The Best Is Yet to Come is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2022 by Debbie Macomber

  All rights reserved.

  Published in the United States by Ballantine Books, an imprint of Random House, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York.

  Ballantine is a registered trademark and the colophon is a trademark of Penguin Random House LLC.

  LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA

  Names: Macomber, Debbie, author.

  Title: The best is yet to come: a novel / Debbie Macomber.

  Description: New York: Ballantine Books, [2022]

  Identifiers: LCCN 2022000435 (print) | LCCN 2022000436 (ebook) | ISBN 9781984818843 (hardcover; acid-free paper) | ISBN 9781984818850 (ebook)

  Subjects: LCGFT: Novels.

  Classification: LCC PS3563.A2364 B46 2022 (print) | LCC PS3563.A2364 (ebook) | DDC 813/.54—dc23/eng/20220107

  LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/​2022000435

  LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/​2022000436

  Ebook ISBN 9781984818850

  randomhousebooks.com

  Book design by Dana Leigh Blanchette, adapted for ebook

  Cover design: Belina Huey

  Cover illustration: Alan Ayers, based on images by Getty Images (balcony, seascape, flowers) and Depositphotos (chairs)

  ep_prh_6.0_140374771_c0_r1

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Author's Note

  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

  Chapter 26

  Epilogue

  Dedication

  Ballantine Books from Debbie Macomber

  About the Author

  Summer 2022

  Dear Friends,

  Here’s a bit of surprising news. No author is an island. We don’t publish alone. Yes, the words are mine, and I personally wrote this book, but I have several teams of talented experts who strive to bring out the very best in me as an author. It starts with my own personal team who support me here at my office, along with my wonderful agent. And, of course, my publishing team. They each guided me through the many manifestations of this book. To them I owe a debt of gratitude. My attorney friend Lillian Schauer read through the courtroom scene so all the details align with reality. Thanks, Lillian! And my assistant, Shawna, read through multiple versions of this story.

  I actually thought The Best Is Yet to Come would be my last book and that I would ease into retirement. But then I had a really good idea for another story. Writing is such a big part of who I am that I doubt I’ll ever give it up entirely. The best for me is yet to come it seems, as Wayne and I travel. We bought an RV this summer and adventure awaits us.

  Prologue

  “All rise,” the bailiff announced, as the judge stepped into the courtroom. “Judge Walters presiding.”

  John Cade Lincoln Jr. rose to his feet next to his court-appointed attorney. He’d met the woman only once and had agreed to plead guilty. He faltered as he stood. His balance was off, as his leg had never properly healed from the shrapnel wound he’d suffered in Afghanistan. He caught himself by grabbing hold of the edge of the table where he sat as a defendant.

  His attorney, Ms. Newman, a young woman who appeared to be fresh out of law school, leaned close to whisper, “The judge altered the agenda from the clerk’s office so you would be the last case of the afternoon,” she whispered.

  “What does that mean?”

  “I…don’t know.”

  It didn’t sound like it was good news. With the way his life was spiraling downward, he didn’t expect anything less.

  The silver-haired judge with piercing blue eyes took her seat, and everyone in the courtroom followed. Cade watched as she picked up his case file, and silently observed as the prosecutor read through the list of charges against him. Judge Walters slowly raised her head and looked directly at him. Her eyes narrowed at the long list, as she closely studied him. Cade met her gaze and squared his shoulders, as if standing before his commanding officer.

  Disorderly conduct.

  Assault and battery.

  Destruction of private property.

  Resisting arrest.

  What captured his attention was a gasp that came from the back of the courtroom. He knew that voice. Knew the woman who’d made it. His mother. Groaning inwardly, he dropped his head, humiliated and humbled that she would turn up on the second-worst day of his life. He sank, grateful to take the weight off his leg, back into his chair as shock waves rolled over his shoulders because his mother sat in this very courtroom.

  Sara Lincoln, his mother, was the last person he expected or wanted to see. The last communication, if it could even be defined as communication, had been nearly six years ago. The conversation consisted of his infuriated father yelling, his face red with anger, as he lambasted Cade. After calling him spoiled and ungrateful, he made sure Cade knew he was a major disappointment, a disgrace to the family name. And that had only been what Cade heard before he slammed out of the house. He had never gone back.

  Maybe enlisting in the army had been a mistake, but it was his to make. As far as he was concerned, the choice between serving his country and attending law school following graduation had been a no-brainer. From the time he could remember, his father, John Senior, had expected his son to follow in his footsteps and join the family law firm.

