Things always looked different in the light.
Because last night, she might have actually agreed with Sophia about Oliver’s eyes on her. She’d felt a warmth, like the soft glow of sunrise, from his gaze. When she’d look his way, there was this quiet connection between them—like he understood her.
Of course, this morning she felt nothing but foolish. How could he understand her? They’d met a grand total of two times.
With quick steps, she found two more books and hauled her load back to the counter, glancing at the clock as she passed. The shop was set to open in forty-five minutes, and after helping Sophia here, Joy had to make numerous phone calls to confirm vendors. Enough thinking. They’d better get cracking.
Sophia’s hands waited by the printer to snatch a label as it slid out. “I didn’t get a chance last night to ask how your parents are doing.”
At least she’d changed the subject. Though a supportive friend, Sophia had never understood Joy’s acceptance of the single life. A few years ago, she’d even threatened to create a profile for her on an online dating site. Thankfully, Joy’s stink eye had been enough to scare Sophia away from that scheme.
“Mom actually had a good day yesterday. So that was encouraging.” Joy slid the books she’d collected onto the front desk then snagged the order list.
“Did they say anything else about the possibility of assisted living?”
“Thank goodness, no.” Inspecting the order list, Joy grabbed the first corresponding book then slid it inside a mailer envelope. She located the right printed label and stuck it onto the front of the package.
“Do you think they’re still considering it?”
The heater clicked on, whirring somewhere above them. “I hope not.” She secured the mailer closed.
“Why don’t you want them to move? I know you’ll miss living with them, but. . . . ”
“It’s more than that. Why should they pay thousands of dollars to get the same care I can give?” She pushed away the nagging thought that the levels of care were not as alike as she wished she could claim.
That if her mom had been in a facility with constant professional attention to begin with, she’d never have broken her hip.
“But don’t you think it may be good for all of you to have your own space? And for your mom to get some specialized care?” Putting down the book she was holding, Sophia rounded the counter and clasped Joy’s hand between her own two. “You’re wonderful, Joy, but you have a PhD in counseling, not medicine. And don’t you miss working? You are so talented and you’ve helped so many people.”
“Of course I miss working, but it’s just not an option right now. I’m still helping others—my parents.” Joy squeezed Sophia’s hands and tilted her head, forcing a grin. “I’ve just found a different path, like you have.”
“Yeah, but this path makes me come alive.” Sophia’s eyes roamed the bookstore, taking in the books, smiling at them like treasured friends. Her gaze rambled back to lock onto Joy, penetrating deeper than anyone else’s ever could. “Yours . . . well, I think it may be breaking you. I know better than anyone how difficult circumstances can change us, but I worry that yours are dragging you down, and you won’t fight it because you feel like you’re supposed to go down with the ship.”
Joy’s lips trembled. “They’re my parents.”
“I know, friend. But this . . . I think maybe it’s beyond you.”
“No, it’s because of me.” The words popped out before she could stop them. Boo for Sophia and her insightful heart.
“What do you mean?”
Joy pulled away. She had to busy her hands. Now. She snagged the next book and started packaging it.
Sophia rounded the counter and worked alongside Joy in silence. Waited.
Her friend had experienced heartache Joy couldn’t imagine, yet she hadn’t allowed it to turn her bitter. She’d found a way through the pain, the mess.
And she’d allowed Joy to walk with her through it.
Why did Joy have such trouble allowing Sophia to do the same for her?
She picked up an old copy of Sense & Sensibility, brought it to her nose, and inhaled the musty-but-not-in-any-way-disgusting smell of paper and ink that had been forged with story. Sophia believed the written word could heal.
And Joy knew from experience the spoken ones could too.
“It’s because of me that Dad wants to move Mom into assisted living.”
Sophia’s hands stilled and she turned toward Joy, eyes filling with her trademark compassion.
Joy took a breath and continued. “It was my day to be with Mom. Dad was exhausted so I told him to run errands, see his doctor, do whatever he needed to do. That we’d be fine.” Joy’s thumb ran from the bottom to the top pages along the open edge of the book in her hand.
After she was quiet for half a minute, Sophia tucked her hair behind her ears and softly prodded. “What happened?”
Joy set the book down again. “I guess I was more tired than I thought.” Memories of that day flooded in, and the story flowed from her lips.
The terror she’d felt at waking from an unintended nap to find her mother vanished. The mounting panic when Mom was missing for one hour, then two, then five. The overwhelming relief at getting a call from the police that they’d found her nearly a mile away—but then the crashing weight of guilt when they told her that, just before being discovered, Mom had stepped off a curb.
She’d broken her hip from the fall and been scheduled for surgery the next morning.
Joy couldn’t wipe away the remembrance of her mother’s whimpers of pain in the following weeks as she’d recovered, of her mother’s confusion over her physical limitations and surroundings, especially once she’d been moved into the skilled nursing facility where she now resided.
“Oh, Joy.” Sophia’s arms came around her, and her friend’s tears dripped onto her neck. Or maybe those were Joy’s own.
