Chapter 22
Luna
“On this island, threads bind more than fabric; they unite hearts, weaving a tapestry of shared dreams.”
—Eloisa Hobby
Luna sat behind the wheel of the golf cart staring out at the ocean where she’d driven when Jeanie broke down crying, clutching her mother’s hand in her own.
Silence, except for the sound of waves hitting the shore, stretched between them and for the first time ever, she felt truly united with her mother.
Her mind lingered on the story Mom had just shared with her. A woeful tale of a childhood marred by severe parental abuse, a truth Jeanie had hidden for decades.
Tears blurred Luna’s vision as she watched the whitecaps, her heart heavy. She had always seen her mother as fragile, but this revelation cast Jeanie in a whole new light. She was far stronger than Luna imagined. Jeanie’s deep attachment to Jack made much more sense now. He’d been a thin lifeline in a hurricane of a childhood.
“Mom,” Luna said after Jeanie spilled details about growing up with a cruel and invalidating mother, her voice barely above a whisper.
Jeanie looked over at her, red-rimmed eyes reflecting a mix of vulnerability and fortitude. “Yes?”
“Why didn’t you tell me before about Grandmother?” Now the reason Jeanie had barely let Luna be around Francine made sense. Her maternal grandmother had died when Luna was twelve and she didn’t remember much about her other than she’d been quite stern.
Jeanie sighed and turned her face into the wind, her long hair streaming over her shoulders. She’d taken down her customary braids and she looked waifish in her timeless beauty. “I thought I was protecting you, but maybe I was just protecting myself.”
“I’m not sure I understand.”
“Whenever I was around my mother, I subjugated myself to keep the peace.”
“Like you did with Dad.”
“Yes.” Jeanie ducked her head. “I was broken inside, and I attracted a broken man.”
“But you have the capacity to change, Mom. You care. You want to do better. Yes, you tend to give yourself away to people who don’t deserve your generosity, but that’s only because you love so hard and deep.”
“You really think so?” Jeanie asked, misty-eyed.
“I know so. I can’t speculate why Dad and Grandmother were the way they were. Unable to see beyond their own suffering. Unable to give empathy to others because they were so caught up in trying to supply their own need for control. It’s sad for everyone. But we can change. We can alter the path for future generations, so the cycle doesn’t have to continue. It starts now. With us.”
“I’m so sorry I wasn’t the mother you needed me to be.”
“Life might have been bumpy, and it was hard living with Dad’s addiction, but never once did I doubt that you loved me, Mom. Not one single time.”
“Oh, Luna.” Jeanie started sobbing again. “Thank you so much for your forgiveness.”
Luna squeezed her mother’s hand. “I’m so sorry you went through that. It explains so much.”
Jeanie nodded and wiped away her tears. “It does. But I don’t want it to define either of us. Not me, not you, and certainly not Artie.”
“It might not define us, but it’s shaped us. Because of how your mother treated you, it turned you into a people pleaser and being a people pleaser made you codependent. And because of your codependence with Dad, I went in the opposite direction, keeping people at arm’s length. I’ve often wondered if my avoidance of intimate connections is why Herc turned to gambling for solace.”
“Don’t put that on yourself. Herc did what he did. It’s not your fault.”
“Maybe not, but I didn’t love him the way he deserved to be loved.”
“Because you never really stopped loving Paul.”
“Yes,” she whispered. “But we’re more than our past, Mom. We’re this . . .” She gestured to the fabric in the back of the cart. “We’re our creativity, our love, our future. We’ll mend ourselves with each other’s help because healing is the greatest gift we can give Artie.”
Jeanie smiled through fresh tears. “You’re right. And speaking of our future, this quilt . . . it’s more than just a contest entry. It’s a symbol of us. Of our journey together. I will sew that into every stitch.”
Luna’s eyes lit up. “Yes, each panel will represent a challenge we’ve overcome, a strength we’ve discovered here on the island.”
“It will symbolize our rebirth as we emerge stronger from the ashes of history.”
“That’s perfect, Mom. The quilt will tell our story of resilience.”
“I love that.”
“I love you.”
“I love you too, Luna.”
They hugged for a long time, holding each other until their tears dried and the heightened emotions drained away.
“Oh, look.” Jeanie pointed to a jacaranda tree on the path into Crafters’ Corner several yards from where they sat in the golf cart. “It’s Paul.”
Sure enough, Paul was on a ladder, wielding pruners to lop off dead branches. Luna hadn’t even seen him there when they’d driven up. He’d been hidden by the sheltering tree limbs.
“Would you like to go talk to him?” Jeanie asked.