  From the moment he was born, it was assumed Cade would become an attorney. No one had bothered to ask him what he wanted. His job was to fall blindly into his family’s expectations. He’d been given no choice in the matter. It had all been arranged. Set in place as soon as he’d drawn in his first breath.

  Unable to resist, he looked over his shoulder. It was indeed his mother, and she was alone, which relieved him but at the same time hurt. He knew better than to hope his father cared enough to support him when he’d hit rock bottom. What he did notice was the love emanating from his mother’s gaze. He quickly returned his attention to the front of the courtroom. If she was sorry for that final scene, it was too late now to make amends. If she’d said one word, one single word, in his defense, he could forgive her. Instead, she’d remained silent, and her silence had said everything.

  He could only guess how his mother had learned he’d been arrested. He hadn’t spoken to anyone in his family since the day he left for basic training in California. He hadn’t even listed their names as next of kin on his enlistment papers, and he’d never looked back.

  Six long years.

  It went without saying: His parents would have nothing to do with him until he was willing to admit how terribly wrong he’d been. Once he realized his mistake, his parents would then be willing to welcome him back into the family fold.

  Judge Walters looked up from the papers and again met his gaze, holding it for a long moment, as if gauging his character.

  “Mr. Lincoln, have you been informed of your rights?” she asked.

  Cade rose to his feet with the same awkwardness as earlier, gripping the table to maintain his balance. “Yes, Your Honor,” he said, keeping his voice flat. His attorney had given him a rundown on what to expect. He had no defense. He’d been drunk and stupid. He deserved whatever punishment he had coming to him. He’d take it like a man without offering excuses or justifications.

  “The court hereby accepts your guilty plea.”

  Cade assumed that was all that would be required of him. His attorney said the judge would accept his plea and then read his sentence. When silence followed, his gaze returned to Judge Walters, unsure and wary of what would happen next.

  The judge glanced up from her file. “It says here you served in the military.”

  “Yes, Your Honor.”

  “And were awarded a Purple Heart.”

  He nodded and looked away. Like he cared. He survived, while Jeremy and Luke, his two best friends, had died. It would have been easier if he’d died that night, too. With every fiber of his being, he wished he had.

  “What were the extent of your injuries?”

  The last thing he wanted to do was provide a detailed list of the physical and emotional scars he carried. “I’m alive.”

  “Are you sure about that?” the judge asked, with arched brows.


/>   The question shook him, and he raised his gaze to meet hers, offended by what she implied.

  “Are you continuing with your schedule of physical therapy, Soldier?”

  If she asked the question, she clearly knew he hadn’t.

  “No, Your Honor.”

  “Can you tell me why not?” she demanded.

  “No, Your Honor.” What was the use? His leg would never be the same. He would walk with a limp for the rest of his life. A limp that was a constant reminder that he had survived, while two of the best friends a man could ever want rotted in graves at Arlington Cemetery.

  “I see,” Judge Walters said slowly. “The same holds true for the mental counseling as well, it seems.”

  “I don’t have PTSD,” Cade insisted. What good would it do to sit and cry about what had happened? Grief was grief. You learned to live with it and move on. No way was he going to spill his guts to some VA counselor who likely didn’t have a clue of what it was like to engage the enemy in a firefight and watch your friends be blown to bits. It wasn’t no, it was hell no!

  “According to the list of charges, it appears to me you are dealing with a lot of anger issues.”

  Cade was willing to admit that. Truth be told, he was downright furious with the world. The memories of that last battle engagement clawed at him like an eagle’s talons, his sleep peppered with nightmares that his mind insisted on tossing at him like a hundred-mile-an-hour hardball pitch. He drank to forget. To sleep. To escape.

  Alcohol had become his only friend.

  “I am hereby sentencing you to three hundred and sixty-five days in jail with three hundred and sixty days suspended, giving you credit for the five days already served.”

  Cade heard the soft weeping sounds of his mother in the background. He refused to turn around and look at her. It was bad enough knowing she was here to see how low he’d sunk. He doubted his father knew she’d come. He would have forbidden her to ever speak to him again.

  His attorney grasped hold of his arm. “Do you understand what that means?” she whispered.

  No jail time. This wasn’t what he deserved or had expected with a sense of dread and inevitability.

  “That said, in light of your service to our country, I’m ordering two years’ probation with mandatory participation in both physical therapy and counseling. You will make full restitution for damages and serve five hundred hours of community service.”

  Silence fell over the courtroom at the leniency of the sentence. The prosecutor stood as if to protest, but one look from the judge and he took his seat.

  “Soldier, do you agree to these terms?” the judge asked.

  “He does, Your Honor,” the young woman standing at his side said quickly.

