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

handkerchief into her trembling hands. She glanced up at him to find him watching her, something dark and inscrutable in his gray eyes. Was he irritated at her for blubbering? But this baby would have been her first grandchild … would have probably survived if Chelsea had had access to health care.

And that was another thing that had driven her daughter crazy with guilt. All those what-ifs. If she had just spoken up … if she’d admitted she was pregnant, instead of fearing a reprimand or, worse, of being sent home in flurry of paperwork and inner shame … if she’d told her captors the truth. The baby’s father had never been notified. Chelsea saw no reason to cause trouble for a man with whom she’d had a one-night stand.

Jessi knew what that was like. She’d had two of them. Both with the same man.

The chaplain asked everyone to bow their heads, so Jessi closed her eyes. And felt a hand to her right clasp hers once again. Chelsea.

And then, out of nowhere, warm fingers enveloped her other hand, lacing between hers.

Clint.

Oh, God. The tears flowed all over again. She’d wanted to hold his hand, and he’d not only read her mind, he’d found a way to accomplish the impossible.

A flicker of hope came to life in her chest.

Maybe it wasn’t impossible. He had certainly made love to her like she’d meant something to him.

Then again, he’d done the same thing all those years ago. Maybe it was different now. They were both older. Wiser. They’d both lived through things many people never had to experience.

She tightened her grip around both hands, allowing herself to feel connected to him in a way that had nothing to do with sex. Or need. But was something deeper. More profound.

No.

Not happening.

And yet he’d made the impossible possible.

As the prayer went on, Clint gave her hand a quick squeeze, then released it.

When she peeked between her lashes, she saw that she wasn’t the only one who had a male hand linked with hers. The young man next to Chelsea stood so close their shoulders and arms touched. And his index finger was twined around her daughter’s.

She swallowed. Maybe, just maybe, she could let herself believe. Just like the chaplain said.

The seed took root and spread throughout her being, twisting around her heart and lungs until she wasn’t sure where they started and the belief ended. Maybe that was the way it was meant to be.

She could talk to Clint. Somehow find out if he felt the same way. Surely he did. Otherwise why would he have held her hand?

Because she’d been crying? Maybe. That was why it was important to talk to him. And she would. Just as soon as the service was over, and she’d made sure her daughter was okay. Her mom was at home. They still hadn’t told Chelsea about the circumstances behind the heart episode, and they’d both agreed to keep that quiet. Her mom also felt it was best for her to stay at home for this particular event. Neither of them wanted anything to mar the service. And although Jessi trusted Clint not to say anything, one of them could inadvertently let something slip without realizing it.

The prayer ended, and Chelsea took the white rose in her hand and gently kissed the bloom, then placed it across the bronze marker that had been set in the lush grass beside Larry’s grave. Grass that hadn’t needed to be turned up, since there was no body to bury this time. The back of Jessi’s throat burned. Larry would have loved his daughter. And his granddaughter, if he’d been able to see past his own hurt and pride. Two lives, needlessly lost.

But at least there was now a place where Chelsea could come and remember—along with a concrete bench that had been placed at the foot of the graves, a gift from her mother. She hoped they could come here each year and remember.

The service ended with a flautist from their church playing “Amazing Grace,” the light, bright sound of the instrument giving the hymn a sense of hope and peace. It’s what Chelsea had wanted, and as her daughter moved to stand beside the same young man as before, a quick glance was shared between the two of them. Jessi looked at him a little more closely. Surely it was a good thing that her daughter was beginning to look past the pain in her heart and see a future that was brimming with possibilities.

Like Jessi herself was?

When she gave Clint a sideways look, she saw that his attention was also on the pair. She could have sworn a flash of envy crossed his expression before disappearing. His gaze met hers, and he nodded to show her he had noticed, then he leaned close, his breath brushing across her ear as he murmured, “Try not to worry. Paul’s a good man.”

Words hung on the tip of her tongue, then spilled past her lips. “So are you, Clinton Marks.”

His intake of breath was probably not audible to anyone except him, but even so he froze for several seconds at her comment, while his brain played it over and over in that same breathy little whisper.

She thought he was a good man?

Emotion swelled in his throat, and he forced himself to stand up straight before he did something rash right in front of her late husband’s grave. Like crush her in his arms and kiss her like there was no tomorrow. Tell her that he loved her and would always be there for her.

As the last notes of the song died away, people began to filter out of the cemetery. Chelsea leaned over to Jessi and said, “I’ll see you later on at Nana’s?”

“I probably won’t be there for a few hours, okay? There’s something I need to do first,” said Jess.

“Okay.” The two women embraced for several long seconds then broke apart. Paul walked her daughter over to her car and