The Carpenter's Wife
“Won’t go away,” he finished as he tugged her down on the smooth surface of the rock. “The memories are scattered all over this island, so I quit fighting them long ago.”
Ana settled down beside him, then held her face up to catch the soft ocean breeze. The wind felt cool on her heated skin, felt good blowing over her hair. “So we both have painful memories. Why is it so hard to let go, Rock?”
“I don’t know,” he said, his eyes open and honest. “I read a quote once about old memories and young hope. I guess we cling to the sadness of the past in hopes that something better will come along and change the future.”
“You have a good memory for quotes, at least,” she said, smiling. “I like that.”
“Really?” He lifted a dark brow, tilting his head toward her. “Most women find my quotes—and me—stuffy and old-fashioned.”
“I’m an old-fashioned kind of girl, remember?”
“Yes, I do recall.” He leaned back against the veined rock. “And I apologize. We didn’t get to discuss business very much.”
“We’ll have tomorrow for business,” she said. Then she ran a hand over the gray-blue rock formation. “The Wedding Rock—very romantic. I bet there are a lot of memories here.”
He nodded, his eyes shimmering a deep, dark blue. “And young hope for new, better memories to come. Maybe that’s why I keep coming back to this spot.”
Wondering why he had taken Ana to that sad, old pier, Rock walked Ana inside her house, then checked around to make sure everything was intact.
“We rarely have any crime here on the island,” he told her, hoping to reassure her. “We have a two-man police department and I think they mostly play cards and watch television all day. Or rescue a cat from a tree here and there.” Then he grinned. “Besides, you strike me as a capable, independent woman.”
“I already have a security system in place,” she told him as she hit buttons on the code box on the hallway wall. “I learned the hard way in Savannah—my apartment got robbed once.”
Rock waited, wondering what he should do or say. He was uncomfortable now that he’d revealed some of his family secrets to Ana. But she didn’t seem to be holding that against him. Thinking it might be best if he just went on home, he said, “About those plans—I’ll come by first thing in the morning with some sketches and ideas. I think we can have your cabinets renovated and your pantry shelves built right on time.”
“Good,” she said as she automatically checked the phone sitting lonely and misplaced on the hallway floor. “Oh, I have a message. Do you mind if I check it?”
“Go ahead. I need to be going, anyway.”
He was about to leave, but she held up a hand while she waited for the recorder.
A feminine voice said, “Hi, Ana. It’s me. Listen, I really need your help. I have to do some extensive traveling this summer—we’re working on buying up a big spot of land near Atlanta for development. This just came up and I’m still trying to sell that land I own over near Savannah, so I was wondering if…well, I might need your help with the girls. I’ll call you back tomorrow.”
Rock watched as Ana’s expression went from mild interest to a keen awareness. She seemed to stiffen, her eyes glazing over with what looked like dread. “Everything okay?” he asked, to break the silence that creaked through the old house.
Ana sighed, clicked the delete button on the message machine. “That was my sister, Tara,” she said. “I have a feeling I’m about to be hit up to baby-sit all summer.”
“And open a new business, too? That might be hard.”
“Tara doesn’t stop to think about things like that. She’s a workaholic—so she expects everyone else to be the same. The only problem is, since her husband died, she’s poured herself into her work even more, and now, I’m afraid she’s neglecting her three daughters.”
“Reminds me of my mother—and Stone, too,” Rock said before thinking. “Not that he’s married with children. But he works 24/7. Guess he did get a couple of my mother’s traits.”
“Maybe we should introduce Tara and him,” Ana said with a skeptical smile. Then she added, “Don’t get me wrong. Tara loves her girls. It’s just been…hard on all of us since Chad died. I don’t think Tara even realizes that the girls are still grieving, too. They are acting out in all sorts of ways, but she can’t seem to connect on why.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Rock said, coming to lean on the wall opposite her. “But it sounds very familiar. Our mother at least understood…when our father died. She tried to comfort us, but then she got caught up in her work and we somehow learned to fend for ourselves most days. I don’t know, though, if a child ever gets over that kind of grief.”
Ana nodded. “That’s the way it’s been with the girls lately. All teenagers now, too.”
“Wow. And she’s going to pass them off on you?”
