by Irene Hannon
But just as he’d prepared to beat a quiet retreat, the girl had suddenly swung toward him, eyes shining. “Hey! You want to see the whales? There’s a whole pod of them!”
That had been the start of a beautiful, if brief, friendship.
Now, as he strolled over to the bench, Nate reached into his pocket and fingered the agate he’d found on one of their beach excursions. All these years, he’d never been without it—his one physical link to his happy months in Starfish Bay. A literal touchstone to his past.
As he ran his fingers over the smooth surface that had been polished by nature on the coarse sand of the beach below, it felt as familiar to his fingers as the keys of his laptop. He pulled it out and examined the translucent, inch-and-a-half diameter stone with its intricate white banding that created a pattern of circles, curves and wavy lines. Lindsey had told him it was a good one. She’d also told him the real beauty of agates lay inside, hidden from the world. And that it took a master cutter to reveal that beauty to its best advantage.
He’d liked that thought as a shy eleven-year-old who kept so much locked inside.
He still did.
Weighing the small stone in his hand, he drew in a lungful of the salt air. Despite what he’d told Lindsey, the plight of The Point and the chapel distressed him. If it was torn down, one more touchstone from his past would vanish forever.
Touchstone.
The word echoed in his mind.
Despite the dark clouds scuttling across the sky, Nate sat on the weathered concrete seat, the rhythm of the surf and the cry of the gulls a balm to his soul. People needed places like this to return to—or to discover for the first time. They needed links to places and peoples and things that helped define who they were, that reminded them of the experiences and relationships that had shaped them.
They needed touchstones.
Words began to form in his mind. Not the kind he usually wrote. But compelling enough to induce him to pull out the notebook and pen he always carried and jot them down.
More followed.
He kept writing.
Nate had no idea how long he scribbled in his notebook. But he’d filled quite a few pages before the first drop of rain interrupted him.
He didn’t stop, though. He couldn’t. The words gushed forth, as unstoppable as a spring deep in the earth that works its way to the surface and suddenly breaks through to the light, the clear water sparkling in the sun.
Only when the rain picked up did he at last tuck the damp notebook back into his pocket and take off at a jog for the main road, more energized than he had been in a long while. Sure, he knew how to put words together, to create a compelling story, to manipulate emotions. But the words he’d just written were different.
They’d come from the heart.
And putting them on paper had made him feel good.
By the time he reached the main road, the rain had gone from a light shower to a steady downpour. He’d be soaked before he got to the Orchid.
But his heart felt lighter than it had in years.
And it lightened even more after he stepped inside his room and found a plastic-covered plate containing two cinnamon rolls on the desk, the “Glad you’re here. Enjoy!” note signed by Genevieve.
He’d been adopted.
Nate hadn’t shown his face at the Mercantile for three days. And his car had been missing from the Orchid Motel parking lot whenever Lindsey had contrived a reason to drive by. She was beginning to think he’d gone back to Chicago.
Not that it mattered. Despite their childhood friendship, which she barely remembered, they were strangers now, with little in common. Their last conversation had convinced her of that. And he was just passing through, anyway.
Still, when she spotted Lillian pulling into the Mercantile parking lot, she decided to ask a few discreet questions.
As the older of the two sisters approached the door and set the bell jangling, Lindsey was struck, as always, by their differences. While Genevieve was short and a bit rounded, with white hair she always wore in a soft chignon, Lillian was tall and spare, and her cropped dark hair sported only a few streaks of gray even if she was seventy.
“’Morning, Lillian.”
“It is, indeed. I think that front has finally passed through. It looks to be a glorious day. I believe I’ll go beachcombing this afternoon.”
“Sounds like a fine idea. What can I help you with today?”
“Pecans. After Genevieve started the waffle batter this morning, she discovered she was low. I keep trying to convince her to track inventory on the computer so I can order the proper amounts. Instead, she leaves me little notes scribbled on the back of café receipts instead.” Sighing, she rolled her eyes. “Last time I ordered pecans, I couldn’t read her handwriting and only got half what she wanted. Result? I’m on an emergency mission. Six people have ordered pecan waffles already. Including our nice young guest from Chicago.”
Nate was still in town.
Her spirits taking an uptick, Lindsey started toward the baking supplies. “We don’t carry a lot of nuts. How many do you need?”
“Three pounds, if you have that much. She said that’ll get her through.”
“I haven’t seen Nate around in the past few days.” Lindsey picked up several eight-ounce packages and started back toward the counter. “I thought he might have gone back to Chicago by now.”
“No. He paid a week in advance, so I expect he’ll be around until Monday morning, at least.” Lillian passed over her credit card as Lindsey rang up the purchase. “You’re a lifesaver.”
“Hardly.” She handed her the receipt. “So how has he been keeping himself busy?”
Lillian chuckled. “Eating, for one thing. Never misses a meal, according to Genevieve, who keeps tabs on such things. Now if I could just get her to exhibit an equal interest in the computer.”
“I don’t think I’d hold my breath.”
“Isn’t that the truth.” The older woman picked up her bag. “Well, I do know what our Chicago guest is doing this morning.”
