by Irene Hannon
Her smile dimmed. “No. Sorry.” She gestured to the cash register. “As you can see, we’re a bit behind the times. My sister has a computer in the office, and she’s quite the whiz at it. But she hasn’t convinced me to get one in here yet. If you need to go online, though, the Mercantile added a little coffee nook a while back, and I’ve seen people in there using their laptops.”
Funny he hadn’t noticed that.
Then again, he’d been a little distracted by his encounter with Lindsey.
“I’ll check it out. Thanks.”
The woman extended her hand, cheery smile once more in place. “By the way, I’m Genevieve Durham. If you need anything at all during your stay, you let me or my sister, Lillian, know. We live upstairs.”
Nate took her hand, and she gripped his fingers with surprising firmness. “Thank you. And I’ll be back for dinner. Whatever’s cooking smells great.”
“Tonight’s special. Homemade pot roast. It’s been simmering all afternoon.” Eyes twinkling, she gave him a wink. “If I do say so myself, I make the best pot roast in the county. Just be here by seven.”
He smiled. “I’ll be here at five.”
Chuckling, she slid the registration book back under the counter. “Lillian baked blackberry pie for dessert, too. It goes quick.”
“Save me a piece, okay?” He returned the wink.
Color spilled onto her cheeks. “I’ll do that. And if no one’s welcomed you back yet to Starfish Bay, let me be the first.”
Lindsey had welcomed him back—sort of—with that extra cookie. After she’d gotten past her obvious suspicions. He didn’t share that with this woman, though.
“Thanks.” He started toward the door, but as he reached for the knob, she called after him.
“I hope you find whatever it is you’re looking for, Mr. Garrison.”
He turned toward her, impressed by her astuteness. “It’s Nate. And I hope so, too.”
But as he exited the café and returned to his car, he didn’t have a lot of confidence that hope would be realized.
Because truth be told, he wasn’t certain what had compelled him to make the marathon drive from Chicago to this tiny Pacific coast town. Nor did he know what he was seeking.
All he knew was that in the wee hours of a cold, high-desert morning in Afghanistan several weeks ago, with the distant echo of bombs sending tremors through the ground beneath his ear, this idea had popped into his head. An idea his gut had told him to pursue.
And he always listened to his gut.
“Do I smell chili, Dad?” Lindsey wiped her feet on the mat and shut the back door.
From his position in front of the stove, Jack Callahan hitched himself around to smile at her. “Bingo. I got in the mood to do some cooking today.”
“Mmm.” She joined him and took a whiff from the pot. “Did you put in plenty of jalapeños and chili powder?”
He chuckled as he stirred. “Where did you get that cast-iron stomach of yours, anyway?”
Grinning, she filched half a jalapeño from the cutting board on the counter and popped it into her mouth. “Mom liked hot stuff.”
“True.” He stirred the pot and gave her an impish look. “Guess that’s why she went for me.”
Lindsey wrinkled her nose and nudged him with her shoulder. Gently. It was bad enough the limp he’d acquired after breaking his hip two years ago had left him with some balance issues. She didn’t want any more falls—or midnight calls from the ER. “Cute.”
“Anything interesting happen at the store today?”
“As a matter of fact, yes.” She opened the cutlery drawer and pulled out utensils. “I had a customer who said he’d lived here years ago. I have sort of a vague recollection of a little boy with his name, but your memory is probably better than mine. Nathaniel Garrison.”
Her father’s eyebrows rose as he dished up the chili. “Now there’s a name from the past. He and his parents lived here twenty, twenty-five years ago for a few months. His father worked in a warehouse in Crescent City, I think. They kept to themselves, though we did see the boy and his mother at church on Sundays. That’s how the two of you met. You were quite a pair for a few months. Spent hours watching for whales at The Point, as I recall.”
“He mentioned that.” Lindsay furrowed her brow. “I wonder why my memory about that is so hazy.”