“I love them. And Tara doesn’t trust anyone else. My parents are at that age where they travel a lot, when they aren’t sick or volunteering. The girls can be a handful, so they can’t keep them for more than a few days at a time. And Chad’s parents live out in Texas—Ana won’t let the girls go that far away over the summer. She’s there with them now, for a short visit, but I doubt the girls will want to stay in Texas all summer. That leaves me, I guess.”
“And me,” Rock heard himself saying. “Listen, Ana, this is small island. Everyone knows everyone. We all watch out for each other. We can help with the girls.”
She looked up at him, awe sparkling in her green eyes. “You’d do that…for me?”
“Of course. Mother would love it, too, I’m sure. They can swim, run around the village, learn to make pottery. There’s lots to entertain teenagers here.”
“You haven’t met these three yet—they are eleven, thirteen and fourteen—going on thirty.”
Rock leaned forward, taking in the sight of Ana standing there in the semidarkness, her fiery hair wind-tossed, the scent of the ocean still surrounding her. “If they are anything like their aunt, I can’t wait to meet them.”
Ana moved away, ran a hand through her hair. “Well, I have to think long and hard about this, but not tonight. It’s getting late. And we have lots of work to do tomorrow.”
Rock followed her to the front door. “Back to business, right?”
“Yes, business is what brought me here. But I did enjoy dinner.”
“Even though I told you all about the Dempsey family dysfunctions?”
“Every family has dysfunctions, as you can see from my sister’s phone call.”
“Maybe so. But, Ana, I want you to understand. I love my mother and my brothers—they mean the world to me. And since becoming a minister, I’ve learned we can’t control other people. We can only control how we react to them, and we have to leave the rest in God’s hands.”
She glanced down at the phone. “It’s hard to do that.”
“Yes, it is. But we can do the next-best thing. We love them—unconditionally, sometimes with trepidation, sometimes with a bit of anger and resentment, but always, knowing that if family needs us, we have to come through.”
“Like me, with my sister? I should tell her yes, bring the girls to me?”
“If that’s what you want to do in your heart.”
“I love those three. I’ve always wanted children.”
“You might be the best thing for them right now. A good, positive role model.”
“Me?” She scoffed, shook her head. “I’m just their old-maid aunt who loves art and reading and cooking. I’m the plain sister, Rock, in case you haven’t figured that out yet.”
He leaned close again, one hand on the old brass doorknob. “Oh, I’ve figured out a lot of things about you, Ana. And I’m looking forward to working through the rest.”
He heard her sigh.
“The rest?”
“The rest of what makes Ana Hanson such an interesting, pretty woman.”
“Interesting and pretty describes my outgoing, dynamic sister, not me.”
“I don’t recall asking you about your sister. I’m only interested in getting to know you. And you are by no means plain.”
“Really, Rock, there’s not much to me.”
Rock reached up, pushed at a burnished curl clinging to her cheek. “There’s more than you know, Ana. Much more.”
Ana stepped back, away from his touch. “Remember, you were hired to work on restoring my cabinets, not me.”
Rock could tell she was scared, uncomfortable. He felt much the same way. And he still wasn’t sure where all of this might lead. “Fair enough,” he said. “But I’ve learned something about restoration over the years. Sometimes, if we keep polishing and pampering, we find true treasures underneath all the dirt and dust and neglect.”
“You’re talking in riddles again.”
“I’m telling it like it is,” he replied as he backed out the door. “You are a treasure, Ana. And somebody needs to show you that.”
She just smiled and said, “Thank you. You’re awfully sweet to try and make me feel better.”
Then she closed the door. Rock could hear the click of the lock, effectively shutting him out of her life for now.
“You should feel better,” he thought. “Someone needs to show you how special you are.” Rock decided that he was just the man for the job.
Chapter Four
“I invited Ana to dinner tonight—with you and me.”
Rock stared across the workshop at his mother. “That explains this surprise visit.”
Eloise rarely came to his workshop. She rarely left the compound of her home and studio. And she never cooked. Her groceries, housekeeping and other essentials, including real cooked meals, were now taken care of by a capable couple that lived in a small cottage near her property.
Rock had been pleased, but curious, when his mother had waltzed into the workshop this morning. Now he understood, of course. Eloise was up to matchmaking again.
“What if I have plans?”
“You never have plans, Rock. When was the last time you actually dated anyone?”
