Chapter 5 #3
He looked down at his plate. "It was. Sarah fought for seven years, from when Emma was six until she was thirteen.
Those were hard years, watching Sarah decline while trying to keep things normal for Emma.
By the end, I was doing most of the parenting while Sarah was in and out of hospitals.
Emma was old enough to understand what was happening, but too young to really process losing her mother. "
Against her better judgment, Isabella couldn’t help but ask the question. “How did you move forward from something like that?”
“One day at a time,” Thomas said. “You know, you just have to focus on what’s in front of you. And Emma needed me to be steady. My clients needed their projects completed, and the business needed someone to direct it. Having a purpose helped; it took my mind off it. I still had my moments, though.”
Isabella nodded. When her own brief marriage had ended, she’d thrown herself into her career with such an intensity that she started having panic attacks. But work had always been her anchor during personal storms.
Another lightning flash lit up Thomas’s face.
The strong lines and the kind eyes that once looked at her with so much love now carried a mix of hard-earned wisdom and guarded emotion.
For a brief moment, Isabella let herself wonder how different their lives might have been if he hadn’t ended things so suddenly all those years ago, for reasons she still didn’t understand.
The question that had been in Isabella’s mind for years must have shone on her face because Thomas’s expression became questioning.
“Isabella—”
There was a sudden crash from upstairs that shattered the moment. It was the distinctive sound of something very heavy falling to the ground.
“That came from the third floor,” Isabella said, already up on her feet.
Thomas grabbed one of the candles. “It’s probably just the temporary support in the bathroom. Maybe the storm shifted something.”
They ran upstairs, Thomas leading the way with the candle, casting shadows ahead of them. The old staircase creaked beneath their feet as the storm’s fury became more pronounced on the upper floors, where the wind whistled through small gaps in the window frames.
In the third-floor bathroom, they found the source of the noise. A section of the ceiling had given way, dumping water, plaster, and insulation onto the floor. Rain poured through the new opening, already creating a puddle on the wooden floorboards.
“Oh gosh, we need to contain this before it damages the floor,” Thomas said. “There are tarps in my truck. I’ll be right back.”
“Okay, I’ll start cleaning up what I can,” Isabella said, looking around for something to collect all the debris.
Thomas hesitated for a moment. “Wait for me to get back. That ceiling is unstable. I don’t want you getting hurt if more of it comes down.”
The concern in his voice was professional, but it carried an underlying note of personal care that Isabella found both comforting and unsettling.
“I’ll be careful,” she said. “But we have to minimize this water damage.”
Thomas nodded reluctantly before rushing downstairs.
Isabella listened to his footsteps recede and then went to find buckets or containers to try to catch the water that was still falling through the hole.
She found a plastic bin in a nearby storage closet and placed it under the worst of the leak, then searched for towels to soak up the water already spreading across the floor.
By the time Thomas came back, soaking wet from his dash to the truck and back, Isabella had created a containment system of bins and towels.
“Good thinking,” he said, dropping a bundle of tarps and a rope on a dry section of the floor. “Now let’s get something over that hole before the whole ceiling comes down on us.”
They worked together in the candlelight, rigging a temporary cover for the opening and securing the tarp to exposed beams with rope.
They created a channel to direct water into the containers below.
It was very awkward to work in dim light, requiring them to stand very close together, occasionally steadying each other as they reached up to secure the top.
At one moment, Thomas slightly lost his footing on the wet floor, and Isabella instinctively grabbed his arm to steady him, her hand wrapping around his bicep.
She could feel the solid strength of his arm beneath the damp cotton, and suddenly she was twenty-two again, remembering how safe she’d always felt around him.
The scent of his cologne mixed with rain and sawdust was painfully familiar.
For a brief moment, they were pressed close, his damp shirt cool against her arm, his breath warm against her cheek.
“Oh, sorry,” he said softly, regaining his balance but not immediately moving away. “Slippery.”
“That’s okay,” Isabella said.
She was suddenly acutely aware of how close they stood, how the candlelight softened his features, and how familiar yet different it felt to have him beside her after all these years.
For a suspended moment, neither of them moved.
Isabella could feel her heart pounding too fast, and it wasn’t from the effort of their repairs.
In the flickering candlelight, with rain pounding against the windows, it felt like they were the only two people in the world.
His eyes searched her face with an intensity that made her breath catch.
She stepped back deliberately, even though every instinct urged her to move closer. The loss of his warmth felt immediate and sharp. “We should probably check the other rooms,” she said, her professional tone back in place. “You know, make sure there aren’t other leaks.”
Thomas nodded, the moment broken. “Oh, you’re right, of course. We need to split up, though, to cover more ground. You take the east wing, I’ll check the west. Call me if you find anything serious.”
They separated, each of them taking a candle to light the way. Isabella was happy for the task, for the necessity of focusing on something practical rather than the complicated emotions that had surfaced during their brief physical proximity.
After thoroughly inspecting the house, they found no other major leaks and regrouped in the second-floor hallway. The storm was starting to slow down, the thunder now more distant, the rain less intense.
“Everything seems secure,” Isabella said. “I saw a few minor leaks in the east bedroom, but nothing serious.”
“Yeah, same on my side,” Thomas said. “The temporary roof patches are holding well, but once the storm passes, we’ll have to properly address that bathroom ceiling. The tarp should contain things until then.”
They made their way back downstairs, the awkwardness of the earlier moment hanging between them. In the parlor, they found Luella had returned and was calmly collecting the dishes from their interrupted meal.
“Roof problems?” she asked, eyeing their damp clothing.
“A section of the ceiling came down in the third-floor bathroom,” Thomas said, “but we’ve got it contained now.”
