Second Chance Summer

He moved down to the other end of the counter, grateful for the reprieve from a recap of the minister’s remarks, and picked up the remote. After exchanging hellos with Eleanor, he carried the phone back to his grandmother and held it out. “She says it’s important.”

Gram shoved the heavy spoon into his hand. “Keep stirring or the rice will sink and stick to the bottom and we’ll end up with a burned mess instead of dinner.”

Without waiting for a reply, she took the phone and greeted her friend.

Leaning one shoulder against the adjacent wall, Fletch kept the spoon moving as Gram talked.

“No, I have a minute. I put Fletch in charge of the risotto.” In the silence that followed, her brow wrinkled. “Oh, my. That is a problem. We were counting on them.”

More silence as she paced over to the rear window by the sink. Although she looked out, Fletch had a feeling she wasn’t seeing the stately live oak dripping with Spanish moss that dominated her backyard.

“Yes, I do understand. These things happen.” Gram sighed. “I guess we’ll have to cancel the second half of the summer, too. Everyone will be so disappointed.”

Fletch continued to stir as Gram went back into listening mode. As he watched, she caught her bottom lip between her teeth, and her expression shifted from troubled to pensive. “Yes, I see what you’re saying. Everything does happen for a reason.” More silence. “That sounds like a plan. I’ll touch base with you tomorrow morning and put the committee meeting on my calendar for tomorrow night at seven. Talk to you soon.”

After replacing the handset in the cradle, she rejoined him at the stove.

“Problems?” He handed the spoon back to her.

“Yes. Such a shame.” Gram leaned close to the pot to gauge his diligence with the risotto, gave a satisfied nod and resumed stirring. “Last year, around Thanksgiving, some of us in the congregation got to talking about how Jekyll Island is such a wonderful family vacation spot. We thought it would be lovely to see if we could find a fixer-upper island house for sale, refurbish it and then invite twelve needy families to come for a week’s stay each summer.” She gestured toward the refrigerator. “Would you mind handing me the bowl of scallops and shrimp on the second shelf?”

“Not if that means I get to eat soon. My salivary glands are working overtime.” He crossed to the refrigerator and found the bowl.

“It’ll only be four minutes once I add those.” She gestured toward the bowl in his hands.

He pulled off the plastic wrap and rejoined her. “Want me to dump them in?”

“Yes, thanks. This one-handed thing is getting old.”

Once that task was completed, she went back to stirring and picked up her story. “Anyway, an older gentleman who lived on the island died last winter, not long after the congregation formed a committee to investigate the idea. He hadn’t updated his house in years, and since his family was eager to sell, things moved quickly. We got it at a bargain price, so we had enough donations to cover the full cost of the house. But the plan was for members of the congregation to do most of the renovation work. Then our retired carpenter had to have his hip replaced. Our retired electrician had a heart attack. Now I’ve broken my wrist.”

Fletch leaned back against the counter and folded his arms across his chest. “It almost sounds like the project is jinxed.”

Gram sent him a stern look. “Don’t even say such a thing. Of course it’s not jinxed. It’s a wonderful project that could do a world of good for a lot of families. We’ve had a few setbacks is all. We got way behind on our timetable, and we had to cancel the reservations for the first six families. Still, we were confident we could wrap things up by mid-July.”

“But...?”

She sighed. “Eleanor’s the chairwoman of the committee, and she just got a call from the youngest couple in our group who we were relying on for some of the heavier cosmetic stuff—stripping wallpaper, painting, cleaning grout...that kind of thing. They’re only in their early sixties and much more agile than some of us. But her parents are in their late eighties, and her father’s had some sort of medical crisis. So they’re going back to Michigan for a few weeks.” She passed the spoon to him again. “That pot’s too heavy for me to deal with one-handed. Would you dish this up while I get our drinks?”

“Sure.” They switched places, and he scooped generous portions onto plates as she filled glasses with water and added a platter of sliced tomatoes to the table.

By the time he joined her and settled into his seat, she’d taken her place, as well.

“So the project is at a standstill.” He draped his napkin over his lap and picked up his fork.

“Not quite, but progress will be slow. I’m afraid we’ll have to cancel the remaining reservations.” Distress tightened her features. “I hate to disappoint those families, but I don’t know what else we can do. Let’s pray about it, shall we?”

His fork froze in midair, the aroma of the risotto tantalizing his nostrils. With a concerted effort, he forced it back to his plate.

Gram bowed her head. “Lord, we thank You for this wonderful food and for family ties. We thank You for allowing us to call this beautiful spot in Your creation home, whether for a lifetime or for a vacation. We pray that You’ll allow our church to find a way to give this gift of beauty and respite to the deserving families who need a break from the daily grind and who may also be in need of an infusion of hope. Guide us, Lord, and inspire us so that we can find a solution to this dilemma. Amen.”

Fletch picked up his fork again and dove into the risotto, which was every bit as tasty as the aroma had promised.

“This is great, Gram.” He wedged in the compliment as he shoveled in forkfuls of the hearty concoction.

“I’m glad you like it. That was another thing we were going to do for our guests—take turns providing meals. I was planning to make this for dinner one night each week for the family in residence. I figured it would be an upscale treat for most of them. Our pastor sifted through candidates he gathered from his clerical friends in economically troubled parts of the South, and they’ve all had some tough breaks. I expect most of them subsist on very basic fare. It reminded me how very blessed people like you and I are to have plentiful food on the table every night.”

Fletch slowed his pace. Gram was right—and he too often took his comfortable life for granted. “I’m sorry about the program. It sounds very worthwhile. Maybe some sort of solution will present itself and you won’t have to cancel out on the rest of the people.”

“Trust me, I’m adding that to my prayer list.”

He half expected her to ask him to pray, too—but she didn’t. Perhaps she’d finally reconciled herself to the fact that her grandson and God had parted ways.

Still...he hoped God listened to the devout woman across from him, who’d always had such a firm belief in the power of prayer.

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?”