

Summer Storms

Seasons of Faith, Book 1

Rebekah Lyn
Real Life Books & Media

Copyright © 2011 by Rebekah Lyn

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, without prior written permission.

Real Life Books & Media

329 Cheney Highway #230

Titusville, FL 32780

www.rebekahlynbooks.com

Publisher's Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author's imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

Summer Storms/Rebekah Lyn--3rd ed.

Cover art by LLPix.

ISBN: 9781475137385
Other Books by Rebekah Lyn

Seasons of Faith

Summer Storms

Winter's End

Spring Dawn

Christmas Vow _coming soon_

Coastal Chronicles

Julianne

Jessie

### CHAPTER ONE

Elizabeth Reynolds reclined in the driver's seat of her 1998 Toyota Camry, as a gold Cadillac with spinning rims and a booming stereo system whizzed past her on the shoulder. Elizabeth shook her head and flicked the air conditioning higher. Heat shimmered off the clogged stream of traffic headed into downtown Orlando. The fifteen-mile commute from her apartment near Sea World to her job downtown took thirty minutes on a good day, and today was not a good day.

Several hundred yards ahead red and blue emergency lights flashed. Her radio, tuned to the local news station, told her a tractor-trailer had overturned causing five other cars to crash as well. One of the vehicles had erupted into flames shutting down Interstate-4 for nearly an hour.

I should have checked the news before I left, Elizabeth thought, as her chest tightened with each creeping movement toward the scene of the accident. She switched the radio to CD and tried to relax to the strains of Mozart's "Clarinet Concerto in A" but she couldn't drag her eyes away from the crash, or stop the overwhelming grief from creeping in. Her cell phone jangled and she glanced at the caller id.

"Good morning, Jonathan."

"Where are you, Lizzie? Your shift started five minutes ago."

"Haven't you heard about the mess on I-4?" She inched closer to the accident. The burned out shell of a minivan blocked the right lane, waiting to be loaded onto a tow truck.

"We're moving slowly. I'll be there when I can."

"I'm afraid this is going to have to go on your record." Jonathan replied in an apprehensive tone.

She sighed. "I'll see you when I get in." She dropped the phone back in her purse.

Thirty minutes later, Lizzie stepped from the cool shelter of her car into the sticky moisture of the day. It was a little after nine thirty in the morning and already 98 degrees. Her heels clicked on the pavement as she picked her way through the parking lot. Beads of sweat glistened on her face as she passed through the doors of Hotel Lago.

The lobby was understated with walls the color of sandstone. Four conversational groupings of chairs in a light brown fabric, and several fake plants, positioned in strategic locations to direct the guest flow. She slipped into the front office and popped her head around Jonathan's door.

"I made it. What did I miss?"

Jonathan, a short man in his mid-forties with sparse black hair and dull green eyes looked up.

"The Jamesons have been asking for you and Austin called in sick again. If you cover his shift I won't mark you late."

Lizzie slumped against the wall. Austin, a 22-year-old playboy with wavy blond hair and sexy blue eyes, had developed a tendency of calling in two to three times a week. Lizzie knew the only reason Jonathan didn't fire him was because he hated confrontation.

"Yeah I can cover his shift. I better call the Jamesons." She left without waiting for a reply.

As she waited for her computer to start up, she listened to her voicemails. There were two from Mrs. Jameson looking for tickets to Blue Man Group. Lizzie dialed their room.

"Hello?" a frail voice answered.

"Good morning, Mrs. Jameson. I'm so sorry I was late. I hear you are looking for tickets to Blue Man Group. Did you want to go tonight?"

"Oh, good morning, Lizzie. Yes, we heard such wonderful things about them yesterday from this couple we met at the mall."

Lizzie's fingers flew across the keyboard as Mrs. Jameson spoke. She smiled as a response appeared in her instant messenger. "Not a problem. I can get you two tickets for eight o'clock tonight. Would you like me to arrange dinner for you as well? There's a wonderful Italian restaurant at City Walk or maybe your husband would like NBA City."

"No, thank you. I think we will just dine here before we leave."

"Okay, if there is anything else you let me know. The tickets will be waiting for you at the front desk after two o'clock. Have a wonderful day." Lizzie laid the receiver back in its cradle and made notes for the front desk staff.

_Thanks so much, Joseph_ , she typed into the instant messenger. _I'll send someone over to pick up the tickets this morning_. A smiley face appeared in reply. She pushed her chair back and set out to meet with the rest of her concierge guests.

The hotel was at capacity and various requests kept Lizzie busy until late afternoon. She sat in the lobby discussing a birthday party with a particularly fastidious guest when she noticed Mr. and Mrs. Jameson approaching the front desk. Mrs. Jameson shuffled slowly and clung to her husband's arm. Lizzie excused herself and met the elderly couple.

"Good afternoon. I hope you're having a pleasant day."

Mrs. Jameson smiled. "Of course. We've spent the day catching up on some rest. I admit I haven't felt so well today." Her husband guided her toward a group of chairs and helped lower her into one.

"Would you like me to contact a doctor?"

"That isn't necessary. I had a chemo treatment yesterday and it has just worn me out."

"If you don't feel up to going to the show I can reschedule."

"I hate to waste the tickets."

"I can assure you, they wouldn't go to waste. There's always someone who needs tickets." Lizzie smiled and laid her hand on Mrs. Jameson's shoulder. "Why don't you relax tonight? I can have dinner delivered to your suite."

"Thank you, Lizzie. That would be ideal," Mr. Jameson responded before his wife could protest. His clear grey eyes expressed gratitude and relief. "I tried to get her to stay in bed while I went out to pick up some food, but she insisted..."

"Let me grab a couple of menus for you. If you don't see anything you feel like eating I can get you something else." She strode across the lobby and disappeared behind the front desk, reappearing in minutes with menus from both of the hotel's eateries. On her way back to the Jameson's, she glimpsed her birthday party guest pacing impatiently.

"Why don't you take a few minutes to look over these? I have to take care of another guest and then I'll be back."

"Take your time."

Lizzie returned to birthday mode. "I apologize. As I was saying, if you can provide me with a photograph of the cake you want, I'll see what our pastry chef can do, and I'll have the names of some performers for you in the morning. Would you like me to call or slip a note under your door?"

"Can you leave a note at the front desk? I have an early meeting. I hate that this conference had to fall on Jeremy's thirteenth birthday."

"Don't worry, it will be perfect." Lizzie rose to leave.

"Thank you. I know I can be a bit demanding at times."

Lizzie smiled. "I'm happy to help." She returned to the Jamesons, noting with concern how frail Mrs. Jameson seemed. She had grown quite fond of the devoted couple. "Have you made any decisions?"

Mr. Jameson stood and handed her the menus. "I would like the lobster ravioli and Lillian would like some soup. Do you think we could get some chicken noodle? I didn't see any on the menus."

"Of course. Give me 30 minutes and I'll bring it up to your room. Is there anything else I can do for you? Would you like a movie to watch this evening?"

"That might be nice. Can we let you know after we get back to the room?" Mr. Jameson replied.

"Of course, just give me a call."

"Thank you, Lizzie." Mr. Jameson helped his wife rise from the chair and tenderly escorted her to the elevator.

A chorus of clanging pots and clattering dishes welcomed Lizzie as she entered the main kitchen.

"Hello beautiful!" called a sous chef. She smiled as she weaved in and out of tables with chefs busy preparing for the dinner rush. A rotund man with a red face, thick brown hair tucked into a chefs cap, and penetrating blue eyes waved his hands, berating a line cook. He paused at the sight of Lizzie and shooed the cook away.

"What can I do for you, _mon cheri_?"

"Hey, Gustave." Lizzie greeted him, accepting a kiss on each cheek. "I need an order of lobster ravioli and a bowl of chicken noodle soup for the Jamesons in room 703. I will come by to pick it up in thirty minutes."

"Is that all?" the chef chuckled. "No problem."

"Well, there is something else," she hesitated. "Do you think you can make a cake shaped like a dirt bike?" Lizzie gave him her sweetest smile as she made her request.

"A dirt bike?" The chef looked puzzled. "Do you have a picture I can work with?"

"Not yet. I should have one later today. Mrs. Langley in room 210 is here for a conference and her son's birthday is on Monday. She wants to make it as nice as possible since he is away from all his friends."

Gustave nodded knowingly. "I understand. You bring me the picture and I make it happen."

"Thanks," Lizzie leaned forward and brushed her lips across his cheek. "You're a rock star."

Emerging from the service corridor Lizzie heard a shrill woman arguing with one of the front desk agents. Lizzie recognized the guest as one of the hotel's frequent visitors, Elaine Henderson. She swiftly approached Elaine fixing a pleasant smile on her face.

"Mrs. Henderson, what a surprise. I thought you weren't arriving until next Thursday."

"That's what this young man is saying," Elaine snapped. "I don't know why you people don't have my reservation for tonight. I booked this a month ago."

"I'm so sorry. Why don't you go sit down while I figure this out?" Lizzie stretched her arm toward a nearby armchair.

"I don't know what there is to figure out. I want my room!"

"I understand, Mrs. Henderson. Please let me see what I can do for you. I'll only be a few minutes."

Elaine wavered before acquiescing and taking the offered seat. Lizzie turned to the front desk agent.

"Sorry about that, Stephen. You show a reservation for Mrs. Henderson next week don't you?"

Stephen nodded. "I tried to explain that to her, but she insists she called herself and made the reservation."

"Will you keep an eye on her? I need to go to my desk and pull her file. I'm pretty sure I have an email from her with the dates she booked." Lizzie glanced back at the lobby before slipping through the office door.

At her desk, Lizzie clicked through various screens on her computer until she located the email she wanted. She smiled and pressed the print button, grabbing the paper as it spat from the printer.

She returned to the lobby where she found Mrs. Henderson pacing in front of the armchair, an occasional glare directed to the front desk. Lizzie approached calmly, the email dangling from her right hand.

"Mrs. Henderson, please have a seat." Lizzie waited as Elaine hesitated then plopped into the armchair. "I truly regret any confusion, but I did confirm you booked for next week. Here's the email you sent me after making the reservation." Lizzie handed the paper to Elaine and gave her a moment to read it.

"As you can see, you requested I make reservations for you at Bergamo's, the California Grill, and the Samba Room, and you were very specific on the dates. I would be happy to get you checked in today, but we're not going to be able to put you in your usual room. Unfortunately, we don't have any suites available until Saturday."

Elaine slumped forward, dropping her head into her hands. "I'm sorry, Elizabeth. My sister has been in the hospital and I haven't been myself."

"I understand. We all make mistakes. I'm sorry to hear about your sister. Is she doing better?"

"She came home from the hospital yesterday but is still in a lot of pain. It was a car accident. The paramedics said she was lucky to be alive. I felt terrible leaving her. I thought she would be better by now and knew I had these reservations..." Her voice trailed off and a tear trembled in the corner of her eye.

A lump rose in Lizzie's throat at the mention of the car accident, but she kept her emotions in check, leaned forward, and placed a gentle hand on one of Elaine's. "You don't have to stay. You can go home and reschedule once your sister has recovered."

Elaine wiped her eyes and managed a weak smile. "I appreciate that. You're right; I should be home. Forgive me for making a scene." She stood and smoothed her pants. "Would you have the valet pull my car around while I go to the restroom to freshen up?"

"I would be happy to. Take your time." Lizzie pulled her cell phone from her pocket and called to alert the valet team, stopping at the front desk on the way to her office. "Stephen, the Concierge Club is meeting for dinner tomorrow. You should come. Be at Café Marie at six."

A broad grin split Stephen's face. "Thanks, Lizzie."

"You did a good job with Mrs. Henderson." Lizzie disappeared behind the office door leaving Stephen to revel in his invitation.

### CHAPTER TWO

At five thirty, Lizzie shut down her computer, grabbed a bag from under her desk and changed into a faded pair of blue jeans and brown sketchers. The sun was on its westward march toward the Gulf of Mexico and long shadows fell across the sidewalk as Lizzie walked the five blocks to Café Marie.

"Good evening, Lizzie," the hostess greeted her with a smile. "Stephanie is the only one here so far. She's at your usual table."

"Thanks." Lizzie returned her smile and started toward the back of the restaurant. A few steps in she paused and turned around. "I almost forgot. I invited a new guy, about six-feet tall, lanky, dirty blonde hair, glasses, a bit geeky looking. Will you show him back when he arrives?"

"Happy to." The hostess waved her on and Lizzie threaded her way to the table, dropping into a chair next to Stephanie.

"You look beat. Tough day?" Stephanie greeted her friend.

"Spent most of the day planning a birthday party for a thirteen-year-old boy."

"Enough said. You need to start with dessert tonight."

"Mmm, a plate of cannoli does sound perfect." Lizzie flipped open the familiar menu. "I invited a new kid tonight. He had to deal with Elaine yesterday and did a pretty good job keeping his cool."

Stephanie arched an eyebrow. "He? Is he cute?"

"I don't know." Lizzie shrugged. "He isn't my type, but you might like him."

"Ladies! I'm so sorry you had to wait for us schmucks who don't have the honor of working downtown," a baritone voice boomed from the front of the restaurant.

Stephanie and Lizzie turned to see James, a broad shouldered man with slick black hair and hazel eyes, trailed by half a dozen other members of the group. James leaned down to drop kisses on their cheeks. Greetings were exchanged as the group took seats. By six o'clock, all twenty professionals had arrived and James gestured for the server to start taking orders.

"Why is there an extra seat?" Mona, one of Lizzie's former coworkers from her days at Disney, whispered in Stephanie's ear.

"Lizzie invited a new guy," Stephanie whispered back. A moment later, the hostess escorted Stephen to the table. He mumbled an apology for being late and clumsily took the remaining seat.

Lizzie rose and tapped her water glass with a fork. "I would like to introduce you all to Stephen Longbottom. Stephen works the front desk at Hotel Lago and did an excellent job dealing with Elaine Henderson. He has the potential to become a great concierge so please take some time to get to know him tonight." Applause erupted and Stephen offered a shy smile. The women closest to him extended their hands and introduced themselves.

"Welcome, Stephen. I'm Patricia Anders and I'm in Food & Beverage at the Radisson. It takes a lot of patience to deal with Elaine when she is in one of her moods."

"I didn't do anything really. It was Lizzie who calmed her down."

"You didn't let her break you down," Lizzie interjected. "We've had other people quit because of one encounter with her, but you remained calm. That is what it takes to do this job."

"That and a membership to Alcoholics Anonymous," someone shouted from the end of the table causing a burst of laughter.

"If it's so bad, why do you guys keep doing it? I don't know if this is the career I want. I just took the job to pay off my college loans."

"Same here," chimed in James. "I started out at Disney part-time thinking it would be a short term thing until I could find an accounting job. Ten years later, I left Disney to become an operations manager at Universal. I work with all of the venues at City Walk and absolutely love it. The variety I have every day is something I would never have found in accounting."

"Most of us didn't have plans of getting into hospitality," added Stephanie. "We just kind of fell into it and found we were good at it. James is right; no two days are ever the same."

"I've only been doing this for six months and I get so annoyed with some people I just want to shake them. Does it get better?" Stephen asked.

"It helps to have a support system," Stephanie said. "Lizzie and I started at Disney together and after a bad day we would go out for a drink to unwind."

"That's how our little group got started." Patricia piped in. "One night I overhead Stephanie and Lizzie. The guest they were talking about sounded a lot like one we had banned from the Radisson. After ten or fifteen minutes of eavesdropping, I couldn't take it anymore so I introduced myself. Turns out it was the same guest!"

"If we hadn't met Patricia," Lizzie continued the story, "we may never have known what a scammer this guy was. We never got him banned from Disney, but did amass quite a file on him. Has he been back recently, Mona?"

Mona looked up from the menu she had been studying. "Marvin? It's been about six months since his last visit, guess we're about due for another one." With a groan, she dropped the menu on the table.

"Now look at us, twenty representatives from concierge, food and beverage, entertainment, and retail departments throughout Orlando," James said. "This group is as much a networking tool as an outlet for frustration."

The other members shared stories of their introductions to the Concierge Club. Lizzie was delighted to see each member welcoming Stephen and trying to make him comfortable. She made a mental note to work with him, give him opportunities to help with some of the more rewarding parts of being a concierge. As their meals arrived, the conversation shifted to current events.

"We have the sweetest little old couple staying with us right now," Lizzie smiled as she thought of the Jamesons. "They came to see their grandkids, but the wife has cancer and has been getting chemotherapy at the M.D. Anderson Cancer Center. You can tell they are madly in love even after all these years. Mr. Jameson told me they've been married 45 years, but it feels like just yesterday that he first laid eyes on her." The women let out a collective _Aww_.

"Speaking of love, how did your date go last week?" James asked, causing Lizzie's face to flush a bright red.

"It was okay," Lizzie mumbled, suddenly very interested in a crack on the table.

"Come on, you can do better than that. What did you do?" Stephanie gave her friend a playful poke.

"Nothing special, went to dinner and a movie at the Enzian."

"So when are you seeing him again?" Patricia asked. Lizzie shrugged.

"Haven't you talked to him?" Stephanie asked.

Lizzie shook her head. "I don't have time for a boyfriend right now anyway. Convention season starts soon and Tammy has already asked me to help out more this year."

James slipped an arm around her shoulders. "Well he doesn't know what he's missing."

With dinner complete, empty plates and cups of coffee littered the table. One by one, the group dispersed until only James and Lizzie remained.

"So, how's the house hunting going?" James asked.

"My realtor is pretty much useless; she hasn't shown me any properties in two weeks. I've been driving around after work and writing down some of the places I'm interested in. Do you know any good realtors?"

"My sister just got her license a couple of months ago. I could have her give you a call."

"That would be great."

"When Melanie and I were looking for our first home I didn't think we would ever find something we could agree on. Of course, I ended up making all the concessions. You're lucky to be doing this on your own."

Lizzie nodded, a half-hearted smile slipping across her face. "I don't think I would mind a little compromise in my life these days." A vision of her empty apartment flashed across her mind.

"You'll be making compromises with someone soon enough, trust me. Enjoy the single life while you can." James pushed back his chair. "I should get going. Melanie will be wondering where I am. Want a ride to your car?"

"Thanks." Lizzie nodded and rose from her chair.

### CHAPTER THREE

The back room of Will's Pub was crowded with enthusiastic twenty-something's dancing with abandon, intoxicated by the energetic music of local punk band _My Hotel Year_. Jeffrey Robbins bounced on the balls of his feet, head bobbing in time to the music. Clouds of cigarette smoke hung in the dark room and beer spilled from clear plastic cups made the gray concrete floor sticky, but Jeffrey didn't notice either.

"These guys rock! I can't believe I never heard of them," Wally yelled in Jeffrey's direction. Jeffrey smiled and raised his cup in a toast. He and Wally had met a little over a year ago. Jeffrey had been named project manager for The Plaza construction and Wally was interviewing for a job. Despite opposite backgrounds the men had hit it off.

Wally was forty-two, from a blue-collar family in Pittsburgh. At eighteen, he married his high school sweetheart and moved to Florida where construction was booming. His wife died of cancer five years after the birth of their son, Tim. Wally had worked two jobs since his wife's death to make sure Tim had everything he wanted.

Jeffrey was thirty-four and single. His family moved to Florida in 1925 and made its fortune in cattle and real estate. Jeffrey went to school at the University of Florida where he received his master's degree in structural engineering.

The concert wrapped after a double encore. The crowd dispersed, moving into the front rooms of the pub toward pool tables and dartboards. Jeffrey and Wally loitered in the back room as the band packed up their equipment.

"Great show," Jeffrey called to the bass guitarist. The young man grinned in response as he coiled a wire around his arm.

"Thanks for inviting me, I've had a good time, but I gotta run. I don't want to leave Tim alone for too long." Wally started toward the door.

"Ah, come on, man. Stay a little longer, the night's young. The kid can take care of himself."

"I know, but he's been hanging out with some older kids from the skate park and I'm not sure they are the best influence. I caught him sneaking out last weekend."

"Just stay a little longer, we can shoot some pool."

"Really man, I gotta go." Wally dropped his empty cup on the bar.

"I guess I might as well head out too," Jeffrey said.

"You don't have to leave." Wally scanned the room. "Why don't you go talk to those girls?" He pointed to the far corner where five women stood, most wearing skirts well above their knees and skin-tight shirts. Jeffrey's eyes took them in and remained too long on the curves of a brunette whose back was to him. One of the other girls caught his glance, smiled, and waved him over.

"Go on big boy, have some fun." Wally shoved his friend forward.

"All right," Jeffrey drawled. "I'll see you Monday."

He swaggered toward the women offering a brash crooked smile. "So, ladies, how do you know each other?"

The blonde who waved him over smiled again. "I'm Amanda, these are my friends Tiffani, Michelle, Lucy, and Wendy." She pointed at each woman as she spoke. Jeffrey took note that the brunette he had admired was Michelle. "We all work together." Amanda batted her eyes at him and Jeffrey knew she was into him.

"Let me guess," he paused a moment. "You're cheerleaders for the Orlando Magic." The women laughed. Amanda's hand cupped Jeffrey's elbow.

"We're investment bankers for Charles Schwab," Michelle said.

"Come on, you're too beautiful to be number crunchers." Jeffrey locked eyes with Michelle as he spoke then broke the connection to take in the whole group. "Those types all wear stiff suits and glasses."

"The suits are for the office; underneath we are all pent up energy." Amanda gave him a slight squeeze. He slipped from her grasp and took a step back from the group.

"Did you come out to see _My Hotel Year_?" He directed the question to the whole group, but again his eyes locked with Michelle.

"Those guys are so hot," Lucy gushed. Her valley girl voice didn't surprise Jeffrey. She wore the shortest skirt of them all, a tank top cut low in the front, and heavy makeup. Her platinum-blond hair fell in a cascade of thin locks to the middle of her back.

"Their music is pretty good too," Michelle spoke in a soft voice. She stood in the middle of the group directly across from Jeffrey yet he had to lean in to hear her.

"Michelle's our resident artist. She's the one who drug us to the concert. Personally I like music that's a little more danceable," Amanda said in a loud voice as if trying to draw Jeffrey's attention back to herself.

"What are you ladies drinking? Let me get us another round." They gave him a list of girlie drinks and he turned to the bar.

"Why don't I help?" Michelle offered. She broke away from the group and followed Jeffrey. She stood next to him as he gave the order to the bartender.

"An artist and a number cruncher? Those two just don't seem to go together." Jeffrey reclined against the bar. He stood so close he could smell her shampoo, something fruity.

"I wanted to be a musician, but my parents are both CPAs. They never supported my interest in music and convinced me I couldn't make a living with it. By the time I went to college I was so afraid of failure I took the safe bet and studied accounting." She smiled shyly. "I never lost my love of music though and I try to keep up to date on local bands."

"What do you play?"

"Guitar, mostly, but I can also play piano and saxophone." The bartender lined up the drinks and Jeffrey paid the tab. Michelle grabbed three of the glasses, Jeffrey the remaining three and led the way back to the group. A high top table had become available and the women had taken positions around it.

"Would anyone like to shoot some darts?" Jeffrey queried.

"I'll play," Amanda volunteered. Despite his efforts to put the table between them, she appeared at his side.

"What are the stakes?" she cooed, her lips close to his ear, the rum on her breath stinging his nostrils.

"No wagers, just a friendly game." His eyes searched the women hoping the rest would agree to play as well but they remained silent. It was obvious Amanda was the dominant female of the group.

"How about you give me your number if I win and if you win you can take me home." Her hand inched down his back toward his butt as she spoke; he stepped away before she grabbed him.

"No, that's not what I'm looking for." He made another search of the group and found no reinforcement. "Maybe I should go. It was nice meeting you all."

He backed away from the table. Amanda grabbed for his arm, grasping only empty air. Jeffrey turned and ducked out the front door. He stood for a moment sucking in the clean, humid air, lungs burning from the cigarette smoke. He dug in his pocket and fished out his car keys. His beat up Toyota Tacoma truck was parked on the far side of the lot, a circle of yellow light spilling on the scratched green paint. He pushed the key into the lock and opened the door.

"Wait!" a female voice called. He looked up and saw Michelle coming around the side of the building. She approached and extended her hand. "I wanted to give you my number. Maybe we can go out sometime," she paused and smiled, "without the cheerleaders." She cocked her head toward the bar. Jeffrey reached out and took her business card.

"I would like that. By the way, my name is Jeffrey. Your friends didn't seem to care."

Michelle laughed, a laugh that shook her shoulders and made her eyes crinkle. "Yeah, sorry. I doubt they will even remember you tomorrow."

"Gee, thanks."

"It's nothing personal, they are pretty wasted, and Amanda will have some other guy falling all over her by the time I get back." Michelle glanced at the door as it opened and a group of guys came out. "Speaking of which, I better go. I told them I was going to the bathroom."

Fifteen minutes later Jeffrey pulled into the driveway of a rented bungalow behind a larger home in Winter Park. His landlords in the main house were active in the community, supported a list of charities he could never remember, and hosted parties nearly every month. He quietly locked up the car and slipped into the bungalow.

A dim light burned over the stove and he didn't bother turning on any others as he moved to the bedroom. He peeled his shirt off and threw it toward the hamper; it missed, falling into a pile of other failed attempts. He emptied his pockets, dropping his wallet and keys on the bedside table. He picked up Michelle's crumpled business card and ran his thumb over the raised letters. Setting the card down, Jeffrey picked up a photo in a silver frame.

He gazed with longing at the picture of an athletic woman; blonde hair, cut in a short bob that framed her heart-shaped face, blue eyes bright, radiating her smile and warmth. His look moved from the woman to the man behind her, himself, a man he barely recognized now, green eyes soft and happy, brown hair falling over his ears. In the dim light he couldn't read the date on the photo but he knew it by heart.

### CHAPTER FOUR

Lizzie shook open the classified section of the newspaper, thumbing through the pages until she reached real estate listings. Half-heartedly she skimmed the columns searching for homes available in downtown. For six months, she'd been trying to buy or rent a place closer to work. She knew her limited budget would be a challenge, but never anticipated it being this hard.

Her hand slid across the table to clasp a coffee mug. She lifted the steaming liquid to her mouth and drew in a tentative sip. Searing heat ran down her tongue accompanied with a painful grimace. Returning the cup to the table, she ran a finger down the list of ads ignoring everything except price. She had learned not to get excited by a description before knowing the cost. She expelled a loud breath, blowing her bangs out of her eyes as she reached the bottom of the column. Her eyes did one last flick across the page and then she saw it: 3/2, Thornton Park, 1500 sqf, $800 p/m

Lizzie smoothed the paper and focused on the minute ad. Too excited to search for scissors, she folded and creased the ad edges until it separated from the paper, freeing this gem. Her heart pounded as she scrambled across the kitchen and picked up the phone, fingers shaking as she dialed the number.

"Sandy Point Property Management, this is Christy, how can I help you?" a cheery voice answered on the third ring.

"Hi, I saw an ad in the _Orlando Sentinel_ about a property in Thornton Park for $800 per month. Can you tell me more about it?"

"We just listed the property and I don't know much about it. I do know it's located on Washington Avenue. We could have a representative show it to you this afternoon if you like."

"Would two o'clock work?" There was a moment of silence on the other end of the line.

"That would be fine. You will be meeting with David Rosenbloom. The address is 1108 Washington Avenue, east of Lake Eola. Do you need directions?"

"No, thanks. I know the area."

"Then David will see you at two."

"Thanks so much." Lizzie danced across the kitchen.

At two, Lizzie arrived at the address provided, but her excitement melted away as she approached. Thick weeds and grass stood three feet tall obscuring the steps to the dilapidated front porch. The windows were gaping holes of broken glass. She checked the address again dismayed to find she indeed had the right location.

"Good afternoon, you must be Lizzie." She turned and faced a thin young man a few inches taller than herself with cropped brown hair and pale grey eyes. "I'm David," he continued as he stretched out his hand.

Lizzie shook his hand and shuffled her feet. "I think there must be a mistake."

"Not exactly what you were expecting?" David chuckled.

"I knew it had to be too good to be true." Lizzie kicked the ground with her toe. "Sorry to have made you come out here. I guess the girl in the office didn't know it was in this condition."

"No, Christy didn't know, so please don't be upset with her, but it isn't as bad as it seems. Why don't we go inside?"

"What's the point? I'm not paying to live here." Lizzie was appalled by the thought.

"Just give me ten minutes." David extended his arm in a gesture for her to proceed. Lizzie shook her head but didn't turn away.

David took a step forward, stomping the grass down as he walked. After a moment's hesitation Lizzie followed, testing each step, afraid her feet would fall through the rotted wood. David jiggled a key in the lock and pressed his shoulder to the door. Curling paint fell to the ground with each brush of his shirt.

The hinges groaned as he pushed the door open and stepped inside. Lizzie entered, her nostrils assailed by the smell of mildew and decay. Dusty sunlight filtered into the living room. Hardwood floors stretched out before her, warped in places where the rain had blown through the open windows; food wrappers, newspapers, and unrecognizable refuse lay scattered throughout the room. The walls were a dingy white, discolored by dust, and what appeared to be soot.

"Was there a fire in here?" Lizzie inquired.

"More likely the fire pit of a homeless person squatting here; had to have the police come by a few days ago and clear the place out. Overall though, things aren't that bad. As you can see the wood is warped in a few spots, but its true hardwood and those spots could be repaired."

Lizzie's eyes scanned the open space and rested on the kitchen area. Cabinet doors and drawers stood open or were missing all together. There was no refrigerator or range.

"The owner lives in Massachusetts and inherited the property a couple years ago and it was vacant for several years before that. I doubt he even knows what it looks like." David drifted around the open space, pushed in some of the kitchen drawers and used his foot as a broom to clear a path for her.

Lizzie took a few tentative steps forward. "The work it would take to get this place habitable will cost a fortune. Maybe you should send the owner some pictures, or better yet tell him to come down here so he can be more realistic. No one is going to pay rent on top of the renovation costs."

Lizzie moved through the space and popped her head into a small bathroom. The toilet was black with mold, dirt caked the sink, and one of the knobs was missing from the faucet. She recoiled and moved toward the back of the house. A dim hallway led off the main living area; she shuffled her feet to clear away trash, felt something on her foot and a strangled scream escaped her clenched jaw.

David ran to her side. "Are you okay? What happened?" His eyes searched the area around her sandaled feet.

"Something...ran... across my foot," she said between gasps.

David suppressed a laugh. "Sorry, I should have warned you there were probably mice in here."

Lizzie's heartbeat slowed and her breath became more even. She gave him a weak smile. "Yes, a warning would have been nice. Of course, I probably would never have come inside if I'd known."

"There are three bedrooms and another bathroom if you want to take a look."

David stamped ahead, Lizzie followed, hoping the racket would frighten off any other critters residing in the home. They entered the master bedroom and Lizzie was pleasantly surprised. A large picture window filled most of the back wall and stretched almost to the floor with a window seat just below the level of her knee. The bedroom flowed into a bathroom with a cast iron, claw footed bathtub. For the first time she noticed crown molding.

"Does the whole house have crown molding?" she inquired.

"There are a few spots it has fallen down, mostly in the kitchen and one of the other bedrooms. This place was built in 1930 and had some remodeling done in the 1970s, I don't recall the exact year. There are great bones to build on."

"Sure if you have the money. I work in hospitality and the pay isn't great." Lizzie strolled through the two remaining bedrooms and returned to the living room.

"Would you like to see the backyard?"

"No, that's alright. I'm sure there are animals larger than mice roaming around out there."

"You're probably right. We work with a lawn service company; I just haven't had a chance to get them out here. Do you have any questions?"

"Are you sure the owner is firm on the $800? That still seems a bit high for this monstrosity."

"I can talk to him and let you know. Like I said, he hasn't seen the property so maybe if we send him some current photos he will come down a bit. I must say, though, $800 is better than anything else you will find in this neighborhood."

"I know. I've been looking for months and have been hard pressed to find many rentals. There are a few condos but I want more privacy than they offer." Lizzie crossed the room in a few strides and emerged onto the front porch. She absorbed the view, a quiet street, old lush trees, and children playing on a lawn. These were the things she had missed living in an apartment.

"I have a few other places to look at this weekend. If the owner wants to come down on his price give me a call." She pulled a business card from her purse and handed it to David. "Thank you for meeting me."

"It was my pleasure. I'll be in touch in a couple of days, and please don't hesitate to call our office if you think of any questions."

Lizzie turned toward her car but changed her mind and moved down the sidewalk toward Lake Eola. She passed individuals walking their dogs and couples strolling hand in hand. A warm breeze lifted her curls off her face and neck. The streets were quiet, the rush of traffic on Highway 50 a faint murmur.

In ten minutes, she reached the lake front park and moved toward the Japanese pagoda. It was one of her favorite places. She enjoyed the sounds of children playing and laughing on the playground. She passed the pagoda and rested on a bench near a statue of a soldier. Bicyclists and joggers whirred past; the occasional snippet of conversation reached her ears when the wind changed. This was the heart of the city; she loved being part of it. She ached at the thought of returning to her apartment, jammed amongst the city's attractions, and dealing with perpetually lost out-of-town drivers.

Lizzie rose and continued walking. She had no destination in mind, only a desire to mingle with the people, to taste the life of a downtowner. She passed towering magnolia trees and full figured weeping willows. A family paddled past in a swan boat. A flock of pigeons wheeled overhead, occasionally skimming the path in front of her. At the edge of the park, she continued on, passing into the eerily quiet streets lined with corporate offices and nightclubs.

Twenty minutes later she found herself at a construction site, where a sign read: _Coming Soon: The Plaza, a new condo and retail project by Hollisbrook Construction_. She paused to examine the progress, recalling she had read the finished building would house residential units, a movie theater, retail shops, and restaurants. The city leaders lauded The Plaza as the beginning of urban revitalization. Lizzie studied the steel beams and concrete slabs rising before her.

The sound of metal wheels on concrete caught her attention and she turned to see three teenage boys on skateboards rolling toward her. The leader stopped a few feet away. She smiled at the boy with long, greasy hair falling in his eyes.

"You see something interesting here?" the boy tried to sound tough.

"I was just thinking this is going to be quite a place when it is completed," she said.

"My dad works here," the teen said with a note of pride in his voice. "He says it will be the best building in all of Orlando."

"I bet he's right. What does your dad do?"

"He pours the concrete."

"That sounds like an important job. There's going to be a lot of concrete in here." Lizzie noticed the other two boys squirming with impatience. "You boys have a nice day." She waved and crossed the street heading back to her car.

### CHAPTER FIVE

"Morning, Lizzie. Did you have a nice weekend?" Austin greeted Lizzie as she hung her suit coat on the back of her chair and powered up her computer.

"I did, how about you?" She noticed his red face as he bounced over to her desk.

"Totally awesome. Went to see this great punk band Friday night, then went to a few other clubs, rolled in around three Saturday morning. Slept until one and headed out to the beach, a friend of mine has a condo, like, two blocks from the ocean. We went surfing and the waves were, like, so big man."

"Sounds like a good time," Lizzie replied, pulling out a notepad and taking notes as she went through her voicemails.

"It's Rachel Langley. I know it's last minute, but would it be possible to change Jeremy's party from one o'clock to three o'clock? Call me when you get in." Lizzie glanced at her watch before dialing Mrs. Langley's room.

The voicemail picked up. "Hi, Mrs. Langley. Sorry I missed you. I'll see what I can do to rearrange the party."

She sighed as she hung up the phone and retrieved the birthday file. She'd had to pull a lot of strings to get a local YMCA to bring over a dozen teenagers to celebrate with Jeremy and she didn't know if the new time would work for them. She hated for the kid to be alone on his big day. She dialed the number for the YMCA and hoped for the best.

Forty-five minutes later, birthday crisis averted, Lizzie returned to her desk. She browsed through her emails, a collection of memos about upcoming training sessions, system outages, and performance reviews. She deleted most of them before clicking on a message from James.

Hope you had a great weekend. Sorry my sister didn't call, I forgot to tell her you were looking for a new realtor until late yesterday. She will call you today though. Talk to you soon. –J

"Lizzie, do you have a minute?" Stephen stood at the door between the front desk and back office and called to her.

"Sure, what's up?" she said, rising from her chair and moving toward him.

"There's a couple out here who say they know you and want to see you. They wouldn't give me their names, though." Stephen's voice was nervous, his gaze darting around the office.

"No problem." Lizzie followed him through the door. Her gaze slid down the length of the desk searching for familiar faces. She smiled at the sight of a couple in their forties. The woman had cornrow braids hanging to her shoulders and a flowing skirt and blouse in a bright floral pattern covered her full figure. The man stood five inches taller than the woman, his bald head reflecting the lobby lights, a thick mustache hiding his full lips.

"Emma, Ron," Lizzie exclaimed.

Emma and Ron stepped closer to the desk, smiles illuminating their caramel faces.

"Wait, I'll come out there." Lizzie stepped back into the office and emerged from the side door a moment later. She embraced the couple and led them to a grouping of chairs.

"We got back into town last night and were desperate to get in touch with all of our friends," Emma said as they took a seat.

"How was Kenya? Tell me everything."

"It was beautiful, everything is so lush and unspoiled. After we finished the school, another group came in and started work on a medical clinic. Ron and I decided to stay on and help with that. We had to leave before the project was completed, though. My sister sent word she is getting married. Of course I had to get home for that." Emma laughed. "How have you been? I've missed talking to you."

"I've been good. Still looking for a new place to live. My lease is up in two months so I hope I can find something soon." Lizzie paused, a thought popping into her head. "What are your plans tonight? Can we get together for dinner? I have some things I would like to talk to you guys about."

Emma looked at Ron. "I didn't have anything in mind for tonight," Ron said in a laid-back tone.

"Can you meet me at Dexter's around five fifteen?"

"That sounds divine. There were a few nights in Kenya when I craved their cedar plank salmon." Emma smiled as the trio rose and hugged once again.

"I'm so happy you came by and can't wait to catch up with you tonight." Lizzie walked them to the front door and watched until they ducked into their car. A look at the clock upon returning to her desk showed only thirty minutes until the birthday celebration. She dashed off some quick responses to outstanding emails before heading to the ballroom where the festivities were scheduled to take place.

Lizzie smiled, noticing Emma and Ron already seated at a table outside Dexter's. Emma waved as Lizzie threaded her way through the small tables. "Sorry I'm late. I got caught on the phone."

"Don't worry about it. It's nice to sit and watch the people passing by," Emma replied. "You know, this trip was the longest we have done and we were talking about how different it is to be back."

They had just begun to catch up when a waiter arrived at the table to take their orders. Within fifteen minutes, they received their plates and said a quiet blessing over the food.

"Mmm," Emma gave a contented sigh as she chewed her first bite of salmon. "Better than I remember. I may never want to leave town again."

Lizzie laughed. "You know you'll be ready for another trip by the end of the month. If nothing else, the traffic here will drive you crazy."

"True, there are some definite benefits to backwoods villages. I'm not sure I even remember how to drive."

Throughout dinner, Emma and Ron regaled her with stories of their trip, the narrative flowing between them. Lizzie recognized a new intimacy between her friends, realizing this trip had strengthened their marriage and wondered if they were aware of this change.

"If you guys aren't too jet lagged, would you like to take a walk?" Lizzie pushed back her cup of coffee.

"Sure, I could use some exercise to work off that tiramisu," Ron said.

"Great, there is something I want to show you." Lizzie turned right and started down the sidewalk. She and Emma walked arm in arm with Ron trailing behind. They waved at a shop owner of a tiny boutique on the corner before crossing the street.

"That fountain is right in the middle of the intersection," Emma exclaimed pointing at a sculpture of four women with a large stone bowl resting on their heads. Thin streams of water trickled from the sides of the bowl down the stately bodies into a pool four feet below them.

"I know, isn't it lovely?" Lizzie let out a delighted sigh.

Once they crossed the street, they left all business behind and strolled past manicured lawns and well-maintained homes. A car rolled past them, tires thumping along the old brick street.

Four blocks from the restaurant Lizzie stopped.

"I know we've been gone for awhile but I didn't realize there were any empty houses in downtown." Emma's gaze traveled the length of the porch taking in the crumbling half wall, peeling paint, broken windows, and wild vegetation.

"Neither did I. It has a new owner and they are trying to rent it."

"Are you kidding? That place is a death trap," Emma cried.

"It is pretty bad," Lizzie admitted, "but do you think it could be repaired?"

Ron cocked his head to one side and surveyed the structure. He waded through the tall grass and stepped onto the porch. The wood groaned under his weight. He paused before taking a tentative step. He inspected the frames around the door and windows, gently rapping on them with his knuckles. Lizzie and Emma waited on the sidewalk watching the inspection. Lizzie didn't realize she had been holding her breath until she exhaled as Ron rejoined them.

"It's a shame the owners have let it get so bad." Ron paused and glanced around surveying the neighborhood. "This is a nice location. A lot closer to your job for sure." He wiped dust and dirt from his hands onto a white handkerchief pulled from his back pocket.

"I don't know if you could tell or not in this light, but the whole place has beautiful crown molding," Lizzie replied.

Emma transferred her attention from the ramshackle home to her friend. "You're thinking of renting it."

Lizzie faced her friends, a smile creasing her face. "I know it's crazy, but I saw it over the weekend and haven't been able to stop thinking about it. I might call the agent to see if the owner would consider waiving rent if I do all the renovation work."

"Do you even own a hammer, Lizzie?" Ron's solemn tone took her by surprise. "This isn't a small job. You can't just take some paint and make it all pretty."

"Believe me, I know. You haven't seen the extent of the work inside, but I need to do something that gives my life direction. Somehow it feels like renovating this house could be that thing."

Emma put her arm around Lizzie's shoulders and gave her a squeeze. "If this is something you really want to do, you can count on us."

"Guess it's a good thing we came home when we did." Ron's white teeth glistened in his bright smile.

Tears burned the corners of Lizzie's eyes. "Thank you," she whispered. "I knew you would understand." She swatted the tears away. "Its getting late and you guys must be exhausted."

Ron stifled a yawn and chuckled. "Felt fine till you mentioned being tired." He reached for Emma's hand as they turned back toward the restaurant. Lizzie spent the short walk telling her friends about the interior of the house and the dreams she had for it. By the time they reached the parking lot, the dilapidated house had transformed into a cozy home.

The friends parted at the restaurant and Ron pulled onto the quiet street, continuing down Washington Avenue instead of turning toward home.

"Where are you going?" Emma asked.

"I just want to drive by the house again. I didn't notice the address and want to do a little research before Lizzie gets too invested."

"You know nothing you say at this point will change her mind. The minute she decided to show us the house she decided she was going to do this."

"I know, but I don't want her to be taken advantage of. We should call Mark and see if he can recommend a good property attorney to draw up a contract for her if the owner is willing to accept her proposal, maybe even see about accruing equity in the home should she be interested in buying." Ron pulled the car to a silent stop in front of the residence, noticing there was no mailbox, nor a number on the house. He inched the car forward to the next house, noted the number and pulled forward to find the numbers increasing in increments of four. He slipped the car into park and punched some buttons on his phone storing the address.

"I sure hope our lawnmower works because I didn't come home to work in another jungle." The couple laughed and Ron nosed the car toward home

### CHAPTER SIX

The cool, dark apartment welcomed Lizzie as she dropped her keys in a ceramic bowl on a narrow foyer table, crossed the living room to the kitchen, and pulled a Diet Dr. Pepper from the refrigerator. She took a long gulp, allowing the fizzy liquid to quench her thirst. In the living room, she turned on a lamp and flopped into a leather chair to thumb through a pile of mail. She sorted the credit card offers, donation requests, and travel magazines into two piles, one for the shredder and one for closer inspection later.

Near the bottom of the pile, she came across a small postcard with a picture of an elephant splashing in a lake. She turned it over, smiling to see Emma's signature on the bottom. Perhaps if I checked my mail more often I would've known they were coming home, she thought as she set the postcard on the arm of the chair, and closed her eyes. The memory of her first meeting with Ron and Emma came flooding back.

Lizzie sat at the end of a long pew in the center of the church. She'd only been attending for a few weeks and didn't know anyone yet. She was reading the church bulletin when a couple approached the pew.

"Excuse me, is anyone sitting here?" the woman asked politely gesturing to the empty space. Lizzie smiled and shook her head, rising to allow them past her. The couple settled in and the lady turned to Lizzie again. "I'm Emma and this is my husband Ron."

"Nice to meet you, I'm Lizzie."

"Have you been coming here long?" Emma asked.

"A few weeks. I guess you could say I'm shopping around right now."

Emma nodded knowingly. "It can be hard to find a new church home. Have you been to any of the Sunday school programs here? There is quite a broad range of choices."

Lizzie shook her head, embarrassed she had let her church involvement slide so much. "To be honest, I've kind of enjoyed just being another face in the crowd."

Emma looked around the massive sanctuary, which could easily seat five thousand worshipers, and patted Lizzie's hand. "Being lost in the crowd can be more comfortable at times, but having a deeper connection with others who share your faith can make the darkest times in life easier."

Strains of a contemporary worship song started and the congregation rose to its feet. Lizzie was grateful for the interruption and joined in the song.

After a time of songs and prayer, the congregation took their seats and Pastor Donovan stepped onto the stage to welcome the crowd. "I know we are all excited about the upcoming holidays and I hope you have been praying about giving to our Lottie Moon Christmas Offering this year. This morning I want to take a few minutes to hear from one of our own couples who have been serving in Africa off and on for the past three years." Pastor Donovan paused with a warm smile on his face, his eyes searching the crowd. "Please join me in welcoming Ron and Emma Webster."

Applause erupted and Lizzie started as the couple next to her rose. She watched them make their way to the front of the church and couldn't deny her interest was aroused. The couple reached the dais and shook hands with the pastor. Ron took the microphone and swept his gaze across the congregation. Emma stood slightly behind her husband, her flowing red dress reminding Lizzie of photos she had seen of African tribal women.