“What?”
With a grin, Lillian tucked the bag into the crook of her arm. “Visiting the Mercantile. He just pulled up. See you later.”
Lindsey’s pulse kicked up a notch, and she had to fight back an urge to run a brush through her hair and touch up her lipstick. Why should she care how she looked to Nate?
The bell jingled. Lillian paused inside the door to say a few words, and she heard the rumble of Nate’s baritone response. Then he stepped inside and glanced toward her.
“Hi.” She wiped her damp palms down her jeans and gave him a shaky smile.
“Hi.” He didn’t smile back as he lifted his laptop. “Email?”
He was still miffed at her. Served her right for being judgmental. “Help yourself.”
“You sure? I don’t want to take advantage of your hospitality.”
“All of our customers are welcome to use the wireless.”
He closed the door. But instead of turning left, toward the coffee nook, he strolled over to the counter.
Lindsey scrutinized his face as he approached. There was some subtle difference in him today. A little less tension in his features, perhaps? A more relaxed stance?
He set the computer on the counter. “I’d like to apologize.”
She blinked. “I think that’s my line.”
“No. I walked out in the middle of our last conversation. That was rude.”
“Maybe it was self-preservation. I overstepped. And I was the one who was rude.” She grimaced and tucked her hair behind her ear. “I did that at the town council meeting the other night, too. I don’t know what’s come over me lately. I don’t usually get worked up like that.”
One side of his mouth hitched up. “You used to. I remember your eyes spitting fire the day we found that teenager tormenting a stranded seal on the beach. He was twice as big as you, but man, you gave him an earful. Once you scared him off, you made me help you roll th
e seal back to the water.”
Her own lips lifted. She hadn’t thought about that day in years. “I guess I did come on a little strong. But that seal needed help. I couldn’t stand by and do nothing.”
“I always liked that about you. And I bet it helped make you a great teacher.”
Warmth crept up her neck. “I pushed my students too hard sometimes, though. I hated to see wasted potential.”
“Sometimes people need to be pushed.”
She had a feeling he wasn’t talking about her students anymore.
“So…truce?” He took his computer off the counter and held out his hand.
“Truce.” She placed her hand in his, and he gripped it with his long, lean fingers, his touch warm and strong and somehow comforting.
He held it for a beat longer than necessary, his gaze locked on hers. When at last he released her, the floor seemed to shift a little. She groped for the counter, needing something solid to hang on to.
“I might be back for a cookie later. What’s on the menu today?” He perused the dome.
“Oatmeal raisin.”
“I don’t remember your mom ever making those.”
“She didn’t. They were Mark’s—my husband’s—favorite.” Nothing like a reminder of the tragedy that had brought her home to drop her back to earth with a thud.
His expression softened. “You still miss him a lot, don’t you?”
“Every day.” Her voice choked on the last word.
“In a way, I envy him.”
Jolted, she frowned. “Why?”
“Enduring love is in short supply in today’s world. He was a lucky man to find it. Save me a cookie, okay?” With that, he continued toward the coffee nook.
As Lindsey watched him go, another little unwanted electric charge fluttered along her nerve endings. It wasn’t attraction, though. Her heart belonged to Mark. She was just intrigued by this visitor from her past, who had secrets he’d hinted at but hadn’t shared.
And attraction and curiosity were two very different things.
Absolutely.
Chapter Five
“‘It had been years since anyone lived in the di…’” Jarrod’s halting voice faltered.
“Let’s sound it out, okay?”
Letter by letter, Lindsey helped him work through the sounds until dilapidated emerged.
Nate tried to concentrate on his email, but the scene at the adjoining table in the coffee nook was more than a little distracting. Lindsey hadn’t been exaggerating. Jarrod’s reading skills were dismal.
“‘…dilapidated house, except for rats and pi…’” He stopped again.
Lindsey went through the process again. Jarrod finally got the word.
“‘…pigeons. Everyone in my class walked on the other side of the street when they passed, es…’”
Nate took a sip of coffee. This was downright painful.
The phone rang behind the counter, and Lindsey rose. “My dad had to run to the post office, Jarrod. You read ahead and work through the words while I answer that, then you can read it out loud when I come back.”
The boy watched her go, gave the book a disgusted look, and heaved a loud sigh.
Nate leaned back in his chair and shifted toward him. “What are you reading?”
Shooting him a wary glance, Jarrod held up the book. Based on the somewhat eerie cover, it looked like the kind of suspenseful story an eleven-year-old boy would like.
“Any good?”
“I don’t know. I hate reading. And writing.”
“How come?”
“It’s boring. And it’s hard.”
“It doesn’t have to be either. I read and write every day in my job, and it’s pretty exciting.”
“Yeah?” Jarrod regarded him, clearly skeptical. “So what are you, a lawyer or something?”
“No. I write for a newspaper. I just got back from Afghanistan, writing stories about the war.”
“Yeah?” The youngster’s interest picked up. “Were you around the tanks and guns and everything?”
Nate’s fingers tightened on the coffee cup. “Every day.”
“That must have been cool.”
