Her father, who had died before she was born, had been a true, Maine lobsterman. He’d simply become too complacent with his work. He’d been hauling traps one day when his foot had become entangled in a pot-line as he’d tossed it back in, and he’d gone overboard with the gear.
The divers who’d found his body said he didn’t have his knife on him—he’d been using it on deck and had failed to put backin its sheath—which for a fisherman dragged underwater, was almost always a death sentence.
In Grant Heiger’s case, it had been.
Lace’s mother, too, had been taken far too young.
With no parents of her own, Sally Heiger had been part of the foster care system until she’d aged out to work in a local bait shop where she’d met her future husband, Grant.
The elder Heiger’s had been thrilled, loving her on sight as the daughter they’d never had. They’d provided a home for Sally until she and Grant had married and begun life together in a small apartment of their own.
After Grant’s death, finding out Sally was pregnant, Lace’s grandparents had taken the despondent woman in again, while all involved attempted to mend their broken hearts.
For Sally, that hadn’t happened. She’d died giving birth to Lace. Complications from high blood pressure the doctors said, but Lace’s grandparents had put Sally’s fatal heart attack down to never recovering from Grant’s death.
Lace, subsequently, had been brought up by her paternal grandparents. They’d immediately named her Solace, for the comfort she’d been to them in the wake of those two, crushing deaths.
For Lace, they’d been the best surrogate parents a kid could ever have wanted.
Lace’s grandfather, also a lifelong fisherman whose catch had always been swordfish up until the point of Grant’s death, had—at her grandmother’s behest—given up those sometimes dangerous one-hundred-ish mile trips out that were necessary for the large fish. He’d traded his trawler in for a smaller boat, going after the mackerel that schooled just off shore, and had done that for the rest of his sea-career.
Heading out on that boat with Peepaw had fomented some of Lace’s happiest memories. She’d loved everything aboutfishing. Clearly, the sea was in her blood. And in her present predicament, she’d be damned if cancer was going to take that away from her and turn her into a land-lubber.
Fuck.She really missed her grandparents.
The smell of the burger cooking as she put together her salad, brought Lace’s brain back around to present, and actually began to tempt Lace’s appetite.
Along with, unfortunately, her sweet tooth.
Lace’s need for a sugar-fix was one ofherchemo side-effects. Everyone reacted differently to the infusions, but for Lace, sugar cravings were her cross to bear, always hitting her hard, three to five hours after her treatments.
She glanced over at the chocolate chip cookies she’d baked early this morning.
She pictured herself stuffing several of them into her mouth.
Cookie Monster. Yum, yum, yum.
Nope.She needed actual food first, then she could indulge.
Turning her attention back to prepping her green, leafy food, Lace forced her mind back to theotherperson in her life who defined the strong woman she was today.
Her grandmother.
Gram had run the householdandthe filling station next door, never missing a shift, but always managing the time to make Lace feel like the most cherished girl on earth.
Gram not only sold gas to her customers, she also peddled the baked goods she constantly made at home.
Lace had learned to love baking at an early age, and had easily lent Gram a hand when she had the time after school. There was never a day Lace could remember, where there wasn’t a treat cooling on the counter. There was always a new recipe to try, or a cake to be frosted, and she was right there with her grandmother, as often as she could be.
These days, Lace still made it a point, several times a week, to bake, and she brought a lot of those scrumptious goods to whatever her current assignment was, to see if she could soften up the crew. Her success rate was about eighty-twenty, not in the positive way, but even so, despite the continuous grumblings she endured, there was never a crumb left of her goodies at the end of the day. She’d actually been proud to turn some of the hardest heads to mush, via those men’s stomachs, and that was what she was attempting with this latest job.
It certainly was an uphill battle.
Flipping her burger, Lace put a drizzle of olive oil onto her salad, then leaned her ass back on the counter, allowing herself to think about Vincent Sothard again.
How had he taken the news that she was a cancer patient? Would the little spark she thought she’d seen in his eyes have been snuffed out? She certainly wouldn’t blame him. Dating was hard enough, so why add cancer to the mix?
And most guys?