Chapter 10 - THE MAN WITH A FACE
Six months later.
The early summer sun was warm and brilliant, painting the clear blue waters of the coast near Portland, Maine, in blinding streaks of liquid silver.
On a gentle green hill overlooking a quiet, sandy cove, a small, two-story timber frame house was near completion. The scent of fresh pine shavings, sawdust, and ocean salt hung sweet in the warm breeze.
Adrian stood on the front porch, wearing a sun-faded flannel shirt, work boots, and a carpenter's belt slung around his waist. He was holding a spirit level against the white cedar railing, adjusting the final brass screws with a hand tool.
His face was tan, his eyes clear and bright, the dark lines of grief and exhaustion that had carved his features for three years completely washed away by the sea air.
Down near the water's edge, Julian Mercer was sitting on a wooden bench, holding a fishing rod, teaching a small girl how to cast a line into the gentle tide.
Lily was laughing—a clear, ringing, joyful sound that carried across the quiet grass like music. She wore a bright yellow sundress, her dark hair tied back in a messy ponytail, her small boots splashing in the shallow salt water.
"Dad! Look!" she called out, holding up a small, shimmering silver sea shell she had found in the sand.
Adrian set his spirit level down on the railing, wiped his dusty hands on his trousers, and walked down the grassy slope toward the water.
"That's a bonnet shell," Adrian said, kneeling beside her in the sand, taking the small shell in his palm to examine it under the sunlight. "Very rare around these rocks. Good eye, sweetface."
Lily beamed up at him, her smile wide and unreserved.
She reached into the pocket of her yellow dress, pulled out a small, flat sketchbook bound in recycled brown paper, and handed it to him.
"I made a new drawing today," she said quietly.
Adrian took the sketchbook, his heart beating with a soft, warm rhythm.
He opened the cover to the first page.
It was a drawing of the new house on the hill, with its green roof, white cedar railings, and the blue ocean stretching out behind it.
Standing on the porch were three people.
A little girl in a yellow dress.
An older man with silver hair holding a fishing rod.
And beside the little girl stood a tall man in a carpenter's belt.
He had clear blue eyes, dark hair, and a wide, warm smile painted in bright yellow crayon.
And above his head, written in neat, clear letters, was his name:
DADDY.
Adrian looked up from the drawing into the clear blue eyes of his daughter—the daughter who had waited three long years for him to come home.
He pulled her into his arms, lifting her high into the warm summer air as she laughed, her small arms wrapping tight around his neck.
"Do you like it, Dad?" she asked, resting her cheek against his shoulder.
May you like
Adrian looked out over the bright, endless horizon of the sea, feeling the warm sun on his face, the weight of his daughter in his arms, and the quiet, unbreakable peace in his heart.
"I love it, Lily," Adrian whispered, kissing her forehead. "It's the best drawing I've ever seen."
