The Christmas Promise
Autor:in
Janice Carter
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The Christmas season…Is perfect for new beginnings. After a tragedy seventeen years ago, author Ella Jacobs never wanted to come back to Lighthouse Cove. Not to the whispered rumors, the judgment or even to Ben Winters, the boy she loved. Now she's returned in time for Christmas — and some much-needed closure. But old flames burn bright. Can Ella find her way back to Ben…or will the secrets of their past extinguish their love for good?
CHAPTER ONE
BEN WINTERS OPENED the door to Novel Thinking, his sister’s bookstore, simultaneously cursing and admiring Grace for her skillful manipulation. He was beginning to think he didn’t know his little sister half as well as he thought. Either that, or some parallel-dimension version of Grace Winters had moved into Lighthouse Cove. Certainly, the unnerving events of the past five months were proof of that theory. After the shock of her upending the whole family clan with a revelation about the past, along with the news that she’d fallen in love with a man she’d only recently met, Ben no longer knew what to expect from her.
Yet here he was, waiting on Grace’s behalf to greet a guest author invited for a book talk and signing. And not just any author, but Ella Jacobs. Ben supposed that if he read fiction rather than history, he might have discovered sooner that the girl who’d stolen his heart seventeen years ago was now a published author. A young adult fiction author, Grace clarified. Then she’d given him a definition of that term, which he hadn’t paid the slightest attention to because all he’d heard was the sentence that she’d opened with—Ella’s coming to the Cove!
Since his sister’s announcement, Ben had browsed the internet for all references to Ella Jacobs or E. M. Jacobs, her writing name. Of course, he’d made a few Ella Jacobs internet searches since he’d last seen her, even throughout some of the four years of his marriage, but he hadn’t done so since his return to the Cove, where reminders of Ella Jacobs were everywhere.
He’d already known that she’d graduated with a degree in journalism from NYU and was currently a reporter for the Boston Globe. In his latest search, he’d found a short Wikipedia bio that highlighted her recent debut as a fiction writer and mentioned articles she’d written for journals and magazines. Ben had stared long and hard at the single line referring to her marriage and divorce. She’d gone on with her life, just as he had with his.
He forced himself away from the what-if that instantly arose as it had so many times the past few years. He’d tried—half-heartedly, he had to admit—to persuade Grace to cancel the invite. What can possibly be gained by this impulsive decision? he’d asked her. He’d almost said reckless decision, because that’s what it was. There’s no going back, he’d pointed out. Then she’d gazed up at him with big dark eyes that were identical to his, and he had a flash of a young Gracie begging a favor from her big brother. He’d given in as he once used to, struggling to ignore the echo in his head—this is not a good idea.
He walked the length of the narrow store, flicking on lights as he went. The place could be gloomy, especially now in mid-December. What it needed was a makeover. Get rid of the dark wood paneling, put in a few skylights and ceiling pot lights, enlarge the front windows and substitute the oak door for a glass one. So far in her time as manager, Grace had refused to consider any kind of reno. She’d always been drawn to old things and seemed to like it just the way it was. Besides, the store barely eked out a living and Ben knew the family construction business was in no position to undertake a free renovation. The purchase of the bookstore had been an impulsive act by their father, Charles, who reasoned having some kind of employment would keep Grace in the Cove.
Well, that worked, Pop!
Now that she was engaged to the Coast Guard guy from Portland, Drew Spencer, there was no guarantee Grace would settle permanently in the Cove much less run the bookstore. However, the lighthouse restoration project she’d undertaken with Henry Jenkins and Spencer last summer would assure her presence for a while, at least until the memorial site for their cousin Brandon was completed. The whole family was still recovering from the shock of Grace’s admission months ago about her role in the prank that had led to Brandon’s drowning. Then Grace had dropped another bombshell. She’d invited Ella Jacobs to the Cove.
Why, Grace? What good could possibly come of this? he’d asked when she’d told him.
I have to do this, Ben. I can’t ease my soul by confessing only to the family. What happened to Ella was unfair. She took the blame. I have to make things right between us.
The earnestness in her face had stopped Ben from saying that none of it could possibly be made right. Brandon was dead. No confessions and apologies could ever change that. And he was just as much to blame—something he’d hoped Ella Jacobs would never have to learn.
