The words were pretty . . . and they summed up how Marci approached life . . . but the sentiment had never resonated with her.
Until now.
Maybe she needed to shoot for the moon . . . with Greg. Push him to build on whatever Dan had started during his visit and the ultimatum she’d issued. She might not manage to fully restore the relationship they’d enjoyed during their courtship and early days of marriage—but they’d have to end up in a better place than they were now.
It was worth a try, anyway.
“I’ll let her know. Thanks for asking him to do that.” She curled her fingers tighter around the phone and dropped her volume yet again. “By the way, Marci’s having an open meeting about the lighthouse tomorrow night. She sent an email to the Herald mailing list and I put up a few flyers around town for her. After that, she’ll form her think tank committee. Why don’t you attend?”
Please, Lord, let this project pique his interest so he has something to do all day besides sit in the dark house or up on the cliff lamenting over everything he’s lost.
A few silent seconds passed, and her heart sank.
He was going to refuse.
Without giving him a chance to reject her suggestion, she jumped back in. “It’s going to be in the fellowship hall at Grace Christian. I think she’s expecting a large group. You could sit in the back and listen in if you want to. You don’t have to participate.”
“I haven’t been inside a church in months, Marci.”
“This is the hall, not the sanctuary. And Reverend Baker is very laid-back. I don’t know if he’ll attend, but you don’t have to worry if he does. He welcomes everyone. He won’t make you feel uncomfortable for not coming to services with me.”
“I know him. He came to Grace Christian when I was thirteen.” A beat ticked by. “Have you talked to him about our . . . situation?”
As his voice took on a harder edge, she lifted her chin. “No. That’s between us—and God.”
“You wanted us to go to a counselor.”
“I still think that might be helpful—but I wouldn’t share our history with anyone without talking to you first.”
“Okay.” He exhaled. “I’ll think about the meeting. Are you coming home soon?”
“After I pass on the news about the reprieve to Marci and swing by the grocery store.”
“I put a chicken in the oven. It’ll be ready at five-thirty.”
He was fixing dinner again? The man whose entire culinary repertoire included his mom’s spaghetti sauce and throwing some meat on the grill?
“I . . . uh . . . didn’t know you knew how to cook chicken.”
“I didn’t—until about three hours ago. I found a recipe for beer-can chicken online that sounded . . . unique. But I’ve got the pizza place’s number on hand if this is a bust.”
Beer-can chicken.
Yeah, they could end up eating pizza.
But hey, he was making an effort.
“We might be surprised.” She tried for an optimistic tone.
“That’s what I’m afraid of. See you soon.”
The line went dead . . . but a surge of new life infused Rachel’s heart.
For the past two days, a glimmer of the old Greg was back. And now, a touch of humor.
Meaning that maybe . . . just maybe . . . her newly adopted town might live up to its name after all.
Was it possible life at home was improving for her assistant?
As she continued to type, Marci peeked at the woman.
Rachel was still sitting at her desk, phone in hand. But in the past, a conversation with her husband often left a glimmer of tears in her eyes.
Today, however, she looked happy—and a distinctly positive emotion was wafting across the room.
It felt a lot like hope.
Rachel swiveled in her chair and faced her, too quick for Marci to avert her gaze.
Whoops.
No way to hide the fact she’d been watching her.
Marci stopped typing. “Everything all right?”
“Yes. Fine. And I have some news I think you’ll be happy to hear.”
As her assistant told her about the lighthouse sale reprieve Greg had negotiated with his next-door neighbor—none other than Ben Garrison—Marci’s mouth dropped open.
The man who’d cut her off cold on Monday and walked away after she’d asked him to do the right thing . . . well, okay, demanded might be a more accurate word . . . was having second thoughts?
“Your husband must have powerful persuasion skills.”
“He does. Greg can be calm, rational, and diplomatic if he chooses to be.”
Yeah, those would be handy skills to have instead of getting all worked up and flying off the handle. It was always better to cool off before flinging yourself headfirst into a potentially volatile discussion.
She’d have to work on that one of these days.
But for now . . . she had a four-week grace period to come up with a solution for the lighthouse.
Hallelujah!
“This is huge, Rachel. When I tell the group tomorrow night that Ben’s receptive to ideas to save the light and won’t finalize the sale for a month, everyone will be pumped. Is Greg coming to the meeting?”
“I’m going to try to persuade him, but he doesn’t think he’d have much to offer.”
“That’s crazy! He has a history in this town, he loves the lighthouse, and I know he’s creative. He came up with the idea that sold Lou on a regular ad, didn’t he? I got nowhere with the man for two years. Please tell him I’d appreciate it if he’d attend.”
“I will—but I can’t make any promises.” She stood. “Do you need me to do anything else today?”
“No. Go on home and enjoy your evening.”
“You know . . . I think I will.” She grinned, slung her purse over her shoulder, and walked out with a new bounce in her step.
As Rachel exited, Marci sank back in her chair, swiveled toward the window, and watched her assistant pass by.
Life sure could take some curious twists.
She might not be happy with how she’d handled her last encounter with Ben, but if they’d parted on more pleasant terms—perhaps even arrived at a
