At Last (The Idle Point, Maine Stories)(90)

He stopped her with a look. "You asked me to put together a deal with Granite. That's what I'm doing."

"I've only been the Gazette's caretaker while you were gone, Noah. Now that you're back in Idle Point, you should be the one to decide its fate."

And the fate of the men and women who were its life's blood. She didn't say those words but Noah heard them just the same. They were a tightly-knit group at the Gazette, second and third generation employees who cared about the craft of journalism as deeply as they cared about their town and each other. The Gazette was a family operation, built on trust and loyalty. Noah's grandfather had understood that. So had Simon. After his death, when the Gazette had been in danger of going under, his mother had stepped into the breach and her warmth and good common sense had kept them afloat.

Now it was Noah's turn. He knew that if he sold to Granite News, the conglomerate would fold the Gazette into their larger family of newspapers and within a year all of the people he had come to know and care about would be out of work.

If he didn't sell, he would be committing himself and Sophie to making a life in Idle Point.

"...she needs a home..." his mother was saying, as if she'd read his mind. "Idle Point is a good place to raise a child."

Then why did you send me away?

But there was no point to asking her that, same as there was no point to believing a life in Idle Point was possible for him without Gracie at the heart of it.





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Gracie had grown up to be a lovely young woman. She was still reed-thin, still soft-spoken, but there was strength about her that Ruth found compelling. Ruth had always admired strong women, mainly because she had never considered herself to be one. She had always deferred her desires to Simon's will, keeping his secrets, dreaming his dreams. Her rebellions had been sly rather than decisive, and the repercussions devastating. There was the sense about Gracie that she could handle what life threw her way.

Except when she looked at Noah.

Oh, she was discreet about it. Her glances were quick and well-concealed but the longing in her eyes when she looked at him cut Ruth to the quick. They were all seated at the long cherry wood table in Ruth's little-used dining room with two satellite tables set up for the children at either end. Rachel didn't believe in place cards. Seating was a matter of friendly negotiation and a touch of pushing and shoving that made for much good-natured teasing and laughter. The fact that when all was said and done, Gracie and Noah were seated opposite each other escaped no one.

The connection between them was almost palpable. Soul mates, Ruth thought, not for the first time. She felt the weight of the eight years they had lost in every corner of her being. She told herself that it hadn't been her fault. She had been hurt by Simon's actions too. Noah and Gracie couldn't possibly blame her for all they had lost.

Gracie's eyes had filled with tears when she turned and saw Ruth walk through the back door. "Mrs. Chase!" she had exclaimed, then dashed over to say hello. Her gaze lingered on the elegant cane Ruth had been using since the hip replacement that spring.

"Don't worry," Ruth said, "I won't break. Now come give me a hug, Gracie Taylor."

"Chanel No. 5," Gracie said, laughing as they hugged. "Do you know that I always think of you when I smell Chanel No. 5?" There had been nothing but love and respect in the young woman's demeanor and Ruth felt singularly unworthy of either gift.





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Gracie swore she could feel her heart grow two sizes larger as she glanced around Rachel's table. How could she have stayed away from Idle Point and these beloved people for so long? She felt more connected to the world here in this tiny seacoast town than she ever had in the middle of Manhattan.

Rachel Adams raised her glass and smiled at the guests assembled around her dining room table. "I'm thankful for each and every one of you, those related to me by blood and those by my own good fortune." She turned to her husband.

Darnell stood up and held his glass high. "I'm thankful for another year spent in the company of the people I love." He turned to Laquita.

Laquita squeezed Ben's hand then raised her glass. "I'm grateful for every second I've been granted with this wonderful man—" she looked toward Gracie "—and for my renewed friendship with his daughter."

The chain of thanks moved its way around the table. Gracie found herself giving thanks that she was at the end of the line. Who would have suspected that the hippie family down by the river was actually the Waltons in disguise? She looked across the table at Ben. How well he fit in with the family. He was an odd cross between patriarch and peer and it suited him down to the ground.