Hold Her Heart (Words of the Heart) by Holly Jacobs Page B

he continued. “There’s so much need, Siobhan. I could work the rest of my life and never make a dent in the need that’s out there. I said as much to Ms. Pip one day. I felt like I was tossing tiny pebbles into the ocean during a storm. The water’s already churning so much the pebble doesn’t make even the tiniest of a ripple. You know what she said?”
    “What?”
    “No one person can ever fix all the world’s hurts. All we can do is our best to change our corner of it. She said that’s what she does with Amanda’s Pantry and even with her books.” His voice changed, and he quoted her.
     
    I mean, I realize my little stories won’t end world hunger, but maybe for a few minutes, someone who’s hurting is comforted. Maybe someone who’s sad smiles or even laughs. And even if a sad part in my book makes a reader cry, maybe that’s cathartic. Maybe they don’t feel quite as alone. And maybe that’s enough.
     
    “I never thought about things like that,” I said. I remembered reading Piper’s books when I was growing up. I felt connected to her characters, like they knew me; like they understood what I was going through.
    Logan laughed. “Yeah, making you think is something she’s good at. She asked me something about what if everyone tossed their own pebble into the sea in some way? Then she said she thought maybe life would be a whole lot sweeter. So, that’s what I do. Wherever I’m at, I just try to toss my pebble into the ocean. Life will never be fair, but we can all try to make our corner of it a bit better. You’re doing that today for Fiona.”
    “I’m not doing anything,” I said. Fiona reached into the water and held up something I couldn’t make out.
    “Beach glass,” Logan filled in for me. “And you are doing something. You’re here with her. Spending a day with her. She’s waited to meet you for so long, you being here is making things easier.”
    “ Shove , come in,” Fiona said.
    “Ban,” I corrected. “If you’re going to shorten my name, Ban’s much better than Shove.”
    She laughed as I reached down and cuffed my pants and waded farther into the water.
    “Are you coming?” I called to Logan.
    “Go ahead and bond with your sister. I’m going to catch a catnap.”
    “Ban,” Fiona called, trying my nickname on for size. “Why that?”
    “Think about how my name is spelled. A teacher pronounced it Ceo-ban. The ban part stuck.”
    “I like it,” she said. “Ban. Okay. Fi and Ban. Mom can write a book for us when she’s better. She’ll . . .”
    She went on, deciding that Ban, being Irish, was Fi’s best friend. And she wove book-worthy adventures for them as we walked down the beach. “Watch for beach glass,” she instructed.
    Logan, good to his word, had spread out a towel and lain down on it. He seemed to be dead to the world. “He barely woke up and he’s napping,” I said to Fiona.
    “When he works nights, he takes a morning then an afternoon nap. He works per diem at the hospital whenever he’s in town.”
    “Is he here often?” I asked, glancing back at his inert form on the empty beach. It was late in the season for swimmers. I liked having this little corner of the lake to ourselves.
    She shrugged. “Yeah, I guess he’s home a few times a year. Sometimes he stays with his mom, sometimes next door. He’s been all over the world, you know. He sends me postcards in the real old fashioned mail. But he e-mails and Skypes, too. He’s been everywhere. I’ve got a map on the computer that we mark off every time he goes somewhere new. He was in South America once and worked at a place that helps kids with cleft palates. Have you ever seen them? It’s easier to fix ’em when they’re babies, but sometimes they’re as old as me and still got them. And then—”
    The more Fiona told me, the more I realized that Logan hadn’t just thrown a pebble in the ocean of human suffering. He’d already thrown a big handful of rocks.
    Fiona reached