by Becky Wade
Was dating Corbin a hideous idea?
All her risk-averse tendencies said yes in unison. But the rest of her remembered the things he’d said to her today. He’d said he hadn’t married because none of the women he’d dated had been her. He’d said the day they’d broken up had been the worst of his adult life. And throughout their date, he’d looked at her with a slaying combination of heat and tenderness.
Here’s what her past with Corbin had taught her: Corbin’s superpower was his ability to say all the right things in such a way that she believed them. She’d swallowed down his words to her four years ago like they were the gospel truth.
In the end what mattered was a person’s ability to back up their words over and over and over again with actions. That’s where Corbin had failed the last time. She couldn’t allow herself to think that Corbin had magically become trustworthy. If she decided to go on more dates with him, it would have to be with that clear understanding in the front of her mind. She could not invest her whole self in the things he said to her.
What to do, what to do?
Anxiously, she tugged on one of her bracelets.
She could cut things off right here, before they’d begun. Or she could try dating him. If she chose option B, they’d have to take things very slow. And they’d have to institute a strict nothing-more-than-kissing policy. Then she’d need to pray, hard, against getting swept away by her own desire the way she had the last time. If she and Corbin were both in agreement about the physical side of their dating life from the outset, then maybe—likely?—things would be fine.
It was as if she were a traveler holding a map and trying to decide between two routes. One route was safe but dry and boring like a desert. The other route was frightening but potentially full of breathtaking beauty.
Willow, the careful sister, wanted to take the frightening, beautiful route.
Voice mail to Joe Stewart:
Hi, Mr. Stewart. It’s Lisa from Oncology Associates calling. I haven’t heard from you about rescheduling that appointment you missed, so I was hoping to catch you so that we could set up a time. Please return my call when you’re able.
Text message from Nora to Willow:
Nora
In 1977, Foster Holt owned two vacation properties in addition to his residence in Redmond. He owned a condo in Breckenridge, Colorado. And he owned a house in Laguna Beach, California.
Condolence notes inside wooden box:
From Mexico:
I’m heartbroken to hear about your loss. Que Dios les bendiga.
From Alaska:
I’m praying your daughter and sister and wife comes home to you safe and sound. Don’t give up hope.
From Canada:
So very sorry. Thinking of you.
Chapter
Sixteen
Britt Bradford had been dreading this day.
Today was the day of Zander’s departure.
Ever since he’d given his two weeks’ notice at work, he’d been moving the possessions he wanted to keep into storage, moving the clothes he wanted to take with him into a single suitcase, and selling the rest. Britt had helped him clear the last of his furniture out of his apartment yesterday. As depressing as it had been to stand in his familiar apartment that had become unfamiliar with its blank walls and stained carpeting, this day was worse.
She’d picked him up this morning at his aunt and uncle’s. The couple lived in a modest house that had been Zander and his older brother’s residence while they were in high school.
Zander had been living at his aunt and uncle’s place for all of six weeks the day Britt had met him, their freshman year at Merryweather High. At the time, he’d been withdrawn, furtive, hurting. His silence had bristled with hostility.
The fourteen-year-old girl Britt had been back then had liked him instantly.
He’d made her work to earn his friendship, which had been a first for her. During her childhood and adolescence, most of her peers had worked to earn her friendship.
She’d succeeded at winning Zander over through persistence and, she liked to think, charm. The weeks she’d invested in befriending Zander had paid incredible dividends because for the past eleven years he’d been one of her closest friends.
Once he’d said good-bye to his aunt and uncle, she’d driven him to Bradfordwood where Willow, Nora, Valentina, and Grandma had gathered to feed him a farewell breakfast.
Valentina, in typical Valentina fashion, had stuffed them all with Russian pancakes called oladi, plus sausage and fried eggs. It had been odd, the atmosphere at breakfast. It wasn’t easy to feel celebratory over someone’s departure. You wanted to be happy for them. At the same time, you couldn’t help but feel sad for yourself.
Her sisters, Grandma, and Valentina had all done a better job of merrymaking than she had. But then, none of them loved Zander like she did. None of them were Zander’s best friend like she was.
His flight departed in three hours, and they’d reach SeaTac in just minutes. She’d insisted on driving him to the airport, but man, what a gloomy duty this was. She felt like a coachman steering a horse-drawn hearse.
She cut a glance in Zander’s direction. He looked over and met her eyes, his demeanor more subdued than usual.
“Is any part of you nervous about this big trip you’re about to take?” she asked.
“No.”
“What is it, then?”
“It’s . . . hard to leave the people I love. That’s all.”
“It’s not too late to change your mind, you know. I can say with complete selfishness that I’ll support you fully if you decide to stay.”
Asphalt hummed beneath them. She and Zander had become accustomed to quiet spaces between them years ago.
“I’m not going to change my mind,” he said. He’d decided to explore England first, then Ireland, before traveling to the European mainland. After that, possibly Asia. Followed by Australia. He was leaving Washington to have the time of his life. “I need to do this.”
