Sweet Waters Read online

  Reading Sweet Waters is like taking a beach vacation from the comfort of your own living room. Julie Carobini paints a beautiful story of fresh starts, painful secrets, and the depth of a family’s love. The small town beach setting is as soothing as the sound of waves, and so well drawn I could almost smell the salt in the air. Engaging, fast paced, and romantic. Highly recommended.

  —Kathryn Cushman, author of A Promise to Remember and Waiting for Daybreak

  As sure as the ocean ebbs and flows with the tide, so life changes take the characters from one adventure to another in Julie Carobini’s latest release, Sweet Waters. Exhilarating, fresh and warm as the summer breeze, this book is fun from start to finish. Grab your tanning oil and beach towel, and immerse yourself in a great read that’s sure to make a splash when it hits the store shelves!

  —Diann Hunt, author of For Better or For Worse

  Copyright © 2009 by Julie Carobini

  All rights reserved.

  Printed in the United States of America

  978-0-8054-4873-3

  Published by B&H Publishing Group

  Nashville, Tennessee

  Dewey Decimal Classification: F

  Subject Heading: ROMANCES FAITH—FICTION FAMILY LIFE—FICTION

  Publisher’s Note: This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. All characters are fictional, and any similarity to people living or dead is purely coincidental.

  For my darling dad, Dan Navarro, and your First Corinthians 13 kind of love!

  Acknowledgments

  A BIG HUG AND hearty thanks to family, friends, and colleagues who inspired me throughout the writing of Sweet Waters, especially:

  Dan and our kids—Matt, Angela, and Emma—along with my parents, Dan and Elaine Navarro, for your forever love and encouragement (and willingness to endure seemingly random brainstorming sessions).

  Steve Laube, my agent, for your tremendous tenacity and wit.

  Karen Ball, for your wisdom and friendship. After more than a dozen years of knowing each other, I’m thrilled that we finally get to work together!

  Julie Gwinn, for your humor and passionate creativity.

  David Webb, for finding the Otter Bay Novels a home at B&H.

  The rest of the terrific team at B&H Publishing Group—thanks so much for welcoming me aboard!

  Tami Anderson, Sherrill Waters, and my husband, Dan—for critiquing this manuscript. Your faithful and honest feedback incited changes to these pages.

  Author Jeanette Hanscome for sharing your research and knowledge with me.

  Firefighter and fellow writer, Shawn Grady, for all your help, and especially for your patience in the face of my many questions. Thanks also to Firefighter Stan Ziegler for allowing me to pepper you with last-minute clarifications.

  The many friends of ACFW who shared their personal stories of heartbreak with me. I won’t mention you by name here, but please know I am grateful for your transparency. You made this a better book.

  My God, though I’m not worthy to receive You, You love me anyway. Thank You for allowing me to live this dream.

  Contents

  Acknowledgments

  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

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Chapter Thirty-five

  Chapter Thirty-six

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  Chapter One

  Digest 19, Episode 90

  Eliza Carlton knew what she must do. As always. She strode across Sapphire slowly, deliberately, like a cat flaunting its superiority. Though Eliza noticed the sway of diners’ chins moving in her direction, nothing in her face showed her satisfaction.

  Maurice Von Otto rose to meet her, his smile appraising, but his eyes altogether something else. If Eliza had to describe them, she would choose muddled. His eyes always shifted when he was trying to manipulate her. “Eliza, darling, you captivate me this evening.”

  Nicely done. Eliza paused, allowing Maurice to hold out her chair and then wait patiently behind her, until she had settled herself. She nodded and admired the way he hurried back to his seat. She took in his features, noting his beauty, and for a moment, almost lost composure.

  Maurice laid a napkin across his lap, cleared his throat, and leaned forward, as if in hiding. “There is something . . . something I’ve been hoping to discuss with you, my dear.”

  And there’s something I must discuss with you. Now, however, was not the time to reveal secrets. He wanted her alliance. As the boldest city councilwoman ever to grace the chambers of Quartz Point, Eliza knew her vote would be most crucial to the success of his proposed project.

  “Another time, Maurice. Tonight”—she let a coy smile curl her painted lips—“is a night for lovers.”

  Maurice opened his mouth, as if to protest, but instead tipped his glass flute of champagne in her direction. A fiery grin found its way to his face.

  No matter that she was much too nauseous for any such nonsense tonight. At the moment, Maurice was exactly where she needed him. Some may call it manipulation, but Eliza maintained it was simply taking control . . .

  THE DOOR SQUEALS OPEN, and I slap my laptop shut. Tell me I didn’t just crack the screen. My sister Mel leans through the doorway of the quiet office I had borrowed, her mouth twisted into a grimace. “Tara, you’re being paged.”

  As usual. Mel darts off before I can answer. Cheerful voices drift in from the garden. Silverware rattles in the bustling kitchen. The pianist I hired warms up with a few bars of “The Wedding March,” and I deflate.

  Eliza Carlton wouldn’t let a broken heart rule her.