"Emma and I felt the Lord calling us to Africa four years ago. Both of us were working in jobs we loved, teaching Sunday school, and trying to start a family. We couldn't understand why God would be calling us to leave all that behind and tried to push the sensation aside. After six months of each of us being pulled toward ministry, but not telling the other, I finally sat down and told Emma what I was feeling. I was surprised to learn she was experiencing the same thing. We prayed and a sense of peace came upon us.

"We had sponsored a child in Uganda through World Vision two years earlier so we contacted them to see if they had any volunteer opportunities. They were able to put us in touch with an organization with a trip leaving in two months with two spots open."

Emma stepped forward and took over the story. "Before we knew it we were landing in Uganda as part of a team tasked with digging a well in a small village and teaching the local people about the importance of clean water. The villagers were so kind and eager to welcome us into their homes. We were only there for ten days, but we fell in love with the community."

Lizzie listened intently as they told about their experiences on that first trip and how they had felt lead to do this full time. They returned home, quit their jobs, moved to a smaller apartment, and got involved with the International Mission Board.

"Three years and five trips later, we have been blessed by the work we have done in Africa, and look forward to our next trip, which will take us to Darfur. I'm sure many of you are aware of the tragic war that has been raging in Darfur, which has driven millions into refugee camps. On this trip, we will be working in a medical clinic that has been established in one of these camps. We ask for your prayers that God will keep us safe, that we will be able to share his love and forgiveness with those we meet, and for healing in this ravaged region."

The crowd rose, deafening applause filling the large room. Ron handed the microphone back to the pastor and took his wife's hand as they returned to their seats.

After the service, Lizzie turned to Emma. "I would love to hear more about your work. Would you like to go to lunch?"

"I would like that. Unfortunately we already have an engagement today." Emma reached into her purse and pulled out a small notebook. "Why don't you give me your phone number and I'll call you tomorrow? Perhaps we can get together after church Wednesday night."

Lizzie looked at the floor. "I don't usually come to church on Wednesdays," she mumbled.

Emma laid her hand on Lizzie's shoulder. "That's all right. We can meet anytime that's convenient for you." She scribbled on a piece of paper and placed it in Lizzie's hand. "Here's our number. Why don't you think about it and give me a call." Her voice was kind and reassuring.

"Thanks." Lizzie took the paper and slipped it inside her Bible. "I'll check my calendar."

In her chair, Lizzie jerked awake to the ringing phone. She rubbed her eyes and tried to remember where she was. "Hello?" her voice was groggy.

"Oh did I wake you? I'm sorry." The deep male voice was vaguely familiar, yet she couldn't quite place it.

"Who is this?" Lizzie stood trying to bring her brain into focus.

"It's James. I wanted to see if you had any pull with the History Center. They have a new exhibit coming in and I have some clients who would like to get a private tour."

"I don't know. I heard Justin is the new manager. I'm not sure he would be interested in doing me any favors."

"He can't still be sore at you for not wanting to go on a second date. Will you at least give him a call?"

Lizzie sighed. "Yeah, I'll call him, but you are going to owe me big time."

"You got it. Thanks so much."

### CHAPTER SEVEN

The work site's rhythm of hammers on steel, cranes lifting heavy metal beams, the whooshing thump of nail guns, and voices calling to each other, enveloped Jeffrey as he emerged from the skeletal structure. He looked up to see dark clouds obstructing the sun and casting deep shadows, as wind from the east was picking up. The three o'clock showers should be right on schedule, he thought. He strode to the trailer serving as his office, doing a mental inventory of the tasks to be completed before the next inspection.

"Jeff! Hey, Jeff!"

He walked on, oblivious, until a pebble hit his forearm. His head jerked up searching for the source. He caught sight of Wally sitting on a concrete block twenty feet away smiling and waving.

"What's the matter with you? You can't be throwing stuff around here," Jeffrey snapped.

"Sorry." Wally looked sheepish. "I was just trying to get your attention. I called you a couple of times. How did things go after I left Friday?" Wally jumped off the block and walked alongside Jeffrey.

Jeffrey shrugged. "Nothing exciting. I didn't stick around much longer."

"Are you kidding? That blonde was totally into you."

"Yeah, she made that clear," he responded. "She was too easy." Jeffrey took the steps to the office two at a time and jerked the thin metal door open, letting it swing shut behind him. He tossed his clipboard onto a dented gray desk, pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, and mopped his brow.

"How are things looking out there?" A young girl with tight black curls forming a helmet around her small head, sat behind another battered desk. Her eyes followed Jeffrey as he walked to the water cooler, yanked out a paper cup, and took a long drink.

"We're behind schedule," Jeffrey muttered, crushing the paper cup in his fist, shaking his head in disgust. "Jenny," he turned to face the woman, "will you get Bill Cheevers on the phone please? I need to see if I can reschedule the inspection."

"Of course, sir." Jenny was dialing before he finished speaking. Jeffrey plopped into a bulky office chair. He gazed blankly at the few beat up desks, covered with empty fast food bags, half empty paper cups, blueprints, hard hats, and notepads. He heard the oscillating fan, emitting a comforting hum, ruffling the loose papers.

"I have Mr. Cheevers on the line, sir." Jenny's soft voice roused Jeffrey. He leaned forward and picked up the phone on his desk.

"Thanks, Jenny." He gave her a weary smile before pressing the button to accept the call. "Hey, Bill. It's Jeffrey. How you doing?"

"Can't complain. Worn out from the grandkids spending the weekend with Helen and me. They're growing up so fast. What can I do for you? Don't we have an inspection scheduled for Friday?"

Jeffrey expelled his breath loudly. "That's why I'm calling. Do you think we can push it back a week? We've had a few delays."

"Hmm, let me check the calendar, I think I'm pretty booked next week. Hold on a minute." Bill clicked off and _NSYNC's_ "Bye Bye Bye" blared in Jeffrey's ear. He pulled the receiver away from his head grimacing.

"Jeff?" Bill came back on the line.

"I'm here."

"Bad news. Next Friday is full and I'm on vacation the following week. The other guys are pretty busy too. I'm afraid if we don't do it this week you'll have to wait two weeks."

Jeffrey chewed his lip. "What about Wednesday or Thursday?"

"Looks like I can squeeze you in Wednesday, first thing in the morning, about eight fifteen."

"I'll take it. See you then." Jeffrey stood and stretched. "Jenny, move the inspection on the calendar. Bill's coming out next Wednesday at eight instead of this Friday."

"You have a meeting with the clients at nine that morning," she replied hesitantly. Jeffrey cursed under his breath.

"See if we can push them back to eleven," Jeffrey called as he stalked out of the trailer, door slamming behind him. He moved across the yard, skirting barrels and sawhorses, tapping his foot with impatience as he waited for the lift to take him to the twenty-fourth floor.

"Afternoon, Mr. Robbins," a burly man with dark hair shaved close greeted him as he exited the lift.

"Hi, Al. How are things up here? Will we be ready for the inspection Friday?" Jeffrey's eyes scanned the area where steel and wood beams denoted individual rooms, and workers scurried around like angry ants. The frantic pace was an improvement from the snail crawl he'd seen earlier in the day.

"I'm not sure," Al said, eyes averted. "I talked with the boys and as you can see they took it to heart, but we lost a lot of time with the storm last week."

"I don't want excuses, Al. If this floor isn't ready to go by the end of the week I'm docking your pay." Al started to speak; Jeffrey silenced him with a withering look. "No excuses." Jeffrey turned on his heel and returned to the waiting lift.

### CHAPTER EIGHT

"Sandy Point Property Management, this is Christy." Her voice was more harried than the last time Lizzie had called. Lizzie twirled the phone cord around her index finger.

"Hi, Christy. I talked to you a few days ago about a property on Washington Avenue."

"Right, the Phillips property, you met with David didn't you?"

"That's right, great memory. I was wondering if I could see the property again."

"Hold on a minute, David just walked in." Lizzie heard a muffled conversation and imagined Christy covering the phone with her hand. A brief silence followed, then David's warm voice came on the line.

"Good afternoon, Lizzie. I spoke with Mr. Phillips about an hour ago. He was unaware of the state of the house and said he would be willing to lower the rent, does $650 sound more reasonable?"

Lizzie hesitated, nervous about the offer she was about to make. "Do you suppose he would consider taking renovation work in lieu of rent, at least until the repairs are made? I mean just cleaning the place is going to cost more than $650."

"I know where you are coming from. I don't know if he is that open, but I'll give him a call. Can I get back to you?"

"Sure, I'll be at this number until five," Lizzie agreed.

For the next hour, Lizzie prepared itineraries for guests due to arrive for the weekend. All of the suites were booked and most of the guests had special requests ranging from basic dinner reservations to an elaborate marriage proposal. She smiled as she hung up the phone after confirming a carriage ride through downtown for the lucky couple, a twinge of envy tugging at her heart.

An instant message popped up on her screen from Stephen. _Lizzie can you come out here a second?_ _Mrs. Langley is disputing her bill._

Lizzie sucked in a deep breath, held it then breathed it out, pushing her frustration with this guest aside. Rising from her desk her phone rang. She didn't recognize the number on the caller id, but decided to take the call anyway and typed a quick message letting Stephen know she would be there in a minute.

"Hotel Lago, this is Lizzie. How can I help you?"

"It's David Rosenbloom."

"Hi, David," her voice brightened.

"Mr. Phillips was reluctant at first, but I think I convinced him your offer was the best he was going to get. He wants to think about it overnight. Do you want to see the property again?"

Lizzie contained a squeal of delight. "Yes! Does five o'clock work for you?"

"Today?" surprise registered in David's tone.

"I know it's short notice."

"No, that's fine. I can meet you at five."

"Thanks so much. I hate to run, but I have a bit of a situation here I need to deal with. I'll see you in a few hours." Lizzie hung up the phone and skipped to the front desk.

"Mrs. Langley, how can I help you?" Lizzie asked.

"I don't see the charge for Jeremy's birthday party on here. You worked so hard and I want to make sure it is covered."

Lizzie took the print out from the guest and scanned the charges. "Here it is," she pointed at a charge listed as room service, "the only charge was for the cake and the conference room."

"But it's only $350, surely it cost more than that."

"Well we didn't end up having any special entertainment and it was only two hours. The YMCA was happy to bring out the kids, what else could there be a charge for?" Lizzie had never had a guest question being under charged.

Mrs. Langley reached into her wallet and pulled out some bills pressing them into Lizzie's hand. "I insist you take this for all you did."

"That's not necessary," Lizzie protested trying to return the money.

"I know it's not. You didn't have to put together this event for my son, but you took it upon yourself to make it a day he would remember and I appreciate that. Please, take it."

"Truly it was my pleasure to do it."

Mrs. Langley squeezed Lizzie's palm. "I insist."

"Thank you," Lizzie relented. "I hope we have a chance to see you again soon."

"I'm sure you will." Mrs. Langley smiled, gathered her purse, and disappeared out the front door.

A warm wind shook the trees and bent the tall grass as Lizzie waited on the sidewalk surveying the landscape and decrepit house. Was this a mistake? Could she actually turn this heap into a home? She studied the yard trying to differentiate between weeds and legitimate plantings. Where do I even start? Should I try to salvage any of the existing plants? She picked her way up the now beaten-down path, sand spurs attaching themselves to the legs of her pants. Flecks of dirty white paint from the columns on either side of the front steps shook free in the gentle breeze and settled in her hair. She climbed the steps and paced the length of the porch trying to picture the faded blue paint scraped off, replaced with a warm sunny yellow.

"Sorry I'm late," called David.

Lizzie turned to see him jogging up the walkway oblivious to the overgrowth. He leapt onto the porch and extended his hand.

"I really appreciate you meeting me. I know it is the end of the work day and you must want to get home to your family."

"Not a problem. I don't live far from here and Rufus doesn't mind waiting for me these days." David chuckled at the quizzical look Lizzie gave him. "Rufus is my dog, a ten year old boxer who would rather sleep on the couch than go for a walk." He fumbled with some keys before opening the door. Lizzie followed him inside, her mind more open to possibility this time. She noticed the floors were swept clean, the piles of litter gone.

"Did you do this?" she asked.

David shrugged. "I figured if I was going to be showing the place it was the least I could do to make it a bit more presentable. Plus, I didn't want anymore rats scaring off clients."

Lizzie ran her fingers along the countertops leaving a line in the dust and grime. She noticed the deep, wide, porcelain sink, like the one in her grandmother's farmhouse. A window above the sink looked out onto a large backyard, a massive rain tree dripping shade across the tangle of weeds. She envisioned a swing or bench under the ancient branches, a tidy flower garden filling the air with pleasing scents. In the small bedroom, she pictured the walls lined with bookcases and a desk looking out the window. She imagined long, luxurious baths in the clawfoot tub surrounded by candles, soft jazz playing on the stereo. She walked through the house seeing the possibility, oblivious to the reality, her skin prickling with anticipation.

"I'll take it." Lizzie kept her voice calm despite the excitement and apprehension she felt.

"Are you sure?"

"I am."

"I'll get a contract drawn up in the next couple of days. We should be able to..." David glanced around. "I would normally say get you in by the end of the week, how about we just get the papers signed." They both laughed as they returned to the front porch.

A white haired lady sat on the porch across the street, her chair rocking in a slow back and forth motion. Lizzie raised her hand to greet her new neighbor, her heart warming at the smile she received in return.

Slipping behind the wheel of her car, she whispered a prayer of thanks as well as a petition for God's guidance. The _Casting Crowns_ song "Praise You in the Storm" rang out from Lizzie's purse as she put the car in gear. She pulled her cell phone from an outside pocket.

"Hey, Emma."

"You haven't committed to that house yet, have you?" Emma's tone was urgent.

"Kind of, no papers have been signed." Lizzie caught her friend up on the events of the day.

"I can't believe the owner agreed to those terms. Ron talked to our friend Mark, he's an attorney, and he offered to draw up a contract that would protect you should the owner change his mind, or you decide you want to buy the place later."

"I don't know," Lizzie hesitated, "an attorney really isn't in my budget."

"Not to worry. Mark said it's an easy contract and he's happy to do it for free. You know lawyers are always looking for some pro bono work to make them look more human."

"Are you sure? I don't want to put him out."

"I'm sure. Now when can you get together to go over the contract? He said he could write it up tonight."

"I don't have any plans tomorrow, we could meet for lunch, I should probably call David and see if he is okay with this."

"Alright, you give him a call and see when he can meet and I will find out if Mark is available tomorrow. We'll talk again later tonight."

"Thanks Emma, I really appreciate it."

"This was all Ron. He wants to watch out for you."

"Give him a big hug for me. Talk to you in a bit."

### CHAPTER NINE

Jeffrey stepped out of the lift and found Al pacing back and forth, his agitation apparent. The crew worked feverishly, their deadline for completion inching closer with each minute. Al froze when he met Jeffrey's gaze. The team slowed as Jeffrey approached.

"Mornin', Al, how are things looking?" Jeffrey's voice was amiable, yet firm.

"We're almost caught up, if we could have a couple more hours I'm sure we would be ready for the inspection."

Jeffrey pursed his lips and nodded. "You're in luck, the inspection has been moved to next week." Jeffrey saw relief flood Al's face. "I still expect you to be up to speed by the end of today and moving forward until the inspector comes. We can't afford any more set backs."

"Yes, sir," Al said, waving the workers back to their tasks. Jeffrey lingered, scanning the floor, assessing the progress made. Satisfied with what he saw, he disappeared into the cage for the trip back to ground level.

Back in the office, Jeffrey waded through paperwork, hoping to clear his desk for the weekend. By morning's end, the pile of papers rested in a manageable stack and his email was down to single digits.

"I'm heading to Tijuana Flats for lunch. Want me to pick up anything for you?" Jenny's bright voice pulled Jeffrey away from the computer.

"Is it lunch time already?" He glanced at his watch. "No, thanks. I think I'll grab a hot dog from Eddie's cart."

Jenny grimaced. "I don't know how you can eat those things. Have you ever looked at how dirty that cart is? Are you sure it's even legal for him to sell them?"

"Sure, I mean it must be, the cops are always eating them too." Jeffrey shrugged. "It's fast and easy, what else do I need?"

"A little nutrition now and then."

"And you think I'll get that from Mexican food?"

It was Jenny's turn to shrug. "At least you would get some lettuce and tomatoes."

Jeffrey laughed. "Go, have fun."

They exited the trailer and were blinded momentarily by the intense sun. Jenny's high heels clicked on the pavement. Jeffrey shook his head at the sound. He watched her daintily pick her way across the hard-packed dirt to the sidewalk. Jeffrey turned toward the site, noticed a group of workers gathered around Wally's truck, and headed in their direction.

"Hey guys. What's happening?" Jeffrey called as he approached. A few of the men in the back of the crowd turned and waved him over. Jeffrey caught a glimpse of a young woman sitting on the tailgate of the truck. Bouncy, blond curls framed her face; deep blue eyes, the color of a perfect day, flashed as she smiled at him; long slender legs emerged from her burgundy skirt, ending in small feet clad in white canvas tennis shoes.

"Oh great, glad you came out man," Wally's booming voice was happier than usual. "You gotta meet Lizzie." He turned to the woman. "Lizzie, this is Jeffrey."

Lizzie slipped from the truck bed and extended her hand. "So you're the boss man." Her voice was confident yet flirty, her grip strong, her hand silky. "I hope I'm not causing any trouble. I went on a baking binge and needed to get rid of all these cookies."

Jeffrey noticed half a dozen large plastic bowls in the truck, already half-empty. "Do you have any raisin cookies?" he asked hopefully.

"Just raisin or oatmeal raisin?"

"Just raisin, I know it's weird but my grandmother made the best raisin cookies."

"Mine too!" Lizzie exclaimed. She reached for one of the bowls and extended it to him. Jeffrey noticed this bowl was the emptiest of them all. He snagged one of the remaining cookies and took a bite. Memories came flooding back as he chewed.

"That's incredible. Just like my grandmother made."

"You must be a southern boy, 'cause not one of these guys has ever had them before."

"Well, I don't know if you can call Florida southern, but I do have family in Tennessee."

"Mine are in the Carolinas." Lizzie's gaze dropped to the ground, her voice trailing off.

"So how did we become the lucky recipients of these cookies?"

Lizzie looked up, her eyes meeting his, and Jeffrey felt his knees weaken. "I can't say my motives are completely innocent." She batted her eyelashes and brushed all the men with her gaze. "I just took on quite a remodeling project and I need some pointers, so I thought who better to ask than the experts."

"I don't know if I would call any of these knuckleheads experts," Jeffrey quipped. The men let loose a chorus of groans. "What are you remodeling, a bathroom, a kitchen?"

"Yep."

"Which one?"

"Both and then some." Lizzie described the house and some of her ideas for fixing it up.

"Sounds like a big job. I hope you have some help." Jeffrey gave Lizzie a second look taking in her manicured fingers and slender arms. "No offense, but you don't look like you have done much physical labor."

"None taken. You're right, I'm not accustomed to it but I don't plan on completing the job in a weekend. I know this is going to be a long process and I do have a couple of friends with building experience."

Jeffrey thought a minute. "You said the house is on Washington, east of Dexter's?" Lizzie nodded. "Nice area. If you want I can stop by and take a look, see what advice I can give you on the most pressing needs."

"That would be great. I'll be out there most of the day tomorrow; just cleaning the dirt out will take the entire weekend. Stop by anytime, it's the house with a jungle all around it."

"Sounds good." Jeffrey looked at his watch. "Oh, I gotta go, but you guys take an extra ten minutes today, you've worked hard. I have a meeting with the big boss in Bay Hill so I won't be back. If you need anything give me a call." He turned to Lizzie. "It was nice to meet you, thanks for the cookie."

"I'll walk out with you. I should be getting to work myself." The men started putting lids on the bowls. "Don't worry about those, finish them off, I can pick them up next week." The crew smiled and grabbed another handful of the sweet treats. Lizzie waved as she walked away.

"You have some nice guys. They were afraid to take the cookies at first." Lizzie kept in perfect step with Jeffrey as they moved toward the trailer.

"They're a little on the slack side sometimes, but overall a good group. I'm glad they didn't send you away, that cookie brought back so many good memories."

"I know what you mean."

Jeffrey noticed the quiet way she spoke. They reached Jeffrey's truck and paused.

"You want a ride?"

"Thanks, but I enjoy the walk."

"Where do you work?"

"Hotel Lago"

Jeffrey looked in the direction of Lake Eola. "Not exactly nearby. There are lots of closer places you could have taken your cookies, why did you choose us?"

Lizzie looked over her shoulder toward the construction site. "I don't know. I met a kid here last weekend. He was skateboarding and caught me staring at the building, he told me his dad worked here. He was so proud; he seemed to stand up straighter when he was telling about his dad."

"Did he tell you his dad's name?"

"No, just that he poured concrete. Something about the way he said it made me want to meet the man who could instill such pride in his child."

"Well, you did. I think Wally may have been your biggest fan in the bunch. The man who introduced you to me, that's Wally. Must have been his son Tim you met. If you're sure you don't want a ride I really need to get going, don't want to miss my tee time."

"Of course." Lizzie shook his hand once more. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Jeffrey slid into his truck and started the ignition, watching Lizzie in his rearview mirror. When she was clear of the lot, he pulled out and headed for I-4.

### CHAPTER TEN

Lizzie slowed the car as she approached the house, surprised to see a trailer parked out front. The buzz of a lawnmower greeted her when she stepped out. Ron waved when the tractor turned toward her, a large straw hat shading his face. Lizzie pulled buckets, rags, and jugs of water from her trunk. On the porch, Emma greeted her, broom in hand.

"Good mornin'," Emma embraced Lizzie.

"I can't believe you guys are already here."

"Ron wanted to get the grass knocked out before it got too hot. Do you know what you're going to do with this yard?"

"Not really." Lizzie looked around, impressed by the marked improvement with most of the grass cut. "It's low on my priority list right now. I need to get the place livable in the next six weeks."

"There are some boys at the church who might be willing to come work on the landscaping. I'll give them a call tonight." Emma swept a pile of dirt off the porch as Lizzie unlocked the front door.

"I don't know why David has bothered with locking the door when most of the windows are broken." Lizzie pushed the door open and set one of the buckets against it. She pulled out a bottle of glass cleaner and a rag and headed to the kitchen. "Might as well start with the windows that aren't broken though, that should help lighten up the place." Emma followed her inside.

Two hours later, the remaining windows sparkled inside and out, shards of broken glass had been disposed of, and the kitchen cabinets wiped clean. Emma and Lizzie sank onto the front steps grateful for the light breeze. Ron loaded the mower back into the trailer and joined the women on the porch.

"Taking a break so soon?" Ron teased.

"It's quite steamy in there. I wonder how much it would cost to convert this place to central air conditioning. Even if I stick a couple of window units in it's going to be hard to keep it cool. Must be near 100 degrees in there right now." Lizzie fanned herself with a rag. She surveyed the freshly cut yard and noticed Ron had also trimmed the many overgrown hedges and trees. "It looks so different without all the weeds."

Ron lowered himself onto the top step and leaned back on his elbows. "Not a bad start. What are you tackling next?"

"The bathrooms. I want to scrub them down so they are usable as soon as the water is turned on, but I do dread cleaning those toilets. I don't know if there is enough bleach in the world to kill all that mold." Lizzie rose and stretched her arms over her head, extending her spine as far as she could. "I better get more supplies from the car."

In minutes, she was inside, setting two gallons of bleach on the floor beside the master bath toilet. She pulled a surgical mask up over her nose, tugged on thick, yellow, rubber gloves that reached to her elbows, and picked up the first bottle of bleach. With a flourish, she poured half of it into the toilet watching the dark bowl fill up. She swirled the mixture with a brush hoping the mold would magically fall away.

"You might want to let it set awhile before trying to scrub," Emma popped her head around the door, scrunching her nose at the smell.

"I was just thinking the same thing." Lizzie dropped the brush and gathered a clean cloth. "Guess I'll wash the bathtub while I wait."

"I'll start the other bathroom. Holler if you need anything." Emma disappeared in a flash. Lizzie sprayed cleaner on the bathtub. Years of soap scum and dirt seemed etched into the porcelain. As she scrubbed she smiled at the memory of her mom scolding her for not getting the bathroom clean enough as a teenager.

"But Mom, I just cleaned it last week. Why do I have to do it again?" Lizzie had whined every Saturday.

Her mom smiled and handed the cleaning supplies to her. "One day you'll thank me for teaching you how to keep a clean house."

"Yes, Mom. I do want to thank you for that and so much more," Lizzie whispered, a tear trickling down her cheek. Bit by bit the grime disappeared, returning to pure white glory. Lizzie exhaled loudly and leaned against the wall. A quick look at the toilet reminded her it wouldn't clean itself.

Jeffrey approached the house, keen eyes searching for its faults. A man appeared from the side yard, hands full of trimmed branches.

"Afternoon," Jeffrey called. "I'm looking for Lizzie."

"Sure, she's inside, let me get her for you." Ron dropped his load on the walkway and jumped onto the porch. Jeffrey waited on the sidewalk. Ron poked his head in the door, called for Lizzie, and returned to gather the debris, carrying it to a growing pile on the curb. "Garbage man won't be happy when he sees this."

"Looks like you've been busy. I'm Jeffrey, by the way." He extended his hand.

"Ron. My wife Emma is inside helping our girl."

Lizzie appeared through the open door, dirt streaked her face; damp hair clung to her neck. He smiled at the contrast from the last time he'd seen her.

"Thanks for coming. I see you've met Ron. He's been my savior today, taming the jungle into something more presentable."

Jeffrey approached the house as Lizzie spoke. "You sure did choose a doozie for your first renovation project. I might have to hire you as a project manager when you get done."

Lizzie laughed. "I know, still not sure this was such a great idea, but I'm going to give it a shot. What do you think so far?"

"At first glance I don't see any glaring structural issues. Why don't you give me the tour?"

"My pleasure, follow me."

Jeffrey followed her up the stairs onto the porch, taking note of the rotting steps. They moved through the house, Lizzie standing by as Jeffrey studied every inch of the interior. Thirty minutes later, they emerged onto the porch again.

"Do you mind if I take a walk around the outside?"

"Not at all, want me to come with you?"

"I'll just be a minute." Jeffrey ambled around the corner, chewing on his pen cap as he concentrated on the lines of the house. When he returned to the front porch, he found Lizzie, Emma, and Ron deep in conversation and hesitated to interrupt. He lingered in the yard watching Lizzie as she spoke, noticing how she used her hands to emphasize her points.

Lizzie stood when Jeffrey moved closer. "So what do you think? Can we fix her up?"

"You're fortunate this house was built of concrete block. If it had been wood, you'd probably be dealing with a lot of rot. When you repair the porch, I would tear out this half wall along the front and put up a rail instead. You already know about the flooring that needs to be replaced inside. I don't know about the roof, I'll need to come back with a ladder to get a better look. Most likely it will need to be re-shingled fairly soon, though. Do you know when this place was last inhabited?"

"The realtor wasn't sure, but it has been several years."

"You may ask the neighbors, see if anyone remembers. I can come over again tomorrow if you want."

"Are you sure? I don't want to bother you."

"No bother, I don't have any plans."

"That would be great. I'll be in church until about twelve, so I can be here by one. Feel free to stop by anytime. We were just planning to get some lunch, would you like to join us?"

Jeffrey noticed her gaze drop as she made the invitation. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and shuffled his feet. "Thanks, but I'm meeting Wally and his son in a little bit. Maybe another time."

"Okay, I guess I'll see you tomorrow then."

Jeffrey thought he heard a bit of disappointment in her voice. "Yeah, tomorrow. You guys have a good time."

Emma and Ron stood and pulled the front door closed. "Are we walking or driving?" Emma asked.

Lizzie gave them a broad smile. "If you are up to it why don't we walk? I need to get into the habit if I'm going to be living here." A warm wind brushed their hot faces as they walked the four blocks to Wildside BBQ.

"How do you know Jeffrey?" Emma asked.

"We just met yesterday. He's working on the Plaza construction. You know how I like to bake when I'm stressed out? I made eight dozen cookies and needed to get rid of them so I treated his crew."

"No wonder the boy was so accommodating; no man can resist your baking." Ron patted his belly.

"Are you sure it's wise to be inviting strangers to your new home?" Emma's concern was evident.

"Of course I wouldn't normally, but these aren't exactly normal circumstances." Lizzie paused, "Somehow we clicked when we met, almost like we knew each other before."

"Just be careful. He seems nice enough, but you never know these days."

"Yes, Mom." Lizzie rolled her eyes before slinging an arm around Emma's shoulder.

### CHAPTER ELEVEN

Michelle took a last look in the mirror, her eyes lingering on the small scar above her right eye. A little make up concealed it from the world, but she always knew it was there. She often caught herself rubbing it when she was nervous. She ran a finger over it now before flipping the light off. In the bedroom, she sat down to pull on a pair of chunky black boots, tucked her shirt into black jeans, and slung her guitar case over her shoulder.

The Loaded Hog was sparsely populated when Michelle arrived. She pulled the guitar from its case and rested it on a stand, checking her watch surprised none of her bandmates were there yet. A clatter of cymbals crashing onto the concrete floor alerted her of Matt's arrival.

"Sorry I'm late," Matt greeted her with his lopsided grin. His hair was disheveled as if he'd just popped out of bed. "I was taking a nap and my alarm didn't go off." He looked around the dim bar. "Where are Tina and Jonesy?"

"Don't know, seems everyone is late tonight." Michelle moved to help Matt unload the drums. "Am I going to have to buy you a better case for your birthday? You can't keep abusing these drums."

"I know, they're just so expensive. Business is slow and I'm barely getting by as it is."

"I thought everyone was crazy about web design," Michelle said.

"Yeah, that's the problem. Seems like a dozen new design companies spring up each week; the client base is getting spread thin. I may have to get a real job." A look of mock horror crossed his face making Michelle laugh.

"Perish the thought. Having a grown up job is no fun at all. Maybe you should redesign our website so we can get some better gigs."

"Not a bad idea, now that I have free time." Matt turned the bass drum on its side and screwed on the cymbals. "I'll work on it this week. We do start at eight don't we?"

"Unfortunately, I don't know why we can't get the later shows when people are actually in the clubs. We're better than those spazzes in _Black Ink_."

"Hey guys, sorry we're late. Traffic was a nightmare." Tina and Jonesy poured into the club. Jonesy was a tall, lanky boy, shaved head glistening with fresh wax, green eyes intent on pulling his guitar from its case. Tina, a petite pixie of a girl with choppy black hair and dark brown eyes had her keyboard set up in minutes and bounded to the bar for a bottle of water.

At eight o'clock Michelle turned on her microphone, recognizing Marty and Elliot, the band's only real fans, sitting at a table right in front of the stage. A handful of other people were scattered around the room.

"Good evening, everyone. We're _Tangled Web_ and we're happy to be here tonight." Michelle smiled as Marty and Elliot hooted and clapped loudly, drawing a few amused glances from the other patrons. The band launched into a set of upbeat songs, as more people drifted in off Orange Avenue.

Michelle watched the crowd throughout their performance, noticing a dozen people take seats to watch them, while the remaining patrons ignored them as background noise. When they wrapped, Marty and Elliot gave a standing ovation.

"Thanks so much, stick around for _Black Ink_." Tina waited as a rowdy bunch of guys in the back cheered for the upcoming band. Before she could speak again, the members of _Black Ink_ were swarming the stage, moving equipment. Tina slumped and went about stowing her own gear.

"Don't let it get to you," Michelle encouraged as the women walked toward the bar.

"I know. I just wish we could get people to listen to us."

"We will, but it takes time."

"Yeah," Tina replied half-heartedly.

"Good show tonight. I noticed a few more people watching than usual," the bartender offered as he handed them two bottles of water.

"Thanks, Jimmy." Michelle smiled. She felt a body press against her and turned around. The man behind her stumbled and turned as well.

"So sorry," the man said, his eyes locking on hers. "Michelle, right?"

"Yes," Michelle recognized the face but couldn't place it.

"Jeffrey, we met at Will's Pub a couple weeks ago."

"Oh yeah. How are you?"

"I'm good. You here to see _Black Ink_?"

"No, my band just finished playing."

"That was you? I heard the last song as I was coming in, you guys are good."

"Really?" Recognizing more people had been listening to them had lifted her spirits, but this compliment made her skin tingle.

"Definitely. When are you playing again?"

"We're here every Saturday, eight o'clock, before the crowds come in." Michelle kept her tone light, trying to joke about their less than desirable performance time.

"I will have to come out early next week then." Jeffrey paused to take a drink. "I've been meaning to call you, things have just been crazy."

Michelle waved him off. "Don't worry about it."

"Maybe we can get together for lunch sometime this week. I'd like to hear more about your band."

Michelle pulled her Blackberry from her pocket and opened her calendar. "Wednesday at twelve thirty looks good for me."

"That'll work." Jeffrey added the appointment to his own cell phone. "In the meantime, can I buy you a drink?"

Michelle smiled, dimples rising in her cheeks. "Sure, let me put this in my car." She motioned to the guitar case at her feet. "Be right back."

Outside Michelle found Tina loading her equipment. "Who's the guy?" Tina asked.

"I met him at a concert." While Michelle and Tina were bandmates, they had never hit it off as friends. She was leery to share personal information with her.

"He's cute." Tina slammed her trunk closed and turned to face Michelle. "You going out with him?"

"We just met." With her guitar stowed, Michelle reset the car alarm and started back to the bar. Tina fell in step beside her.

"Mind if I tag along?"

Michelle shrugged. "It's a free country. You can go wherever you want." She pulled the back door open and was assaulted by discordant guitar riffs. A crowd had gathered, filling the small club. Michelle pushed her way through the mass of bodies back to the bar where she'd left Jeffrey. He wasn't there. She slouched against the bar searching the room, but bodies jumped up and down blocking her view. She felt a hand on her shoulder and turned to Jimmy, the bartender.

"You looking for the guy you were talking to?" he asked and Michelle nodded. "He got a phone call and stepped out front."

"Thanks." Michelle smiled and moved toward the door. Outside she realized Tina had been lost in the crowd so she slipped out of the doorway, hoping Tina wouldn't see her. Jeffrey stood twenty feet away by a thin tree talking on the phone. She waited until he looked up and waved at her.

"I was supposed to meet a friend and he was calling to say he can't make it." Jeffrey returned the phone to his pocket. "You want to go someplace else? It's getting crowded in there."

"Sure." They set off down Orange Avenue glancing in the clubs as they passed.

"You want to go to Eye Spy and shoot some pool?" Michelle asked after several minutes of silence.

"I'm not very good, but we can give it a try." The couple crossed the street and backtracked, cutting through Bar BQ Bar. At the courtyard between the two clubs, another band played a medley of John Mellencamp songs. The small rooms of Eye Spy were packed; hidden cameras feeding images from each room to televisions above the main bar. Michelle followed Jeffrey through the British phone booth that served as a secret door into the poolroom.

"I'm surprised a table is free," Michelle said, picking up a cue and chalking it. Jeffrey racked the balls and took up a cue himself.

"You want to break them?" Jeffrey asked.

"Afraid you can't split them up?" Michelle teased.

"You got me."

Michelle bent over the table lining up her shot. The balls split with a loud crack, spinning around the green felt, three of them fell into the corner pockets. Jeffrey let out a long whistle of appreciation.

"Guess I'm stripes," he said watching Michelle take her next shot. Ten minutes later, she finally missed and Jeffrey stepped up for his first turn.

"You didn't mention you were a hustler." He eyed the table and the options available to him. A solid blocked each of the stripes. He shot, the ten ball, pushing the five into a pocket.

"Thanks," Michelle smiled. "That leaves me just two more."

"Give a guy a break."

"Sorry." She grinned again as she sank the remaining balls. "In high school I used to hang out with my best friend at the local marina clubhouse. When we weren't out on her family's boat, we played pool. Want to try again?"

"Easy, a guy's ego can only take so much defeat. Why don't we get a drink?"

"Chicken." Michelle jabbed him with her finger. They emerged in the courtyard area and found the band taking a break. Clusters of young people loitered, waiting for the next set. Jeffrey approached the bar and waited for Michelle to order. Drinks in hand they found a seat under strings of Christmas lights and palm trees.

"So how long have you worked for Charles Schwab?" Jeffrey asked.

"Eight years. It's a good gig, if you like numbers. You never said what you do."

"I'm in construction."

"Is your family here?" Michelle noticed Jeffrey shift uncomfortably.

"They are, but I don't see them much. Are you from the area?"

"We moved here from Boston when I was twelve. It was rough at first, but I can say I am happy we moved. Why don't you see your family?" Again, Jeffrey squirmed.

"Long story. You didn't mention you were in a band the other night." Jeffrey changed the subject. "How long have you guys been together?"

"About five months. Matt, the drummer, and I were in a band together for three years. When it broke up we kind of drifted around for a while. He knew Jonesy, the bass player, and Jonesy brought Tina along. She and I don't talk much. It's not the ideal situation, but at least I get to play."

"Have you thought about getting together people you like?"

"I've tried a few times. Every time I find a few people I think it would be fun to work with, they are already part of a group. Timing has never been my strong suit." Michelle laughed. "I wasn't even born when I was supposed to be."

"Yeah, I guess timing isn't my thing either," Jeffrey said reflectively. Michelle remained quiet hoping he would share more. Movement across the patio caught her eye and she realized the band was returning. She recognized one of the guys and shifted in her seat.

"You mind if we get out of here?" She nodded toward the band. "My ex, and I'm not in the mood to catch up."

"Of course." Jeffrey stood and moved to block the sight of Michelle from the small stage area. She appreciated the protective gesture and reached for his hand as they returned to the street. She felt Jeffrey tense before twining his fingers with hers.

### CHAPTER TWELVE

The service was already under way when Lizzie entered the church, the orchestra playing the opening strains of "How Great Thou Art". Her spine stiffened at the sound, the memory of her parents' funeral washing over her. She walked past pews, barely recognizing faces, her thoughts occupied with the details of that day; two mahogany coffins at the front of the church, the overpowering sweet fragrance of hundreds of blooms, sobs that wracked her body. By the time they'd reached the gravesite, she had no more tears, she felt cold inside, and went through the motions of accepting condolences.

Lizzie felt a hand on her elbow and looked around her. She realized she had passed Emma and stopped in the middle of the church. Emma pulled her into a hug before leading her back to their seat. Pastor Donovan welcomed the congregation and shared some announcements before starting the message. Lizzie's mind drifted, only half listening to the sermon. She thought about her first lunch with Emma and Ron.

They had shared more of their experiences in Africa; their stories of so many blessings touched Lizzie's heart. In spite of the reservations she held about her own relationship with God, these stories made her yearn for the relationship she had known before her parents' death.

"What led you to our church?" Emma had asked.

"I watched the sermons on television for a few weeks before I made my first visit. I've been out of church for a few years." Lizzie hadn't been able to look at Emma's face as she spoke; her heart constricted with dark memories.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Emma's voice was so gentle, Lizzie remembered her defenses crumbling. Tears fell and Emma pulled her into a warm embrace, quietly stroking her head until the cries subsided. As Lizzie shared the story of her parents' death and the depression she had fallen into, a sense of release settled on her.

"Did you know God uses pain and suffering and even death to unfasten us from this earth?" Pastor Donovan's voice penetrated Lizzie's mind and snapped her back to attention. "Colossians three, verses one and two shows us that we are supposed to have an ongoing pursuit of the things God has for us. We are not supposed to be wasting time focused on the things of this earth that will pass away. Jesus came to free us from a fear of death. He doesn't want us living our life here scared of what is out there. That is why Jesus spoke often of heaven, so we can look forward to spending an eternity with him."

The pastor went on to tell how heaven is the ultimate achievement of God's original plan for us, a plan to create a beautiful place free of sin where He could fellowship with us.

"When man sinned he messed up God's original plan, but God has not given up and he is restoring it through Christ Jesus until we dwell with him in heaven."

The excitement in Pastor Donovan's voice invigorated Lizzie. While she had come to grips with her parents' death, this sermon reminded her she would see her family again and this time without them was only a blink of an eye in comparison to eternity.

The service wrapped up and the congregation filtered out of the sanctuary.

"I'm going to have to skip lunch today," Lizzie said as they exited.

"Going to work on the house?" Ron asked.

Lizzie smiled. "I thought I might try to meet some of the neighbors."

"Do you want us to come help with anything?"

"Thanks, but there isn't much more I can do until the water and power are on."

"Call us if anything changes."

"I will." Lizzie hugged her friends and ducked into her car.

Pulling into the cleared driveway, Lizzie noticed the white haired lady across the street sitting on her front porch.

"Good afternoon," Lizzie called as she approached the house.

"Hello," the woman replied in a soft voice.

"I'm Lizzie and I'll be moving in across the street soon."

"Nice to meet you. I'm Mae. I'm happy to see someone is finally cleaning up that mess. Have a seat."

Lizzie settled herself into an empty rocking chair and surveyed the street around her. "How long have you lived here?"

"Oh, it must be more than twenty years now. A lot has changed."

"Do you happen to remember when my place was last lived in?"

Mae rubbed her forehead. "Mary and William were the last folks to live there. William died about six years ago and Mary moved out shortly after. I think she moved into one of those retirement communities. Their kids live up north somewhere. I don't think they ever came to visit."

"That's a shame. I don't understand families that don't stay close. Do you have any children?"

Mae smiled, her clear blue eyes lighting up. "I have two boys, Avery and Liam. They are good boys. I couldn't keep this place up without them. They're coming over for dinner later, perhaps you can meet them. Liam has two children of his own. Avery just got married last year. Are you married?"

Lizzie laughed. "No, ma'am, still looking for the right guy."

"Are you going to be working on the house all by yourself then?" Mae asked in surprise.

"Not completely. I have some friends, who have offered to help. I may need to hire help for some things, but I hope to do most of it myself. My biggest concern is the roof."

Mae nodded. "It's been a long time since it was replaced."

"Great." Lizzie's spirits deflated. She had a reasonable savings, but not enough for a new roof. A truck pulled up in front of the house and Lizzie stood. "What timing, there's the guy coming to check out the roof. It was nice meeting you."

"You too, stop by anytime." Mae called out as Lizzie jogged across the street.

"Hey," Lizzie said.

"Good afternoon." Jeffrey hefted a ladder from the truck onto his shoulder and moved toward the house. "Shouldn't take long to check things out. Did you learn anything from the neighbors?"

"Nothing encouraging."

"Don't get too worried yet," Jeffrey said.

"Is there anything I can do to help?"

"No, I'm fine." Jeffrey made sure the ladder was steady and climbed onto the dark shingles. Lizzie plopped down on the porch steps anxious for Jeffrey's report. She heard him tramping around and prayed he wouldn't fall through.

"Do you have a broom?" he called down.

"Yeah, just a sec." Lizzie jumped up and grabbed the broom leaning against the front door. She raced back to the ladder and found Jeffrey lying on his stomach reaching down for it.

"There is a lot of debris built up in the crevasses," Jeffrey said. Lizzie stepped back just as a pile of leaves came tumbling down. "Once it is cleaned off I can get a better look at the shingles."

Lizzie returned to the porch twirling a lock of hair around her finger _._ Debris doesn't sound good, she thought. Sounds expensive. When she saw Jeffrey's feet step onto the ladder she stood.

"It's not as bad as I feared," he reported. "A few places had deep piles of leaves creating some rot in the shingles, but the tar paper underneath is thick. It doesn't look like the rot got all the way through. You should be able to get away with repairing just those spots, and wait a couple of years to replace the whole thing."

Lizzie released a sigh of relief. "That's good news."

"I wrote up a list of things I saw yesterday that should be your first priorities." He pulled a neatly folded piece of paper from his back pocket. "Since the exterior walls are all concrete the chance of termites is small, but I would recommend you have it inspected before you get too involved. I know a guy if you want his number."

Lizzie took the sheet and scanned it recognizing most of the things she already had in mind. "That would be great, I didn't even think of termites." She refolded the list and reached for her pocket before remembering she was still wearing her church clothes.

"Doesn't Habitat for Humanity have a store here in town? I thought I would see if they have any windows I can use."

"I believe it's on Orange Blossom Trail somewhere."

"I'll look them up when I get home." They stood in silence. "I appreciate your help."

"Happy to do it. I spend so much time in an office these days it's nice to get my hands dirty again, not that I did anything to get them dirty."

For some reason this made Lizzie laugh. She felt herself relax and for the first time she didn't feel so overwhelmed by the looming projects. "You want to get something to eat? I came straight from church and now I'm starving."

"Sure. There's a great Italian place not far from here, it's one of those places you don't know about unless you live downtown." Jeffrey smiled conspiratorially.

"Sounds perfect."

Fifteen minutes later the pair entered an old house converted into the smallest restaurant Lizzie had ever seen. A cheerful gentleman wearing black pants and a starched white shirt greeted them and led them to a table in the middle of the restaurant. Aside from two other couples, seated at simple wooden tables, the restaurant was empty.

"You're right. I never would have known this was here." Lizzie drank in the sight of a mural of the Tuscan countryside along one wall. A dark wooden bar, scratched but shiny from years of polishing ran along another wall with eight tall chairs crammed together.

"I used to come here every week," Jeffrey said. Lizzie noticed his jaw clench as his eyes roved the room. His gaze settled on a photo behind the bar of a young woman in a white tennis skirt and matching polo. Her blond hair was pulled back in a ponytail, her smile triumphant. Lizzie realized the photo was part of a newspaper article and strained to read the headline.

"Do you know her?" she asked nodding to the photo.

"I did."

Lizzie recognized the sadness in his voice. "How did she die?"

Jeffrey's eyes widened. "How did you know?"

"Your tone, your eyes." Lizzie lowered her gaze holding back her own pain.

"Cancer, melanoma. By the time she was diagnosed she only had a couple of months."

"I'm so sorry."

"Her name was Camylle. We'd been engaged three months when she found out. I wanted to get married right away, but she refused, didn't want to make me a widower before I was thirty." Jeffrey laughed sadly. "She was always thinking about me, even at the end. She asked my parents to keep me away from the hospital, but I couldn't let her die alone."

