Finding Hope (6 page)

He rubbed his face with both hands. “I'm so very sorry,” he murmured. He wasn't speaking to Hope, but to Gramps, who with his last breath had asked for something that Charles just couldn't give.

 

Charles escorted Hope to the funeral. He watched from across the room as she approached the Seltzers, politely offering her hand and her condolences. Then she greeted several friends, hugging each of them.

He was bitterly angry that Gramps had been taken from Hope. And he was furious that she'd been shut out by Gramps's children, just as if she had been nobody to the man.

Charles knew firsthand of Hope's devotion, and he firmly believed Gramps's family owed her a debt of gratitude. But the neglectful Seltzer daughters, each dressed head to toe in sober black, made a great show of their suffering and were given every attention while Hope, who deserved a medal for her selflessness, was left alone with her grief. The injustice of it burned like acid in Charles's throat.

The service was short and Charles didn't hear much of it. His attention was centered on the young woman at his side. Hope was a hugger, a hand-holder, and he longed to put his arm around her to show his support. But he didn't know if she wanted that from him, especially in front of her church friends.

During a prayer, she surprised him by leaning close and winding her arm through his. He softened instantly, turning towards her, showing her that he didn't mind.

It was a long way home from the cemetery, over an hour's drive, but Hope didn't speak until Charles pulled into her driveway. Then she thanked him but didn't ask him to come in.

He couldn't bear the thought of her spending the long afternoon alone, especially as the family was now gathering at Gramps's house, just across the street. Hope, who had mowed the man's lawn and stocked his refrigerator for nearly five years, had not been invited.

“Let me come in and sit with you a while,” Charles urged.

“I won't be very good company,” she warned.

“Then the doctor will finally have a taste of his own medicine, won't he?”

She managed a wan smile. “Oh, I don't suppose you're all that bad,” she teased gently. “After all, you
are
a Charlie. I'm going to keep telling you until you believe it.”

She persisted in believing something about him that was completely untrue. It was no reflection on him—he knew very well that he wasn't a nice man. That she so steadfastly clung to her convictions about his “goodness” said nothing about him and everything about her: Hope's loyalty was unfathomable. Charles had no idea what he could have done to inspire it.

 

It had been two days since Gramps's funeral and Hope was doing her best to get back into her routine. Groaning in exasperation, she flicked the power switch on her computer. She didn't know what to do next: it was a toss-up between laughing hysterically and sobbing uncontrollably. She was still trying to decide when the phone rang.

She picked it up immediately, hoping it would be Charles. It was, and as usual he didn't waste time on “hello.”

“Hope, my brother wants to have dinner with you.”

“Really? I thought Tom was a big-shot attorney,” she said, trying for a lightness she didn't feel. “Can't he get his own dates?”

Charles made an amused sound. “I'm invited, too. He wants to meet you, that's all. Because he thinks you're a good influence on me.”

“Oh, that's nothing,” she quipped. “Attila the Hun would be a good influence on
you,
Dr. Hartman.”

“Probably,” Charles agreed. “Tom likes Japanese food. Is tomorrow night good for you?”

“Yeah.” She patted her knee and Bob jumped into her lap. “Just promise me I won't have to eat fish bait.”

“I promise. We'll get you a steak.”

She forced a chuckle. “
Cooked,
I hope?”

“As ‘cooked' as you want it. Now stop playing games and tell me what's wrong.”

It was both comforting and unnerving that he could read her so effortlessly. Hope sighed. “I'm having a really bad day.”

“I'm not busy,” he said gently. “Talk to me.”

She fingered one of Bob's silky ears as she vented her frustration. Her brain just wasn't working. She'd been making stupid mistakes all afternoon and her computer was acting up. Nothing was right and she was tired and she had a headache.

Charles zeroed in on the real problem. “You're missing Gramps,” he stated. “Hope, I'm so sorry. I wish I could make it easier for you.”

Hope wished that, too. How was she supposed to go on without Gramps? The pain of five years ago came back in a rush and she felt abandoned all over again.

She had always been remarkably mature for her age. Although she'd been barely eighteen when her parents left the country, they had no qualms about leaving her alone in Chicago. She was a responsible young woman with a safe place to live, money in the bank and a church home.

But Hope was lonely. She stopped eating dinner because it was just too hard to sit at the table all by herself. Bedtime was difficult, too, because there was no one to say good-night to. She put on a brave front, but Gramps had seen through her. He encouraged her to talk about her doubts and fears. Then they began to focus on her goals and dreams.

Hope told Charles all of it: how God had used Gramps to comfort her. He'd been her counselor and her encourager, but now all that had been taken away and she was alone again.

“But you
had
him,” Charles pointed out. “You had him for five years and he helped you through a difficult transition. According to your theology, God put you and Gramps together—partly, at least—because you needed him at that particular time in your life. But if God has separated you now, doesn't that suggest the purpose for bringing you together has been accomplished?”