“Now that I think about it, you couldn’t have been more than eight or nine at the time. Most people don’t remember much from that age.” He ladled one more scoop of chili into the second bowl. “Nathaniel was a nice little boy. On the quiet side.”
“He goes by Nate now.”
“Does he?” Her father deposited their bowls on the table while she filled glasses with water. “What’s he doing here?”
“He didn’t say.” She set the glasses on the table and took her seat. “So why did his family live here for such a short time?”
Her father retrieved a basket of cornbread from the counter, then lowered himself into his chair. “There was some sort of scandal, best I can recall. Had to do with his father drinking and getting fired, if my memory serves me correctly. They left not long after that.”
“That’s strange.” Lindsey draped her napkin over her lap. “You’d think that would be a bad memory for a little boy. But he said he had happy memories of his time here. He even mentioned Mom’s chocolate chip cookies.”
“Well, they were memorable.” Her father helped himself to a piece of bread and tucked it on the plate beside his bowl of chili. “You want to say the blessing tonight?
“Why don’t you do it?” He asked the same question every night; she always gave the same response. Even after three years, prayer was hard for her.
As if reading her mind, her father’s expression softened and he gentled his voice. “You ever going to make your peace with the Lord, Lindy?”
Her throat contracted at his pet name for her. “I’m trying, Dad.”
He sighed and patted her hand. “I know, honey. And you keep at it. One of these days, you’ll get the answers you need.”
“God’s been silent for a long time.”
“But He’s been listening. Don’t forget that.” With one more pat of her hand, her father bowed his head and started the blessing.
Lindsey didn’t pay a lot of attention to her father’s prayer. Her mind kept drifting to the odd encounter this afternoon. But her ears perked up when he got to the end.
“And Lord, we ask you to help Nathaniel find whatever it is he’s looking for here in Starfish Bay. Amen.” He reached for his spoon and dug into his chili.
Curious, Lindsey picked up her own spoon. “That was an interesting request. What makes you think he’s looking for something here?”
“Do you think he came to fish or sightsee?”
She frowned, spoon poised over her bowl. “No. He doesn’t have the look of a sportsman or tourist. But why else would he come here?”
“He didn’t just come. He came back. There’s a difference.”
Yeah, there was. She knew that firsthand.
She also knew people went back to places for a lot of reasons. Some good, some bad.
And if Nate Garrison was lucky, his reasons—unlike hers—were good.
Chapter Two
Three hours after checking in at the Orchid, fortified with the best meal he’d had in years and rejuvenated by a hot shower and unplanned nap, Nate exited his room and locked the door.
It was time to visit The Point.
He crossed the gravel parking lot that separated the motel from the two-lane highway, debating his route to the headland—the hidden cut-through path from town he and Lindsey had always used, or the gravel access road to the north, just around the bend?
The road was closer—and would be easier to find after all these years. He struck out to the north.
As he rounded the bend less than five minutes later, Nate frowned. In the old days, the road had always been open and welcoming. Now, a rusty chain barre
d access, and a Private Property sign further discouraged visitors.
Stopping in front of the chain, he propped his fists on his hips. It had never occurred to him the property would be off-limits. Perhaps the small white chapel where he’d attended Sunday services wasn’t even there anymore. And what about the stone bench with the sweeping vista of the sea, where he’d first spoken with Lindsey?
After a brief hesitation, Nate skirted the barrier and set off down the rutted road. You didn’t get to be an ace combat reporter by letting intimidation tactics deter you. If he did meet anyone who accused him of trespassing, he’d tell them he’d traveled thousands of miles just to see this spot from his childhood. Most people were suckers for stories like that, as he’d learned while honing his reporting skills. A tug on the heartstrings was far more effective than quoting the number of troops killed in a battle. It was always better to put a face on the statistic. Focus on one soldier’s story.
But he hoped he wouldn’t have to resort to dramatics. He preferred to make this journey into the past alone. If he was lucky, the place would be deserted.