"Where was her family?"

"She left home when she was eighteen, her dad was abusive and her mom was too afraid to leave him. We were her family." Jeffrey's voice trailed off.

"I can't imagine how hard that must have been." Lizzie reached across the table and placed her hand on his. "What did your family do when she asked you to stay away?"

Jeffrey's eyes hardened. "They actually tried to keep me away. My father sent me out of town on business."

"I'm sure they wanted to protect you," Lizzie tried to comfort him.

"They couldn't protect me! I needed to be with her, I WANTED to be with her, and I know deep down she wanted me there too." He paused and rubbed his temples. "I haven't seen them since the funeral."

Lizzie was dumbstruck. "You haven't seen your own parents? How long has it been?"

"Almost four years."

Lizzie withdrew her hand as if his had turned into a hot coal. Her eyes narrowed and she glared across the table. As much as she wanted to feel compassion toward him for his loss, white heat filled her belly at the thought of how he had abandoned his family. Didn't he know how lucky he was to have parents who obviously loved him very much?

"My mom still calls once a week and leaves a voicemail. She doesn't seem to get that I don't want to come over for Sunday dinner." His tone was softer, more resigned than angry now. Lizzie bit her lip trying to hold back the words she longed to yell. She watched Jeffrey's gaze travel around the small restaurant finally falling on her.

"You should forgive them." Lizzie's voice trembled. "You don't know when they might be gone and then you will regret all the time you have lost." She choked back a sob, searching for an escape.

"Hey, what's wrong?" Jeffrey leaned across the table and grasped her shoulder. Lizzie just shook her head. Spotting the restroom, she stood and fled.

Ensconced in the ladies room, Lizzie tasted salt as a teardrop slid into the corner of her mouth. She reached for a paper towel and blotted her face. Embarrassed at her lack of composure, Lizzie turned on the water, letting the cold liquid fill her hands, watching it slip through her fingers and spill over the sides of her palms. Dreading a return to the table, she splashed some of the water on her face washing away the tear tracks. A knock on the door startled her.

"Lizzie, are you okay?" Jeffrey's voice was muffled through the thick door.

"Fine," Lizzie called. She looked in the mirror, tucked a loose curl behind her ear, blew her nose, and straightened her shoulders before opening the door.

Jeffrey leaned on the doorframe stepping back when she appeared. She gave him a thin smile and returned to the table.

"Did I say something wrong?" Jeffrey asked. Lizzie rolled her eyes at his obtuseness.

"You don't know how lucky you are to have a family," Lizzie paused and took a deep breath. "My parents were killed five years ago. Not a day goes by that I don't miss them."

Understanding dawned on Jeffrey's face, his cheeks reddening. "You must think I'm a real jerk."

Lizzie considered a moment before responding. "No, you just don't realize what it's like to be alone in the world." She raised her hand to stop his objection. "You still hear from your mom, you know she is around if you choose to see her or if you need her. When that security is taken away things are different."

"What happened?"

"Car accident. They were on the way to pick me up for dinner when a truck ran a red light and t-boned their car. My father was killed on impact and mom bled-out before the EMTs arrived. I was sitting in my apartment growing impatient with them, frustrated when they didn't answer their cell phones. An hour later the police arrived at my door to give me the news." She remembered the police officer standing in her doorway; hat in hand, a pained look on his face. "If I had just met them at the restaurant they might still be here." Lizzie reached for her water and took a long drink to calm her nerves.

"You can't think like that."

"I know, most of the time I don't, but it was hard the first couple of years."

They finished the meal in silence, Lizzie lost in memories of those first years after the accident. Once the shock had worn off, she'd become consumed with anger: angry at the driver, angry at the EMTs, and most of all angry at God. She didn't understand how a loving God could make her an orphan in an instant.

With full stomachs, the couple exited the restaurant onto a damp sidewalk. The humidity had dropped after the brief shower and it was almost pleasant under the spreading oaks.

"Thanks for lunch. I had every intention of treating you for all the help you've been."

"I was taught to never let a woman pay for a meal. I know it's a bit old fashioned, but it just seems right." Lizzie thought she heard a hint of wistfulness in his tone and hoped he would repair his relationship with his parents.

"Not old fashioned at all, refreshing even, but you have to allow me to do something for you."

"If you keep baking those raisin cookies I'll do anything you want."

Lizzie laughed. Distracted for a moment, she stumbled over a crack in the sidewalk. Jeffrey caught her instinctively and their eyes locked.

"Watch your step," Jeffrey teased.

"Yes, thank you. It seems I'm still learning how to walk."

"So what project are you going to tackle first?" Jeffrey asked.

"I need to replace the windows pretty quickly. I thought I'd see if the Habitat store is open today. If so I could stop by there this afternoon and see what they have." Lizzie slapped her palm against her forehead. "Except I don't know what any of the measurements are."

"No problem." Jeffrey gave her a lopsided grin. "I have a tape measure in my truck. We can get all the numbers and then hit the store."

"Are you sure you don't have something better to do? You must have a girlfriend who would like to see you."

"Nah, haven't been much into relationships..." His tone was breezy, but he didn't complete the thought. Lizzie cringed at her insensitivity.

"Right, sorry." They walked on in silence until they reached the house. Jeffrey went to his truck while Lizzie called information to get the number for Habitat for Humanity's Restore.

"They aren't open today." Lizzie announced in a deflated tone.

"That's too bad." Jeffrey replied. "What time are they open tomorrow?"

"Only nine to five. I guess I won't be able to pick these things up until next weekend." She ran her fingers through her hair frustrated by the setback.

"Can you take off a little early tomorrow?" Jeffrey asked.

"I don't know, my boss is pretty strict, but I suppose I could ask him."

"Why don't you see if you can leave around four and give me a call? I'd be happy to drive you out there. You're going to need a truck anyway."

"Are you sure?"

"Of course. I gotta make sure you get the right things don't I?" Jeffrey's crooked grin made Lizzie laugh.

"Thanks. Give me your number and I'll let you know."

### CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The truck turned off I-4 onto Orange Blossom Trail. Lizzie shrank away from the door as they drove past boarded up businesses, strip clubs, and run down buildings.

"I had no idea this store was in such a bad part of town," she commented.

Jeffrey chuckled. "Yeah, it's kind of amazing how most of Orange Blossom Trail is ghetto. Do you remember what the address is?"

Lizzie rattled it off and started searching for numbers on the buildings.

"We still have a few miles to go." Jeffrey said. "You might want to lock your door."

They rode in silence, Lizzie unable to tear her eyes away from the depressing scenes rolling past her. Twenty minutes later, they pulled up in front of a non-descript warehouse. Lizzie waited for Jeffrey to step out of the truck and approach her door before timidly removing her seatbelt.

Inside, Lizzie's eyes grew huge as they approached a section of used appliances.

"Wow, I never knew all this stuff could be reused. I can see I will be spending a lot of time here." She approached a shelf of doorknobs and picked one up. "It's only a dollar! I could redo all the doors for less than ten bucks!"

Jeffrey chuckled. "You are going to end up buying stuff just because it's cheap aren't you?"

"It's almost free, how can I resist?"

"Oh look, I see windows over there." Jeffrey led Lizzie through several aisles of hardware. They selected five windows, a new front door, some hardware for the kitchen cabinets, and six lever-style doorknobs.

"Not a bad start," Jeffrey commented as he loaded the purchases into the back of the truck.

"I'm getting excited now. I can't wait to get started. Do you suppose you could help me pull out the old windows today?"

"I thought you'd never ask." Jeffrey slipped the car into gear and pulled out of the parking lot.

Twilight had settled on Orlando before Jeffrey and Lizzie dropped onto the front porch, exhausted but proud of the work they had completed.

"Now that the interior is protected from the elements I guess I should get the floors repaired. You have any suggestions?" Lizzie turned back to Jeffrey propping her elbows on her knees and resting her chin on her fists. Jeffrey's heart tightened at the memory of Camylle giving him the same look whenever she wanted something. He looked out across the street.

"Do you just want to repair the warped areas or completely replace them?"

"Won't replacing the damaged areas be cheaper and easier?"

"Of course. I'll talk with a couple of guys I know, and call you later in the week."

"Thanks again." Lizzie stepped forward as if to hug him, paused and extended her hand. Jeffrey smiled and took it, then turned and ambled to his truck.

Thunder rolled in the distance followed by a flash of lightening high across the sky. Lizzie eased the car into a parking spot and trotted up the stairs to her apartment. Large drops of rain hit the windows as she closed the door. She smiled with contentment, knowing her new home would now be protected from the storm. She entered her bedroom and pulled a pair of soft blue lounge pants and a white cotton tank top from a drawer. She tossed them on the bathroom floor and turned on the hot water, allowing the tub to fill. Her arms ached and she made a mental note to add Epson salt to her grocery list.

After a long hot soak, Lizzie padded into the living room. She checked her watch before picking up the phone and dialing Emma's number.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Emma."

"Lizzie, I'm so glad you called. What did Jeffrey say about the roof?"

Lizzie filled her friend in on the details of the past two days. "Do you guys have a pressure washer? Jeffrey mentioned that I could use one to spray down the house and get most of the loose paint off."

"I think we do, I'll have to check with Ron. Is that what you plan on doing this weekend?"

"I'd like to, if the weather cooperates."

"I'll call you tomorrow and let you know for sure. My sister has her final dress fitting on Wednesday, but other than that I am free to help with anything you need."

### CHAPTER FOURTEEN

A weak band of golden light peeked through heavy clouds as Jeffrey parked in the dirt lot next to the office. The worksite was silent, waiting for the day to begin. Jeffrey unlocked the trailer door and dropped his things on the desk. Inspection day, he thought, and stepped outside, drawing in a deep breath of the humid air. He walked each floor of the new structure, preparing for the inspection ahead. He picked up trash and straightened piles of lumber as he moved through the bare rooms.

Satisfied with the progress, Jeffrey returned to the office, started a pot of coffee and powered up his computer. The door opened and he turned, surprised by the noise.

"Jenny, what are you doing here so early?" Jeffrey watched the young receptionist plop her bag down and head for the coffee pot.

"Thank goodness you have coffee," Jenny replied, her voice still heavy with sleep. "I thought you might need some help this morning, what with the inspection and then the client meeting." She returned to her desk and pulled several papers from her bag. "I updated your last report with the most current figures, but you might want to give it a once over."

"I can't believe you did that." Jeffrey rose and pulled Jenny into a bear hug. "I _was_ worried about getting things together this morning."

The rumble of vehicles announced the arrival of the work crew. They straggled in to punch their time cards, stopped for coffee, and exchanged pleasantries with Jeffrey and Jenny. Jeffrey glanced at the clock anxious for the inspector to arrive.

"Don't worry, Bill's always on time." Jenny responded as if reading his mind. She bustled around the office tidying piles of papers and starting a fresh pot of coffee. Back at her desk, she pulled a Krispy Kreme box from her bag and arranged a handful of napkins next to it.

"What else do you have in there?" Jeffrey kidded.

Jenny gave him a sly smile. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

Jeffrey laughed and felt himself relax. With an assistant like Jenny, how could he fail? The door opened and a tall, lean man, in a dirty Caterpillar baseball cap and thick glasses stepped in. A broad smile filled his face at the sight of Jeffrey.

"Morning," bellowed Bill Cheevers.

Jeffrey stepped forward to shake the man's hand. "I appreciate you working me into your schedule."

"Happy to do it. Hope you don't mind, I brought one of our new guys along." Bill waved toward a small man standing in the doorway. "Thought this might be a good teaching experience for him."

"Of course, whatever you need." Jeffrey passed out hard hats before dropping one on his own head. "Want to head out?"

"Mind if I take a donut with me?"

"Help yourself."

Doughnuts in hand, the men headed out to the construction site.

Oppressive heat rolled over Michelle as she pushed through the glass doors of the Charles Schwab lobby. She moved as quickly as her pencil skirt and two-inch heels would allow and arrived at the pizzeria in less than ten minutes. A quick survey of the restaurant showed Jeffrey had not arrived so she chose a table near the door. A young waiter delivered a tall glass of water and she drank greedily.

The door opened, letting in the bright sun and blinding her. When her vision returned, Jeffrey was walking toward the table, hands in the pockets of his black pants. His hair was gelled into place and a deep red shirt brought out gold flecks in his brown eyes.

"Hope you haven't been waiting long," Jeffrey greeted her, taking a seat across the small table.

"Just sat down."

"I had a couple of meetings this morning and I was afraid I was running late." Jeffrey reached for one of the menus and his fingers brushed her hand. Michelle felt her heart flutter at his touch.

"You know in ten years of working downtown I've never eaten here." Michelle mused looking at the place for the first time.

"They have the best pizza."

"I usually bring my lunch and eat at my desk. It's nice to get out of the office for a change."

"I'm surprised you don't go out with your girl friends. There are so many great places down here. That has to be one of the best perks of working downtown."

Michelle shrugged. "Being out with them the other night was a fluke. I knew Wendy would enjoy the show, but Amanda overheard and invited herself along. She showed up with the other girls."

"You mean you and Amanda aren't best friends?" Jeffrey laughed.

Michelle grimaced at the thought. "I can barely stand working with her. I don't know if you noticed, but she gets what she wants and makes sure we all know it."

"Yeah, I got that impression. Women aren't supposed to be that aggressive, it creeps me out."

Michelle giggled and buried her head in the menu. "Do you want to split a pizza or do you like strange things on yours?"

"We can split as long as there are no anchovies." The waiter arrived and they ordered a medium pie with barbeque chicken and pineapple.

"I'm glad you don't consider that strange." Jeffrey smiled at her and she felt the flutter again. "Tell me more about your band. You've only been together a few months, but you sounded pretty good. How often do you practice?"

"Not enough, usually twice a week. We play the same set every weekend. I keep telling them if we had more variety we might be able to get better gigs, but Tina says she doesn't have time to learn any new songs."

"I can't believe she doesn't get bored."

"Tina doesn't have the same passion as the rest of us. I don't know Jonesy very well, but he and Tina go way back. He's even started telling her we need to change things up. Maybe she will listen to him."

Their pizza arrived and Jeffrey served Michelle the first slice.

"Such a gentleman," she teased. "How did you get into construction? Were you one of those kids who was always building things?"

Jeffrey swallowed his pizza, washing it down with water. "Yeah, blocks and Legos were my favorite toys. I could spend hours creating cities out of them. My family has been in real estate for generations so I was exposed to a broad variety of architectural styles. As I got older I tried to draw my own plans, but I never could get the dimensions right so I focused more on the engineering of structures."

"Do you enjoy what you are doing?"

"Sure," Jeffrey replied.

"You don't sound convincing."

"I have a great job, I know that, but I do wish I had the time to be more hands on. I spend most of my day in an office pushing paper, meeting with vendors, and putting out fires. Sometimes I think it would have been better if I had remained a worker bee."

"How long have you been in management?" Michele asked wiping sauce from her cheek.

"Three years next month. This is my first major project on my own. The bosses keep me on a tight leash, though and I report to them at least once a week."

"Seems like a pretty big job for your first solo venture, impressive." Michelle offered him an encouraging smile.

"Guess I have a gift for climbing the corporate ladder." Jeffrey responded.

"Getting ahead in business is a good thing. Why do you sound like it is a death sentence?" Michelle studied his face as he contemplated his answer. Small creases appeared on his forehead and his gaze remained glued to the red and white checked tablecloth.

"You're right, sometimes I just don't know how much of my success is based on my work and how much is based on my name. In this business there aren't many people who don't know the Robbins name and the weight behind it."

"Wait, are you related to Allister Robbins, the tycoon who owns most of the commercial real estate in the tri-county region?" Michelle's eyes grew wide.

Jeffrey nodded. "My grandfather. What he didn't inherit he amassed over fifty years. Like I said, it's hard to find people who don't know my family."

"Sure, but there must be hundreds of people with the same last name that aren't related to him. You could easily be one of those, how can anyone know unless you tell them?"

Jeffrey laughed. "You obviously don't know how it works. When your family is as well known as mine, the details of your life are public knowledge. More people know my birthday and marital status than I care to consider. Whenever a story runs about my grandfather, our whole family is put on display. It is quite a scandal that I haven't gone into the family business."

"Everyone has the right to choose their own path, but out of curiosity, why didn't you go into the family business?"

"I tried it for a little while, it just didn't take."

"Do you think you will ever change your mind about it?"

Jeffrey shook his head before taking the last bite of his pizza. Michelle sensed the topic was not up for discussion.

"You seem to have good taste in music, who else do you listen to besides _My Hotel Year_?" Michelle caught a look of relief flit across Jeffrey's face as she navigated the conversation into more neutral territory.

"Alternative or punk stuff, _Dashboard Confessional_ , _The Starting Line_ , _Buffalo Tom_. As long as it isn't that bubble gum pop crap that is so popular these days I'm happy."

Michelle laughed. "You would hate working in my office then. Amanda plays nothing but bubble gum pop all day and it is so loud we all hear it. Thank goodness for headphones."

"Why do you keep telling me these things? Are you trying to make me fall in love with her?"

Michelle liked his sarcastic humor. "Do you have any plans this weekend?"

"Not much. What did you have in mind?"

"There's a new band playing at The Social Saturday night. I'm going to check them out after we finish at the Loaded Hog, you want to tag along?"

"Sure, look for me when you finish playing." Jeffrey's cell phone rang. "Excuse me," Jeffrey picked up the phone

"Hello?" He listened for several minutes before hanging up. "I hate to run, but something has come up at work." He pulled his wallet from his pocket and laid several bills on the table. "See you Saturday."

Before Michelle could respond, Jeffrey was out the door.

### CHAPTER FIFTEEN

The week went by faster than Lizzie had anticipated. Early Saturday morning she woke excited to get started on the house. During the week, she had made several more trips to Restore as well as Home Depot and Lowes, created lists of projects in order of importance, and collected questions for the next time she saw Jeffrey. She pulled into the driveway and waved to Mae as she crossed the street.

Lizzie alighted the front porch steps and settled herself in the extra rocker taking a visual inventory of her neighbor. Mae's hands, resting on the chair arms, looked cramped, her eyes were haggard, her face pale.

"Good morning, dear," Mae greeted her.

"Are you feeling okay?"

"I'm fine, don't worry about me. My arthritis is acting up. Must have snapped too many beans last night. Avery and his wife, Amy, are coming for dinner tonight."

"How nice." They sat in silence for a few moments enjoying the morning. Several birds chirped in a nearby tree, and a door slammed shut down the street as a pair of children ran outside laughing.

"Will you be working on the house today?" Mae asked.

Lizzie nodded. "I have some friends bringing a pressure washer so I can get the exterior ready for paint. Thought I would try to make it less of an eyesore for the neighborhood."

Mae smiled. "What color are you painting it?"

"A buttery yellow. I've always thought that was such a welcoming color." Lizzie saw Emma and Ron's car turn onto Washington and stood up. "There's my work crew. See you later."

Ron unfolded himself from the small car and greeted Lizzie with his infectious smile. "Morning."

"I'm so glad you had one of these contraptions." Lizzie waved toward the pressure washer Ron was pulling from the trunk. "Maybe we can get the place cleaned up and start painting this afternoon."

"Emma said you girls were going to wash down the interior walls while I worked out here. I imagine they will need a good cleaning before you can paint in there."

"Yep, I have the buckets in my car."

"Well let's get moving, child." Emma's southern twang came through as she shooed Lizzie toward the house. They unloaded the cars and the women headed inside. Soon they heard the hum of the pressure washer then the splashing of high-powered water hitting the concrete walls.

Lizzie squeezed her wet cloth and tackled the wall closest to the front door. Five minutes later she dipped the rag into the bucket again, astounded by the change in the color of the water. What had been fresh and clear was now brown and dingy, and she had only washed a few feet. Emma laughed when she looked over and caught sight of Lizzie's disgusted face.

"You didn't think this was going to be pretty did you?"

"Thinking about it and seeing it are two different things." Lizzie held the cloth between her thumb and index finger watching filthy water run off the end, splashing into the bucket. "Maybe I need to get my gloves out again."

"Pshaw! A little dirt ain't going to hurt you." Emma laughed, watching Lizzie crinkle her nose and squeeze the rag before returning to her work.

"Oh, I forgot, Ron put our boom box in the car. Let me run get it." Emma tossed her cloth into a bucket, splashing Lizzie's legs, and disappeared out the front door. Lizzie worked on, dirt and dust disappearing under her touch. A pale outline caught her attention and she paused, moving closer. The lines disappeared into a dark section below her elbows. With exquisite care, she moved the cloth over the area, fascinated as a faint picture emerged. Surprised by the discovery Lizzie's hands dropped to her sides, eyes wide. Emma retuned to find her friend motionless, staring at the wall.

"It won't get clean just staring at it," Emma teased.

"Look," Lizzie pointed. "There's something drawn on here." Emma moved closer to examine the light marks.

"Well I'll be, there is something there. You know that reminds me of _Under the Tuscan Sun_." Emma laughed at Lizzie's puzzled expression. "Don't tell me you haven't read the book or seen the movie. It's about this woman who buys a run down house in Tuscany and while she's renovating it she finds a mural on one of the walls. You should read the book while you're doing all this work. Might give you some ideas even. I'll bring it over tomorrow."

"Wonder what this drawing is of and who did it."

"Only way to find out is to keep scrubbing." Emma nudged her friend and returned to setting up the boom box. Lizzie gazed at the wall a moment longer, her imagination filling in the rest of the picture. With a sigh she raised her hands and returned to scrubbing, using a lighter touch in hopes of maintaining the art.

By the time the women completed the living room area, two more rough drawings had emerged from the grime, all between two to four feet from the floor. Lizzie guessed they were the work of a child, and each indicated increasing talent.

"What kind of parent allows their kids to draw on the walls?" Lizzie mused.

"They must have been pretty free spirited." Emma remarked. "I can't see myself or Ron allowing it. Doesn't seem to teach much respect."

"Somehow I feel bad painting over them. I feel like I would be erasing someone's memories."

"This is your home now. You need to make your own memories."

Lizzie nodded. The hum of the pressure washer stopped and Ron emerged from the backyard a moment later.

"Are you girls just going to sit there or are we going to get some lunch? I'm starving."

Emma stood, laughing. "When are you not hungry?" She gave Ron a loving smile and moved toward him. He encircled her in muscular arms.

Lizzie looked on, envious of the deep affection the couple had for each other. An image of her parents flashed in her mind, a party for her mom's fortieth birthday. Her father stood behind, arms wrapped around her just after she had blown out the candles on her cake. She craned her neck and he leaned down to kiss her.

"Lizzie, are you coming?" Emma touched her shoulder. Lizzie's head snapped up.

"What?"

"We're going to run to McDonalds to get some lunch, do you want to come?"

"Sure," Lizzie said, the memory of her parents still lingering.

"You okay?" Emma asked eyeing Lizzie with concern.

Lizzie managed a thin smile. "Fine, my mind just went somewhere else." She stood and brushed her pants. "Who's driving?"

### CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Lizzie walked through the empty rooms impressed by how much they had accomplished in one day. All but one bedroom was washed, the scent of soap lingering in the air. The bare bulbs cast a harsh yellow light, illuminating the deep corners. She took one last turn through the house dousing the lights as she went. In the living room, she paused, the drawings catching her attention. Closing her eyes Lizzie tried to picture the family that had lived here. She saw the image of a little girl, seven or eight years old with long blond hair in a ponytail, her brow furrowed as she focused on the limbs of the large tree she was drawing. A frazzled young mother walked in from the back of the house and threw up her hands in dismay at the sight of the child.

"Hello?" A male voice calling from the front porch jerked Lizzie back to reality.

"Yes," she said as Jeffrey's head appeared around the door.

"I'm glad I caught you here. Good news, I found a floor guy." He turned and waved to someone outside. Another man, slim, athletic, with thick black hair and eyes the color of sapphires, stepped into the bare living room. "Lizzie, I'd like you to meet Ian," Jeffrey said with a Vanna White flourish.

Lizzie stumbled forward to shake Ian's extended hand. "Nice to meet you, Ian."

"The pleasure is all mine." Ian gave her hand a light squeeze before letting go. His gaze shifted to the floors as he started walking around, scuffing his feet in several spots. "Based on the description Jeffrey gave me I expected them to be worse. The small areas of damage are an easy job. Do the other rooms need repairs as well?"

"None of them are as obvious as these spots, but you are welcome to take a look and give me your professional opinion." The trio strolled through the house, pausing in each room long enough for Ian to make an inspection.

"This is a great place," Ian remarked upon returning to the living room. "There's so much that can be done with it."

"I didn't see it that way at first," Lizzie admitted, "but after a little work it's starting to show promise."

"If you don't mind me working on this as a side to my regular job, then I should be able to have the floors cleaned up in a week."

"How much is this going to cost?" Although excited to get started, she knew she had to be practical.

"Between $500 to $700. I'll need to do some measuring for the exact amount of replacement boards I'll need."

"Measure away then," Lizzie's spirits soared. Jeffrey pulled a tape measure from his back pocket shooting Lizzie a grin.

"Didn't figure you had one of your own yet," Jeffrey said with a grin.

"Actually I do, I just keep forgetting to bring it over." Lizzie and Jeffrey moved out to the porch while Ian took his measurements. "I was getting a little worried when you didn't call this week. Thought I might have to do the floors myself, and I can assure you that wouldn't be pretty."

"I meant to call," Jeffrey apologized, "but I had a hard time finding someone. Ian and I knew each other several years ago, but we fell out of touch. I just ran into him this afternoon."

Lizzie smiled, raised her eyes to the sky, and offered silent thanks for God's provision. "What a nice coincidence," she said.

"I'm surprised you're here so late. It is Saturday night after all." His tone was teasing. Lizzie shrugged.

"This is about all the fun I can handle right now." Her serious tone caused Jeffrey to laugh.

"When are you moving in?"

"If Ian can complete the floors in a week, then I guess I'll start moving the following weekend."

Jeffrey looked skeptical. "There's still a lot of work to be done."

"I know, finding appliances is certainly high on the list." Lizzie laughed. "We have a big group coming into the hotel and I am hoping to get some good tips. Appliances will most likely drain my savings."

"I noticed the walls looked cleaner. Did you do those drawings in the living room?"

Lizzie shook her head. "They were underneath all the dirt. Weird isn't it? I kind of feel bad painting over them."

"Why? Painting around them won't be easy."

"Leave it to a man to be completely practical about it." Lizzie laughed.

"What?" Jeffrey gave her look of mock hurt. "What is there besides practicality in life?"

Lizzie gave him a light punch on the arm.

"Well, I think I have everything I need." Ian stepped onto the porch behind them.

"When do you want to start?" Lizzie asked.

"How about I come over Wednesday evening?" Ian replied.

"Sounds good. I should be here after five."

"Alright, I'll see you then." Ian reached into his pocket and pulled something out. "Take my card in case you have any questions, my cell number is on the back."

Lizzie took the card, a shock of static electricity popping between their fingertips. She jerked her hand away. Her gaze dropped to the floor in embarrassment, but she caught a smile playing at the corner of Ian's lips.

The men said goodbye and disappeared into the night. Lizzie floated through the house one more time, assuring herself the locks on each door and window were in place. Before she knew it, this place would be the perfect home she had pictured for so many years. She paused by the largest of the drawings and let her fingers trace the outlines.

"Mom, what would you have done if I had made these drawings," she whispered. She lingered a moment longer as if waiting for a response then clicked the light off and locked the front door.

### CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

"I'm going to see a couple of bands tonight you want to come along?" Jeffrey asked as he and Ian returned to their cars.

Ian hesitated. "I don't know."

"Come on. When's the last time you went to a club?"

"You know that's not really my scene." Ian shoved his hands into his pockets.

"Oh, right, you're too good to hang out and have some fun." The old resentment was rising in Jeffrey. The two men had a complicated history, and Jeffrey wasn't sure he wanted to rekindle the relationship. If it hadn't been for Lizzie, he would have ignored Ian when they'd run into each other that afternoon, now here he was inviting him out.

"It's not like that. It's just..."

"Forget it. I don't know what I was thinking." Jeffrey shoved his key into the truck lock. Ian stepped forward and laid a hand on his shoulder.

"Where should I meet you?"

Jeffrey studied Ian's face. "The first show is at the Loaded Hog at eight."

"Alright, I'll meet you there." Ian stepped back, allowing Jeffrey to open his door.

The men slipped in their cars and headed off.

"Sorry, I'm late." Ian slid into the chair across from Jeffrey and waved down a waitress.

"They just started. See the brunette, the taller one? Her name's Michelle."

"She's cute. Do you know her?"

"Kind of, we've met a couple of times. She's taking me to see the next band at the Social."

"Is it supposed to be a date? I don't want to intrude." Ian shifted in his seat and smiled at the waitress as she set a club soda in front of him.

"It's no big deal." Jeffrey shrugged and sipped on a glass of rum and Coke. "She is pretty cool though."

"It's good you are dating again." Ian spoke casually but he noticed Jeffrey's body stiffen.

"What do you know about my life? We haven't seen each other in years."

"It's not hard to keep track of what's going on in your life. I saw the tailspin you went into after Camylle's death and the stories I've heard sound like you haven't come out of it yet."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Have you ever Googled yourself? You're the subject of every local gossip column; stories of how you are estranged from your family, pairing you with a different woman every couple of weeks, and wasn't there a DUI arrest last year?"

"You shouldn't believe everything you read," Jeffrey bit out, his anger boiling like a forgotten pot of spaghetti. "I've been having fun, is there anything wrong with that?"

"I don't want to believe those things. I want you to be happy again." Ian looked at the stage. "She's good."

Jeffrey turned his attention back to Michelle. Her fingers flew over the strings in a complicated pattern making it look easy. Ian let the conversation lull, giving his friend time to think about things. The men watched the band, impressed with their talent. Halfway through the set Ian leaned across the table toward Jeffrey.

"So, what about the other girl? What do you know about her?" Ian asked.

"Not much. Michelle doesn't like her."

Jeffrey made sure Michelle saw him clapping after every number and rarely took his eyes off the stage.

As the set wrapped, Jeffrey moved to the bar to close out his tab and ordered Michelle a bottle of water. He watched her pack up her equipment. She motioned toward the back door and he gave her a nod. She disappeared to her car and Jeffrey returned to the table where he found Ian talking with Tina.

"You guys are good," Ian was saying as Jeffrey approached.

"Thanks." Tina popped a piece of gum in her mouth and snapped it loudly. Jeffrey stood behind her and rolled his eyes at Ian. "You guys going to stay to watch _Black Ink_?"

"No, we're heading out. I told Michelle I would come see you guys play." Jeffrey jumped in, hoping Ian didn't want to invite her along.

Tina turned to him. "Yeah, you're the guy she was talking to last week aren't you?"

Jeffrey felt her eyes rake over him. "That's me." He noticed Michelle slip in the back door and freeze. She gave him a small shake of her head and pointed toward the street. Jeffrey smiled and returned his gaze to Tina. "It was good to see you again, but we really have to run."

"Where you headed? Maybe Michelle and I can join you."

"You know that would be nice, but Ian and I haven't seen each other in a long time. We have a lot of catching up to do. Maybe next time."

"Whatever, your loss." Tina replied. She dragged a finger down Ian's chest before turning away.

Outside, Michelle waited near the curb, her back to the club. Jeffrey approached her with Ian in tow.

"Everything okay?" Jeffrey asked.

"Yeah, we just had a big fight before you showed up." She turned her gaze to Ian. Jeffrey made the introductions and the troika made their way down Orange Avenue to The Social.

"How did you hear about this band?" Ian asked Michelle as they entered the club.

"A friend of a friend has a friend in it."

Jeffrey laughed. "So you really know nothing about them?"

"Well, I know Andy, the guitar player, has been playing since he was seven and is said to be an absolute genius."

The crowd in the packed club went crazy at the first notes, which consisted of a gentle picking on a fire engine red Gibson. The drums kicked in and the show took off. Two hours of pounding adrenaline and pulsating rhythms later, Jeffrey, Ian, and Michelle tumbled out of the club, carried by a wave of spectators hoping to catch a glimpse of the band outside.

Jeffrey looked into Michelle's excited eyes and noticed a small scar, pale against her flushed face. "I haven't had that much fun in a long time." He pulled Michelle's face into his hands and planted a kiss on her lips. He caught her by surprise, but she gave in, her lips parting allowing his tongue to explore.

Ian cleared his throat behind them. "I don't mean to break up the party guys, but..."

Michelle pulled away, an embarrassed look on her face. She took a step back, but Jeffrey caught her around the waist and pulled her to his side. "I told you she has friends," Jeffrey turned to Michelle. "Do you think he would like Amanda?"

"Only if he likes super aggressive, controlling, loose women."

Ian's eyes widened causing Michelle and Jeffrey to double over laughing. "No, that actually isn't my type." Ian replied when the laughing had died down enough for him to be heard.

"I thought that was every guy's type." Michelle's surprise sent Jeffrey into another gale of laughter.

"Okay, a lot of guys do like that, well maybe not the controlling part, but everything else. Me, I'm a little more traditional." Ian smiled. "Jeff here, on the other hand, has been known to like..."

"Whoa! No need to talk for me," Jeffrey cut him off.

The crowd around them erupted in screams of delight as the members of _Wonderland_ emerged from the club, mingling with the fans.

Michelle moved forward to shake hands with the band. When she reached Andy, the guitarist, she stopped. "I heard you were a genius, but I think even that was an understatement."

"Thanks so much. You must have been talking to Dakota, that girl is the best publicity we have ever had. It's a team effort, though." Andy waved toward the other band members. "Without them I would just be a guy playing guitar on the street corner."

"I doubt that." Michelle replied, twirling a lock of hair around her finger. Jeffrey watched, feeling his pulse increase, an inexplicable desire to pull her away rising within him. "If I played half as well as you I would quit my job and pursue a music career."

"You play?" Andy's interest was apparent. "Solo or in a band?"

"I'm in a band; no way do I have the guts for solo."

"I'd love to come see you sometime."

"No, I couldn't ask you to do that. We're just a bunch of amateurs playing for fun, no where near your caliber." Michelle blushed with embarrassment, but leaned closer making the conversation more intimate.

"Don't let her fool you," Jeffrey jumped in unable to remain silent any longer. "She's fantastic! Ian and I were watching her band before we came out here." Jeffrey laid his hand on Michelle's shoulder possessively.

"Then it's settled. When's your next show?" Andy asked.

Michelle hesitated. "Saturday at eight."

"I'll be there." Andy dropped a dazzling smile on her. "We musicians need to support each other."

"Andy," one of his bandmates called from across the street. "Are you coming?"

"We're going to Denny's to grab a bite, would you all like to join us?" Andy addressed the trio but his focus remained on Michelle. Jeffrey tightened his grip on her shoulder causing her to wince.

"Thanks, but we already have plans," Jeffrey said.

"Alright, see you next week then." Andy crossed the street to join his friends and disappeared into the crowd.

Michelle shook Jeffrey's hand off her shoulder and turned on him. "What was that about?"

Jeffrey held up his hands in defense. "What? What did I do?" he stammered.

"We don't have any plans that I'm aware of, we could have gone to hang out with them."

"If you want to go, then go. I'm not stopping you."

"You had a death grip on me," Michelle growled, rubbing her shoulder. "It better not bruise."

"What is your problem? I thought you wanted to hang out with me tonight, but if you would prefer to go with him then go! Ian and I can have fun without you." Jeffrey took several steps back, his voice rising as he spoke.

"Fine!" Michelle jogged across the street in the direction the band had gone.

Jeffrey kicked the ground and shoved his hands into his pockets.

"I need a drink, you coming?" Jeffrey stormed off. Ian hesitated before following. Jeffrey ducked into Bar BQ Bar and slid into an empty booth. Ian took the bench across from him without a word. A waitress appeared and Jeffrey ordered a rum and coke.

"You getting anything?" he barked at Ian.

"I'll have a Diet Coke please." Ian folded his hands on the table.

Jeffrey felt Ian's stare without meeting his eyes. He panned the crowd, the feeble light making it hard to recognize faces. "Why are you staring at me like that?"

"Like what?"

"Like that, like you have something to say."

"Do you mind if I ask why you're so mad?" Ian's quiet tone irritated Jeffrey even more.

"Wouldn't you be upset if you were out with a girl and she started flirting with another guy?"

"I didn't realize she meant so much to you."

Jeffrey didn't answer. The waitress returned and he took a long draw on his drink, emptying the glass. He slammed it on the table and waved for the waitress to bring him another.

"Seems like you're jealous," Ian continued.

"No I'm not."

"Then what does it matter if Michelle went off with those guys?"

Jeffrey stewed, jabbing his swizzle stick at the ice in his empty glass. A fresh drink arrived. He picked it up and took a sip.

"Maybe I'm a little jealous," Jeffrey conceded, his anger cooling.

"Why?" Ian asked.

Jeffrey shrugged. "What does it matter? Let's find some girls." He stood and strode to a group of women standing near the jukebox.

"Ladies, you look lovely this evening." Jeffrey crooned as he approached them. "What are we celebrating tonight?"

The women giggled. "I guess we are celebrating the weekend," offered a cheery redhead. Her hair fell just below her shoulders and framed her heart-shaped face.

"I'll drink to that. Would you ladies like to join me and my friend?" Jeffrey motioned toward the booth where Ian still sat.

"He doesn't look very excited to be here," the redhead said.

"He's just shy." Jeffrey took the redhead's hand and pulled her toward the table. He let her slip in first all the way to the wall. Two other women followed, one squeezing onto the bench with Jeffrey the other took a seat next to Ian.

"So, I'm Jeffrey, this is Ian."

"I'm Sophia," the redhead offered. "These are my friends, Lexie and Cathy." She pointed at each woman in turn.

Jeffrey admired each as they were introduced hoping Ian wouldn't ruin the evening for him. A waitress passed by and he waved her down to order another round of drinks. Ian begged off, still nursing his Diet Coke. Cathy cuddled up to Ian draping her arm around his shoulders. He scooted away from her with an awkward smile.

Over the next hour, Jeffrey and his new friends drank, their laughter growing ever louder. Jeffrey noticed Ian glance at his watch several times. Each time he tried to interest his wingman in a drink, Ian declined.

"I don't want to break up your party," Ian interrupted a little after one o'clock, "but I need to get going."

"No!" they all chorused.

Cathy leaned her head on his shoulder and nuzzled his neck. "Don't you want to stay a little longer? We've barely had a chance to get to know each other."

Ian lifted her head and looked her in the eye. "I'm sure you're a very nice girl, but it is time for me to go." He turned to look at Jeffrey. "Would you like me to drive you home or will you get a cab?"

"I'm fine," Jeffrey's words were slurred. "You should stay, though. What's so important at home?"

"I have an early morning. Why don't you give me your keys?"

"Forget it. I can get myself home."

Ian pushed his way out of the booth. Jeffrey watched as Ian pulled Lexie up and reached for him.

"Leave me alone." Jeffrey pushed at Ian, but slipped and his elbow hit the table with a loud crack. Ian took advantage of his friend's momentary distraction and grabbed Jeffrey's shirt, pulling him from the banquet. Cathy tugged on Ian's free arm. He shook her off and steadied Jeffrey.

"I said, leave me alone," Jeffrey roared. He pulled back his arm and swung at Ian who ducked.

"I won't watch you self-destruct anymore," Ian said. Jeffrey struggled as Ian pulled a wad of cash from his pocket and threw several bills on the table, but was unsteady on his feet.

On the sidewalk, Jeffrey regained his balance and pushed Ian toward the street. He bounced off a black SUV triggering the alarm. Jeffrey took a swing, this time connecting with Ian's jaw. He swung again and Ian grabbed Jeffrey's arm pushing him back toward the wall. Jeffrey stumbled a few steps before falling. He struggled to get himself off the ground, refusing Ian's outstretched hand. He clawed his way up the wall, chest heaving, sweat running down his face.

"Why can't you leave me alone?" Jeffrey spat out between breaths. "I was having a good time."

Ian shook his head. "I know you've been through some bad things, and you needed time to get your head back on straight, but it's time to grow up and move on. What kind of life are you leading, getting yourself drunk every weekend, taking home a different girl? You're poisoning yourself and don't even know it. You aren't going to find answers in the bottom of a bottle."

"Don't give me your God speech again! I don't want to have anything to do with a God who would take a vibrant young woman like Camylle out of this world."

Ian sighed and wrapped an arm around Jeffrey's waist to support him. "I'm taking you home. We'll talk tomorrow."

Jeffrey struggled but Ian's grip was firm. Finally, he relented and allowed Ian to walk him to the parking garage.

"Are you still living in the bungalow?" Ian asked as he started the engine.

"Yeah," Jeffrey responded. He closed his eyes and leaned his head against the cool glass. Jeffrey drifted off during the short ride and woke to Ian trying to lift him out of the low sports car. He swung his feet onto the ground and pushed himself up off the seat. He staggered and grabbed the door for balance.

"You want help getting inside?"

"I'm fine," Jeffrey grumbled. Ian stepped back and Jeffrey heard the car door closing as he stumbled inside the house.

### CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

"Good morning sunshine," Emma greeted Lizzie with a warm hug as she slipped into the pew. "You don't look so sunny this morning, though, what's the matter?"

"I was up too late last night." Lizzie filled in her friends on the events of the previous evening.

"That's great news. Things are moving along faster than you expected."

"They are. I'm going to pick up paint this afternoon, and try to get a couple of rooms painted this week then start the exterior next weekend."

"Ron and I are hosting a missions luncheon this afternoon, so I'm afraid we won't be able to come help."

"Don't worry about it. I don't expect you to be there every day." Lizzie clasped her friend's hand and gave her an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry if I've been asking too much. I know you have other things to take care of while you're back. Tomorrow I'm contacting several friends from work to see if they can help next weekend. You and Ron take care of your business. You need to help your sister get ready for the wedding. That's right around the corner now."

"You haven't asked too much, honey. I wish we could do more. You know we have always thought of you as a daughter, and we're proud of you for taking on this project."

Lizzie nodded, a knot in her throat preventing her from expressing the gratitude she felt.

"Don't worry, girl," Emma cooed.

The band started playing the opening bars of "Jesus is Calling" and the congregation rose to its feet. After several songs, Lizzie felt herself relaxing into a familiar peace.

At the end of the service, Lizzie followed the crowd out and moved toward the large, airy foyer to scan the community bulletin board. Business cards and flyers of all colors and sizes promoted a variety of services from handyman to limo driver. She scanned the offers for any services that may help with the new house.

"Lizzie?" a man called from behind. She turned, searching the dozens of people still milling in the breezeway of the sanctuary for a familiar face. "Lizzie," she heard again, this time accompanied by a wave and a familiar face. The man approached wearing an expensive looking black suit, pale blue shirt and matching paisley tie. He smiled when he caught her eye.

"Ian." She felt a tingle in her hands upon recognizing him. He smelled of pine and fresh rain. Lizzie inhaled, her senses transported to a serene forest.

"How are you?" Ian stopped just feet from her.

"I'm good. What happened to your face?"

Ian touched his bruised cheek. "It's a long story. I'm fine. Wasn't that an amazing service?"

Lizzie nodded.

"Looking for anything in particular?" Ian motioned toward the bulletin board.

"No, just seeing what's out there. You never know what may be helpful with the renovation."

"I should put my card up." Ian pulled his wallet from his pocket and reached for a pin.

"How long have you been coming here?" Lizzie asked.

"About six years. How about you?"

"Three years." Lizzie shook her head in disbelief. "The time flies. Seems like just yesterday."

"I'm surprised we've never met before." Ian gave her a warm smile, his eyes twinkling. "Well, I should let you go. I'll see you Wednesday."

"I'm looking forward to it." Lizzie watched Ian disappear through the front doors before noticing a business card on the bottom of the board. She pulled out the tack holding it.

Vinnie Falcone

The Counter Doctor

Granite counter tops for a fraction of the cost!

She fished a notepad from her purse and scribbled down the information. She gave the board one more look before dropping the pad into her purse and exiting the church.

Dark clouds threatened rain. A brisk wind battered the palm trees, causing Lizzie's eyes to water as she made her way across the parking lot. She ducked into the car as the first drops started to fall. By the time she pulled out of the parking lot, rain fell in thick sheets. The traffic light ahead turned yellow and she pumped the brakes. Behind her, she heard the squeal of tires, as a large SUV barreled down on her and skidded onto the shoulder. She felt her pulse quicken and saw in the rearview mirror the driver shaking his fist at her.

It took twenty minutes longer than usual to get to the house and she nosed the car as close as she could. Gathering her backpack, a can of paint, and a bucket of brushes, Lizzie charged from the car to the porch. She was soaked when she reached the front door, thankful for the extra clothes in her bag.

She set the paint and brushes on the floor, and carried her bag into the master bath. The rain came down harder, beating on the windows. Lizzie looked out into the backyard where large puddles were forming and realized she didn't have a single curtain in the place to provide a measure of privacy for changing clothes. She leaned against the wall staring at the gray darkness, her wet clothes leaching the warmth from her body.

Lizzie remembered the rags she had used to wash the walls. She dashed to the kitchen and returned with two of them. She used a couple of hair clips to join the cloths and draped one end over the curtain rod. Her makeshift curtain just reached the bottom of the window. Lizzie stripped off the wet clothes, depositing them in the bathtub, and changed into tattered shorts and old T-shirt. Ready for work, she thought.

She returned to the living room, turned on the radio, and opened a can of sage green paint. She stirred it and poured some into a tray. For the next two hours she worked, starting on the wall farthest from the door. The rolling motion soon became natural and she found herself moving in time to the music. When she finished the wall, she stepped back to admire her work. The house was hot and stuffy, a blanket of humidity clung to her and the paint fumes made her dizzy. Outside the sun was breaking through the clouds, beckoning her to push open a window and allow a cool breeze to waft in. The smell of honeysuckle filled her nostrils. She moved through the house opening the other windows creating a pleasant cross breeze.

