A Walk Along the Beach(83)

Although I was tempted to stop by the house and tell her, I waited until the following morning when I went for my mocha. Willa was at the counter. She stiffened when she saw me.

“What can I get you today?” she asked, addressing me as if we were strangers.

“The usual,” I said in even tones.

She quickly brewed my mocha and set it on the counter.

    I handed her the money, but when she went to take the bill, I held on to the cash. “I won’t be going to the beach any longer.”

She looked up and I met her gaze. It was the first time since our last conversation at my house that she’d bothered to make eye contact with me.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

Seeing my chance, I spoke. “I’d do anything I could to help you, but you need to know something, Willa. I’m here for the long haul. I’m not going away. I love you, and that’s not going to change.”

Her eyes glistened and she swallowed tightly before she said, “I wish you wouldn’t.”

“Not happening, love.” I started to turn away before I remembered the question I wanted to ask. “Say, did your dad get that job at the hardware store?”

“Yes…How did you know about that?”

“He mentioned it the other day.”

“Oh.” She seemed pleased for him. “He’s excited about it.”

This was the longest conversation we’d had in weeks. By this time, I was starved for encouragement, some sign that would give me hope. Brief as our conversation was, it buoyed my spirits.

As I left the shop, I saw Stan Lakey climbing out of his car. With my drink in my hand I approached him. “Hey, I hear congratulations are in order. You got the job.”

His grin was huge. “I’m grateful.” He rubbed his hand down his pants leg. “Have to say I’m not looking forward to the move, though.”

“You need help with that?”

He frowned as if he wasn’t sure he’d heard me. “Are you volunteering?”

“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t mean it.” At his age, packing and hauling boxes wouldn’t be easy.

“Willa said she’d stop by after she closed, but I was hoping to get an early start.”

    “Then I’m your man.”

He hesitated, as if he still wasn’t sure I was sincere. “You don’t need to do this, son.”

“Don’t need to,” I agreed. “Want to.”

“For Willa?”

No need hiding my motive. “For Willa and for you. As you said, she hasn’t seen much of me lately. This will show her what I’ve been trying to say with action rather than words.”

“Then who am I to stop you,” he said with a chuckle.

He gave me the address of the trailer park where he was currently renting and suggested we meet in the next hour. Knowing he’d need boxes, I stopped off and collected a few from various locations.

Stan arrived before I did and opened the door when I knocked. “I didn’t tell Willa you were going to be here; she’ll find out soon enough when she stops by later.”

“Good.” That was what I wanted. If she knew, she might stay away, and that would defeat my purpose.

“She’s a stubborn one; you need to be patient.”

“She’s worth whatever time it takes.”

Stan nodded. “Glad to know you appreciate her.”

He led the way into his small trailer kitchen. “Don’t suppose I’ll have much need of anything here. Never did much cooking. You’ll need to ask Willa what she suggests I do with this stuff.”

He winked, knowing I’d welcome any opportunity for conversation with his daughter. “Got it.”

The two of us worked together for a couple of hours when I found a half-bottle of bourbon hidden under the sink. “What would you like me to do with this?” I asked, holding it up.

Glancing up, Stan’s gaze focused on the bottle. “Where’d you find that?”

I told him.

    “Thought I’d done away with all the booze hidden around here. Best thing is to dump it down the sink; I don’t have any need for it.”

I did as he asked and had just finished when the trailer door opened, and Willa came in. “Dad, is that Sean’s car…” She paused when she saw me. Her eyes widened when she caught sight of the empty bourbon bottle in my hand.

“Your father asked me to dump this,” I said, before she jumped to conclusions.

She stood frozen, looking from her father to me and then back again. “What’s he doing here?” she asked, addressing Stan.

“What does it look like? He’s helping me pack up. Doing a good job of it, too, I might add.”

“Dad…this isn’t a good idea.”

“Can’t say I agree, baby girl.”

The last thing I wanted was to cause dissension between Willa and her father. I decided a distraction might help. “Willa, what would you suggest we do with the pots and pans?” I asked. “Your dad seems to think he won’t need them living with you.”

“Dad.” She ignored me and my question.

“He needs an answer,” her father said. He carried a box and set it on top of another.