Chapter 15 #2
At the quiet question, Martin filled his lungs. “I don’t know. At the moment, we’re living apart, as you’ve probably heard.”
“I assumed as much. When Diane and I chatted at the last rehearsal, she mentioned she was staying in the annex at Anna Williams’s house.”
“Yes. She left a couple of weeks ago. Out of the blue.”
Father Murphy’s eyebrows rose. “There were no clues she was thinking about leaving?”
“None that I picked up on. But I think they were there, if I’d been paying more attention.
” He leaned forward. Linked his fingers.
“We’ve had issues ever since I took over the mill.
The business sucked up all my energy and attention during the first few years, and by the time I could have slowed down a bit, I’d fallen into the habit of putting work first. That was bad news for my relationship with Diane—and with my son. ”
“How is Lucas these days?”
“Doing okay, I think. Going to college in Texas. Making his own way. He and I haven’t talked in quite a while.
I did reach out to him a few days ago, but he hasn’t returned my call or responded to my text.
And I can’t blame him. I made a lot of mistakes while he was growing up—and I didn’t handle it well when he told me he didn’t want to be part of the mill. ”
The priest gave an understanding nod. “That had to be disappointing for you, given the long Fisher heritage there.” He tipped his head. “Did you ever think about doing anything else career-wise?”
“No. I like the lumber business. Lucas never did.”
“What is he interested in?”
“Graphic design. Which I guess isn’t surprising. He was always drawing as a kid. And he had talent. In middle school he won first place in a regional art contest.”
“You must have been proud of him.”
“I was.” Even if an issue at the mill had kept him from attending the awards ceremony.
“It seems a shame for someone with such a gift not to pursue it.” The priest’s tone was conversational, without a whiff of censure.
“That’s what Diane always said, but I was too angry at Lucas to listen. I still would be if she hadn’t shaken everything up by leaving.”
“I wonder if that was the point.” Father Murphy rested his elbow on the back of the bench. “Sometimes it takes a dramatic gesture to bring about a change.”
“Whatever her motive, she got my attention.” He watched a butterfly flit from flower to flower, never coming to rest, as if it couldn’t decide where to land. “I told her last week I’d try harder, make some adjustments, but I don’t think she believed me.”
“I wonder if she’s waiting for evidence that you mean what you say.”
Martin frowned as Diane’s parting comment replayed in his mind.
“Words are easy. Follow-through isn’t.”
Was it possible the padre was right? Did Diane want concrete proof that he’d meant what he said before she’d consider rethinking her decision to leave?
Maybe.
“You could be right, Father, but I’m not certain what that means in practical terms.”
“Well, as the old adage reminds us, actions can speak very loudly.”
“Like cutting back on my hours at the mill?”
“That could be a start.”
“Also a challenge.”
“A man doesn’t run a successful business unless he’s smart. I have a feeling you can find a way to make that happen if you put your mind to it.”
As the church bell tolled the half hour, the vague outlines of an idea began to take shape in his mind. One with distinct possibilities.
But job demands were only part of his dilemma.
“I may be able to find a workaround in terms of my hours at the mill, but Diane had other issues too.”
“More difficult to deal with than the job-related ones?”
No.
Getting involved with the Hope Harbor community could be awkward after keeping his distance for so long, but it would be easier than cutting back on work.
As for giving Diane more attention, that wouldn’t be a chore. They’d had fun together once upon a time. Ballroom dancing, hiking, date nights. Or simple, quiet evenings with a shared dinner at home, back in the days when they all used to eat their evening meal together.
Lucas was a different story.
“In general, no.” Martin unlinked his fingers and flexed them to restore circulation.
“The other issues shouldn’t be too difficult to fix—other than trying to reconnect with Lucas.
” And how sad was it that it had taken Diane’s prompt for him to reach out to his son again?
He should have tried harder to mend their rift instead of letting anger over Lucas’s teen stunts and his refusal to join the mill drive a wedge between them.
Put aside his stubborn pride and viewed the situation from his son’s point of view.
“Repairing broken relationships can be a formidable challenge, no question about it.” Father Murphy’s tone remained empathetic, without a hint of reproach.
