Finding Hope by Brenda Coulter Page A

too?” His mind labored over the paradox.
    Her smile faded. “It hurts a lot.”
    Charles watched her face, knowing that in another moment her chin would quiver and she would reach for the box of tissues at her elbow. Hope was a curious mixture of strength and vulnerability, and Charles understood Gramps’s concern for her.
    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.
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    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.
    â€œLet me come in and sit with you a while,” Charles urged.
    â€œI won’t be very good company,” she warned.
    â€œThen 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.
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    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.”
    â€œHope, my brother wants to have dinner with you.”
    â€œReally? 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