Finally, Sophia released her hold and snagged a box of tissues from under the counter. She pulled one out for herself and offered the box to Joy, who grabbed a tissue and wiped her eyes.
Her friend studied her. “Do you remember what you told me time and time again when I blamed myself for David’s abuse?”
“That it wasn’t your fault.”
“Yes.” Sophia balled the tissue in her fist. “And it’s not yours either.”
“It’s different, though. This is my responsibility. My privilege. And I’m so afraid . . .”
“Of not being needed?”
“What? No.” Joy paused. “Maybe. I don’t know.” She looked down at her hands. Little flecks of white tissue stuck to her damp fingertips.
“Joy, you’re always taking care of other people. It’s who you are. But you also need to take care of yourself.”
How many times had she preached that same thought to her clients? Joy sighed. “I recognize that. But I have no idea how in this case. Doing one kind of negates the other.”
“I can see how you might feel that way, but I think it’s still possible.”
“How?”
“First, by telling yourself the truth. Fight against the notion that you’re to blame for all of this. Alzheimer’s is an unfortunate part of life, and I can’t imagine how hard it is to watch your mom and dad go through that. Is it okay to embrace the sadness of the situation? To be angered by the injustice of it? Yes, of course. But don’t take on guilt that you weren’t meant to wear.”
The ever-empathetic Sophia sniffled and her voice shook. “And second, maybe do something small for yourself. You could apply for a few jobs, just to see what happens.”
“I don’t know . . .”
“Well, I do.” That stubborn lift of Sophia’s chin reminded Joy a bit of herself when she knew she was right about something. “And I also know that we can’t see all the doors opened to us if we aren’t looking or only focus on the path we’ve set before ourselves. Look around, friend. Explore. See what’s out there.”
&
nbsp; That seemed impossible. Still . . . “You’re right.”
“Yes, I am.” Sophia’s eyes sparked. “And I’m not just talking about a job, you know.”
Of course she wasn’t.
Visions from last night replayed in Joy’s mind. Of Oliver watching her as she’d joked with Sophia. Of his quiet smile that communicated so much more than a loud laugh ever could. Of the way her stomach had bottomed out when he’d leaned down to hug her goodnight.
It’d been a quick embrace—that of a new friend—but it had nearly knocked her off her feet. Again.
There was no denying she was attracted to him, but how did he feel? And what did it matter? She was leaving here before the year was up, going back to her parents who needed her.
Her path was set and no amount of Hallmark-laced notions of romance would change that.
Joy screwed her face into an appropriate glare and tossed her tissue at Sophia’s face. “Hey, I’m supposed to be the older, much wiser friend, remember? Stop telling me what to do.” She winked then turned to snatch the mailing labels from the printer. “Now, let’s finish up here, or you’re never going to get all of these mailed today.”
Her friend opened her mouth as if to say something then snapped it shut. Shaking her head, she joined Joy in packaging the last of the orders.
Chapter 6
Out here, her troubles seemed far away.
The ocean roared in her ears as Joy walked with arms outstretched, shoulders back—finally loosened. Her fingertips skimmed the tall brown grass as she headed up the hill toward the lighthouse that stood sentinel over Port Willis.
After picking up some peanut butter fudge from Betty’s Fudge Shoppe for the bachelorette party the next night, Joy’s feet—and, she supposed, her heart—had led her here.
Here, where the darkening sky of late afternoon met the grassy bluffs that boasted a picturesque view of the foamy Atlantic waters. Joy stopped and veered off the dirt path just slightly, stepping close to the cliff’s edge and peering down. More white than blue, the water swirled close to the rocky land below.
Gray clouds rolled across the horizon, gathering like soldiers ready to march. It looked like rain might find her again, but having lived in Arizona for fifteen years before moving to Florida, she welcomed the moisture, loved the way it fed the beauty of the land around her.
Wind whipped her short hair back and forth across the tops of her ears, rendering her bobby pins useless.
But the cold outside couldn’t match the warmth inside her. The day had been a busy one, with all the calls she’d made and errands she’d run for Sophia, so she hadn’t had much time to consider what her friend had suggested this morning at the bookstore. Now, though, she’d spent the one-mile walk from town to the lighthouse praying, seeking.
Sophia had always spoken of this place with reverence, saying it’s where she’d first started to hear God speaking to her again last year. And Joy could believe it—here, away from the village, it was so quiet. Made it easier to listen. Easier to hear.
She still didn’t have any of the answers, but maybe that wasn’t the point.
Joy turned and continued her ascent toward the lighthouse. After the last rise, the land flattened and the lighthouse soared over her. The round tower structure jutted into the sky, the stark white calm of its bricks a contrast with the battering ocean that threw itself violently against the lighthouse’s outer walls.
As she approached, she noticed a wooden sign hung on the bright red door. Squinting in the waning light, she read its carved words.
Port Willis Lighthouse
Open sunrise to sunset
The lighthouse is no longer in service, but exploration is welcome so long as you have a care.
Please mind your step and enter at your own risk.
