“You were right here, Mom. You could see me the whole time.” Zach gave her a disgruntled look and scuffed the toe of his shoe on the brick walkway. “I wish you weren’t so scared all the time.”
Jolted, Catherine frowned at him. “I’m not scared. I’m just being cautious.”
“What’s the difference?”
He wandered back to his seat and began to poke through the tote bag, his apathy for her time-killing suggestions obvious.
As her son withdrew a book and settled into his chair, Catherine pondered his question. What was the difference between caution and fear? Not much, she conceded. But she had good reason for both. Thanks to David.
Her stomach clenched, and she forced herself to take several deep, calming breaths. Someday…maybe…she’d be able to think about him with joy instead of sorrow. But she wasn’t there yet. And after two years, she was beginning to wonder if she ever would be.
As for Zach…she was sorry he was unhappy. And she sympathized with his plight. Being confined to a chair for an extended period was about the worst possible punishment you could inflict on a boy his age. In the past, David had watched him during her musical engagements, saving her son this agony. But David was gone. And she didn’t trust Zach with anyone else.
Nor had passing up this job been an option. In her short time on Nantucket, the high cost of living had been an unwelcome surprise. She needed the money this gig would bring in.
At a signal from the group’s leader, the string quartet struck up “Ode to Joy.” Scanning the crowd again, Catherine saw no sign of the man who’d spoken to Zach. That was good. Her trust level with strangers was zilch. Even ones who were guests at a lovely wedding like this. Because you never knew where danger lurked. Sometimes it was found in the most innocent of places. Places you’d assumed were safe.
Yet…as an image of the cake-bearing stranger who’d befriended Zach flashed across her mind, she found it hard to believe he was a man to be feared. Particularly in light of that moment when their gazes had connected. She knew hers had been filled with suspicion, and she wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d reciprocated with coolness or antipathy. In fact, that kind of reaction would have been okay.
Instead, she’d been jarred by the hurt in his deep-brown eyes.
All she’d meant to do was warn him off. She hadn’t intended to cause him pain. Yet she had. And that disturbed her. A lot. Causing pain was as unacceptable to her as letting Zach out of her sight.
But it was too late to fix things now. She doubted he’d come anywhere close to them again today, considering the unfriendly reception she’d given his kind gesture. And there was little chance their paths would ever cross again.
She needed to let it go.
Catherine tried hard to follow her own advice, doing her best to immerse herself in the lilting, joy-filled strains of one of Beethoven’s most uplifting works. To focus on the happy faces of the guests enjoying a perfect celebration in a beautiful garden on this sunny, warm day.
But somehow she couldn’t erase the image of a weary face that she sensed belonged to a man who had endured more than his share of hostile looks.
Talk about dumb.
In the split second it took for the gallon can of paint to slip from her fingers and smash into her toes, Catherine Walker knew her decision to pad around the house barefoot as she organized her remodeling supplies had been a huge mistake.
And the sharp pain that shot through her foot and set off bright pinpricks of light behind her eyes confirmed it.
Choking back a cry, she stared down at her crushed toes as the can rolled away. And came to the obvious conclusion.
Her do-it-yourself remodeling plans for the B and B she was scheduled to open in eight short weeks were hosed.
“What was that noise, Mom?”
Exiting the main house, Zach skidded to a stop in front of her in the breezeway that connected the two parts of their new home near Surfside. Soon to be known as Sheltering Shores Inn.
Maybe.
She cast another dubious eye at her foot, blinking back tears.
Without waiting for a reply, Zach squatted in front of her and examined her swelling toes.
“Wow! They’re turning purple, Mom. Do they hurt?”
“Yeah.” A lot.
“Should we call 911?”
He gave her a hopeful look. She knew he was desperate for some excitement, some activity to break the monotony of his days on this quiet byway they’d called home for the past three weeks. Their occasional trips to the grocery and hardware stores didn’t provide enough variety for her inquisitive six-year-old. And he’d hated sitting through weddings, like the one she’d played at two weeks ago. But since their move from Atlanta, she’d been too busy settling in to do much exploring with him.
That was about to change, she conceded as she tried to put her weight on her foot and cringed. She didn’t intend to summon an ambulance, but a trip to the ER seemed unavoidable.
“No, honey. I don’t need 911. But I think I better have a doctor take a look at my foot.”
“In town?”
“Yes.”
“Can we stop at Downyflake before we come home?”
Already the local hangout, known for its sugar doughnuts—which had edged out Hershey’s Kisses as her son’s favorite treat—was high on his list of must-visit places whenever they ventured out.
“We’ll see what time it is when we’re through.”
“Okay. Want me to get your purse?”
“That would be good. And grab my sandals, too, okay?”
While he headed back into the kitchen to retrieve the items, Catherine tested her foot again. If she put her weight on her heel, she could hobble as far as the car, she decided. But beyond that…
A sudden surge of panic swept over her, and she did her best to stifle it. She’d find a way to cope. She always did. Things would be okay.
They had to be.
“Here they are, Mom.” Zach burst through the door, purse and shoes in hand. “You want to lean on me?”
Despite the pain that was intensifying with every passing minute, she dredged up a smile as she gazed down into his earnest, trusting face. What would she do without this little guy? If it hadn’t been for him—and her music—she’d never have made it through the past two years. Yet she’d come so close to losing him, too. Fear clutched at her, twisting her stomach and renewing her resolve to make his safety her top priority.
“That would be nice, Zach. Thank you.”
After she slipped her feet into her sandals, he moved beside her. She’d intended only to lay her hand on his shoulder, but she found herself leaning on him more than she expected as she locked the door and they headed for her Honda Civic, parked in front.
“I guess it hurts, huh, Mom?”
“A little. But the doctor will fix it up and I’ll be good as new. Can you get your seat belt on by yourself?”
“Sure.”
He hopped into the backseat while she took her place behind the wheel and carefully lifted her injured foot inside. As she put the key in the ignition, she checked on Zach. He was already strapped into the car they’d driven up from Atlanta, eager for an outing—no matter the destination.
She grimaced as she eased the car back, every little bump on the gravel drive reverberating through her foot. Zach was watching her face in