That morning and every one that followed, Alfonso and I were up before dawn. We spent every day together, working the herd. My headaches didn’t ease up, despite the medication I took. I woke every morning in pain. I’d thought I’d adjust to the altitude change, but as time passed, I realized it wasn’t going to happen. As best I could, I ignored the discomfort and listened to his stories.
As the weeks passed, I wrote what I’d learned and tried to understand how Alfonso’s life and the lives of the other alpaca herders were changing due to weather and climate change. It was an education.
He explained that the differences in temperature and precipitation caused frequent large storms. We endured two while I was with him. The wind howled with thunder and lightning as rain pelted the earth. One result was less grass for the animals. The topsoil eroded with the storms. The thick ice meant the alpacas couldn’t break through to eat the grass. Life was hard with or without climate change, but the challenges were more intense now than ever before. The herders were leaving, migrating into the cities, and what had once been their way of life was quickly vanishing from the landscape.
Each night as I crawled into my bed, surrounded by alpaca fiber and skins that were stacked in every spare bit of space in the tiny house, I dreamed of Willa and Oceanside. I’d never experienced a deeper sense of homesickness as I did on this trip. The primitive conditions and the constant headaches made the lure of home all the stronger.
CHAPTER 11
Willa
Sean had been gone ten days, and odd as it was, I felt like part of me was missing. I barely knew him, apparently even less than I thought I did. When Lucas excitedly announced Sean had played professional baseball, I’d been convinced it was a different Sean O’Malley. It had to be. This was something he should have, would have, told me. I assumed. Assumed wrong.
In all the lengthy conversations we’d shared, when we’d joked and laughed together, not once had Sean mentioned his time in the pros. Not. Once. For several days after I heard the news, I’d reeled, wavering between disappointment and hurt. This steady-dating business was new to me, and the fact that he was keeping secrets didn’t bode well for a meaningful relationship.
Other than a few text messages and one email I’d gotten after he landed in Bolivia, I hadn’t heard from him. He’d explained he’d be out of coverage and that I shouldn’t expect him to email or text. The first few days I was upset and grateful he was away. I needed time to think this through.
My mistake came when I decided to look him up on the Internet myself. The Sean O’Malley I found looked nothing like the Sean I’d come to know. I squinted at the photo and found it hard to believe this was my Sean. The photo was a classic baseball pose, with him leaning against a baseball bat. Everything about the picture spoke of arrogance. His look said it all: I’m talented. I’m handsome. I’m rich.
And you’re not.
I must have been seeking ways to punish myself, because I went on a search to find what I could about his romantic entanglements. It didn’t take much effort to dig up a photo of him with some girl named Nikki, who looked like a model. She was stunning. Not only was she beautiful, but tall, with a perfectly proportioned body along with boobs a stripper would envy. She knew it, too. Her cocky smile said as much. As far as I could see, they were a perfect couple.
When it came to men and relationships, I wasn’t drowning in self-confidence. Anything but. Sean played in the majors. I wasn’t qualified for Little League. Maybe not even T-ball. Finding another photo of Nikki with Sean’s arm wrapped around her caused me to suck in my breath and wrap my thin sweater more tightly around me, as if suddenly thrust into below-zero weather.
Wanting to know what had happened, I found the video where Sean hurled himself into home base, collided with the catcher, and blew out his knee. I held a hand over my mouth and cried out when I watched the aftermath as the medical staff rushed to his aid. He’d been in horrific pain. A sports magazine followed up with an article about this being a career-ending injury. That must have been when Sean turned to photography. Naturally, I wondered what had become of Nikki, and then decided I’d rather not know.
Sean and his secrets weren’t the only concerns that plagued me. Harper was scheduled to go into Seattle for her six-month checkup. We decided to drive into the city together, as Chantelle wanted us to look over the bridesmaid dresses she’d designed for the two of us.
“I want to do something different with my hair,” Harper mentioned as we climbed in the car and headed for the big city. Alice and Shirley were covering Bean There. We scheduled the outing for Wednesday, as that was my slowest day of the week. Harper insisted on driving, and I was happy to turn the wheel over to her.
“What are you thinking?” I asked. Before cancer, Harper’s hair had been gloriously long. It was as straight as a board and fell halfway down the middle of her back. After her first chemo treatment, she’d started to lose it, hair falling out by the handfuls. I’d shed more tears over it than Harper had. As the oncologist had promised, it came back, but strangely it had returned in tight curls. It was shoulder length and she often wore it up in a loose bun on the top of her head. She looked adorable and I hated to see her fuss with it.
“I’m thinking of cutting it.”
“Okay.”
Harper snickered. “Not asking your permission.”
“I know.”
“You’re such a mother. You should marry Sean and have half a dozen kids.”
My smile was decidedly forced.
“Don’t give me that look. You’ll be a wonderful mother. Look at all the practice you’ve had.”
She wasn’t wrong there. How I wished I could have been a normal, carefree teenager.
Halfway into the two-and-a-half-hour drive, my sister glanced over at me, shook her head. “Would you stop.”