Maintained by the Port Willis Historical Society
Eyeing the clouds, Joy frowned. She should probably hurry back to the bookstore before the storm broke—Sophia undoubtedly could use her help with the last few hours of a fire sale—but something pulled her toward exploring, just as the sign had suggested.
Her friend’s words from this morning drifted back to her. Sophia was right—she was always taking care of others. Her heartbeat quickened just a bit at the thought of crossing the threshold into the lighthouse, of enjoying a few moments for herself.
Maybe just a quick looksie wouldn’t hurt. Still, she should let Sophia know she’d be along soon. Joy dug around in her canvas messenger bag, pushing aside the box of fudge before she finally found her phone. She snapped a picture of the lighthouse and shot Sophia a text. Then, after shoving the phone back inside her bag, she opened the door and stepped inside.
The air felt like it’d been trapped inside a freezer for weeks and only just released. Joy hurried toward the winding stone staircase. The bottom step was chipped, and no handrail guarded visitors from falling, though only ten to twenty steps were visible from below before they curved and connected with two walls on either side. This place had to be at least a hundred years old if not more.
She walked the steps, which were taller than most conventional ones. They clearly hadn’t considered short people when designing this lighthouse. Joy had to pause a few times when she got off balance from the strain of constant rising, but eventually the steps ended and a medium-sized watch room opened before her. Joy strode toward the huge window that seemed to take up the entire wall opposite the steps. From here, she could see tiny Port Willis nestled into the bluffs, its harbor outfitted with bobbing fishing boats of all colors and sizes.
As she turned her gaze toward the ocean, one large plink of rain turned into several and then hundreds within seconds. Waves rolled in from the outer rims of the ocean, higher than she’d seen in the three days she’d been here. Despite being encased in rock and steel and whatever else comprised the lighthouse, she heard the whistle and whine of the wind as it whisked between the cracks of the old place.
Joy placed her hand against the window, cold penetrating her skin. She closed her eyes and listened.
“Joy.”
Her eyes popped open and she turned to find Oliver standing at the top of the steps, drenched. His thick hair that had been neatly gelled in previous encounters now hung limp across his forehead in curled brown strands. Water fell from his slick black jacket onto the floor where he stood, panting slightly.
“Oliver.” Joy rushed toward him. “Are you all right?”
“Just a bit chilled is all.”
That had to be an understatement. “What are you doing here?”
His lips curved into a grin even as a shiver seemed to overtake him. “Rescuing you from the storm . . . or so I thought. But here you are, by all appearances perfectly dry and content.” He began to shrug out of his coat.
“Here.” She unzipped her parka, slipped it off, and offered it to him before he could protest.
He folded his coat and placed it over a railing underneath the window. Amusement lit his features. “You don’t think that will fit me, do you?”
“Well . . . it’s better than freezing.” Joy tilted up her chin in playful defiance.
“If I were freezing, that may be the case.” He waved his hand up and down his body, causing her to look at his clothing for the first time since he’d taken off the coat. Totally dry. His jacket must have been waterproof. “But it was nice of you to offer.”
“Oh. Right.” Her cheeks flamed as she put on her jacket. “And it was nice of you to come find me. But how did you know I was here?”
“I was in the bookstore shopping for my aunt when Sophia got your text. I volunteered to make sure you got home in one piece.”
He peered down at her, a look on his face she couldn’t quite define, just like she couldn’t define the twisting of her gut.
She was used to taking care of herself. And totally capable of doing so too. But having someone else looking out for her . . . she kind of liked it.
Joy shook away from his gaze and pivoted toward the window.
“I appreciate it. I know I should have headed back when I saw the storm coming, but I couldn’t resist coming up here. I’m glad I didn’t miss this view.”
Waves pounded against the window, joining the rain in a song with an irregular drumbeat.
“Cornwall is known for its epic storms. Storm watching is actually quite popular in the wintertime.” He eased beside her at the window, and his presence filtered heat her way.
“Whenever we get a big storm in Florida, we have to batten down the hatches, as they say. We’ve only had to board up for a hurricane one time while I’ve lived there, but I was just thankful it fizzled out before reaching us.”
Mom hadn’t done well during that one. Her shrieks of terror still reverberated in Joy’s consciousness.
“Not a good memory, I take it?”
Was she really that readable, or was he just that perceptive? Joy sighed. “No. My mother . . . well, it’s just difficult to switch roles with her. Going from clinging to her strength to being the rock in the storm.”
“I’m sorry for what you’re going through.” No platitudes, no advice. Just sympathetic words that did more to soothe her heart than he could know.
Her chin quivered and Joy exhaled. “She’s always loved storms, my mom. When I was young, she’d come to my room and wake me in the middle of the night, get me all gathered up in blankets, and take me to this big picture window we had. The lightning would zing across the sky, and the thunder would rumble, and my mom would say, ‘Look at how powerful our God is. You never have to be afraid of anything because there’s not a lightning bolt he doesn’t know about, not a drop of rain he doesn’t allow to fall.’” Joy fought against the tears. “But guess what? I’m afraid.”
Like a Winter Snow Page 4