“Nice tradition.”
“I agree—but it’s about to come to an end, now that my husband has managed to round up a doctor to replace him as director of our urgent care center.”
Jeannette arched an eyebrow. “I hadn’t heard that.”
“I put a small item in the Herald two issues ago. Easy to miss. But I’ll be running a longer story once the new guy takes over. Ben’s enjoyed filling in there, but he’ll be happy to devote full-time to his orthopedic practice in Coos Bay.”
“I can imagine.” Stitching up cuts and treating stomach viruses wouldn’t be much of a challenge for the former army surgeon who’d married Marci.
“Actually, I thought you might have met the new doc. He bought the place next to yours. Logan West.”
Jeannette blinked.
Her new neighbor was Ben Garrison’s replacement?
That was news.
She did her best to feign nonchalance. “I’ve met him, but it was a brief conversation. We didn’t discuss our professions.”
“I haven’t had the pleasure myself, but Ben says he’s nice.” Marci gave her an expectant look, as if she was hoping for another take on the new man in town.
Not happening.
Jeannette had no opinion about her new neighbor.
At least none she wanted to share.
“As I said, we only exchanged a few words.” She fingered the edge of her shoulder purse. If anyone in town knew details about the man who shared his home with a demon dog and a sad-eyed little girl, it would be Marci.
Like, say, his marital status.
Jeannette frowned at the errant thought. Where had that come from? It wasn’t as if she had any romantic interest in the man, for heaven’s sake.
Even if images of the tall, sandy-haired man with startling blue eyes had been popping up in her mind with annoying regularity since they’d met yesterday.
Marci exhaled, her frustration evident. “I guess I’ll have to wait until I meet him myself. I have an interview scheduled next week for a personality piece, to introduce the residents to him.”
Perfect. Marci was a first-rate reporter, and she’d cover all the bases in the Herald. No questions necessary today.
“So”—Jeannette inclined her head toward the wharf—“I better get over there before Charley decides to go paint.”
“I hear you. I’ve almost had the window shut in my face on a few occasions. But there’s someone in line today, and Charley never closes if people are waiting. I won’t keep you more than another minute or two, but I did have a favor to ask.”
Jeannette tightened her grip on her purse.
Here it came.
“What did you need?”
If Marci noticed the wariness in her voice, she gave no indication. “You know about the refugee family the town’s churches are sponsoring, right?”
“Yes.” It was impossible not to know. Reverend Baker had been running information about the Syrian family in the Grace Christian bulletin ever since he and Father Murphy at St. Francis had cooked up the plan.
“Well, they’re arriving next Tuesday, and some of us thought it would be hospitable to have a meet-and-greet for them. I ran the proposal by our clerics yesterday, and they loved it. Grace Christian is going to host the gathering in the fellowship hall a week from Saturday night, and members of both congregations will bring casseroles. But the highlight will be a ‘Taste of Hope Harbor’ sampling table to give them a literal flavor of the town.”
Clever idea.
No wonder the PR business Marci ran on the side was successful.
“I like it—and we do have some fabulous local specialties.”
“I agree. Sweet Dreams bakery is providing its famous cinnamon rolls, Charley is bringing mini tacos, Tracy and Michael at Harbor Point Cranberries offered cranberry nut cake, the Myrtle Café is supplying meat loaf bites, and Eleanor Cooper promised to whip up one or two of her fabulous chocolate fudge cakes. I was hoping you’d bake some of your wonderful lavender shortbread to add to the table.”
The request was reasonable—except she wasn’t planning to attend the event. That would require socializing, and life was much more placid . . . and safe . . . when you kept to yourself.
But how could she say no, after so many residents had already done more than their share to help the family? From what she could gather, volunteers had been hard at work for weeks renovating an apartment, soliciting furnishings and clothing, stocking the kitchen, helping line up a job for the young father, and holding fund-raisers to buy a used car that Marv at the body shop had fine-tuned into mint condition.
The least she could do was provide some sweets.
But perhaps she could beg off on showing up.
“I’ll be happy to participate. I may drop my contribution off on Friday, though. Weekends are super busy at the tearoom. I’m always fully booked, and by the time the last person leaves on Saturday, I’m ready to fold.”
Marci caught her lower lip between her teeth. “I can understand that—but we’d love it if you could stop by to say hello. We’re trying to do everything we can to make the family feel welcome, after all they’ve been through. They’ve had a really tough go of it.”
Yes, they had.
She’d read the information in the bulletin about the small, shattered family that was fleeing Christian persecution. A young man with a little girl, along with his mother—the sole survivors from their family after a church bombing. They’d left the country with nothing, spent months in a refugee camp, and only by the grace of God had they connected with the two Hope Harbor churches.
Truly, it had been almost like a miracle.
If Charley hadn’t heard about their plight from an acquaintance who volunteered with a humanitarian-aid organization in the Middle East, then planted the notion of rescuing them with the two clerics, the traumatized, homeless family would still be living in destitution, with no hope for a better future.
Guilt nipped at her conscience.
Everyone in town should to do their part to let these three wounded souls know that while they might be in a strange new land, they were among friends.
“If I can manage it, I’ll drop in for a few minutes.” It was the best she could offer on the fly.
“Awesome!” Marci beamed at her as if she’d agreed to come. “I won’t delay your lunch any longer. Enjoy those tacos.” With a wave, she hurried back toward the newspaper office.
Inhaling a lungful of the salt-laced air, Jeannette surveyed the picture-perfect scene as she resumed her trek to Charley’s truck.
The white gazebo in the small park behind Charley’s stand.
The planters separating the sidewalk from the sloping boulders that led to the water, newly filled with spring flowers.
The colorful awnings on the storefronts that faced the sea on the other side of Dockside Drive.
She paused beside one of the benches spaced along the wharf and gazed out over the deep blue water, past the boats bobbing in the placid marina, to the long jetty on the left and the two rocky islands on the right that served as a natural buffer for the protected harbor.
It was a beautiful spot.
In fact, it was this very view that had sold her on the town when she’d come west in search of refuge and a new life.
But as she’d learned, Oregon storms could be fierce. Ferocious waves could batter the rugged coast. And even in sheltered harbors like this, boats could rock dangerously if sufficient turbulence agitated the waters.