Rainbow's End

The woman’s flawless beauty, which he’d admired in profile, was marred almost beyond recognition on the right side of her face by a large, angry scar that started at her temple, nipped close to her eye, then followed the line of her cheekbone south, catching the very corner of her mouth as it trailed down to her chin.

Before he could mask his shock, the woman straightened. Jamming the hat back on her head, she stared at him for several long beats of silence. Then her expression shifted in some subtle, but disturbing way. It was as if something had shattered inside her. Not in a dramatic way, like a crystal vase smashing into pieces on the floor. It was more like the network of fine cracks that spread across the surface of a piece of pottery when the protective glaze becomes crazed.

Whatever it was, Keith didn’t have a chance to analyze it because she turned with an abrupt move and almost ran toward the back of the house. As she disappeared around the corner, her hurried footsteps sounded across a wooden surface before a door was opened—and closed.

At one time in his life, Keith had been good at dealing with distraught people. They’d sought him out for his compassion, his understanding, his sensitivity. Well, those skills had deserted him today. He’d gawked at the woman, stared at her as if she was some freak in a circus sideshow. He’d been rude, tactless, inconsiderate, thoughtless…in other words, a jerk. Of all people, he should know better. He had plenty of scars of his own. They just weren’t visible. But if they were, they’d be as disfiguring as his landlady’s. Maybe more so. And how would he like it if they drew the kind of look he’d given her?

The short answer was, he wouldn’t.

The bigger question was, how did he make amends?

It had been a long while since Keith had interacted enough with another human being to risk hurting their feelings. And longer still since he’d cared if he did. Yet for some reason this woman had breached the defenses he’d constructed around his heart. Perhaps because she seemed so…solitary. So alone and isolated. Not just in a geographic sense, but at a deeper, more fundamental level. As if she lived in the world but wasn’t part of it.

For the past two years, Keith had felt as alone as he’d thought a person could feel. Angry and lost, he’d turned his back on a world and a God that had betrayed him. Yet he had a feeling that this woman, living in this isolated place apart from society, was even lonelier than he was. He also sensed at some intuitive level that she had accepted her solitary existence, knowing that her physical scars would never heal, shunning a world that looked on her with morbid curiosity and pity—much as he had done moments ago.

That was the difference between them, he mused. When Keith had set out on his trek, he’d hoped his travels would help him discover a way to pick up the pieces and start over, healed and made new again. Although that hadn’t happened yet, deep inside he held on to the hope that it would. It was the only thing that kept him going. The notion of spending his remaining years in a vacuum devoid of all the things that had once made his life rich and full and satisfying was too terrifying. Yet he had a feeling the woman inside this house didn’t have that hope. But how in the world did she go on, day after day, without it?

She wasn’t his problem, of course. He was just passing through, a stranger who knew nothing about her except her last name and marital status. And given her reticence, he doubted whether he’d learn any more. He ought to forget about her.

Yet, as he picked up the hammer, climbed the ladder and set to work on the errant piece of siding, he felt a need to apologize. Trouble was, he didn’t have a clue how to do that without calling more attention to her scar and making the whole thing worse.

Years ago, he would have prayed for guidance in a situation like this. But he didn’t have that option anymore. Instead, all Keith had to rely on were his own instincts. And considering how they’d failed him two years before, he had no confidence that they would help him rectify this situation.

But as an image of the woman’s shattered face flashed once again across his mind, he knew he had to at least try.

Inside the house, Jill stirred the simmering pot of soup she’d made at the crack of dawn, struggling to contain the tears that threatened to leak out the corners of her eyes. Don’t cry! she admonished herself fiercely. As her sister, Deb, used to say, she’d already cried enough tears to sink a ship. Too bad Deb wasn’t here now. In her no-nonsense way, she’d always helped Jill regain her balance when the world began to tilt. She’d done that a lot during the weeks and months after the fire, through the surgeries and treatments and rehab, always an anchor to hold on to when the pain and the grief became unbearable. If it hadn’t been for her older sister, Jill was sure she’d have given up and let the suffocating sense of loss overwhelm and destroy her.

She tried to imagine what Deb would say if she were here. “Get a grip,” no doubt. She’d point out that the man’s shock had been a normal, human reaction, and that he hadn’t intended to hurt her. That once he got to know her, he’d forget about the scars that served as a constant reminder of the tragic night that had forever changed her world.

Yeah, right.

Although Deb meant well, Jill knew better. Oh, sure, people tried to act nonchalant once their initial shock passed. But they were never able to get past the scars. Even here, after two years. The islanders she saw on her trips to church or into the villages were nice. Too nice. That was the problem. They smiled too much, kept up a stream of chatter about inconsequential things, wished her a good day with bright smiles. They tried to act as if they enjoyed seeing her, but in truth they were glad when she left. She made them uncomfortable.

That was just the way it was. The way it would always be. Jill thought she’d accepted that. Thought she’d learned to deal with it. Nowadays, when people stared at her, she felt nothing beyond a twinge somewhere deep in the recesses of her heart. It had been a very long time since anyone had managed to evoke even the hint of tears. Yet this man, a stranger who would soon slip out of her life as suddenly as he had slipped in, had managed to awaken a sadness that she’d long ago subdued. And she had no idea why.

Yes, you do, a little voice whispered at the edges of her consciousness.