Her cell phone sang "Praise You in the Storm" sending her racing back to the bedroom where she had left her bag.

"Hey, Emma," she answered.

"I forgot to ask you this morning if you are going to be able to come to Bible study on Tuesday."

"I forgot, but I'll be there. Do you need me to bring anything?"

"Nah, you have too much going on already. We can handle it."

"I promised Jeffrey a new batch of cookies this week so it's no trouble."

"Girl, when are you going to have time for that?"

"I guess I won't do any work here the next couple of days. Painting is going to take longer than I thought. It looks so easy when they do it on HGTV."

Emma laughed. "That's called editing. You're going to need to start packing soon too."

"I think I've been in denial about that, my mind has been so preoccupied with plans here, but you're right. Maybe I can start this week and do the painting next week." A sense of overwhelming helplessness came over her and she dropped to the floor.

"Just breathe. It's going to be fine. You have plenty of time. You know you can store things in our garage if you don't want to move everything in before you are done working. What do you need besides a bed, some clothes, and a few dishes? Boxing things up is easy. Maybe you can take a day off work next week."

"We're booked solid for the next month and I should have the chance to make some extra money. I don't want to dip into the trust set up from mom and dad's life insurance."

"It'll work out. I'll say a special prayer for you. See you Tuesday."

Lizzie's stomach growled causing her to look at her watch. It was almost three o'clock and she had forgotten to eat lunch. She pulled a thermal bag from the backpack, popped the can of diet soda, and opened a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

By six o'clock Lizzie had completed painting in the living room. Her arms ached but the room looked crisp and fresh. A thrill of accomplishment and pride accompanied her as she closed the paint can, washed out her brushes, and trudged to her car.

### CHAPTER NINETEEN

Hey guys! I know most of you have heard I finally found a place downtown. It's a real fixer upper, though and I could use your help. If any of you are free this weekend, I would appreciate it if you could come paint with me. I have work to do inside and out, and if you could bring your own paint brushes that would be great too. I promise to have plenty of pizza!

Lizzie gnawed on her lip before sending the email. She felt bad asking her friends to help like this, but she knew most of them wouldn't mind. Between friends at church and the Concierge Club, she figured she might get five or six people.

Mondays were always busy days and this one was no exception. Most of the hotels in Orlando were at capacity, with a multi-national company hosting a convention this week. A large group of representatives from Texas had chosen Hotel Lago to be their home base, taking advantage of the intimate atmosphere to hold some of their own private functions. In addition to her duties as concierge, Lizzie assisted their one convention manager when large groups were in-house.

"Gustave, my dearest," Lizzie cooed as she entered the chef's office just after two o'clock.

"What do you need, my sweet?" he responded a little brusquely.

"The group wants to add hot appetizers to their menu tonight." Lizzie took a seat on the edge of a hard metal chair, placing her palms on the desk and offering her sweetest smile.

"You're joking, right?" Gustave dropped his head in his hands when Lizzie gave a small shake of her head. "They couldn't have decided that this morning? Don't they know how much time it takes to prep these things?"

"Of course not, you just wave your wand and like magic, it appears." Lizzie handed him a list of requested foods. "They said they would be happy with three of these if you couldn't do them all."

"Only three?" Gustave responded, exasperated. "Let's see there are two hundred people in this group so that is a minimum of six hundred servings."

Lizzie nodded. "And they mentioned they may be bringing over some friends they met at the conference."

Gustave threw his hands into the air, pushed his chair back with a loud scrape, and stepped from behind the desk. "You shoo now, I have four hours to get all of this prepared!"

Lizzie made a fast exit, hearing Gustave bellowing commands as the door closed behind her.

"Good morning." Jenny greeted Jeffrey as he entered the office late Monday morning. "Is everything alright?" She came around her desk and poured him a cup of coffee. Jeffrey groaned in response.

After Ian had dropped him off Saturday night, Jeffrey had passed out and woken at noon on Sunday with an aching head and his mouth had felt like he'd eaten a bag of cotton balls. His solution had been to start the morning off with a little orange juice and a lot of vodka. Now he was nursing the mother of all hangovers.

Jenny set a cup of coffee on his desk. He noticed her nose crinkle when she neared him.

"What's wrong?" he barked.

"Nothing," she said, stepping back. Jeffrey waved her away and turned to his computer. A rumbling noise could be heard outside, but Jeffrey ignored it until the office door swung open and Wally stumbled in.

"Come quick, there's been an accident." Wally was out of breath and flushed. Jeffrey turned and took in his friend for a moment.

"What happened?"

"One of the scaffolds collapsed." Wally reached for Jeffrey's arm to pull him outside but Jeffrey shrugged him off.

"Has anyone called 9-1-1?" Jenny asked, reaching for the phone as Jeffrey stood to follow Wally outside.

"I don't know," Wally replied. "I was out at the truck when I heard the noise. I ran in here as soon as I saw what happened."

Pipes, boards, and concrete blocks lay in a chaotic pile on the east side of the structure. Men were digging through the rubble; screams of pain and shouts of instruction rang in Jeffrey's ears. He clutched his pounding head and tried to make sense of the scene.

"Stop everything," Jeffrey yelled. "We might destabilize it and crush them, if they aren't already. How many people are under this mess?"

"At least six," responded one of the workers. "There were two on the scaffold and four that I know of in the general area underneath."

Jeffrey rubbed his temples trying to focus his thoughts. "I want everyone to report to their supervisors, and I want a head count in the next five minutes. I need to know exactly who is missing before the paramedics start digging." The wail of sirens could be heard in the distance. Men and women gathered in groups around their respective supervisors.

Fire trucks arrived in minutes and emergency workers began assessing the situation. Jeffrey gathered reports from his supervisors and approached the man he believed to be in charge of the firefighters.

"We have six confirmed missing," Jeffrey reported.

"How long have they been trapped?" the fire chief asked, a calm authority to his tone.

"Maybe ten minutes, I'm not sure, it all happened pretty fast," Jeffrey said, eyes scanning the wreckage.

"Has anyone attempted a rescue?"

"Several guys were pulling on things when I got out here. I told them to stop as soon as I saw it."

"Good thinking," the chief nodded. "We'll do everything we can to get them all out." The chief clapped Jeffrey on the back and headed toward the debris where his team was already assessing the best way to tackle the project.

The construction crew gathered in a tense knot on the far side of the site, out of the way but still able to see what was happening. The firefighters pulled boards out as if they were playing a giant game of Ker Plunk. Jeffrey's heart plummeted when the debris shifted.

"Help!" a faint voice could be heard calling.

Jeffrey sat on the bumper of a nearby truck rubbing his eyes. Specks of dust still floated in the air from the crash.

The sun grew increasingly warm as the morning progressed, beating down on the rescuers without mercy. A fresh scream of sirens reached Jeffrey's ears. In minutes, three ambulances arrived skidding to a stop at the edge of the work site. Paramedics poured out of the vehicles descending on the building like life giving water in the desert.

Jeffrey pushed through the group of workers looking for the foreman. "How did this happen, Donald?"

Donald was a short, muscular man in his late forties with grey eyes and thinning blond hair. "I'm not sure," he replied. "I sent a couple of guys up on the scaffold to finish framing out the windows on the fifth floor, the next thing I know it was all crashing down."

Jeffrey shook his head in frustration and walked away without another word. He weaved through the mesmerized crowd toward the fire chief.

"How's it looking?" Jeffrey asked.

"My guys can see two people down there, and have almost made it to one, but his legs are pinned under a beam," the chief said with a shake of his head, a grave look on his face. "We haven't heard anything from the other four you believe are down there."

"What are the chances they're okay?" Jeffrey felt his chest tighten.

"Hard to say." The chief appeared to be picking his words carefully. "There may be a pocket down there protecting them and they may be unconscious, which is why we haven't heard anything. We won't know until we get to the bottom of the debris."

Jeffrey's throat went dry, preventing him from responding. He returned his gaze to the action unfolding before him. The whine of a saw rose above the voices of the emergency workers.

"We need a stretcher over here," yelled a firefighter. Paramedics rushed forward, placing the gurney as close as possible to the site where two firemen were pulling a screaming man from the wreckage. Jeffrey struggled to recognize the face, obscured by blood and dirt, as the paramedics strapped the man onto the stark white sheets and scrambled back to the waiting ambulance. The driver slammed the vehicle into gear as soon as the back doors closed.

Jeffrey noticed a crowd gathering on the sidewalk and moved to hold them back. "Wally," he called. "Get some of the guys over here to keep these people moving." Jeffrey approached the crowd and requested they move on. A few of the spectators did leave but some shouted questions, making his aching head pound even more.

Several police cars arrived, disgorging half a dozen officers who immediately took control of the crowd. Jeffrey briefed one of them and pointed him in the direction of the fire chief. His shoulders drooped with relief until a news van inched its way to the curb. A reporter jumped from the van, sprinting to the edge of the construction site, chastising his lumbering cameraman.

"Sir, what can you tell me about the situation?" the reporter asked a hefty man who stood watching the workers.

"I dunno," he replied in a deep baritone voice. "I was walking to work and saw all the flashing lights, so I stopped."

The reporter scanned the area looking for someone in charge. He caught sight of the fire chief and attempted to cross the sidewalk onto the site. A lanky policeman towering five inches taller than the reporter stepped into his path.

"Where do you think you're going?" the officer demanded.

"I just want to talk to the chief, to get a sense of what's going on."

"What does it look like? There's been an accident and people are hurt. They don't need any more trouble right now." The officer swayed back and forth on the balls of his feet as the reporter tried to slip around him.

"I won't be any trouble. I just want to tell their story. How many are hurt? Are there any fatalities?"

"You reporters are all the same," the officer sneered. "Vultures, not even waiting for the bodies to cool."

"Don't you think the public has a right to know what's going on?"

"I'm sure a statement will be made when the time is right."

Jeffery stood several feet away watching the police officer defend the site. He appreciated the effort, but knew the reporter wouldn't be deterred long. He took a deep breath and raked his hands through his hair. With a loud exhalation, he stepped toward the officer.

"Thank you, officer. I'll take it from here." Jeffrey patted the policeman on the back and motioned for the reporter to follow him.

"What happened?" the reporter asked again.

"We aren't clear on the details yet, but I can tell you that a scaffold has collapsed, we believe six people were involved in the accident. One was just pulled from the wreckage and sent to the hospital." Jeffrey was surprised at his own calm tone.

"Have the families been contacted yet?"

Jeffrey was startled by this question. He'd been completely focused on the rescue and hadn't even considered the families yet. "We're in the process of contacting them now".

He searched the crowd of faces for Jenny but couldn't locate her. "If you don't mind I have a lot to take care of right now. Any more questions will have to wait until all my men are safe." Jeffrey escorted the reporter back to the sea of spectators and entrusted him to the care of the police officers; he then ran back to the trailer where he found Jenny on the phone, tears in her eyes.

"Mrs. Sullivan, this is Jenny from Hollisbrook Construction. There has been an accident and your husband..." Jenny fumbled for words. "I think you should come down here as soon as possible." Jenny listened to the woman on the other end of the phone tears slipping from her long lashes. After several minutes, she hung up and dropped her head into her hands. Jeffrey stood immobilized in the center of the office.

"The families of the missing men have been notified," Jenny whispered. She pulled a tissue from a box on the desk and blew her nose.

"Thank you," was all Jeffrey could think to say. He rubbed his temples trying to control the throbbing pain in his head. Jenny tossed him a bottle of aspirin. He popped a couple and sank into his chair. "How did this happen?"

Jenny didn't answer. They sat in silence until the screech of another ambulance reached them. Jeffrey jumped up and ran outside. Five firemen surrounded the mountain of debris creating an assembly line to remove the construction materials as they were handed down.

"What's our status?" Jeffrey asked as soon as he reached the fire chief.

"We got your second man out. Paramedics say he has a collapsed lung and both his legs are broken. He's on the way to the hospital now. We still haven't heard any other cries for help so all we can do is take things apart until we find them."

"How long is that going to take?"

"All depends on how stable the situation is." The chief's eyes never left the work, his brow furrowed in concentration. "We have to be careful not to cause the load to shift. If there is a pocket that protected them from being crushed we don't want to disturb it."

"How long can they survive down there?"

The chief shrugged. "We're assuming there is a pocket, but the chances of that are slim."

Jeffrey wanted to shake this man who spoke of death with calm and detachment. "My men aren't dead," he roared, his hands shaking.

"I didn't say they were, but you do need to be prepared for that possibility." The chief turned to face him, compassion softening his angular face. "If you are a praying man, now would be the time to start praying."

Jeffrey stiffened at this advice and returned his focus to the crash site.

### CHAPTER TWENTY

"Lizzie, Mr. Newman is out here demanding to talk to someone about their function tonight," Stephen said when Lizzie answered her phone. It hadn't stopped ringing all day.

"I'll be right out," Lizzie sighed. She smoothed her skirt and checked her face in a mirror before pushing the office door open. She greeted Mr. Newman with a warm smile. He was a squat man, maybe five feet two inches she guessed, as she looked down on his balding head covered by a comb-over of pale brown hair. His beady eyes peered out of thick folds of skin reminding her of one of those dogs with the wrinkly faces.

"Mr. Newman, what can I do for you?" she asked, guiding him away from the front desk.

"I hear some of the other guys have asked for hot hors d'oeuvres at the reception tonight. I didn't approve that and I'm not paying for it." He waggled his finger in her face, spit flying as he spoke.

"I'm sorry you aren't happy with the addition to the menu, but Mr. Hamilton is listed as the group leader and he did ask for these items. You may wish to speak to him about your concerns." Lizzie maintained a calm, sensitive tone despite her desire to laugh at this little man.

"I don't care what your paperwork says. I'm in charge here and I demand you cancel the hors d'oeuvres!"

"I'm sorry, but I can't do that without speaking to Mr. Hamilton. Would you like me to see if he's in his room?"

"Absolutely not! You are to listen to me! I organized this group, I'm the top selling agent in Texas, and I'm the person you need to be talking to about any decisions regarding this group!" Mr. Newman's face was purple with rage.

Lizzie smiled. "Congratulations on your accomplishment, you must be very proud. I do appreciate your concerns and I'll be happy to discuss them with Mr. Hamilton, but right now, I'm afraid that's all I can do for you. If there isn't anything else, I believe you have a meeting to attend in just a few minutes. Would you like me to walk you to the conference room?"

Mr. Newman sputtered and shook his head. "This isn't over," he yelled, spinning on his heel and huffing away down the hall.

Lizzie watched, giving a little chuckle when he disappeared into the conference room. A handful of Mr. Newman's colleagues had stopped to watch the display. A lithe woman wearing a lavender pants suit and large gold hoop earrings approached Lizzie.

"I want to apologize for Fred, he gets a little carried away," the woman offered.

"It's not a problem," Lizzie waved off the incident. "It's all part of the job."

"Still, Fred was way out of line and I'll make sure appropriate actions are taken." The woman smiled and slipped off to her meeting.

At five o'clock Lizzie popped into the kitchen to check on preparations for the evening gathering. Dozens of pots covered the hot burners, steam bathing the cooks standing over them. A chorus of voices cried out orders and questions creating a well-oiled chaos. Lizzie found Chef Gustave at the end of the kitchen sampling a tray of appetizers and offering critique to his line cooks.

"Everything smells delicious," Lizzie praised.

"It's a disaster." Gustave threw his hands up in the air. "A monkey could cook better than these louts."

"I'm sure it's not as bad as you think." Lizzie followed him as he stormed away from the tasting table. He stopped at several stations barking orders.

"I don't know if I can work another minute with these incompetents." Gustave grabbed a bowl and whisk from one of the line cooks, whipping egg whites to a stiff peak. Everyone was familiar with the chef's outbursts and continued working without pause. Gustave shoved the bowl back to the cook and moved on down the prep line.

"You know everything will be perfect, it always is." Lizzie had become a pro at stroking the chef's ego. Gustave stopped walking and turned to face her.

"It's always perfect because I will accept nothing less. Tonight nothing is perfect. These pigs expect me to pull food out of thin air. We don't keep these ingredients on hand. I had to send a boy to the store and half of what he brought back was wrong." Gustave sighed. "It is so hard to find good help these days."

Lizzie waited out this tirade, her smile never slipping from her face. "What can I do to help?"

"Nothing. As you say it will be perfect." Gustave patted Lizzie's hand. "Go home. I will take care of things here."

Lizzie planted a kiss on his cheek. "Thank you."

Gustave waved her off and returned his attention to the bevy of cooks working furiously to complete their tasks before six o'clock.

### CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

"Where's my husband?" cried a hysterical young woman, creating a scuffle on the sidewalk that drew Jeffrey's attention. One of the police officers held her back as her hands flailed trying to push him aside.

Jeffrey jogged toward her. "Ma'am, what's your name?"

"Where's Nathan?" she screamed. Jeffrey signaled for the officer to release her.

She ran forward and beat her fists on Jeffrey's chest. "Where is my husband?"

"Come with me." Jeffrey wrapped an arm around her shoulder and urged her toward the trailer. Inside he sat her down and Jenny poured a cup of water for the distraught woman.

"I need to know who you are looking for," he said.

"Nathan Christiansen, I got a call..." she dissolved into sobs. Jeffrey offered her some tissues.

"Mrs. Christiansen, I'm not sure how much you know, so let me explain the situation to you." Jeffrey took a deep breath and she looked up at him, dabbing her eyes. "We haven't found Nathan yet, but we aren't giving up." The woman's chest began to heave; her breath came in short, loud bursts, her face turning an angry red.

"Take some deep breaths," Jenny advised. Jeffrey gave her an imploring look over the woman's head. "Go" she mouthed to him before kneeling beside the woman, stroking her hair in a soothing rhythm.

Jeffrey emerged from the office to the sound of more shouts. Three women now crowded around one of the police officers. Jeffrey caught the attention of his foreman and waved him over. The two men gathered the frightened wives and brought them back to the office. Once they were all seated, Jeffrey reviewed the situation for them.

"I heard two men were already pulled out. How do you know one of them wasn't my Danny?" asked a petite blonde who looked barely eighteen.

"I called the families of those who have been taken to the hospital," Jenny said. "Right now all we can do is wait for the rescue workers to complete their job."

The blonde rubbed her stomach. "I haven't even told Danny I'm pregnant yet," she whispered.

Jeffrey felt his stomach twist and rushed to the bathroom, heaving into the toilet, sweat beading on his forehead. After several minutes, he stood up and washed his face. He looked in the mirror, at the dark circles under his eyes and the flush in his cheeks. His head ached with a renewed vengeance and he longed to crawl away and hide.

Jeffrey felt Jenny's stern gaze the moment he returned to the office. He looked at each of the women trying to think of something comforting he could say. The empty promises he had been offered while Camylle lay dying resounded in his head.

"Why don't you go see if there is any news?" Jenny said. Jeffrey nodded and left the wives in Jenny's care.

### CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

The sun moved past its highest point and started its descent toward the western horizon. Every news station in town was on the scene providing a blow-by-blow account of the disaster. Jeffrey spent most of his time on the site, only checking in with the women in the office when there was news to report. Jenny ran to the grocery store for drinks and snacks but the food went untouched.

Jeffrey tried to send the crew home, but they all refused, committed to staying until their colleagues were located. By three o'clock, the firemen still hadn't reached the remaining victims. Jeffrey stood by the fire chief hoping to hear some news over his radio.

"Sir, I believe we may have found something," a raspy voice crackled over the radio.

"Roger that, proceed with care," the chief responded.

Jeffrey watched as the men removed several boards. Their motions slowed to a crawl. "What's taking so long?"

"If they pull out the wrong piece the whole thing can come crashing down. Don't worry they know what they're doing."

Fifteen minutes passed. Jeffrey's vision blurred from the pain in his head and he didn't know how much longer he could hold on. "Shouldn't they have them out by now?"

"I know you're anxious but this isn't something that can be rushed. If there is any chance they're still alive we can't just charge in." The radio crackled to life again.

"Send in two stretchers."

The paramedics scrambled forward and loaded the limp figures onto the gurneys. Jeffrey struggled to identify the faces. He leaned over each man and brushed away some of the dirt.

"We need to move, sir." One of the paramedics touched Jeffrey on the arm.

"Their wives are in my office. Can they ride to the hospital with you?"

"It would be better if they met us there," the medic said, pushing the gurney into the back of the truck.

Jeffrey waited a moment hoping to see the other two men pulled free but the rescuers had returned to removing materials again. He hurried to the office bracing for the message he had to give. In the office, he found Wally sharing stories with the women who offered tentative laughter. He stood when Jeffrey entered.

"Nathan and Sam were just sent to the hospital. I don't know what their condition is, but I can have Wally take you over if you like." Jeffrey met the eyes of each woman as he spoke.

"What about Danny and Peter?" the young blonde asked.

"We're still looking for them." Jeffrey moved close to Wally and spoke in a low, tense voice, "They didn't look good. Will you stay at the hospital with the women and keep me updated?" Wally nodded. The women rose and followed Wally to the door.

Jeffrey took a seat across from the remaining wives. "I wish I had news for you, but the firemen are still looking for Danny and Peter."

The women nodded, one of them sniffling as the other wrapped a reassuring arm around her. Jeffrey felt at a loss unable to even remember their names. He glanced at Jenny.

"Maria, Allison, I know this is hard," Jenny jumped in, "but we aren't giving up."

Jeffrey stood and paced the room. "I'm going to head back out. As soon as I know more I'll come get you."

Jeffrey surveyed the scene from the front steps of the trailer. The rubble now stood only four feet tall as the firefighters continued to disassemble the complex puzzle. The crowd swelled with the end of the workday and more officers came to control the crowd. He recognized Lizzie in the sea of faces and jogged toward her.

"What are you doing here?" Jeffrey called as he lifted the yellow tape barricading the crowd and motioned for her to follow him.

Lizzie held up a plastic container. "I made you some more cookies. What's going on?"

Jeffrey walked with her toward his truck. "You haven't heard?" She shook her head and he began to tell her about the events of the day.

"Oh, Jeffrey, I'm so sorry. You must be out of your mind with worry."

"I can't wait for this day to be over." He slumped against his truck.

"I feel pretty silly bringing these over now."

"No, it's nice to see a friendly face. I have a feeling things are going to get bad when those last two guys are pulled out. I don't see how they can possibly be alive."

"Is there anything I can do for you?" Lizzie laid a hand on his arm.

"Would you mind sticking around a little bit?"

"Of course." She lifted the lid of the container and offered him a cookie. He gave her a half-hearted smile as he reached for one.

"I should get out front." He led her back to his station with the fire chief. "Anything new?" he asked when the chief noticed him.

"We are getting close to the bottom. Are you sure these guys aren't accounted for?"

"Positive. I've checked with my team leaders several times, even confirmed they both punched in this morning."

"We got something," one of the firemen yelled from the heap. Jeffrey felt his heart quicken as time itself slowed. Boards and blocks were removed and handed down the assembly line. Paramedics stood at the ready, two gurneys held between them.

### CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

A limp body was hoisted from a dark hole. Jeffrey rushed forward as the medics worked over the silent victim with grim faces. They searched for a pulse as they hurried into the ambulance, one of the medics started chest compressions. The final worker lay directly beneath his companion and was quickly raised to the surface. Jeffrey waited until the men were loaded into the waiting ambulances, then ran to the office.

"We have Peter and Danny," he cried as he careened through the door. The women jumped to their feet.

"Are they okay?"

"Can we see them?" The women called out at the same time.

"They've already been sent to the hospital."

"I would be happy to take you to meet them," Jenny offered. Maria and Allison accepted and followed her outside.

Alone in the office, Jeffrey sank into a chair and dropped his head into his hands. The tension of the day overwhelmed him. His body began to shake and all he could think of was getting a drink. He didn't hear the door open.

"You okay?" Lizzie asked rubbing his back tenderly.

Her kindness was almost his undoing. His emotions raw, he ran his fingers through his hair and massaged the bridge of his nose.

"I think your crew would like to hear from you before they head home."

"You're right, I should talk to them." Jeffrey tried to pull himself together. Lizzie trailed him outside, standing off to the side as he addressed the workers.

"I want to thank everyone for your support today. I know it's been a rough day. You all should go home and spend some time with your families, remember how precious life is and how fast it can be taken from us. Tomorrow we'll talk about what happened and how we move on from here." Jeffrey waited for the crew to disband.

A few men came to speak to him offering their opinions on the incident. Jeffrey assured them there would be an investigation, but until then he didn't want to make any speculations. When the last stragglers were gone, he returned to the office. His cell phone vibrated in his pocket.

"Hey, Jenny. How are things at the hospital?"

"Nathan, Sam, and Danny didn't make it," Jenny said softly. "Peter's in critical condition."

"What about Max and Ben?" Jeffrey asked of the two men who had been sent to the hospital earlier in the day.

"Ben had a collapsed lung, two broken legs, along with some ribs and one of his arms, but he is out of the woods. Max has some pretty bad head trauma with brain swelling in addition to broken bones. He's in the ICU. They may have to drill a hole in his skull to relieve the pressure if the swelling continues."

"Should I come out there?" Jeffrey asked hoping she would tell him to go home.

"I don't know what you can do. Mr. Hollisbrook and one of the women from public relations are already here. They are managing these wives like they might take the company over tomorrow." Jenny's distaste was evident.

"Why don't you go home? I'll come by and speak with the wives." Jeffrey locked up the office and found Lizzie sitting on the tailgate of his truck. They slipped into the cab and he gave her the update from the hospital as they drove away.

"Would you like to grab something to eat after?"

Jeffrey realized he hadn't eaten all day and nodded his agreement.

### CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

Wednesday evening Lizzie surveyed the living room, which now sported half a dozen gaps in the wood flooring. The damaged boards lay in a pile on the front porch. Ian stood wiping sweat from his face with a bandana pulled from his pocket.

"You make it look so easy to rip those boards out," she said, grateful to have an experienced professional managing this project.

"When you have the proper tools it isn't too hard." Ian shoved the bandana back into his pocket. "If you want to hand me a broom I'll clean up this mess."

"Oh no, don't worry about that I can take care of it. Why don't you sit down and have some water. I would offer you something more, but as you can see," she turned to the empty kitchen, "I'm still lacking a refrigerator."

"Water's fine." He pulled a bottle from the small cooler sitting on the kitchen counter.

Lizzie made short work of sweeping the floor and emptying the dustpan over the edge of the front porch. In the living room, Ian reclined in one of the beach chairs with which she had temporarily furnished the house.

"How do you know Jeffrey?" she asked.

"I went to college with his fiancée. She and I were good friends. After the two of them got together we were like the three musketeers."

"Oh, I'm sorry," she whispered, her gaze dropping to the floor.

"He told you about Camylle?" Ian's surprise was evident. "He and I stayed in contact for awhile after she passed, but without her we drifted apart."

"He hasn't gotten over her yet, has he?"

"I had hoped so, but..." Ian shook his head. "I don't know if he ever will."

"I can't imagine what he must have gone through or how he did it alone."

"He didn't have to be alone, he chose that." There was an edge to Ian's voice.

"I know." Lizzie noticed Ian's surprised look, and recapped her lunch conversation with Jeffrey.

"I'm sorry about your parents."

"It's been a long time."

"Jeffrey doesn't talk about Camylle. Even after she first died, he wouldn't talk about it. I tried to help him, but he shut down."

"I did too," Lizzie said. "I isolated myself trying not to feel the pain."

"How did you get past that?"

"I dabbled with going to church again, and gradually I began to feel a weight lifting from my spirit. It may sound strange, but I always felt God pursuing me, unwilling to let go of me. If I hadn't felt that I don't know where I'd be today."

Ian nodded. "It doesn't sound strange at all. I wish I could get Jeffrey to see how much he is missing by wallowing in his pain. He didn't have much faith in God before, but now he downright refuses to hear anything about it. I thought by now he would have met someone new and started over."

"He has mentioned a girl. Michelle, I think, is her name. He just met her recently."

"He told you about Michelle?" Ian sat forward in his seat. "He must trust you to tell you so much about his life. He was never a great communicator; used to drive Camylle crazy because she never knew what was going on in his head. How long have you known him?"

"A couple of weeks."

Ian shook his head. "Maybe you're the girl he should be going after instead of Michelle."

This remark took Lizzie by surprise and an awkward silence descended on the room.

"I'm sorry, I don't even know if you're single."

"Forget it; it's not a big deal." She twisted a lock of hair around her finger, her gaze tracing the lines of the ceiling.

Ian hesitated before asking, "So, are you single?"

Lizzie felt her face flush. "At the moment, yes, I am."

"But there's someone you're interested in?"

"No, I've been focused on work and of course now there is this monstrosity to transform." Lizzie stretched out her arms and twirled around with a childish giggle.

"Well, I can assure you, these floors will be good as new in no time, and I'd be happy to help out with anything else you need. You _are_ going to replace the porch aren't you?"

"Jeffrey told me I should, but it isn't a high priority right now. I know it will cost a fortune to build a whole new porch."

"I can keep an eye on lumber for you and let you know if I come across any deals."

"I'd appreciate that. Have you talked to Jeffrey this week?" Lizzie switched gears.

"No, he hasn't been answering my calls."

"Did you hear about the accident at his worksite Monday?"

Ian shook his head, concern covering his face. "Is he okay?"

"Physically he's fine, mentally, I'm not so sure." She told him about the accident, the deaths, and her dinner with Jeffrey.

"Three people died? As far as I know these are the first deaths he's been faced with since Camylle."

"I don't want you to think I'm a gossip, and it certainly isn't any of my business, but Jeffrey seemed to have an awful lot to drink. Every time I tried to talk to him about the accident, he brushed me off and changed the subject. It doesn't seem like he is dealing with it at all."

Ian nodded, a grieved look in his eyes. "He's dealing with it by denying it. If he can't feel the pain, there is no pain. Did he tell you Camylle played tennis? One time she tore a hamstring during a match, but she refused to quit. She said as long as she didn't think about the pain, she was fine. Jeffrey twisted that around when she died. He drank until he didn't feel the hurt anymore. It seems as if that philosophy has extended to anything that hurts him." Ian rubbed his bruised face.

"I wish there was something I could do to help him."

"I don't know what to do anymore other than pray for him," Ian said, leaning forward. "But you might have more luck than I did. Maybe grief is your common bond, the door that is open between you, and if he can learn how you have dealt with it then he can find healing for himself." Ian grew more excited as he spoke, bounding out of his chair when he finished.

"Maybe," Lizzie replied but she wasn't convinced. Ian circled the room. She watched his face, acutely aware he was deep in thought.

"I'm not saying it will be easy or that it will even work, but you have more chance of understanding his pain than I ever did. Even though I loved Camylle like my own sister, he doesn't believe I grieved for her. He doesn't believe my heart aches when I think of her, and in a way, he's right. I never have grieved the way he does, because he doesn't have any hope, he doesn't have that promise of seeing her again in heaven."

"He knows I go to church. Why wouldn't he think I had the same reaction to my parents' death as you did to Camylle's?"

"Did you?" Ian asked, causing Lizzie's face to darken. She folded her arms across her chest creating a defensive wall between them.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you." Ian stood before her, a pained look in his eyes. She turned away from him and studied the room.

"What do we need to do next on the floors?" she asked in a businesslike tone, shutting down any further personal discussion.

Ian hesitated. "Next, I'll lay out the new boards, then it all needs to be sanded down before it can be refinished. I can come out the next couple of nights if that works for you."

"I need to start packing up my apartment, why don't you just take the key and let yourself in. Leave it with my neighbor across the street Friday night." Lizzie handed him the key, gathered up her things, and disappeared before he could reply.

### CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

Early Saturday morning Lizzie struggled up the front steps, weighed down with cans of paint, and three bags containing brushes, painter's tape, and drop cloths. The neighborhood was quiet making each clanging step she took sound like a primitive alarm system. She dropped the supplies at the front door and felt in her pocket for the key before remembering she had left it with Ian. She slapped her palm against the door, spun on her heel, and gazed at Mae's house. The windows were still dark.

She pulled anxiously on a lock of hair. She hadn't thought about making arrangements with Mae to get her key when she left Ian the other night. The memory of his excitement at finding a way to reach Jeffrey, unaware he would be using her own shame to do so, made her chest tighten. Not many people knew about the regrets she had from the year after her parents' death and she preferred it that way. She feared Ian's reaction if he learned the truth, if he learned the things she had done during that dark time.

"Hello? Lizzie?"

She looked up and down the street before catching sight of Mae in the doorway. Lizzie waved, relief flooding her as she jogged across the street.

"Good morning." She took the porch steps two at a time.

"You're getting an early start today." Mae stepped outside.

"I'm hoping to get most of the place painted. Some friends are coming over to help."

"Wonderful. The young man who came by last night was very nice." Mae withdrew the house key from a pocket in her robe and handed it to Lizzie. "I was making some coffee, would you like a cup before you get started?"

Lizzie glanced at her watch. "A quick one would be nice."

She followed the elderly lady into the house. It smelled of fresh coffee and sweet perfume. Lizzie sat in a metal and vinyl chair at an old Formica table that reminded her of something in a 1950s diner, while Mae shuffled into the kitchen. She poured the rich liquid from an old-fashioned stovetop percolator into two white mugs, each decorated with a different bird.

"How's the renovation going?"

"Slow but steady. I spent most of this week packing up my apartment. I'm hoping to be able to move some things in next week while I continue to work.

"That will be nice. The young man last night mentioned he had repaired the floors. I imagine that was quite a job."

"Yeah, I'm not sure how I would have done it without Ian."

"He must be a good friend. He worked until nine o'clock last night."

"I'm so sorry if he bothered you," Lizzie exclaimed. She had been so focused on her own discomfort she hadn't thought of anyone else.

"The boys and their families were over for dinner and they were just leaving when he stopped by."

"Thank you," Lizzie said before gulping down the last of her coffee. "I suppose I should get things ready for the day."

A few minutes after eight o'clock, cars started to fill the driveway and spill out along the road. A dozen friends had turned out to help with the painting. Lizzie felt her heart would burst with gratitude. This was the first time many of her Concierge Club friends had met her church friends. There were several moments when she questioned her judgment bringing these two groups together. Her work friends could be a little rough around the edges, letting expletives fly when they were frustrated. For the first time she realized she didn't know much about the state of their souls and had never thought about it before.

James clasped Lizzie in a smothering hug and turned to look at the house. "This place looks like it could be haunted."

"I haven't encountered any ghosts so far. You have no idea how much better it looks than the day I agreed to rent it." She gave the house a long look.

"I brought a paint sprayer. That should help speed things up," James said.

Lizzie smiled and pointed him in the direction of the paint cans. "I need a few more people to help with exterior paint," she called to the crowd. She set the volunteers up on the backside of the house and returned to find the rest of her friends had already spread drop cloths.

"What color do you want in this room," Stephanie called from the guest bedroom. Lizzie joined Stephanie in the bedroom and opened a can to reveal a powder blue color.

"I thought this might help the room seem a little bigger."

"Sure, light colors are supposed to do that." Stephanie poured paint into her tray, loaded up a roller and started to smooth it on.

"Thanks for helping, Steph. I know you aren't big on physical labor."

"No sweat, I can count this as my workout for the week." Stephanie shot her a grin. Several boom boxes had been set up in the small house and Lizzie could hear a mixture of _Casting Crowns_ and _Def Leppard_. She reflected on the music that represented so well the diversity of her friends and felt grateful for the blessings each one had brought to her life.

The team worked for several hours, walls transforming from dingy white, to green, blue, and yellow. Lizzie flitted through the rooms checking the progress, surprised to find her friends hadn't clumped into their separate cliques, but mingled together. In the living room, she found Sally and Jennifer from church working with Patricia painting new baseboards and crown molding. In the kitchen, Stephen worked with Travis, the youth pastor. Mona worked in the master bedroom with Emma.

"Hey, where's that pizza you promised? I'm starving," Travis yelled.

"Should be here in twenty minutes."

"Looks like we're finished with the kitchen," Stephen said.

"The kitchen is always the easiest," Patricia teased.

"Bet we can have the bathroom at least half finished by the time the pizza arrives," Travis challenged.

"You're on," Patricia said.

Travis and Stephen washed out their brushes and ran into the bathroom. They poured more of the pale blue paint and attacked opposite walls. When the pizza arrived, the men emerged from the bathroom triumphant.

"Done," Stephen shouted.

Patricia gave him an unconvinced look before popping her head into the bathroom. Streaked paint covered three walls; cast off from the racing brushes, splattered the shower stall.

"I guess we should have clarified it needed to be presentable," Patricia commented wryly. Lizzie walked into the small room and spun around considering the work.

"Impressive," Lizzie gave them a smile, "but you have to clean off the shower before the paint dries." She walked outside to meet the pizza delivery guy. James turned off the sprayer and helped her carry the boxes inside. They laid them out on the kitchen counters and the group grabbed several pieces each.

"Maybe we should eat out on the porch," Lizzie recommended looking around the cluttered living room.

Outside Lizzie breathed in the fresh air realizing how stifling the paint fumes had been. Her friends spread out on the porch stairs and front lawn admiring the freshly painted house.

"You chose some great colors," Mona remarked. "Have you ever considered a career in interior design?"

Lizzie laughed, almost choking on her pizza. "No way. If you think the people we deal with now can be demanding, imagine spending their money trying to decorate their house."

"Good point. Speaking of work, how did things go last week? I can't believe we have two more waves of that group coming in." Mona sighed.

"Trouble at your place?" Lizzie asked.

"I heard complaints from the front desk every day," Mona replied. "Why do they feel the need to send thousands of postcards while they are here?"

"They're sending them to their sales associates," Stephen piped in. "It's a whole pyramid scheme. The top sellers get to come to this conference, then they send postcards to those below them telling them how wonderful it is. It's supposed to motivate them to produce more so they can come to the conference next year."

"Ugh, I can't imagine having to deal with more of them next year," Mona groaned.

"Guys, I can't thank you enough for helping out today," Lizzie interjected. "It would have taken me weeks to get all this done alone."

A chorus of voices proclaimed it was no problem and they were having fun. With the pizzas polished off, they returned to their work. By five o'clock the brushes and paint trays had been washed, and lay along the edge of the porch to dry. Lizzie hugged each of her friends as they left.

Alone she meandered through the rooms, reveling in the new look. She returned to the living room and pulled up the drop cloths that had covered her repaired floors. She gasped when the wood was revealed. The floor shown with a fresh coat of varnish and she couldn't even tell where the damaged wood had been. She squeezed the balled up drop cloths to her chest, tears welling up in her eyes.

"You like it?" a voice asked from behind her. Lizzie turned toward the door and gave Ian a shy smile, acutely aware of the way she had fled from him days before.

"It's beautiful," she whispered.

Ian scanned the room, "You've been busy." He strolled around the small house popping his head into the other rooms.

"Some friends came over today." She started folding the drop cloths and he stepped forward to help. He took one end of the cloth, stretching it tight before folding the edges together. The hum of the air conditioning unit in the window and an unending serenade of cicadas filled the silence between them.

"Mae said you worked late last night." Lizzie said without meeting his gaze.

"I finished around nine. It didn't take as long as I thought it would to varnish." He stepped toward her to hand off his half of the cloth. Their fingers touched and she felt a tingling sensation again.

"I noticed a few spots in the master bedroom that could use some work also," Ian continued. "I can get them cleaned up next week if you want."

"I appreciate it." She laid the folded cloth on a chair and picked up another one. Ian reached for an end, repeating the process.

"I used some boards from your closets out here so it would all look the same age. I can use newer wood in the bedroom. It should be more covered up in there so it won't matter if it matches."

Lizzie dropped the folded cloth onto the chair, fidgeting nervously with the corners. The silence stretched on as she searched for the right words. Ian shifted his weight and turned to leave.

"I guess I'll get going. I was in the area so I thought I would stop by to check on the floors."

"Ian wait," she called as he crossed the threshold. He paused and looked back over his shoulder.

She took a tentative step toward him. "I do appreciate your help. I'm sorry if it hasn't seemed that way."

Ian stood in the doorway, hands shoved into his pockets. Lizzie did not raise her eyes, afraid to meet his gaze, afraid he might see her shame **.** It had been a long time since she'd felt this vulnerable.

"Like I said, I'm happy to help."

She felt his eyes trained on her. Her hair was a mess; paint flecked her face, arms, and clothes. She reached up and tried to tug her fingers through the tangled locks, wincing as the hair pulled against her scalp.

The sound of a car pulling into the drive came as a welcome distraction. Her gaze flicked past Ian and recognized Jeffrey's truck. Ian turned and stepped onto the porch. Lizzie was surprised when Jeffrey stopped in the middle of the walkway. His glance moved from Ian to Lizzie.

"Come on in, I was just leaving," Ian said, his voice cold. Crossing the porch in two strides, he passed Jeffrey on the walkway and slipped into his car. Jeffrey hesitated a moment longer before entering the house.

"What was that about?" Lizzie asked.

"He doesn't approve of the way I live my life," Jeffrey replied with a shrug. His gaze moved to the floor. "Looks great."

"It does." She watched him circle the room, waiting for him to speak.

"You did all the painting today?"

"Well, this room I did last weekend, but I had a painting party today and got the rest done." She noticed he seemed distracted. "How are you doing? Did you find out what caused the accident?"

Jeffrey froze, his gaze glued to the floor. "I can't talk about it."

"Can't or don't want to?" she pressed. He glared at her.

"Can't," he bit out. "The lawyers told me not to talk to anyone."

"I get that, but do you want to talk about how you're dealing with it?"

"I'm fine. I didn't know the guys that well."

"You don't have to know someone well to be affected by their death."

"I guess."

"Times like these can reawaken past grief. Have you been thinking about Camylle more since it happened?"

Jeffrey didn't answer right away. "I'm over Camylle. Why can't you and Ian understand that?"

"I've been there. I know how dark it gets."

"Don't act like you know what I'm going through. You don't."

Lizzie expected him to storm out, but he remained motionless. "You might be surprised," she whispered.

Jeffrey met her gaze, a questioning look in his eyes. She took a deep breath and moved toward the chairs where she sat down, motioning for him to do the same. He hesitated before sitting on the edge, reminding Lizzie of a bobcat ready to spring.

"It was about a year after my parents died. I'd been living in a kind of haze until one day I woke up and realized this was my new normal; that I would never be able to talk to my mom again. Suddenly I was angry, angry at the drunk driver, angry at the paramedics, angry at God." She noticed Jeffrey stiffen even more at the mention of God.

"I know you don't believe in God, but hear me out, please." She paused to steady her nerves. "Before the accident I believed in God. I'd given my life to Christ and thought I had a strong faith. That all changed when I woke up to my pain. I had pushed all my friends away during those first months of grief so I went out and made new friends, friends who were completely different; they were a partying crowd. I learned Tequila made me forget the hole in my heart; it also loosened all my inhibitions.

"It wasn't long before I was in a relationship with one of these guys and my principles went out the window." Lizzie licked her lips, wishing she had another bottle of water. Jeffrey reclined into the chair listening intently.

"I gave myself to this man knowing he didn't care about me. This went on for eight or nine months, but the whole time I had this underlying feeling of guilt. When I was sober, I was ashamed to look at myself in the mirror. After a while this guy started seeing another girl and I was pushed to the sidelines. It took more alcohol to dull my senses. I started having less fun going to the clubs. Gradually I stopped going altogether.

"There I was, alone, sober, and ashamed of the person I had become. I decided I needed to change. My lease was almost up so I found a new apartment. I got back in touch with some of my old friends, but what changed things, was getting back into church." Lizzie paused to gauge Jeffrey's reaction. He still reclined in the chair obviously interested in what she was saying.

"I'll admit, the though of going back to church terrified me. That's when I met Ron and Emma and they soon became like second parents. I won't lie to you, though. There are still times when I wish I could crawl up in a bottle and forget everything." She swallowed, unable to go on.

Jeffrey leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "So what do you do now, when you want a drink?"

His words was so soft she had to strain to hear him. She gave him a weak smile. "You aren't going to like my answer."

He nodded, waiting for her to proceed.

"I pray. If that doesn't help, then I call one of my friends from church. There are a handful of people who know my story. They pray with me and provide encouragement. You don't have to be alone."

Jeffrey gave a sad chuckle. "I can't tell you how many times Ian has told me that, but he never got it."

"Why do you say that?"

"Can you believe he told me he was happy she was dead?" Jeffrey stood and paced. Lizzie took a moment to contemplate this statement.

"Is that how he said it?" she asked, remaining in her seat.

"Maybe not those exact words, but that's what he meant."

"Do you think maybe he meant he was happy she wasn't suffering anymore?" She watched him cross the room to the front window.

"Do you believe in any kind of life after death?" She knew she was starting down a slippery slope with him.

"You mean do I believe in heaven and hell? No, I believe you die and you're stuck in the ground to rot," he said, still looking out the window.

"Well, I suppose in a sense that's partly true, our physical bodies do rot, but that isn't what makes us who we are. I believe it's our spirit that makes us each unique. It was Camylle's spirit you were in love with. Don't you want to believe her spirit is in a place where there is no pain, no suffering?"

Jeffrey turned to face her. "What good does it do to believe her spirit is in a better place? She's still gone."

"I know you aren't that selfish." Lizzie stood and walked toward him. She stopped just steps away and made him look her in the eye. "You've given up your time to help me, someone you don't even know. That's not something a selfish person would do. Would you truly be happy if Camylle was still alive but suffering?"

Jeffrey shook his head and turned back to the window. She waited, sensing he needed time to digest her words. The sun had dipped below the city skyline, fading into evening, casting the house into shadow. A pair of black birds cawed at each other in a nearby tree.

"Ian told me Camylle believed in heaven and he would see her there. Do you believe that?" Jeffrey asked, his voice hard.

"I do. I believe all who have accepted Christ into their lives will be reunited one day for all eternity." She said a silent prayer that God would open Jeffrey's heart and provide him comfort.

