A Time to Forgive

“That must keep life interesting.” She wanted to prolong the moment. At least when they talked about his daughter they weren’t at odds. They almost felt like friends.

“It does that.” He glanced at the window. “Are you finding much damage?”

They were back to business, obviously. “Some of the windows are worse than others.” She traced a crack in the molding around the image of Jesus and the children. “Settling has done this, but I can fix it.”

Adam reached out to touch the crack. His hand brushed hers, sending a jolt of awareness through her. He was so close, the sanctuary so quiet, that she could hear his breath. He went still for an instant, so briefly she might have imagined it.

“Let me know if you need any equipment. We might have it at the boatyard.”

She nodded. She had to stop letting the man affect her.

“Look, Daddy. I brought the water.” Jenny put a plastic pitcher carefully on the floor, spilling only a few drops, then skipped over to them. “You know what? I know what you’re doing, Ms. Tory.”

“Ms. Tory’s fixing the windows for us, sugar.”

She shook her head, curls bouncing. “Not just that. Everybody knows that. But I know she’s gonna make a window for Mommy.”

Tory happened to be watching his hand. It clenched so tightly his knuckles went white.

“Who told you that?”

“I did.”

Tory blinked. She hadn’t heard the church door open again, maybe because she’d been concentrating too much on Adam. A small, white-haired woman marched erectly toward them, a basket filled with bronze and yellow mums on her arm. The striped dress and straw hat she wore might have been equally at home in the 1940s.

“I told Jenny about the memorial window, Adam.” She peered at him through gold-rimmed glasses. “Do you have a problem with that?”

“Of course not, Gran.” Tory thought the smile he gave his grandmother was a little forced, but he bent to kiss her cheek. “I was just surprised news traveled that fast.”

“You ought to know how the island busybodies work by now.” She turned to Tory, holding out her hand. “I’m Naomi Caldwell. You’d be the lady who’s come to do the stained glass. Ms. Marlowe, is it?”

“Tory Marlowe. I’m pleased to meet you, Mrs. Caldwell.”

The elderly woman must be in her seventies at least, if she was Adam’s grandmother, but she had a firm grip and a bright, inquisitive gaze.

“I hear tell you’re going to replace the Moses window.”

“Does that bother you, Gran?” Adam sounded as if he hoped so.

His grandmother shook her head decidedly. “Never was up to the rest of the windows. If something’s good, it’ll improve with age.”

Adam’s expression softened. “Like you, for instance.”

She swatted at him. “Don’t you try to butter me up, young man.”

She turned away, but Tory saw the glow of pleasure in her cheeks. For an instant she felt a wave of envy. If she’d had a grandmother like that, how different might her life have been?

“Jenny, child. Come help me with these flowers.” Naomi Caldwell ushered Adam’s daughter toward the pulpit, handing her the basket. “We’ll put them on the dolphin shelf.”

Tory tensed at the words. “The dolphin shelf?” She glanced at Adam, making it a question.

“That bracket behind the pulpit. A wooden carving of a dolphin once stood there. Gran likes to keep flowers in its place.” Adam nodded toward the shelf where his grandmother was placing a vase.

I never meant for the dolphin to disappear. I didn’t. Her mother’s voice, broken with sobs, sounded in Tory’s mind.

If she asked Adam about the dolphin, what would he say? Tory’s mind worked busily. She had to find out more about the dolphin’s disappearance if she were to fulfill her promise to her mother, but the last thing she needed was to stir up any additional conflict with Adam.

“What’s this new window going to look like?” Mrs. Caldwell’s question interrupted her thoughts before she could come up with an answer.

“That’s really up to the family.” Maybe she’d better stay focused on the window for the moment. “Usually I try to come up with some designs that reflect the person being honored, then let the family decide.”

“How do you do that?” The woman paused, head tilted, her hands full of bronze mums. “Reflect somebody in a design, I mean.” She seemed genuinely interested in the design, unlike everyone else Tory had met since she’d come to the island.

“Well, first I try to find out as much as I can about the person—her likes and dislikes, her personality, her background. Then—”

Carried away by the subject, she glanced at Adam. His expression dried the words on her tongue. He stared at her, his eyes like pieces of jagged green glass.

“No.” He ground out the word.

“What?” She blinked, not sure what he meant.

“I said no. You’ll have to find another way of working this time.”

Before she could respond he was calling the child, saying goodbye to his grandmother and walking out of the sanctuary.

The heavy door swung shut behind him, canceling the shaft of sunlight it had let in.

“I’m sorry about that.” Adam’s grandmother shook her head. “Reckon Adam’s a bit sensitive about Lila.”

“I see.”

She’d made another misstep. She should have been more careful. But how on earth could she possibly find any common ground with Adam if he wouldn’t even talk to her?

“I can’t do this.” Adam had arrived at his office at Caldwell Boatyard after dropping Jenny at school, his stomach still roiling. He’d found his brother, Matthew, waiting for him.

“Can’t do what?” Matt perched on the edge of Adam’s cluttered desk, toying with the bronze dolphin paperweight Lila had given Adam in happier times. Matt looked as if he had all the time in the world.

“Help that woman design a memorial window for Lila, of all things.” Adam slumped into the leather chair behind the desk. Matt was the only person in the world he’d speak to so freely, because Matt was the only one he’d told the whole story to. A good thing he had his brother, or he might resort to punching the paneling. “If my mother-in-law wanted a window, why didn’t she put it in her own church instead of saddling me with it?”

“Maybe because St. Andrews was Lila’s church,” Matt offered helpfully.

Adam glared at him. “Don’t you have work to do? Or doesn’t running a weekly paper and being husband and stepfather for two whole months keep you busy enough?”

“Actually, I am working.” Matt smiled, his face more relaxed than Adam had seen it in years. Marriage seemed to agree with him. “Sarah and I want to do a story for the Gazette about the church windows.”

“Great. That’s just what I need.” Adam rotated his chair so he could stare at the sloop he was refitting for an off-island summer sailor. “Maybe you can satisfy Tory Marlowe’s curiosity.”

He glanced at his brother, wondering how much he wanted to say about Tory. Everything, probably.