He had to stop and think. “I paid a visit to a single woman just the other night.”
Eloise lifted a finger, wagging it at him. “You’ve been watching wrestling on Saturday nights with old Miss McPherson again, haven’t you, son? That doesn’t count.”
“Okay, it’s been a while. But you know how it is, Mom. I work.”
Eloise picked up a plywood pattern. “Getting in your digs early today?”
“I’m sorry. Like mother, like son, I reckon. I guess I have been working too hard lately. What time is dinner? And what is Neda cooking?”
Eloise smiled at that. “Around seven, and we’re having a picnic out on the grounds—barbecued chicken, potato salad, the works. Ana told me once she loved picnics.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Rock replied while he set his router flush with the base of a piece of wood, then lined up for the cut. Dropping his protective goggles on, he proceeded to cut the fresh-smelling walnut wood.
Eloise waited patiently, her hands folded over the front of her long linen skirt. When Rock had finished, she said, “Is that for Ana’s kitchen?”
“Yep. I’m having to replace some of the original wood—the back sections of some of the cabinets just aren’t sturdy anymore. Not to mention that most of the upper units need reinforcement.” He lifted his head toward the sections of what would soon be an island station in the kitchen. “Don Ashworth and his son, Cal, have been helping me with that monster. But they took the morning off—Cal’s getting his driver’s license.”
Eloise said, “Oh, I saw Greta Epperson at the town hall meeting about the lighthouse fund-raiser. She said rumor has it you and Ana were having dinner at the Sunken Pier a couple of nights ago.”
Rock lifted his gaze to the heavens. “Oh, great. I guess that news flash will grace the gossip page in this week’s paper. And it probably won’t matter that it was a business dinner.”
Eloise chuckled, then eyed the pieces that had yet to be put together inside Ana’s house. “Not to Greta. She loves trailing a good story and embellishing on the facts. And speaking of business, you’re doing a good job, according to Ana.”
“She hasn’t complained so far. Besides, she’s been busy training her staff and testing recipes. She’s got to get her menu down just right—she’s a stickler for details.”
“I want to hear the details of how things are progressing between you two, and I don’t mean the working relationship. I’d rather hear it from you than that pesky Greta.”
Staying tight-lipped, Rock picked up a hand plane and started passing it over a piece of wood he’d shaped into a crown molding. He wasn’t about to go into detail about Ana with his overly inquisitive mother.
Yet Eloise asked, anyway. “Do you like her?”
Pretending to misunderstand, Rock nodded toward the new cabinets. “This one—she’s coming along nicely.”
Eloise scoffed, kicked at sawdust. “You know perfectly well I’m not talking about cabinets. How are things with Ana?”
Rock stopped the pressure he’d been applying to the hand plane. “Things with Ana are…business as usual.”
He wouldn’t tell Eloise that the week he’d spent working for Ana had left him disturbed and excited. He liked knowing Ana was in the next room, working, sometimes humming, at her desk. He liked hearing her laughing and talking with her two capable sidekicks, Jackie and Tina. He enjoyed hearing the women talk about their families and their stressful days. He even enjoyed trying to figure out the secret codes women use to convey message. He suspected, from some of the sly, smiling looks the women gave him in passing, that some of those codes were used to throw him off. Or maybe drive him crazy.
But Rock didn’t ask for explanations. He worked silently, or with Don and Cal by his side. He worked steadily, since they only had a few weeks left before the opening. He couldn’t tell his mother that he went to bed each night with the scent of Ana’s floral perfume wafting through his senses. He couldn’t explain that when he went down to the beach for a midnight run, his thoughts always turned to the time he’d spent in Ana’s kitchen, measuring and hammering, tearing out and replacing.
And the whole time, he’d felt as if he’d been tearing away at his own old hurts and replacing them with something good and pure. Only, other than cooking him wonderful, dainty lunches so she could test her menu, Ana was keeping her distance. And keeping busy.
Which meant he couldn’t wait to see her tonight at dinner. But he didn’t dare tell his mother that.
Eloise was watching him in that calm, disconcerting way she had. It was the same way in which she’d stare at a piece of ancient wood or jagged stone and see things no one else could even begin to imagine. Rock wondered what she saw when she looked at him.
