In His Eyes. Gail Martin Gaymer
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add a garage. Possibly make the porch a year-round room.”
“It’s screened now.”
He nodded, pleased that she remembered, because that might mean she recalled them together there, their kisses so emotional he had to rein in his longing, a yearning he controlled for her sake. He’d revered her upbringing and only wished he had continued that kind of restraint.
“We need another bathroom upstairs, too,” he said as an afterthought.
Ellene’s head jerked upward while an uneasy expression filled her face. “You said we. Now that I think of it, I’d feel more comfortable if your wife were with us, Connor. I’d like to hear her ideas in her own words.”
Her question startled him. “Apparently you haven’t heard.”
Ellene’s forehead wrinkled. “You’re divorced?”
Her tone reminded him she didn’t approve of divorce. “No. Melanie died. An aneurism. It all happened too fast. I wasn’t prepared.”
Ellene’s frown faded. “I’m sorry, Connor. I hadn’t heard.” She lifted a finger and wound it through a strand of hair. “Sadly, falling in love offers no guarantees.”
Her comment brought on difficult memories. “I know.” His loving relationship with Ellene filled his mind with a rush of nostalgia. He gazed at the tilt of her head and the look in her eyes, unable to explain the rising sensation that fluttered through him like summer moths.
The twirled strand of hair fell into a ringlet when she lowered her hand. “So then who is the ‘we’ you mentioned?”
He pulled his gaze from the twist of hair. “My daughter. Caitlin. She’s six.”
Ellene’s pulse skipped. “A daughter.” Disbelief and sadness vied within her. She looked at Connor with fresh eyes. “A daughter,” she repeated, picturing her career-filled life.
He shrugged as if not knowing how to respond. “It’s been difficult raising her alone for the past couple of years.”
“I’m sure it has,” she said, trying to make sense of the sweep of emotion that overtook her. She could have married, too. She could’ve had a child and not just a career. The choice had been hers.
The waitress saved her from further conversation. Her salad arrived, and Connor’s burger. They quieted, each delving into their meals. But Ellene’s appetite had waned. Connor, a dad. The vision filled her mind. As she swallowed, lettuce caught in her throat. She coughed, to no avail, then gave up and washed it down with a drink of tea.
Connor lowered his sandwich and wiped his mouth. “After mom died, the cottage seemed a perfect place to bring Caitlin. My mother’s sister—remember my aunt Phyllis?—she lives next door, and we’ll be close to her. It’ll be good.”
Ellene couldn’t deal with all the details spilling from him. She pushed the greens around in her bowl, longing to get away and sort her emotions. She wanted to be distant and businesslike, but he’d dropped a surprise into the mix. A six-year-old daughter. A little girl without a mother.
Ellene remembered one of her friends losing her mother when they were both children. How did a child deal with the loss? How had Connor explained his wife’s death? And without a strong faith, what hope had Connor offered his child?
She jerked her mind back to their business. “When do you want me to see the cabin?”
“What’s good for you?”
Not this, she thought. Ellene felt Connor’s knee jerking beneath the table. He always did that when he was edgy. She leaned down to pick up her handbag tucked beneath her chair. “I don’t know,” she said, unzipping the top and pulling out her daily planner.
She tilted the notebook away from Connor. Free days rose from the page, but her self-preservation fought going to the familiar cabin and seeing the little girl. Caitlin, he’d called her. A good old Irish name to go with Faraday. What might she and Connor have named their daughter? A knot twisted in her chest.
Ellene felt Connor’s gaze on her, and she lifted her focus from the planner. Her heartbeat skipped when she saw the look in his crystal-blue eyes. She could never forget his eyes or the elfin grin that looked so mischievous it made her laugh.
Today she saw only confusion.
“How about next week? Thursday or Friday?” she asked.
A frown sprang to his face. “Is this Saturday bad for you?”
“Saturday?”
“Caitlin goes to elementary school during the week. I’d rather not take her out of classes.”
She hadn’t thought. “Saturday’s fine, Connor. I’ll be there in the early afternoon.” And get it over with.
He nodded as she forced her attention back to her lunch. But who felt like eating?
Chapter Two
Saturday, Ellene pulled into the Champion Auto Ferry parking lot and got in line with nothing to do but watch the ferry maneuver across Lake St. Clair from Harsens Island to the mainland. The wintry March sun struck the gray snow piled along the bank, but the feeble rays didn’t penetrate the cold outside her car. Enormous ice floes jammed against each other and struck the nose of the boat as it moved to shore.
She rolled down her window to pay the five-dollar toll while a bitter wind swept inside her car and sent a chill down her back. The outer cold seemed no more icy than her internal struggle.
Today she’d face Connor again, but this time on his turf. Since she’d seen him earlier in the week, she’d wavered between nostalgia and bitterness. The good times rolled sweetly into her thoughts, but she tossed them out like old shoes, not wanting to deal with the hurtful memories.
Ellene focused ahead of her, past the sun’s rays glinting off the hood of her car. Why couldn’t she let the sunny memories of their relationship stay forefront in her mind? She squinted at the glare as the ramp dropped into place and the cars began to roll forward.
As the ferry boat propelled into the channel, she felt the jar of the ice floes and watched new snowflakes settle on her windshield. Summer seemed the time for island life, not the end of winter.
When they reached the other side, Ellene glanced at Connor’s directions before leaving the ferry. It had been years since she’d been to the cabin, and Connor had always driven.
She veered the car down South Channel Road toward Middle Channel, passing a border of dried plume grass that grew tall along the banks. When she came to the party store, she knew she was close.
She slowed, her heart beating overtime. Questions barraged her. Why was she so nervous? Why couldn’t she put the past behind her as her father had suggested? Why couldn’t she accept the blame—or some of it—for their breakup? But she couldn’t. She wanted nothing to do with Connor, child or no child.
Still, she had to admit, before she’d met him for lunch, she’d often thought about an older Connor. Would he look the same? Would he be bald or paunchy? Their meeting had answered her curiosity.
Connor had become a handsome man. Maturity had broadened his chest and toned his muscles so that his trim frame looked solid and healthy. His smile hadn’t changed, and only the small crinkles around his eyes added something new to his character.
Her grip tightened on the steering wheel when she saw the log cabin. She pulled into the driveway, sending up a prayer that God would give her guidance and soften her attitude.
She sat a moment, thinking of her feelings—pride, hurt, dismay. Connor had wounded her and left her disillusioned. But she’d rebounded, dating one man, then another, never feeling drawn to any of them, but longing to get even with Connor for his rejection.
Connor’s rejection had been the first, but not the last. Only last year she’d thought