Hope was astounded. Where was he getting this? Of course he was right, but she was too shocked to say so.

Charles correctly interpreted her silence and gave a self-deprecating chuckle. “If I dropped a pearl of wisdom just now, let me assure you it was entirely accidental.”

A sweet warmth stole over Hope. “What kind of doctor are you, again?”

“They say I'm a very good one.”

He truly was. And he was a better friend than he would ever know. “Thank you, Charlie.”

“Anytime, kid.”

She squeezed Bob, but he wasn't in the mood to be loved on. He jumped down from her lap and trotted out of the room. “You're not busy tonight?”

“No. We're tossing a football and playing darts. And a first-year surgery resident is entertaining us by making balloon animals out of examination gloves. He's really quite talented, I had no idea. I'm sure he hasn't demonstrated that level of manual dexterity in the OR.”

Hope smiled. Lifting a shoulder to trap the phone against her ear, she drew her legs up into her chair and hugged her knees. She heard an “Oof!” from Charles, then a banging and clattering that told her he'd dropped the phone.

She heard his voice as he picked it up. “One more time, Hastings, and I'll cut your heart out!” he growled. Then he spoke into the phone. “Sorry, Hope. He thought I was open for a pass. The football game is getting out of hand.”

“Well, good. Maybe somebody will get hurt and you'll get to stitch up a gored gizzard or something.”

He made an amused sound in his throat and Hope could imagine him shaking his head in that slow, mocking way of his. “At this point, if one of them complained of a hangnail I'd be perfectly willing to scrub. What I wouldn't give for a nice, juicy trauma right now.”

Hope was shocked. “Charlie, what are you saying?”

“Oh, I'm not wishing disaster on anyone. But it's a fact that all over Chicago, people are getting hurt. I simply want them to bring the hurt ones to
me
tonight. Okay?”

She chuckled. “Okay. And thanks again for listening.”

Her head still ached, her computer was probably on its last legs and, at the rate she was going, she would not be able to finish this translation by tomorrow as she had hoped. But she wasn't feeling sorry for herself anymore.

She marveled that God had used Charles to send a message to her. While her tired mind still struggled to make sense of her suffering, she firmly believed that her Heavenly Father knew exactly what He was doing.

T
homas Hartman had the same build and coloring as his brother. His hair was lighter, nearly blond, and he wore it shorter than Charles did, but they had the same hazel eyes. Even their voices were almost identical, Hope noted, except Charles's was deeper. But their dispositions were poles apart.

Tom was friendly and outgoing and he had a ready smile. Although Charles was smiling more and was noticeably less abrupt since Hope had known him, the difference between the brothers was starkly apparent. But while it was impossible to resist Tom's easy charm, Hope was more convinced than ever that there was something rare and valuable in Charles. If only he would open his heart and allow God to reveal it.

Dinner at the Japanese restaurant was proving to be a marvelous adventure. After removing their shoes, Hope and the Hartman brothers had been led to a small, private room with a low table. There they sat on colorful cushions on a floor covered with tatami mats.

Their server, a willowy young woman dressed in a
luxurious kimono of emerald-green silk, seemed delighted when Hope greeted her in Japanese. Hope shot a pleading look at Charles, knowing he would understand her desire to converse in Japanese with this native speaker.

He gave her a good-natured shrug. “Go right ahead.” With a wink and a grin that Hope didn't quite understand, he explained to his brother, “She wants to practice her Japanese.”

Hope glimpsed a flicker of interest in Tom Hartman's bright eyes, but she didn't catch his response. She was already chattering to the young woman.
“I am learning your language,”
she said eagerly,
“but I know too little about your customs.”

Smiling broadly, the woman offered
oshibori
towels from a bamboo tray. In Japanese she explained that Hope should refresh her hands—and even her face, if she liked—with the hot, moist towel, just as the men were already doing.

Tom replaced his towel on the tray, then turned to Charles. “I'll bet they're talking about how handsome we are,” he confided in a stage whisper.

When the Japanese woman darted a glance at Tom and giggled, Hope thought delightedly that it sounded like a hundred little silver bells tinkling all at once.
“They are handsome,”
said the woman in her own language.
“Are they brothers?”

It was Hope's turn to giggle.
“Yes, and they're both single. Shall I introduce you to the doctor or the attorney?”

Hope had asked that outrageous question solely for the pleasure of hearing the Japanese woman laugh again. She was treated to another ringing chorus of the silvery bells, then the woman bowed gracefully and backed out of the room, still holding her tray.

Turning back to the men, Hope caught Tom whispering to his brother. They both laughed and turned expectant faces to her.