No wonder he was so well liked in town. “It often requires forgiveness, tolerance, humility, and acceptance. But the rewards are immense. And if the effort is undertaken with love, the odds of success increase exponentially. Because love never fails.” He smiled.
“I have that on the best authority, by the way.”
As the song of a bird trilled through the air, Martin let out a slow breath.
He’d stopped here tonight hoping to gain nothing more than a brief respite and perhaps a glimmer of an idea about how to proceed.
Instead, he’d be leaving with the outlines of a plan beginning to form in his mind—and buoyed by a sense of hope he hadn’t had when he’d walked into this garden.
“You’ve given me a lot to think about, Father.”
“In that case, I won’t feel guilty for procrastinating about writing my homily.”
“I’d write it for you if I could, but words aren’t my forte. Is there anything else I could do to thank you for your time and your thoughts tonight?”
“No thanks are necessary. But . . .” The priest pursed his lips, his demeanor growing pensive. “There is something you may be able to do to help with our production.”
“Name it.”
“We’re trying to keep expenses to a minimum, of course, in order to give more of the proceeds to Helping Hands.”
“I’d be happy to write you a check to cover some of those.” His standard fallback whenever the town was in need of donations for various activities or projects. Giving money was easy.
“I’m not asking for that sort of donation, though the offer is much appreciated. I was thinking more along the lines of lumber for our sets. They wouldn’t have to be first-quality boards. Your rejects would work fine for our purposes.”
“I’d be happy to provide whatever you need.”
“Wonderful. If you’ll give me your contact information, I’ll ask Adam to call you. He’s the head of the set construction crew.”
Did he mean Adam Stone? The ex-con who’d almost taken the fall for Lucas’s teenage vandalism spree, thanks to the rumors Lucas had spread about him?
Martin’s stomach bottomed out.
That would be uncomfortable. Perhaps on both sides. Adam might be happily married to the Hope Harbor police chief now, but surely he’d prefer not to deal with the man whose son had almost sent him back to jail.
“Is that a problem?”
At Father Murphy’s gentle query, he shrugged. “If you’re talking about Adam Stone, he may not want to talk to me after all the stuff that happened with Lucas.”
“That was years ago—and not everyone holds grudges.” Compassion flowed from him. “But I can ask him to contact someone else at the company if you prefer.”
The temptation to take the easy way out was strong . . . but maybe it was time to mend bridges outside of his family as well as inside.
“No, he can call me. Let me give you my number.” He waited while Father Murphy pulled out his phone, then recited it. “Is there anything else I can do to help?”
“Nothing comes to mind, but thank you for offering.” The priest stowed his cell. “And now duty calls. Feel free to linger here as long as you like.”
“Thanks. I may stay awhile.”
The pastor rose. “I’ll keep you in my prayers, Martin.
And remember that love is a powerful force.
It can heal wounds and open hearts and smooth out rough patches—as long as it’s given without strings or conditions or expectations.
” He laid a hand on his shoulder. “God be with you on this beautiful evening.”
As the priest strolled down the path toward the exit, Martin eased back on the bench.
Strange.
Despite all the turmoil in his life, he suddenly felt calmer than he had in a very long while.
Maybe that’s what happened when you at last faced the truth. When you began to see with more clarity.
And the facts were simple, really. Early in his marriage, his home had been a welcome haven after a day at the mill.
But the grand house, his visible symbol of success, had seemed empty after Lucas left.
Emptier still when he and Diane occupied the same physical space but were otherwise worlds apart.
Yet instead of tackling the root of the problem, he’d compounded it by filling up the hollow places inside with work and cutting himself off from the people he loved.
He had no one to blame for the current state of affairs except himself, either. He was the one who’d made the mistakes. Who’d shut out his wife in the interest of preserving her peace of mind and been far too lenient with his son in a misguided attempt to win his affections.
But in the end, he’d failed on both counts.
Much as he loved the family business, the price he’d paid to not only save it but take it to a new level of success had been too high.
So unless he wanted to spend the rest of his life alone, with nothing but a strong balance sheet to keep him company, he needed to make some changes. To act rather than talk. To make a personal investment instead of just writing checks.
Starting now.
He pulled out his phone. Called up the website he needed. Took the necessary steps.
And before he walked out of the garden ten minutes later, he’d added a new item to his agenda for next week.