Visit Abbott Island
Page one of Home Where She Belongs:
Sharp breaths escaped Sadie
Stewart’s lungs. Her legs wobbled like cooked spaghetti as she pushed to
reclaim her routine and run the rest of the route. Confidence surged through
her as her running shoes crunched dried leaves and pounded Abbott Island's hard
dirt trail. Rosie, her beloved canine companion, kept rhythm with each step.
Aged maples decked in orange and
scarlet bent across the trail and shaped a golden canopy. The pungent scent of
wood smoke hung in the air. Rosie's red flag of a tail slapped the calves of
Sadie's legs as she bounded alongside her. Her dog never judged her or caused
her pain. Not like the man who had ripped her emotions to shreds.
A chill wind from Lake Erie rushed
at their backs and pushed them toward the only place where Sadie found peace,
her grandparents’ home. Every summer for twelve years, she’d lived in the
warmth and comfort of their care, played with her friends, and helped her Gram
clean the rental cottages. Grandpa had deeded the property to Sadie, but she’d
neglected the place for three years. Now, she depended on the island rentals to
rescue her from a life of regret and hurt.
Around the curve, she pushed her
legs harder. A daily run helped clear her mind and build her strength. “Run,
run, run.” She panted. Run, run, run... from him.
Fear dogged every step as she
raced toward freedom from the man who shattered her heart. The memory of Bryce
Shaw's screams and accusations played akin to a recording in her head. She
prayed he'd give up and not track her to the island.
His constant text messages and
incessant calls obliterated the peace she sought. Three months and the man
refused to give up his game of superiority over her. She'd changed her phone
number once, but he must have dragged it out of her father. Or Dad offered her
information without hesitation. At least the island’s spotty cell service might
delay the next threat to tranquility.
Tomorrow she'd drive Coop, her Mini-Cooper onto the ferry and search for the closest place to trade in her number. This time she'd keep it to herself, except for the handful of people familiar with her story. She'd enlist the folks at the phone store to help her block the two people who tormented her. Two birds with one stone, as Gram used to say. Her father, who had never loved her, yet forced her to work for him, and Bryce, the man who had destroyed her trust, both fueled her determination to start over. As she ran, sorrow swallowed her heart. The hurt and humiliation weighed heavy as an anchor.
CHAPTER ONE
Marigold Hayes jabbed a spade in the soil. A flat of geraniums waved their scarlet heads as she lowered her fifty-four-year-old body onto a grassy spot. The joints in her knees popped and cracked, another reminder her fifty-fifth birthday loomed over her. Five years to sixty, but she had never lost hope of finding her father.
Forty-years had passed since the accident, and the occasional nightmare still haunted her. Newspaper clippings, library research, yet not one morsel about her father. Mom had died, a fact Marigold learned the morning after the accident, and Dad vanished. Not a trace of his being existed after the crews towed the car from the wooded ravine.
She plunged the small shovel into the loamy soil she had worked for the last twenty years. Without fail, she planted annuals and nurtured the perennials plotted in the memorial garden she had created to honor her parents. Blooms of red geraniums and multi-colored zinnias would burst with radiance all summer. White daisies, the flowers Dad had gifted Mom with on anniversaries and birthdays, created a happy backdrop. Along the edge of the corner garden, she tucked in bright yellow marigolds, her namesake.
As she spoke her annual prayer, her heart pleaded and sought God’s help to find her dad. After a murmured, "Amen," soared to heaven, she tipped a geranium from its plastic container, loosened the bound roots, and plugged the plant into the earth. From a plastic jug, she sprinkled water into the hole, then scooped dirt in, and patted it around the stem. Soon, three red-headed flowers stood side by side. From the zinnia seed packet, she sprinkled the beginnings of a rainbow of color. Her steady work soon filled the flower bed with the promise of summer blossoms and her soul with restored hope. With an old tattered dish towel, Marigold wiped the soil from her hands, then she rose from the ground and dusted dirt off her knees. She fingered a red bloom, and a pungent but pleasant fragrance filled the air.
Hands loaded with containers, gardening tools, and the water jug, Marigold trekked to the house.
Feet pounded on the nearby pavement, as Johnny Papadakis jogged from the street into her yard. His tall, slim, well-muscled form raised her pulse, even as she stilled. At fifty-eight, he kept himself in shape. She tipped her chin up. "Hey, there."
"Hi, Mari." He stopped a few feet away, bent, and placed his hands on his thighs. After a few deep breaths, he raised to his full six-foot-three height. His brown eyes sparkled in the sun as he adjusted his baseball cap. Hands on his hips, he turned to the garden in the corner of her yard. "Working on your parents' flower bed?"
CHAPTER
ONE
Nearby, a motor rumbled and
disturbed Lucy’s peace.
Owen Bently, a local farmer
on the island, parked his truck along the road, stepped out, and unloaded tools
from the bed of the orange Chevy S10. Hired to landscape the barren yard, he carried
a shovel and rake to the house.
Lucy stepped off the porch to
meet him. Late April’s wind whipped her long blond hair across her face and blocked
her vision. Her foot slipped into a hole she’d not seen in the yard before, then
twisted. She collapsed to the ground, her bottom met the dirt, and dust billowed
from the earth around her.
“Agh.” Inside her boot, her
ankle throbbed.
“Lucy? Are you okay?” Owen hovered
over her.
With a grunt, she scooted from
the hole on her bottom and dragged her foot with her. “No.” An earthy odor from
the dirt irritated her nose.
The farmer knelt beside her
and reached for her leg. “Let me see.” The compassion in Owen’s kind eyes calmed
her, even though she hesitated to accept help. “I’m familiar with ankle injuries
from my time in baseball. I can get you into the house and examine it. If you need
me to, I’ll call the EMTs.”
Never one to hide her emotions,
Lucy assumed her face showed Owen her stubborn pride, even though she needed his
help.
A mumble tumbled from her lips.
“Okay.”
He knelt and wrapped an arm
around her and, with a gentle tug, pulled her to a standing position. “Can you put
weight on it?”
Lucy pressed the injured foot
to the ground. ”Ouch. No, it hurts.” She shut her eyes and winced, then opened them
and glared at him.
He nodded to the porch. “Is
your door unlocked?”
“Yes.” She dragged in a breath,
then swept her gaze over the yard. A shovel and hole digger leaned against Owen’s
truck. She twisted to view her helper. “What have you done to my yard?”
His brows raised into an upside-down
vee. “I was going to ask you what happened. I brought my tools and the trees you
wanted me to plant, but I haven’t dug holes yet.”
The two of them stared at the
yard pocked full of divots and holes. Lucy’s voice quivered. “Then what happened?”
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