A Walk Along the Beach(75)

On the way from Logan’s I stopped off at Willa’s apartment and knocked, hoping to see her, talk to her. I knew I wouldn’t be able to rest until I could make things right between us.

No answer.

Next I checked in at Bean There and was shocked to see the sign on the door that read: TEMPORARILY CLOSED.

One of her regular customers worked next door at the candy store. The window displays never failed to attract a crowd, especially when they featured the homemade saltwater taffy.

I walked over and stuck my head in, grateful to see that Allison wasn’t busy. “How long has Willa’s shop been closed?” I asked, thinking the closure was probably due to Harper’s death.

Allison, busy at the counter, paused as if to count the days. “Must be more than a week now.”

    “That long?” Willa hadn’t mentioned anything about needing to close. It left me to wonder what else I’d missed with my selfish ambition. What else hadn’t she felt comfortable enough to share?

“Did you hear?” Allison asked, her welcoming smile vanishing. “About Harper Lakey, Willa’s sister?”

“I did.”

Allison shook her head. “Damn shame, you know. She was young, so full of life. And they were especially close. Willa is going to take her death hard. We’re all shaken by it.”

“You wouldn’t happen to have seen Willa in town, have you?”

Allison shook her head. “Not since I heard the news.”

“Do you have any idea where I might find her?”

Again, the shopkeeper had no answer. “If anyone in town would know, it would be Pastor McDonald.”

I briefly remembered meeting the man. I’d liked him. He was personable and down-to-earth. I located his address on my phone and drove to the nondenominational church where he preached.

Leaving Bandit in the vehicle, I went to the church and found the doors locked. On my way back to the car, I noticed a parsonage behind the church and decided to check there.

I knocked several times before anyone answered. A middle-aged woman opened the door to me. “Can I help you? Before you ask, we’re not interested in buying anything.”

“I’m looking for Pastor McDonald,” I explained, amused that she thought I resembled a door-to-door salesperson. Sleepless, hours in the air, plus the long drive to the ocean from Seattle—no doubt I looked disheveled.

“Pastor is with the Lakey family.”

“Do you know where that might be? I’m a friend of Willa’s,” I said, hoping that would explain my interest.

She looked me up and down, her eyes narrowing. I must have passed muster, because she said, “Heath mentioned something about them all meeting up at the funeral home.”

    “Thank you,” I said, grateful for the help.

My impulse was to race there, but then I paused, having second thoughts. I had Bandit with me, and I was a mess. This was a private time for Willa and her family to plan Harper’s burial. Now wasn’t the time or the place for me to go bursting in like some savior and sweep Willa into my arms.

Following our conversation from the night before, I feared Willa never wanted to see me again. As eager as I was to resolve this distance between us, I had to accept that this wasn’t the right moment.

Depressed and at a loss for how best to make matters right, I drove home. Bandit walked into the living room, looked around, and sat down on his haunches by the front door. It was as if he wanted to say that if I was leaving again, he was finished with me.

“Okay, point taken.”

With a sense of purpose and resolve, I unpacked my bags and started a load of wash. My stomach reminded me that I hadn’t eaten all day. The refrigerator was shockingly empty unless I was interested in a mustard-and-ketchup sandwich.

On the bottom of my list of things I wanted to do was go grocery shopping. However, my stomach wasn’t the only one I needed to feed. Not thirty minutes after I arrived home, I was in my car again, Bandit curled up and asleep in the backseat.



* * *



—

The following morning, I went in search of Willa a second time. Bandit didn’t look pleased when I left the house. Can’t say I blamed him. Seemed every time I walked away it was for a good long while. Not something I’d recommend in relationship-building, both with my rescue dog and with my girl.

I connected with Pastor McDonald at the parsonage and met his wife, the woman who’d answered the door.

    “You’re Willa’s young man,” he said, remembering our brief meeting.

“Yes. I returned from a business trip in Chicago yesterday. How’s Willa holding up?”

He didn’t hesitate, his eyes holding mine. “She’s taken the death of her sister hard.”

“Do you think I should seek her out?” I asked, needing guidance. “Or would it be best to wait?” I called myself a coward, afraid of what Willa might say or do when she saw me. I was afraid she didn’t want me in her life any longer, and I couldn’t, I wouldn’t, accept that.

“She’s at the church now,” he said.

That didn’t answer my question. “Then I should go to her? Will that help?”

“Can’t hurt.” He didn’t seem to have strong feelings one way or the other, which wasn’t encouraging.