EXCEPT FOR THE sprawl of new housing extending west of the town on the other side of the highway to Portland, Lighthouse Cove hadn’t changed quite as much as she had, Ella decided, parking in front of The Lighthouse Hotel. The idea that the Cove now had a subdivision was ironic enough to bring a half smile. A big reason she and her family spent every summer here had been to escape the Boston suburb where they lived.
She was tired after the two-hour drive but didn’t rush to get out of the car. She’d had to get up early to meet with her publisher, pick up a box of books for tomorrow’s presentation and swing by her office at the Globe to submit an article for the upcoming Saturday edition. Her boss and his boss had agreed to her request for a month’s leave from her job as city reporter as long as she was willing to post an op-ed piece each Saturday.
Initially Ella had been reluctant to shift from a reporting job to a columnist’s, but once she’d started, she’d liked the change. It gave her an opportunity to express her thoughts on any topic, and she found—to her surprise—that she had plenty of opinions. It also freed her up to devote time exclusively to her debut novel’s promotion. The book was the result of almost a year of therapy. You’re still carrying around the baggage of a summer seventeen years ago, her therapist had observed. Perhaps you could write about it in some way.
Ella had resisted the idea for months until one sleepless night, haunted by the recurring flashbacks she’d had off and on since that summer, she’d booted up her laptop and begun to write. Surprisingly, the first draft had been completed within three months, and a contact with a Boston agent had fast-tracked her submission to a publisher. The whole process had taken a bit more than a year. Yet even now, Ella wasn’t at all certain if the work had successfully erased the still-vivid memory of that awful night.
In retrospect, her thrill at finding a note from Ben Winters tucked into the bag of books she’d received from his sister, Grace, that summer had definitely ruled out rational thought. The day before the end-of-summer beach bonfire, he’d told her he’d be packing for his drive to college at the end of the holiday weekend and couldn’t make it to the annual event. Disappointed, she’d told Grace and Cassie Fielding, Grace’s school friend, that she couldn’t make it to the bonfire either. But when she found Ben’s note—Meet me at the path to the lighthouse about 8 tonight. I want to say goodbye—in private!—all that changed. Forever, as it turned out.
So here she was, after all this time, in Lighthouse Cove, Maine—the vacation paradise that was ruined for her when she realized that life could be cruel. Worse, that she could be cruel. Ella unsnapped her seat belt and reached for her handbag. The card that Grace Winters had sent in care of her publisher fell out, and she picked it up, then read the message for the umpteenth time.
Dear Ella,
I was thrilled to learn about your debut novel, which I have just finished reading. It’s a wonderful book and I’ve purchased some copies for the bookstore I’m managing in the Cove. Maybe you remember the town’s only bookstore, Novel Thinking? I came back to the Cove almost a year ago, after my father’s heart surgery. When Henry Jenkins retired, Dad bought the bookstore and I agreed to run it. My brother, Ben, has also moved back home.
Anyway, I was wondering if you’d be interested in coming for a book signing and talk sometime in the next couple of weeks? I realize that the time frame is short, but I’ve been out of town. It would be lovely to see you again and catch up on the last seventeen years! You can email me at the address below. I’m hoping you’ll be able to come.
Sincerely, Grace Winters
Ella had received the card only three weeks ago, but it had drawn her thoughts every single day since—not for what was written but for what was missing. No reference to the prank. No hint of an apology. Not one word of remorse. She’d been tempted many times to toss it into the recycling bin, but a single sentence held her back. My brother, Ben, has also moved back home. It was almost pathetic that those few words could override common sense, but they had. She impulsively emailed Grace to tell her she would come. Afterward, every instinct warned her she was making a mistake, yet here she was, parked in front of a hotel that had always enchanted her and where she’d booked a superior deluxe room for two nights. While her advance for Always Be Mine was modest, this felt like the perfect chance to splurge a little. Ella took a deep breath and stowed Grace’s card in her purse.
Well, she told herself, you’ve made a commitment, but if it all goes downhill from here—which is a real possibility—you can cancel that second night. She reached into the back seat of her car for her tote bag and small suitcase, left the box of books in the trunk, and headed into the hotel. As soon as she entered the lobby, Ella realized that one’s childhood memories can be deceiving. Sure, the enormous chandelier still dangled from the ceiling, but the luster of the wood paneling had dimmed. The assortment of chairs and love seats scattered in the center of the lobby were a curious mismatch of Victorian and modern—fake leather vying with faded velveteen for attention that neither achieved. She paused for a moment to take it all in, guessing that this would be only the first of her Cove childhood memories to be altered. She walked to reception, noticing a few stains and scuff marks here and there on the marble floor.
