Hearts reawakened, p.1
Hearts Reawakened, page 1
part #1 of Echoes of Camano Island Series
Hearts Reawakened
Echoes of Camano Island
Kimberly Thomas
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
Copyright © 2025 by Kimberly Thomas
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead is purely coincidental. Kimberly Thomas holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Epilogue
Next in Series
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Prologue
Four months ago
The warm June air filled Trish’s lungs as she stepped onto the porch of her cozy home. The sun hung low in the sky, casting a gentle golden hue over the verdant landscape and the far-off peaks of the majestic Olympic Mountains. Towering evergreens blocked her view of the endless expanse of the ocean, but sporadic flashes of the glittering Saratoga Passage winked at her, and the subtle tang of salt was carried on the swirling wind. The scene was nothing short of a masterpiece.
Nestling into the familiar embrace of her wicker chair, she unfurled her legs in a languid stretch, releasing a sigh of contentment. Her eyes drifted shut.
“I thought I’d find you here.”
The unexpected voice startled her into alertness, and her eyes flew open to see Paul, her friend and business partner, climbing the porch steps. Trish hastily rearranged her posture as he came to a halt before her. A friendly smile brightened his face, and his green eyes twinkled.
“Hi.” Trish returned the smile. “I wasn’t expecting you today. Is everything okay?” she asked.
“Yeah. Everything’s… great,” he replied, his reassurance lacking conviction. “You don’t have to get up.” He halted her mid-movement.
Trish, poised halfway in her ascent, melted back into the familiar comfort of the chair.
“I just came by to see how things were going at the restaurant, seeing that I now have a lot of free time on my hands.” Even though his tone was light, Trish sensed the underlying tension.
“I know it’s not easy having to take a step back from the day-to-day operations at Lot 28, but it’s necessary if it means that it will keep you healthy,” she spoke encouragingly.
Paul gave a short laugh. “Easier said than done.” His fingers combed through his dark-brown hair, and he released a heavy breath. “I wish there were another way,” he breathed out, his voice laced with the bitter tang of regret. He paced toward the balcony, and his gaze became lost in the sprawling landscape.
“This heart condition has taken so much from me in such a short space of time,” he sighed as his hand came up to rub the spot just over his heart.
Trish rose from the chair this time and walked over to join him. “I know it’s not the most ideal situation, but think about all you still have,” she spoke softly.
Paul remained silent for a while; the only sound filling the silence was the harmonious chirping of the distant birds. “I am thankful for all that I do have, especially Sarah.”
Trish’s lips turned up in a smile at the mention of his daughter. “She is a remarkable young woman and very lucky to have you.” The smile faded as rapidly as it had surfaced, replaced by a far-off look. Her lips faded into a gentle frown; her blue eyes became pools of longing. She felt Paul’s gaze piercing into the side of her face.
“How is the search going?” His question hung in the air, heavy and full of concern.
“Honestly?” Her eyes met his briefly before returning to the comfort of the picturesque horizon. “I’m conflicted…” Releasing a long breath, she straightened up and gripped the banister for support. “On one hand, I’m hoping Greg has good news, but on the other hand, I don’t know if I’m doing the right thing trying to know,” she explained.
Paul turned fully to her, compelling her to turn to him. His eyes shone with understanding.
“I can’t pretend to know the turmoil you’re going through, but I do believe you’re making the right choice wanting to know,” he encouraged.
Trish’s lips turned up in gratitude. “Thanks. I really needed to hear that.”
“Anytime, kiddo,” Paul responded with a friendly pat on her shoulder.
The insistent hum of her phone against the petite wicker table drew her attention. “Excuse me.” She walked over and swiped the device from the table before bringing it closer to read the Caller ID. Her heart pounded like a wild drum in her chest at the name displayed. It was Greg, her private investigator. If he was calling, it meant he had news. As she pressed the answer button, her hand trembled, an echo of her racing heart.
“Hello?” Trish’s voice trembled with uncertainty, her fingers tightly gripping the phone.
“Hi, Trish. I hope I haven’t caught you at a bad time,” the voice at the other end greeted.
“No, not at all,” she stammered. Noticing Paul’s curious gaze, she silently mouthed the word “Greg.”
Paul nodded and came closer.
“I found her.”
Greg’s words hung in the air, carrying a weight that Trish could almost feel physically. A mixture of relief and anxiety washed over her like the ocean tide at the news.
“Hello? Trish? Are you still there?” Greg’s voice echoed in her ear; his tone filled with a sense of urgency.
She drew in a deep breath, her mind racing to catch up with the conversation. “I’m sorry. What were you saying?” she finally managed to breathe out.
“I was wondering if you had time to meet with me later. I would rather go through the full disclosure with you in person,” the PI expressed, his words measured and composed.