“I would. Do you mind if I let you take the cart and I’ll walk back?”
“Not at all.”
“If Artie’s around, get her to help you take in our quilting supplies.”
“I can handle it,” Jeanie said. “You go on and enjoy yourself.”
Luna got out of the cart and Jeanie slid over behind the wheel. She started it up and gave a jaunty wave goodbye.
Behind her back, Luna circled her left wrist with her right hand, wandered over to the ladder, and peered up at Paul. “Hi.”
He came down the ladder, stopped in front of her, and tilted his sun hat back on his forehead, his eyes crinkling warmly at the corners. “Hey.”
Luna’s heart skipped. He seemed genuinely happy to see her.
“How you been?” He set the pruners on a ladder rung. He smelled earthy and sweet like the jacaranda blooms.
“Good, good. Mom and I finished the quilt design. Now it’s all up to her to sew it.”
“I—” he said.
At the same time, she said, “You—”
Their eyes met, and they laughed together.
“You go first.” He waved a hand.
“No, no, you.”
“I had fun the other night at the butterfly hatchery.” He lifted his hat and raked his fingers through his hair.
“Me too.”
Silence ensued.
Luna didn’t want to say something in case Paul was about to speak, but he just grinned at her as if she were a hundred-dollar bill he found lying on the ground.
“What are you doing tomorrow?” he asked at last.
“No real plans. You?”
“It’s my day off.”
“Really?” Luna couldn’t help smiling.
“Would you like to do something?”
“Together?”
“That’s the general idea.” Mirth danced in his eyes.
“Just you and me?”
“Unless you want to do something with our girls?” His gaze searched her face.
“We should, I suppose, but I was hoping to wait until we were ready to tell them about us.”
“Good idea.”
“So tomorrow?” She shifted her weight. “What time?”
“Breakfast at Eggscellence, say nineish, and we’ll go from there.”
“It’s a date.”
* * *
After an excellent meal at the eggcentric restaurant overlooking the water, where Luna and Paul laughed and reminisced, they took a golf cart and drove out to the lighthouse.
On a Sunday morning, the place was deserted.
Hand in hand, they hiked up the grassy cliff overlooking the Gulf of Mexico. The majestic white lighthouse stood like a sentinel keeping watch over the island.
Luna gazed out at the hypnotic roll of blue waves stretching endlessly to the horizon. Seabirds floated lazily on updrafts. The salt-kissed air filled her lungs, reminding her of happier, simpler times.
Paul guided her into the tower and told her a bit about the history of the lighthouse built back in the late 1700s. They climbed the spiral staircase to the top, Paul leading the way. The view was even more breathtaking from the widow’s walk.
“It’s so peaceful here,” she murmured. “So quiet. It could still be 1798.”
“That’s what I love about this island. It’s timeless.”
“It reminds me of another tower we climbed. Remember?” She peeked at him through lowered lashes.
“I’ll never forget that night, Moonbeam. It’s forever etched in my brain.”
“Mine too.” She met his gaze head-on.
“Like old times.” His eyes held hers and he reached for her hand. His touch anchored her, as comforting as ever.
Feeling safe with him, Luna tilted her face skyward, eyes closed. She could almost imagine she was seventeen again—young, carefree, believing her whole wonderful future lay ahead next to the boy she loved more than life itself.
Paul reached over to tuck a windblown strand of hair behind her ear, his finger sending electrical pulses sparking heat over her scalp. Luna turned toward him. His handsome face was shadowed, gaze searching hers with poignant longing.
“Luna,” he whispered.
“Paul,” she whispered back.
Their lips met tentatively, relearning textures and rhythms grown hazy with years apart. With rising urgency, Paul deepened the kiss into blazing reconnection. He tasted of heat and memories, both poignant and bittersweet.
At last, she pulled away and caressed Paul’s cheek, heart brimming. “I can’t believe we found each other again.”
His eyes clouded. “I never dared hope . . . after everything . . .” He glanced away.
Luna’s euphoria dimmed. The past still lay between them like an invisible barrier—so much hurt and misunderstanding yet to work through. Could they truly recapture what was lost? Or were the cracks in their foundation too deep to mend? Doubts and fears she thought long buried emerged to taunt her.
Paul ran a hand through his hair, looking uncharacteristically unsure. “Your life is still in upheaval . . . maybe this is too much complexity added in. You haven’t been widowed for very long. Just over a year.”
Luna shook her head. “The fact that we met again now, despite the odds . . . it has to mean something.”
“Eloisa believes fate brings people together.” His tone warmed, but hesitation lingered in his dazzling blue eyes.