It took the young man on the other side of the wood counter several seconds to notice her presence. “Oh sorry. I didn’t see you coming in.”
“I have a reservation for two nights. E. M. Jacobs.”
He scanned the desktop computer in front of him and looked up to say, “Oh yes, here it is. A superior deluxe room.”
“With a waterfront view.”
“Right. A good choice.”
Trying in vain to calm the nervousness she felt already mounting inside, Ella drummed her fingertips on the counter while the man—his name badge read Rohan—checked her in.
When he handed back her credit card, Ella asked, “Does the rate include breakfast?”
“No, sorry. We don’t have a restaurant, but there’s a very nice café, Mabel’s, just down the street. Here you are. Room 410, top floor. The elevator is down there—” he pointed left “—at the far corner of the lobby. Will there be anything else?”
“I’m good. Thanks.” Ella slung her handbag over her shoulder, grabbed her tote and wheeled her suitcase toward the elevator. The fourth-floor hallway was deserted, and as Ella walked along, looking for 410, she saw that all of the doors were new—some kind of metal made to look like wood—with locks to accommodate the card key she’d been given. Upgrading of sorts was obviously happening in the hotel. But not yet inside the rooms, Ella amended as she pushed open the door. She stood on the threshold, wondering which superior deluxe room had been pictured on the hotel’s website. Definitely not this one. She sighed, thinking one night might be it, after all, for her stay in the Cove.
Before unpacking, Ella pushed aside the heavy velvet drapes in the bay window across from the double bed. At least the waterfront view lived up to its hype. She’d never seen the town from this perspective and at this time of year. Given the passage of time as well as the wintry landscape, she needed a few seconds to identify familiar landmarks. The wooden boardwalk on the water side of Main Street seemed wider, now it was covered in snow, but the stairs connecting that upper level to the walkway below, running along the water’s edge, were still there.
Ella’s family had often strolled along that walkway, licking cones from Tina’s Ice Cream Parlor and gawking at the collection of pleasure boats and fishing trawlers moored there. Back then, the marina had been full of boats. Today it was basically empty, though Ella assumed most boats had been hauled up on shore somewhere for the winter. She scanned the bay beyond the marina. The open water was dark and forbidding, not the deep sea-green of summer. Far out in the larger Casco Bay, she thought she saw blocks of floating ice or snow but decided they could also be whitecaps.
The business section of town looked the same, except for a line of snow-covered planters decorated for the holiday season with large red bows, and lampposts with hanging baskets of spruce or cedar boughs. The main road—Main Street—curved toward a residential area, which included summer cottages beyond. Ella squinted. She could barely see them, but the cupolas of the twin turrets of the Winters family home partially emerged from the bare branches of the trees around the upper story of the house. Was Grace still living there? Or Ben? No. Likely, they’d both found places of their own. Especially if they were married. If Ben was married. Ella firmly pushed aside that thought. What did it matter?
Her eyes strained against the sunlight reflecting off snow, trying to locate the cottage her family had rented each of the ten years they’d vacationed in the Cove. She remembered it had been on the land side of the last street before the beach, tucked into the hill leading up to Grace’s house, so not visible from this vantage point. Farther east, where the paved road ended in gravel and the long arm of the cove began, was Cassie Fielding’s house. Ella couldn’t see it either, but every cell in her body sensed its presence. If she let her eyes follow the snowy beach and rocky peninsula farther along, there was the lighthouse. Ella dropped the curtain and turned away from the window.
An hour later she’d showered and unpacked the few things she’d brought—the tailored slacks and scarlet cowl-necked sweater for her talk, a backup black skirt and cream blouse, and a pair of jeans and a more casual turtleneck for anything else she might do in town. She shouldn’t need more clothes—she doubted she’d be in the Cove for more than the two nights she’d booked. That would be plenty of time to accomplish what she’d planned.
When she finished blow-drying her hair, she changed into the black jeans and cobalt blue turtleneck for her meeting with Grace. She posed briefly in front of the long mirror hanging on the outside the bathroom door. She seldom thought much about her appearance—that side of her had disappeared long ago—but the possibility that she might encounter Ben somewhere in town had her nervously self-doubting every aspect of her mirror image.