Suspicion dawned. Blushing furiously, she forced herself to meet Tom Hartman's dancing eyes. “You speak Japanese,” she accused faintly.

“Maybe just a little,” he suggested. “So, which of us do you think she's interested in? Of course Trey has all the money and brains, but I've got him on looks and personality, don't you think?”

As the men laughed again, Hope eyed the low table, wishing it were a few inches higher off the floor so she could crawl under it. But Tom quickly put her at ease and within minutes they were chatting like old friends.

Hope wasn't sure how it happened, but somehow Tom had persuaded her to order sashimi. When a beautifully arranged plate of raw fish and unusual vegetables was set before her, she thought it looked more like a work of art than a meal. “This is exquisite,” she admitted to Tom. “Do you look at it or eat it?”

“Both,” he said amiably. “That's the fun, don't you see?”

Charles was having sukiyaki. “Beef,” he said, answering Hope's unspoken question. “Definitely cooked.” She gave him a here-goes-nothing look and picked up her chopsticks, determined to taste everything on her plate.

She tried three kinds of fish, some octopus, a couple of odd-looking vegetables and a nibble of pickled ginger that was actually quite refreshing.

“Well?” Tom waited for her reaction.

“I don't hate this,” she said, surprising herself. “It's not awful. I'm not sure that it's delicious, but it's…fun.”

“That's a start,” he said approvingly.

Near the end of their meal Charles flinched and Hope
understood that his pager had signaled him by vibrating. He read the message, then excused himself from the table.

When Charles had gone, Tom turned his infectious smile on Hope. “I can't believe he actually allows you to call him Charlie. I used to try it when we were kids. He knocked me down a few times to help me remember not to do it anymore.”

Hope grinned. “He doesn't like it much.”

“But he likes
you.
A lot.”

Hope was beginning to get the distinct impression that Tom thought he was interviewing a potential sister-in-law. She didn't know exactly how to disabuse him of that idea.

“You've done him a world of good,” Tom asserted. He leaned forwards, speaking confidentially. “I understand you taught him to spit.”

She felt her cheeks grow warm again. “Uh…”

“Yeah, I can't believe the moron didn't know how to eat sunflower seeds. I could have taught him years ago if only I'd been aware of his deficiency. Thank you for seeing to his education, Hope.”

Thomas Hartman was too good to be true. Hope shook her head. “Are you and Dr. Hartman actually
blood
relations?”

He laughed. It was a wonderful sound, rich and throaty. “Boggles the mind, doesn't it?” After a moment he turned serious. “Yes, we're different. Trey's five years older than me, you know. When we were kids he took it upon himself to carry the burden.”

“The burden?” Hope's hands twisted in her lap.

Tom nodded soberly. “Our family can be a bit much, I'm afraid. Our lives were mapped out for us and naturally we both resented it. But Trey did their bidding because of me.”

Hope glanced at her agitated hands, willing them to be still. “Because of
you,
Tom?”

His eyes, so like his brother's, held hers easily. “Trey shielded me from our parents. He made concessions to them for my sake. They could have anything they wanted from Trey as long as they left me alone.” Tom lowered his gaze, but not before Hope had glimpsed his deep sorrow. And something more: a profound admiration for his brother that warmed her heart.

After a short silence Tom again met her eyes. “Hope, I've never admitted this to anyone,” he confessed in a low tone, “but I've always wondered what dreams Trey gave up so that I could have mine.”

It wasn't easy to speak past the knot that had formed in her throat. “Didn't he want to be a doctor?”

Tom seemed to consider carefully before he spoke. “I've never been sure of that. All I know is that he'd have gone to medical school whether he wanted to or not. They expected both of us to go, but I decided at fifteen that I wanted to study law. Trey promised if I made the grades in high school and college, he'd see to the rest. So I buckled down. And he started medical school that fall.”

The fluttering in Hope's stomach had nothing to do with the raw fish she'd just eaten. “But he's a good surgeon, isn't he?”

Tom nodded. “They say he's the best. I know he gets a lot of satisfaction out of his work.”

Hope looked at her plate and blinked rapidly, willing her unspilled tears to dry. “Thank you for telling me,” she murmured, not looking up. “It explains a lot.”

But there was more, and Tom told it. The Hartmans had disapproved of the girl he'd fallen in love with. She was bright and beautiful and funny, but she'd lacked the pedigree a Hartman bride was expected to possess. Tom's
parents had vowed to disinherit him, but he'd married Susan anyway.

“And did they do it?” Hope asked breathlessly.

“Absolutely. They don't make idle threats, and I knew that. They've barely spoken to me since the day I told them I was married. Still, it was the right thing to do. We were both just twenty at the time, but we were very much in love.”

He unfolded his legs and shifted to a more comfortable position on the floor. “Susan and I finished college and we both went to a good law school. Trey paid for all of it.”