"If you believe that then why did you get so angry after your parents died?" Jeffrey whirled to face her.

"Because I'm only human," she replied, lips trembling. "Just because I believe in and trust God, doesn't mean I don't still miss my parents. I lost sight of that hope, but when I got back in church, I saw life through new eyes, and appreciated things much more. We were made to crave relationship, to love others, and it hurts when we lose those that we love, but we don't have to lose hope."

"I don't know." Jeffrey stepped around her and sank into a chair.

"Just take some time, think about it, and know you can call me anytime to talk about it." She didn't want to push him and decided now might be a good time to change the subject. "You want to see the rest of the house?"

He nodded, stood, and followed her down the hall.

### CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

The evening sky was brushed a deep purple as Jeffrey drove away. The car slipped through light traffic, past old homes and new businesses. He paid no heed to where he was going, his thoughts drifting to Camylle.

The tennis match had been an upset, with a young girl, unheard of before this tournament, taking down the champion. A handful of spectators remained on the sidelines, gathered around the triumphant young woman. She wiped her heart-shaped face on a white towel before leaning in to hug a woman and man in their late forties.

"Thank you, I'm so glad you could be here today," she said as she pulled away and turned to the young man with them. She jumped into his arms and kissed him passionately.

"I'm so proud of you, Camylle," Jeffrey whispered.

"I couldn't have done it without you," she replied. She turned to a tall man with weathered brown skin who tapped her on the shoulder.

"Richard," she squealed. "I would like you to meet my fiancé, Jeffrey, and his parents, Jacquelyn and Edward Robbins." Camylle introduced the family surrounding her.

"I've heard a lot about you folks. It's wonderful Camylle has such a supportive group of people," Richard greeted them.

"From what I hear she is lucky to have an agent like you," Jeffrey said. "You've worked with some very talented athletes."

"I've been fortunate," Richard conceded. "I can tell you this one has a bright future ahead."

Camylle beamed, her pale eyes sparkling. Jeffrey wrapped an arm around her waist and gave her a squeeze. "We're going to dinner this evening to celebrate her victory, why don't you join us?"

"I don't want to intrude on a family affair," Richard said.

"No, you must come," Camylle pressed.

Richard gave her an embarrassed smile, "Well, okay, if you insist. I can't start upsetting my new star."

"We'll see you at eight then, at Houston's," Jeffrey said.

A rapping sound startled Jeffrey back to the present. He gazed out the windshield and realized he was stopped in a residential neighborhood. He turned to the passenger window and found a pair of hands cupping a familiar face pressed against the dark glass. He looked beyond the woman to the house, a brick behemoth with pristine white columns flanking a carved oak door. He pushed a button to let the window slide down.

"Mom," he said flatly.

"I thought that was you. It's so good to see you." The woman was ebullient; her smile reminded him of a child on Christmas morning opening the doll she has been asking for all year. Jeffrey noticed crinkles around her eyes, faint lines on her forehead, and threads of silver in her black hair. She wore a pair of cream slacks, a tailored blue blouse, and a strand of pearls. She was always wearing those pearls.

"Jeffrey," her voice had grown concerned. "Why don't you come inside?"

He was tempted to step on the accelerator, leaving this place behind as fast as possible, but then Lizzie's words echoed in his mind. "You don't know how lucky you are to have a family." He could see the pain in her eyes and remembered the remorse he had felt for putting it there. He turned off the ignition and nodded at his mother.

The house smelled of fresh apple pie. Jeffrey heard men in jovial conversation and guessed his father was entertaining business associates in the library. He trailed his mother through the house toward the voices, his gait slowing with each step. Ten feet from the door, he stopped at a small table. A vase of fresh flowers sat in the center of the table with two large framed photographs on either side.

The first photo was of his parents on their wedding day. But it was the other photo that pierced his heart. It had been taken at dinner the night Camylle had her first big win. They stood in front of Lake Killarney with a golden sunset blazing behind them. The lighting gave Camylle an angelic glow. Jeffrey picked up the frame and traced her face with his fingertips.

Jacquelyn paused at the library doorway and watched him. She waited quietly until he set the picture down and turned to face her. She offered an encouraging smile and beckoned him to follow her into the library, but Jeffrey remained motionless.

The men in the library continued their conversation unaware of the surprise visitor. Jeffrey tried to understand their words over the pounding in his ears. His heart was racing and he felt moisture developing along his hairline. Why was he here? Why hadn't he driven away when he realized where he was? What could he possibly say to his parents? The thoughts raced through his brain making him dizzy. He laid a hand on the table to steady himself. The floral arrangement wobbled, threatening to slip onto the floor.

Jacquelyn was at her son's side in an instant, supporting him with an arm around his waist. She led him into the kitchen, settled him into a chair, and brought him a glass of water.

"I don't know why I'm here," Jeffrey choked out. His hands shook as he reached for the water. Jacquelyn took a seat across the table watching him drain the glass. He could tell she was struggling to hold her tongue and felt a twinge of guilt. He tried to smile at her but his lips seemed paralyzed.

"How have you been sweetheart?" Jacquelyn asked.

"I'm fine." His gaze darted around the room recognizing little had changed since he was last here.

"We heard you're the project manager for that new condo and retail space on Orange Avenue. We're so proud of you." Her voice came out in a tinny pitch betraying her strain to remain calm.

Jeffrey fidgeted before noticing his mother's hands were tightly clasped in her lap. He placed his palms on the table and met his mother's gaze.

"I haven't forgiven you guys." Jeffrey glared at his mother. She slumped, but her smile did not fade.

"I hope you know how sorry we are for the things we did. We should have let you make your own decisions. When you're a parent you will understand how hard it is to watch your child suffer."

Jeffrey looked away at this last comment, anger rising within him. "The chances of me ever being a parent are pretty slim."

Jacquelyn reached across the table for her son. "I know you don't think you will ever love again, but you have your whole life ahead of you. Would Camylle have wanted you to be alone forever?"

Jeffrey pushed his chair back, the force causing it to crash to the floor. Just as he turned toward the front door, the group of men emerged from the library, his father in the lead.

"Jeffrey?" his father called in surprise. Jeffrey hesitated a moment, enough time for Edward to reach his son. His eyes were hard, but he pulled Jeffrey into an embrace and turned to his friends.

"Gentlemen, I would like you to meet my son." Edward introduced each man, but Jeffrey didn't hear their names. They all smiled and offered handshakes that he took instinctively.

"I was walking these men out, why don't you have a seat in the den and we can catch up." Edward gave him a firm push down the hall and escorted his guests to the door.

Jeffrey took slow, plodding steps down the plush hallway to the den. The room, with forest green walls lined with photos of his family and numerous celebrities, looked just as he remembered it. He walked past the overstuffed leather chairs sitting at either end of the room with a plump couch upholstered in an English hunting lodge print set between them, to the wet bar in the far corner of the room.

He poured a glass of his father's most expensive scotch and wandered around the room, pausing by a massive oak desk. He moved to the floor to ceiling windows and pulled back one of the thick burgundy damask drapes. Finishing the drink, he set the glass on the desk. A look at his watch showed ten minutes had passed since his father had herded him into the room. His restlessness receded into a gripping tension. Moving toward the door, he heard his parents arguing. He slipped out of the den and moved toward the voices, his footsteps silenced by the deep carpet.

"You are not going to go in there and attack him, Edward."

"The boy can't abandon his family, his responsibilities, and expect to waltz in to open arms," Edward countered.

"He didn't waltz in here. I don't think he had any intention of coming. I will not let you jeopardize any possible relationship we may be able to have with him."

Jeffrey paused in the shadows short of the living room where his parents stood glaring at each other. He judged the distance to the front door, speculating if he could escape, without his parents noticing, by sprinting across the open area. He took a tentative step then dashed for the door.

"Jeffrey!" he heard his mother's plaintive cry as the door slammed behind him. He revved the engine and ground through several gears before peeling away from the curb.

### CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

"The National Weather Service has issued a tropical storm warning for southwest Florida. Tropical Storm Charley is expected to strengthen into a hurricane within the next twelve hours and is projected to make landfall late Thursday night near Captiva."

Lizzie sat transfixed in front of the television watching the anticipated path of the storm. She chewed on the inside of her lip, a habit she had when she was tense. The phone rang.

"Are you watching the news?" Emma's concerned voice came across the phone line.

"Yes, what am I going to do?"

"Don't worry, everything will be fine. Ron and I are finishing up our preparations here and will take care of your place tomorrow."

"My apartment lease is up next weekend. What will I do if the house is damaged?" A myriad of scenarios flew through Lizzie's mind causing her to breathe faster.

"Shh, don't get ahead of yourself. You never know what these storms are going to do. It may decide to miss us altogether."

"But what if it doesn't?" Her head was spinning.

"The good Lord will take care of us. We can't worry about what might happen, we can only deal with what's going on now."

Lizzie's breathing slowed. "I know you're right. I've been so tense with the busted pipe in the guest bath and not being able to find a stove to fit that awkward hole."

"You knew from the start there might be setbacks. Don't let them get you down. You've made tremendous progress in a short time."

"Thanks, Emma. As usual you're right." Lizzie switched the television off and threaded her way through the piles of boxes scattered around the apartment. She reopened a box of kitchen supplies and dug through until she found a couple of pitchers, which she filled with water.

She spent the next hour gathering hurricane supplies. She grimaced at the pathetic collection on the kitchen counter, frustrated so many things were packed away. She had managed to find one flashlight, two extra batteries, and two quarts of water, a can of tuna, one votive candle, and a weather radio. With a sigh, she turned off the light and retreated to her bedroom.

On Friday, Lizzie woke to clear blue skies. Walking to the car in the cool air it was hard to believe a big storm was brewing two hundred miles away. Charley had developed into a hurricane as predicted and was sucking the heat and moisture into his growing ball of fury. Everyone was talking about this storm being bigger than Andrew twelve years earlier, a storm that had devastated Homestead in south Florida. Downtown Orlando was eerily quiet with many people taking the day off to prepare for the storm.

"Morning, Lizzie," Austin greeted her as she entered the back office. She was surprised to see him in so early. "Would it be okay for me to leave early today? There're going to be some killer waves."

"Killer is right. Haven't you heard all the warnings about surfing in this weather?"

Austin just grinned. "So whaddaya say?"

"Fine, I don't expect it will be too busy today. We've had a lot of cancellations the past couple of days." Lizzie settled into her chair and filtered emails, checked voicemail, and returned a few calls. She kept a small window open in the bottom of her monitor with a live stream from the local news station. All programming had been preempted for continuous weather coverage. The day was uneventful and a few minutes before five, Lizzie packed up her office, covering all of the computers in plastic, in case any of the windows were broken allowing rain to flood in.

Wind buffeted her when she pushed her way out the service door. Heavy gray clouds pregnant with rain skidded across the sky. Pine needles and debris swirled at her feet. She slipped into her car and drove down I-4, alert for danger, fingers gripping the steering wheel as giant raindrops assaulted the windshield with a vicious splat.

Arriving at her apartment, she struggled to open the car door into the howling wind. Within seconds, she was completely drenched. Keeping her head down, purse clutched to her chest, she pushed against the wind up the steep stairs to the second floor landing. Inside she leaned against the door catching her breath. The sound of wind and rain filled the apartment.

She watched the news while preparing dinner, mesmerized by reports coming in from Punta Gorda and Port Charlotte as the hurricane made landfall. The cameras caught trees falling, roofs being ripped from buildings, and boats tossed like toys in a bathtub. She couldn't decide if the reporters out in the storm were crazy or brave. Charley was headed straight for Orlando determined to do as much damage as possible.

The windows rattled and the building shook with the force of the wind. Lizzie curled up in her chair, a flashlight within reach on the nearby table, unable to tear herself from the television. The power flickered several times before going out completely. Lizzie peered out at the downpour. Sometime after nine o'clock, the winds quieted. She grabbed the flashlight and stepped onto the landing.

The night was pitch black and chilly. She rubbed her arms for warmth. Without the sound of air conditioning units, it was ghostly quiet. A shiver of fear ran through her. She slipped back inside and used her flashlight to search for her weather radio. The weatherman said the eye of the storm had reached Orlando.

"The worst of the storm is behind us, but Orlando will be on the right side of the outer bands as they exit the state creating conditions conducive to tornados." The weatherman sounded tired but still calm and reassuring. Lizzie dozed off in the chair dreaming fitfully of her little house being damaged by the wild winds, lifted off its foundation like something from the _Wizard of Oz_.

"Hey, Wally," Jeffrey called from the steps of the trailer. Wally looked up from the toolbox he had been stowing in the back of his truck. "Why don't you head home, make sure Tim is alright?"

"I'm sure he's fine. I told him to board up the house before I left this morning."

"I'm sending everybody home. I don't want anyone on the roads when this thing hits." Jeffrey approached his friend and patted him on the back. "I'm sure we will have a lot of clean up so come in tomorrow if you don't have any damage at your place."

"Will do." Wally finished stowing his gear in the truck.

Jeffrey wandered through the construction site sending the workers home and asking them to return in the morning if they could. He returned to the office where he and Jenny cleared the desks, stowing important papers in filing cabinets.

"Drive safe, Jenny." She pulled away as he began a final walk through the site.

He cursed under his breath each time he found tools and pipes left lying around. He picked up these odds and ends, dumping them in the office before locking up. With the clouds moving in, he slipped behind the wheel of his truck and headed home.

At home, he placed masking tape in the shape of an X across his windows to keep the glass from shattering if something was blown into it. He stacked his plastic lawn chairs and table in the small bungalow and sat down with a couple of bottles, one of rum and one of Coke. He filled a glass with Coke about three quarters full before adding the rum. He swirled the liquid around and took a drink. The phone rang and he checked the caller id. It was Ian. He took another drink and flicked on the television, ignoring the phone.

He'd called every few days since their scene downtown. Jeffrey's blood boiled thinking about Ian's self-righteous attitude reinforcing all the reasons he had stopped speaking to him after Camylle's death.

Jeffrey filled his glass again. He'd always been a social drinker; hard not to be with his family either hosting a round of parties or being celebrated at some gala. Since Camylle had died, though, he found himself drinking rum or whiskey, disguised as a harmless soda. He went to more bars and clubs on the weekends, staying out till the last one closed. His tolerance grew and it took more drinks to numb the pain within his heart, to silence the recriminating voices in his mind.

Ian was a meddler, he thought he was helping, but Jeffrey didn't need help. He had things under control. His work never suffered and his pain was kept in check. He grew to resent that Ian didn't seem to care Camylle was gone. His life went on without skipping a beat.

Within an hour, Jeffrey's bottle of rum was half empty. He surfed through the channels finding nothing interesting on television. He pressed the power button and loaded several CDs into the stereo. The wind had picked up outside causing a large gardenia bush to beat on the window. Jeffrey turned the stereo up to drown out the scratching branches.

He returned to the couch with his laptop and went online to his favorite poker site. He entered his credit card number and purchased five hundred dollars worth of chips. He paused a moment before hitting the ENTER key to complete his transaction, remembering all the times he had tried to teach Camylle how to play. She'd given it a valiant try, knowing how much he enjoyed it, but had never been able to grasp what constituted a winning hand. He smiled and hit the button.

As the storm intensified, Jeffrey played on. His body flushed with the alcohol coursing through his veins and the excitement of several prosperous rounds of poker. He had increased his pot to a thousand dollars and was feeling lucky. He doubled his next bet, certain he couldn't lose. Everyone else folded, leaving Jeffrey alone with one other competitor who called his bet and the final card was turned.

His face fell when the credits went to the competitor. He lost eight hundred dollars in an instant. He spent a minute debating his next move and decided to play one more hand. Before the final card flipped, he went all in, confident this time he had the winning hand. He needed the ace of clubs; a king of hearts was revealed. Hotrod101 took the hand, leaving Jeffrey wiped out. He logged off in disgust and pounded the drink he had poured in anticipation of his victory.

Restless, Jeffrey wandered from living room to bedroom, to kitchen, the walls closing in on him. Unable to remain inside any longer he opened the front door and stepped into the storm. The wind blew the door out of his hand, slamming it into the wall. The palm fronds thrashed, like a drowning person waving for help. Bullets of icy rain beat on his bare arms.

A metallic noise drew Jeffrey's attention. He stepped out from the relative shelter of the entryway in search of the noise. The wind pushed against him, slowing his progress. As he rounded the corner toward the main house, he noticed the back porch roof rising and falling, three or four inches. He stood entranced by the impending destruction, until a large tree branch crashed to the ground at his feet. All the warnings about being outside in a storm like this came flooding back to him; the images of pine needles piercing boarded up windows like nails in a coffin, live power lines flapping, and road signs ripped from the ground were enough to restore his senses and send him back inside.

Jeffrey returned to the couch ignoring his wet clothes and poured another drink, draining the last of the rum. He threw the drink back in a single gulp as the power flickered and died. He fumbled through the living room stubbing his toe on the coffee table before finding a flashlight in his nightstand. He depressed the on switch but nothing happened. Twisting the cap off, he swore upon finding the battery compartment empty.

"What the..." A flash of lightning illuminated the room and cut him off mid-thought, revealing a pack of batteries in the open drawer. Jeffrey pulled them out only to find they were the wrong size. He dropped the batteries and flashlight into the drawer and threw himself onto the bed. In a matter of minutes, he passed out.

### CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

Lizzie awoke with a crick in her neck, stood, and stretched her tight limbs. Sun streamed in the front window and drew her attention. She turned on the television, grateful the power had returned, and found a news report on the damage around town, trying to take note of road closures as she brushed her teeth.

Lizzie ambled down the stairs enjoying the cool morning. She crossed the parking lot and pulled fists full of pine straw off her windshield, thankful there was no damage to her car. When she left I-4 for the smaller streets of downtown, she found oak trees and power lines blocking her path. She parked at a convenience store and walked the remaining distance, anxious to see how her home had fared in the storm.

Her jaw dropped when she reached her front yard. A massive tree limb protruded from the roof, shingles dotted the yard, and one corner of the porch had collapsed under the weight of a leaning telephone pole. She scanned the rest of the neighborhood finding similar damage, but when she glanced toward Mae's house, she was heartened to see it appeared unscathed. She returned her attention to her own home and picked her way up the front walk.

Water trickled over her feet when she opened the door. She slogged through the living room assessing the damage. With the windows boarded up, she could see little and chastised herself for not bringing a flashlight.

Lizzie attempted to call Emma, but got a recording stating all circuits were busy. She hung up the phone in frustration and jogged across the street to meet Mae who had come onto the porch. She gave Mae a warm hug and they sat in the rockers.

"Did you have any damage?" Lizzie asked.

"Nothing major. A bathroom window cracked, but didn't break, and a tree came down in the back, but it missed the house by a couple of feet." Mae looked at Lizzie's house and shook her head. "I'm sorry about your place. Have you been inside?"

Lizzie nodded. "I don't know how I'll get the water out, the floor must be ruined now, and after all the work Ian did too."

"The homeowner's insurance should cover most of the repairs." Mae gave her an encouraging pat on the hand.

"I will try to get in touch with the property manager so he can let the owner know. I'm glad I haven't moved anything in. I was supposed to do that today." A wave of panic overcame Lizzie. "What am I going to do? My lease is up Monday."

"I have an extra bedroom if you need a place to stay," Mae offered.

"That is so kind of you." Lizzie squeezed her neighbor's hand and smiled. "I'll let you know." Her cell phone played "Praise You in the Storm," the tone designated for Emma.

"I'm glad you called. I have been trying to get through, but couldn't get a signal."

"Are you okay?" Emma asked.

"The apartment is fine, the house on the other hand..." Lizzie filled her friend in on the damage.

"I'm so sorry. We'll be over in half an hour to help you clean up. I think Ron has a large broom we can use to push the water outside. Does the neighborhood have power?"

"No, and by the looks of things it will be out for some time still."

"Okay, you sit tight. We'll get there as soon as we can."

"Thanks, Emma, see you soon." Lizzie relaxed some knowing help was on the way.

"I suppose I should start pulling boards off the windows," Lizzie said, pushing herself out of the rocking chair. "If there is anything I can do for you please yell."

"I'm fine," Mae assured her. "I think I'll just sit out here and watch all the excitement." More people were out now, wandering the neighborhood, taking in the damage. The buzz of chainsaws filled Lizzie's ears as the residents started the clean up efforts, and mothers called for their children to stay away from the power lines trailing across the yards and street.

Lizzie grabbed her toolbox from the car, picked out a hammer, and started prying boards loose. The large plywood squares were heavy and awkward. She left them on the ground underneath the windows once she freed them, waiting for Ron to help move them. Her hands were red and blistered when she pulled the last nail out. She carried two of the smaller boards from the bathroom windows around the house and leaned them against the porch. She brushed her palms together and sank onto the front steps.

Neighbors mingled around a large tree that had toppled across the narrow street. Several men held chainsaws at the ready while others searched for any electrical wires. When it was determined there was no danger of electrocution, the men revved the saws and attacked the tree, shearing branches off into large piles. Lizzie watched their progress for several minutes before turning to see Emma and Ron strolling down the sidewalk three houses away. She jogged out to meet them, her waterlogged shoes making a loud squishing sound.

"What a mess," Emma exclaimed.

"How was your drive?"

"We had to make a dozen detours, but I suspect the roads are the least of our problems," Ron replied. "Getting all the homes repaired is going to be a long process." He let out a long whistle as they approached the house.

"Everything is going to be fine, girl," Emma said giving Lizzie a squeeze. They entered the dark house and Ron set up a pair of lanterns on the kitchen counters. Emma started pushing water out of the living room onto the front porch with a large broom while Ron went in search of a ladder to borrow.

"Check with Mae, across the street," Lizzie called as he left. The women worked in silence, the only sounds came from saws, cracking limbs, and the crash of branches falling to the ground. Even the birds seemed to have left town in the wake of this storm.

With the water swept from the floors, Emma and Lizzie ventured outside to find Ron on the roof circling the protruding tree limb. Two men finished stacking enough wood for an ice age and looked around for a new task.

"Excuse me, would you guys be able to give me a hand?" Ron called. The men looked around in bewilderment trying to locate the source of the entreaty. Lizzie waved at them and then pointed to the roof. They smiled and nodded. One man was tall and thin as a beanstalk with silky brown hair that fell to his shoulders. The other was also tall, but broad like a linebacker, with massive shoulders and cropped black hair. They mounted the ladder to join Ron.

"That's a big hole," the broad man commented after making a complete circuit. "I got a tarp at home if you want to borrow it."

"Thanks, I think we'll take you up on that," Ron said.

"How far into the house does it go?" the thin man asked.

"It didn't go through too far," Ron replied.

The men discussed the options for several minutes before the broad man came down. "Show me where the end of it is," he said heading for the front door.

"Not hard to find, smack dab in the middle of the kitchen," Lizzie said but followed him inside anyway. The man looked around at the bare house.

"You have a step stool or anything?" he asked.

Lizzie shook her head. "Just a couple of beach chairs."

The man scratched his head and glanced around. "Lenny, I think you might need to come down here."

"Be right there," came the disembodied reply. The sound of footsteps on the roof followed by the creaking of the aluminum ladder preceded his appearance in the doorway.

"What's up?" Lenny asked with a thick southern accent.

"This young lady only has a beach chair and I don't think it will hold me. Think you can reach it?"

Lenny craned his neck, giving the hole a thoughtful look. "Where's the beach chair?" he asked. Lizzie retrieved it from the bedroom and set it up under the hanging branch.

Lizzie and the other man took position on either side of the chair grasping the arms and pressing into the ground. Lenny studied the chair, a nervous look on his face. He glanced around the room again, snapped his fingers, and ran out the front door. A second later Lenny returned carrying a small square of plywood.

He laid the wood across the seat of the chair, making sure the fit was snug between the supports, and stepped onto the makeshift platform with the chainsaw. When he started it, the noise was deafening, reverberating off the bare walls. Sawdust rained down like a warm snow causing Lizzie to shut her eyes against the swirling debris. In less than a minute, Lenny stepped down clutching a three-foot section of the limb. Ron could be heard struggling on the roof with the remaining section. Twigs snapped and popped as the limb rolled, landing on the ground with a wet thud that seemed to shake the earth.

A shaft of dusty light fell through the four-foot hole casting a spotlight on the kitchen floor. Lizzie spied something black slithering across the floor. A shrill scream escaped her lips as she jumped onto the beach chair.

"It's just a little ol' black snake," Lenny said with a laugh. Lizzie didn't move from her perch. Lenny shook his head, scooped up the wriggling reptile, and set him loose outside. Lizzie took a tentative step down, head swiveling from side to side searching for any more unwelcome guests.

"Would you mind checking to make sure there aren't any more?"

"Sure thing, miss," the broad man said. Lizzie nodded with gratitude before dashing outside.

### CHAPTER TWENTY NINE

Lizzie walked around outside looking for Ron and Emma. In the backyard, she found the offending tree limb. Ron and Emma stood on the far side deep in conversation and didn't notice her approaching.

"I guess I'm going to need to get a tarp up there," Lizzie said stepping around the limb.

"Yeah, one of the guys offered to loan us one," Ron said.

Emma took a step toward Lizzie and encircled her with one arm to walk her away from the pile of wood and leaves. "Ron and I think maybe you should consider letting this project go."

Lizzie stiffened and turned to her friend. "How can you say that, after all the work we've done?" Lizzie didn't try to hide the note of hurt in her tone.

"You've done an amazing job, and I'm sure it would have been a lovely home, but this is serious damage. It's going to cost a lot of money. It's not just the roof. With the amount of flooding, there's a chance of mold in the walls. The floors will have to be completely replaced, not to mention the damage to the porch and any structural issues that might have caused."

"The homeowners insurance should cover those things."

"But you aren't the homeowner," Emma said. Lizzie could see the concern in her friend's eyes and knew she didn't mean to upset her but her anger flared.

"If you don't think I can fix this then just say so."

"That's not it at all," Emma replied. "We're just worried you will spend your money to get the repairs done and the homeowner won't reimburse you. What's to stop him from filing a claim with the insurance and keeping the money?"

"So it can just go toward the rent," Lizzie insisted, unwilling to give any ground.

Emma hesitated. "That might work, but I'm still afraid you don't have a realistic idea of the cost. These repairs could cover a year of rent, in addition to the investment you've already made."

"And you're worried I won't want to stay here for a year?"

"Lizzie, we don't doubt you in any way, we just want you to take some time to think about it before diving in. Pray about whether or not this is the right thing for you. You're not just investing your time and money, but your heart. What happens if the owner decides he wants the place for himself? It's easy to strike a deal like you have when the place is a rundown shack, but once it's restored..." Emma turned to the house.

They now stood in the front yard and even with the damaged porch the house looked worlds better than when they had first stood here. The soft yellow color was warm in the overcast morning, the white shutters crisp and welcoming. It was easy to imagine the porch repaired, creating a charming home in an inviting neighborhood. Lizzie felt a swell of pride followed by a twinge of fear. Could she bear to lose the house after all her hard work?

Ian pounded on Jeffrey's door for a third time. When he heard movement inside he took a step back. The door swung open revealing a disheveled Jeffrey, wrinkled shirt, sleep-encrusted eyes, hair sticking up in all directions. Ian held out a cup of coffee. Jeffrey ignored the offering, turned around, and shuffled into the living room where he collapsed onto the sofa.

"I tried calling first, but you didn't answer," Ian said, following Jeffrey inside.

"What time is it?"

"A little after nine."

"I'm late!" Jeffrey cursed and ran to the bathroom.

Ian remained in the living room reviewing the evidence of the previous night's activities. The coffee table was cluttered with an empty glass and rum bottle, a dirty plate and fork, a candy wrapper, and several magazines. Pushing aside the dirty glass and bottle, he set the coffee down.

"Look, I'm sorry, maybe I shouldn't have dragged you home the other night, maybe I should have let you have your fun, but I'm worried about you," Ian yelled toward the bathroom.

"Forget it."

"I heard you went to your parents' house." There was no response, so he changed tactics. "Have you talked to Michelle?"

"You and I both know that ship has sailed." Jeffrey emerged from the bedroom wearing a pair of jeans and a wrinkled t-shirt. He noticed the coffee cup and grabbed for it.

"She hasn't called and you are too stubborn to call her, right?"

"She made it quite clear she wasn't all that interested in me." Jeffrey shuffled through the clutter on the table.

"You were acting rather possessive if I remember correctly."

"Like you said, there are other girls, she wasn't anything special." Finding his keys, Jeffrey pulled on a pair of sneakers and bent low to tie the laces.

"She wasn't? Hmm," Ian sat thoughtful for a minute rubbing his chin. "Then why did you tell Lizzie about her?"

Jeffrey fumbled with the laces. Ian caught a look of guilt flit across his face, like a child caught stealing from the cookie jar, but it was gone in an instant replaced by the vacant look Ian knew so well.

"Something about that girl just makes me talk."

"Yeah, I know what you mean." Ian reflected on his interactions with Lizzie and couldn't control the smile playing at his lips. "Well, glad to know you're still alive. For what it's worth, I think you should call Michelle."

Ian let himself out and picked his way across the debris-strewn yard to the driveway. In the car, he scrolled through his cell phone looking for Lizzie's number. He pressed send, but the call wouldn't go through. He tried twice more with the same result before deciding to drive to her house.

Some large trees had been pushed out of the road making way for traffic while others still lay on top of cars in driveways. He found himself offering up a prayer that Lizzie's place hadn't sustained any damage. He turned onto Washington Avenue and found the brick-paved street littered with twigs and leaves that had escaped the neighborhood clean up crew. Piles of dirt marked spots where trees had been uprooted, now their corpses stood as pyramids of firewood.

Ian recognized Lizzie standing in the front yard with a dark woman. They seemed to be in a heated conversation and he debated interrupting before cutting the engine and slipping out of his seat.

"I'm not walking away," he heard Lizzie yell before storming into the house. He hesitated for a moment before approaching the woman still standing in the yard.

"Everything all right?" he asked.

Emma turned and he recognized the pain on her face. As a child, he'd seen the same look on his mother's face whenever she'd disciplined him.

"It's been a difficult morning," Emma said. "What can I do for you?"

"I stopped by to see if Lizzie is okay. I've been doing some work for her," he hurried to add as Emma's eyes narrowed, sizing him up.

"The girl is okay, the house not so much." Emma walked with him inside. The floors still glistened with dampness. He studied the boards before his gaze was drawn to the ceiling.

"Ian," Lizzie exclaimed from the hallway. "Can you believe this? All of your hard work ruined."

"Did the whole house flood?" he asked.

"Seems to have been just the living room and kitchen."

Ian nodded. "I thought there was a slight slope when I was working. Normally I wouldn't say that was a good thing, but in this case..." He looked from Emma to Lizzie. "Are you going to be able to repair it?"

"We were just talking about that," Lizzie replied waving at Emma. "Emma doesn't think I should even try, what do you think?"

Ian shifted in discomfort, trying to gage the relationship between the women. "It's a lot of work, but you seem to be up to the task. Of course it would be understandable if you didn't want to."

"Why wouldn't I want to?"

"I'm happy to do what I can," He offered with a surrendering raise of his hands. "We might be able to salvage some of the wood if we rip it up right away and dry it out."

"Thank you, Ian."

"If you want, I can run home to get my tools and be back in a couple of hours." He edged toward the door anxious to leave.

"That would be wonderful."

### CHAPTER THIRTY

The neighborhood settled back into its quiet rhythms despite the power still being out. Lizzie helped Ron carry the remaining limbs to the garbage pile, amazed at how quickly the neighborhood had been cleaned up; however, blue tarps covered several homes making the long-term affects of the storm evident and the telephone pole still rested on the collapsed roof of the front porch, its wires trailing across the yard.

She moved around the house taking photos of the damage for the property manager until the sound of a car drew her attention and she returned to the driveway.

Ian carried a toolbox and a crowbar in one hand, and a fast food bag in the other. His stride was purposeful and confident. She felt the now familiar tingle when his eyes met hers.

"I brought an extra burger in case you were hungry," he offered.

"Emma ran out to pick up some Chinese food, but you go ahead and eat so it doesn't get cold."

Ian set the toolbox on the floor and dropped into a chair. Lizzie sat next to him.

"I hope you didn't have any damage at your house," she said, ashamed she hadn't thought to ask him before.

"No, my condo is snug between several other units." He wiped his face with a napkin and dropped the empty wrapper back into the bag.

"I'll save the other one for later." He opened the toolbox and removed a chisel and pair of kneepads, which he pulled on as he studied the floor. He circled the room before kneeling to begin the demolition.

"Anything I can do to help?" Lizzie asked feeling useless just watching him work.

He paused, resting on his heels. "Do you have any towels? You can dry the boards off as I remove them. Might be able to salvage some of them that way."

"I'll call Emma and see if she can pick up some on her way back." After making the call, Lizzie went in search of the few rags left in the master bath. They were stiff with soap that had not been completely washed out, making a soft crunching sound as she grabbed them.

When she returned to the living room, Ian already had several boards removed so Lizzie started wiping them down. The edges of the wood were dark and cold to her touch as if she could almost wring water from them. The two worked in silence until Emma arrived.

"Good gracious," Emma exclaimed upon entering the house. "You've got a lot done."

She carried a large paper sack with grease stains at the bottom and two plastic bags with towels peeking over the edges. Lizzie jumped up and took the towels. Ian stood, his knees popping as they straightened.

The women pulled out cartons of food and set them on the kitchen counter. Ron wandered in from the yard to grab a carton of mushu pork that he took to the front porch. The others followed. Ron and Emma sat in the chairs, fumbling with their chopsticks, while Lizzie sat on the steps.

"There's plenty if you want some," Lizzie offered Ian. "I can never eat a full meal."

"Thanks," he said as he leaned against the doorway, "but I'll just take a break for a few minutes then see if I can finish removing the floor before it gets too late." He glanced toward a bank of clouds moving in and threatening more rain.

Lizzie watched a car pull into Mae's driveway. A rotund man struggled out of the driver's side while a slender, elegant looking woman slipped out of the passenger seat. They were an unlikely pair, yet Lizzie watched the lady walk around the front of the car and slip an arm around the man in a tender embrace.

"Earth to Lizzie," Emma called waving a hand in front of her face.

"Sorry, did you say something?"

"Ron said everything is cleaned up outside and wanted to know what else we can do to help."

"Other than getting the roof covered, I don't know what more we can do until the power company comes." Lizzie gave a slight shrug. "You guys can take off if you want."

Emma gave her a dubious look. "Are you sure? I hate to leave you with such a mess on your hands."

"It's fine. Go home, relax, there will be plenty to do once the porch can be repaired." Lizzie gave her friend a weak smile, her energy waning after the sleepless night.

"If you're sure..."

"Everything will be fine," Lizzie said. "Tomorrow I'll see if I can find a storage unit for my things. Would you guys mind if I crashed at your place until the roof is fixed?"

"Of course not. I'll get the guest room ready for you." Emma pulled Lizzie into an affectionate hug before gathering her things and trailing Ron to the car.

Lizzie watched as they disappeared around the corner. Most of the neighbors had retreated indoors with the bulk of the exterior clean up finished. She imagined the other families that had sustained roof damage and the subsequent flooding, now picking through their belongings to see what could be salvaged. Relief washed over her that she hadn't lost anything irreplaceable.

### CHAPTER THIRTY ONE

The parking lot was already full when Jeffrey arrived at work. He took stock of the area thankful it didn't appear to have sustained much damage. He heard men laughing and followed the sound into the unfinished building.

"There's the boss man," one of them yelled as he approached.

"We was beginning to think you had been blown away by the storm," another joked.

"Sorry guys," Jeffrey answered. "I appreciate you all coming out. Have you walked through to see if anything seems out of order?"

"We picked up some debris outside, but haven't gone through the building yet," Wally said.

"Alright, let's split up and take a look around." Jeffrey directed. He rode the lift to the top, his gaze scanning each floor as he passed by, relieved he didn't see any glaring problems.

An hour later, the men regrouped on the first floor. Jeffrey thanked them all again for helping with the clean up before turning his attention to the office, thankful the trailer had escaped damage as well. He made quick work of uncovering the computers and getting the space ready for Monday morning.

He patted his pockets looking for his cell phone only to find it wasn't there. He jogged to the truck, where it was lying on the seat.

He noticed a missed call and found himself hoping it was Michelle. He scrolled to the call log and found his mother's number. He grimaced remembering his recent visit with his parents. She'd called twice since then pleading him to forgive them and to come over again. Each time he deleted the voicemail before she finished talking. He played the message now, expecting more of the same, prepared to delete as soon as she started speaking, but there was something different in her voice. Instead of the tone of desperate begging, he heard crying.

"I know... you might not care... but I ...thought... you should know. Your father...he had a heart attack... while preparing for the storm. He's in critical condition... at Orlando Regional Hospital."

Jeffrey sat dumbstruck. His anger drained away replaced by cold fear. He moved without thinking, slamming the car door, and peeling out of the parking lot. He arrived at the hospital twenty minutes later and barreled past the startled front desk attendant. He tapped his hand against the wall waiting for the elevator. When the polished metal doors slid open, he jumped inside and stabbed the button for ICU before anyone else could get onboard. The machine crept up to intensive care.

Stepping off the elevator, he took a moment to orient himself, assailed by the smell of antiseptic, latex, and bleach. Memories of days spent at Camylle's bedside came flooding back, paralyzing him.

"Can I help you, sir?" a nurse asked. Jeffrey turned his head to look at her.

"Sir?" she asked again reaching out to touch his arm. Her touch was light yet it seemed to sear his skin.

"My father," he managed to say through his constricted throat.

"Is he a patient?"

Jeffrey nodded.

"What's his name? I can help you find him."

"Edward Robbins."

The nurse nodded in recognition and led him through the security doors. He followed her past half a dozen rooms.

"He's right in here."

Jeffrey took a few steps, wobbling like a toddler. His mother sat by the bed with her back to the door. He peered around her to see his father, who had always been larger than life, lying there shriveled and pale. His face was only a shade or two darker than the sheet pulled up to his chin. His eyes were sunken hollows. A monitor beeped, measuring his heartbeat.

Jeffrey stopped behind his mother's chair and settled a hand on her shoulder. She looked up, her haggard face brightening when she saw him. She reached for his hand and clasped it. Her lips trembled and tears welled in her eyes.

"I'm so sorry, Jeff."

Jeffrey shook his head. "Now's not the time. How's he doing?"

"The doctor says the next twenty-four hours will be critical. They have him sedated right now."

Jeffrey sat in a vinyl recliner on the other side of the bed. His father's hand dangled over the edge, angry bruising visible around an I-V needle.

The room was a neutral beige color with a beach scene hanging on the wall across from the bed. A plastic water pitcher with a yellow lid, a box of cheap tissues, and flimsy phone sat on a rolling table. He noticed the heavy silence and thought of how different it had been when sitting with Camylle on the cancer ward, where he could hear the groans of other patients, the quick footsteps of nurses and orderlies. Here in the ICU, silence was revered, protected. Jeffrey found himself wanting to scream, simply to see what would happen. Would he be tackled and carried out with a gag in his mouth? Would they sedate him and put him in restraints? He sucked in a deep breath preparing to scream.

His chest deflated a moment later when a doctor entered the room, chart in hand. The doctor looked up from the documents and Jeffrey tried to make eye contact with him, seeking out unspoken answers.

"Dr. Woodard, this is my son, Jeffrey." Jacquelyn motioned across the bed.

He nodded, his gaze directed to a monitor where a line bounced in a series of erratic spikes and dips. Jeffrey noticed the corners of his mouth turn down as he analyzed the rhythm.

"I want to keep your husband sedated for another day," the doctor addressed Jacquelyn. "His chances of recovery are improved by allowing his body to receive ample rest before we bring him back around."

"Can he hear us?" Jeffrey asked.

"It's hard to say. Some patients have reported being able to hear and understand their families talking to them while they are in this semi-comatose state, but the science is not definitive." As he spoke, he made notes on the chart before snapping it shut and exited the room before Jeffrey could ask anything more.

"What a pleasant bedside manner," Jeffrey snarled. He stood and paced at the end of the bed.

"I've heard he's an excellent doctor and that's what matters."

Jeffrey started to place his hands on the foot of the bed, but stopped at the memory of Camylle's pain each time the bed had moved. He searched his father's face for any sign of recognition that they were in the room, but found only peaceful sleep. He blew out a loud breath and shook his head.

"He doesn't want me here anyway."

"Your father loves you very much." Jacquelyn reached for her son's hands.

"I'm just a disappointment to him."

"Oh, Jeffrey, no. That isn't true at all. Yes, your father was disappointed when you left the company, but he is proud of how well you have done in such a short time. We both are."

"I heard him when I was at the house. He thinks I abandoned my obligations."

"You have to understand, your father, he's never been very emotional. He buries himself in work when emotional issues arise and thinks that is the answer for everyone. Don't you remember when his mother died? He practically moved into his office and I was left to deal with the funeral arrangements."

Jeffrey nodded. He remembered his father disappearing for several weeks around the time of his grandmother's death, his parents arguing late one night when Edward had finally returned home.

"He realizes he made a mistake when he tried to send you to Texas." Jacquelyn paused, taking a deep breath, tears glistening in her eyes. "He got it in his head it would be better for everyone if you went away for awhile and I didn't try to talk him out of it. I hope one day you can forgive us for that."

The family business had always been in Florida, so when his dad sent him to Texas to evaluate a property he was considering purchasing he grew suspicious. Camylle had just been diagnosed with the cancer and told she had only a few months left. He refused to leave with Camylle so sick. She pressured him to do as his father asked, assuring him she would be fine for the week it would take him to do the evaluation. Reluctantly he agreed.

When he'd returned she was in the hospital. The cancer had been aggressive and attacked her organs. At first, she wouldn't allow him to see her, but she relented after he argued that he had gone to Texas for her.

Jeffrey felt the fist that had been clenched around his heart for the past four years relax ever so slightly. "You're my parents and you should have been there to support me, instead I felt completely alone." He stopped to reflect on what his mother had just said. "But I guess I also should have thought about the loss you were feeling. I know how much you loved Camylle."

Jacquelyn stood and pulled Jeffrey into her arms. "I wanted to help you through Camylle's illness, but you shut us out after the whole Texas thing."

He leaned into his mother and squeezed. He had forgotten how comforting her embrace could be, how she always smelled like vanilla, how she had always made the world seem less frightening.

### CHAPTER THIRTY TWO

Ian rested on his haunches, the end of his crowbar under the lip of another plank, but his attention was on the doorway where he could see Lizzie moving around in the next room. He watched her, relieved that the tension between them seemed to have dissipated. He wasn't sure where it had come from, but he had a feeling it had something to do with Jeffrey. He tried to imagine Lizzie and Jeffrey as a couple. The few times he'd seen them together he'd recognized an easy comfort between them, a familiarity that belied their short association.

Lizzie turned and caught him looking at her. He dropped his gaze and worked his crowbar, prying up another wet board. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her pull fresh towels from a plastic bag. She dragged one of the chairs closer to him and plopped down with a tired sigh. He noticed dark circles under her eyes.

"You look exhausted."

"Gee thanks, that's what every girl loves to hear." She gave a half-hearted laugh.

"Did you get any sleep last night?"

Lizzie shrugged. "I dozed off at some point."

"Why don't you go home, get some rest? There's not much left to do here."

"I'm fine," she said.

Ian nodded and handed her a piece of wood to dry. They fell into a rhythm with Lizzie finishing each piece as he freed the next. They worked for ten minutes without speaking.

"I talked to Jeffrey," she said, breaking the silence. Ian fumbled with the crowbar.

"About what?" he tried to sound casual.

"Grief, letting go, moving on, you know the things you wanted me to tell him because he wouldn't listen to you." She stood and straightened the stack of dried wood.

"How did he respond?"

"Defensive at first, but he seemed to consider what I said."

"Thank you." Hope swelled within Ian.

In an instant he was on his feet pulling Lizzie into his arms. He felt her body tense for a moment before her arms wrapped around him and her head settled on his chest. Despite all the strength she displayed she now seemed vulnerable. He inhaled, memorizing the scent of lavender coming from her hair. Lizzie broke the embrace first, stepping back, her gaze downcast. Ian noticed her stifling a yawn. It was only six o'clock but her eyelids drooped as if it were midnight.

"Go home," he said. "You need to rest. I can lock up for you."

"How much longer is this going to take?"

"Not more than thirty minutes." Ian scanned the corner of the room still needing attention; he counted about twenty more lengths of wood.

"I can make it that long," She reached for the last free board and started rubbing it down. Ian sank back to the floor and worked the crowbar with a renewed energy, anxious to finish the job so she could rest.

Half an hour later, they stood together surveying their work. The living room, which had looked so perfect two days before, now stood exposed. Ian waited outside the front door watching Lizzie drape the last damp towel over the sink. Her back was slumped, several small leaves were tangled in her blond curls, her bare feet were dusty, yet she still exuded a quiet beauty he hadn't seen in other women. She turned toward the door and caught his gaze. Their eyes locked and he saw a flicker of something he couldn't quite place, was it sadness, anxiety, fear? He felt a desire to protect her from whatever it was. She crossed the living room, picked up her still wet tennis shoes, and joined him outside.

"Do you think we will know tomorrow how much of the flooring I can reuse?" she asked as she fumbled with her keys.

"I would give it a couple of days to make sure the wood is completely dry. I have another commitment Monday night, but I can come over Tuesday to see where we stand."

Lizzie nodded. "I'm so sorry this happened, you must have better things to do with your free time. I'll find a way to pay you for all the extra work."

They ambled down the walkway to her car. She tossed her shoes through the open window into the passenger seat. Ian reached for her arm and turned her to face him.

"Working with my hands is the gift God gave me, and I'm happy to use it to help you. Besides, you may have helped one of my best friends." Again, he saw that flicker in her eyes.

"He still has some big decisions to make," she said.

"I know, but if he listened to you that's more progress than I ever made." He paused remembering the call he'd received from Jacquelyn. "Do you remember what day you talked to him?"

"Sometime last week."