“Stop what?” I hadn’t been doing anything.
“Worrying. You’re like this every time I go in to have my blood tested. I’m feeling great. I’ve had three good years. If it turns out the cancer is back, then it’s back. We’ll deal with it the same as before and thank God for the extra years I had.”
She was right. I’d been stewing about this upcoming blood draw for days. Learning what I had about Sean didn’t help put my mind at ease, either.
“I’m always nervous when it comes to your blood tests.”
“Remember when you gave me your bone marrow?”
That wasn’t something I was likely to forget. “Of course I remember.”
“We’re about as different as any two sisters can be, and yet you were a perfect match. Your bone marrow saved my life. Doesn’t that tell you something?”
“Ah, no, what is that supposed to mean?”
Harper’s smile was huge. “I am as healthy as you are. Now smile, we’re going to have a fabulous day. We’ll be in and out of the hospital in less than an hour, then we’re meeting Chantelle for lunch and looking at dress designs. Personally, I can’t think of a better way to spend my afternoon.”
My sister was correct. I had no right playing the role of Atlas, carting the weight of the world upon my shoulders. Harper herself claimed she’d never felt better. I was smothering her natural enthusiasm for life with my worries, unable to hide them from her or from anyone.
“I love that she chose burgundy as her wedding color,” I said, changing the subject to something more pleasant. “It’s perfect for December.” When I thought about Lucas and Chantelle marrying, my spirits lifted. It did me good to see my brother move forward with his life.
“I love it, too,” Harper agreed. “Have you ever thought about what colors you’d want for your wedding?”
Good question. “I need to find a groom before I think about a color scheme.” I could see Harper was about to say something. I cut her off before she did. “What about you?”
“Lilac. I’ve
always loved that color and the flowers, too,” she said dreamily.
“You’ll make a beautiful bride.”
“You too, big sister.”
“Just not yet.”
Harper sighed. “Not yet for me, either. One thing I know for sure. There’s someone out there for you.”
“And you,” I countered.
She took the next exit and that was the end of our conversation.
* * *
—
Harper was right. It took far less time than I imagined for her blood draw. The waiting was the worst, and that took anywhere from three to six hours before we could get the results. If any abnormality showed, the doctor would phone that day. The longer we waited for a report, the less chance there was a problem.
Chantelle was sitting at a table when we arrived at the restaurant. She chose Mediterranean cuisine because it was healthy and tasty, and because Harper was a bit of a health nut and had been since her bout with cancer.
My sister had her phone on the outside of her purse. Despite all my efforts, I kept glancing at it every few minutes, willing it not to ring.
“I have the sketches of the dresses I designed for you,” Chantelle said as soon as we’d placed our order. “While the colors are the same, I have a different style for each. My sister gave the go-ahead for her maid of honor dress. Once I get your approval, I’ll start on yours.”
She handed each of us a sketch to look over. My dress was a classic, floor length, with long sleeves and a deep V-neck. It was simple and beautiful, more of a deep rust-red than burgundy.
“What do you think?” Chantelle asked anxiously.
I couldn’t stop looking at the design. “It’s perfect.”
Harper showed me her design and it was strikingly different. Three-quarter length, full skirt, flaring out from her waist. The top was similar to mine, with small changes. Each dress fit our personalities to a T.
“Love it,” Harper said.
“Then it’s a go?”
“Oh yes.” I hoped my brother appreciated how lucky he was to be marrying Chantelle.
The call with the test results came on the ride home. Harper’s phone pealed as we neared Tacoma.
“Answer it,” Harper said. “You can pretend you’re me. The assistant won’t know the difference.”
“You’re sure?” This was sooner than I’d hoped, which made me uncomfortable.
“Answer the damn phone,” she barked.
“Okay, okay.” I reached for it, my hand pressing so hard against the case that I feared my fingers would leave indentation marks. “Hello, this is Harper Lakey.” I swear I held my breath for the entire conversation, which thankfully was brief. I got the report and set the phone down.
“Well?” Harper asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
She’d been as concerned as me, although she hadn’t shown it until now. She’d fooled me.
“Everything looks good. There’s no sign of leukemia.”
Her sigh was strong enough to blow out all the candles on a retiree’s birthday cake. “Told you,” she said with a short laugh that I easily recognized as relief.
“Yes, you did,” I said, unable to keep the happiness out of my own voice.
That night I slept better than I had since Sean left for Bolivia. That didn’t mean I missed him any less, because I did miss him terribly. Despite everything I’d learned, my thoughts were constantly wrapped up in him.
* * *
—
The following afternoon, I decided to check on Bandit. I knew Logan was taking good care of him. What concerned me was how, once again, Bandit had been abandoned by his owner. Just as he was beginning to adjust to his new home, everything had changed.
Teresa Hoffert’s house was less than half a mile from my own, so I decided to head there after my walk along the beach. To my delight, I saw Logan out front, tossing a ball to Bandit and another mixed-breed dog of about the same size. I remembered Sean telling me that Keaton had given the boy a puppy a few years back.
