Where There's Hope_A Well Paired Novel

  Where There's Hope

  A Well Paired Novel

  Marianne Rice

  Published by Marianne Rice, 2018.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Where There's Hope (A Well Paired Novel)

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  EPILOGUE

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  About the Author

  For Peggy. I cannot express in words how much I value your friendship. Your heart is as big (if not bigger!) than your laugh. Love you dearly.

  Copyright © 2018, Marianne Rice.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  Cover Artist: Just Write Creations

  Editor: Silla Webb

  Author’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

  First Edition Published 2018

  CHAPTER ONE

  THE DOOR TO THE HAPPY Clam Family Restaurant blew open, bringing in a gust of cold air and a ghost from Hope Windward’s haunted past.

  The afternoon sun reflected off the ocean, and the way it shone through the glass in the door as it swung closed nearly blinded her, but not so much that she couldn’t make out his face. He had the same dark hair, only cropped shorter than he used to wear. The same dark eyes stared at her, only aged and harder around the edges. It couldn’t be, though. Justin had been dead. Dead for nearly thirteen years.

  Confusion and suspicion swirled in her belly, working its way up her throat, nearly choking her with fright.

  No, not him.

  Hope almost dropped the glass she was filling and stepped back from behind the bar, shaking her head in disbelief. She couldn’t believe he had the gall to show his face.

  “Get the hell out of my restaurant!” She pointed angrily at him. “Now!”

  He didn’t move. His tall frame had filled out since the last time she’d seen him—or rather the last time she saw his picture in the paper, handcuffed and leaving the courtroom.

  “Hope?” Ty, her best friend for over a decade, came up behind her and rested a supporting hand on her shoulder. “Are you okay?”

  “Tell this asshole to get out of my restaurant,” she growled between gritted teeth. The cold air that came in with him wasn’t doing anything to cool down her temper. If he didn’t leave soon, she worried she would do something to seriously harm her reputation. She couldn’t risk that he would try to stick around, though. He couldn’t come here now and just upend her life, and Delaney was her life. If he came anywhere near her daughter...

  “Cam? What’s going on?” Ty asked him.

  Hope whipped her head around and glared at her best friend. “Cam? You know him?” Ty stood in front of her, blocking her view of him.

  “Yeah. He’s a good guy.”

  Hope snorted. “He has you fooled. I don’t want him in my restaurant. Get him out of here. Out of my life.”

  “It’s okay,” Cameron Smithfield, the convicted felon, finally said. “I didn’t know she would be working today. I’ll go.”

  “I own this place. I work every day.” Which was mostly true. Except Mondays. She shouldn’t have been there because she usually didn’t work Mondays, but Mia had a dentist appointment. Hope had only come in to cover until she came back, which should be any minute now.

  Creepy tingles escalated up her spine. She folded her arms across her chest to hide any signs of nerves. How did Cameron know her work schedule, and how the hell did he know Ty? The latter would be easier to ask.

  “Do you even know who he is?” she growled at Ty.

  “Yeah. Cam’s been working down at CC’s Boatyard for a few months. Best mechanic Dwayne has ever seen, or so he says.”

  “Months?” The breakfast burrito she had for lunch hours ago threatened to make its appearance again. She pushed past Ty and rounded the bar to face Cameron, poking him in the chest and pushing him back toward the door. “You’ve been out of jail for months and have been lurking around my home? Does your parole officer know about this?”

  “Jail? Parole?” Ty stepped in between them, his wide frame blocking Hope’s view, which was probably a good thing.

  If she looked at Cameron’s innocent-looking face one more time, she’d be tempted to punch him in the throat.

  She couldn’t see him but heard him let out a loud sigh. “Yeah. I’ll go.”

  “Listen, Cam. Hope and the folks in Crystal Cove are good people. If there’s trouble following you, or if you bring trouble into our town, your ass will be mine. Got it?”

  Hope took comfort in Ty’s warning words. When she heard the door open, felt the familiar ocean air, and heard the bell signaling his departure, she relaxed her tense shoulders.

  Ty turned around and took her hands in his. “You gonna tell me what that was all about?”

  Hope pulled away from him and returned to her spot behind the bar. She dumped the half-filled beer in the sink and filled the glass again, sliding it across the counter. “Sorry ‘bout that, Willie. Beer’s on me.”

  “No problem, girlie. That new boy bothering you?” Willie was a staple around Crystal Cove. He was a retired lobsterman who made the best fried haddock in town. Hope had been trying to get the recipe out of him for a year, but he kept it close to his heart. At least he only cooked for locals out of his hole in the wall on the other side of the wharf. If the tourists got a hold of his haddock, they’d never eat at the Happy Clam again.

  Ty leaned across the bar, piercing Hope with his intimidating stare. “Hope? What’s the deal with Cam?”