Since her talk wasn’t until the next day, Ella decided to leave her car in the parking space out front of the hotel and walk to the bookstore. The cool air would be invigorating and help calm her nerves. Grace had emailed directions, not that Ella had needed them, and less than fifteen minutes later she was standing on the sidewalk, reading the stenciled signs on the front door window—Novel Thinking and, below it, Henry Jenkins Prop. Grace had mentioned that Henry had retired. Frankly, Ella had been slightly surprised that he was still alive, since he’d seemed old seventeen years ago. But when she was sixteen, everyone over thirty verged on old age.
Every summer she and Grace had divided their wish list of books and shared them, until that last summer, when her interest in books had flagged whenever Ben Winters was around. Ella took a deep breath. That’s old history now, Jacobs. Get on with this. She had no idea what she was going to say to Grace or how their meeting would go. Better to let Grace take the lead, since she’d sent the invite. And she was the one who would have to make the apology. That’s what Ella had come for after all. Not really to speak to a handful of people about her book. No. She wanted to look Grace Winters right in the eye. She wanted to hear “I’m sorry” in person. Hopefully today, but definitely before she left the Cove for the very last time.
Ella counted to ten and pushed open the door. The bell above it tinkled, and a memory of the store’s cool dark interior juxtaposed against hot summer days rushed at her, causing her to stop suddenly to catch her breath. She could see the faint yellow glow of a lamp ahead, but otherwise there was no sign of anyone.
“Hello?” Clearing her throat, Ella managed another “Hello” before walking toward the light. On the way, she passed a table set up with a poster that she knew her publisher had sent and some of her books, which Grace must have purchased. The adult Grace Winters seemed to be more organized than the teen one. But the store itself hadn’t changed much except for a computer in place of the big cash register that had once perched on the central counter. The only thing missing was Henry himself, though considering the heavy stomp of footsteps coming up the stairs from below, Ella figured he just might magically appear. Unless Grace was wearing very big shoes.
The door behind the counter swung open and a large masculine figure loomed at the top of the staircase. Not Henry. Definitely not Grace. Ben.
Ella tried, but failed, to speak.
He moved into the orbit of the lamplight, and Ella’s first thought was, Ben—yet not Ben. Not the one in my memory anyway.
“Ella,” he said, his voice deeper than she remembered. He was carrying a cardboard carton, which he set down on the counter as he moved toward her.
Her next thought was that he wasn’t surprised to see her. Well, of course, Grace would have told him about her visit.
“Um, I trust you had a good trip here.”
Small talk? After seventeen years? She’d have rallied to make some indignant retort, but her brain, chugging along in first gear, was trying to process this adult version of the Ben Winters she’d dreamed about daily the summer she was sixteen. The pitch-black curly hair that once had bordered on being a tad too long was now shorter. His neck and torso had broadened into the firm, muscular shape of a man who kept fit. But his face, even with its shadow of bristles, was the same. Thick eyebrows above inky black eyes and the Winters nose, more prominent now in manhood, that Ella remembered from his father’s face. Lines around the eyes and the circles beneath them told another story about this grown-up version of Ben, and for one irrational second Ella wanted to reach out a hand to touch his face and learn that story. Of course, she stopped short of anything more than “Hello. I was expecting Grace.”
“Sorry. Grace had to run some errands, but she asked me to hang around in case you arrived before she got back.”
“If the store was closed, I’d have returned later.” She noticed his slight wince and adjusted her tone. “I mean, she needn’t have imposed on you.”
He gave a half-hearted shrug. “Yeah, well...you know Gracie.”
It was exactly the comment he might have made back then and for a moment Ella was mentally transported to Ben’s bedroom, its poster-lined walls and desk cluttered with books—and her, sprawled next to him on the floor at the foot of his bed, their heads connected by earphones and bobbing silently in unison to the summer playlist. She shifted her attention to the display table, unable to look at him any longer, afraid of what she might say.
“She...uh...she should be here any second,” he added.
Ella didn’t dare look up. His flat voice told her he was as uncomfortable as she was. The quiet room closed in on her. She’d resolved to make her comeback to the Cove as the strong, confident woman she’d grown into, not the tongue-tied sixteen-year-old completely in love—or so she’d thought—with Grace’s big brother. This wasn’t a good start.
Then anger rose, choking any chance of normal conversation. Anger at herself, for reverting so instantly to that smitten teenager, and especially at Grace, who surely could have done her last-minute shopping later. Unless... No, she wouldn’t have. Would she?
Ella sighed, yielding to the dark suspicion that once again, Grace had set her up.