“Most of the time it was scary.”
“So why did you do it?”
Even kids were asking him that question now. “I like to write. And there were interesting stories to tell. But I’ve also been a lot of other places around the world, writing different kinds of stories. And I read a lot. Most of it on this.” He tapped his laptop. “That’s how I do some of my research. Do you use the computer very much?”
“When my mom lets me. I like playing games.”
“You ever use it to look up stuff you’re interested in?”
He wrinkled his nose. “Not unless they make us at school.”
“Too bad. I’m getting ready to start on a story, and I could use some help with research. I’d even give an assistant a credit line.” Nate frowned as the words left his mouth. What was that all about?
“You mean the person’s name would be in the newspaper?” Another flicker of interest sparked in Jarrod’s irises.
Okay, he was in now. He’d just have to wing it. “Yeah.”
“What’s the story about?”
Good question.
As he tried to come up with an answer, more unbidden words tumbled out of his mouth. “Children who lose one or both of their parents, and what that means in their lives.”
Now where had that come from? He didn’t want to write a story like that. It hit far too close to home. And considering how his face shuttered, Jarrod felt the same way.
Okay. Time to regroup. He didn’t want to lose the boy.
On the other hand, researching that topic might help Jarrod work through his grief. But he’d have to feel comfortable with it—and with his mentor. Know he was in sympathetic company. And as far as Nate could see, there was only one way to accomplish that—even if it took him out of his comfort zone.
After a fortifying swig of coffee, he set the cup on the table. “I think it will be an important story, Jarrod. And I know what it’s like to go through that. I lost both my parents when I was a kid.”
The boy’s eyes widened. “Both?”
“Yeah. My mother died when I was eleven, and my dad didn’t…couldn’t take care of me after that. So I had to go live with a foster family. A year later my dad died.”
“Wow. That must have been hard.”
“It was. Sometimes it still is.” Nate’s voice hoarsened, and he cleared his throat.
The boy bowed his head and played with the edge of the book. “My dad died last winter. Right after Christmas.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. But your mom’s there for you, isn’t she?”
“Yeah. She’s cool. She tries to smile, and she takes me out for pizza every Friday. But I hear her crying at night sometimes, so I know she misses Dad a bunch, too. When he was alive, we always laughed a lot at our house. Now it’s real quiet. And sad.” The last few words were choked, and he swiped at his eyes with the sleeve of his sweatshirt.
Nate wished he could promise Jarrod things would get better. But they never had for him.
Then again, he hadn’t had a mother to help him through the trauma.
As Nate searched for words of consolation, he glanced up to find Lindsey watching them from a few feet away. Her expression was enigmatic, but he had no trouble reading the surge of color that flooded her cheeks. She was embarrassed to have been caught eavesdropping.
“So how are you doing with the story?” Breaking eye contact with him, she retook her seat across from her pupil.
Jarrod shot her a guilty look. “I didn’t get very far. I was talking to him.” He gestured toward Nate.
“It was my fault.” Nate rested an elbow beside his computer on the small table. “We were discussing a business proposition.” He directed his next comment to Jarrod. “Let me know if you’re interested, okay?”
“Okay.”
He and
Lindsey went back to their book.
After fifteen more excruciating minutes of arduous reading, the bell over the front door jingled and a blonde woman, who looked to be in her late thirties, dashed in and headed straight for the coffee nook.
“Sorry.” Her apology came out in a rush of breath as she pushed her windblown hair back from her face, the tremor in her fingers slight but noticeable. “There was an accident north of Eureka. Traffic was stopped both ways for twenty minutes. Hi, sweetie.” She leaned down and kissed Jarrod on the top of his head.
“No problem, Cindy.” Lindsey closed the book and passed it over to her student. “We needed a little extra time, anyway. I’ll see you Wednesday, Jarrod.”
“Okay.” When he didn’t say anything else, Cindy rested her hand on his thin shoulder and lifted an eyebrow. He sighed. “Thank you, Ms. Collier.”
“You’re welcome.”
As Lindsey and his mother chatted for a moment, the youngster eased closer to Nate. “Maybe I could help you with your story. But I don’t read real good yet. Or very fast.”
Nate lowered his voice to match the boy’s muted tone. “That’s okay. I’m not in a hurry. I’ll talk to Lindsey about it.”
“Ready, Jarrod?” Cindy gave Nate a narrow-eyed look and tugged Jarrod closer.
“Yeah.”
At the woman’s protective behavior, Nate rose and held out his hand. If he wanted to have a chance to help the boy, he needed to make a positive impression on the mother. “Nate Garrison. I used to live here.”
“We were friends years ago,” Lindsey added, surprising him with her endorsement. “Nate’s a journalist with the Chicago Tribune, here on vacation.”
The woman’s taut posture relaxed, and after a few pleasantries, she and Jarrod exited.
Before Lindsey left to relieve her father at the counter as she usually did after she finished with Jarrod, Nate broached the subject he’d discussed with the boy. She listened, brow furrowed, as he told her about the youngster’s interest in his project.
“Are you really working on a story about children who’ve lost parents?”