  She chucked the rag in the sink and lifted her gaze to his. There’d be no hiding from Ty. He was the only one who knew what happened during her brief stint in college. And yet he didn’t know it all.

  Letting out an exhausted sigh, she looked from Willie to Ty again. “Cameron Smithfield killed Delaney’s father.”

  THAT HADN’T EXACTLY gone as planned. Had he known Hope would be working this afternoon, Cameron wouldn’t have stopped by The Happy Clam for lunch. He’d been enjoying his cup of clam chowder and BLT every Monday for the past month, knowing Hope wouldn’t be there.

  Pulling up the collar of his barn coat, he shoved his hands in his pockets and walked to the end of t
he street, figuring he’d stop in at the Sunrise Diner instead; though he wasn’t sure he felt like eating anymore. A bell, like the one at Hope’s, rang as he opened the door.

  Unlike The Happy Clam’s casual nautical atmosphere, the diner housed the stereotypical red Formica tabletops, scarred checked floor, and dingy plastic double-sided menu.

  “It’s Cameron, right? Dwayne says you’re one hell of a workhorse.” A waitress with a mound of red and gray hair piled on her head eyed him up and down and winked. “You sure do look the part. What can I get for you, honey?”

  The nametag on her shirt identified her as Priscilla. According to Dwayne and town gossip, which he heard a lot of down on the docks, she believed she had psychic abilities and was always attempting to play matchmaker. That was the last thing on his mind, well, for the most part.

  “Can I have a cheeseburger, plain, and a small order of fries? To go?”

  He entertained Priscilla with idle conversation while he waited for his order. She didn’t meddle, but he could tell she wanted to.

  “I’ve been working here long before you were even born, Cameron the Workhorse, and one thing I can pick out quicker than a flea can jump, is a man down on his luck. You ever want me to do a reading, give me a call. But I can tell you this...” She handed him his food, keeping her fingers wrapped tight around the bag. “Good things are gonna happen to you. You have a nice aura around you.”

  “Um, thank you.” He took his food and left before she saw past the aura and into his troubled soul. Cameron strode to the center of town, if you could call a park bench and a few picnic tables that overlooked the ocean a town square. It was a nice attempt of a tourist stop for sight-seeing.

  Most traffic headed inland to Coastal Vines winery, but there was decent foot traffic along Seaview Drive in the summer. He’d landed in Crystal Cove in the height of tourist season, finding himself a job at CC’s Boatyard only a few days into his visit.

  For the past three months he’d been laying low, staying out of sight, yet keeping an eye on Hope. He knew he couldn’t avoid her forever, it was a small town after all, but he wanted to avoid a scene like the one that had just played out.

  Eating in her restaurant once a week made him feel connected to her. Like they didn’t have twelve years, a handful of lies, and nearly a third of his life in jail keeping them apart. Not that they’d ever been together.

  At least, she didn’t see it that way.

  He’d worked hard to make a new life for himself since he had got out of jail. Parole kept him in Connecticut, but as soon as his parole officer gave him the clear, he hightailed it to Maine, as far away from the past as he could get.

  Eleven years in prison, and only the last nine with a clean record, didn’t bode well in the hiring department around upscale Connecticut. When your father is Judge Thomas Smithfield from Darien, Connecticut, it’s pretty damn hard to escape your crime.

  Especially after he denounced you, besmirched your name more than it already was, and blackballed you from a hundred-mile radius of his people.

  Cameron didn’t entirely blame his parents for disowning him. He’d been a punk teenager. He’d smoked his first cigarette at twelve, downed his first beer at thirteen, had his first hangover after swallowing a third of Jack at thirteen and a half, and slept with a woman old enough to buy his liquor when he was fourteen.

  Not exactly the kind of boy you bring home to Mom.

  Save that for Justin, his boy-wonder twin. School came easy for him, as did charm, sports, and winning their parents’ love.

  Skipping the park bench, Cameron strode closer to the shore and sat on an outcropping of rocks. The biting cold burned his skin, and he welcomed the pain. Anything to alleviate the pressure in his chest.

  Thomas and Janice never made a secret about loving Justin more. “Why can’t you be more like your brother?” “I can’t believe a son of mine got an F in history.”

  Grades never mattered to him. He wanted to work with his hands. Instead of joining the sailing club or picking up tennis in high school, Cameron hung out with the dockworkers where his parents’ yacht was kept. Working with wires, taking apart engines, figuring out why something didn’t work appealed to him more than stuffy country clubs.

  And the older he got, the more he enjoyed pissing off his parents. Surprisingly, he and Justin remained close. Until Justin went to Yale and Cameron opted to work full-time and skip schooling.

  The warmth of the burger in his hands was comforting. He bit into the greasy diner food and nearly moaned as it warmed his insides. Burgers and fries instead of caviar and filet mignon—although he wouldn’t mind a nice New York steak or rib eye—was his style. A beer, not scotch. Jeans, and never a suit and tie.