  “I didn’t ask you, Ms. Newman. Mr. Lincoln?”

  Ms. Newman leaned close and urgently whispered, “This is better than we could have hoped for. Agree with her before she changes her mind.”

  “Soldier?” the judge said, staring him down.

  “Yes, Your Honor.”

  She pounded the gavel, and everyone stood as she left the courtroom.

  “What happens if I don’t comply?” Cade asked his lawyer, hoping there was a way to avoid mandatory counseling and physical therapy.

  “Then you serve out the three hundred and sixty days in jail. It’s your choice. It seems to me Judge Walters has taken a personal interest in your case. My advice is not to disappoint her.”

  Cade muffled his distress. He should be grateful. If the prosecutor had his way, he’d be wearing an orange suit and led away in handcuffs.

  “You’ll need to collect the Judgment and Sentence paperwork,” his attorney said.

  The courtroom had cleared. Before he could reply, he heard movement behind him.

  “Cade.” His mother reached out and touched his arm.

  He pretended he didn’t hear her soft voice and, without another word, followed his attorney to the clerk, who was preparing the paperwork.

  When he looked back, he saw that his mother had left. He was sorry she’d come, and even sorrier that they had nothing to say to each other.

  Chapter 1

  A teacher really shouldn’t have a favorite student.

  Yet Hope Goodwin did. She was consistently blown away by Spencer Brown, the awkward young man in her Introduction to Computer Science class. He was miles ahead of everyone else. Hope feared his ability would quickly shoot past anything she could teach him. When he first showed up for class, she was surprised. He was by far the smartest kid in school and destined to be class valedictorian. He didn’t need the credits. Every other class in his schedule was at AP level. The gossip she’d overheard in the teachers’ lounge was that both Stanford and Yale were looking at him. The kid was going places. Sure as anything, Spencer didn’t need a basic computer class.

  It didn’t take Hope long to discover the reason Spencer was in her classroom.

  Callie Rhodes, another senior, a member of the dance team and senior class royalty. She was far and away out of Spencer’s league.

  Hope hated that Spencer was setting himself up for a major disappointment. Every class, the kid gave himself away. Hope was convinced she wasn’t the only one who noticed, either. Spencer seemed unable to take his eyes off Callie.

  Hope wondered if he’d heard a single word of anything she’d said the entire class period. His entire focus remained on Callie, and the pretty teenage girl seemed completely oblivious to him.

  Callie was popular, pretty, and smart. From what Hope had been able to determine, she was dating Scott Pender, the school’s star athlete and quarterback. She’d heard Scott played key positions on the basketball and baseball teams as well. Compared to Scott, Spencer didn’t stand a chance.

  Hope’s last period of the day was AP U.S. History, and both Spencer and Callie were in that class. Oceanside High was a small school with fewer than three hundred students. The size suited Hope. She’d been looking to make a significant change in her life. Living in California, being alone in the world, she’d badly needed to get away, to forget and move forward.

  No state income tax was only one of the reasons Washington State appealed to her. It was beautiful and she felt sure she could find a good job there in a charming and friendly community. So she applied for teaching positions in several small towns that dotted the western half of the state. With her two degrees—a master’s in education and another in counseling—she wasn’t surprised to be hired by Oceanside High School. She knew she was a good candidate. In addition to teaching computer science and U.S. history, she also worked as a counselor in the afternoons, which wasn’t an opportunity afforded her at other schools. It made Oceanside an even better fit. Students came to her with a variety of issues. Mostly they needed someone willing to listen.

  Moving to Oceanside had been the right move. Living close to the ocean had always been important to her. Any home or rental within ten miles of the Pacific in California was way out of her limited budget. It astonished her that the small rental cottage she found in Oceanside was well within walking distance of the ocean and, best of all, affordable.

  Her landlords, Preston and Mellie Young, were great. Preston operated the local animal shelter, and Mellie was a full-time mother to their two toddlers. For the most part they kept to themselves. Hope exchanged pleasantries whenever they met. Mellie stayed indoors a lot, so Hope didn’t see her often, but that was fine.

  The cottage was older, probably built sometime in the 1960s or ’70s. Mellie had mentioned that it had once been a summer rental. Only in the last few years had it been rented out full-time. Given how old the house was, it was only natural that it needed a few minor repairs. The kitchen could use a new paint job. One of the faucet handles was loose in the bathroom; the railing on the step was held together by a single nail. All minor details that would be easy fixes. Hope wasn’t complaining, though, seeing how reasonable her rent was. Determined to be a good tenant, Hope would gladly fix whatever needed to be done herself. No need to give her landlords a reason to raise the rent.