“Hey, Logan,” I called to him as I approached the front yard. “How’s it going?”
He tossed the ball and then turned his attention to me. “Okay, I guess. Mom’s home.”
“Actually, I came to see Bandit.”
Hearing his name, Bandit noticed me and immediately ran to the gate. Logan held it open for me to pass through. Bandit was on his haunches, looking up with dark, sad eyes.
“Oh Bandit,” I whispered, and bent down to wrap my arms around his neck. “I miss him, too.”
Bandit gave a low bark as if he understood.
“He hasn’t been eating much,” Teresa said, stepping onto the front porch.
I’d been worried how Bandit would handle having Sean away for this long. It appeared he wasn’t doing any better than I was.
“How about a glass of iced tea?” Teresa offered. She was cordial, always welcoming.
I nodded, appreciating the offer. Sitting on the top porch step, I looked out over the area, silently inviting Sean’s dog to join me. Bandit slowly wandered to my side and placed his head in my lap. I gently petted him and offered reassurances while Teresa went after the tea.
“Logan, bring out his food dish,” I suggested, hoping Bandit would feel more like eating when he was with someone familiar.
Logan went into the house and returned with a silver dog bowl filled with dry dog food. He set it down on the pathway. Bandit briefly looked at the food and then returned his head to my lap.
“I wish I could bring you home with me,” I whispered, running my fingers through his short fur. Harper and I were already risking being evicted by giving Snowball a home. A dog, any dog, no matter what size, wouldn’t go unnoticed.
“Maybe you could stop by again,” Logan suggested.
“I will.”
Teresa brought out the cold drink and sat with me. We talked for several minutes and she mentioned she missed seeing me at Bean There on Wednesday.
“Harper and I were in Seattle.” I explained the reason and the good news about Harper and my brother.
“How’s your dad doing?”
Teresa had known my mother and what happened to Dad after her death. “The same. We don’t hear from him much.”
I’d reached out to Dad a couple of times since our dinner and left voicemails. I’d called with Harper’s test results and hadn’t heard back. I was afraid he was drinking again. That fear was always in the back of my mind.
Teresa nodded knowingly. I recalled she’d been married to a man with drinking problems. She understood.
“It is what it is,” I said, knowing Dad would eventually sober up. That was his pattern. He’d go days and often weeks without a drink and then something would happen to cause him to reach for a bottle. I didn’t need to guess what it was this time. He knew it was time for Harper to have her blood tested.
“I don’t know what your family would have done without you,” Teresa told me.
I chose to ignore the compliment. I’d done only what was necessary. Taking care of my family wasn’t a job I sought or even wanted. Given the opportunity, I would have done anything to escape the responsibility.
Thirty minutes later I left Teresa and Logan with the promise to return soon. Bandit walked me to the gate and then followed the fence line as far as he could as I left. Seeing the sadness in his eyes nearly broke my heart.
Harper wasn’t at the apartment when I returned. Snowball was sleeping on my bed. That cat refused to accept that she belonged to my sister, not me. I noticed that her food dish was empty and filled it.
The front door opened, and Harper called out, “Close your eyes.”
“What?”
“You heard me. I won’t come in until you turn around and close your eyes.”
“Why?” If she’d brought ano
ther kitten home, I was putting my foot down.
“You’ll see in a minute. Now do it.”
Grumbling under my breath, I followed her instructions. “Can I look now?”
“Not yet.”
She was giddy, almost as if she’d been drinking, which I knew she’d never do.
“Remember that I wanted to do something different with my hair.”
“I remember.”
“Okay, you can look.”
Dropping my hands, I turned around to find my sister had done something different, all right. Her hair was a silver/lavender shade. My mouth hung open with surprise.
“Well, what do you think?” she asked, and then added, “John likes it.”
I had no words and so I started to giggle.
“You don’t like it?” Harper was hurt.
“I do like it. Harper, it’s fabulous. I love it.”
Her shoulders relaxed. “I knew you would. We should do the same for you as a surprise for Sean when he comes back.”
I waved my hands. “Not happening, but on you it’s perfect.”
Sean. He couldn’t return to Oceanside soon enough to suit me.
CHAPTER 12
Sean
My flight landed in Seattle and I couldn’t get back to Oceanside fast enough. Who was I kidding? This was all about seeing Willa. I should be thinking about sleeping in my own bed, taking a lengthy shower, and eating food that was digestible. I didn’t know that I would ever be able to look at guinea pigs the same way again. While the comforts of home certainly called to me, seeing Willa held far more appeal.
I hadn’t texted or phoned her when I landed in La Paz or when I changed planes in Atlanta before catching the flight back to Seattle. Any conversation was sure to include my past, and that needed to happen when we were face-to-face. The hours it took to return from Bolivia were sluggish. I couldn’t remember any twenty-hour period in my life that passed slower. I felt an urgency to explain myself, to clear the air, and prayed she wouldn’t hold my reluctance to share my past against me.
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