  I’m tempted to take one more peek at the weekly digest of Quartz Point, the daytime drama of which Eliza is the star, but really, there’s no time left. All I can do now is hope that everything Eliza’s taught me over the years will, somehow, help me make it through this long and trying day.

  Chapter Two

  “She reminds me of you.”

  I glance across the lawn to the bride in her tea-length dress, her eyes dancing, the laughter on her face uninhibited. Considering I just said good-bye to my hopes and dreams yesterday—all six-foot-three of him—the resemblance is lost on me.

  Anne, my mother’s best friend, taps my shoulder. “I meant the little girl over there.”

  I turn to find a child of about six, blonde hair pulled up into a fountainhead, staring at the double-decker wedding cake, eyes hungry. Fat giggles escape from her child’s body. “Excuse me a sec,” I say, and race toward the little girl, arriving just as she reaches a small hand toward the mountain of whipped cream icing piled high upon the cake. “Uh-uh-uh. Please don’t touch the cake.” I pause, then add, “Sweetie.”


  She jumps back, her dimpled hand hovering in midair. Round eyes glisten as they gape up at me. Strange how that look touches some dried-up part of me. With all the preparations for this wedding, and my tenuous relationship with Trent finally broken beyond repair, my mind surprises me by wandering into old territory.

  My cousin Camille swoops in from behind the girl and gives her a hug, all the while pinning me with a mock glare. “Oh, Tara. You’re such an old maid sometimes.” She reaches over the girl’s petite shoulders and takes a big swipe of frosting with her finger. “Here, Katie. Let’s show my cousin how to play.”

  With that, my moment of reverie, wherever it came from, has vanished. Camille just turned twenty, but she still clings to her rollicking high school ways. In some ways, I envy her. She’s my cousin by blood, but since Camille’s lived with us since she was an infant, she’ll always be more like my sister. My not-a-care-in-the-world, flirt-with-any-man-in-range younger sister. I love her.

  Camille stands beside me now, her new friend Katie tucked into her hip, and together we look to the bride—our mother. It’s an odd sensation, sending off one’s mother to begin a new life, especially when my only hope for love has just vanished like sunlight into the dark.

  “Mom’s happy.”

  At Camille’s wistful comment, I give her a squeeze. Camille never knew her birth parents, so I’ve been happy to share mine with her all these years. Mom’s new husband, Derrick, eight years her junior, plants a sloppy wet one on her lips, right here in front of everyone. I cringe. Camille giggles. Melanie, aka Mel, our middle sister, joins our triangle.

  “Well, now my lunch is ruined. What say we sneak out of here and hit PF Changs? What I wouldn’t do for a dirty martini with a side of calamari.”

  It’s just like Mel to make an impossible suggestion like that. Maybe it’s the relief of another big event done, but I consider taking her up on it. Well, for a brief second anyway. Restlessness like I’ve never experienced has gotten beneath me lately, and I can’t seem to shake it loose. Whatever the reason for it, if I were to take Mel up on her jest-filled offer to get out of here, it just might put my sardonic sister into shock.

  Why Daddy’s words from the past sink into my heart at this moment, I do not know. “Take the girls home, Tara,” he told me. His voice was nearly a whisper at that point nearly six years ago, and I knew the end would come soon. He’d wanted us to leave the hospital room, to not see him go this way. Mother had gone to find a nurse, so I did as he asked and began to lead the girls from that oppressive room with its gray walls and faded medical diagrams. But as we turned to go, I saw the morning light spill across his nubby blanket for one last time, and he spoke to me again. “Take the girls, and say hello to Otter Bay for me, will you, Princess?”

  In that frozen slice of time, the word “home” took on an entirely new meaning.

  The memory catches my breath, and I run both palms over my temples to smooth back wisps of hair that have pulled away from my updo. “I can’t leave now, Mel. I still need to settle with the caterer, and pay the judge, and make sure the hall and grounds are picked up afterward so they don’t try to keep our damage deposit. And there’s that table of gifts to take care of over there, although why people just don’t ship their gifts in the first place, I’ll never know.”

  Mel’s arms are crossed against the Cavalli suit she purchased from eBay. She rubs the nail of her ring finger. “Kind of uptight today, big sister?”

  Camille cuts in. “As usual . . . she’s just the saddest thing of my life sometimes.” She giggles when she says this, softening the blow.

  But I’d say that Mel’s right, and why shouldn’t I be? Mom decides to marry a man with seemingly thousands of relatives, and they insist that outdoors would be the perfect venue, which it would be if we lived in, say, California or somewhere west. But this is Missouri, and the spring’s just ending. We cut it that close. That and all the work that still needs to be done before turning our home back over to the landlord, has made me more tense than wire strung across two poles.

  Anyway, somebody had to take charge, and I’d say by the silly smirks on my mother’s and “step” father’s faces, the day went over quite well.

  Mel drops both arms and scans the crowd, looking bored, impatient. “All I can say is I’m glad I’ll be heading out of here in a couple of weeks. Had enough of this small town living, know what I mean?” She swats at a mosquito. “I don’t suppose you know what you’ll be doing, now that you’re out of a job. I’ve got two interviews lined up, but I’ll probably get the first one anyway—shall I ask them to hold the other one for you?”