“What do you believe?”
“I don’t want to risk wounding you more.”
Joy and yearning battled Luna’s misgivings. Was she ready to trust Paul with her battered heart again? Could she handle it if things fell apart once more?
Gulping, she turned, rushed down the stairs, and fled the lighthouse.
“Luna,” Paul called after her as she left the lighthouse ahead of him, struggling to get her emotions under control. “Wait.”
She stopped beside the golf cart, waiting for her pulse to settle and Paul to catch up.
“Slowing you down, am I?” His teasing grin tickled her heart.
“No, no. I’m just . . .”
“Confused?”
“Yeah, that.”
“You’ve been through a lot lately. Confusion is normal.”
Was it? She felt anything but normal.
Paul stopped, turned, leaned against the front of the cart, and held out his arms to her. “Come here.”
It was a request, not a command.
And heaven help her, she went.
Straight into his embrace again. Why was she fighting her feelings? Okay, yes. It was too soon. Only thirteen months had passed since her life imploded.
But Paul was here. It was now, and dammit, she still cared about him.
And he cared about her.
Even after the way she treated him. All he’d wanted was to keep her father out of prison. He hadn’t been malicious. He’d been thinking of her. She was just so afraid of doing something wrong, of making a huge mistake.
Nothing was scarier than messing this up again.
He pulled her closer, his fingers entangling in the belt loops of her blue jean skirt, put his feet on either side of hers, and snugged their hips together. “Luna.”
She shook her head. “Just . . . don’t.”
He touched her cheek with his knuckle. “Shh.”
She wondered if he still had the same skills in bed. “You say my name like it’s the most beautiful sound in the world.”
“It is,” he murmured. “To me.”
“I’m confused.”
“Join the club, Moonbeam.”
She laughed, but it sounded hollow. She kept her eyes squeezed closed and heard seagulls crying as they flew over on their way to the beach. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“No one does. There’s no rule book for love.”
Love.
Was that this wanton, tumultuous feeling? One part of her said, yes indeedy, while another part warned that if she kept going down this path, she would crash and burn.
Which perhaps was fine if she weren’t a mother, and her fifteen-year-old daughter weren’t on the island with her, but Artie was here. Luna wasn’t free to follow her heart and ignore all common sense in favor of something irrational.
“We’ve got kids,” she said.
“Who really like each other.” He kept smiling as if all was right with the world.
She pulled a palm down her face. “What if we break up?”
“What if we don’t?” He sounded so sensible.
Luna shook her head. “I’m far too pessimistic for an optimist like you.”
“Let me be the judge of that.” His steadfast eyes reassured her.
“We’ve lost so much time.” Okay, she heard it, the fear trembling her voice.
“So let’s not lose any more.”
“We don’t even know each other. Two decades have passed.”
“And yet here we are. You and me, feeling the same heady things we felt back then. Take a chance on us,” Paul said.
Luna searched his face, wishing so desperately he’d shared his secret with her from the beginning. Wished things could have been different. But wishing changed nothing, and it wasn’t healthy to dwell on things she couldn’t change.
“And I hope you can understand why I can’t rush headlong into the past. It’s just really bad timing. Three years from now . . .” She shrugged. “Who knows? I’m a mess, but you’re not. You know what you want. I have no clue.”
He nodded. “I do know what I want. And I want you, Luna.”
“I have a lot to grieve.” So much, in fact, she didn’t know where to start.
“I can wait.”
“I might never heal.”
“You’ll get through it. You’re the strongest woman I know, and I’ve known a lot of strong women.”
“That’s sweet of you to say.” She cupped his cheek with her palm and stared into his earnest eyes.
“All right. The ball is in your court. You’re in full control.”
She liked that he said that. Buffed by circumstance, she’d forgotten what it was like to steer her own fate.
And then he kissed her.
Luna did not resist. She might yearn for control. Her mind might even crave it . . . but her body? Oh, her treacherous body!
It craved Paul.
He kissed her with abandon, and she kissed him right back, teeth, tongues, and lips enmeshed. This might not be smart. She craved him more than anything, even if it was idiotic.
His mouth ravaged hers thoroughly, and she draped against him, limp and weak with passion. Teenage Luna was in the driver’s seat. No looking back. He blazed kisses along her chin, to her jaw, to her throat.
Engulfed, she pushed her fingers through his silky hair, threw back her head, and let out a soft moan. “Paul . . .”
“Yes, yes, I know. You want me to stop.” Panting, he tried to pull back, but she kept a tight hold of his hair.
“No,” she said. “I want to go to your place.”