“Mother, I’ll be there. So you can quit glaring at me.”
“I love your face,” his mother said. “You have a noble face, Rock.”
“Thank you.”
“You don’t want to talk to me, do you.”
“I’m busy, is all. Got to finish these pieces and get started on a few others. Time marches on.”
“You don’t like me interfering.”
“Never have.”
“I’ve tried to stay out of your love life, but there’s something about Ana.”
Rock wiped the sweat off his brow, then looked at his mother. “On that, at least, we can agree.”
“Then, you do…like her?”
“We’re not going steady yet, but yes, I like her.”
“So a mother can hope.”
The old anger surfaced as quickly and swiftly as a rebel wave hitting the shore. “Why does this matter so much to you, anyway?”
Eloise’s stark eyes opened wide. Rock saw the mist of tears there. “I know I failed you, Rock. I was…alone, afraid, obsessed with making a name for myself. I…believe God has given me another chance. I intend to see that chance through.”
“By pushing your oldest, bachelor son off on the first woman who shows him the slightest hint of attention?”
“You’ve dated other women, so don’t put yourself down.” She shook her head. “I’m just hoping and praying that you and Ana make a good match. I want you to be happy, truly happy, and Ana seems perfect for you. Everyone should have the chance to know pure happiness in their life.”
Rock saw the light leave his mother’s beautiful eyes, and he knew she was remembering. He hated himself for being harsh with her. He couldn’t touch her. He couldn’t bring himself to hug her. But he did give her his full attention. “I’d like that, Mother. I’d like to have that just once in my life.”
Eloise’s expression changed to a smile. “I’ll see you at seven, then.”
Ana stepped out of her car, a warm apple pie in one hand and her crocheted purse in the other. Closing the car door with a sandaled foot, she stared up at the imposing Victorian beach house that sat nestled underneath billowing live oaks across from the sandy curve of the shore.
The house was an aged white, battered from years of tropical winds and salty mists. Its shutters were a muted gray, its many lace-curtained windows thrown open to the sea. Around back, past the sandy, shell-covered drive, stood Eloise’s studio.
She heard laughter coming from the garden, so Ana headed through the carriage drive on the side of the house to find Eloise and Rock talking with another, older couple.
Eloise turned as she heard the crunch of Ana’s footsteps. “Ana! You made it.”
“And brought pie,” Rock said, his smile gentle, his eyes keen on her.
Ana managed a shaky smile, and wondered why she’d gone to such great pains with her appearance. Upswept hair, a sundress with brilliant tropical flowers splashed across its gathered skirts, a dash of lipstick and perfume. From the look in Rock’s eyes, she’d done a passable job, at least. That pleased and aggravated her at the same time.
But then, this past week had been full of such moments—sweet and torturing all at the same time. She had found herself, on more than one occasion, stopping to watch Rock while he worked. He’d looked like every woman’s dream in his faded T-shirt and even more faded jeans, his heavy work boots clunking on her polished floors, his dark, curling hair sprinkled with sawdust.
“Why do carpenters always look so yummy?” Jackie had asked just yesterday, grinning.
“And they are so good with their hands,” Tina, petite and buxom, had said through a sigh.
“Why don’t you two get back to work?” Ana had retorted, her own smile belying the stern tone in her voice. She had to agree with her new helpers. Rock looked good working, and he felt good each time his fingers brushed over hers in passing or his arm touched hers as they met in the doorway.
But what Ana had enjoyed the most didn’t really have anything to do with Rock’s physical appearance. It was his eyes, his facial expressions, that tugged at her heart and made her want to get to know him better. He’d go from intense concentration to thoughtful contemplation, his blue eyes changing color like a sea in the sun with each new calculation, with each touch of hammer to nail. Rock truly loved his work. And it showed in the beautiful cabinets he was recreating in her kitchen.
“Want me to take that?” he asked now, bringing Ana out of her thoughts.
She glanced down at the pie she still held in one hand. “Oh, yes. Thanks.”
“Smells wonderful,” he said under his breath, his eyes on her instead of the pie.
Ana allowed a little shiver of pure delight to move like falling mist down her spine. Rock flirted in such a subtle, quiet way, it sometimes took her a few minutes to even realize he was doing it. But he was doing it—flirting with her. And tonight, she intended to enjoy it.
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