His lips turned up in a slow smile as the pieces came together in his mind. "His mom called me a few days ago, and said Jeffrey had been to the house. She was worried because he seemed disoriented. What if he drove over there after you talked to him?"

"I guess it's possible." A yawn swallowed her final word.

"I'm sorry, here I am yammering on when you can barely keep your eyes open. Are you okay to drive?"

"I'll be fine." She opened the door and dropped into the seat. Ian held the door a moment before pressing it closed.

"I'll see you in a few days then. Drive safe." He watched her back out and wave as she shifted into drive. When her brake lights disappeared around the corner, he hefted his toolbox into his trunk.

### CHAPTER THIRTY THREE

The hotel was crowded with tourists who had altered their plans when Hurricane Charley first threatened Florida, and the next three weeks passed in a blur. Lizzie volunteered for additional shifts, happy for the opportunity to make some extra money. Now a new storm was churning in the Atlantic.

"The Harris-Singh wedding is scheduled for this weekend," wailed Tammy, the convention manager.

"Maybe this new storm won't affect us. I mean really, what are the chances of us being hit by two storms in one year?" Lizzie said with a confident smile.

"We're still reeling from Charley. I've been trying to get a contractor out to the house for weeks but they are all booked."

"I know what you mean. Ian was able to patch my roof, but I don't know if it will survive another storm. I can manage the wedding if you need to take care of other things."

"That would be wonderful. I have several reports to do and need to prepare banquet event orders for the medical group arriving in two weeks. I could arrange a meeting with the couple this afternoon to introduce you."

"Sure, just let me know what time." Lizzie gave Tammy's hand a reassuring squeeze.

Back at her own desk, Lizzie pulled up the National Weather Service website for more information on the new storm. The center of Hurricane Frances was north of the Turks and Caicos Islands and moving toward the Bahamas. The local news stations showed the Florida Governor calling for residents on the east coast to evacuate in advance of the storm. She slumped in her seat, chewing on the inside of her lip, anxiety filling the pit of her stomach.

"Lizzie, would you be interested in working through the weekend if the storm comes this way?" Jonathan called from his office. She swiveled her chair to see him.

"What would you need me to do?"

"Man the front desk, be here to answer questions, provide information, stuff like that. I don't know how many people will still be in-house, but we need staff on hand to deal with any guests we do have." Jonathan sounded tired and she noticed his clothes were wrinkled. "You'll be on the clock the entire time you're here," he added.

"Will there be anyone with me?"

"You can choose one of the front desk agents to assist if you want."

"I'll ask Stephen," she said as she turned back to her computer. She typed an instant message to Stephen and smiled when he replied he would be happy to help.

"We're both in," Lizzie called to Jonathan.

"Thanks, we should know for sure what the storm is doing by the end of the day. I'll touch base with you then."

Lizzie spent the rest of the morning preparing for the storm. She printed manifests of all the guests scheduled to arrive over the next four days and checked it hourly for cancellations. At one o'clock, she set off for the convention office to meet with Stella Harris and Naveen Singh to discuss their wedding.

"It's nice to meet you both," Lizzie greeted the couple as she shook their hands. "I'm so sorry we aren't having the best weather for you, but I can assure you we'll do everything we can to make this weekend memorable."

Stella gave a nervous laugh. "I guess not many people can say they were married during a hurricane."

"This is true." Lizzie was heartened to see the couple remaining positive despite this wrinkle in their plans.

"My parents came from India," Naveen said with a faint accent. "I don't think they would be able to make the trip again if we rescheduled the wedding, so we will make the best of what we have." He wrapped an arm around his fiancée and gave her a squeeze.

Lizzie was introduced to their parents before they all took seats to discuss the wedding. Arrangements were made to have the conference rooms opened up and decorated overnight in the event Hurricane Frances changed course and impacted Orlando more than anticipated; the dinner menu was modified to items that could be managed by a reduced staff, and party favors were replaced with mini hurricane survival kits.

At seven o'clock Lizzie shut down her computer and traded her high heels for sneakers. Outside golden rays from the sinking sun reflected off the glass high rises. The sidewalks were already crowded with couples and friends heading to dinner. The smells of barbeque and fries made her stomach growl and she realized she had missed lunch.

She stopped in her tracks when she approached her house, surprised to see a black car in the driveway. A large man who was more than six feet tall and close to three hundred pounds, with thick black hair and a beaklike nose stood on the porch. Lizzie hesitated, unsure if she should keep walking or approach this man. The man caught sight of her and called out.

"Hello there! Do you happen to know the occupants of this house?" His voice was surprisingly high-pitched for a man of his size.

Out of the corner of her eye, Lizzie noticed Mae sitting on her porch, she hesitated a moment then crossed the street. The man called out again and started down the stairs toward her.

"Do you know that man?" Mae asked as Lizzie joined her. Lizzie shook her head.

"Excuse me ladies, I'm looking for the residents of that home." The man pointed across the street as he approached Mae's front steps but refrained from joining them on the porch.

"And who, may I ask, are you?" Mae said, a steely edge to her voice Lizzie hadn't heard before.

"Ralph Anderson, my stepfather owns the house and has been renting it out. I'm in town on business and he asked me to stop by to check on things."

"Does the property manager know you are here? Maybe you should contact him to make an appointment to meet the renter," Mae replied.

"Unfortunately I only have a few hours before my flight. Perhaps you can tell me about the occupant. My father received a letter from the management company saying the house sustained extensive damage during the hurricane a few weeks ago." The man looked back at the house. "Doesn't appear to be very damaged from out here."

"Young man, you can't always judge things by their outer appearances. Didn't your manager send photos with that letter?"

"I don't know ma'am. Jacob, my stepfather, didn't tell me anything about that, he just asked me to check on things. Do you know what the damage was?"

"I'm pretty sure the photos speak for themselves. If you are who you say you are then I suggest you speak to your father. You also might want to let him know what an eyesore he allowed it to become," Mae scolded.

"My step-father," Ralph corrected her, distaste dripping from his words. "What about the residents? Do you know them?"

"I do, and they seem very responsible." Mae gave Ralph a hard stare, as if daring him to ask more questions. He opened his mouth then shut it without a word, turning to look at the house.

"Thank you ma'am. I appreciate your time." Ralph gave Mae and Lizzie a last look then returned to the waiting vehicle.

"They?" Lizzie asked once the car had turned the corner.

Mae smiled. "I wasn't going to tell a strange man a single young lady lived there all by herself now was I?"

Lizzie felt a rush of comfort as well as a new appreciation for her neighbor. Knowing she had people watching out for her made her realize she wasn't as alone in the world as she sometimes thought.

"I had no idea you could be so intimidating," Lizzie laughed.

"I did raise two boys," Mae said with a twinkle in her eyes.

"Did I tell you the kitchen counters are being resurfaced this weekend? I found a guy who can do a granite overlay for half the cost of replacing them completely." Lizzie dug into her purse searching for the samples of the countertops she had chosen. She pulled out a small square of pale brown, almost yellow granite with flecks of black and amber.

"That should go nicely with your yellow walls." Mae held the chip up to the light, tilting it to see the variety of colors. "What is your next project?"

"I think the interior will be done after this weekend," Lizzie said. "I want to have a party to thank everyone who has helped out, but can't decide if I should wait until the landscaping is done as well."

Mae laughed. "Just trimming the bushes and cutting the grass was a tremendous improvement, what else are you planning to do?"

"I'd like to lay some pavers in the backyard for a patio area and create some more flower beds. I thought it would be nice to have a swing in the tree out back as well."

Mae nodded. "Avery and his wife used those brick pavers for a patio and it's lovely. He may have some left over. I'll ask when he comes this weekend."

"That would be wonderful. I'll check Craigslist also; maybe there are others out there who purchased more than they needed."

Twilight had settled while the women talked. Streetlights came on and windows emitted warm, yellow light. Lizzie heard children playing down the street. A dog barked a happy greeting to its owner, and faint strains of Bach came from an open window.

In the eight weeks since signing the rental agreement, Lizzie had made a home for herself and felt a sense of permanence and stability.

"Why don't you come for Sunday dinner next week?" Mae asked. "Maybe Avery can give you some pointers for the patio."

"I would like that," Lizzie said. They set a time and she rose to leave. "Have a good night," she called as she crossed the street.

### CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR

Hurricane Frances was moving slow, battering the Bahamas, leaving a wake of destruction. Lizzie packed a suitcase with enough clothes for three days, hoping she wouldn't need them all. Since she was going to ride out the storm at work, it had been agreed she didn't need to arrive before noon, so she spent the morning boarding up her home again.

"Are you sure you want to be at work during this storm?" Ron asked as they hung the last board.

"I'll admit I'm nervous leaving the house unattended after the last storm, but I'll be making extra cash. We're only at fifty percent occupancy so it shouldn't be too busy."

Ron nodded. "Let's hope this storm isn't as bad as the last one."

Satisfied the house was secured, she locked the door and shoved her suitcase into the car. Ten minutes later, she maneuvered into a tiny parking space, surprised to find the garage so full. Entering the lobby, she was met by a queue of people from the front desk, twisting back and forth three times before reaching the front door. She hurried into the office, depositing her suitcase under her desk before searching for Jonathan.

"What's going on?" she asked.

"Coastal evacuation. Every hotel in Orlando is filling up," Jonathan replied his breath coming in short gasps.

"Are you okay?" She laid a concerned hand on Jonathan's arm.

"Had to run to the kitchen and back. Really need to get in better shape."

Lizzie laughed. "What can I do to help out?"

"If there's an open station on the desk you can help with check-ins. I don't know how many rooms we have left, though."

"Alright, I'll check inventory and get out there."

She slipped behind the front desk where three other agents were already assisting guests. The next family in line rushed forward the moment they saw her, demanding her attention before she'd even logged into the computer.

"We need two connecting rooms, non-smoking, one with a king bed," the woman barked.

"Give me a moment to see what we have available," Lizzie said in an even voice. She pulled up the hotel inventory and scanned the remaining rooms. "How many in your party?"

"Five, two adults, three kids, that's why we need two rooms." The woman's impatience was evident.

"I don't have any connecting rooms available. I do have a room with two queen beds and I can see if we still have a rollaway you can use."

"That won't work. I have three boys; they aren't going to sleep together."

"I'm truly sorry, but as you can see we are quite busy and there are only so many rooms available. You may have better luck at a larger hotel, but I imagine everywhere else is just as crowded." Lizzie offered a sympathetic smile.

"This is ridiculous! We have been on the road since seven this morning. It took us five hours to get here from Vero Beach. I expect you to find rooms to accommodate me." The woman slapped her hand on the counter.

"Ma'am, I understand this is a stressful time, but yelling isn't going to help. I can only offer you what we have available. If you don't want to take this room then I'm sure there is someone in line behind you who will."

"Grace, listen to the lady." The husband stepped forward. "We don't have a lot of options at this point. I don't want to get in the car again." He pulled out his wallet and set a Visa card on the counter. "We'll take the room and the rollaway if you have one."

Lizzie took their information and booked the room. While she waited for the keys to print, she sent an instant message to her friends at other hotels looking for available rooms. Each of them replied they were in similar situations with long lines and limited accommodations.

"Thank you for your help," the man said as he shoved the keys into his pocket. "I hope you can forgive my wife."

"I completely understand. I'm sure she will be fine once you get settled in the room," Lizzie replied with a warm smile. As the next family made their way to her station, she checked the inventory again and found only two rooms remaining.

"Good afternoon, thank you for your patience," Lizzie greeted the new couple in front of her. "I have one room with a king bed available."

The couple gave each other an uncomfortable look. "Do you have anything with separate beds?" the woman asked with a shy smile.

"Unfortunately, I only have two rooms left, and I need to use the one with queen beds for a family."

"It's fine," the man said and smiled at the woman, "I can sleep on the floor."

"If we have any extra rollaways, I can send one up this evening," Lizzie offered. The young woman just nodded, an embarrassed blush reddening her face. When the reservation was completed and the couple had left, she checked the inventory one more time and found the hotel was at capacity.

"Can I have your attention please," she called to the crowd still waiting. "Quiet please!"

It took several minutes for the noise to settle down. "I'm afraid all of our rooms are now booked. If you want to wait here we would be happy to see if there are any other hotels in town that can accommodate you or if there are any shelters you may go to for the night."

The lobby erupted in groans and angry shouts.

Lizzie sent the front desk agents into the office with instructions to contact other properties and shelters. She watched families argue and children cry, fearing a riot might break out if she wasn't able to help these guests. An instant message appeared on her screen from Stephen and she let out a sigh of relief.

"I have some new information," she called, clapping her hands to get everyone's attention. The room slowly quieted with hundreds of eyes boring into her. "Several hotels in the area are opening up their ballrooms to accommodate guests. There will be a limited number of cots set up and plenty of extra blankets. I know it's not ideal, but it is a safe place to stay and that is what's most important now.

"Weather reports have the outer bands of the storm reaching us in a few hours. We are printing out a list of hotels where this option will be available as well as a list of shelters. I would recommend calling the location you wish to go to so they can hold a spot for you."

Questions were shot at her like machine gun fire. People began pushing forward trying to reach the desk. Lizzie caught a glimpse of figures exiting the office into the lobby and was surprised to see Stephen leading four of the bellmen into the crowd and creating a barricade along the desk. He called for the mob to settle down and form an orderly line. His voice boomed through the lobby commanding attention.

In minutes the lobby was organized in three lines with hotel employees providing print outs to each family as they passed by. When the last guest exited the lobby, Lizzie congratulated the employees for remaining calm during the ordeal.

"You guys did a great job," Jonathan addressed the group of front desk and bell service employees. "Those of you who are not on the team staying through the storm should get home before things get bad out there."

A glance out the window showed the sky was dark and a light rain was already falling. The small group of remaining employees cleaned up the soda cans, napkins, and discarded brochures littering the lobby. Jonathan pulled Lizzie aside.

"I appreciate you taking charge of the situation." Jonathan's praise surprised Lizzie. In the five years she'd worked for him, not once had Jonathan recognized her efforts. Lizzie smiled and nodded, at a loss for words.

"Are you sure you and Stephen can handle things tonight? With the place full I could see if anyone else would be willing to stay," Jonathan said.

"I hate to ask anyone at the last minute. I'm sure Stephen and I will be fine, but we may need some kitchen staff," Lizzie said.

"I'll see what I can do." Jonathan nodded and took off for the kitchen.

### CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE

Edward Robbins struggled to lift himself out of bed, still weak from his heart attack. He shuffled his slippered feet down the long hallway and entered the kitchen. Jacquelyn sat at the table nursing a cup of black coffee. He poured himself a cup before sinking into a chair across from her.

"I suppose I need to call someone to board up the house for this storm," Edward muttered.

"Jeffrey is already working on it," Jacquelyn replied. "I'm surprised you haven't heard him."

He took a sip of coffee and winced as he burned his tongue. Slamming the cup on the table, he sloshed more hot liquid over the sides onto his hand. Jacquelyn rose without speaking to get a towel, mopped up the mess and settled back into her chair. A faint hammering sound interrupted the heavy silence.

"Sounds like he's almost to this side of the house," Jacquelyn said.

"So now he's the model son?"

"Don't start, Edward." She glared and Edward sighed.

This subject had been a point of contention between him and his wife since his return from the hospital. He'd made a point of avoiding Jeffrey on the occasions he had been to the house, annoyed that his wife was so eager to welcome their son.

He reached for the business section of the newspaper fanned out on the table. He thumbed through the section, pausing periodically to skim a story, until his eyes caught on an article discussing the safety procedures on local construction sites.

The incident at the Plaza was only one in a rash of accidents on worksites around the city, but it was the main focus of this story. The journalist seemed intent on dragging the Robbins family name through the mud, rehashing many of Jeffrey's well-known social blunders. Edward could feel his blood pressure rising as he read. When he finished, he crumpled the paper and threw it across the room.

"The article about the Plaza?" Jacquelyn said.

"You knew about it?" he barked "Why didn't you say something?"

Jacquelyn shrugged. "What's to say? There isn't anything new in it."

Her casual attitude stoked Edward's anger. How could she be so nonchalant about all this; his good family name being tarnished by their selfish little brat? He heard the back door open and turned to see Jeffrey stepping into the kitchen from the back porch. He wore jeans and a faded t-shirt, a hammer dangling from his right hand. When their eyes met, Jeffrey stopped. He looked at his mother then back at his father.

"I hope I didn't wake you," Jeffrey stammered. "I left the windows near your bedroom until later."

"Is it true you were in a bar fight last month?" Edward demanded.

"I'm not sure what you mean." Jeffrey frowned.

Edward waved toward the ball of paper. "They say you were in a fight downtown."

"It was nothing." Jeffrey set the hammer on the counter and pulled a glass from the cupboard, which he filled with water. Edward studied him, his eyes narrowing into a menacing glare.

"Must have been something or the paper wouldn't have carried it."

"How many times have I heard you say you can't believe everything you read? I believe your words were 'the vultures will write whatever they can to discredit our family'"

"That they will," Edward grudgingly agreed. "But there is often at least a grain of truth in their lies."

"It was a misunderstanding." Jeffrey gulped down the last of the water. "I better finish up."

"Don't you walk out on me," Edward tried to yell, but in his weakened condition, it came out as a plaintive cry.

"Calm down," Jacquelyn said as the door shut once more. "You know you aren't supposed to get excited."

"How can I not get excited when that boy is around?"

"I know you're upset with him, but he is still our son."

Jacquelyn walked to the sink and rinsed out her cup. Edward watched her move, her steps graceful, and her stride confident. Even in her baggy pajamas she was elegant, the picture of aristocracy. For forty years she had stood by him, supported him, and now he felt she had turned against him.

"I'm going to get dressed," she said as she turned from the sink. "I need to run to the store before the weather gets bad. I hope they still have some Brie. I can't stand the thought of having just the blue cheese with my wine tonight." Jacquelyn disappeared into the hall leaving Edward alone at the table.

He sipped at his now cold coffee reflecting, he found himself doing this a lot since the heart attack. Reflecting on what he had done with his life, how his own father would be so disappointed to see the family legacy ending with him. The Robbins men had been in the real estate business for six generations. They'd obtained large tracts of land throughout the state of Florida, selling to development companies when the money was right and acquiring new land with the profits. The business had been passed from father to son, but now whom would it pass to? Would all that his family had built be parceled off to the highest bidder when he was dead? The thought depressed him but at the same time gave him resolve to get well, to defy nature and live on.

### CHAPTER THIRTY SIX

Jeffrey hefted a large plywood square onto his shoulder and walked around the house to his father's bedroom window. The curtains were still drawn, thick green drapes that blocked out the sun. Ian waited by the window.

"I'm surprised you called me to help," Ian said as he took a corner of the wood.

"Yeah, well don't read too much into it." Jeffrey scowled.

"It's nice of you to do this for your folks."

"Edward doesn't seem to think so."

"He'll come around." Ian set a nail in place.

"I don't know about that, he's a proud man and he feels like I have disgraced the family." Jeffrey beat a nail into his side of the window frame. "Maybe he's right."

"What celebrity family doesn't have a black sheep? Look at all those Hollywood types, they're in the news every week, and they don't seem too worried about it."

Jeffrey finished nailing the bottom of the board and leaned against the wall. His shoulders ached, his hands were dirty, and he longed to jump into the pool and cool off. The humidity was near a hundred percent making the air heavy and sticky.

"I don't know if Edward will ever accept me back into the family."

"You didn't exactly forgive him right away. You can't expect him to forgive you simply because you're now back in their lives."

"But my mom..." Jeffrey had been surprised at how quickly his mother had accepted him back into the family fold.

Ian shook his head. "Mom's are different. They have a connection to us our dads never can. It has something to do with the whole giving birth thing. Believe me, I heard that from my mom every time dad and I would fight."

"I guess." Jeffrey remained unconvinced. "Did you hear when the storm is expected to reach us?"

"Not until this evening, but the rain extends out several hundred miles so we could start seeing that soon." Ian looked toward the eastern horizon where clouds were building. "I'm glad I never got around to removing the tape from my windows."

"Me too, this is exhausting." Jeffrey hoisted another wooden square and the men repeated the task of securing it.

When all of the windows were covered, Ian and Jeffrey returned to the kitchen, and pulled a couple of cans of soda from the fridge.

"Mom wants me to stay here during the storm in case anything happens. She's worried Edward might have another attack."

Ian took a swallow of soda. "You gonna do it?"

"I don't know." Jeffrey turned up his can finishing off the drink in a long gulp, smacking his lips in appreciation. "I'm not sure I can stand her hovering over me all night and being cooped up with Edward isn't all that appealing."

"Well, I'm glad you called me for help. If you need anything else let me know." Ian rose and dropped his can in the recycling bin by the door as he left.

Jeffrey sat for a moment surprised at how quiet the house was. When he'd lived here, there had always been activity, the maid vacuuming, or the cook singing. He wandered through the empty rooms, every light was blazing, to combat the darkness caused by the boarded up windows.

He dragged his finger along the back of a plush white couch and a polished cherry table as he moved through the living room to a long hallway lined with closed doors. He stopped in front of a door, no different from all the others, paused, glanced up and down the hall, then reached for the pewter colored handle. It turned smoothly and the door swung inward without a sound.

He stepped inside, flipped on the light, and walked to the twin bed, above which hung a poster for the band _Metallica._ Papers scattered on the desk caught his attention and he went to inspect them, recognizing several drawings of his favorite buildings. They lay right where he'd left them years ago, but there was not a speck of dust on them or anywhere on the desk.

He moved to the bookcases by the window and found everything as he'd left it, even the gaping holes where he'd taken some of his books and photos. He remembered throwing his clothes and a few treasured belongings into a bag when he left for college. Upon graduating, he had gone to work for one his father's development companies, evaluating properties they were interested in purchasing and assessing their structural integrity to decide if they could be repurposed or should be demolished. He found the work depressing and boring, yet he felt an obligation to be part of the family business. His heart, though, longed to build things, not destroy them. He'd made numerous attempts to show how retrofitting a building could give it new life, but was always shot down.

He lay down on the bed and closed his eyes, exhausted.

### CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN

Aside from the rain pattering on the windows and wind whistling through the eaves, the lobby of Hotel Lago was eerily quiet. The guests had retired to their rooms, so Lizzie pulled a couple of barstools behind the front desk.

"I'm glad you agreed to work with me." She gave Stephen a warm smile. "I've been wanting to sit down with you and talk about your future here."

"My future?"

"I know you never intended on getting into hospitality, but now that you're here I want you to think about becoming a concierge. You just need to learn a few tricks on how to deal with people like Mrs. Henderson."

"I don't know if I could ever learn how to deal with her," Stephen stammered. "I'm not good with women in general." He dropped his gaze to the floor, an embarrassed flush creeping across his cheeks. Lizzie laughed.

"There's not as much to it as you might think. Take Mrs. Henderson for example. She needs people to listen to her, she needs to feel she is the center of attention, and if that means she has to cause a scene then that's what she does. If you listen, validate her, and make her feel like whatever she is concerned about is being taken seriously, she can be as manageable as a sleeping kitten.

"Then there are other people who need to understand you are the one in charge, not them, they need a firm hand to guide them in the direction you want them to go. Some guests respond better to a man than a woman and vice versa. The key is to learning which category each guest lies in."

"But how do you do that?"

"You pay attention to the guests at all times. See how they interact with their families and other authority figures. There's a limited pattern of behaviors in people so by studying the ones we have here you learn a great deal about humanity as a whole."

"So, if I learn how to manage Mrs. Henderson then I can manage other guests who display similar traits?"

"Exactly." Lizzie was delighted by Stephen's interested tone, confident she would be able to turn him into one of her best protégées yet. "Can you tell me anything you learned about the guests we checked in today?"

He rubbed his chin. "There was one woman I dealt with, she had three kids, they all had messy hair, and I'm pretty sure the baby's diaper needed changing. I remember noticing she had well manicured nails when she signed the registration card and thought it seemed odd they were so neat, when everything else about the family was so unkempt."

Lizzie nodded for him to continue.

"She was one of the few people who didn't demand anything, didn't get upset when I told her all we had left was a smoking room with one king bed."

"Good, now what category would you place her in?" Lizzie asked, excited that Stephen had noticed so much detail.

"She seemed like the type of person who has a lot to deal with in her every day life and doesn't expect things to go right. I can't imagine her being any trouble, even if something wasn't right with her stay."

"What would you do for her if you found out something did go wrong, but she didn't mention it?"

She watched his eyes as he thought. They had a rather blank look to them, but she knew he was sifting through memories, perhaps of things he had seen her do.

"I don't think she would accept anything for herself so I would do something for the kids, maybe have a special order of cookies and milk sent to the room, or a basket of toys they might like. I have a feeling anything that made her kids smile would mean the world to her."

"Excellent. There are a lot of guests who would prefer we treat their kids like royalty rather than do something special for the adults. Most of the families we get are here for the attractions, to give their kids a memory they will never forget. They would stay closer to the theme parks if they could, but they can't afford it, or one of the parents is here on business. In either case the parents may feel guilty they aren't giving their kids the full theme park experience, so anything we can do to make the kids feel special is appreciated."

Lizzie spent the next two hours reviewing the files of some of their most loyal guests, making sure Stephen knew all their favorite rooms, foods, restaurants, and shows. Her excitement grew as he asked questions and admired her network of connections not only in Orlando, but also throughout the state.

"How did you meet these people?" Stephen asked.

"Working at Disney helped. A lot of them worked there at some point then moved on. We stay in touch and help each other out whenever we can. It was hard at first because I was shy and afraid to approach people in other areas for help."

He nodded, "I understand that. I'm afraid to even give Chef Gustave a special dietary meal request."

Lizzie laughed. "Underneath all that bluster Gustave is a giant teddy bear. I've learned all chefs feel the need to yell in the kitchen to intimidate their staff and it seems to work. The cooks are always striving to do better to impress the chef."

"Yeah, but I'm not one of his cooks; why does he yell at me?" Stephen's look of bewilderment made her laugh even more.

"It's ingrained into his personality, I bet he even yells at home. I'll tell you a secret though; Gustave loves flattery, and Italian biscotti. If you ever have something you really need done, bring him some biscotti and complement his work, and he will be happy to help you."

Stephen raised an eyebrow. "It's that easy?"

"Most of the time. You may still have to endure a tongue lashing now and then, but it doesn't mean he's angry at you."

The rain fell harder and the wind howled, bringing down power lines, and plunging the hotel into darkness. Immediately the front desk phone began ringing. While Stephen fielded the calls and tried to calm the frightened guests, Lizzie organized the hotel staff, giving them each a box of flashlights to deliver to the guest rooms.

When the phone stopped ringing and all the guests seemed to be asleep, or at least content in their rooms, Lizzie wandered out to the loading dock. The wind had died down, but the rain continued to pour in a thick curtain preventing her from seeing more than a few feet. She watched drops splash in the miniature lake that was once the parking lot, thankful her car was in the garage. Water was rising to the bottom of the hubcaps of those cars not fortunate enough to fit in the garage. She could hear a muffled gurgle as it tried to flow into the storm drain.

"Dear Lord, I pray for all those who are in the direct path of the storm. I pray for your hand of protection on those who chose not to evacuate. Please don't let my house be damaged anymore. I don't know if I could face that," she prayed softly as she watched the storm rage around her.

"I thought I might find you out here," Chef Gustave said. Lizzie turned and tried to smile, but her heart wasn't in it.

"I needed some fresh air."

Chef Gustave nodded. "You are worried about your home, I understand, me too. I hate leaving my family alone in these storms. Last time my wife told me they hid in the closet almost all night."

"I can't believe we are going through this again. This one doesn't seem as bad though."

"Winds are not as bad, but the rain, look at this." He gestured to the parking lot.

Remembering he had come looking for her, Lizzie asked, "Did you need me for something? Is everything alright inside?"

"I wanted to talk to you about the wedding."

"Of course, let's go to your office." She followed the chef inside, down the dim hallways, emergency lights glowing every twenty feet.

It was strange to enter the kitchen without the usual din of activity. On the chef's desk, she saw a pile of papers strewn about, quite contrary to his orderly nature.

"I have a larger staff than anticipated and I think we can expand the menu, but wanted to see which dishes you thought we should add."

Lizzie sat down, shinning her flashlight on the original menu and replayed the conversation with the couple, remembering their facial expressions and tone of voice when each item was discussed.

"These two." She pointed at an appetizer and an entrée. "If you could do one or both of these I think they would be happy."

Chef Gustave looked over her shoulder and read the description of each dish. "I believe we can do both. I may have to reroute some of the emergency power to the kitchen for a few hours, though."

"I'll call engineering and have them help when you are ready."

"Thank you, my dear. I have to say this will be my first wedding feast cooked during a hurricane," Chef Gustave chuckled.

"Hopefully the storm will be over tomorrow."

"Mon Cherie, have you not seen the weather reports lately!" he exclaimed. "This Frances is a slow girl, she has barely moved in the past four hours. They expect it to take another twenty-four or more for her to push all the way across the state."

"You're joking." Lizzie's eyes went wide, her pulse quickened.

"I wish I were. I am going to have to get creative with the food we have on hand. I had one of the cooks run to the store this morning to get everything we would need for the wedding, but we may have to serve anything left over from that dinner to the rest of the guests."

"I will check to see if the guests brought any of their own food, snacks for their drive maybe."

"Do not worry, we will make it work. It will be an adventure, and I do love a good adventure." He gave her a grin that went right to her heart.

"Thank you."She patted his cheek. "I think we'll let Stella and Naveen be surprised by the additional food, a little extra magic for their special day."

### CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT

Jacquelyn returned to the kitchen to find it empty. She went to the front door and saw Jeffrey's truck still in the driveway. She wandered from room to room in search of her son. In the den, she found Edward at his desk, a pair of reading glasses resting on the tip of his nose, reviewing office reports.

"You know the doctor told you no work for another two weeks," she chided him.

"This isn't work, I'm just reading."

"Just reading leads to just one phone call, which leads to just a couple of hours at the office. You are not supposed to get agitated and that is exactly what you are doing."

"I'm not agitated, but I want to get caught up on what has been happening."

"Fine, do as you please. Have you seen Jeffrey?"

"Not since this morning."

Jacquelyn gave her husband one more look of disapproval and left to continue her search. She opened doors to rooms that were rarely used these days. She wondered why they didn't move to a smaller house. They certainly didn't need such a large one anymore. At the door to Jeffrey's old room she stopped, noticing it wasn't completely shut. She pushed it open and found her son curled up on the bed.

His eyelids twitched as though the eyes behind them were moving rapidly. His fists were clenched and held close to his chest. Jacquelyn leaned down and brushed a lock of hair off his forehead. She longed to sit down next to him and stroke his hair as she had done when he was a boy, but feared waking him. Instead, she found a blanket in the closet and covered him with it before tiptoeing out of the room and shutting the door.

Jeffrey had fallen asleep as soon as his eyes closed and dreamed of Camylle's last day. Afraid she would slip away, he hadn't left the hospital all week. That morning she looked better and seemed to have more energy. She begged him to go home for a shower and a few hours of sleep.

At home he stood in the shower for twenty minutes, letting the steaming water run down his body. He picked at a frozen dinner, but returned to the hospital within three hours. He knew something was wrong as soon as he stepped off the elevator. Alarms were blaring; nurses were running down the hall.

He followed them to Camylle's door, and could hear her gasping for breath and moaning in pain. He pushed through the nurses who tried to hold him back. At her side, he grabbed her hand and tried to speak to her in a calm, soothing tone despite the fear gripping his heart.

He'd never know if it was his voice or the morphine that had finally calmed her. He sat down and read to her from _Pride and Prejudice,_ her favorite book. He'd never understood why she loved it, but the time he'd spent reading to her had given him a new appreciation for it. He continued reading after he knew she was asleep, recognizing Camylle's independent spirit in Elizabeth Bennett. As he finished the last word and closed the book he noticed Camylle's breath growing shallower, the periods between each inhalation farther apart. He squeezed her hand willing her to stay with him, to wake up and see him there beside her. She exhaled and he waited for her inhalation. It never happened.

Jeffrey's body jerked with a violence that caused him to fall off the twin bed, screaming as he hit the floor. He opened his eyes and searched the room, and remembered he was at his parents' house. The door opened a crack then flew wide as Jacquelyn came running in, kneeling by his side.

"Are you okay? What happened?" She helped Jeffrey sit up. He leaned against the bed with his knees pulled up to his chest, arms wrapped tight around them.

"Did you have a bad dream?" Jacquelyn rubbed his arm.

"Camylle," was all Jeffrey could say. Jacquelyn rose and pulled some tissues from a box on the bedside table. She wiped his face and dabbed at the corners of his eyes.

"Sshh, it's okay," she whispered.

Jeffrey rocked back and forth, the pain he had kept at bay washing over him, crying for the first time since Camylle's death. He used the sleeve of his shirt to brush away the tears, but they continued to fall. Jacquelyn murmured soft words. When his cries started to subside, she offered him more tissues to blow his nose.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

"You have nothing to be sorry for." She pulled him into her arms. "Why don't you let me make you some dinner?"

"Thanks, but I should get home before the storm hits."

"It's already started," She said with an amused smile. Jeffrey finally identified the whistling noise he heard; wind rushing around the house, teasing at the windows, searching for any gap that would allow it inside.

"What time is it?"

"A little after seven. You took quite a nap."

He pushed off the floor and raised his arms above his head in an elongating stretch. He felt several of his vertebrate crack as his back loosened. He offered his mother a hand and helped her to her feet.

"I guess I'll take you up on that dinner then."

### CHAPTER THIRTY NINE

Rain fell all through the night. While the rest of the staff slept in shifts, Lizzie remained at the front desk. She knew by the hands of her watch that dawn should be breaking soon, and walked to the loading dock and watched the storm, fascinated by the unending power. She watched the towering metal lights throughout the parking lot sway, threatening to collapse and crush anything in their path. She almost wished her beat up old Camry were out there so the insurance could go toward something from this decade.

The sky changed from deep black to a lighter shade of gray. The Harris-Singh wedding was scheduled for two o'clock. With most of the preparations already taken care of, she had little to occupy her time until the guests awoke and started calling again. She returned to the front desk and pulled a new set of clothes from her suitcase. In the bathroom, she washed up the best she could and changed clothes, which left her feeling refreshed despite her lack of sleep.

She found Stephen curled up on a couch in the lobby, a blanket lying on the floor beside him. When she pulled the blanket up and covered him with it he stirred but did not wake. She made her way to the kitchen where she found Chef Gustave pouring a cup of coffee.

"Thank goodness for generators," he said as she approached.

"You said it. I'm going to need a lot of this to keep me going today." She poured herself a cup and didn't even bother with cream or sugar. The strong liquid gave her a jolt. "What do we have for breakfast?"

"I already pulled all the cereal from the concierge lounge, I hope you don't mind." Chef Gustave gave her an apologetic smile. "Combined with what we normally have available in the dining room we should have enough for everyone. I don't want to open the refrigerators too much; even with the generators, we need to use things sparingly. It would be best if we could arrange to serve in two groups."

"What times will work for you? I can station people on each floor to advise the guests what their meal time will be."

"We could do a first seating at eight and a second at nine thirty. That should give us time to serve, clean the dishes and reset. Then we can do lunch at noon and one thirty."

Lizzie nodded. "Sounds like a good plan, I'll let everyone know. Do you think we can feed the staff now, before the guests wake up?"

"My team just finished. Send in the others and I will take care of them."

"Thanks, Gustave." She slipped out of the kitchen in search of the handful of employees on duty.

At noon, Lizzie entered the conference room for one last inspection. By the glow of her flashlight, she saw vases of white roses on several small tables. The north end of the room held fifty chairs on either side of the the aisle where a white runner extended to the altar, created by an archway covered in burnt orange silk with delicate beadwork.

A dozen LED lanterns sat on pillars at the end of each row of chairs. Hundreds of white candles were scattered around the room waiting to be lit. The south end of the room was filled with round tables covered with saris in rich jewel tones. Glass bowls filled with water and floating candles sat on mirrors in the middle of each table. Satisfied with the decorations, Lizzie made sure the kitchen staff knew to light the candles and lanterns just before two.

"Stephen, will you go check on Naveen, make sure he has everything he needs." She handed him a radio and earpiece she had found in the convention office. "Call me on this. Let me know when he is ready. I'm going to help Stella and her mother."

Stephen hooked the radio on his belt and jammed the earpiece in. "Are you sure about this? A wedding without power seems kind of crazy."

"We have power, just not a lot," she said. "Think of it this way, if we can pull this off, there is little we can't do." She followed Stephen up the stairs to the third floor. "This is me. Naveen is on the fifth floor, room 508. Call if you need anything."

The only light came from the emergency exit signs so Lizzie swung her flashlight across the hallway. Many of the rooms had propped their doors open hoping to create some kind of airflow. Lizzie hadn't realized how warm these upper floors were in comparison to the lobby. She found Stella's door open but she knocked anyway.

"Come in," Stella called from the bed.

"It's Lizzie. I came to see if I could help you get dressed." She found Stella curled up at the head of the bed in one of the hotel's bathrobes. Her eyes were red and puffy.

"I can't do it, I can't get married like this," Stella whimpered. "This is supposed to be the best day of my life." Fresh tears ran down her cheeks.

"Don't cry," Lizzie crawled onto the bed and gave the woman a hug. "I know this isn't exactly how you planned it, but I can tell you the ballroom is beautiful. I can take you to see it if you would like, and we can get you dressed in my office. It is cooler down there and you won't have to worry about the stairs with your dress."

Stella looked unconvinced but nodded. They gathered her make-up, jewelry, and garment bag. Lizzie found Mrs. Harris in the next room and offered to help her downstairs as well. Before heading down Lizzie called Stephen on the radio to see how things were going with the groom.

"He's nervous," Stephen reported, "but what groom isn't? I could take him and the groomsmen to the locker room to get ready."

"That's a great idea. I'll escort the bridesmaids to the ladies locker room as well." Lizzie spoke to the bridesmaids and made sure they had everything they would need to get ready before leading them down the stairs. They hung the wedding gown from Jonathan's door before Lizzie escorted them to the conference room. The curtains had been pulled open to allow the weak sunlight to cast the room in a twilight-like glow. Stella gasped at the transformation the room had undergone. She walked in a complete circle taking it all in.

"Now, do you still want to cancel the wedding?" Lizzie asked.

"No, this is beautiful." Stella's face beamed.

When they returned to the office, Mrs. Harris worked frantically to pin up Stella's hair as the clock raced toward two. Stephen reported Naveen and the groomsmen were ready and he was escorting them to the ballroom.

"Don't worry, they can't start without us," Lizzie reassured Stella. Mrs. Harris took a sip from the glass of wine Lizzie brought her, before attempting to pin her daughter's hair again. With the last hair in place, Mrs. Harris stood back to admire her daughter.

"I think we're ready," Stella said.

Lizzie radioed Stephen they were on their way. In the lobby, they passed several guests who had ventured out of their rooms. They clapped as the bride passed, filling Lizzie with pride. They reached the ballroom where the bridesmaids and groomsmen waited outside the closed doors.

"I'll get your father," Lizzie said. She slipped into the ballroom where the guests were already seated. The flickering candles diminished the large ballroom into an intimate chapel. Mr. Harris stood at the front of the room with the minister. Lizzie waved for him and radioed Stephen who was now in charge of the wedding music.

"After I'm outside count to twenty then start the music," she instructed.

"Roger that," Stephen replied.

Lizzie saw him smile and knew he was enjoying this as much as she was. Back in the hallway, she lined up the bridesmaids and groomsmen behind Mrs. Harris and Mrs. Singh. The music started as Lizzie pulled open the door for the two mothers. They walked down the aisle arm in arm.

The bridesmaids, wearing traditional saris in a deep purple, were escorted by the groomsmen wearing black brocade Jodhpuri suits. As the music changed to the wedding march, Stella squeezed her father's hand. All eyes turned to face her. She wore a long, fitted, white gown embroidered with gold thread in an intricate pattern of flowers and stars. Her dark hair was swept up in a French twist, with curling tendrils hanging loose around her face.

Lizzie felt butterflies in her own stomach as she watched Stella march toward the altar, her steps precise. As she closed the ballroom doors, she checked in with Chef Gustave on the radio and took a place at the back of the room.

### CHAPTER FORTY

Laughter tickled Edward's ears as he sat in his study. For the past hour, the sound had filtered down the hallway to him as Jeffrey and Jacquelyn talked in the living room, but he refused to budge from his place and join them. He tried to read a report from his assistant about the week's activity, but couldn't stop thinking about how Jeffrey had betrayed him, turned his back on all his family had built.

He tossed the report onto the coffee table and strode to the bar where he poured himself a glass of scotch. He reveled in the danger of the drink, knowing Jacquelyn would berate him if she knew. He swirled the rich golden liquid in the glass as he walked to a bookcase filled with photos. He reached for one of himself and Jeffrey at the site of the first property he'd acquired after his own father's death.

Jeffrey was only three at the time. In the photo, Jeffrey looked at his father adoringly. Edward remembered his son telling him he wanted to be just like daddy when he grew up. He returned the photo to the shelf and picked up another, this one of Jeffrey at his college graduation. He'd graduated at the top of his class. In this one, Edward gazed adoringly at his son. All his hopes and dreams were embodied in his grown son. Bitterness washed over him as he wished Jeffrey had not been an only child; that he had another child who could carry on the family legacy.

He studied the shelves until he found another photo, one of Camylle and Jeffrey only a few months after they started dating. It was the first time he and Jacquelyn had met her. Jeffrey had brought her to the family's Memorial Day picnic, confiding in his father that he believed she was the one. Edward remembered the sparkle in his son's eyes, the smile he had whenever he spoke of her. In this photo Jeffrey and Camylle had been caught unaware, Camylle's head rested on Jeffrey's shoulder, her eyes closed. Even now, Edward could see the look in Jeffrey's eyes, the look of a man in love. He finished off the scotch and set the glass on the bookcase.

"Why don't you join us in the living room?" Jacquelyn's gentle voice startled Edward. He turned to find his wife leaning against the door watching him. Her eyes were kind; her eyes had first attracted him all those years ago.

"I'm tired, I was just considering retiring for the evening," he said without meeting her gaze.

"Edward, please."

"Aren't you the one always telling me I shouldn't get excited? I would think you'd be happy I'm getting rest." He tried to sound angry, but couldn't muster any real feeling. Truth was, a part of him wanted to visit with his son, to talk of the things he'd done, but he was too proud to admit that, even to himself.

"The offer stands if you change your mind." Jacquelyn stepped forward to kiss her husband on the cheek before slipping out of the room. He popped his head out the door and watched her retreat down the hall. When she disappeared, he followed, positioning himself just shy of the arch leading into the living room.

"I told you he wouldn't come," he heard Jeffrey say.

"He said he was going to bed. How about we make some popcorn and watch a movie while we still have power." Her enthusiasm was forced, but Jeffrey must have agreed as Edward heard the rustle of her steps moving toward the kitchen. He slid along the wall and peeked around the corner. He caught sight of Jeffrey sitting on the couch, flipping through a magazine.

"Do you want cheesy popcorn or plain butter?" Jacquelyn called.

"Plain butter is fine," Jeffrey said. He dropped the magazine on the table and reclined on the couch, his head resting along the back.

Here in the center of the house the storm seemed far away. The wind didn't howl, the rain didn't beat on the windowpanes. The room was so quiet Edward could hear his son's breathing. He remembered the nights he'd sat by his crib, watching his tiny chest rise and fall, arms raised above his head, fingers curled inward. He'd been a beautiful baby.

Jacquelyn returned carrying a tray with two large glasses of soda and a bowl of popcorn. Edward's nostrils flared at the buttery aroma. He felt his stomach rumble and pulled himself back into the shadows hoping his family had not heard it.

"Do you know which movie you'd like to watch?" Jacquelyn asked as she set the tray down.

"Why don't you choose?" Jeffrey grabbed a handful of popcorn and shoveled it into his mouth. Jacquelyn opened a cabinet near the television and browsed the rows of DVDs. She pulled one out, inserted the disk into the player, and returned to the couch. Jeffrey fiddled with the remotes until he found the right settings and started the movie.

When Edward's legs began to ache, he considered joining them on the couch. Instead, he returned to his study and wheeled the desk chair back to his hiding place. He lowered himself into the chair, careful of the creaking he knew it made when he leaned back. Perched on the edge of the seat he peered around the corner. The opening title appeared, _For Love or Money._

"I don't think I've seen this," Jeffrey said.

"I think you'll enjoy it," Jacquelyn replied and Edward could picture the knowing smile she gave her son. Edward scooted back in his chair, a high-pitched squeak of metal giving him away. He tensed waiting for Jacquelyn or Jeffrey to turn and discover him. The seconds stretched into a minute without any movement from the couch. Slowly he let out a sigh of relief.

The movie was about a New York City concierge who dreams of opening his own upscale hotel but falls in love with a girl along the way. The girl just happens to be the mistress of his biggest investor and he must decide what's more important, love or money. By the end of the movie, Edward knew why his wife had chosen it. She knew all along that he was spying on them. She was sending him a message.

The lights dimmed and rose again in several waves before sputtering out completely. The pillar candles Jacquelyn had lit at the start of the movie provided two small circles of light. She reached for some matches and moved around the room igniting more candles.

Jeffrey yawned. "I don't know why I'm so tired."

"It's the weather." Jacquelyn stifled a yawn herself. "I'm going to check on your father." She picked up a plate with a large blue candle and turned to the hallway. She followed the wheel tracks on the carpet to the study where she found Edward lying on the couch, eyes closed.

"I hope you enjoyed the movie." Jacquelyn set the candle on the desk and rummaged in the top drawer for another. She pulled two stubby tapers out and lit them before shoving them into a pair of silver candlestick holders. "I'm going to bed. If you don't want to sleep in here, I suggest you join me before these burn out."