That was just over two hours away.
“Yes. I am,” she readily supplied, despite the nervous flutter in her chest.
“All right then. I will be at my office by seven. You can come any time after that.”
“Okay. I’ll be there.”
Trish turned wide-eyed to Paul, whose expectant gaze mirrored her own anticipation.
“Greg said he found her.”
“That’s, that’s…wow!” Paul exclaimed; his voice tinged with genuine excitement. “So what do you do now?”
“I’m meeting him later to get all the details.”
“Trish. This is amazing. I’m so happy for you.” Paul’s smile broadened, warmth radiating from his expression.
Trish returned his smile, happy the day had finally come, but the niggling doubt still remained.
After Paul left, Trish made her way over to the Nestled Inn with the intention of throwing herself into work, in order to keep her mind off her upcoming meeting.
As she approached, her eyes were drawn to the grandeur that stood before her. The three-story structure loomed, a majestic fusion of wood and stone, seemingly defying gravity with its unwavering presence. Gabled roofs soared toward the heavens, while the second floor consisted of a series of elegant balconies boasting secrets of whispered conversations and stolen glances. Large French windows, like portals to another world, beckoned with their translucent charm. The wide, ornate doors were carefully made and added a touch of elegance to the whole picture.
She walked up the few steps that led to the front door and was immediately met by the manager and receptionist for the inn.
“Hi, Trish. Are you here for the grocery list? To be honest, I haven’t made it yet, and Dorothy needs to give me a list of the cleaning supplies we are running low on, but I’ll get right on that,” the small, rosy-cheeked woman spoke a mile a minute, not giving Trish the opportunity to respond.
“Kaylyn,” Trish chuckled as she held up her hand to halt the flurry of activities from her. “It’s fine. There’s no need to rush. I’m not here for the list,” she reassured. “I’m here for you to put me to work.”
“Oh,” Kaylyn replied, her brows furrowed, trying to figure out what she meant. “What did you have in mind?” she asked cautiously.
“Is there any room that needs to be prepared for the next guest? Is there laundry to be done? I just need something to occupy my time and my mind.”
“Well, the Tremaines, who were in the standard double room, checked out this morning, and it needs to be prepared for the guests arriving at five.”
“Great. I’ll get right on it,” Trish said, already heading toward the supply closet. The woman stared in confusion at her retreating back.
Trish spent the next hour scrubbing the bathroom, changing out the mats, and replacing the used towels with clean ones, along with a replenished sample-sized shower gel and shampoo. She then moved on to the bedroom, stripping the four-poster bed and spraying it with Lysol before sp
“Trish. Is everything okay?”
Trish glanced over her shoulder to see Kaylyn standing by the door to the laundry room, staring back at her with concern.
“Yeah, why do you ask?” She turned to look at the woman.
“Well, for one, you’ve been standing over the washing machine for the past five minutes, not moving an inch, and you’ve been cleaning nonstop since you got here. You only get like this when something’s bothering you,” Kaylyn responded.
Lines pulled at the corners of Trish’s mouth. “You know me so well,” she surmised.
Kaylyn gave a sharp nod as her arms came up to fold over her chest. “Now, what’s wrong?”
Trish released a sharp breath. “I’m meeting with the private investigator at seven.”
“Does that mean he’s found her?” Kaylyn asked, her voice laced with hope.
Trish’s head bobbed.
“But that’s great, Trish. Why aren’t you over the moon about this?” Kaylyn asked with a raised brow.
“I am,” Trish rushed to affirm. “It’s just that everything’s about to change, and I am a little apprehensive about it.”
Kaylyn walked up to her and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Everything is about to change, but I believe it’s all going to work out.” Trish gave her friend a grateful smile.
By the time she was finished helping out at the Nestled Inn, it was time to head out to her meeting with Greg. The closer she got to his office, the more anxious she felt.
For years, Trish had been haunted by the decision she made twenty-one years ago, and this news brought her one step closer to the closure she desperately needed. Her mind drifted back to that fateful day at her parents’ house.
“How could you be so stupid?”
Trish cringed, her chin tucked into her chest as shame and trepidation filled her.
“All my life, I tried to steer you on the right path to make sure you made something of your life, and this is the thanks I get?”
She peeked from under her lashes, watching her father pace back and forth in anger. Her mother sat on the sofa, a look of helplessness on her face.
Her father stopped pacing and turned to her, his face a sea of rage as he pierced her with riotous blue eyes. “Did you even stop to think what this scandal would do to my reputation?” he seethed. “Answer me!”
She cowered at his booming voice. “I-I’m sorry, Daddy,” she whispered as tears splashed her cheeks.
