by Irene Hannon
“Mr. Callahan?”
“None other.” The older gent moved behind the counter. “Let me guess. Nathaniel Garrison. Or Nate now, so Lindsey tells me.”
“None other.”
The man chuckled and extended his hand, showing none of the wariness his daughter had exhibited on Nate’s first visit. “Welcome back to Starfish Bay. And it’s Jack. Being addressed as mister by another adult makes me feel old.”
Smiling, he returned Jack’s firm grip. “Thank you. It’s nice to be back.”
“Hey, Lindsey, look who’s here!”
At Jack’s announcement, Nate shifted toward the duo again. Lindsey turned and leaned sideways. The light spilling in from the large front window drew attention to faint, half-moon shadows beneath her eyes and a pair of vertical creases above her nose that hadn’t been there two days ago. He lifted his hand. Lindsey responded, then settled back into her chair, out of sight.
Not the warmest greeting he’d ever received.
“The sisters treating you okay at the Orchid?”
He refocused on Jack. “Like a son.”
Jack grinned and propped a hip on the stool behind the counter. “That I can believe. They like to take care of people. When I broke my hip, they were at the house twice a day, like clockwork, delivering meals until Lindsey finished up the school year and could close things down in Sacramento. Have they baked you their famous cinnamon rolls yet?”
“No.” His mouth started to water.
“They will if you stay long enough. That’ll be a sure sign you’ve been adopted. Now what can I do for you today?”
“When I asked at the Orchid about internet connections, Genevieve pointed me here.” He lifted his laptop case. “And I wouldn’t mind trying a couple of those cookies. With some coffee.” He gestured toward the dome.
“We do have Wi-Fi. Lindsey’s idea. Make yourself at home over in the coffee nook. Also her idea.” He gestured toward the far corner of the store as he eased back to his feet, grasping the edge of the counter for a moment to steady himself. “And the cookies are great. Ginger today. You’ll like them.”
Nate rested an elbow on the high, antique counter. “So what’s going on back there?” He nodded to the coffee nook.
“A tutoring session. Jarrod’s been having some problems at school, and Lindsey offered to try and help get him up to speed before the fall session starts next month. He comes three days a week.” Jack deposited the cookies in a white sack and did a one-eighty toward the large urn on the back counter. “She was a teacher, you know.”
“Yes. She told me.”
Jack looked over his shoulder. “Is that right? You two must have had quite the conversation when you showed up Monday.”
“She told me later that night. I took a walk out to The Point and ran into her.”
“Room for cream?” Jack paused, hand on the dispensing lever.
“No. I take it black.”
“I kind of figured that.” He filled it to the brim, snapped on a plastic lid and set it on the counter. “Funny. Lindsey never mentioned she’d met up with you again.”
Nate lifted one shoulder, unable to decipher the man’s expression. But it made him a little uneasy. “It was impromptu. And brief. Sad thing about the chapel.”
“Now that’s a fact.” The man sighed as he settled back on the stool, rang up Nate’s purchases and took his money. “And it might get even sadder.”
“What do you mean?”
As Lindsey’s father told him about the developer’s presentation at the town council meeting the prior night, Nate pocketed his change. “You think it will go through?”
Jack shrugged. “There’s going to be another meeting in two weeks to give the residents a chance to voice their opinions and listen to the head honcho himself. But things are tough around here. And a resort like that would bring in a lot of new business. It’ll come down to sentiment versus practicality, I’m thinking. Hard to say which way it will go. I wouldn’t mind some extra business myself, but I’d hate to lose The Point. And Lindsey’s beside herself. I heard her prowling around the house at all hours. I think she was up half the night.”
That would explain the shadows under her eyes and the creases on her brow.
“I take it she was at the meeting?”
“Had to be. She’s on the council.”
As Nate digested that latest piece of news, the jangle of the bell over the door announced the arrival of another customer. He tucked his laptop case under his arm and picked up his coffee and cookies. “Time to go to work.”
“I thought you were here on vacation.”
“Can’t escape email.” Flashing the man a smile, he headed toward the coffee nook.
And nook was the right word. Three small tables for two were tucked into the far corner beside a large picture window that offered a distant glimpse of the sea on the opposite side of the highway.
Lindsey and the boy looked up as he approached. He lifted his cup and indicated the computer under his arm. “I hear this is the spot for Wi-Fi.”
She motioned toward the two empty tables. “Help yourself.”
Nate set the cup and cookies on the one closest to the window, took a seat and pulled out his laptop. As he waited for it to boot up, he sipped the coffee and listened to the conversation a few feet away.
“Let’s try another one, Jarrod. Remember, even problems that sound complicated can be simple if you break them down into small pieces.” She positioned a piece of paper on the table so they could both see it as she read. “‘Jason and Mark went to lunch at a café. They ordered a chicken wrap for $6.50, a hamburger and French fries for $7.95, and two glasses of lemonade for $1.25 each. The tax was $1.35. They gave the waiter $20.00. How much change should they receive?’ Okay. Let’s start by adding up the wrap and the burger.”
Lindsey patiently walked Jarrod through the problem step by step, offering encouragement when he made mistakes and praise for correct answers. Impressive. She must have been some teacher.
As Nate opened the white sack and took out a cookie, Jack walked over to Lindsey. “Frank Martinez is on the line. You want to talk to him or call him back?”
“I’ll talk to him. It’s about last night’s meeting.” She rose and put another sheet of paper in front of Jarrod. “Work on this while I’m gone, okay? Break it down, like we did with the last one. I’ll be right back.”
