The Memory of You (Sanctuary Sound Book 1) Read online

  PRAISE FOR IN THE CARDS

  “Infused with . . . fresh detail. Between the sweetness of the relationship and the summery beach setting, romance fans will find this a warming winter read.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “Fans will love the frank honesty of her characters. [Beck’s] scenery is richly detailed and the story engaging.”

  —RT Book Reviews

  “[A] realistic and heartwarming story of redemption and love . . . Beck’s understanding of interpersonal relationships and her flawless prose make for a believable romance and an entertaining read.”

  —Booklist

  PRAISE FOR WORTH THE WAIT

  “[A] poignant and heartwarming story of young love and redemption and will literally make your heart ache . . . Jamie Beck has a real talent for making the reader feel the sorrow, regret and yearning of this young character.”

  —Fresh Fiction

  PRAISE FOR WORTH THE TROUBLE

  “Beck takes readers on a journey of self-reinvention and risky investments, in love and in life . . . With strong family ties, loyalty, playful banter, and sexual tension, Beck has crafted a beautiful second-chances story.”

  —Starred review, Publishers Weekly

  PRAISE FOR SECRETLY HERS

  “[I]n Beck’s ambitious, uplifting second Sterling Canyon contemporary . . . Conflicting views and family drama lay the foundation for emotional development in this strong Colorado-set contemporary.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “[W]itty banter and the deepening of the characters and their relationship, along with some unexpected plot twists and a lovable supporting cast . . . will keep the reader hooked . . . A smart, fun, sexy, and very contemporary romance.”

  —Kirkus Reviews

  PRAISE FOR WORTH THE RISK

  “An emotional read that will leave you reeling at times and hopeful at others.”

  —Books and Boys Book Blog

  PRAISE FOR UNEXPECTEDLY HERS

  “Character-driven, sweet, and chock-full of interesting secondary characters.”

  —Kirkus Reviews

  PRAISE FOR BEFORE I KNEW

  “A tender romance rises from the tragedy of two families—a must read!”

  —Robyn Carr, #1 New York Times bestselling author

  “Jamie Beck’s deeply felt novel hits all the right notes, celebrating the power of forgiveness, the sweetness of second chances, and the heady joy of reaching for a dream. Don’t miss this one!”

  —Susan Wiggs, #1 New York Times bestselling author

  “Before I Knew kept me totally enthralled as two compassionate, relatable characters, each in search of forgiveness and fulfillment, turn a recipe for heartache into a story of love, hope, and some really good menus!”

  —Shelley Noble, New York Times bestselling author of Whisper Beach

  PRAISE FOR ALL WE KNEW

  “[A] moving story about the flux of life and the steadfastness of family.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “[A]n impressively crafted and deftly entertaining read from first page to last.”

  —Midwest Book Review

  “All We Knew is compelling, heartbreaking, and emotional.”

  —Harlequin Junkie

  PRAISE FOR JOYFULLY HIS

  “A quick and sweet read that is perfect for the holidays.”

  —Harlequin Junkie

  ALSO BY JAMIE BECK

  In the Cards

  The St. James Novels

  Worth the Wait

  Worth the Trouble

  Worth the Risk

  The Sterling Canyon Novels

  Accidentally Hers

  Secretly Hers

  Unexpectedly Hers

  Joyfully His

  The Cabot Novels

  Before I Knew

  All We Knew

  When You Knew

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Text copyright © 2018 by Jamie Beck

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Montlake Romance, Seattle

  www.apub.com

  Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Montlake Romance are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.

  ISBN-13: 9781503903418

  ISBN-10: 1503903419

  Cover design by Ginger Design

  Cover photography by Regina Wamba of MaeIDesign.com

  To my oldest friend, Joanna, who has helped celebrate my happiest moments and supported me through my worst. Thanks for being bold enough to talk to a stranger while walking home from school all those years ago.

  CONTENTS

  Preface

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Epilogue

  AUTHOR'S NOTE

  SOURCES

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  EXCERPT: THE PROMISE OF US

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Preface

  Dear Reader,

  Thank you for picking up this book! I’ve been looking forward to introducing you to Sanctuary Sound and the circle of friends known as the Lilac Lane League for some time. The idea for this series came about after watching the news following the devastating explosion at the concert of a singer in England. I remember thinking about how easily my own teenagers could fall victim to a similar incident. That led to me wondering about how victims and their families survive such events and how different people might respond to trauma. Thus began the seeds of the stories for Steffi, Claire, and Peyton, each of whom has her own trauma to overcome.

  Steffi is one of the toughest, most resilient heroines I’ve ever written. And while her story is a powerful one, it certainly comes out of a place of darkness. In my research for this tale, I was not only taken aback by the staggering number of women who are sexually assaulted in the United States every year, but I was also struck by some minds’ powerful reactions to such trauma.

