She met his gaze, and his eyes held hers, unguarded and unwavering. In that split second, she felt more seen and understood than she had in years. How could someone communicate so much in one simple glance? A strange warmth burned in her chest, radiating outward. She wanted to look away—to sever the disconcerting connection—but she couldn’t move.
A tug on the line yanked her back to safety. Focusing her thoughts on the task at hand, she cranked the reel, grateful for the distraction.
For the next several minutes, they took turns with the fishing rod, exchanging innocuous anecdotes about their biggest catches. As they moved from catching fish to cooking them, she finally learned his name and that he’d recently moved to Poppy Creek from southern California to be near his son.
“It’s a big change,” he confessed, flipping the freshly caught trout to sear the other side. “But I like it here. I like the slow pace and the honest, down-to-earth people. They’re real salt of the earth folk, you know?”
Not sure what to say, Donna took a sip of water from the tin mug and shifted slightly in the folding chair set near the crackling campfire. The flickering flames did double duty—dispelling the cool, evening air and roasting their baked potatoes wrapped in tinfoil.
“How are things going with your daughter?” he asked as if sensing the need for a topic change.
“Honestly? Better than I could’ve hoped for. She’s giving me the second chance I don’t deserve.” She took another sip and swallowed her nerves. She’d talked about her past before, mostly in AA meetings, but she’d always managed a degree of separation, like a safe perimeter, allowing outsiders a brief glimpse without ever inviting them inside. And yet, something about Rhett—an intangible quality that extended beyond their shared struggles—had unlocked a hidden door. “For most of my daughter’s life, I was an unbearable drunk. It’s a miracle we both survived. You can’t even imagine the pain I’ve put her through.”
“I think I can,” he said softly, his gaze never leaving the grill. For a moment, he seemed lost in his own regrets, and the gentle rush of the river filled the silence.
Something in his expression—the mixture of empathy and anguish—struck a chord. Maybe they had even more in common than she thought?
“As desperately as I’d like to fix the past, I know I can’t.” She swallowed again, this time finding it more difficult. “But I can move forward, praying I don’t repeat it. Which is why I’m here.” Taking a deep breath, she said, “If your offer still stands, I’d like to start a recovery meeting in Poppy Creek. For anyone who needs it. I’ve learned the hard way that I can’t do this on my own.” As she said the words, she realized she meant so much more than her sobriety.
CHAPTER13
RHETT
Rhett studied Donna’s features in the firelight, finding it hard to look away. She was beautiful, there was no denying that. But there was something else about her he found even more alluring. She had this soft strength paired with a raw humility and gritty resilience. The kind of resilience born from brokenness, from facing the ugliest part of yourself without flinching. The kind of resilience bred on your knees, head bent, soul bared. The kind of resilience he recognized.
“I spent most of Vick’s life in prison.” His confession hovered in the air like an apparition, ghoulish and grim, and he fixed his gaze on the flames. “We met for the first time last fall. My own son. Born with his father behind bars.” He shook his head, leaning forward toward the edge of the chair, fighting the urge to stand and pace. “After my incarceration, his mother filed for divorce and told Vick I’d abandoned them. Not that I blame her. In a way, I had.”
He stole a glance in Donna’s direction, fully expecting to see a look of disgust. Maybe even horror or apprehension. But he saw only compassion in her eyes. “I served time for armed robbery. My gun was fake, but my buddy’s wasn’t. He shot a security guard who almost died.” The words scratched against his throat, but he pressed on, needing her to know the whole story.
“Before that moment, if you would’ve asked me if I’d ever rob a bank, I would’ve laughed at the absurdity. I had no idea what I was capable of, given enough fear and desperation. When we ripped off that first ATM, all I could think about was my pregnant wife and how we could barely afford food, let alone formula and diapers. I didn’t think about the innocent victims or even the consequences of getting caught. After the third ATM, reality had started to sink in. I couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t even look at myself in the mirror, let alone face my wife, who had no idea what I’d done. When I told Hank I wanted out, he convinced me to do one last job. A cakewalk, he’d said. No one would get hurt. The bank’s insurance would cover the losses. And I could walk away for good and go back to being Mr. Family Man, as he so sarcastically put it. As if I could simply forget who I’d become.” Rhett’s lips contorted in a sad, sardonic smile. “That day didn’t just change my life. It impacted everyone. The guard. His family. Every single terrified person in that bank. My son. And my wife—” His throat closed around her name. He hadn’t been able to voice it since the day she died, as if passing the syllables through his undeserving lips would sully her memory.
He hung his head, no longer able to lift it. He’d come to terms with so much about his past, learned to let go, to use his story to help others. But some things… some things sank like a hook in your soul, penetrating too deep to dig out.
For several seconds, neither of them made a sound. When Donna finally spoke, her words rang faint and familiar. “God, grant us the serenity to accept the things we cannot change, the courage to change the things we can, and the wisdom to know the difference.”
Recognizing the well-known serenity prayer recited by recovering addicts worldwide, he glanced up and met her gaze. Her eyes shimmered with a soft, intimate understanding, as if she could relate to his unspoken thoughts.
“Is this our first unofficial meeting?” he teased, his heart lifting.
“All we’re missing is the stale coffee.”
“Not much I can do about the stale part, but I’ve got coffee?” He let his raised inflection act as an invitation.
“Coffee would be nice.”
He stood, struggling to settle his racing heartbeat as he hopped inside the Airstream to grab his AeroPress and bag of beans. “I guarantee you’re about to have the best coffee you’ve ever tasted. And I’m not just saying that because my son roasted it.” He set a kettle on the makeshift grill over the flames. “They serve it at the café in town. Have you been yet?”
“My daughter owns it.” Her smile radiated motherly pride. “Well, co-owns it with Eliza.”
“You’re Cassie’s mom? She’s a great kid.”
“Thank you. I agree. No thanks to me.”
“I can say the same thing about Vick,” he admitted. “He’s everything a father could hope for. Brave, strong, selfless, kind. He’s an ex-Marine. He risked his life for our freedom while I gave all my freedom away.” The freshly roasted beans released a rich, heady aroma as they crackled in the old-fashioned, hand-crank grinder.
“Like you said, we do a lot of things we regret out of desperation. Desperation to survive. Desperation to forget.” She spoke the last words softly before nudging one of the smoldering logs with the heel of her shoe. It crumbled into glowing coals and sent sparks skittering into the night sky.
He wanted to ask what she’d hoped to forget, but something in her pained expression told him to leave it be… for now. Instead, he finished preparing the coffee and handed her a steaming mug before rejoining her by the fire. “Black okay?”