As he traversed the forest-rimmed lane, it was clear no vehicles had driven on the pothole-pitted surface in a long time. The only sign of life was a blacktail deer that shot him a wary glance from the shadowy woods as he passed.
He didn’t slow his pace until he rounded a bend and the barren tip of the headland came into sight, soaring high above the Pacific. Then he stopped, drinking in the view that swept him back twenty-five years.
In the far distance, a slight haze softened the line where sea and sky met. To his right and left, other headlands jutted into the blue water along the irregular coast, their steeply sloping rock faces supporting forested or barren tops, some of them wrapped in horizontal tendrils of cloud. Offshore from the tiny beaches and cliff bases, jagged boulders thrust through the surface of the water, aiming for the sky as the surf churned around them.
From his position, Nate couldn’t see the rocks below The Point. But the muted thunder of crashing waves and the periodic geysers of mist rising above the top of the headland told him they were still there.
Nothing in the natural setting had changed.
But the same couldn’t be said of the chapel across the rutted gravel parking lot.
The small clapboard structure, with its steep roof and spire, had once been white. Now it sported weathered gray patches where the paint had peeled away. The windows were boarded up, the front door secured with a rusty padlock, and the manicured lawn and garden that had once surrounded the structure had become a tangle of tall grasses and weeds. Only a few hardy flowers had managed to poke their heads above the mess.
This wasn’t what he’d expected.
Disappointment welled up inside him. Not just over the sad state of the chapel, but also for what the disrepair meant.
Reverend Tobias—the man who’d given him hope when his world had turned black—must be gone.
Nate let out a long breath. It figured. Nothing stayed the same.
Especially good things.
Quashing his sense of letdown, Nate wandered across the gravel lot and inspected the weed-covered stepping-stone path that led to the front door. Although the padlock told him he wouldn’t be able to get inside, he plowed through the tangled undergrowth, brushing aside the tall grass in his path. One of the three steps that led to the small porch was missing, as was one side of the railing, and the porch planks creaked ominously as his weight settled on them.
He moved toward one of the small side windows beside the door. Maybe there was a crack in the boards that would afford him a glimpse of the interior.
But a quick scan dashed that hope. The place was sealed up tight.
Resigned, he retraced his route to the parking lot. There wasn’t much chance the bench behind the chapel that he and Lindsey had once sat on would still be there, but as long as he was here it was worth a look.
Thirty seconds later, rounding the church, he again halted.
The bench was there. In pristine condition, surrounded by a tiny square of tended lawn and flanked by two pots overflowing with flowers.
And it was occupied.
Lindsey sat facing away from him, a watering can at her feet, her attention fixed on the horizon as the rays of the setting sun highlighted the gold in her hair and silhouetted her slender, jeans-clad form.
The corners of Nate’s mouth lifted. The only thing missing from the picture was a sack of chocolate chip cookies, a pair of binoculars and the innocence of childhood.
His smile faded.
Maybe Thomas Wolfe was right.
Maybe you couldn’t go home again.
He started to turn away, but in his peripheral vision he saw Lindsey jump to her feet and spin toward him. He angled back.
She stared at him, posture taut, expression uncertain. “Nate?”
One side of his mouth hitched up. “Yeah. I clean up pretty well, don’t I?”
Instead of answering his question, she asked one of her own. “What are you doing here?”
“Trespassing, it seems. Though reminiscing had been my intent.” He gestured toward the chapel. “What happened?”
She tucked her fingers into the front pockets of her jeans, the stiffness in her shoulders easing. “Reverend Tobias died three years ago. We couldn’t find a replacement, so people started attending churches in other towns.” She surveyed the decaying structure, the muscles working in her throat as she swallowed. “Starfish Bay owns this headland, and the original plan was to turn it into a park and rent out the chapel for special-occasion use. But there’s never been money available for restoration, and the chapel isn’t old enough to qualify as an official historic landmark. We can’t even afford to keep up the maintenance.”