She didn’t have to ask him why he needed to do this. She knew why. They’d talked and talked about his decision to quit his job and put the advance his publisher had given him for his upcoming book toward travel. Zander had seen almost nothing of the world, and he wanted to enlarge his boundaries. He also wanted to prove his independence and strength and creativity to himself.
She understood. It would be incredibly hypocritical of her to pretend she didn’t understand, since she had lived overseas for two years. After she completed her degree at the Culinary Institute of America at Greystone, she’d gone straight to France to study under master chocolatiers. She’d loved her time abroad and was better for it, so she couldn’t begrudge him the same experience.
Her dad had driven this same route the day he’d taken her to the airport to catch her flight to France. Her mom had sat in the passenger seat, and she and Zander had sat in the backseat, side by side. She’d been caught up in excitement and jitters that day. If she’d been distressed to part from them, or if they’d been distressed to part from her, she couldn’t remember it.
“Just go ahead and pull up to the gate,” he said as they drove onto airport property.
“I was planning to park and walk you in.”
“No, it’s okay.”
“Boo.”
“Just pull up to the gate, Britt.”
Low-level panic began to swirl within her. She’d anticipated staying with him until he passed through the security checkpoint. But he didn’t want her to do that, apparently. He’d never liked long, drawn-out good-byes.
She came to a stop in front of the terminal that housed his airline. The bright red curb and the signs loudly proclaimed Loading and Unloading Only! No Parking at Any Time. She helped him lift his suitcase and carry-on from her trunk.
He turned to her. She stilled.
Wind tipped with cold and car exhaust brushed past them. The conversations of nearby passengers mingled with the roar of a departing plane.
/> His blue eyes smoldered with seriousness. “Thank you.”
He was thanking her for the ride, and the elbow grease she’d donated to his big move over the last few weeks. “You’re welcome.” In his expression, she saw that he was also, perhaps, thanking her for their long friendship.
Fear niggled inside her. It wasn’t like this was the last time they’d ever see each other. They had many years of friendship still ahead of them, God willing. “Promise me that when you’re done traveling, you’ll come back,” she said.
“I can’t make that pr—”
“Promise me,” she said sternly. “Otherwise, I’m not going to let you leave. I’ll toss that suitcase and carry-on back into my trunk and push you in after them.”
A tiny smile fractured his somber mood. “Is that a threat?”
“Yes. It absolutely is.”
“I’d like to see you try to get my luggage and me into your car against my will.”
She called his bluff by reaching for his carry-on. He caught her wrist and chuckled as he guided her back into a standing position.
“I’d rather promise to come back than fight you for my luggage,” he said.
“That’s what I thought.” She sniffed. “Then go ahead. Promise.” He’d never broken a promise to her.
He regarded her steadily. “I’ll come back one day.”
“Good. You know how much I like to get my way.” A passerby gave her empty car a worried look. It was sitting at the curb, idling, and she needed to return to it before someone either stole it or reported it to airport security. “I better go. . . .”
He nodded, and she stepped forward to hug him. His arms banded around her tightly. One second melted into two, then three. “Bye, Zander,” she whispered. “Have fun on your big adventure.” She straightened.
“I’ll miss you.” He looked like he wanted to say more. But he held the words back.
“I’ll miss you, too. Now go.” She tossed a false smile over her shoulder and strode toward her car.
Her lungs seemed to have both tightened and turned to fire. Once inside, she shifted into drive and pulled away. She watched him in her rearview mirror. He hadn’t moved to grab his suitcase and carry-on. He stood motionless amid the hubbub, arms at his sides, watching her go.
Her days were going to be far blander and lonelier and less interesting until he returned.
Change was challenging.
Change hurt.
Willow excused herself in the middle of Grandma’s Sunday afternoon book club, ostensibly to visit the restroom. In actuality, she’d excused herself in order to seize a few minutes of vacation from Grandma’s book club. And to text Corbin.
Nora unearthed information on two vacation properties that Foster Holt owned in 1977, she typed. Hitting send, she leaned against the inside of the bathroom door and soaked in the quiet.
Grandma had asked Willow to attend her book club meeting more than a week ago. “When I learned you were coming to stay in Merryweather,” Grandma had said, “I’d so hoped that you and I would get to spend a great deal of time together. But it’s seemed to me that you’ve been too busy for that. With Kathleen and Garner gone, this has been a difficult time for me.”
Grandma had explained that she felt obligated to attend her book club meeting this month because it was at Eleanor’s house, and Eleanor was always so eager to please despite the fact that she had very little cooking talent and no inkling that linen napkins needed to be ironed. “I need someone to come with me, Willow. To be on my side. I’m very much afraid the group won’t feel the same way that I do about that awful book Eleanor picked for us to read.”
So here Willow was.
As it turned out, every single person, including Eleanor, felt the same way that Grandma did about the book. They all loathed it.
Willow had spent the last hour sitting on a folding chair in Eleanor’s formal living room, daydreaming about Corbin and yesterday’s grand date while the ladies called into question the author’s morals, writing ability, and relationship with Jesus.
Corbin, take me away!
