff can leave a person pretty beat-up.”

“Forgiveness isn’t about putting yourself back in the line of fire. It’s about letting go of bitterness and blame. And it can be very freeing to the forgiver as well as the forgiven.” He leaned forward, searching her eyes. “Was your father sorry, Heather?”

At his question, an image of the final scene from that long-ago night replayed in her mind. Her father had returned not long after her mother. Susan had been away at college, starting her freshman year, and her mother had sent Heather to her room to pack for a weekend visit to her grandparents’ house while her parents sorted through “the situation,” as her mother had referred to it.

Instead, she’d cracked her door and tried to listen to the conversation taking place in her parents’ room, her stomach in knots. But no voices had been raised in the closed-door discussion.

When her father had emerged, however, the gray cast to his skin had shocked her. He’d spotted her in her doorway, and his features had twisted in anguish as he’d walked toward her. But she’d slammed the door, sliding the bolt in place as tears streamed down her cheeks. Though he’d begged her to talk to
him, though his remorse had been clear, she’d ignored his pleas. And when she’d returned from her weekend, he’d been gone.

“Being sorry didn’t change anything, J.C.” She gripped her cup and blinked away the moisture blurring her vision. “His mistake destroyed our family. For months afterward, I felt like someone had died.”

Once again, J.C. reached over and took her hand, caressing it with soothing strokes of his thumb. “At least you have the opportunity for a second chance.”

She knew he was thinking of Nathan. The brother who’d ignored his repeated attempts to make contact…just as she had ignored her father’s diligent efforts to connect in the early years.

And would perhaps ignore them now.

She also knew what J.C. would do in her place.

“May I ask you one more question?”

His careful tone put her on alert, and she tensed. “I guess so.”

“What would your father have to do to earn your forgiveness?”

“Fix what he broke. But it’s too late for that.”

“So are you saying that no matter how sincere his remorse, no matter how deep his contrition, you’d never be able to forgive him?”

Heather shifted in her chair. If she said yes, she’d sound hard-hearted and uncharitable. And she wasn’t that way.

Except maybe with her father.

“I don’t expect you to answer that for me, Heather.” J.C.’s words were gentle, and there was no reproach, no judgment, in his eyes. “But it might be good if you answer it for yourself. Is there a Bible anywhere in the house?”

“My Mom had one. It’s still in her room.”

“Check out Ephesians four, verses thirty-one and thirty-two. It might help.” J.C. looked at his watch. “I better get Brian, or he’ll think we forgot him. Will you be okay?”

“Yes.”

With one final squeeze of her hand, J.C. released it and pushed through the back door.

As quiet descended once more in her kitchen, Heather gave herself five more minutes to sip her tea and try to settle her nerves before she called Susan and got back to work.

When at last she rose to rinse her cup in the sink, she did feel better.

But while the tea had contributed to her calmer state, she also knew the caring, dark-eyed cop who lived next door could claim most of the credit.

“D
ad’s on Nantucket?”

Susan’s shocked question echoed over the line, confirming Heather’s suspicion that her sister hadn’t known about their father’s trip.

“Yes. He showed up at my door this afternoon.” Heather began arranging the three-tiered servers in a neat, precise line on the counter.

Her sister blew out a frustrated breath. “He told me he was going on retreat for a few days. Said he needed to make his peace with a few things. He’s been in touch by cell, like he promised…but I never suspected he was planning a trip like this. And he shouldn’t be traveling in his condition. Is he okay?”

“He seemed fine. I’m putting you on speaker. I’ve got a special tea this afternoon, and I need to keep moving.” She set the phone on the counter and began filling small serving dishes with strawberry preserves.

“I can’t imagine how he managed this. Physically or financially.”

“Dad always made good money. I doubt he’s hurting for cash.”

“Oh, Heather.” Susan’s sigh came over the line. “Dad left his job a month after he and Mom split.”

She stopped spooning out the preserves. That was news. She’d assumed he’d stayed in his stable, if unexciting, position as an actuary with an insurance company until he’d retired. It wasn’t a job that would ever have brought him wealth, but it would have provided security and a steady income.

“Why did he quit?”

“He’d been wanting to for a long time. That was why he and Mom fought the day of the reunion. Why there was a strain in their marriage.”

Heather frowned. “I never picked up any strain between them.”

“I didn’t, either, until a year before the split. Mom and Dad were good at maintaining a placid front.”

She supposed that was true. Even on the night of the reunion, despite the emotional turmoil her parents must have been experiencing, there had been no raised voices.

“What did he do instead?” Heather finished the preserves and moved on to the clotted cream.

“Opened a bookstore. He always wanted to, but Mom thought it was too risky. She liked the assurance of a steady paycheck. And the start-up costs would have put them into debt. She was worried about college tuition and paying off the house and cars.”

“In other words, she was being practical.”

“I’m not criticizing Mom, Heather. I’m explaining the situation.”

“How do you know all this, anyway?” A flare of annoyance sharpened her words.