“How did he manage that?”

Tom looked at her in surprise. “His inheritance. Don't you know about that?”

Hope shook her head.

“Well, it's no secret. Our father's sister died a month before I was born, but she doted on little Trey. The big family scandal was that she snubbed both her father and her brother, leaving her husband's entire fortune to Trey, to be held in trust until he was twenty-five. So you see, Trey came into his money just as I was cut off. But even without the inheritance, he'd have found some way to help Susan and me.”

“Yes, I think he would have,” Hope murmured. She swallowed painfully. “He's told me so little about your parents. I gather he doesn't see them much?”

“Just a few times a year. It tears him up, but he won't admit that. Hope, I couldn't begin to make you understand how cold our parents are.”

“But
why?
”

Tom lifted his hands in a helpless gesture. “I don't know, really, but I think they've been unhappy in their marriage since the beginning. Maybe that explains why they never cared much for Trey and me, apart from the
status they might gain through our accomplishments. And our marriages, I suppose. But except for Trey's stellar career, they haven't had much to brag about.”

Hope reached across the table, touching his wrist with gentle fingers as she looked into his sad eyes. “Charlie said your wife died. I'm sorry.”

He smiled wistfully. “Susan hoped I would marry again. I'd like to, and I'd love to have children. But I can't make myself look at another woman. It's not fear of being disloyal, it's just that I have no enthusiasm for it.”

Hope patted his wrist. “Three years isn't really very long, you know. I have a feeling somebody will get to you one day. But I'm glad you loved your wife so much.”

“Susan was everything wonderful. She anchored me, and she made me want to be a better man. She was to me what you are to Trey.”

Deeply shocked, Hope withdrew her hand. “Oh! No, you've misunderstood, Tom. We're not a couple.”

He shrugged and let that go. “Whatever. But I've seen the changes in him since he's known you. There's an amazing difference, Hope.” He started to say something more, but his brother entered the room.

“You two look serious,” Charles commented.

Tom shook his head and grinned. “We've just cemented our friendship, that's all. We're allied against you, united in the struggle to turn you into a living, breathing human being. Right, Hope?”

She followed his lead. “If it can be done, we'll do it!”

Tom propped his elbow on the table and leaned his chin on his hand. He looked steadily at Hope and she knew they
were
friends, solid ones. “We might as well dream big,” he said cheerfully.

 

On Friday morning Hope finished a huge translating job. She delivered the documents, picked up a sizable check and decided to give herself a minivacation.

“I'm not even going to cut the grass this weekend unless I just happen to be in the mood,” she told Charles when he called shortly before noon.

“Good for you, kid. Sorry I can't help you celebrate.” He sounded exhausted, so Hope asked what he'd been up to.

“I just humiliated Tom on the squash court and now I'm going to bed. I'm on for twenty-four hours starting at six tonight. I'll call you late tomorrow afternoon, and then I'll take you to dinner and a movie if you want.”

She had a better idea. “Why don't you just get a good night's rest and then take me to breakfast on Sunday?”

He grunted. “I suppose you'll want to go to that new restaurant that is so very conveniently located just across the street from your church?”

She tried to swallow a giggle, but it stuck in her throat, making her voice waver. “Charlie, they make the best French toast.”

“Kid, I may be laboring under a profound sleep deficit, but I still know when I'm being conned. Isn't it enough that I go to your Bible study just about every Tuesday night?”

Hope shrugged, even though he couldn't see. “I'm greedy,” she admitted.

“Have pity on me, Hope,” he said in a weary tone she knew was only half-teasing. “I'm too tired to fend you off right now. We'll discuss it tomorrow.”

She'd talk him into it, Hope thought smugly. She could talk him into anything.

At seven o'clock, her good friend Claire Baker arrived with an overnight case, a couple of rented videos and a bag of chocolate-covered pretzels. The plan was to watch
movies, order a late-night pizza and talk until the wee hours. They would sleep late on Saturday, then they'd go out to lunch and indulge in some recreational shopping.

“Just don't let me spend too much money,” Hope said to her friend. “This is a big paycheck, but it's all I have to live on for a while.”

Claire filled two large mugs with coffee while Hope dumped the chocolate pretzels into a glass bowl. The young women made themselves comfortable at the kitchen table, on which they'd placed a tray of manicure supplies and a dozen colorful bottles of nail polish.

For several minutes they munched pretzels and savored their coffee, chatting quietly. Then Hope opened a bottle of nail color. “It's been too long since we did this,” she complained.

“Yeah,” Claire agreed. She uncapped another bottle and stroked burgundy-red polish on a thumbnail. “I guess I should consider myself fortunate that Dr. Hartman was busy tonight,” she teased. Tossing her shoulder-length, pale blond curls, she turned clear green eyes on Hope. “Do you like this color?”