“That small spot is in great condition.” He nodded toward the area where she stood.
She picked up the watering can, keeping the bench between them. “I still like to come out here. So I reclaimed this from the weeds.” She edged toward the end of the bench, as if she wanted to escape.
But he didn’t want her to go. Being here with her again felt good. And right.
“So you never left Starfish Bay?”
A cloud passed over the setting sun, casting a shadow in her eyes. Or was there another reason for the sudden darkening of her irises?
“I moved away for a few years.”
She offered nothing more, but he knew how to put people at ease. Loosen their tongues. It was part of his job, even if he hadn’t used those skills much recently.
Digging deep, he smiled, shoved his hands into his pockets and adopted a casual, relaxed stance. “Anywhere interesting?”
“Sacramento.”
“What took you there?”
Her grip on the watering can tightened, and she hugged it closer to her body. “That’s where my husband lived.”
Lived.
Past tense.
Nate processed that new information as his gaze dropped to the ringless third finger of her left hand. She must be divorced. “So what brought you back here?”
“He died.”
That wasn’t the response he’d expected.
“I’m sorry.” Even as the trite words left his mouth, he berated himself. Talk about lame. Words were his business. He should have been able to come up with a more empathetic response than that.
“Thanks.” She started to ease around the bench again.
He wanted her to leave even less now that she’d dropped her bombshell. Yet asking questions was driving her away. Time to switch tactics, try to pique her interest with a few personal revelations.
“I can’t imagine losing a spouse. I guess that’s one of the reasons I’m still single. Besides, my job isn’t conducive to marriage.”
She stopped and gave him a curious look. “What do you do?”
“I’m a journalist. Investigative for a while. But for the past year I’ve been doing combat coverage in Afghanistan for the Chicago Tribune.”
&
nbsp; Her eyes widened. “Were you embedded with a unit?”
“Yes.”
“Wow. That’s risky work.”
He lifted one shoulder. “The soldiers did the really dangerous stuff.”
She squinted at him. “Not from what I’ve seen on the news. Some of those reporters seem to be in the thick of things.”
“Writing for a newspaper is different than TV coverage.” And often worse. But he didn’t share that.
She set the watering can on the seat of the bench. A positive sign.
“So what brought you here? This is a long way from Chicago or Afghanistan.”
His fingers tightened into fists inside his pockets as he struggled to maintain a placid demeanor even as the sounds of an explosion echoed in his mind. “I needed a change of scene, so I took a six-week leave and decided to do some traveling here in the U.S.” He motioned to the bench. “Do you mind if we sit? I’ve been driving for thirty-three hours and the nap I took at the motel wasn’t nearly long enough.”
She hesitated, then perched on the far end of the bench—as if poised to flee. She left the watering can between them.
Following her lead, he sat on the other end, as close to the edge as possible. Funny. As kids, he’d been the cautious, reserved one while Lindsey had been the gregarious risk taker. Now their roles seemed reversed. Why?
Whatever the reason, he suspected she wasn’t going to reveal it today.
“Is the room okay?”
Her question refocused him. “Fine. Spotless, as promised.” He shifted around to look at the chapel, now cast in warm light from the setting sun. “Too bad about this place. It has some good memories for me.”
“Me, too.” She tipped her head and caught her lower lip between her teeth as she eyed him, a habit he suddenly recalled from their childhood. She’d always done that at her most serious moments. Or if she had something on her mind.
He gave her an encouraging smile. “I don’t recall you ever being shy about expressing your thoughts when we were kids. If you have a question, go ahead and ask.” Perhaps if he gave her carte blanche, she’d reciprocate.
“I mentioned you to my dad at dinner.” Her tone was cautious. Tentative. “From what he remembered, it didn’t sound as if your family situation was the kind that would give you a lot of happy memories of this place. Or make you want to return.”
