In His Eyes. Gail Gaymer Martin
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know business is business,” she said. “But this is different, Dad. It’s Connor. We were engaged, and it ended badly. We have other employees who could do the job.”
“He asked for you.”
The words jarred her. Why? She searched for a logical reason, but none came.
Her father leaned closer, his voice softer. “He said he trusts your judgment.”
But she didn’t trust Connor’s. She sat speechless, her mind sorting out her father’s words.
“Listen, Ellene,” he said, rising. His voice sounded like the father from her childhood. He walked around the desk and drew up a chair beside her. “I understand your feelings, but time has passed. Ten years.”
“Not quite eight,” she said. To her it still seemed like yesterday.
“Haven’t you ever made a mistake?”
The night Connor left stuck in her memory like a tack, but today, a bittersweet sensation rolled across her thoughts. “I’ve made bad choices, Dad, but—”
“Sin is sin. Mistakes are mistakes. The Bible teaches us to forgive so that God will forgive us our mistakes. I don’t know what you expected of Connor. You ended the engagement. You need to move on with your life. You’re both adults now.”
“Connor’s married, Dad. I have moved on.”
Her father took her hand and held it, his strong fingers covering hers. The warmth spread up her arm giving her a sense of safety, the same as when she had been a little girl. “He trusts you.”
“If that’s what you want, I’ll handle it.”
He gave her hand a firm squeeze. “I knew you would, Ellene. I think you’ve let this grudge go on too long. I know you’ve seen other fellows, but you’ve steered so far away from marriage or commitment, I’ll die without grandkids and you’ll die an old maid. I’d like to be a grandfather someday.”
“I’m only twenty-nine.”
“Going on forty.” He gave her a wan smile, then rose and walked to his desk. “Here’s his phone number.” He extended a sheet of paper.
Ellene rose and took the memo, gazing at her father’s familiar neat blueprint-style lettering. “I’ll call him tomorrow.”
“You’ll call now. That was Connor on the phone when you walked in. I told him you’d call today.”
Her stomach bottomed out.
“He’s anxious to get the project underway.”
“Where is the job?”
“On Harsens Island. It was his mother’s place.”
“Harsens Island? That’s near Algonac.”
He nodded. “When do we turn down a job, because it’s a few miles away?”
Connor’s face rose in her mind, his firm jaw, those crystal-blue eyes that melted her heart, his light brown hair that turned gold in the summer sun, the soft unruly waves she’d love to run her fingers through. Connor, the rat, who’d walked away with her heart and into the arms of another woman without looking back.
Her icy hand felt damp as she clasped the phone number. She looked into her father’s eyes and gave up the battle. “I’ll call Connor today, Dad.”
Connor sat at a table along the restaurant wall, his eyes glued to the doorway. His knee wiggled beneath the tablecloth, and he tucked his hands in his lap to stop himself from playing with the silverware.
His nerves had never been so raw, at least not since years ago when his relationship with Ellene had ended. He’d asked himself over and over why he’d insisted that she work as the contractor with him. He knew Bordini Construction had a solid reputation. Any of their contractors would have done an excellent job, but when he’d called the company, he’d done what his heart dictated.
He’d heard the tension in Ellene’s tone when she’d called. Her voice had always raised the hairs on the back of his neck, the resonant tone filled with spirit and a light heart. Yesterday the lilt had seemed missing, replaced by a controlled voice that sounded so alien to him.
The waitress filled his coffee cup for the third time, and he pushed up his sleeve to check his watch again, wondering if she’d stood him up. Ellene had always had subtle ways to get even. She often joked about God’s eye-for-an-eye philosophy, but most often, her true spirit had been to turn the other cheek.
Connor pulled his hand from beneath the table and lifted the cup as he observed the steam. Through the curling haze, he saw the restaurant door swing open, along with a chilly wind, and he held his breath.
Ellene.
At first glance, she hadn’t changed except for the elegance of maturity. Her dark hair hung in loose curls to her shoulders, as he remembered. How many times had he run his fingers through the thick tendrils?
He lifted his hand, and when she saw him, a tense look tightened her features. Her mouth set into a straight line, hiding the generous smile he recalled so easily.
She slipped off her peacoat, and he watched her cross the room, dressed in pants and jacket the color of blueberries. He didn’t like blueberries, but he liked the deep-blue color against warm beige skin. The color illuminated her eyes.
“Hello,” Connor said, rising. He longed to embrace her, but he sensed her apprehension and extended his hand.
She took it with a firm shake, then released his fingers and pulled out her own chair. “You look well,” she said, her eyes focused everywhere but on his.
“So do you.” He wanted to say so much more, but not today. She’d made it clear this was a business appointment. “Thanks for meeting with me.”
“You’re welcome. Dad sends his best wishes.”
“We had a nice talk today.” He admired Ellene’s father. Though a shrewd businessman, he had always been honest and forthright.
She nodded, her eyes focused on the menu.
“I didn’t know what to order you to drink,” he said, lost for words. He had so much to say—things he longed to tell her, but he feared her response. Connor recoiled at the helpless feeling that washed over him.
“I’d like hot tea,” she said, finally looking up. “I’m sorry I was late. I had to handle a call as I was leaving.”
“No problem.” Connor beckoned the waitress and ordered the tea, then perused the menu, hoping that time and silence might pull things into perspective. Nearly eight years had passed since he’d seen Ellene. Yet emotionally, he felt as if it had been the day before.
“It’s been a long time,” he said, unleashing the thoughts from his mind.
“Yes, it has.”
She said nothing more, and he took his cue from her. He selected his meal, though his stomach had tied in knots from the moment he’d sat at the table.
The strained silence rattled him; he felt his knee bouncing beneath the table again, and he braced his heel against the floor, forcing his leg to steady. “I don’t know if your dad told you, but I’ve inherited my mother’s summer home on Harsens Island.”
“I heard about your mom’s death, Connor. I’m sorry.”
“Thanks. She’d been ill for a while.”
“I was very fond of your mom.”
Warm memories filled him. “I know, and she was crazy about you.” The silence in the air was charged with memories.
The waitress returned with the tea and took their orders. Ellene dropped the bag into the metal pot, then dipped it a few times. Finally she rolled the string around the bag, gave a pull and set it on the