“I overheard. I observed. I asked Dad. I asked Mom, too, but she would never talk about it. You know how stubborn she could be. And security conscious.”

“She had reason to be. Especially after she and Dad split.”

“She was like that before, too.”

Heather ignored that. “Does Dad still have the bookstore?”

“No. It was never a big moneymaker. And, in the end, the growth of chains was the death knell for a lot of independent bookstores. He had to close three years ago.”

“So it wasn’t such a good idea, after all.” Meaning her mother’s concerns had been valid.

“I don’t think he has a single regret. About that, anyway. He told me once he’d felt as if he’d been in prison working at the insurance company, but that the bookstore set him free. Why don’t you ask him about it yourself?” When silence met her question, Susan spoke again. “You
are
going to talk to him, aren’t you?”

“I don’t know.”

“Come on, Heather. Let the past go. Dad’s a good man. He always has been. He just isn’t perfect. But who is?”

A tall, dark and handsome cop came to mind, but Heather pushed that dangerous thought aside. Susan was right. No one was perfect—including J.C. To believe otherwise was a recipe for disaster.

“I’ll think about it, Susan. That’s the best I can promise.”

“I guess that will have to do. Call me if anything else develops, okay?”

Promising she would, Heather ended the call and picked up a plate of scones, giving each a final critical inspection before placing it on a tiered server. She set aside those that weren’t perfect.

Like you set your father aside.

At the rebuke from her conscience, Heather paused. Everything seemed to be pushing her toward a reconciliation. And perhaps she did need to consider it, she conceded. When she’d decided to cut off her father, she’d been an adolescent as strong-willed and angry as the Brian who’d arrived on Nantucket almost three weeks ago. But two decades had passed. Her grudge was twenty years old.

Maybe it was time to let it go.

A series of beeps reminded her to check on a batch of mini-quiches. For the rest of today and tomorrow, the holiday crowds wouldn’t leave her a minute to call her own.

But after that, she had a lot of thinking to do.

And a life-changing decision to make.

“Yoo-hoo. Anybody home?”

At Edith’s greeting, Heather turned from the stainless-steel prep table in the center of her kitchen, where she was decorating a tray of dark chocolate tarts with milk chocolate curls. Her neighbor stood on the other side of her screen door, holding a plate of brownies with small American flags stuck in the middle.

The sweet treat was a dead giveaway. The Lighthouse Lane matchmaker was here to get the scoop on Heather’s visit to church Sunday with J.C.

“Come in, Edith.”

Too late. The older woman was already through the door and halfway across the room. Sliding the plate of brownies onto the counter, she smoothed her red knit top over her white capris. A royal blue scarf around her neck rounded out her patriotic attire.

“In honor of the holiday.” She gestured toward the brownies. “Not that they can compare to your baking, of course. But teenagers like them. Are you going to the fireworks tonight?”

“Brian is. With a group of kids from the church. I’ll be baking.”

“I thought you and J.C. might pair up for the festivities.”

“He’s working the event.” Heather knew where Edith was heading and decided diversionary tactics were in order. “Guess who showed up here yesterday? My father.”

Edith’s face went blank. “Your father is on Nantucket?”

“Yes. He has a brain tumor and wants to reconnect.”

Edith’s mouth gaped open, and she slid onto a stool at the counter, abandoning her original mission. “Okay. Start at the beginning.”

Heather filled her in, working as she talked. “I called Susan after he left,” she concluded. “And I learned a few unsettling things about my parents’ marriage.”

Propping her elbow on the counter, Edith tapped her index finger against her lips, as if weighing her words. “Your mom and dad did have some problems even before your dad strayed.”

Now it was Heather’s turn to be surprised. Her mother had never, ever talked to anyone about the reason behind her divorce. “You knew about that?”

“Not until a few weeks before your mom died. After she found the Lord, she began to struggle with a lot of issues, and I guess she needed a sympathetic ear. She was working through them, but I think she expected to have more time.”

The swiftness of her demise had taken everyone by surprise, Heather acknowledged. Instead of the eight or nine months the doctors had predicted, she’d been gone in sixteen weeks.

“Here’s the thing, Heather.” Edith leaned forward, her expression sober. “I got the feeling your mother was having some regrets about how she handled the whole situation with your father. Not just the infidelity episode, but other things that had caused dissension in their marriage. She didn’t go into a lot of detail, but I know some of it had to do with your dad’s job.”

“Edith? You about ready?”

At Chester’s summons, Edith checked her watch. “I’ll be right there,” she called over her shoulder. Sliding off the stool, she leaned over to pat Heather’s hand. “If you want my opinion, I think she was carrying around a boatload of guilt for not encouraging you to maintain some ties with your
father, as your sister did. My guess is she’d want you to talk to him.” Moving toward the door, Edith stopped on the threshold. “By the way, did you discuss this with J.C.?”

“Yes.”

“What did he say?”

The perfectly formed chocolate curl in Heather’s hand melted into a gooey blob, and she reached for a dishcloth to wipe off the mess. “Pretty much the same thing you did.”

