Back in the lowcountry, settling into her mother’s beach house, Cara had learned in small increments, year after year, to give up her life as a lone swimmer and instead to join a family that not only welcomed but loved her. She’d opened herself to love and, to her great surprise, found it in Brett Beauchamps. Her first husband had been the love of her life, and for ten years they had been happy. Their one serious hurdle had been their inability to have children, though they’d tried one in vitro effort after another. The harsh reality that confronted her was that she’d simply waited too long. And then Brett was gone. Once again, Cara was alone.
And once again, she’d picked herself up from the ground, leaving town once more. Broken, Cara couldn’t bear to stay where once she’d found happiness. She’d loaded up her car and this time headed for Chattanooga, Tennessee, a town filled with welcoming people, great art, a heart for environmental protection, and a world-class aquarium. She’d started again, day after day making the effort to craft a new life at age fifty. And then, when least expected, another miracle had happened. Cara found hope in the form of the infant she’d prayed for and had given up believing would ever happen for her. A little girl named Esperanza was made available to her for adoption, and Cara, shaking in her boots at the thought of being a mother at age fifty, doubting her abilities, took a leap of faith and said yes.
Cara had returned home with her baby girl, back to the beach house that had always been a sanctuary for Rutledge women. This new journey had not been easy either—but by now, she didn’t expect it to be. Cara was older and wiser. She had a better résumé. She found work, support from her family and friends. She also found love again. Another miracle.
But it seemed fate was not yet finished testing her.
The wind gusted, shaking the palm fronds outside the house, tossing cushions off the porch furniture to points unknown. Cara rubbed her arms and rose from the sofa, chasing away the memories. She felt a wave of despondency that put her feet in motion. She had to move, pace, cast away the worries as chilling and fierce as the wind outdoors. She had thought she was safe at last. She’d married, moved into this beautiful house. Foolishly, she thought she could let down her guard and just be. She was grateful, even humble, thinking she’d been given so much happiness and, too, wealth with David, that she wanted to share it with the next generation of family who were struggling, as she had struggled. Playing matriarch was one of the greatest satisfactions she’d ever known.
Her lips trembled. And now, again, illness threatened all she held dear. First, her mother. Then Brett. And now… David was in the other room, and though he was getting better, they were still awaiting the all-clear. She missed her daughter. Hope was just across the street, yet she could be a thousand miles away, for all that Cara could not visit her.
As well, tonight Cara had received a phone call from Linnea reporting that Hope was sneezing and coughing, likely allergic to the dog. Cara brought her hand to her forehead. What an idiot she was to have bought the dog. She should have waited until Hope came home, should have made sure that all was well before impulsively buying a puppy with as much forethought as she would a stuffed animal. What if the allergies compromised Hope’s breathing? Her lungs were still recovering from the serious pneumonia she got from the measles.
Worry overwhelmed her. She wanted her baby home again. In her arms. She felt the lump thickening in her throat, water pooling in her eyes. Try as she might to hold it in, the tears trickled down her cheeks. Defeated, Cara put her face in her hands and let go a gush of tears. Crying was a testament to how low she’d fallen. Cara hated to cry, was embarrassed to reveal that weakness. But cry she did. Great, blubbering sobs, like a baby. She couldn’t stop.
Suddenly she felt arms encircle her. Cara choked back a cry and, looking up, saw David’s face, so close to hers for the first time in nearly a month. Her gaze devoured him, though she was still in shock. His face was pale though not sickly. His eyes were no longer glazed with fever but alert and full of concern. She sniffed and slowly reached up to wipe her eyes, then moved her hand to cup his jaw, rough with the beginnings of a pepper-and-salt beard.
“David,” she managed to get out, barely coherent, “what…”
He brought his hand to the back of her head and guided it to rest against his shoulder. He smelled fresh and soapy, like he’d just emerged from a shower.
“My darling, don’t cry.”
The feel of his hand against her skin brought her to a place of security, safety, contentment. Cara closed her eyes and let her body melt against his. Sometimes a touch, a hug, the feel of an encircling arm—more than words—had the power to restore one’s faith that all would be well.
She moved her head back to look at his face again, sure her own was blotched and swollen. She stared at him in wonder. “But what are you doing out of your room?”
David took a tissue from his pocket and gently dabbed at her face. Cara reached up to take it and quickly wiped her eyes and nose, then, feeling more composed, looked again at his face. “Tell me.”
“It’s been twenty-four hours since my last fever. And that was a low-grade fever.”
“I know. But you didn’t tell me your fever was gone.”
“I didn’t want to get your hopes up.” He smiled. “My symptoms are gone. I feel stronger, clearheaded. No headaches.”
“I can’t believe it,” she breathed out.
“I only wish I had flowers to give you, to thank you for being so good to me these past weeks. You held this family together. Cara Rutledge-Wyatt, you are the strongest woman I know. I don’t like to see you cry. Unless they’re tears of joy.”
Cara felt a fresh batch of tears building up. “Now, these are tears of joy. I can’t believe you’re standing here in front of me. Real flesh-and-blood you.”
Then, for the first time, and it still felt somehow illicit, David lowered his mouth to meet hers. The kiss was tender and brief. More a connection than passion. It was, she thought, perfect.
“Let’s get Hope,” David said.
She laughed, and the sound of it filled the room. “David, be serious. It’s late and she’s probably getting ready for bed. Let’s fix up something to eat, have our first meal together in ages, and catch up. Then tomorrow morning, first thing, we will pick up our little girl.”
“And the dog?”
Cara laughed again, and patted his chest with affection. “That’s a long story.”
* * *
DAVID LOADED THE last of Hope’s belongings into the back of his Range Rover. All with the notable exception of the puppy. A spring storm was rolling in, kicking sand into the air and sending their hair fluttering about their heads.
Cara said, “I’m sorry to leave you with the dog.”
“Not at all! I’m thrilled to keep her. I’m just sorry it didn’t work out for Hope. And you. You fell in love with her too,” Linnea said.
“I’m so happy to have my daughter back, and David well again.” Cara glanced over to where her husband was buckling Hope into her car seat. “Nothing else matters. Besides, I can always try another breed, one that is hypoallergenic.” She paused and said wryly, “Someday. At the moment, Hope doesn’t seem very upset to be leaving Luna behind.”