  I ignore her cynicism.

  Camille pouts and squeezes Katie tighter before the little girl breaks away. “I don’t want you to go, Mel. I’ll miss you way too much.”

  I link eyes with Camille.

  One of Mel’s hands finds her narrow waist, and she gives me the evil eye. “What? You don’t think that when I get a job in Manhattan I’ll throw every possession I have into storage and take the next plane out of here?”

  “Maybe you will.”

  “Oh, but you think I won’t be able to stick it out.”

  “I never thought that.” Absentmindedly I comb my fingers through Camille’s tangled curls. “I know you can do whatever you set your mind to. I just think that in the end you’ll want to be near family. We’ve always been close—especially since Dad died—I just think you’ll miss us all enough to find something closer to home. Besides, Mom will need us.”

  “Evidenced by the way she and the new hub were making like a couple of freshies only minutes ago.”

  A waft of Mother’s “Beautiful Love” perfume makes my nose tickle as the bride approaches. “Girls, thank you, thank you. The energy surrounding us is electric—do you feel it? Oh, of course you do! This entire space has such a vibe to it. I’ve loved every minute of my wedding day . . . the flowers, the ambiance. Every sunny minute, and I thank you very much.”

  Mel’s face still looks as if she’s swallowed sour candy.

  Camille crooks an arm around Mom’s neck and pulls her sideways. “I’m so jealous of you. I hope that when I finally fall in love, we’ll be as perfect together as you and Derrick are.”

  Finally fall in love? I’m twenty-six. The only one around here who can safely and honestly use the word finally in regard to her woeful love life is me.

  Mel slides a look at our thirty-eight-year-old stepdaddy. “So when are you and Dirk heading off to Maui?”

  Mom runs a hand down her chiffon skirt, her princess-cut diamond flashing in the afternoon light. “That’s what I’ve come over here to speak to you girls about. We did talk about Maui, but in the end our hearts have settled on another site for our honeymoon.”

  No Maui? The honeymoon was the one part of this entire event where Mom told me I wasn’t needed. Please tell me they went through a reputable agency. And did she remember to use her air miles?

  Camille leaps up. “The Caribbean! I bet you’re going to the tropics, aren’t you? I’ve always wanted to go south.”

  Mom pats Camille’s back and my cousin settles like a baby going down for a nap. “Not the tropics, Cam. Not this time anyway. We’ve . . . well, girls, Derrick and I have decided on Italy.”

  “Italy!” Our voices squeal in unison.

  Derrick slides both hands around Mom’s waist and rests his pointy chin on her shoulder. His goofy puppy-dog face peers at us, draped by a wispy tendril of Mom’s hair. “You tell them, Marilee?”

  Mom pats his hand, but her smile’s not nearly as large as before. “Working on it, darling.”

  He smacks his lips against her cheek and, in one fluid movement, takes her hand and twirls her into his embrace. “Take a good look at her, ladies. This time next week your mother’ll have a daypack strapped to her back and hiking boots hugging those lovely ankles of hers. And I can’t wait to see it.”

  I can’t fight the frown. “Mom?”

  For once, Camille stands still
.

  Mom’s eyes plead with Mel. Mel, of all people. “Derrick has planned this all by himself. We’re actually going to be traveling throughout much of Europe. We’ll spend a few nights in Sicily, and then . . .”

  “And after a few days of luxury, we’ll be off on an adventure through Germany, Switzerland, France, Italy, Spain, and if she’s a good girl, Hungary.”

  Derrick’s smile is almost as big as the sudden knot in my chest. I cock my chin. “How is all that possible?”

  He pats the jacket of his tux. “I’ve got the Eurail passes right here, for safekeeping. I’ll take good care of her, and don’t worry. A year’ll seem like nothing.”

  The voice gasping aloud is mine. “A year?”

  Mom’s eyes finally find mine. “It’s a chance of a lifetime, Tara. Your old mom’s going to recapture her youth.” She chuckles softly. “I promise to write.”

  “You’re kidding. Right? Mom, you wouldn’t leave your family for a whole year.”

  Mom’s hazel eyes sparkle like golden sapphire, and I find myself fixated on them. “I know it sounds silly, but when Derrick approached me with this idea, I don’t know. I felt . . . I felt . . . oh, what am I trying to say?”

  Mel cuts in. “Like a kid again?”

  Mom glances at her, then back to me. “Well, not quite a child, but like a carefree girl. You may not remember this, but I was once very much that way . . .” She draws in a deep breath and continues. “I’m going to miss you girls so much, but something inside of me says that this is right. For all of us.” She turns her attention to Camille. “Would you make me a Facebook page, darling? I thought it would be fun to post pictures from our adventures . . . when I find the time.”

  Camille straightens, her face animated much like a teen at the mall, instead of a young woman who’s still mulling her options. “Of course! I’ll teach you everything you need to know. You can do all kinds of things with it—set up groups, post messages and videos . . .”