Startled, she stopped stirring the soup and grasped the edge of the counter with her free hand, trying to suppress the answer that kept bubbling to the surface much as the herbs in her soup pot were doing. But the little voice wouldn’t be stilled.

Because he’s a man.

It was a truth Jill couldn’t dispute. Her tenant’s reaction disturbed her because he was a man. A scruffy one, no question. Not the kind of man she’d ever have looked at twice in years past. But he was close to her age. And his expression of shock, horror, pity and revulsion had clarified for her, if she’d ever harbored any secret hopes otherwise, that no man could ever look at her again as a desirable woman.

Nevertheless, the strength of her response shook her. Jill had assumed that any romantic yearnings had died along with Sam. After all, she hadn’t thought about love once since then, not on a conscious level. Yet, if the reaction of an unkempt stranger could reduce her to tears….

Taking herself in hand, Jill resumed stirring the pot with vigor and swiped the tears out of her eyes. This was just an aberration. Brought on by too little sleep during the storm-tossed night, she rationalized. As soon as he finished repairing her siding, the man would be gone. Peace would once more descend on her world. She’d have a little breakfast, pay a few bills, then spend the next few hours painting in her sunny studio upstairs. It would be a typical, quiet morning. The kind she always enjoyed and looked forward to.

Except for some odd reason, thinking about her solitary plans didn’t lift her spirits at all. Instead, it depressed her.

The aromas wafting through the kitchen window were driving him mad.

As Keith banged the final nail into the siding, his salivary glands went into overdrive. Chicken soup. That’s what it smelled like. Homemade chicken soup. The kind his mother used to make, its enticing aroma greeting him when he came home from school. To this day, that simple meal always evoked happy memories of home and love and security.

Too bad he’d botched the conversation with his landlady this morning, Keith thought, finding yet another reason to regret his rudeness. He’d have loved to wrangle a sample of whatever was cooking in that pot. But given the woman’s reaction to his insensitive gawking, the odds of that happening were slim to none. Even after the apology he still planned to offer.

Once he double-checked the board to ensure it was secure, Keith descended the ladder, then headed toward the front door and knocked. As he waited for her to answer, he tried to think of how to frame his apology. But when she cracked the door open, he hadn’t yet found the words.

“I’m finished. Where would you like the ladder?”

“Just leave it. I’ll put it away later.” She started to close the door.

“I’d rather finish the job. That means putting away the tools.”

Hesitating, she gave him an uncertain look. “There’s a shed around back. It goes in there.”

Before he could say another word, she shut the door.

So much for the apology, he thought, as he headed back around the house, located the surprisingly well-equipped toolshed and slid the ladder into a slot inside. Someone around here knew tools. And since the woman at the house seemed to be the sole occupant, it must be her. Impressive.

When he stepped outside, a curtain fluttered at the back window. She was continuing to keep tabs on him, it seemed. Not that he blamed her, considering his disreputable appearance. For all she knew, he was some derelict who was up to no good. What surprised him was his reaction. It bothered him that she might consider him dangerous or unsavory. In light of the fact that for the past couple of years he hadn’t cared a lick what people thought about him, his reaction was odd. But for whatever reason he didn’t want this woman to think ill of him—or to regret her kindness to a stranger. All of which brought him back to his apology. It was time.

Combing his fingers through his too-long hair in a futile effort to tidy it, he strode toward the house, stepped up onto the back porch and knocked on that door.

When she eased it open, the delicious aroma that wafted out almost did him in. But he did his best to focus on the reason he’d come to the door instead of listening to the pleas of his stomach.

“I’ll be heading out now, ma’am. I wanted to thank you again for your kindness last night. I don’t know what—” A flicker of movement across the field caught his eye, and he turned just as a small boy darted behind a boulder. “Looks like you have a visitor.”

Curious, Jill opened the door wider, enough to peer in the direction Keith was looking. “Where?”

“Over there, behind the rocks. A little boy. He moved back when he saw me. Is he a friend of yours?”

Leaning farther out, Jill scanned the boulders. It was the same place she’d spotted the boy. “I don’t know who he is. I saw him for the first time yesterday.”

She continued to look toward the rocks as Keith shifted his gaze back to her. She still wore the floppy hat, but he could see the concern etched on her shadowed face.

“Maybe he’ll come out when I leave.”

“No. It’s not you that’s holding him back. He ran away when I tried to talk to him, too.” Her attention remained fixed on the far edge of the field.

This was the time, Keith thought, taking a deep breath. “Before I go, I’d like to apologize for staring earlier. It was a rude thing to do, and I’m sorry if I upset you.”

Startled, Jill turned back to him. Then did a double take. The man was doing something no one except her family—and her doctors—had ever done. He was looking right at her scar, without flinching, without skittering past it. He didn’t try to ignore it, as most people did. Instead, he traced it from end to end—at least what he could see of it beneath the wide, protective brim of her hat. She wanted to turn away, wanted to hide her face. But there was a compelling expression in his eyes that held her motionless.

“I also want you to know that I’m sorry for whatever happened to cause that.” His voice was gentle, his eyes kind. “And that I’m sorry for whatever trauma you’ve had to endure since then. If I added to your pain in any way, I ask your forgiveness.”

The man’s direct approach, along with his sincere remorse, left Jill speechless. Not only was he looking at her scar, he was talking about it! She had no idea how to respond.

When the silence between them lengthened, he shifted from one foot to the other. “Well, I better be off. I wonder if you could direct me to the nearest place to get some breakfast?”