Her phone binged. I think Nora’s information calls for an emergency Operation Find Josephine meeting this afternoon, Corbin’s text read.
Nora’s information isn’t earth-shattering enough to merit an emergency meeting.
Of course it is. We can’t rest until Josephine’s mystery is solved.
His message wheedled a smile from her. I’m with my grandmother at her book club. After this, I’ll be taking her back to Bradfordwood, where she left her car.
When?
An hour from now?
I’ll see you there.
You’ll bring Charlotte?
Who?
Charlotte, your relative, the girl who is the reason for our involvement in Josephine’s mystery.
Oh, right. Five feet tall? Bad taste in music?
That’s the one.
I’ll call Jill to see if Charlotte’s free.
Willow left the bathroom and returned to the book club’s airing-of-grievances, fortified with the knowledge that she’d be seeing Corbin again soon. Less than twenty-four hours had passed since their date. It was probably unwise to see him today. It was probably unwise to look forward to seeing him as much as she was.
Probably. And yet, when she caught sight of Corbin’s Navigator parked on the curb outside Bradfordwood’s gate, she experienced an espresso-like energy rush.
“Who’s that?” Grandma asked.
“Corbin Stewart and Charlotte Dixon.”
“Do I know these people?”
“You met Corbin a few months ago.” Corbin’s car followed Willow’s up the long drive to the house.
“Is he the handsome one?”
“Yes.”
“Too handsome for his own good, as I recall. Who’s Charlotte?”
“The girl I told you about who asked me to help her research her great-aunt’s disappearance. That’s what we’re meeting about today.”
Willow helped Grandma down from the Range Rover. They made their way toward Corbin and Charlotte, who were already walking in their direction.
Corbin wore battered jeans and a waffle-knit shirt he’d pushed up at the forearms. He looked effortlessly casual and just a little bit rumpled, and Willow could all but hear his legions of female fans sighing.
She performed introductions.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Corbin said to Grandma.
“Likewise.” Grandma employed the tone one would use to say scoundrel. “What do you do for a living?”
“At the moment I’m renovating my house.”
Grandma’s nostrils flared with displeasure. She’d never earned a paycheck in her life. She’d gone straight from the care of her mother and father to the care of her husband. When he’d died young, Grandma’s father-in-law had provided for her luxuriously during his lifetime and to this day via a trust fund. Grandma had no right to judge Corbin. However, having no right to judge had never acted as a speed bump for her in the past.
“Corbin’s retired,” Charlotte said.
“Retired?” Grandma asked.
“He used to play football,” Charlotte said. “He’s sort of rich.”
Grandma would go into anaphylactic shock if she had any idea of Corbin’s net worth.
“And some people think he’s famous.” Charlotte shrugged in a way that communicated there’s no accounting for taste.
“What football team did you play on?” Grandma asked Corbin.
“What football team do you like, Mrs. Burke?”
“My husband used to support the Washington State Cougars.”
“That’s the team I played for.”
“Corbin!” Willow laughed. “No it’s not.” To Grandma she said, “He played for an NFL team called the Mustangs.”
“I’m sorry that I never had a chance to play for the team your husband supported, Mrs. Burke,” Corbin said. “I’d have liked to have met him. If he was married to you, then he mu
st’ve been a wonderful man.”
That was completely over the top. Grandma’s face creased with condemnation, and Willow waited for her to lash Corbin with the sharp side of her tongue.
Instead, inexplicably, the older lady smiled. “You’re an ornery rascal. I can tell.”
“Yes,” Corbin admitted.
“He’s not to be trusted, Willow.” Affection marked Grandma’s usually sour expression.
“No,” Willow said. “He’s not to be trusted.”
“Where can I appeal this decision?” Corbin asked.
“Grandma doesn’t grant appeals.” Willow walked Grandma to her Oldsmobile, waved her off, then escorted Charlotte and Corbin to Bradfordwood’s den, which opened to the kitchen and overlooked the emerald swath of grass leading down to the dock.
“Can I get you anything to eat or drink?” Willow asked. The pink haze of infatuation she’d existed in yesterday had returned, though she tried not to let it show. Charlotte had the eyes and ears of a fox.
For his part, Corbin was not being terribly subtle. Since his arrival, he’d been following her with his gaze and giving her a small, knowing smile every time she peeked in his direction.
“I can offer you popcorn,” Willow continued. “Fruit? Almonds?”
“No thanks,” Corbin said. “I’m not here for the food.”
The timbre of his voice assured her he wasn’t here to work on Josephine’s case, either. Don’t look at him, Willow. She could feel a blush threatening.
“Well, I am here partly for the food,” Charlotte announced. “Popcorn sounds great.”
“Coming right up.” Willow popped a bag of microwave popcorn, dumped it into a ceramic bowl, and set it on the coffee table.
Charlotte grabbed a handful of popcorn and ate it while looking back and forth between them. “Why are you smiling at Willow like that?” she asked Corbin.
“No reason.”
The girl frowned at him doubtfully, then opened her notebook and clicked her pen. “What’s happened that’s so important that you called an emergency meeting?”