  While I consulted a number of sources and two psychologists to construct this plot, I am not a psychologist, and it is possible that I have misinterpreted some of what I learned, so I own those mistakes. As this is ultimately intended to be a hopeful story about learning to ask for help and facing one’s fears, I’ve taken some liberties for the purpose of storytelling. If you are interested in learning more about these topics, I’ve included a list of some research materials I reviewed at the end of this book.

  In Stefanie Lockwood, I hope I’ve done credit to all the women who have suffered trauma and bravely battle every day to reclaim their lives and decide what will define them.

  Regards,

  Jamie Beck

  Chapter One

  Never regret anything that once made you happy. The deathbed advice imparted years ago by her m
other had comforted Steffi in the wake of many mistakes. Today those words drifted back as she turned down Echo Hill Lane, the narrow, tree-lined cul-de-sac where her next appointment, and many happy memories, lived. Then again, that old lesson didn’t quite apply to her current predicament, because her regret had nothing to do with the time she’d spent here with Ryan Quinn and his family, and everything to do with leaving them all behind.

  She parked her Chevy van across the street from the white Dutch colonial that had been like a second home in her teens. Once she killed the engine, she sat in the driver’s seat, shaking out her hands, anticipating her first real conversation with Mrs. Q. in a decade. She’d forfeited this family’s comfort after she’d ghosted Ryan in college. If her brothers could see her now, they’d never stop teasing.

  But today wasn’t about her discomfort. Today was about a job—one she and her childhood friend turned business partner, Claire, needed to keep their home-remodeling business growing.

  “Here goes nothing,” she muttered, then blew out a breath and opened the door. She buckled her tool belt before trotting across the lawn to the shade of the home’s small portico. The familiar apple-red front door prompted a shallow smile as she gave it three sharp knocks. She inhaled the pungent aroma of the nearby Long Island Sound to settle her nerves.

  Mrs. Q. opened the door, her lively smile curling the edges of her wise blue eyes. The tall woman still exuded confidence, although she now had a decade’s worth of new wrinkles. Gray strands frosted her blonde hair. Warm memories rushed into the space between them, but Steffi fought the urge to press her hand against her heart.

  The scent of freshly baked snickerdoodles wafted outside while they faced each other for the first time in forever. Steffi couldn’t hide now, like she had at that near run-in with Mrs. Q. the summer after she’d broken up with Ryan, when he’d stayed in Boston for an internship.

  She’d stopped by the pharmacy to pick up last-minute items for her summer-abroad trip—the one Ryan had talked her out of taking the prior summer—and spied Mrs. Q. at the checkout line. She’d camped out behind the chips until Mrs. Q. had left, grieving anew the loss of their special friendship.

  Until recently, Steffi had lived in Hartford and had not bumped into the Quinns during visits with her family, which was why her pulse now throbbed with uncertainty.

  “Stefanie, you’ve hardly changed. Come on in before my last batch of cookies burns.” She waved Steffi inside—minus the hugs of yesteryear—and then strolled ahead, straight back toward the kitchen.

  Distracted by familiar sights and sounds—the creaky, original wide-plank floors, the sisal carpet running up the stairs that led to Ryan’s room—Steffi bumped into the cardboard boxes stacked near the base of the stairwell. “Oof.”

  “Watch yourself!” Mrs. Q. called.

  An oversize, handsome photograph of Ryan with his daughter, Emmy, sat on the mantel. His smiling brown eyes and cocoa-colored hair kept him as handsome as ever. Val—his lucky wife—got to wake up to that grin every day. Steffi rubbed her chest as she made her way to the kitchen.

  Mrs. Q. gestured toward the platter on the counter with her spatula. “Have one.”

  “Thanks.” Steffi nabbed a thick, warm cookie, then stood in the kitchen—with its same old cherrywood cabinets and green granite—feeling sixteen years old again.

  As she swallowed the last bit of cookie, she wondered if those boxes meant the Quinns were moving. Did they want renovations to make the home more attractive to a young buyer? It shouldn’t matter, yet the idea of anyone other than the Quinns living here was like setting fire to her favorite scrapbook.

  She couldn’t say that, of course. “You look great, Mrs. Q.”

  “Thanks. You too.” She transferred the last batch of cookies to a cooling rack. “We’re both adults now. Call me Molly.”

  “Okay.” Steffi mentally tested it, but it was hard to think of Mrs. Q. as Molly. Especially with so much unsaid between them.

  “Molly” turned off the oven. “So tell me, how are you?”

  “Same as always.” Not exactly true, but she wasn’t about to confess that life now was nothing like she’d once imagined. Standing in this kitchen, she couldn’t escape the irony of her running off to pursue a “big” life, yet ending up back at home, while Ryan and his legal career thrived in a major city with his family.

  Molly crossed her arms. “Sanctuary Sound must seem sleepy after life up in Hartford.”

  “Not really.” She hoped that would be the last half truth she’d need to utter. “It’s nice to be home.”

  Her hometown—five thousand residents nestled on the central Connecticut coastline—certainly differed from city life. She’d hurried home two or so months ago, eager to surround herself with the familiar, after . . .

