Summer of Love Marie Ferrarella (easy books to read in english TXT) 📖

one of the most positive, life-affirming experiences she’d ever gone through. She feels tons better and is raring to get out of bed and go back to work on her garden and play with Cooper.” Jessi shook her head and squeezed Chelsea’s hand. “I think I know where you got your stubbornness from.”

“Mine?”

Laughing, Jessi said, “Okay, mine, too.”

That was one thing Clint could attest to. This was one strong trio of women, despite the momentary flashes of pain that manifested themselves in physical reactions: Abigail’s heart blockage. Chelsea’s suicide attempt. Jessi’s reaching out to an old flame during a crisis?

Yes. That was exactly it.

It should have made him feel better—set his mind at ease about leaving in the months ahead. Instead, a cold draft slid through his body and circled, looking for a place to land. He cleared his throat to chase it away. It didn’t work. It lay over him in a gray haze that clung to everything in sight, just like the morning dew. What it touched, it marked.

And that mark was …

Love.

He reeled back in his seat for a second, trying to process and conceal all at the same time.

He loved her? Heaven help him.

How could he have let this happen? Any of it? All of it?

He had screwed up badly. Had let his emotions get the best of him, just like he always had when he was around this woman.

The transfer papers seemed to pulse at him from beneath the binder with new urgency. The sooner he did this the better.

And his promise to Chelsea?

“What do you think Nana would want me to do?” Even as his own thoughts were in shambles, Chelsea’s were on the brink of closing old wounds and letting them heal.

“I think Nana would want you to be happy, honey.”

“Can we have the service next week, then? I don’t know how long the members of the group will keep coming to sessions. We can have a private memorial for just our family later, if Nana feels up to it.”

“We can have it anytime you want.”

And in that moment he knew he had to see this through. He had to be there for Jessi, just as she had to be there for Chelsea. Abigail wasn’t up to taking on that role yet. And Larry was no longer there.

And he wanted to. Wasn’t that what love was about? Sacrificing your own comfort and well-being for someone else’s?

Like he’d done once upon a time?

He peered into the past with new eyes. Eyes that saw the truth.

He’d loved her even then. Even as he’d been preparing to hand her over to another man. One whose father didn’t drink himself into a rage and let his fists do the talking.

A normal, mundane life.

Something Clint hadn’t been able to give her. Because back then he’d had anger issues, too. Toward his father, who’d dished it out. Toward his mom, who’d sat there and taken it. Toward the world in general, for turning a blind eye toward what had been going on in homes like his.

The military had helped him conquer most of his anger, but only because it had instilled discipline in its place, and had channeled his negative energy into positive areas.

But his life still wasn’t peaceful. It was filled with patients like Chelsea, who scrabbled and clawed to find some kind of normalcy.

Jessi had been through enough. She’d deserved better than him back then, and she still did today.

She deserved a professor or architect or poet. A man who brought beauty into her life. Not memories of days gone by.

I’m going to have to give her up all over again.

And he was going to have a few more scars to show for it.

He realized both pairs of female eyes were on his face, both wearing identical expressions of confusion. One of them had said something.

“I’m sorry?”

Chelsea bit her lip. “I asked if next Sunday would work for you? Or do you have other plans?”

“No. No plans.” Once he’d said it, he realized he could have come up with an excuse. Like what? A date? That would go over really well with Jessi. Besides, he’d meant what he’d thought earlier. He wanted to be there for her … and for Chelsea. Like the family he’d never had?

Maybe. Maybe it was okay to pretend just for a few hours—to soak up something he’d never be able to have in real life.

Like a wife and daughter?

Yes.

Even if they both belonged to a man who could no longer be there for them.

So he would act as a stand-in once again. For an hour. Maybe two. And he could pray that somehow it was enough to get him through the rest of his life.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

SHE WANTED TO hold Clint’s hand, but she couldn’t.

Not in a cemetery, while mourning a tiny life that had been snuffed out before its time. Standing next to him would have to be enough.

Only it was so hard. Hard to remain there without touching him.

Curling her fingers into her palms, she forced them to stay by her sides as a chaplain she’d never met talked about life and death … commemorating a granddaughter she’d also never met.

A hand touched hers. Not Clint’s, but Chelsea’s. Her daughter’s fingers were icy cold, her expression grim, eyes moist with grief as the minister continued to speak.

“In the same way this marker serves as a reminder that a tiny life was placed into Your loving arms, we, like Marie Elizabeth Riley, need to place our trust and hope in You, the Author and Finisher of our faith, that we will one day see her as she was meant to be. Whole and full of life …”

The sudden rush of tears to eyes that had been dry took Jessi by surprise, overriding whatever else the chaplain was saying. She fumbled in her purse, letting go of Chelsea’s hand for a second as she searched for a tissue.

Clint, still, solemn and heartbreakingly handsome in a dark blue suit, pressed a