Luella nodded, unsurprised. “Oh, that bathroom’s been a problem since the seventies. Previous owners attempted to fix it on a budget, but it never worked out in the long run. When will people ever learn?”
Isabella smiled at her matter-of-fact assessment. “Well, you were right about the power outage, too.”
“Oh, I’ve seen a pattern or two in my years here,” Luella said, stacking dishes. “Storm’s passing now, but the power won’t be back till morning, if I know this island’s infrastructure.”
As if to confirm her prediction, Isabella’s phone chimed with a text message.
“It’s from Maggie Beaumont,” she said. “Island-wide power outage. Restoration crews won’t be out until morning because of flooded roads.”
Thomas sighed. “Well, that tracks. After the summer storms, the causeway often floods for a few hours at high tide.”
“Well, you two might as well make yourselves comfortable,” Luella said, picking up the stack of dishes. “I’m gonna head back to my cottage. I got a generator for my medical equipment. There are more candles in the pantry and plenty of flashlights in the emergency kit under the kitchen sink.”
After Luella left, Isabella and Thomas stood there in the parlor, both uncertain about what to do next. The storm had created this unexpected intimacy, forcing them to work closely together and share a meal and conversation beyond their everyday professional interactions.
“You know, I’d better check the tarps one more time before I go,” Thomas said finally.
“Oh, of course,” Isabella said, nodding. “And I appreciate you staying to help with that leak. You didn’t have to do that.”
“Well, it’s my project too,” Thomas replied. “I wouldn’t leave anyone to deal with that alone.”
Something in his tone - perhaps the emphasis on alone - made Isabella wonder if he was referring to more than just a ceiling leak. But before she could analyze it further, her phone chimed again with another text.
“It’s Daphne Chen,” she explained. “The interior designer I’m interviewing tomorrow. She’s asking if we can reschedule due to the storm damage.”
“Is she local?”
“Charleston. She was planning to drive over in the morning.”
“Oh, the causeway will be clear by then, but she might have trouble getting a visitor’s pass if the guard station power is still out. They can be sticklers about procedure.”
Isabella typed a quick reply suggesting they keep the appointment, but have a backup plan to meet in Charleston if access to the island was difficult.
“She comes highly recommended for historic properties. I hope she’ll be a good fit for the project.”
“I’ve seen her work,” Thomas said. “She did the Dillon House renovation in Charleston last year. Beautiful balance of period-appropriate details with modern functionality.”
“Well, that’s exactly what I’m looking for. The inn needs to honor the history, but without feeling like a museum. Guests do expect some modern comforts.”
“It’s a delicate balance,” Thomas agreed, “but when it’s done right, it creates something special. You know, a place visitors connect with history but also meets their contemporary needs.”
Their shared vision reminded Isabella why they connected so deeply in college.
They had complementary perspectives on architecture, preservation, and the excitement of reimagining spaces while respecting their origins.
Despite everything that had happened between them, they still shared a compatibility in their professional outlooks that remained unchanged.
The lights suddenly flickered once, twice, and then remained on; the power was unexpectedly restored.
“Well, that’s a pleasant surprise,” Isabella said.
“Oh, don’t get too excited,” Thomas warned. “Island power is notoriously fickle after storms. It could go right back out again.”
As if on cue, the lights flickered again and went dark once more.
“Well, you called that one,” Isabella said, laughing.
He joined her in laughter, and the moment of shared amusement temporarily bridged the careful distance they’d maintained.
“You know, some things about island life never change. Power companies improved over the years, but the storms still tax the system.”
“I should probably head back to my cottage before the roads flood again,” Isabella said, although she felt slightly reluctant to end their time together.
“Good idea. Do you have any candles or flashlights there?”
“Oh yeah, I stocked up after Maggie warned me about how the island’s electrical system often worked.”
“That’s a smart woman, Maggie,” Thomas said, reaching for his jacket. “She doesn’t miss much.”
They walked to the front door together, listening to the rain. It was now more of a trickle. The storm had passed its peak, and there was a steady drizzle without the dramatic lightning and thunder of earlier.
“Thanks again for your help with the ceiling,” Isabella said as they stepped onto the porch. “I’m not sure what I would have done on my own.”
“Oh, you would have figured it out. You were always resourceful.”
The use of always, a reference to their shared past, hung between them in the air. It was the closest either of them had come to directly acknowledging their history outside of that first very awkward meeting. Isabella didn’t know how to respond, so she nodded and moved toward the steps.
“Good night, Thomas.”
“Good night,” he said. “Drive carefully. There could be branches down on the road.”
As she made her way to the car parked behind Luella’s cottage, she found herself thinking about the unexpected turn the evening had taken. What had begun as a simple cooking lesson had evolved into a shared crisis, revealing glimpses of the Thomas she had once known so well.
The question that had been hovering at the edges of their minds since she discovered his presence on the island now resurfaced. Why had he really ended things with them? What had changed so suddenly that summer to turn a passionate love for each other into an abrupt goodbye?
Luella’s cryptic comment about Thomas always doing what he thought was right, even at his own personal cost, suggested there was more to the story.
After all these years, did it even matter? They were different people now. They had separate lives and experiences that had shaped them.
Yet, as she drove carefully through the rain-slicked streets toward her cottage, Isabella couldn't shake the memory of that moment in the bathroom - standing so close to Thomas in the candlelight, feeling like no time had passed at all.
The careful professional distance they maintained felt more fragile with each passing day.
Luella was right about some storms lingering while others passed through quickly.
Isabella was beginning to suspect that what lay between her and Thomas wasn't the kind of storm that would simply blow over.
Some tempests, once stirred up, demanded to be weathered completely before there could be any real peace.
For now, she had an inn to restore and a ceiling to repair. But increasingly, she wondered if healing the old building might also require healing the old wounds.