He’d stopped here tonight hoping to gain nothing more than a brief respite and perhaps a glimmer of an idea about how to proceed.
Instead, he’d be leaving with the outlines of a plan beginning to form in his mind—and buoyed by a sense of hope he hadn’t had when he’d walked into this garden.
“You’ve given me a lot to think about, Father.”
“In that case, I won’t feel guilty for procrastinating about writing my homily.”
“I’d write it for you if I could, but words aren’t my forte. Is there anything else I could do to thank you for your time and your thoughts tonight?”
“No thanks are necessary. But...” The priest pursed his lips, his demeanor growing pensive. “Thereissomething you may be able to do to help with our production.”
“Name it.”
“We’re trying to keep expenses to a minimum, of course, in order to give more of the proceeds to Helping Hands.”
“I’d be happy to write you a check to cover some of those.” His standard fallback whenever the town was in need of donations for various activities or projects. Giving money was easy.
“I’m not asking for that sort of donation, though the offer is much appreciated. I was thinking more along the lines of lumber for our sets. They wouldn’t have to be first-quality boards. Your rejects would work fine for our purposes.”
“I’d be happy to provide whatever you need.”
“Wonderful. If you’ll give me your contact information, I’ll ask Adam to call you. He’s the head of the set construction crew.”
Did he mean Adam Stone? The ex-con who’d almost taken thefall for Lucas’s teenage vandalism spree, thanks to the rumors Lucas had spread about him?
Martin’s stomach bottomed out.
That would be uncomfortable. Perhaps on both sides. Adam might be happily married to the Hope Harbor police chief now, but surely he’d prefer not to deal with the man whose son had almost sent him back to jail.
“Is that a problem?”
At Father Murphy’s gentle query, he shrugged. “If you’re talking about Adam Stone, he may not want to talk to me after all the stuff that happened with Lucas.”
“That was years ago—and not everyone holds grudges.” Compassion flowed from him. “But I can ask him to contact someone else at the company if you prefer.”
The temptation to take the easy way out was strong ... but maybe it was time to mend bridges outside of his family as well as inside.
“No, he can call me. Let me give you my number.” He waited while Father Murphy pulled out his phone, then recited it. “Is there anything else I can do to help?”
“Nothing comes to mind, but thank you for offering.” The priest stowed his cell. “And now duty calls. Feel free to linger here as long as you like.”
“Thanks. I may stay awhile.”
The pastor rose. “I’ll keep you in my prayers, Martin. And remember that love is a powerful force. It can heal wounds and open hearts and smooth out rough patches—as long as it’s given without strings or conditions or expectations.” He laid a hand on his shoulder. “God be with you on this beautiful evening.”
As the priest strolled down the path toward the exit, Martin eased back on the bench.
Strange.
Despite all the turmoil in his life, he suddenly felt calmer than he had in a very long while.
Maybe that’s what happened when you at last faced the truth. When you began to see with more clarity.
And the facts were simple, really. Early in his marriage, his home had been a welcome haven after a day at the mill. But the grand house, his visible symbol of success, had seemed empty after Lucas left. Emptier still when he and Diane occupied the same physical space but were otherwise worlds apart.
Yet instead of tackling the root of the problem, he’d compounded it by filling up the hollow places inside with work and cutting himself off from the people he loved.
He had no one to blame for the current state of affairs except himself, either. He was the one who’d made the mistakes. Who’d shut out his wife in the interest of preserving her peace of mind and been far too lenient with his son in a misguided attempt to win his affections.