Edward didn't respond, but she saw his eyelids flutter. Taking the plated pillar candle Jacquelyn returned to the living room where Jeffrey was cleaning up the crumpled napkins and errant kernels of corn that had dropped onto the couch and returning the coasters to the small wooden box they were stored in. She watched him with pride. She knew she had raised a fine young man, even if he'd had some problems. Having him back in the house filled her with joy.

"Do you want me to make up your room?" she asked when he noticed her gazing at him.

"You don't need to do that. Sheets still in the same place?"

She nodded and reached for the tray. "I'll take this to the kitchen then." She touched his cheek tenderly. "Good night."

Jeffrey smiled. "Night, mom." He lifted one of the candles and turned toward the west wing of the house. She watched the circle of light fade and disappear before retreating to the kitchen with the dirty dishes.

### CHAPTER FORTY ONE

Water seeped under the glass front doors of Hotel Lago running into piles of drenched towels that lay in a semi-circle attempting to keep it from flowing into the lobby. Lizzie pushed a laundry cart out of the service hallway and gathered the wet mess. Stephen tottered along behind her balancing a pile of fresh towels.

"Remind me again why we are doing this," he said, watching the new linens absorb the pooled of water.

"Do you want to be sloshing around in several inches of water the rest of the day?"

They loaded the wet towels into the cart and Lizzie struggled to push it toward the service door. Stephen came to her side and helped maneuver the cart down the hall. They parked it at the loading bay doors.

She pushed the doors open and stepped outside. The rain had slackened some allowing her to see the building across the street for the first time in many hours. As far as she could see, clouds obscured the sky.

She yawned. "This has got to stop soon."

"Have you gotten any sleep?" Stephen asked.

"A couple of hours maybe."

"Why don't you take a break, go lie down somewhere? I can handle things for a little while."

She offered him a grateful smile. "Are you sure?"

He gave her a playful push. "Go, I got this under control."

"I'll be in Jonathan's office if you need me." She trudged to the front desk hoping to avoid any early rising guests. Her watch read six o'clock, she figured most guests would stay in bed until at least eight. At her desk, she pulled her suitcase out and removed her yoga mat, unfurled it on the office floor, pulled a blanket from the back of Jonathan's chair and curled up. She lay there reviewing the events of the last two and half days but fell asleep before any clear thoughts could form.

The cavernous lobby was quiet except for the occasional howl of wind or spatter of rain tossed against the large windows as Stephen settled himself behind the front desk waiting for the hotel to awaken. Now that he was in charge, he was unsure of what to do, so he shuffled several papers and tidied up the desk. He heard the slapping of flip-flops on the marble floor and looked up to see Chef Gustave coming toward him.

"Where's Lizzie?" the chef demanded.

"She's sleeping," Stephen replied, his fear of the chef rising in his throat.

"I need to talk to her. We have a problem."

"Maybe I can help." He tried to remember what Lizzie had been teaching him.

"You? What do you know?" Chef Gustave laughed.

"What is the problem?" Stephen stood, drawing himself up to his full five foot, eight-inch height; his eyes level with the chef's chin.

Chef Gustave shook his head. "We do not have enough cereal to feed everyone this morning and the milk is limited as well."

Stephen clenched and unclenched his hands, his anxiety growing. "Lizzie mentioned something about Tammy ordering several cases of granola bars, she was going to use them in box lunches for the school group staying here next week. I think they came in Friday morning. Have we already used those?"

Chef Gustave gave him a surprised look. "They're not in the kitchen."

"Maybe they're in her office." Stephen disappeared and emerged a moment later with a set of keys. The men set off across the lobby to Tammy's office.

Stephen tried several keys before finding the right one. The room was pitch black. Both men panned their flashlights around the room without finding anything that resembled boxes of granola bars.

"There's nothing here. Maybe now we can wake Lizzie," Chef Gustave spat. Stephen recoiled from the obvious disgust in the man's voice.

"I'm sure they are here." Stephen ran down the hallway stopping to inspect several pallets that stood by the loading bay. He walked around each one shining his light on every box long enough to read the label. His heart leaped when he reached the last stack.

"Here," Stephen cried. Chef Gustave hurried over, his mouth dropping open in surprise.

"There must be a few hundred bars here." Stephen lifted several boxes and handed them to the chef.

"Good work," Chef Gustave managed to mutter. The two men carried the packages to the galley. "The staff will receive the granola bars instead of cereal, children will get smaller portions, and we will give everyone only a quarter of a cup of milk."

Stephen gathered the skeleton crew together for their morning meal, setting aside enough for Lizzie, and returned to the front desk feeling triumphant.

A few minutes after eight Stephen heard the office door open. He turned to find Lizzie staggering out to the desk. She rubbed her eyes as he filled her in on the change in plans for breakfast. She gave him a smile of approval.

"I told you Chef isn't as scary as he seems," she said. "I hope this storm passes soon. I don't know how much longer people can take being cooped up in here."

As if to support her fear, a group of guests spilled out of the stairwell, their shouts echoing around the empty lobby. A short, stooped man with wispy gray hair and glasses led the pack, followed closely by a woman with dark hair and large brown eyes. She screeched in a language Stephen didn't recognize.

Stephen watched Lizzie meet the mob and approach the couple; speaking so low he couldn't hear her from where he stood, rooted behind the desk. The woman pushed Lizzie and the older man aside and continued her march toward Stephen. The pack behind her all appeared to be related. He didn't remember checking them in and the closer she drew the more anxious he felt. Lizzie now trailed the pack.

"I want out of here," the woman demanded. Her voice was strident, her English laced with a thick Eastern European accent, and Stephen remembered alphabetizing the registration cards during the night. There had been a family from the Czech Republic. He tried to appear calm but the pounding of his heart made it hard for him to breathe normally. The woman shook her fist at him.

"Mrs. Valislyvich, I know you want to leave, but this is a serious storm." Stephen spoke with care, enunciating each word, unsure if she understood anything.

"You no keep me here!" The rest of the family shouted something in Czech as they piled up behind the woman.

"Sshh," he hissed, lifting a finger to his lips. The shouts continued and he noticed groggy guests beginning to enter the lobby to see what the commotion was about. Desperate to gain control he stuck two fingers in his mouth and rent the air with a sharp whistle. The family before him was stunned into silence.

"I understand you want to leave," he said. "So do I, but it is not safe. Please go to the dining room and we will see what news we can find out."

The woman opened her mouth again, but the stooped man took her by the hand and pulled her toward the dining room. The rest of the family wavered a moment then followed.

Stephen's legs shook, threatening to give out from under him. He looked up and saw Lizzie giving him a thumbs up from the door to the restaurant. More guests were milling around now, some heading to breakfast, others pressing their faces against the windows. He slipped into the office and found the weather radio. He turned it on hoping for good news.

"Hurricane Frances has been downgraded to a tropical storm and is expected to enter the Gulf of Mexico later today continuing on its west-northwest track," the broadcaster announced. Stephen let out a whoop of delight mindless of the rest of the report.

He raced out of the office toward the restaurant where he found Lizzie walking from table to table speaking with each family, offering reassurances. When she looked in his direction, he gestured for her.

"The worst is past, we can go home soon." Stephen couldn't contain his delight when she met him at the door. Lizzie patted him on the shoulder and gave him a sad look.

"We can't leave until someone comes to relieve us."

His smile faded. "I...I...but," he couldn't find any words.

"Don't worry, it won't be much longer," Lizzie said. "You've done a wonderful job, hang in there. Why don't you go back to the desk and make sure everything is ready for us to hand over when reinforcements arrive?"

He nodded and returned to the desk.

### CHAPTER FORTY TWO

The smell of fresh coffee wafted through the house, slipping under the bedroom door, and waking Jeffrey from a deep sleep. He opened one eye and noticed the clock on the bedside table flashing angrily. He rolled onto his back and stretched before sitting up. He rubbed his face and raked his fingers through his hair. As he became more alert, he felt as though something was missing.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed and walked to the window where he pulled the curtains back to reveal a yellow plywood board outside of the glass. Placing his ear to the windowpane, he listened for several moments before realizing there was no wind. He stumbled down the hallway into the kitchen where he found his mother standing over a hot pan, a piece of raw bacon dangling from her fingers.

"Good morning," she greeted him with a smile. "Well, it's almost noon, but it's still so dark it feels like morning."

Jeffrey poured himself a cup of coffee and dropped into a seat at the table. "Is the storm over?"

Jacquelyn nodded. "Power came back about an hour ago. I hope that will be the last hurricane of the season. How many eggs would you like?"

"You don't need to do that," he said, feeling uncomfortable.

"I'm already cooking so you might as well tell me what you want."

"Three eggs, scrambled, would be nice." He rose and moved to the back door. He pushed it open to find the sky still gray but no longer threatening. The backyard was littered with pine needles and tree limbs. A trellis that had supported several climbing roses lay at an awkward angle with vines fluttering in the gentle breeze.

"What a mess," he said shutting the door.

"We'll have to call the lawn service." Jacquelyn arranged a plate with an egg white omelet, two pieces of bacon, a slice of toast, and a glass of orange juice on a tray. "I'm going to take this to your father then I'll cook your eggs."

Jeffrey moved around the island and cracked three eggs into the pan she'd left on the stove. He opened the refrigerator, found a bag of shredded cheese, and poured a handful into the pan. As the eggs began to firm, he whisked them into a fluffy pile. He poured the eggs onto a plate while they were still moist and lifted two pieces of cooked bacon from a napkin. He took the meal back to the table just as Jacquelyn returned.

"I told you I would make it," she chided him upon seeing his plate.

"I didn't want to be a bother."

Jacquelyn moved behind her son's seated form and wrapped her arms around him. "You are never a bother to me," she whispered into his ear as she gave him a loving squeeze.

Since his father's illness he'd come to help out of obligation, maybe even a touch of guilt, but each kind word or action opened the door to the battered heart he'd closed after Camylle's death. The growing sense of vulnerability unnerved him and made him want to retreat, yet something kept drawing him in.

Jacquelyn poured another cup of coffee and returned to the table while Jeffrey finished his breakfast. He felt her eyes on him as he sopped up the last bit of egg with a piece of toast and popped it in his mouth. He chewed slowly, eyes downcast, waiting for her to speak.

"Thank you for coming over and taking care of things."

Her words were casual. Jeffrey had never been good at reading people and struggled now to see beyond his mother's exterior. He knew she wanted him back in her life, but what else, what wasn't she telling him?

He pushed his chair back and rinsed his plate before slipping it into the dishwasher. His gaze flitted around the room and he shifted restlessly.

"I should go to work, make sure things are okay." He tugged his keys from his pocket, spinning the ring on his finger several times. Jacquelyn nodded and took a sip of her coffee.

"Drive safely; the roads are bound to be a mess." She reached for a magazine in the center of the table and pulled it toward her.

Her disinterested air annoyed him. He let out an exasperated sigh and turned to leave the room. As he reached the hall, he stopped as if he'd walked into an invisible wall. I want her to ask me to stay. Why isn't she asking me to stay? He wanted to turn around, to study his mother's face, but he pushed himself forward, hurrying out the front door.

Jacquelyn waited for the sound of the front door before closing the magazine. She busied herself with washing the pans and wiping down the counters. As she rung out the dishcloth and draped it over the edge of the sink Edward shuffled into the kitchen.

"Is he gone?" Edward asked.

"Did you leave your dishes in the bedroom?" Jacquelyn shook her head giving him a frustrated look as she swept past him.

Instead of turning toward the bedroom, she made a beeline for the front door. She leaned against the door peering through the small peephole. Unable to see the driveway she pulled the door open a crack, smiling when she saw Jeffrey still sitting in his truck. She wanted to go out, but didn't want to push him.

Several minutes later she returned to the kitchen with her husband's tray. Edward stood at the back door gazing out. She piled the dishes in the sink before joining him.

"Do you want me to call the lawn service?" She placed a hand on his back, her touch light as if she were afraid he might break.

"No, I'll do it," he grumbled. "I'm not dead yet, and I'm still the man of the house. I see the prodigal son didn't take down all the boards, guess I'll have to do that too."

"There's no rush, maybe he'll come back later." She walked back to the sink to deal with the dirty plate and glass. Edward pushed the door closed with a loud thump and paced around the large kitchen, his steps small but determined.

"You didn't answer me last night, did you enjoy the movie?" Jacquelyn struggled to contain the smile that played at her lips.

"I don't know what you are talking about. I fell asleep in the study." He stopped pacing and leaned on the back of chair, his breath labored.

She pursed her lips and nodded. "You'll have to watch it sometime. I think you'd like it. I'm going to make some calls. I'll be in my office if you need me."

### CHAPTER FORTY THREE

Gray sunlight fell through the western windows bathing the lobby in more illumination than it had seen in days. Lizzie sat at the desk struggling to keep her eyes open. The rain had stopped two hours ago, but there'd been no word on when reinforcements would be in to take over. Many of the guests were outside with their cameras taking pictures of uprooted trees and flooded cars. Lizzie tried to warn them of the safety risks, but she understood their need to get out of the hotel, to breathe fresh air.

"I'm here! I'm here!" Jonathan called running through the front door. He stopped at the desk to catch his breath. "I would have been here sooner, but my car wouldn't start." He glanced around the empty lobby.

Lizzie scooted off the stool with a thin smile. "Anyone else coming in?"

A look of horror crossed Jonathan's face. "No one's here yet? I called everyone and told them to be here an hour ago." He scrambled through the door and met Lizzie as she ducked into the office.

"I can stay a little while longer," she stifled a yawn, "we should send Stephen home, though."

"No, both of you go. Give me a run down on where we're at and go get some rest." Jonathan draped his coat over the back of his chair and followed Lizzie to the desk where she spent the next twenty minutes briefing him on the events of the weekend.

"Thanks again for doing this," Jonathan said. Lizzie returned to the office where Stephen sat hunched over a desk, his head resting on his folded arms. She gave him a gentle shake.

"Stephen, wake up, we can leave," she whispered.

"What?" he croaked, raising his head.

"You can go home." Lizzie slung her raincoat over her arm and grabbed the handle of her suitcase. Stephen shot out of his chair and grabbed her, hugging tightly.

"Thank you." He let go and reached for his own duffel bag. The pair emerged from the office and passed Jonathan at the front desk.

"You guys take tomorrow off too," Jonathan called as they passed, causing Lizzie to stop. She gave him an incredulous look.

"Are you serious?"

"Of course. I'll work it out." He waved them off and returned his attention to the log of events Lizzie had kept throughout the weekend. Lizzie and Stephen walked outside and stood for a moment enjoying the feel of the breeze on their skin. They looked at each other and smiled as they entered the damp cool of the parking garage.

"You survived," Lizzie congratulated her new protégé.

"Yeah, I did." Stephen grinned. They climbed the stairs to the third level past half a dozen cars before reaching Lizzie's Camry.

"See you Wednesday," she called to Stephen.

He waved and ducked into his car. Lizzie eased out of the garage, searching for possible obstacles, surprised to find less damage than expected. There was plenty of debris cluttering the lawns she passed, and several large puddles where she feared her car would stall when she entered one too fast, water swirling up into her engine. She slowed to a crawl as belts screeched.

Panic gripped her when she pulled into the driveway and noticed her front windows were no longer hidden behind plywood. She threw the car in park and jumped out, racing up the front steps where she found the boards lying in a neat pile.

"Welcome home," came a call from the end of the porch. She turned to see Ian dragging another piece of wood around the house. He rolled it up the steps and joined her on the porch.

"I thought I'd come check on things, when I saw you weren't home I decided to go ahead and take the boards down for you."

"Thank you." She felt tears welling up in her eyes and blinked to hold them back.

"Looks like you made it through this storm unscathed," Ian reported.

"That's good news." She regained her composure as she unlocked the door. "Let me put my things away and I will help with the boards."

"No need, I'm almost done."

She dragged her suitcase inside, made a quick tour of the house to confirm there was no damage or leaks, and returned to the porch where Ian was depositing the last piece of plywood.

"I started a pot of coffee, would you like some?" she offered.

"Sure." He brushed his palms together and followed her inside. "I was surprised you didn't ride out the storm here."

"Yeah, my boss asked me to work." She handed him a cup of coffee and took a seat at the table. Her body ached and her eyelids felt like lead weights.

"Don't you work at a hotel? What did you have to do?" He blew on his coffee before taking a tentative sip.

"We had to have some staff on hand to deal with the guests who stayed in town. With all the evacuations, we ended up with a full house and a skeleton crew. It was definitely an adventure." She placed her elbow on the table and rested her head on her hand.

"You must be exhausted." Ian set his cup on the table and stood up. "Get some sleep, we can catch up later."

"You don't have to go."

He leaned close and ran his hand around the curve of her head stopping at the base of her neck, resting there for a moment making her skin tingle. "Sleep," was all he said before letting himself out the front door.

She left the coffee cups on the table, stumbled into her room, where she fell onto the bed without changing clothes or pulling down the covers.

At five o'clock, a knock on the door woke Lizzie. She rolled out of bed, and still half asleep, made her way to the living room and peeked out the window. She jerked to attention when she recognized the man on her porch as Ralph Anderson. She dropped to a crouch and backed away from the window praying he hadn't seen her.

He knocked again, more insistently this time. When she reached the couch, she laid on her stomach, her mind racing, trying to decide what to do. She saw movement at the window. Ralph's face appeared, pressed against the glass.

Lizzie heard the distant cry of a police siren and watched Ralph pull back from the window. The alarm grew louder giving her hope that he would be scared off. She waited, guessing the car was now on her street. She crawled along the floor to the door, pushing herself up to the peephole. The front porch was empty and a police car was pulling to a stop in the street.

She watched the officer step from the car, one hand on his holster, his other wrapped around the radio clipped to his shoulder. He approached the house, his steps deliberate, head swiveling back and forth. Lizzie felt confident Mae had seen Ralph and called the police, but she was afraid to open the door and startle the officer. He slid his weapon from its holster as he approached the front porch.

"Orlando Police," he called.

Lizzie unlocked the door and pulled it open, making sure her hands were visible.

"Ms. Reynolds?" The officer lowered his gun but didn't holster it.

"Yes, that's me."

"I'm Officer Prentiss. We received a call about a prowler." He looked around once more before holstering his gun.

"There was a man here a few minutes ago, my neighbor must have seen him and called you."

"Can you give me a description?"

"Of course, would you like to come inside?" She stepped back to allow Prentiss in. Once settled in the living room she told him about Ralph's previous visit, all the questions he'd asked and how she'd awoken to his pounding on her door.

"Did he provide any proof that he was related to your landlord?" Prentiss jotted notes in a small notebook.

"No, he didn't, and to be honest, there was just something creepy about him." She shivered remembering they way his dark eyes had studied her and Mae.

"I'll take a look around outside and make sure he isn't still in the area." Officer Prentiss stood and pulled a card from his pocket. "Give us a call if you think of anything else or if he should come back."

"Thank you, officer." Lizzie walked him to the door and waited on the porch for him to conduct his search.

"He's definitely gone now," Prentiss advised. "You have a good evening, ma'am." He touched his finger to his forehead in a salute and slipped back into the patrol car.

### CHAPTER FORTY FOUR

Lizzie glanced up and down the street before running across to Mae's house. The door opened as soon as she reached the top step. She darted through the open door, falling into Mae's arms.

"Thank you so much for calling the police," Lizzie gasped.

"Did they find that man?" Mae demanded.

Lizzie shook her head. "But I did tell the officer about Mr. Anderson's visit the other day. He said he'd look into it."

"When I saw him on your porch I was worried you'd open the door. I wanted to call, but I realized we have never exchanged phone numbers." Mae's motherly tone returned. She ushered Lizzie into the dining room and poured her a glass of iced tea from a large mason jar.

"I might have if he hadn't been pounding so hard." She took a sip of tea. "This is delicious."

"Thank you, dear." Mae set the jar back in the refrigerator before taking a seat. The women chatted about the storm, relieved to find that neither of them had suffered any damage.

"I thought it would never end though," Lizzie said.

"Were you at work the whole time?"

Lizzie nodded. "We almost ran out of food this morning. If it had lasted any longer, we might've had a riot on our hands. It was a good chance to train one of my new guys, though. He showed some real potential this weekend."

"That's wonderful."

"You know how I was telling you I wanted to have a party to thank everyone for their help? I think I'm going to go ahead and do it now rather than waiting for the landscaping to be finished. I hope you and your sons will come."

"Of course I will, just tell me when." Mae's smile was warm and tender, reminding Lizzie of her own grandmother.

"I'll find out if everyone's available next Saturday." Lizzie thanked Mae before returning home.

She locked the door behind her and pulled the curtains closed. Once she was sure the house was secure, she curled up on the couch with a pen and paper to start making plans for the party. She scrolled through her phone and selected a number.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Ian, it's Lizzie."

"Hi," his voice brightened, "did you get some rest?"

"A few hours. I can't remember if I thanked you for coming by earlier." Her heart raced.

"No thanks needed, I was happy to do it." There was a moment of silence then they both spoke at the same time.

"You first," he insisted.

"Well, I was wondering if you might be free next Saturday. I'm trying to plan a little get together, as a thank you for all the people who've helped me." She babbled on unable to make the words stop falling from her mouth. "I just want everyone to have a chance to see how beautiful the house has turned out and show off the wonderful work you did with the floors."

"I'll be there," Ian cut in. "What time?"

"Sixish."

"I've got it on my calendar." Again, the silence fell between them.

"Well, I should go. I've got a lot of calls to make." She switched her phone to the opposite ear and rubbed her sweating palm on her pants.

"Um...okay...see you then." He sounded disappointed, making her hold onto the line another minute, waiting to see if he'd say anything else, but the phone went dead.

She hung up and stared at the phone thoughtfully. What had he been planning to say? Why hadn't he said it after her invitation? She considered calling him back but the phone rang with Emma's ring tone.

"I wanted to make sure you made it home."

"Sorry, I forgot to call you guys. I was so tired when I got home I fell right asleep. I didn't get much rest at the hotel." Lizzie gave her friend the highlights of the weekend and shared with her the plans for the party.

"We'll be there. I look forward to meeting your friends. Can I do anything to help with the planning?" Emma asked.

"Maybe you can come over early and help me get things set up."

"Will do. I'll make some of my spinach dip, too. I know how much you like that."

"Thanks, Emma. I'll talk to you later." Lizzie spent the next hour calling her friends, inviting them to the party, and swapping stories about the storm.

"Is this Ian guy going to be at the party?" Stephanie asked.

"He said he would, why?"

"I want to meet the guy who has you talking like a schoolgirl."

"What?" Lizzie exclaimed. "He doesn't make me do that."

Stephanie laughed. "Believe me he does, and that's a good thing. You need a little love in your life."

"Whoa, slow the horses down, there's no love going on. We're just friends, and barely that."

"Uh huh, in that case, do you mind if I go out with him? He sounds like a dream."

"Stop it," Lizzie shot back.

"Alright, I'll see you next weekend then."

### CHAPTER FORTY FIVE

The bungalow appeared unscathed when Jeffrey pulled into the driveway. He made a quick tour of the perimeter finding several palm fronds scattered around the yard, which he collected and lugged to the curb. Satisfied with his inspection, he went inside and tossed his keys on the coffee table. He took a quick shower, changed into gray dress pants and a bright blue shirt, and headed back out.

He maneuvered through the traffic, arriving at work in fifteen minutes. Jenny's car was the only one in the parking lot despite the fact it was almost one o'clock. He found Jenny at her desk, phone held to her ear. She waved at him and finished the call.

"I wasn't sure if you were coming in." Jenny stood and carried a pile of papers to him.

"Yeah, sorry about that. Looks like the rest of the crew is having some challenges getting here also." He thumbed through the papers as he spoke.

"A few have called, I told them to come in. They should be here soon. Maybe the rest thought they'd get the day off since the storm didn't clear out till this morning."

"If anyone else calls tell them to stay home and we'll start back tomorrow. I'm going to head out to check for damage, send the others to do the same. Once that is done we'll call it a day." Jeffrey donned his hard hat and headed out the door.

Wally and three other guys were parking as he crossed the muddy lot. He gave them instructions to split into pairs and sweep through the building looking for any damage.

Upon entering the first floor, Jeffrey gave his eyes a moment to adjust to the darkness before switching on his flashlight. He wandered through the maze of unfinished rooms, finding only food wrappers, aluminum cans, and other garbage that had blown in.

He trudged up the stairs to the fourth floor and had to take a minute to catch his breath. He leaned against the cold cement wall. As his breathing quieted, he heard a sound, like a tin can rolling on the concrete floor. His back straightened and his gaze panned from left to right.

His flashlight cast a narrow beam through the deep shadows making it hard to see very far. He took a cautious step toward the area the noise had come from, his senses straining for any indication of something out of place. Entering a small room, a foul odor assaulted him. He raised his arm over his nose and mouth and took another step forward. His foot hit something and he stumbled forward. He swung his light to the floor illuminating a dirty backpack.

Jeffrey gave the bag a nudge with his toe and waved the flashlight around the small room, realizing he must be in a storage closet. There were several crumpled newspapers and food wrappers in the corner and he made his way toward these. He knelt and picked through the debris unsure what he was looking for.

"Don't touch that." A man's voice came from the darkness, tentative but demanding.

Jeffrey spun around, the flashlight caught a shadow hunched in the doorway then flickered and died. I should have put in fresh batteries, he rebuked himself.

"Where are you?" Jeffrey called into the darkness beyond the doorway. The only response was a soft swish of fabric as the man ran away. Jeffrey rushed toward the door, paused to peer into the hallway, and turned left hoping he was going the right way.

"This is private property," he called as he walked toward the outer edges of the building. A hacking cough reverberated on the concrete walls. Jeffrey stood, trying to pinpoint the source of the noise. He took a left at the next corridor and headed back to the center of the building. He tried to picture the blueprints, but without any point of reference, he was lost.

Occasionally he crossed a hallway that extended all the way to the outside, allowing for a thin corridor of light. He paused in one of these halls trying to get his bearings. He could hear two of the guys from his crew laughing on the floor above.

"I don't want any trouble," the man called.

"Then come out and we can talk." Jeffrey waited, turning in all directions. Ten feet ahead, he saw movement. His muscles tensed, prepared to strike if necessary.

"I don't want any trouble," the man repeated as he emerged from the darkness into the corridor. Even in the limited light, Jeffrey could tell the man was filthy; he was unshaven and his hair was matted. The stench he had smelled in the storage closet returned as the man approached.

"What are you doing here?" Jeffrey called.

"I just wanted to get out of the storm."

Out of the corner of his eye, Jeffrey caught a glance of flashlight beams but he didn't dare turn away from this intruder. A moment later, he heard his name called.

"I'm down here, guys," he called to the crew.

"I need my bag." The man's voice was desperate.

"One of my guys can get it. Why don't we go outside and talk?"

"No, those are my things, they can't touch them." The man was growing agitated. Wally and another man came up behind the vagrant.

"What you got here, boss?" Wally asked in surprise.

"Wally, would you please go find this man's bag. It's in a storage closet somewhere back that way." Jeffrey waved off in the direction he'd come from. "We'll meet you outside."

"Sure thing." Wally scooted past as Jeffrey and the two other men moved toward the stairwell. The remaining workers were waiting outside and reported they had found no damage on the upper floors.

"Thanks, guys. You can take off. I'll see you tomorrow." Jeffrey dismissed the crew before turning his attention back to the visitor. "What's your name?"

The man shuffled, his eyes roving. "Samuel. Look, I didn't mess with anything. I'll just get my bag and be going."

"Calm down, Samuel." Jeffrey was surprised by the sense of compassion and curiosity he felt. It was obvious the man was homeless, but he was well spoken, and more muscular than most of the vagrants Jeffrey saw around Lake Eola. His clothes, while worn and discolored, had once been expensive.

"How did you end up here?" Jeffrey leaned against his truck still sizing up the man.

"I got caught in the storm and couldn't make it to the shelter. I didn't think there'd be any harm in waiting inside, but it lasted longer than I expected." Samuel coughed into his coat sleeve.

"I don't mean how'd you end up in the building, I mean why are you living on the streets?" Jeffrey caught Samuel's gaze and saw him flinch. Wally came out of the building holding the backpack at arm's length.

"You don't want to hear my story." Samuel grabbed for his bag and tugged it onto his back.

"I wouldn't have asked if I didn't," Jeffrey said.

Samuel shrugged. "My wife got cancer a few years ago. I had to take a lot of time off work to care for her and ended up getting fired. Without insurance, the medical bills piled up. A couple of months after she died I lost the house, and haven't been able to get another job."

"I think it's illegal to fire someone for that, there's family medical leave you can take. Did you try to fight it?"

"What was I going to fight with? I couldn't afford a lawyer." Samuel gave a tired sigh.

"What kind of work do you do?"

"I _was_ an electrician."

"Do you have any references?"

"You aren't going to hire me so why don't you just let me go?" Samuel turned to leave.

"I don't know why, but I want to give you a chance to get back on your feet. If you can provide me with some references I might be able to help you get a job." Jeffrey was frustrated by the man's stubbornness.

Samuel eyed Jeffrey then flicked his gaze to Wally who stood a few feet off. "Is this guy for real?" Samuel asked.

"Most of the time," Wally replied with a lopsided grin.

"You don't have to decide right now. Think about it and come back later in the week if you want." Jeffrey extended a hand to Samuel. "I'm usually here from eight to five."

Samuel stared at the outstretched hand then slowly raised his own and offered a firm handshake. "I'll think about it."

### CHAPTER FORTY SIX

Lizzie spent the remainder of the week preparing for her party. Her evenings filled with unpacking boxes, locating serving trays and wine glasses, burning mix cds, and planning the menu. At work, she found herself delegating more tasks to Stephen and was impressed with how quickly he was learning to read the guests.

"Mrs. Henderson is checking in this afternoon, think you can handle it?" Lizzie asked as she went over the day's arrivals with Stephen. She saw a look of panic flash in his eyes. She waited and watched him take a deep breath before responding.

"I can do it," he said.

"Good, here is her file. Get familiar with it, review the reservations we have made and be prepared to go over them with her. She will push you and try to trip you up. She's like a kid testing its boundaries. Remain calm and pleasant but firm and she will respect you. I need to go check on things in the concierge lounge, want to tag along?"

"You think Jonathan will mind?" Stephen gave a nervous glance toward the manager's office.

"He knows you're training with me." Lizzie stood and slipped on her blazer.

They rode the elevator to the sixth floor in silence. When they reached the concierge lounge Lizzie greeted the handful of guests still lingering over coffee and pastries. She cleaned up some crumbs on the counter and made sure the beverage carafes were all full, explaining the upkeep procedures as she went. Stephen scribbled in a notebook he'd taken to carrying with him.

"You're coming to my party right?" Lizzie asked on the way back to the office.

"Of course. Haven't you taught me to network every chance I get?" Stephen grinned.

"That's my boy," she crowed with delight. They returned to the desk and spent the rest of the morning preparing itineraries for guests arriving over the weekend. At three forty-five, an instant message from the front desk appeared on her screen advising her that Elaine Henderson was at the desk.

"You ready for this?" Lizzie asked.

Stephen stood, puffed his chest out, nodded, and marched through the door to the desk area with confidence. Lizzie slipped out the side door and hid behind a Ficus tree to oversee the transaction.

"Oh no, not you," Elaine cried when Stephen stepped up to the counter.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Henderson, it's a pleasure to see you again." He gave her a warm smile.

"Where's Elizabeth? I want to see her right now."

"I'm so sorry, but she's not available. I'm happy to assist you." Stephen produced a sheet of paper with a flourish and placed in on the desk. "As you can see I already have your itinerary. Maybe you would like to go to the concierge lounge and have a glass of wine while we review everything." His smile never slipped but his voice grew more determined. Lizzie could tell by the motion of his arms that Stephen's fingers were flying over the keyboard completing the check-in process as he spoke.

"Will you be using your regular credit card?" He asked before hitting the final key to complete the transaction.

Elaine stared at him, her mouth hanging open. Stephen drew his smile broader and waited. She hoisted her purse onto the marble desk, dug through her wallet, and slid a black American Express card toward him.

"We have a bottle of Santa Margherita Pinot Grigio chilling for you in the lounge. Why don't you go on up and relax. I'll be there in a few minutes." He handed Elaine her room key.

Lizzie waited for Elaine to disappear in the elevator before leaving her hiding place. She approached Stephen with a sense of victory filling her heart.

"I couldn't have done it better," she applauded him.

Stephen chuckled. "She looked pretty shell shocked when she left; think I should give her a minute to recover?"

"She'll be fine by the time you get up there. Throwing in the specific wine was a good touch. Shows you're aware of her preferences and are capable of meeting her needs. That's what she wants. Now get going. Don't want to make her wait too long." Lizzie gave him a high five as he boarded the elevator.

With Stephen's help, Lizzie was able to get out of the office a little before five. She took her time walking home, enjoying the Friday night excitement. The restaurants she passed were setting up extra tables outside to take advantage of the crystal clear evening and gentle breeze. Many of the downtown residents were streaming out of their homes. When she arrived at her house, she found a note from Mae taped to her door.

Call or come by when you get home. That man was here again. Love, Mae

Lizzie shoved the note in her pocket and raced across the street, eyes darting all around, fearful of being watched. She rapped on the door, anxious for Mae to appear. The seconds crawled by with no response and she rapped again. Finally Mae pulled open the door and motioned for Lizzie to enter.

Mae led her to the living room, a spacious room with two blue recliners, a brown plaid loveseat, a straight-back chair that looked antique, a large china cabinet, and a long low cabinet with an old television console. Mae settled into one of the recliners and Lizzie perched on the edge of the loveseat.

"I'm worried about you," Mae's voice trembled. "Is there anyone who can come stay with you for a few days?"

"What happened?" Panic churned in the pit of Lizzie's stomach, fearful Ralph Anderson had threatened her in some way.

"He came by around three o'clock. He knocked on my door, but I didn't answer him, then he went prowling around your house. He must have spent fifteen minutes peering in your windows and walking around the property. I get the feeling he might have gone through your garbage as well. I saw him coming from the back of the house and he was pulling off a pair of gloves. I called the police, but they didn't seem to think it was all that important and didn't get here until he was already gone."

"I'm so sorry he came here. The officer who came out the other day gave me his card. I will call him and see if there is anything he can do."

"He didn't have someone driving him this time. I gave the police the information on the car, but I don't know if it will help them any." Mae gave Lizzie an apologetic look.

"Thank you for looking out for me." Lizzie felt a lump in her throat. She hugged Mae and slipped out of the house.

Back at her house with all the doors locked, Lizzie pulled Officer Prentiss' business card off the refrigerator and dialed his number. His voicemail picked up and she left a message with the details Mae had given her and her phone number.

When she hung up, she opened the fridge and stared blankly, not seeing the cheese and fruit platters, cakes, and pies waiting for the next day. She let go of the handle and the door closed. She picked up the phone again and called Emma. As she waited for the line to connect, she tried to decide how much to tell her friends about the frightening man. Her heart sank when she heard Emma's voicemail.

"Well, nothing else I can do about it right now," she said shrugging off her worry and focusing on final preparations for the party.

### CHAPTER FORTY SEVEN

Saturday morning Lizzie awoke to menacing clouds on the horizon. The weatherman predicted showers all morning into the late afternoon. Her heart sank as she pictured her plans for the evening falling apart. A knock at the door surprised her.

She crept to the door and leaned into the peephole but couldn't see anything. The person on the other side was covering the opening. Her heart began to race and she struggled to remain calm. She reached for the phone and dialed 9-1-1.

"9-1-1 what's your emergency?" A brassy female voice came on the line.

"There's a man outside my door," Lizzie whispered.

"I'm sorry ma'am you're going to have to speak up I can't hear you." The operator sounded annoyed Lizzie was interrupting her day. There was another knock, louder this time.

"There's someone outside my house. He's been here several times and I don't know who he is."

"Is he trying to break into the house?"

"Not yet, but I think he might."

"Ma'am we can't do anything if he is just knocking on the door. You may want to answer it and tell him to go away." The operator snapped her gum.

"You don't understand. I'm afraid he wants to hurt me."

"What's the address?" the operator sighed. Lizzie gave her the address and heard the clicking of computer keys. "Huh, Officer Prentiss does have a note in here. I'll send a car out to drive by. Should be there in ten minutes."

"Thank you." Lizzie hung up but continued to clutch the phone. He knocked again, softer this time.

She heard a car stop nearby and prayed the police had arrived. She ventured a look out the peephole again and saw the back of a retreating man but no police. She wanted to throw the door open and demand the intruder stop but fear paralyzed her. What if he had a gun? What if he turned around and stormed into the house?

The man disappeared from her limited field of vision. Seconds later another man rushed across the yard in the direction the first had gone. Lizzie moved to the window and pulled back the curtain. She saw Officer Prentiss on the sidewalk, back to her, head hunched into his shoulder. He straightened and turned toward the house. By the time he reached the front steps, she was on the porch.

"Where did he go?" she cried.

"I'm sorry, Ms. Reynolds. He had a car waiting for him and got away." Prentiss' radio crackled with static then a deep baritone voice came across it.

"Copy that, APB on a black, Lincoln Town Car, license plate Alpha-Charlie-Foxtrot-Niner- Niner- Seven."

"Are you okay?" Prentiss placed a strong hand on her upper arm and Lizzie realized she was shaking. "Why don't we go sit down?" He followed her into the living room and waited for her to take a seat before sitting himself.

"Why won't he leave me alone?" Lizzie's fear was turning to anger.

"I'm not sure. Have you spoken to your landlord to verify this is his stepson?"

She shook her head. "I've left several messages with the property manager but he hasn't gotten back to me."

"I will see if we can't step up patrols in this area for a few days and maybe that will scare him off."

"Isn't there anything else you can do?"

Prentiss gave her a sympathetic look. "I put out an all points bulletin for him, if we find him we'll bring him in for questioning. If he didn't have anything to hide, he wouldn't have run from me. In the meantime you should try to contact your landlord again." He rose to leave.

"Thank you for coming so quickly."

"Wish I'd gotten here sooner." Prentiss shook her hand and descended the steps. Lizzie shut the door and sank to the floor.

At five, Emma and Ron arrived loaded down with paper products. Lizzie told them about the persistent visitor as they set up a buffet of finger foods on the kitchen counters.

"Have you been able to talk to Mr. Phillips about this?" Emma asked with concern. Lizzie shook her head.

"Why don't you come stay with us for a few days?" Ron offered.

"Maybe. Officer Prentiss said he would call if they found him."

"I would feel better if you stayed with us or at least had someone else here with you." Emma placed a bowl of chips on the counter.

Lizzie drifted through the house lighting candles and pulling back curtains. She'd lived with the drapes drawn since Ralph Anderson's first visit and she felt opening them now was an act of defiance, showing she wasn't afraid. She ventured onto the front porch to light the citronella candles she'd set out to help with the mosquitoes. A car door slammed causing her to jump. She turned to the street and saw Stephen crossing the lawn.

"Hope I'm not too early," he greeted her.

"Not at all." Lizzie gave him a hug and took the bottle of wine he held out. "Thank you, this wasn't necessary."

"I'm grateful for all you've done for me, even when you had so much on your mind with this place." Stephen followed her into the house where she introduced him to Emma and Ron. Soon other guests started to arrive and Lizzie slipped into the role of hostess.

### CHAPTER FORTY EIGHT

The small house was bursting at the seams when Ian arrived. He weaved his way through the crowd in search of Lizzie. When he didn't find her inside, he slipped out the back door, moving past three guests sitting on folding chairs within a small circle of light from the kitchen windows. He thought he saw movement at the edge of the yard and stepped forward. Lizzie sat on a swing hung from a massive rain tree, a man stood behind her, his lips close to her ear.

Ian paused, disappointed to find her in such an intimate conversation with another man. He turned to leave, catching a glance of the man's hand on one of her shoulders. Even in the darkness, he could see the man was using this hand to hold her down. Lizzie's gaze rose from the ground and met Ian's. Her eyes were wide, filled with fear.

Without a thought, Ian lunged forward, his hands reaching for the man.

"Ian!" She fell forward as the man loosened his grip and raised his arms to protect himself from Ian's attack. Lizzie curled up in a ball on the ground as Ian leapt over her, tackling the man.

They rolled in the grass, fists flying. Ian landed a punch in the man's gut and jaw before taking a hit himself under the chin. He felt arms pulling him off the intruder and he tried to shake them off, but they dragged him from the limp form beneath him.

Stephen and Jeffery grabbed the man and yanked him to his feet. A siren cried in the distance. Blood streamed from the man's nose and mouth as he struggled to free himself. Ian spit blood himself and rolled his tongue around his mouth searching for loose teeth.

"What's gotten into you?" Jeffrey demanded.

Lizzie rushed to Ian's side, wrapping her arms around him, sobs shaking her whole body. "Thank you," she gasped.

"Are you okay?" He held her close, her warmth erasing his pain. Lizzie nodded.

"Excuse me folks," an authoritative voice said.

"Officer Prentiss. Thank goodness you're here." Lizzie lifted her head from Ian's shoulder.

"Are you alright, Ms. Reynolds?" Prentiss asked.

"I am now." She pointed at the man still restrained by Jeffrey and Stephen. "This is Mr. Anderson and he has been here threatening me. I hope you can arrest him now."

Prentiss motioned for another officer to cuff Ralph Anderson. Ralph struggled to break free, proclaiming his innocence.

"You can give your statement at the station," Prentiss shot at him before turning to Lizzie. "You think you can tell me what happened?"

Lizzie nodded and addressed her guests. "Why doesn't everyone go back inside? I'll be in soon."

The crowd that had gathered after the first scream, filtered inside leaving Lizzie, Ian, Jeffrey, Stephen, and Officer Prentiss alone. They settled into the folding chairs and Prentiss pulled a notebook from his shirt pocket.

"Whenever you're ready," Prentiss said with a kind smile. Lizzie slipped her hand into Ian's and he gave a reassuring squeeze.

"I came outside to get some fresh air and sat down on the swing. I'd only been there a couple of minutes when I felt a hand on my shoulder and another clamping over my mouth. He told me he knew I was having an affair with his stepfather and he was here to put an end to it. I tried to deny it but he wouldn't let me speak. He was trying to pull me off the swing when Ian arrived." She paused and looked at Ian, her eyes full of gratitude, setting off an ache in his heart.

"Why did he seem to think you are having an affair with Mr. Phillips?" Prentiss asked.

"I don't know. He kept telling me he knew the business trips were trips to see me, that he knew Mr. Phillips had sent me money. He did send me money. It was reimbursement from his homeowner's insurance for repairs I had to make after Hurricane Charley, but I've never met the man. My dealings have all been with his property manager."

She shivered and Ian fought the urge to wrap his arms around her.

"Please tell me you can lock him up now," she pleaded.

"We certainly have a better case. I'd recommend you visit the courthouse on Monday and file paperwork for an injunction against him as well." Prentiss turned to Ian. "I'll need to get your statement also, but you should probably go to the hospital to get checked out."

"I'm fine." Ian said and relayed his side of the story, leaving out the jealous disappointment he'd felt.

"So, are you saying you believed Ms. Reynolds was in imminent danger?" Prentiss asked. Ian nodded. Prentiss took statements from the two other men, flipped his notebook closed and stood up. "I'll need you folks to come to the station to fill out some paperwork, but it can wait until you wrap things up here."

Lizzie thanked Officer Prentiss for his help and walked him to the door. When the police had left, the guests gathered around her to find out what had happened. She told the story of Ralph Anderson's first appearance and subsequent prowling. She caught Mae's eye and gave her a look of thanks.

"We should all go," Monica said, looking around at the concerned faces.

Lizzie nodded. "I'm sorry to cut things short."

Her friends all dismissed her apology and gathered their things, offering hugs and kind words as they left. Emma and Ron said they would stay to clean up while Lizzie went to the police station.

"Just load up the dishwasher and I'll worry about the rest later." Lizzie lingered in Emma's embrace.

"We'll be here when you get home," Emma replied in a firm tone, letting Lizzie know there was no room for discussion. She followed the boys outside and they all piled into Stephen's SUV.

### CHAPTER FORTY NINE

It was a silent ride to the police station. Jeffrey recognized the ferocity of Ian's attack of Ralph Anderson and wondered how long Ian had been in love with Lizzie; wondered if she knew. For some reason the idea of Ian and Lizzie as a couple didn't sit right with him, but he didn't know why. They were perfect for each other in many ways, especially their shared interest in saving him. Jeffrey smirked at the thought of Lizzie and Ian plotting ways to bring his faithless soul to salvation.

He glanced in the backseat. Lizzie's head rested on Ian's shoulder. Ian's arm was wrapped around her protectively, his gaze trained on her blond curls. Jeffrey felt a pang in his chest. Those were the moments he missed most with Camylle - the quietness, the closeness, the trust. A pain shot through his head as though he'd been hit. Trust. That was the thing he'd missed most and suddenly realized he hadn't felt that loss since meeting Lizzie. He had that same intense sense of trust with her that he'd had with Camylle.

Ian's gaze lifted and his eyes met Jeffrey's. Years of words unsaid, flowed between them in that instant and Jeffrey knew Ian finally understood the fear and grief he'd felt when Camylle had lain dying. All the anger and resentment toward Ian flowed out of his heart.

"Here we are," Stephen announced as they pulled into a parking lot.

Jeffrey jumped out of the car and rushed to open the door for Lizzie. She scooted across the seat and took Jeffrey's waiting hand to help her step down. Stephen and Ian came around the car and waited until Lizzie was ready to enter the building.

The police station smelled of burned coffee and aftershave. The fluorescent lights cast a harsh glare on the white tile floors. Lizzie walked up to the reception desk where a thin woman with olive skin, silky black hair, and amber eyes greeted her. Lizzie gave her name and asked for Officer Prentiss.

"Yes, he's expecting you. Have a seat and I'll let him know you are here," the receptionist replied. The quartet moved to a group of plastic chairs along the wall.