  “No boyfriend left behind?” Molly’s voice pulled her out of that rabbit hole. Her even gaze betrayed no bitterness—probably because Ryan had given her a beautiful grandchild—but Steffi didn’t like the conversation heading in this direction.

  “Nope.” She dug her fingernails into her palms while she recalled the cruel way she’d dumped Ryan. To this day, thinking about that made her stomach burn as much as it had back then when she’d ignored his calls and texts. Now seemed like a good time to change the subject. “No time for that, anyway. Claire and I are super busy getting things off the ground.”

  “It’s brave of you girls to start your own business.”

  “The town’s little renaissance made it the perfect time to take the risk.”

  “We’ve certainly seen an influx of newcomers.” Molly’s brittle smile and tone carried the same hint of disenchantment as Steffi’s dad and other longtime residents bemoaning the armada of wealthy young families who’d sniffed out the undervalued, aging homes near the beach. But those whom old-timers saw as outsiders, Steffi deemed target customers.

  Molly set the empty mixing bowl and spoon in the sink, along with the cookie sheet.

  “Most of the old gang has up and gone.” Molly’s gaze turned distant, perhaps wishing both of her kids hadn’t moved away. “It’s the curse of a small-town childhood. You think the rest of the world is more exciting, taking for granted the deep relationships that make life rich.”

  Steffi had come to understand that better with age. She almost asked about Ryan, because not talking about him seemed awkward and cowardly. Something stopped her, though. “I should look at the back porch and familiarize myself with it again so I can determine the project’s scope.”

  Converting a screened porch to a family room would be a straightforward job, and a nice addition to the gallery of work she could show prospective clients.

  “I’ll come with you so we can talk through my ideas.” Molly untied her apron and hung it neatly on its hook. She cast a hesitant glance at the dirty bakeware abandoned in the sink but walked on.

  Steffi covered a smile, recalling how nasty-neat Molly had always been. Ryan had driven his mother crazy with his piles of shoes, clothes, sports gear, and the trail of crumbs he and Steffi had left behind whenever they’d raided the cookie jar and the junk food cabinet after soccer practice.

  When she followed Molly through the kitchen door onto the screened porch, the distant wail of an ambulance siren split the air.

  A sudden burst of sunlight—or something—blinded Steffi. Time shifted to a slow pulse while short, sharp breaths chafed her lungs.

  That’s wrong. There shouldn’t be sunlight.

  Should be black. No sun. Not even moonlight.

  Something—a shadow—lurking at the edges . . . cold metal, grunting, cigarette smoke and pain . . .

  “Stefanie?” Molly’s touch broke through Steffi’s haze. “Are you okay?”

  A trickle of the perspiration gathering along Steffi’s hairline rolled down her temple. “Yes.”

  She forced herself to focus on the clusters of terra-cotta pots, which overflowed with sunny-yellow begonias, on the flagstone floor. Then she noticed the faux ratt
an outdoor sofa and two gliders that had replaced the old teak furniture Steffi remembered.

  “You looked stricken.” Concern colored Molly’s eyes. She reached out as if to pat Steffi’s shoulder, then withdrew her hand uncertainly.

  Steffi shrugged off Molly’s unspoken questions. She couldn’t answer them even if she wanted to, which she didn’t. “Lost in thought, I guess.”

  “About what?”

  Steffi reached for her notebook, avoiding Molly’s questioning gaze. As always, remembering any detail of her zone-outs was like trying to catch fog. “Ideas for the project.”

  Molly hesitated, a disbelieving look crossing her face, then clasped her hands together. “Let me get you some water.”

  Steffi waited on the porch and caught her breath. She’d been losing track of time now and then for the past few months. Her hazy moments didn’t follow a discernible pattern, so she chalked them up to the aftereffects of her most recent concussion.

  She’d suffered multiple concussions throughout her high school and college soccer career. Then, three months ago, she’d taken another harsh blow to the head when some assholes jumped her in an alley at gunpoint, beat her unconscious, and made off with her purse.

  A sudden burst of acid surged up her esophagus, but she breathed through the burning sensation. Molly returned and handed her a glass of water, which she chugged.

  Determined to wipe that worried look off Molly’s face and be professional, she flipped to a clean page of her notebook and said, “Tell me what kinds of finishes you envision.”

  Molly blinked but didn’t press her concerns. “Nothing modern. I’d like the windows and floors to blend in with the 1940s construction, if possible. Same with the exterior.”

  Steffi opened the screen door to go out to the yard and look at the structure. Molly shadowed her. Together they squinted in the August sunlight. “Shouldn’t be hard to match these double-hung windows and standard-shingle siding. I’m thinking we pull out all the floor-to-ceiling screens and build half walls and windows, unless you prefer a series of French doors?”

  “I’d like it to be bright and have views of my garden.” Molly pointed to her massive pink polyantha rose bushes. “One set of doors is fine. Add as many windows as you can include without making it impossible to heat in the winter.”