Page 17 of The Wexley Inn
"Oh, Dad," Emma said softly, her expression sympathetic rather than judgmental. "You were trying to protect everyone, but you ended up hurting yourself the most, didn't you?"
“At the time, I thought I was sparing her unnecessary pain. She was brilliant, had so many opportunities that I couldn’t match. The last thing she needed was to feel tied to a man with problems.”
Thomas hated telling his daughter all of this, but she was an adult now and old enough to understand. He’d loved Sarah when he first met her in high school, but what did kids know about real, abiding love? He’d been way too immature to choose a life mate at that age. Isabella had been his true love.
Their food arrived, steam rising from the plates. Neither of them immediately began eating.
“And now she’s here on your island, hiring you for a major project…” Emma trailed off. “Boy, the universe sure has a twisted sense of humor.”
“So it seems,” Thomas said, picking up his fork.
“What are you going to do? Will you tell her the truth now?”
He hesitated. “I don’t know. It’s been thirty years, Emma. Does it even matter anymore why I left? We’re both different people now.”
“It matters because secrets have a way of surfacing, especially on this island, and it always happens when you least expect it, Dad. From what little bit I saw today, Isabella doesn’t strike me as someone who appreciates being kept in the dark.”
They ate in silence for a few minutes.
"There's something about her," Emma said thoughtfully. "The way she handles problems without falling apart. I don't remember Mom as clearly as I wish I did, but I remember that about her - how she stayed calm even when things got scary. I can see why you'd be drawn to someone like that."
Thomas nodded. “They would have been either the best of friends or the most formidable opponents, and probably both at different times.”
Emma smiled. “I like her, Dad. Despite myself, despite knowing she was important to you, I like her. She’s very straightforward and very passionate about the inn.”
“She is.” Isabella’s vision for the inn aligned perfectly with his own values about historic preservation, a fact that pleased and complicated his feelings about the project.
They finished their meal, and Emma reached across the table to touch his hand.
"Maybe it's time to tell her the truth, Dad. Thirty years is long enough to carry that kind of burden alone. And from what I saw today, I don't think the feelings are as buried as either of you pretends they are."
He squeezed her hand, thankful for her concern and wisdom.
“When did you get so insightful about relationships?”
“Oh, I learned from watching the best,” she said. “You and Mom may not have had a grand passion, but you showed me what respect and commitment looked like, and that’s worth more than any fairy tale romance.”
Later that night, after he drove Emma back to his cottage, where she’d been staying during her visit, Thomas stood on his back deck overlooking a tidal creek. The moon cast silver light across the tidal creek, turning the marsh grass into a sea of liquid silk and making the still water look like hammered pewter. Night birds called from the darkness, their voices weaving through the humid air.
He kept thinking back over his conversation with Emma. It had unearthed memories and emotions he’d kept buried for such a long time. Seeing Isabella again was disorienting, for sure, but having his daughter meet her? Well, those two worlds colliding added layers of complexity he hadn’t anticipated.
The young man who'd made that choice had believed he was protecting everyone. Now, watching Isabella move through his world with such grace and determination, he wondered if he'd been too proud to let her choose her own path.
Now, time had brought Isabella back into his life, and the question was whether this unexpected reunion would heal old wounds or create new ones. Either way, he was committed to the inn’s restoration, and he would give Isabella’s project his best work - not because of their past, but because that building deserved nothing less, and Isabella’s vision for its renewal aligned with his own so perfectly.
Whether their personal past could, or should, be addressed remained to be seen. He'd spent decades convincing himself he'd made the right choice. But seeing Isabella again, working beside her, remembering what they'd once meant to each other, it was becoming harder to believe that protecting her from his family's crisis had been worth the cost to both their hearts.
An afternoon thunderstorm had been forecast all day, and the thick gray clouds hanging over Wexley Island proved it. Isabella stood in the sweltering inn kitchen beside Luella, watching her measure ingredients with practiced precision despite the ancient stove that made the room feel like a furnace. Afternoon light slanted through the windows, illuminating motes of flour dust dancing in the air.
“Now, you need to pay attention,” Luella said, her hands moving confidently as she mixed a bowl of shrimp and grits. “This recipe has been in my family for generations, and the secret is in the timing. You add that cheese too early, and it becomes stringy, but you add it too late, and it won’t melt properly.”
Isabella observed, making notes in a small, leather-bound journal. When she had impulsively asked Luella to teach her some traditional Lowcountry recipes that they might feature on the inn’s menu, she hadn’t expected such a culinary education. Luella approached cooking with the same meticulous attention to detail that Thomas brought to the historic restoration.
“Okay, now you try,” Luella said, stepping back from the counter and gesturing for Isabella to take her place.
Slightly intimidated, Isabella took the wooden spoon and started stirring the creamy mixture, trying to match Luella’s rhythm and pressure.
“Quit being so hesitant,” Luella said. “Grits sense fear just like horses. You gotta be confident.”