Five minutes passed as Lizzie sat with her legs crossed, foot shaking with impatience and nerves. She felt as if a hundred pair of eyes were drilling into her and kept her own gaze glued to the floor. She tried to count the multi-colored flecks in the floor tiles but her vision would blur each time she reached fifty. Her shoulder ached where Ralph had gripped her so tightly and she longed for a shower to wash the feeling of his hands from her body.

A door swung open and Officer Prentiss stepped out. "Thanks for coming."

He ushered the group down a hallway into a cramped office. He pulled in two more chairs and took a seat behind a gray metal desk covered in papers and file folders. As Lizzie took a seat, the chair rocked on uneven legs.

"Mr. Anderson is in booking right now. He hasn't been cooperative, but I have been able to get in touch with Mr. Phillips. He was unaware his stepson was down here and asked me to apologize to you. He's flying in tomorrow." Prentiss pulled a stack of papers off the printer behind him as he spoke.

"I have printed up a copy of the statements you gave me earlier. If you can just review them, make sure I have everything correct and then sign them please." He handed out the reports and reached for another form.

"Ms. Reynolds, I assume you would like to have Mr. Anderson trespassed from the property?" At Lizzie's eager nod, he handed her the form and asked her to complete it.

"He's going to stay locked up for awhile, right?" Lizzie asked, twisting a lock of hair around her finger.

"I wish I could promise you that, but for a misdemeanor offense he'll be free as soon as he makes bail and I don't think that will be a problem for him."

"You mean he could get out tonight?" Terror flooded over her. She felt as if her throat was closing and couldn't move air through her lungs. Ian whispered in her ear, but she couldn't comprehend his words.

"I'm afraid so, but with the trespass he won't be able to come back to the house without fear of arrest. Once you get the injunction, he won't be able to call you or approach you off the property either. His case will be sent to the State Attorney's office to see if you want to press charges." Prentiss collected the signed forms and paper clipped them together.

"Of course I want to press charges," Lizzie cried.

Prentiss nodded. "With any luck he will go back to Massachusetts and leave you alone now."

She was outraged at the unfairness of the process, at the idea of Ralph Anderson walking free while she felt a prisoner in her own home. Officer Prentiss escorted them outside and shook Lizzie's hand, wishing her good night, his kind eyes assuring her everything was going to be okay.

### CHAPTER FIFTY

It was only nine o'clock when Lizzie and her friends returned to the house, but she felt as if it was much later. Her neck and shoulders ached, and all her muscles were screaming from the tense carriage of her body. Her head pounded and her stomach felt like a gallon of acid was swirling in it.

Emma and Ron sat on the couch waiting. She dropped down next to them too tired to speak. Stephen, Jeffrey, and Ian had followed her inside and she knew they wanted to say something; instead, they shuffled awkwardly.

"Thanks for saving me," she said. They waved her off assuring her it hadn't been any trouble. She looked at Ian's bruised face and struggled to her feet. She feathered her fingers across the bruise but he still flinched.

"You need to put some ice on that." She pushed aside her own exhaustion, crossed the room, and started filling a plastic bag with ice. Ian moved behind her catching her hand as she reached into the freezer once more. He turned her to face him and tilted her chin up to look into her eyes.

"Let us take care of you tonight," he said tenderly. He pushed the freezer door closed without taking his eyes off her. "Go get a shower. We'll make sure everything is locked up."

Emma appeared at her side and led her down the hall to her bedroom. Lizzie followed without argument, walking through a haze. The adrenaline that had been coursing through her body was now leaching every ounce of her strength.

"You've made some good friends." Emma turned on the water and started to draw a hot bath. She pulled a pair of pajamas from a drawer and laid them on the edge of the sink, then pulled Lizzie into a motherly embrace, rubbing her back.

"I don't want to be alone tonight," Lizzie whimpered.

"You don't have to be. Ron and I will stay with you. Now you go sit in the bath for a while. I'll send the boys home." Emma gave her a kiss on the forehead and slipped from the room.

Lizzie sank into the tub and scrubbed her face, neck, and shoulders, but still she could feel Ralph Anderson's fingers on her. She scrubbed again and again until her skin was raw. A floodgate of tears burst forth; the salt burned as they ran down her chapped face.

She sank down under the water, all sound muffled, cocooned from the world. Slowly the heat unwound her tight muscles. She stayed submerged until her lungs burned for air.

Twenty minutes later, she emerged from the bathroom, wrapped in a thick white bathrobe. She padded down the hall into the living room, where she found Emma flipping through channels on the television.

"Where's Ron?" Lizzie asked.

"I sent him home to get us a change of clothes. How are you doing?"

"I'm tired," Lizzie sighed. "Relieved, but still nervous."

"You don't need to worry, he can't hurt you now." Emma turned the television off. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Lizzie shook her head. "I can't bear to relive it again, not tonight."

"Would you like to pray?"

Lizzie nodded and Emma reached over to clasp her hands.

"Dear Heavenly Father, thank you for Lizzie. Thank you for protecting her tonight. Thank you for bringing such wonderful friends into her life. Lord, give her the strength and courage to move past this incident so she can go on to accomplish all that you have planned for her. Lord, we know you have not given us a spirit of fear, but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind. I ask that you bring peace to Lizzie's spirit tonight so she can sleep well and awake tomorrow refreshed. We pray these things in your precious name."

"Amen," Lizzie whispered. Emma squeezed her hands.

"Why don't you go to bed? I can make up the guest room when Ron gets here."

Lizzie was too drained to protest. With a look of thanks, she rose and set off for the bedroom.

Jeffrey and Ian watched Stephen's SUV round the corner. The night was warm and sticky, the song of cicadas rolling in waves all around them.

"So, you and Lizzie?" Jeffrey smiled at Ian's confused look. "Don't act like you don't know what I'm talking about. You're in love with her."

"Where'd you get an idea like that?" Ian shifted on his feet.

"Come on, you were attacking that guy like a wild animal. That was the act of a man in love." Jeffrey watched his old friend closely, realizing how much he'd missed their friendship the past few years.

Many guys would have been jealous of the relationship Ian and Camylle had shared, but it had never bothered Jeffrey, he'd always known they were just friends. Now, though, he was uneasy, feeling somehow inadequate.

"I don't know what came over me," Ian admitted. "At first I thought she was there with him, sharing a private moment, but then she looked right at me. It was like she was pleading me to help and I just went crazy."

Jeffrey slapped Ian on the back. "I can't say I would have been able to restrain myself much more."

Ian's head shot up, his eyes meeting Jeffrey's. "Does that mean you're in love with her?"

Jeffrey shrugged. "She's an amazing woman. Hard not to love her, but..."

"But what?"

"But, I'm not the one she loves." Jeffrey twirled his keys on his finger. "You want to go grab a drink?"

Ian shook his head and rubbed his chest. "Nah, I'm going to take some aspirin and crash."

"Alright, I'll catch you later then."

### CHAPTER FIFTY ONE

Lizzie's sleep was plagued by images of Ralph Anderson swimming through her unconscious mind. She awoke coughing, grasping at her neck, feeling like she was being strangled. The room was still dark and she struggled to orient herself. The clock read five forty-five. Instead of lying back down, she pushed the covers back and swung her feet over the side of the bed.

She went to the sink and turned on the hot water. When steam rose from the sink, she soaked a washcloth and scrubbed her face. With the cobwebs of sleep washed away, she reached for her bathrobe, pulled it tight around her, and set off for the kitchen.

The coffee pot gurgled as the last cup of water filled the carafe. Her mug, with cream and sugar, waited for the dark liquid, turning a milky brown as it mixed with the cream. She padded through the living room, pausing to pick up her Bible and settled on the front porch. The neighborhood was quiet, a rare occasion she'd learned, with no dog walkers, no children playing, no joggers. All the houses were dark except one, where a lone light burned in a small front window. Lizzie wondered who was up and why.

The sky was starting to change from black to midnight blue. She knew soon it would pale to gray, then almost white, before turning gold with the rising sun. Despite not being a morning person, she did enjoy watching the sunrise and the promise of a new start that it offered. Today, however, it held dread and fear, knowing Ralph Anderson could be out of jail.

She turned her attention to the Bible and let it flop open on her lap. It opened to Second Corinthians, chapter one, and she noticed an underlined passage.

"Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of our mercies and God of all comfort; who comforts us in all our affliction so we may be able to comfort those who are in any affliction with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God."

Lizzie read this passage several times, stumbling through it, trying to make sense of the words. Comfort, the word appeared five times in the two verses. Her mind and heart battled over the word. How could she feel comfort after being stalked and threatened, yet how could she not feel comfort in the knowledge that she had so many people willing to protect her?

She'd known Ron and Emma would always protect her, but through this nightmare, she'd learned of the others who were watching over her - Mae, Ian, Jeffrey, and Stephen. Her world that had become so small with the death of her parents had grown without her realizing it.

Was it possible God could use this incident to provide her with wisdom and empathy for someone else's benefit in the future? Of course, that's possible, she thought, annoyed with her questioning. Look at how my grief has been used to witness to Jeffrey.

Sure, lot of good that has done. You don't think your little story has really affected him do you? Lizzie squeezed her eyes shut, trying to silence the warring voices in her head, but they continued to bicker. Almost without realizing it, she began to hum "Jesus Loves Me," then "How Great Thou Art" and "I'll Fly Away." By the time she finished the third song, the negative thoughts receded.

She heard a door open and turned to see a woman with a stroller leaving the house where the light had been on earlier. The woman looked frazzled as she pushed the carriage toward Lizzie; the cries of the baby within could be heard several houses away. Lizzie waved as the mother and child passed. The cries diminished as the pair disappeared in the direction of the park at Lake Eola.

Ian sat on the balcony of his condo, watching the sun climb above the horizon, illuminating the city below him. He'd spent most of the night in this spot unable to sleep. His body ached and bruises had blossomed on his face and ribs. Jeffrey's admission of love for Lizzie, while it hadn't come as a surprise, had shaken Ian. He'd recognized the signs of Jeffrey's feelings early on. She came up in the few conversations the two men had shared recently, and Jeffrey's voice changed when he spoke of her. Ian recognized the bond they shared and wondered why Jeffrey hadn't done anything to further his relationship with her.

The depth of Ian's own feelings, on the other hand, had only been revealed to him last night. The look of terror in Lizzie's eyes had infuriated him, made him blind to all reason. When she had run into his arms, his body had flushed with pleasure. Even knowing her friends were spending the night, leaving her had taken tremendous will power. Now he battled with the thought of competing with Jeffrey for her affection. Didn't Jeffrey deserve it more than he did? Hadn't he suffered enough already? But Ian had never had this feeling before. He'd never known the joy he felt in her presence. Shouldn't he have the same chance of love that Jeffrey had already experienced?

A gentle breeze rustled the slender palm trees lining the street. Early morning dew rose off the asphalt in a fine steam. Ian watched as the neighborhood came to life, irritated that there seemed to be more couples than usual. An elderly couple shuffled along the sidewalk hand in hand; a young couple kissed goodbye before the man closed his car door and pulled away from the curb; even a pair of dogs played tug-of-war with a rawhide bone.

Ian hefted himself from the chair and went into the one bedroom condo. The living room walls were white, hung with several abstract canvases in muted earth tones; the furniture consisted of a simple sofa and chair from Ikea and a wooden entertainment center he'd built himself. He crossed to the kitchen, the countertops devoid of clutter, with only a coffee pot and a toaster marring the shiny marble surface.

He pulled a loaf of bread from the refrigerator and popped two slices into the toaster. While he waited, he turned on the stereo. Michael W. Smith's song "Love of My Life" was playing. For the first time he felt he could relate to the words of the song. He remembered her smile and saw all of the dreams he had for his life; he felt as though he would loose his way if he lost Lizzie.

Ian fell to his knees and prayed with more fervor than he'd ever prayed before.

### CHAPTER FIFTY TWO

The alarm went off but Lizzie continued to stare at the clock. Another sleepless night had passed her by and she dreaded the thought of going to work. The minutes ticked by and still she didn't move. The alarm sounded a second time and she pushed the tangled sheet back.

At ten minutes to nine, Lizzie pulled the front door closed behind her. She stood on the porch, her nervous glance sweeping up and down the street, knowing Ralph Anderson had been released on bail, but unsure if he was still in the area. She studied every shadow and shrub in her field of vision, waiting to see if there was movement. Three minutes elapsed before she took her first tentative steps toward the driveway.

Once inside the car, she let out her pent up breath. Her heart raced and her palms were clammy. She backed out of the driveway, still expecting Ralph to appear at any moment.

The lobby of Hotel Lago was a flurry of activity when she arrived. Heaps of luggage dotted the sidewalk creating an obstacle course for the bellmen scurrying outside with baggage-laden carts.

"What's going on?" Lizzie asked as she turned on her computer.

"Large group checking out this morning, did you forget?" Jonathan eyed her critically.

She caught sight of her calendar. The day was circled in red with a note about the departure of an information technology group.

"Sorry, it must have slipped my mind."

"You okay?" Jonathan asked. "It's not like you to forget this type of thing."

"I'm fine," she replied half-heartedly.

Jonathan hovered a moment longer before returning to his office. Lizzie called her voicemail and found four messages. She took notes as she listened to each, her anxiety receding as she became more engaged in her work.

"Any news?" Stephen asked leaning against the desk, startling her.

"What?" She'd been reading an email from a VIP guest scheduled to arrive that afternoon and struggled to change gears.

"About that creep from the party? Have you heard anything?"

Lizzie shook her head. "Officer Prentiss called yesterday to check in, but couldn't tell me if Ralph was still in the state or not."

"It's not right that he was let out for $500." Stephen jumped up as if ready to fight.

She sighed. "Tell me about it."

Stephen sobered. "Hey, if you need anything you'll let me know won't you?"

"Thanks, Stephen." She glanced back at her email. "Would you mind handling a check-in for me?"

"Of course." He pulled up a chair and sat down next to her. She reviewed the file with him and printed a copy of this latest email.

"Any questions?"

"I don't think so." He gave her a long look. "Have you gotten any sleep since Saturday?"

"Not much." She shrugged. "I'm fine, though."

Stephen didn't look convinced. "I'm supposed to be off tomorrow, but if you want me to cover your shift, I would be happy to come in."

Lizzie shook her head. "The only time I can forget about what happened is when I'm here. It keeps my mind busy, you know?"

"Sure, but if you change your mind..." He stood and returned his borrowed chair.

Lizzie spent the rest of the day meeting arriving guests and assisting with last minute requests. When the VIP arrived she lurked in the lobby while Stephen checked him in, delighted to see the two men clicked right away.

At five, she lingered at her desk. There were still two concierge arrivals expected and she toyed with the idea of staying to check them in herself. She watched Jonathan gather his briefcase and turn off the light in his office. As he turned to leave, he noticed her still sitting at her desk.

"You want to walk out with me?" he asked. She was still taken off guard by Jonathan's change in attitude toward her since Hurricane Frances. He'd always given her a long leash when it came to concierge matters, but he now seemed to defer to her judgment more often on everything pertaining to the front desk operation.

She hesitated. It would be nice to have someone with her in the parking lot. However, the thought of returning to her empty house frightened her, pushing her to stay at work, surrounded by people she knew.

"I think I'm going to stay a little later, meet the last couple of guests when they arrive."

"I can't afford to pay any overtime," Jonathan cautioned.

She shrugged. "Maybe I'll take a short day later in the week."

"Alright, I'll see you tomorrow then. Have a good night."

She sent an instant message to the front desk and bell services, letting them know she was still in the office and to notify her when the remaining concierge guests arrived. With nothing left to do but wait, she laid her head on the desk and promptly fell asleep.

### CHAPTER FIFTY THREE

Stephen blew into the office, almost banging the door against the wall. When he saw Lizzie asleep at her desk, he gently pulled the door closed with only the faintest click of the lock. He tiptoed across the office and tried to pull a file folder out from under her elbow.

"What? What is it?" She lifted her head and looked around.

Stephen gave her a sheepish grin. "Sorry, I didn't want to wake you. The Pearsons are here."

"Oh good." She rubbed her face and pushed her chair back.

"Lizzie, you don't have to do this."

"I know, but it's better than going home, wondering if he is lurking outside."he offered.

"I don't want to be a bother."

"It's not a bother. Now, let me check-in the Pearsons and you finish your nap." Stephen snagged the folder and scampered back to the desk.

Lizzie cleared the center of her desk and pulled a rolled up blanket from her bottom drawer. She rested her head on the blanket and tried to sleep again, but her mind was jumping like a child in a bounce house. She stood and paced around the small office, anxious to get home. She thought of Ralph Anderson prowling around, peering inside her windows, searching for ways to get her alone again, and a shiver ran down her spine.

The office door opened and she turned. Stephen shrugged off his blazer and tossed it over a chair.

"Ready to go?" he asked.

"Ready as I'll ever be."

Twilight had descended and neon signs flashed further up the road. Stephen walked Lizzie to her car and checked to make sure no one was inside before slipping into his own vehicle. She followed him out of the parking lot, down Washington Avenue. Stephen parked on the side of the road and jumped out of his car, flashlight in hand.

He stepped up to Lizzie's window. "Why don't you wait here while I take a look around?"

"Okay."

Stephen swept the flashlight in a wide arc as he circled the house. He paid close attention to the shrubbery and large trees in the backyard, pausing when he came to the swing. The image of Lizzie curled up in a ball filled his mind, shooting adrenaline through his body. When he was certain Ralph Anderson wasn't on the property he returned to the driveway.

"All clear," he announced.

Lizzie opened the door and stepped out. "Would you mind checking inside too?"

"Sure." He followed her and stepped inside once she unlocked the door. Lizzie followed close behind through each of the rooms, leaving the lights on as they moved. Satisfied the house was secure they returned to the living room.

"You going to be okay tonight?"

"I'm going to have to be," Lizzie said with a nervous laugh.

"I could stay awhile if you want."

"Really?"

"Yeah, I don't have any plans. Let's see what's on TV." Stephen flopped onto the couch and reached for the remote control.

"I'm going to make some hot tea, would you like anything?" She opened a cabinet and pulled down a coffee mug.

"Water's fine." Stephen flipped through the channels. Lizzie filled her mug and popped it in the microwave for two minutes. When it was ready, she returned to the living room with a bottle of water and her tea.

"Thanks." He accepted the bottle. "That smells good, what kind is it?"

"Blueberry and pomegranate. It helps relax me." Lizzie curled up in her leather chair and pulled a blanket around her. Stephen came across a home improvement show and laid the remote back on the coffee table. The pair watched in silence as a couple tackled a kitchen remodel. When the show ended, Stephen turned to find Lizzie asleep in the chair.

### CHAPTER FIFTY FOUR

With each passing day, Lizzie's fear diminished a little. Ralph Anderson hadn't shown his face in her neighborhood since being released and Jacob Phillips even stopped by to apologize for his stepson's behavior.

"You've done an amazing job here," Jacob commented. He stood in the center of the house after the brief tour.

"Thanks," Lizzie beamed.

Jacob walked to three framed photos and stood before them for several minutes.

"What are these pictures of?"

"They're drawings I found on the walls." She stepped closer to admire the photos as well.

"I think my mother may have drawn them," Jacob said in a sad tone. "She was an artist and told me she'd gotten her start on her grandmother's walls."

"Would you like to take these to her? Maybe she would like to have them." Lizzie reached for one of the frames but he stopped her, shaking his head.

"She died two years ago."

"I'm so sorry. I want you to have the photos, in honor of your mother."

"I couldn't. You've already done so much." He turned to look around, taking in the living room, dinning room, and kitchen. "It's more beautiful than the photos she used to show me. She would love this." He gave Lizzie a weak smile. "I'm sorry we allowed it to get so run down."

"I insist. The pictures mean more to you than they ever could to me. Besides, they're digital. I can print more." She gave him a warm smile as she pulled the frames off the wall. Jacob took them from her outstretched hands.

"Thank you." He cleared his throat and straightened his shoulders. "Ralph shouldn't be bothering you anymore, but if you should see him again, please call me and I will take care of it." He strode out of the house to the awaiting limousine.

Lizzie watched the car turn the corner before walking out to the mailbox. She flipped through the pile of mail as she returned to the house, turning at the sound of a car slowing behind her. Ian waved and her stomach fluttered. As he jogged toward her, she noticed the bruising on his face had faded to an ugly green.

"How are you feeling?" she asked with concern.

He grinned. "It's just some bruises, no big deal. How are you?"

"Fine." They reached the front door and she ushered him inside. Ian circled the living room while Lizzie poured two glasses of iced tea.

"What happened to your pictures?" He asked, taking the glass she offered. She told him about Jacob's visit and the revelation that his mother had done the drawings.

"That was nice of you." Ian took a seat on the couch, his tall frame folding like an accordion, and took a long gulp of tea. Lizzie wanted to say something, to let him know how much she appreciated him saving her, but she couldn't find the words. The silence between them stretched on.

"Would you like to go out to dinner?" Ian blurted out.

She nearly dropped her glass as she reached to set it on the table. "Tonight?"

"Sure, if you're free."

He leaned forward his hands reaching across the coffee table. "I'm sorry I haven't called or come by since the party. I should have. I just..." He stood and walked to the opposite end of the room and back, Lizzie's gaze following him.

"I like you, quite a lot actually." He came to a stop in front of her and dropped to his knees, grasping her hands. "I didn't realize how much until I saw that man standing so close to you. I was jealous and sad, then I saw you were afraid and I was furious. I don't know what I would have done if he'd hurt you." Ian's voice trailed off as his eyes met hers. Lizzie felt like she could look into those eyes forever. She squeezed his hands.

"But he didn't hurt me, you saved me," she whispered. She leaned forward her forehead touching his. A pair of dogs barked at a passing car, crickets chirped in the sultry afternoon, and they sat unmoving. Slowly Ian lifted his head until his lips met hers. His hands moved up her arms to her neck, which he cradled. She leaned into the kiss, twisting her fingers in his thick black hair. After a minute, he leaned back and smiled.

"Does this mean you'll have dinner with me?"

### CHAPTER FIFTY FIVE

Ella Fitzgerald crooned on the stereo as Lizzie opened her closet door. She shuffled through the hangers searching for the perfect outfit. A flowing black skirt caught her eye and she pulled it out, laying it on the bed alongside a pair of black pants and a red dress. She reached for a deep blue tunic and a white button down with three-quarter length sleeves. She eyed each of the outfits critically, weighing the pros and cons. Finally, she chose the red dress, a sheath that hugged her curves, and silver sandals.

She touched up her make-up and shut-off the bathroom light ten minutes before Ian was scheduled to arrive. She wandered around the house, too excited and nervous to sit. Every five minutes she paused at a window, pulling the curtain back to check the driveway.

At precisely eight o'clock headlights panned the windows. She opened the door before he could knock. He came up the steps wearing a black suit coat and dress pants with, a cornflower blue shirt, and bold red tie. He stopped the moment he saw her. Lizzie recognized the appreciation in his eyes and the motion of his Adam's apple as he swallowed.

"You look gorgeous."

"Thank you," Lizzie demurred, her gaze dropping to the ground, a light flush coloring her face. Ian offered her his arm and walked her to the car. She waited as he opened the door for her. When she was tucked inside, he shut the door and moved around to the driver's side.

"Where are we going?" she asked as he backed into the street.

"It's a surprise." He grinned and refused to tell her anymore. She watched out the window, taking note when Ian got on I-4 westbound, her brain ticking through the possible restaurants in this direction, an endless list to be sure. When he exited on Sandlake Road her list narrowed, sifting through her memory of all the eateries in Dr. Phillips.

"Seasons 52?" she asked.

"Nope."

"Roy's?"

Ian laughed. "We'll be there in a minute." He turned into Plaza Venezia and drove through the large parking lot, passing several restaurants, pretending to park then pulling through to the next aisle.

"Stop it," Lizzie exclaimed, her laughter bringing tears to her eyes.

He maneuvered the car into a spot outside of the Samba Room and Lizzie squealed with delight.

"I've been dying to come here." She bounced in the seat with excitement. Ian came around the car to open her door. They walked into the restaurant arm in arm and were seated within a matter of minutes. They talked about their childhoods, their dreams and passions, and the events of the past few months.

When they finished their meals and the dishes were cleared, Ian took her hand and pulled her up. "Now it's time to see how you dance."

"Oh I don't know. I'm not very good." She tried to resist but his smile melted her resolve. The salsa music was fast and infectious. The couple stepped on each other's toes several times, breaking into new gales of laughter with each misstep, but before long they found a rhythm and spun around the dance floor like pros.

Two hours later, they tumbled out onto the sidewalk, the air cool on their flushed skin. Lizzie couldn't remember feeling this happy before. She slipped her hand into Ian's. He gave her a tender look and wrapped his other arm around her, pulling her close. She breathed in his cologne, the scent of pine and spice filling her nostrils, and knew this aroma would always recall this night.

### CHAPTER FIFTY SIX

Jeffrey swirled mouthwash, gurgled, and spit. He looked in the mirror and fussed with his hair, pulling individual strands into place. He wore jeans, a black polo, and black loafers. A knock on the door alerted him to Wally's arrival. He flicked off the bedroom light and grabbed his keys as he passed the coffee table.

Stepping outside, he greeted Wally. "We gotta hurry, the band starts at eight."

"Why are we doing this again? No good bands start before ten," Wally grumbled.

"Because Michelle isn't returning my calls and I need to talk to her." Jeffrey opened the passenger door of Wally's truck and slid inside.

"You can get any chick you want, what's the big deal with this girl?"

"I don't know," Jeffrey admitted. "But she's cool, not like most other girls, and I think it's time I change the kind of girl I'm interested in."

"I don't know what's wrong with the other women you've gone out with. They've all been pretty hot if you ask me."

Jeffrey didn't respond and they rode the rest of the way in silence. They found a parking spot several blocks from the club and joined the throng strolling along Orange Avenue, surprised by how many people were out this early. When they reached the Loaded Hog, a crowd spilled out onto the street, making it nearly impossible to get inside. The band was already playing and the crowd seemed to be there specifically to see them. They danced to the music and cheered. Jeffrey was surprised to see several spectators singing along.

He recognized the song from the last time he'd seen Michelle play and knew she must be thrilled with this crowd. It took him thirty minutes to reach the bar and he wondered what had happened to make the band so popular. When the set ended, the audience erupted in cheers. He caught glimpses of Michelle's face through the bobbing heads and saw her smile, her eyes dancing with delight. The crush of people thinned some and Jeffrey moved toward the back door hoping to catch Michelle on the way to her car.

"Michelle," he called as she lifted her guitar case. She glanced his way but didn't acknowledge him. He called again. She said goodbye to her bandmates and headed toward the door.

"What do you want?" she snapped when she met him.

"I just want to talk," he said.

"I don't know what there is to say." Michelle pushed the door open and walked past a garbage dumpster. Jeffrey grabbed for her arm but she shook him off.

"I'm sorry. I was a jerk, more than a jerk." He stood by as she placed the guitar case in her trunk. "I like you and I was hoping you might give me another chance."

"I've dated guys like you before. You think you own the girl you're with." She touched the scar on her eyebrow. "I've learned my lesson and I'm not going down that road again." She slammed the trunk closed.

"No, that's not me at all. Really. I don't know why I acted the way I did. I've never done that before and I would never hurt a woman." He felt desperate, needing her to understand him.

"I'm sorry, but I can't risk it." She started back toward the club. Jeffrey stood rooted to the spot, watching her back disappear. He kicked a beer can across the dark lot, shoved his hands into his pockets, and went to find Wally.

"Come on, I need a drink," he barked when he found his friend.

"Why can't we have one here?" Wally asked. Jeffrey glared at him and made for the door. On the sidewalk, he moved fast and Wally struggled to keep up.

"What's the hurry?"

"I don't want to talk about it." Jeffrey crossed the street and ducked into Bar BQ Bar.

The men spent the next several hours bouncing from one bar to another, Jeffrey never satisfied with one location for more than thirty minutes. Each time Jeffrey said it was time to move on Wally grumbled but followed his friend. When they reached Casey's, the bar was sparsely populated, a jukebox in the corner blared pulsing music, causing the patrons to shout at each other. They ordered drinks and turned to scope out the women. Jeffrey leaned on the bar, his shirtsleeve sticking to the surface.

Wally found a lady he liked and scurried across the room. Jeffrey watched Wally chatting up a woman in a pair of tight leather pants and tiny top that displayed her midriff. The smell of urine, beer, and stale cigarette smoke was overpowering. He twirled an empty glass in his hand, surprised at how sober he felt, and disgusted by the desperate charade surrounding him.

He felt disconnected from his body, as though he was watching the scene from above. His disembodied gaze traveled from face to face searching for answers. He saw himself facing a beautiful woman, her lithe frame leaning into him but he appeared oblivious to her attention. She ran her soft finger along his cheek and he flinched, brought back to himself. He took a step away from the woman and glanced toward Wally who was still engrossed with Miss Leather Pants. Jeffrey dropped his glass on the counter and made his way out of the bar.

Outside, he stood on the street corner drawing in deep breaths, trying to cleanse the putrid odor of the bar from his nostrils. Even out here, he could smell the stench of desperation, now mingled with fried foods, car exhaust, and pine. He looked up the street toward Orange Avenue catching a glimpse of white lights crisscrossing the courtyard between The Globe and the Wall Street Cantina. The lights blurred and he stumbled forward, the screech of tires stopping him in his tracks. A black Mustang thumping with loud bass music swerved to miss him; the driver laid on the horn and cursed out the window as he passed.

Before stepping off the curb again, Jeffrey checked in all directions and moved across the street, away from the crowds. He passed though the park at Lake Eola, hands shoved in his pockets, head down, careful not to make eye contact with the homeless seeking handouts. All the tables outside the restaurant, Hue, were filled with late diners, the laughter bellowing like church bells.

The sidewalk grew darker as he left the party behind, moving into the more residential area of downtown. Fifteen minutes later he stopped. The street was silent except for the occasional rustle of leaves. The windows were dark, curtains pulled tight, protecting the inhabitants from prying eyes. Jeffrey turned up a walkway lined with Gerbera daisies in shades of red, yellow, and orange, cheerful and inviting even in the darkness. At the front door, he hesitated before raising his fist and rapping. He waited then rapped again, this time with urgency.

The front porch light flicked on and he noticed a motion at the window before the door opened. Lizzie stood in the doorway wearing a thick robe cinched around her slim waist. She squinted at him and pulled the neck of the robe closed.

"Jeffrey?" She clung to the door as if to steady herself. "What time is it?"

"I'm sorry," He stammered. He twisted his wrist to glance at his watch and found it was one fifteen in the morning. "I didn't think about how late it is." He took a step back turning to leave.

"I'm up now," Lizzie replied. "Is something wrong?"

He dropped his head to his chest his gaze following the toe of his sneaker as it drew circles along the wooden planks of the porch. He could sense Lizzie watching him and growing impatient.

"I was out with Wally," He started, then paused. "I'm not feeling like myself, do you mind if I sit down?"

She opened the door wider allowing him to step inside. He took a seat on the sofa sinking into the deep cushions. She curled up in a chair across from him and rested her cheek on her palm. Jeffrey looked at her and felt his disconnected spirit rejoin his body.

"Wally and I were out, hitting a few clubs. I went to see Michelle." His thoughts jumped around, trying to find the right words. He paused and looked at his hands, gripped together in his lap. "I wanted to apologize to her, to tell her I was a jerk, but she didn't even care. I think she was afraid of me. I'm not a bad person, I just..." He raised his clenched hands to his head.

"So how did you end up here?" Lizzie asked.

"I don't know." He looked up at her. "I left Wally and started walking, next thing I knew I was in your front yard."

She leaned forward and placed her hands on his shoulders. "You aren't a bad person. You're kind and generous. I don't know what happened between you and Michelle, but if she can't see what a wonderful man you are then it's her loss."

Jeffrey's skin tingled where her fingers brushed his neck. He looked into her eyes and saw the same tender expression Camylle had often given him. He swallowed and spoke, considering each word. "You remember when you told me I was still grieving for Camylle?" Lizzie nodded. "I think I might be ready to listen."

She released his shoulders and stood up. Jeffrey watched her move into the kitchen. "Would you like some coffee?" she asked.

Before he could answer, she had filled the pot with water and scooped grounds into the basket. As the coffee pot gurgled, she busied herself with pulling cups from the cupboard.

"That isn't necessary," he said, confused by her reaction. He'd expected her to jump at the chance to give him the God speech but she seemed flustered.

"It's not a problem. It'll only take a couple of minutes." She turned and pulled milk from the refrigerator.

He looked around the room, wishing he hadn't come. He wondered what Wally would do when he realized Jeffrey was gone. He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and sent his friend a text message. When he looked up Lizzie was returning with a tray containing the coffee cups, a bowl of sugar, and a carton of milk.

"Thanks." He took a cup and inhaled the earthy aroma.

She settled on the couch next to him, tucking her legs underneath her. "Where would you like me to start?"

Jeffrey, lifting the cup to his lips, stopped in mid-air, taken by surprised. "I, I don't know," he stammered. "Isn't there some kind of formula speech you're supposed to give me?"

Lizzie laughed. "I wish it were that easy." She set her cup on the table. "Truth is, I've never walked anyone through this before. The church I went to before my parents died had a program called FAITH, an acronym. F is for forgiveness, everyone has sinned and needs God's forgiveness."

She reached for the Bible on the coffee table and opened it. He watched her expertly flip through the pages. "In Romans three verse twenty-three it says 'for all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God.' Does that make sense?"

He thought a moment and nodded. "I guess it's comforting in a way, but if we all fall short then what hope is there?"

"The hope comes through Jesus." Lizzie flipped the pages again. "In Ephesians chapter one verse seven it says 'In him we have redemption through his blood, the forgiveness of sins, in accordance with the riches of God's grace.' This refers to the crucifixion of Jesus Christ."

"So you really believe Jesus was the son of God?"

She looked at him earnestly. "I do, that is the basis of my faith."

"So if he died for us then why isn't everyone forgiven?"

She flipped back in the Bible. "That brings us to the A, available. Forgiveness is available to all. I'm sure you know John three, sixteen, it's on signs at every sporting event. 'For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life.'"

Jeffrey was amazed at her recitation.

Lizzie looked at the words before her, running her fingers along the line before looking back at him. "Here it is, Matthew chapter seven verse twenty-one, 'Not everyone who says to me, Lord, Lord, will enter the kingdom of heaven, but only he who does the will of my Father in heaven.' There are a lot of people who claim to believe in God, but they do not follow his will. They think if they simply live a good life they will get into heaven, but that isn't the case."

"But how do you know the will of God?" Jeffrey felt overwhelmed as if she were speaking to him a foreign language.

"Well, I'll admit that's something I have struggled with tremendously, but I have come to believe that if I study the Bible, the word of God given to guide us, then I will grow in knowledge and understanding. What I have come to understand is that part of God's will for his children is to spread his word so others can come to know him." She paused and met his eyes. "So people like you can find salvation."

"I'm afraid to ask what the I stands for." Jeffrey tried to laugh, but felt a weight on his chest.

"As I was saying, many believe if they live a good life that will get them into heaven."Sh flipped back to a chapter she'd been holding with her thumb. "I stands for impossible, as in it's impossible to earn your way into heaven. Here in Ephesians chapter two verses eight and nine it says, 'For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith-and this is not from yourselves, it is the gift of God-not by works, so that no one can boast.' That means no number of good deeds can buy your way into heaven, only faith in Jesus Christ can."

"So I just have to say I believe in Jesus and I'm in?" He couldn't believe it was that easy. What had he worried about all these years?

"Not exactly. T is for turn; you have to turn away from sin and self. Luke chapter thirteen verse three says 'I tell you no! But unless you repent, you too will all perish.' Jesus was saying this to those who had taken to following him, believing he was the Son of God. He was telling them that even though they believed in him, if they did not repent of their sins they still would not enter heaven."

"That seems a bit harsh. I've always heard God is love and yet he condemns anyone who does wrong?" Jeffrey felt the old anger flare in his gut and shifted uneasily.

Lizzie sighed. "That argument is so over used. Your parents love you, but didn't they punish you when you disobeyed them as a child? It's not any different with God. If he didn't love us, he wouldn't care how we lived our lives."

He rubbed his chin thoughtfully and nodded. "Go on."

"Only a couple more verses. This one is the crux of the matter, Romans chapter ten verses nine and ten. 'That is you confess with your mouth, Jesus is Lord, and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved. For it is with your heart that you believe and are justified, and it is with your mouth that you confess and are saved.' You must accept, believe, confess, and turn from your old ways. In return Jesus made us a promise." Lizzie's face glowed as she flipped the pages and Jeffrey couldn't stop the anticipation building within him. He leaned forward waiting for her next words.

"This next verse was something Jesus told his disciples on the eve of his death, knowing what was awaiting him he spoke with them calmly and filled with love, providing them with comfort even though they had no idea what would happen in the next hours. H is for heaven. In John chapter fourteen verse three, Jesus said, 'And if I go to prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me that you also may be where I am.' Jesus was telling them that even though he was going away from them, that he would be back, that he longed for them to be with him always. Those words apply to us today just the same, thousands of years later." She spoke rapidly, her eyes sparkling.

Jeffrey noticed a slight flush to her cheeks. Seeing her like this reminded him of the heated debates with Camylle about this same subject. She had nearly convinced him to believe, but then she had received the diagnosis. He dropped his gaze to the floor and a feeling of guilt washed over him. He pushed himself off the couch and moved across the room to the far wall. He stood there, back to Lizzie trying to gain control of his emotions.

"Are you okay?" Lizzie asked with concern.

"Camylle told me all these things, but I didn't believe. It seems wrong that I could believe now."He turned to Lizzie with tears in his eyes. "How is it that can I believe you when I couldn't believe her?"

She closed the Bible and returned it to the coffee table. She unfolded her legs and stood, but didn't move toward him. She gazed at him with a depth of understanding that made him feel she saw right into his soul.

"You may not have been ready then, but you allowed her to plant seeds in your heart. Ian and I have had the opportunity to water those seeds and now they are able to blossom into faith. It doesn't mean you believe me more than Camylle, it just means your heart is now ready."

She reached a hand out to him. He studied her face searching for answers to questions he didn't yet know. He stepped toward her and took her hand.

"What do I have to do?" he whispered. Lizzie smiled and knelt, pulling him down with her.

"All you have to do is say a prayer. Do you want to do that?" She waited as Jeffrey considered this. He lifted his head, looked into her eyes, and nodded.

"Then repeat after me. Dear Lord, I come before you admitting I am a sinner, that I am lost without you. I thank you for sending your son, Jesus Christ, to die for my sins and for raising him from the dead. I ask you to come into my heart today and show me how to live my life in accordance with your will. Amen."

Jeffrey repeated the words in a ragged voice. He felt Lizzie's hand rest on his back. When they finished the prayer, he fell onto his face sobbing. He let all the pain, all the anger, all the bitterness of the past four years flow out of him. Lizzie sat by his side stroking his head. As his cries subsided, he lifted his head and turned to her.

"I'm sorry, I had no idea how freeing that would be." He sank back on his heels and gave her a crooked smile. "So what now?"

"I think you should call Ian." She stood and grabbed the cordless phone.

"Right now?" He glanced at his watch. "It's three in the morning."

"I don't think he'll mind when you tell him what just happened." Lizzie's smile was like a beam of sunlight pouring through an open window.

Jeffrey took the phone and dialed.

### Acknowledgements

First and foremost, I want to thank God for giving me the inspiration for this story. There were many times when I sat down to write with no idea what to say yet hours later I would find pages had been poured out. Thanks to my wonderful parents, Mike and Alta, who have supported me and cheered me on. A very special thank you to my writing partner, DiVoran. Without your encouragement and editing this novel would have never become a reality. Thanks to my friend Chris who provided me with guidance when I needed more insight into the world of law enforcement. I hope that I can call on you more in my upcoming novels. Thanks to Sharon for being willing to read my early draft and give me your honest opinion. Finally, thanks to my dear friend, Mike Thomas, for your support and technical assistance, for letting me vent, and for being willing to go out in a summer storm to get the cover shot I wanted. I can't wait to see what the next project I send you on turns out to be.

If you would like to learn more about my books please become a fan of my Facebook page at http://www.facebook.com/AuthorRebekahLyn, follow me on Twitter @RebekahLyn1, or visit my website, RebekahLynBooks.com. If you love food and would like to find some of the recipes from my books check out my blog at, http://www.rebekahlynskitchen.wordpress.com.

Keep reading for a sample of book two in the Seasons of Faith Series, Winter's End.
Winter's End
Seasons on Faith Book 2

### CHAPTER ONE

Bodies jostled and bumped to the music of _Tangled Web_ all around Amanda, making her cringe with disgust. Pulling her arms in closer to her body, she pushed her way to the back of the crowded club. The sound of the band dimmed slightly as she entered the restroom. She moved toward the sink, her feet sticking to the dark concrete floor. In the mirror, she examined her porcelain skin and frowned at the smudged mascara around her eyes. She pulled a tissue from her purse and blotted her face, disgusted that she was perspiring. Amanda Barnes didn't perspire.

The door opened and three women came tripping into the restroom, laughing raucously.

As she disappeared into a stall, a woman wearing a tiny mini skirt exclaimed, "This band is amazing!"

"I know, hurry up. I don't want to miss their next song." A tall woman in skinny jeans that accentuated her long legs peered over Amanda's head into the mirror and pulled her hair into a messy ponytail. The third woman, in a low cut sweater that barely contained her ample bosoms, chugged the remainder of her beer and dropped the plastic cup on the floor.

"The drummer is hot," gushed the mini skirted woman as she emerged from the stall and washed her hands.

"He is way out of your league, Alex," retorted the tall woman.

"And you think you're more his type?" Alex sneered. "I doubt he likes Amazon women."

"I don't know, a lot of guys like the long legs." The tall woman gave a sly smile as she pointedly glanced at the petite girl.

"Come on, you two, they are starting again."

The women filed out of the restroom, leaving Amanda alone once again. She sighed and took a last look in the mirror before returning to the boisterous crowd. Dancing near the stage, she found her coworkers, Tiffani, an anorexic looking blonde with bony shoulders peeking out of her cap sleeved t-shirt, and Wendy, whose thick brown hair whipped around her long face as she banged her head in time with the music.

"I can't believe I let you guys talk me into this," Amanda shouted over the music.

"Oh come on, this is Michelle's big break, and they really are great," Wendy replied. "Besides, she comes to all of our events. Least we can do is show her some support."

Amanda shrugged. "I'm going home. I'll see you guys tomorrow."

"Don't go." Tiffani grabbed for Amanda's arm. "We're going for drinks when the band finishes."

"No, I'm not in the mood." Amanda removed Tiffani's hand and stepped back.

"You want us to walk you to your car?" Wendy asked.

Amanda shook her head, knowing Wendy was afraid of even the thought of a dark parking garage. Turning on her heel, she threaded her way to the door. A blast of cold air hit her face as she stepped out onto the sidewalk. Shrugging on her short pea coat, she fastened the four buttons and flipped up the collar against the brisk wind.

"Oh you have to be kidding me," she mumbled. "I must've left my keys at the office."

Amanda turned right up Orange Avenue, her strides long and hurried as she made her way back to the block of towering office buildings. In five minutes, she stood before a wall of glass windows and doors, fumbling through her purse for her ID card. She swiped the card, the lock disengaging immediately.

She crossed the empty lobby, her high heels echoing on the marble floor. When she reached the bank of elevators, one stood open as if expecting her. In less than a minute, she exited onto the sixth floor, lit only by a few emergency lights. Not bothering to search for a light switch, she weaved through a maze of cubicles until she reached her desk.

"Thank heavens," Amanda whispered at the sight of her keys lying next to the computer.

She looped a finger through the keychain, then froze at the sound of a loud thud down the hall. Peering around the edge of her cubicle, she saw a shadow moving across the hallway toward another row of cubicles. When she heard the squeak of a wheel, she relaxed her tensed muscles, laughing at herself for being afraid of the janitor. Leaving her desk, she walked back toward the elevator. Just before pressing the elevator button, she decided to stop in the restroom. It was a thirty-minute drive to her apartment in Altamonte Springs and suddenly her bladder felt fuller than a ten-year-old's water balloon.

Motion-activated lights flicked on when she entered. Tottering past the sinks, barely able to walk without crossing her legs now, she entered the first stall only to find there was no toilet paper. Every ounce of her being was crying out for relief as she turned to the next stall.

The bathroom door opened and a man wearing a black hooded sweatshirt, dark jeans, and sneakers barreled toward her.

Amanda stepped aside seconds before the man reached her, causing him to crash into the closed stall door. Unfazed, the man grabbed her arm as she tried to run past him. He twisted her arm above her head and pinned her body against the wall. Without thinking, Amanda swung her free arm, fingers clawing at air, trying to scratch his face.

She connected, leaving three long gashes down his right cheek. He roared with anger and slapped her, making her ears ring. She pushed with a strength she didn't know she had and the man temporarily lost his balance.

Amanda wrenched her arm free and made for the door. She was almost to the door when she felt her hair being pulled, her head arching backward. An arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer, then with one hand, he slammed her face against the counter. There was a loud crack and Amanda felt her nose break. Blood flowed down her face, into her mouth.

While she was still stunned, the man used one of his feet to sweep her legs out from under her and she fell to the floor. He crouched over her and she felt him clawing at the buttons of her jacket as she struggled to orient herself. With a fierce yank, he ripped the jacket open, buttons flying across the small room. She looked in his eyes and saw craven lust. She tried to scream, but he pulled a rag from his pocket and shoved it into her mouth as soon as she opened it.

The man now straddled her, unbuttoning his jeans. Amanda brought her knee up and hit him in the groin, causing him to double over in pain. She tried to free herself, but he had sunk onto her legs and weighed more than she had anticipated. He howled with rage and reached for her hair again. He pulled her face up close to his and she could smell alcohol on his breath.

"You should have just let me buy you a drink," he growled, then smashed the back of her head against the cold tile floor. He raised her head again and smashed it over and over, until her world went dark.

