Chapter 30
Chapter Thirty
JACK
The moment I got back to the hotel, I packed my stuff. I couldn’t sleep here. I’d beg my private jet pilot to fly me back early, and if he couldn’t, I would just drive back to Seattle. Hannah had seen all of my darkness and it was heartbreaking. Watching her shrink away from me when I told her what I’d done, I died inside. Then, when she kissed me, it only made it worse.
It was the best kiss of my life, one that made me feel like I was coming up for air after years of drowning.
That kiss was one I would crave every day and never tire of. That kiss made me want to fall in love and get married and have kids and a house with a white picket fence. But that was the problem. I’d never be able to offer her that. I’d always be messed up in the head, broken by what I’d done. People who killed their mothers—whether on accident or not—didn’t lead normal lives after. They were a mess, and I’d always be a mess.
My pilot picked up on the first ring.
“Can you fly me back to Seattle ASAP?” I asked him. “I have an emergency.”
It sounded like he was at some party. I could hear a crowd in the background.
“Sorry, Mr. Marrow. It’s Christmas. I?—”
“I’ll pay you a hundred thousand extra,” I told him.
“I’ll be there in two hours,” he said, and I hung up.
Two hours? What was I going to do for two hours? I would go insane sitting around the room at the Inn. I felt bad he was flying Christmas night, but I had to get out of there.
I grabbed my duffel bag, stepped back out into the now light rain, and jumped into the SUV. I needed to take my mind off of things. This wasn’t how I’d seen my closure with Hannah going. I’d thought she would be engaged; I’d tell her sorry for ghosting her, and she’d smile and say it was okay. I’d check out the big rock on her finger and maybe even see her with Luke. Then I’d say goodbye.
Not this . Not playing barista with her lovely mother and then getting into a screaming match in the parking lot as we got doused in snow before she kissed me.
The look in her eyes, the way she begged me not to leave like that, when she told me she saw all of me and still wanted me—it killed me. It made me feel like a bigger piece of crap than I already was.
I pulled my rented SUV out of the inn and drove down Willow Lake Road, headed for the water. I remembered the first time I’d gone to this lake. It was on our first trip to Willow Harbor. My mother and I were amazed that such a small, quaint town was nestled on one of the biggest lakes in Idaho. They had a huge harbor with docks full of boats and a cute little strip of shops that served anything from ice cream to bait and fishing gear.
I loved this town.
I often dreamed of moving here. Buying a huge place right on the water with my own private dock and swimming and fishing all summer.
But I knew I never would. Especially not now. I’d avoid this town like the plague after seeing Hannah recoil when I told her that I’d killed my mother. Sure, I could have worded it differently, but it was the truth. And I’d gone to prison for it, so any lies she tried to tell me to make me feel better were just that. Lies.
I was a murderer. I had taken a life. The most precious life I’d ever known. That of my own mother.
I pulled up to the large dock and parked my car in an empty space off to the side. There were two dozen sailing vessels and small fishing boats moored at the harbor. The small Shake Shack store that normally sold shakes and fries in the summer months was closed up for the winter.
I headed for the water without a thought of what I was doing, pulling my gloves on and tightening my coat. I just needed to keep moving until my jet got here. The entire lake was frozen. I could see ice skating marks on the top, which reminded me of the times my mother and I had skated out here together.
I walked out onto the dock, my gaze firmly on the horizon and all the little lakeside houses that were lit up. Probably filled with happy families having happy lives.
“I’ve got an extra pole,” a male voice said, and I leaped about three feet into the air.
I turned to the source of the noise and saw an old man in his seventies, sitting behind a huge pillar that had camouflaged him. He was…fishing? He held a fishing pole in one hand, and there was a bucket and net beside him.
“Are you fishing?” I asked is disbelief. “It’s winter.” Maybe he had dementia or something and I should find out where his family lived and return him home.
The old man laughed, and it was a bright and happy sound.
“Son, I’m ice fishing. You get the big ones at night and they come easy. Ice fishing is common around here. You must be a tourist.”
Ouch.
He patted the spot on the dock next to him and I shrugged. Why not? I had at least an hour to kill before heading to the small airport.
I sat next to him and let my legs dangle over the edge. Peering down, I saw that he had cut a perfect circle-shaped hole into the ice where the dark waters were below. He handed me a pole with bait already attached, as if he had been expecting a second person.
“You know how to fish?” he asked me.
“Yes, sir.” I dropped the fishing line into into the water, directly in the center of the hole and I peered over at the man.
“Are you in town for Christmas?” he asked.
I shrugged. “I went to a concert.” I tried to keep it vague.
“Ahh. That Jules and Hannah have the voices of angels.”
I sighed, angry I couldn’t avoid Hannah even on this random dock. Small-town problems.
“They sure do. It was a nice concert.”
“How long you been Christian?” he asked me.
If I had known he was so chatty, I never would have sat down. “Won’t we scare the fish off with all the talking?” I asked him, trying to drop a hint, but he was undeterred.
“That’s an old wives’ tale. The fish are used to noises.”