“Good man.” Edith gave a satisfied nod and pushed through the door. It banged shut behind her.

Somehow Heather managed to keep most of her disturbing thoughts at bay during the hectic day. But they surfaced again as she climbed the stairs to her bedroom and caught a glimpse of the distant fireworks through her window. A dazzling burst of white rained shooting stars over Nantucket Harbor, creating a momentary illusion of magic.

Was it possible she’d been living all these years with a different kind of illusion? she wondered.

Had she wrongly put the blame for the disintegration of her family solely on her father?

Should she take the leap and listen to what he had to say?

Or was it too late to try to rebuild that relationship?

Heather didn’t know the answer to those questions. And one trip to church hadn’t given her the kind of connection with the Lord that J.C. relied upon.

But she could sure use some divine guidance about now.

J.C.’s radio crackled to life, and he pulled it off his belt. Yesterday’s holiday festivities were over, but a celebratory atmosphere remained among the throng of visitors. He’d been pulled from one incident to another since the beginning of his shift—which had already been extended by several hours, thanks to a family emergency that had delayed his replacement. He was more than ready to call it a day.

“FP four, go.”

“FP four, please respond to the corner of Federal and Pearl for a report of a man falling on the sidewalk. Unknown problem. NFD is en route also.”

“FP four, received.” Clipping the radio back on his belt, J.C. picked up his pace.

As he approached the accident scene two minutes later, the small cluster of people eased back, revealing a white-haired man sitting on the sidewalk, his back against a planter. He seemed a little pale, but a quick scan didn’t reveal any obvious injuries. J.C. dropped to the balls of his feet beside him.

“Sir, I’m Officer Clay. We have EMTs on the way.”

“I don’t need medical assistance. I just want to sit for a few minutes.”

Looking up, J.C. addressed the group that had gathered around. “Did any of you see what happened?”

“Yes.” A stout middle-aged woman stepped forward. “He was walking along and began to sway. Next thing I knew, he’d fallen.”

“Was he unconscious?”

“No, young man, I wasn’t.” At the white-haired man’s firm reply, J.C. redirected his attention to the victim. “And I’m perfectly lucid. You can ask me any questions you like. After you help me over to that bench and this crowd disperses.”

Without waiting for J.C. to respond, the man grasped the edge of the planter and hauled himself to his feet.

J.C. rose at once, taking the man’s arm as he moved toward the bench. “Sir, people don’t get dizzy without a reason.” He could hear the ambulance siren now. Maneuvering the large vehicle through the jammed, narrow streets would take a few minutes, however. And he wanted to keep the man talking until the EMTs arrived.

“There’s a reason.” The older gentleman winced as he put his weight on his right leg, and J.C. tightened his grip. “I must have bruised my knee.”

“The EMTs can check that out, too.”

“Maybe.” The man settled onto the bench. “I have a nonrefundable plane ticket for next Tuesday, and I do need to be able to navigate through the airport. I suppose you have to fill out some kind of report?”

“Yes.” J.C. pulled out his notebook and pen. “Let’s start with your name.”

“Walter Anderson.” J.C.’s fingers froze as he shot him a startled look.

One of the man’s eyebrows rose. “Do we know each other?”

“No, sir. But I know your daughter.”

Now it was Walter’s turn to look surprised. “You know Heather?”

“Yes. We’re neighbors.” Still taken aback by the odd coincidence, J.C. tried to refocus on the task at hand. “Let me get a little more information for my report.”

By the time he’d obtained a local address, a phone number and other pertinent facts, the ambulance was rolling to a stop at the curb.

“Is there anyone you’d like me to notify about this?”

Walter hesitated, then shook his head. “No. Thank you.”

The EMTs joined them, and J.C. rose. After giving them a quick recap of the situation, he stepped aside.

And even though Heather’s father hadn’t asked him to place any calls, he pulled out his cell phone.

It had to be here.

Rummaging through the drawer in her mother’s nightstand, Heather felt a momentary flutter of panic—until at last her fingers closed over the leather-bound Bible that had never been far from Barbara Anderson during the final days of her life.

After pulling it into the light from the dark drawer where it had lain for two years, she searched for the passage from
Ephesians that J.C. had referenced. She hoped the book her mother had put such stock in would offer her some guidance. That was where J.C. always seemed to turn for answers, too.

Finding the verses he’d referenced, she sat in the chair in the corner of her mother’s room and read through them.

“All bitterness, fury, anger, shouting and reviling must be removed from you, along with all malice. Be kind to one another, compassionate, forgiving one another as God has forgiven you in Christ.”

Good advice, Heather acknowledged. But how did you get past the hurt to follow it?

As she flipped idly through the book, pondering that question, a folded sheet of paper fluttered to the floor. It was covered with the graceful flow of her mother’s handwriting, and Heather’s throat tightened. Barbara Anderson had always had beautiful penmanship. But based on the shaky script, this must have been written very near the end of her life.

When she bent to retrieve it, Heather saw that it was a letter. And the salutation startled her.