  But Justin...Justin was a mini-Thomas Smithfield. He would wear a suit by choice. He prided himself on his designer clothes from Italy and Paris. His casualwear had come from Brooks Brothers, and he’d liked his scotch neat, just like good old dad.

  Cameron never blamed Justin for being their parents’ pawn. Justin had truly loved the life. He’d thrived off high society, followed the stock market, and had his sights set on following in their father’s footsteps.

  And then there was Janice. It wasn’t until after high school when Cameron started seeing another side to their mother. There were moments when she looked sad and defeated, when streaks of gray showed through her auburn highlights. Janice had never been a hands-on mom, leaving their father to set the rules, follow through with discipline, and to drop the insults.

  Janice Murphy Smithfield kept to the background, rarely holding an unsupervised conversation with Justin or Cameron without Thomas around. The housekeeper, chauffeur, and maids got them ready for school, made their breakfast and lunch, and had them out the door for school before Janice even woke.

  The revolving door of strangers spent more time raising the Smithfield twins than their parents.

  Not wanting his bitterness toward his parents to ruin his lunch, Cameron ate the last of his French fries and wadded up his trash, hauling himself to his feet. He spent too much time by himself. It was no use going down memory lane over and over again. That’s all he did during the first year in prison. Doubting himself and wondering if he’d tried harder if things would have ended up differently.

  And then the self-doubt turned to anger, and Cameron used the one hour a day of free time in the gym. During lockdown, he’d do burpees, push-ups, and sit-ups until he couldn’t move anymore.

  The last decade had him taking on a whole new train of thought, but seeing Hope again stirred up too many memories of the past. And yet, he had to stay. Had to deal with it. They needed to talk. Especially with Delaney in the picture.

  Delaney. Her name triggered a memory that got him through prison.

  He wished he were her father, and yet he didn’t. Better the child have the smart, charming, high-achieving genes rather than the convicted felon’s. Hope chose well.

  He spotted a garbage can near the picnic table and tossed his trash in it.

  “Nice shot, hotshot,” Hope’s protector called from across the path.

  Cameron hadn’t realized she and Ty had something going on, but it was obvious by the darkened stare down he gave Cameron earlier. He literally shielded Hope from him.

  Like he’d do anything to hurt her.

  It wasn’t like Cameron would call Ty a friend; he didn’t have any and wouldn’t know what a real friendship was like, but they’d seemed to hit it off when they first met last month.

  Ty continued to scrutinize Cameron as he walked toward him. Better to come clean now than let the imagination and rumors run wild. So much for staying under the radar.

  “Is it true?”

  Cameron didn’t ask for clarification. He knew.

  “Yeah.”

  “You murdered Delaney’s father?”

  “Involuntary motor vehicular manslaughter.”

  “Drunk driving?”

  So Hope hadn’t given him all the details.
If she even knew them. No one did, really. Only what was in the papers. And even that wasn’t one hundred percent true. It was hard to get a fair trial when your father’s a reputable judge and wanted you to serve the harshest sentence.

  “No.”

  “You do it on purpose?”

  “No.” Cameron shoved his hands in his coat pockets and bit back his story. He wanted to talk to an unbiased person, to unload a decade’s worth of guilt, but he needed to wait until he spoke with Hope. See what she knew. How involved she was with the sentencing.

  Thomas and Janice either paid off Hope to keep Delaney away and out of the papers, or they hadn’t a clue they were grandparents. Or maybe they were involved grandparents, who knew? He hadn’t heard a word from his parents, aunts, uncles or even cousins since Justin’s death.

  Maybe Hope was on their side as well. And if she was, so was Ty.

  Ty crossed his arms, which most likely intimidated the average citizen—the man had arms of steel—but Cameron wasn’t fazed. As long as Ty didn’t use his strength to hurt Hope...or Delaney.

  “Why are you here? In Crystal Cove?”

  It wasn’t any of his business, but making nice with Hope’s boyfriend would be the only way to gain access to her.

  “I need to talk to Hope.”

  “So call her. Text. Send her an email. You’ve been in town for over a month. Why the lurking?”

  Tired of the evasiveness, Cameron sat on the bench. He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his thighs.

  “I was sentenced to prison for eleven years for vehicular manslaughter. I served ten years, eight months, and thirteen days. Got out for good behavior. When my parole ended, I got out of dodge. There’s nothing left for me in Connecticut besides bad memories and a shitload of hate.”

  Ty moved closer, his arms still crossed, his lips closed tight. His work boot tapped impatiently against the grass. “Why did you come to Hope’s town?”

  “Good question.” Cameron rubbed his hands across his scalp and down his face. He asked himself the same thing every day. It wasn’t until he was out on parole that he finally tracked her down. Not having much to go by other than a girl from Maine named Hope who was a freshman at Quinnipiac University twelve years ago and dormed in Perlroth.