Great.
I was hoping he’d forget the question he’d asked, but he persisted.
“How long have you been a believer, son?”
I sighed. “I’m not,” I said flatly, not in the mood for wherever this conversation was going. I was in small-town, rural America. He was probably about to preach at me.
He nodded as if he understood. “I wasn’t, either. I lived nearly thirty years without the good Lord.”
That surprised me. “What made you suddenly believe?”
He turned to look at me, and I noticed he was a bit disheveled. His hair was all messed up and his clothes were slightly torn. His beard could use a trim too. I was now questioning if he was homeless, so my heart softened.
“It was a real cold winter about forty years ago. I mean a real bone chiller. Joe lets me sleep in the storage room of the dock house on a cot, and it’s got a bathroom, but it don’t have heat,” he proclaimed, pointing to a gray building with a sign over it that read Dock House .
So I was right. Homeless. Or close to it. Joe sounded like a good guy, whoever he was.
“It was fixin’ to be twenty below and I knew I’d die that night if I didn’t get somewhere warm. Church was havin’ one of them concerts like they had tonight. My plan was to sneak in, listen to the music, and then hide in the bathroom while everyone left so I could stay the night in the heat.”
I was already mentally texting Chloe to buy this guy a warm house tomorrow. This story was too sad. He was old enough to be my grandfather; he shouldn’t have been sleeping on a cot on a boat dock without heat. I felt bad for being short with him earlier.
“What happened?” I asked, into the story now.
He grinned, which took years off of his face. “By the first song, I was weeping like a baby.”
Shock ripped through me at his words, and I sat up straighter. That’s what had happened to me tonight.
“By the second, I was confessing my sins and asking for God to forgive me,” he said. “And by the third, I was crying out to Jesus. Never been the same since.”
For some reason, his story affected me deeply.
“Why do you think you cried?” I had to know. I had to know what that was earlier.
“I think worship music is about broken people in need of a savior. It speaks to our soul and allows God an opening to reach us. It opens a door and you just gotta step inside.”
Was that what that was? God trying to reach me? I remembered the peace I’d felt in that moment, during the song. A peace that had now left me, and I ached for it again.
I swallowed hard. “But…no offense, sir. You’re homeless. How can you believe in a God that would allow you to live like this?”
“I got a home,” he said, pointing up to the sky. “One that always has heat in the winter.”
Heaven? Okay, I was back to thinking he had dementia.
“This earthly life is fleeting,” he explained. “Willow Harbor is my home for now. I sleep in Joe’s Dock House during the summer and the church in winter. The pastor even feeds me dinner every night. I got all my needs met and the good Lord in my soul. I want for nothing. And eventually I will reach my heavenly home. One that lasts forever. That’s the one I care most about.”
I hung my head, feeling so ashamed in that moment. This man had what I would consider nothing, yet he had more than I did.
He was happy. He had God. He was content with his life. When he fell asleep every night, he probably had no regrets in life.
“I cried tonight when I heard the first song,” I blurted out. I had to tell someone, and I was never going to see this guy again after tonight, so it didn’t matter.
He just nodded. “And the second?”
I laughed. “I left. The first one freaked me out too much.”
He looked over at me, and in that moment, his eyes were so deep and rich they were practically glowing. “No point in fighting it, son. Haven’t you heard? God is the fisher of men. Once He sets His sights on you, He’s going to reel you in sooner or later.”
I smiled at that. Fisher of men. That was cute. I’d never heard that before.
“It would take a lot to get this fish,” I told him, tapping my chest.
“Careful what you wish for,” he said, and just then, there was a tug on my line.
“I got one!” I said, beginning to reel it in.
The old man cheered me on as I pulled a huge salmon out of the water. He grabbed his net and whistled low.
“She’s a beauty,” he said. “Want to stay for a late dinner?”
It was almost midnight. He seemed lonely, and I actually enjoyed his company, but I had to go.
“I would, but I’m flying out. I should actually head to the airport.”
The man nodded, and I got up.
“What is your name?” I asked.
“Pete.”
“I’m Jack. It was nice to meet you.”
“You too, Jack.” He gave me a knowing smile.
I waved to him and then began to walk away, my mind spinning with some of the things he’d said.
“Jack!” he called out.
I turned.
“Next time, stay for two more songs.” He winked in the low moonlight, and I genuinely laughed.
“Yes, sir.” I wouldn’t be caught dead in a church again. That was scary. But I humored him.
Taking in a deep breath of fresh night air, I was conflicted. I loved and hated this place.
After opening my phone, I shot a text to Chloe.
Jack: There is an old man named Pete who lives at the Willow Harbor docks. He’s homeless. Can you send a real estate agent out here tomorrow to go house shopping with him? Buy him whatever he wants. Maybe a lake house. He likes to fish. No budget. Set up a monthly account for his necessities and utilities too please.
Chloe: You got it. How did it go with Hannah?
Jack: Don’t ask.
I shut my phone and then beelined for the airport.
Goodbye, Willow Harbor. Goodbye, Hannah.