“You’re not sorry yet. There is no way you’re carrying that—” he pointed at her stomach with a look of disgust—“abomination into this world. You’re getting an abortion.”
“No!” “Stew!” Trish and her mother exclaimed at the same time.
After all this time, the memory still brought tears to her eyes as she remembered how the freedom of choice was taken away from her. Now, with the possibility of finally meeting her daughter within reach, Trish felt a renewed sense of hope. She wiped the tears from her eyes and took a deep breath, preparing for the emotional journey that lay ahead.
The sun was beginning to set as Trish descended Camano Hill Road. The quiet countryside was bathed in the warm glow of the evening light. But as she rounded a bend, a sudden flash of headlights caught her eye.
A Ford pickup truck, driven by a man whose bloodshot eyes and slurred speech would later reveal him to be heavily intoxicated, barreled toward her at high speed. There was no time to react, no time to swerve out of the way.
The deafening sound of metal on metal echoed through the air as the truck slammed into her car. The force of the impact sent her vehicle flipping through the air, a horrifying ballet of twisted metal and shattered glass. It finally came to a crashing halt against a stone wall, the car now barely recognizable as the mangled wreckage smoked and groaned.
Bleeding and barely conscious, Trish’s thoughts turned to the daughter she would never get to meet. Tears streamed down her face, mingling with the blood and dirt that covered her bruised skin. As the darkness closed in around her, she whispered a silent prayer, hoping that somewhere out there, her daughter would know how much she loved her.
And then, everything went black.
Chapter One
Trish’s heart raced as she gripped the steering wheel tightly, her knuckles turning white. The night seemed to darken around her, amplifying the fear that gripped her like icy tendrils as the desolate road stretched out before her.
Suddenly, a deafening roar shattered the tranquility of the night. The sound of an engine revving at full throttle pierced through her eardrums, growing louder with every second. Her eyes widened in terror as she stared ahead. A monstrous blue Ford pickup came hurtling toward her, its headlights blazing like twin fiery orbs.
Time seemed to slow down, elongating each agonizing second. Her heart pounded with a desperate rhythm, drowning out the cacophony of her racing thoughts. Sweat soaked her brow as her mind struggled to process the imminent danger that loomed closer, threatening to consume her.
The truck grew larger and more menacing, its metallic frame glistening under the pale moonlight. The revving engine reverberated through the air, a haunting symphony of impending doom. The truck’s grating roar drowned out all other sounds, its thunderous crescendo seeping deep into Trish’s bones, filling her with overwhelming dread.
Through the windshield of her car, Trish caught a glimpse of the driver’s face. Bloodshot eyes, wide and manic, stared back at her, reflecting a feral hunger for chaos. His face was contorted, a sadistic grin etched upon lips that seemed twisted by malevolence.
Desperation clawed at Trish’s throat, stifling her scream before it could escape. Her breath came in shallow gasps, her vision narrowing into a tunnel as adrenaline surged through her veins. Time, once crawling, now accelerated with a vengeance, propelling her into a waking nightmare from which there was no escape.
In a sudden explosion of sound and fury, the truck thundered toward her, closing the distance with terrifying speed. The world around her blurred into a chaotic frenzy of lights and colors, a twisted canvas of impending destruction. Her heart pounded against her rib cage, a primal drumbeat of terror.
Then, with a bone-shattering impact, the truck careened into her car, metal colliding with metal in a symphony of destruction. Glass shattered, fragments scattering through the air like malevolent confetti. The violent force propelled Trish forward, her body lurching against the tight embrace of her seat belt, pain shooting through her every nerve ending.
As the deafening collision unleashed its fury, Trish was jolted awake with a start.
Gasping for breath, she realized it had all been a terrifying dream, her racing thoughts merging with the reality of her bedroom. Slowly, she glanced around, seeking solace in the familiar sights and sounds that anchored her to the safety of the waking world. Yet, even as she calmed her racing heart, the memory of the blue Ford and the driver behind the wheel still lingered and caused an involuntary shudder to run through her body.
Beads of sweat trickled down her temples as her heart pounded against her chest. It was the same nightmare that haunted her night after night, an exaggerated version of the accident that had changed her life forever.
Four months had passed since that fateful day, but the memories were as fresh as ever. Trish had woken up from her coma two months later, her body broken and her spirit shattered. The physical wounds were healing, thanks to the relentless effort of physical therapy, but the emotional scars ran deep.
As Trish took deep breaths, trying to steady her racing heartbeat, her eyes tried to adjust to the room bathed in darkness, save for the faint glow of the moon peering through the curtains. She gingerly touched the scar on her forehead, tracing the uneven texture with her fingertips. It was a constant reminder of what she had gone through, a visible symbol of the pain she carried within.
