Irene Hannon - Second Chance Summer

And he hoped He gave her exactly what she asked for.

Chapter Three

As Rachel finished emptying the dishwasher, Aunt El pushed through the door from the attached garage, a thick file folder in hand. “Thank you for taking care of that, dear. I didn’t expect the meeting to run this late or to have to eat early and leave you on your own for dinner.”

“I wasn’t on my own. I had Bandit for company.”

At the mention of his name, the golden retriever appeared from the living room and padded straight for Eleanor, who stroked his head.

Rachel wiped her hands on a dishtowel. The usual sparkle in her aunt’s eyes had dimmed a few watts, and there was a slight slump to her shoulders. Even before she asked the question, she had a feeling she knew the answer. “How did it go?”

Eleanor set the folder on the glass-topped kitchen table and sighed. “Not great. If we had any additional money, we could pay people to do the renovations. But we needed every penny in the fund to buy the house, even though the sellers gave us a great deal and took part of the value as a tax write-off. With some of our key volunteers sidelined, we just don’t have the manpower to get the job done.”

“I’m sorry. I know how important this project is to you.”

“Thank you, my dear.” Her aunt patted her hand. “I guess I’ll make the cancellation calls to the rest of the families in the morning, between customers at the gallery. Right now, I believe I’ll take a bath and call it a night. Are you all set for your first program tomorrow?”

“Yes. Organizing the art supplies I hauled down from Richmond and getting the lay of the land at the hotel were my priorities today.”

“Did you work in any beach time?”

“A couple of hours—only because Bandit made me go.”

The golden retriever looked up at her and wagged his tail.

“Good for him. R&R is wonderful for the soul. Did you see Fletch again?” A spark of interest kindled in the older woman’s eyes.

“No. He probably found a beach closer to Louise’s house.”

This was the perfect opportunity to discuss last week’s obvious setup...but in light of the problems her aunt was dealing with, Rachel didn’t have the heart to bring it up. Besides, it was a moot point. If she’d read him correctly on Sunday, Louise’s grandson had been as miffed about their respective relatives’ manipulation as she was—which had flopped, in any case. There wasn’t much chance he’d want anything further to do with the rude woman who’d gawked at his artificial leg and sicced a seventy-pound dog on him.

“I suppose so.” Eleanor positioned the folder in the middle of the table, opened it and riffled through the sheaf of papers. “Such a pity to disappoint so many people.” She expelled a long breath and turned away. “Waffles at eight?”

“You don’t have to spoil me. A bowl of cereal is fine.”

“Nonsense. You can eat cereal at home. A visit to Jekyll Island should be filled with special treats.” Her aunt winked. “But if it makes you feel better, I’m glad to have an excuse to eat real breakfasts myself for a few weeks a year. The rest of the time I subsist on cereal, too.”

They had the same conversation every summer, and as usual, Rachel capitulated. “In that case...I’ll look forward to it.”

“In the meantime, sweet dreams. Bandit, are you coming?”

The dog rose from his sitting position and trotted after his owner.

As Eleanor disappeared down the hall, Rachel drummed her fingers against the countertop. It wasn’t even ten yet. Too early for bed and too dark to go for a walk on the beach. TV held no appeal, and if she dived back into the taut thriller she’d taken to the beach earlier she’d stay up far too late reading just one more page.

Maybe she’d end the day with a soothing cup of herbal tea.

Choosing a bag from her aunt’s large selection, she eyed the folder on the table. It was a shame about the church project—though she’d always thought it too ambitious for the aging congregation. Still, she couldn’t fault their generous spirit. They were living the values Reverend Carlson preached from the pulpit every Sunday and doing God’s work.

So why had He allowed obstacle after obstacle to disrupt their efforts to serve Him?

She tossed the bag in a mug, answers about the Almighty eluding her, as usual.

But she wasn’t going to let herself grow bitter. She would cling to the belief that He had plans for her welfare, not her woe. Plans to give her a future full of hope. Holding fast to that verse from Jeremiah was what had gotten her through the losses. That, and the love and support Aunt El had offered once her parents and brother had returned to their far-flung homes.

After filling the mug with water, she set it in the microwave, strolled back to the table, and leaned over to examine the contents of the open file. Twelve sets of stapled documents were on top, each containing two or three pages. The six at the back were held together with a binder clip. Those must be the people who’d already lost their chance to visit Jekyll, based on the arrival dates noted at the top of the cover sheets.

Rachel refocused on the set at the top of the pile. It was background information on the family slated to participate in the program beginning on July 14—in less than five weeks.

Joseph and Sarah Mitchell, ages thirty-seven and thirty-four, and their four children—Aaron, nine; Nicole, seven; Angela, four; Peter, six months. Joseph was an IT technician who’d been out of work for eight months...a victim of overseas outsourcing, according to the write-up from his minister. Hard-worker, regular churchgoer, loving father, devoted husband—the accolades were abundant. He was taking odd jobs to make ends meet, but they were struggling. On top of all that, they’d lost their oldest son in a bicycle accident a year ago. The stress had extracted a toll on everyone, and the family was in desperate need of a brief respite.

The microwave beeped, and Rachel wandered back to retrieve her tea.

If every story in the file was that heartrending, it was no wonder the sparkle in her aunt’s eyes had flagged at the thought of having to deliver more bad news to families who’d already borne more than their share of difficulty.

Dipping the bag in the hot water, Rachel returned to the table. A quick scan of the remaining sets of pages confirmed her suspicion. Every family in the file could benefit from a relaxing, carefree week on Jekyll Island.

As she sipped her tea, the warmth in the ceramic mug seeped into her fingers—just as the stories of these deserving families had seeped into her heart.

Was there anything she could do to keep more of them from being disappointed? She wasn’t a carpenter or an electrician or a plumber, but she could wield a mean paintbrush, knew how to rip up carpeting and wasn’t afraid of heavy-duty cleaning.

Would that kind of contribution make a difference?

Not likely.

But first thing tomorrow, before Aunt El left for the gallery, she’d offer anyway.

And even if her efforts wouldn’t be enough to prevent more cancellations, she’d still pitch in. Because helping with a worthwhile project this summer suddenly held a whole lot more appeal than spending her free time lying on the beach.

* * *

“You’re up early.”

As Gram entered the kitchen, Fletch finished typing the email, hit the send button and angled his wrist. Seven already? Somehow he’d lost track of the time. “I have a client in Europe who burns the midnight oil. I’ve been back and forth with him since four-thirty.”

Gram’s eyes widened. “Mercy! Do you always keep such odd hours?”

Odd hours? After military life, when he’d often gone two full days with no shut-eye while dodging bullets and freezing on a harsh mountainside, getting up at four-thirty didn’t qualify as odd. “Not always. I made coffee, if you want some.” He gestured toward the half-empty pot on the counter.