His laptop now booted, Nate clicked on the email icon and entered his password. Fifty-one messages came up.
So much for getting away from it all.
As he set his cookie down, he glanced over at Jarrod and caught the boy watching him. The youngster’s cheeks reddened and he dipped his head over the paper, his glasses slipping down his nose. The same way Nate’s had done as a kid.
And there was another similarity, too.
The boy’s eyes held a deep, abiding sadness.
Most people probably wouldn’t notice it. They’d just see a quiet kid who kept to himself and didn’t laugh a whole lot. But problems in school didn’t make a boy look that sad. There was something deeper going on with the youngster seated a few feet away.
Nate had been there.
And it was a tough place.
The boy peeked at him again, and Nate smiled. “Hi.”
His flush rose higher, but he mumbled a response. “Hi.”
“You like cookies?”
A spark of interest flared in the boy’s eyes. “Yeah.”
“Want my other one? I’m full.” Nate held up the bag.
Jarrod regarded it. “I’m not supposed to take presents from strangers.”
“A cookie doesn’t qualify as a present. And I’m not really a stranger. I’m Lindsey’s friend.”
The boy squinted. “What does qualify mean?”
“It means it doesn’t count. Now a bike or an iPod or a trip to Disney World—that would qualify as a present.”
Jarrod started to reach for the bag, but jerked his hand back as Lindsey ap
proached.
“What’s going on?” She stopped beside the table.
“I have an extra cookie.” Nate gave the bag a little shake. “I thought your student might like it.”
“Mom told me not to take presents from strangers. But he,” the boy pointed at him, “said he’s your friend. Is he?”
Lindsey darted a quick look at him, a faint flush tinting her cheeks. “I knew him when I was a little girl. It’s okay if you take the cookie. And I just saw your mom pull up.”
She hadn’t confirmed they were friends.
Nate tamped down his flicker of disappointment.
Eyeing the cookie bag, the youngster approached him.
“My name is Nate.” He handed it over. “You’re Jarrod, right?”
The boy nodded as he took the bag, crimping the top tight in his fingers.
“Enjoy that cookie, okay?”
“Okay.”
Lindsey finished collecting the papers and started toward the front door. “Let’s go meet your mom.”
The boy trailed after her, stopping as he reached a shelving unit that would hide him from Nate’s view once he passed. “Thank you.”
Nate smiled at him. “You’re welcome. Maybe I’ll see you around again sometime.”
He didn’t get an answering smile. Or a response. But that was okay. Kids like that just needed to know someone had noticed them. And cared. He might not be able to fix whatever problems plagued Jarrod’s young life, but he could at least offer that much.
Before he left the Mercantile today, though, he’d see what he could find out about the boy’s background.
And hope Lindsey would share more of Jarrod’s story than she’d been willing to share of her own.
Chapter Four
“Is this stuff any good, Lindsey?” Janice wandered over to the check-out counter with a bottle of an all-natural beverage.
“You want the truth, one town council member to another?”
Janice grinned. “Yeah.”
“To me, it tastes like medicine. But a lot of the cyclists who stop in ask for it, so we started to stock it.”
“Thanks for the heads-up. Think I’ll pass. Give me two of those ginger cookies instead.”
“Smart choice.”
At Nate’s comment, Lindsey looked toward the coffee nook to find him strolling toward them. Too bad her father had gone home for lunch and a nap. Otherwise, she’d have found some excuse to leave the Mercantile in his hands for a couple of hours. Because for whatever reason, Nate made her nervous.
“Take the word of someone who’s already sampled one and intends to buy another.” He joined them at the counter as he finished his endorsement.
Lindsey’s pulse gave a sudden blip as the scent of his subtle aftershave wafted toward her. How weird was that?
“Sold. Ring me up two, Lindsey.”
“And one more for me,” Nate added.
She left them to their small talk as she took care of their orders, trying to ignore her misbehaving heart—and what it implied. She was not attracted to this man. No way.
When Janice left, Nate claimed her spot directly across the counter, took the bag Lindsey offered and counted out his money. “So what gives with Jarrod?”
“What do you mean?”
“He has sad eyes.”
The man had impressive observation skills. Then again, maybe that was essential for journalists.
She opened the cash drawer and put the money in the correct slots. “His father died a few months ago of a massive heart attack. Since then, Jarrod’s grades have been slipping. I’m making progress with his math. Not so much with his reading and composition.”
“Has he had any counseling?”
“His mother took him for a while. But no one’s been able to rekindle his interest in school.” She handed him his change, taking care not to touch his fingers as she dropped the coins into his large palm.
“That’s a shame. He seems like a nice kid. But his situation is a recipe for wasted potential.”
“Not if I can help it.”
“I wish you luck.” He picked up the bag. “With that, and with The Point. Your dad told me what happened last night.”
“There are a lot of people in this town who will fight to save it.”
“But money talks.”
“Not always.”
“Usually it triumphs over sentiment. My guess is it’s a lost cause.”
Her hackles rose at his cavalier response, and somewhere deep inside, Lindsey felt the stirring of an emotion that had long lain dormant.
Passion.
Not the kind she’d felt for Mark. That, she suspected, was dead forever. This was the kind of passion that had once animated her life and made her believe anything was possible, even when the odds were against her.
She gripped the edge of the counter and locked gazes with him. “That’s a very negative attitude.”
“It’s the truth.”
“So you think I should just stand aside and let this developer destroy The Point?”
He lifted one shoulder. “You probably won’t be able to stop him, anyway. You could end up expending a lot of time and energy for nothing. It’s just a falling down church, Lindsey. And that piece of land looks like a thousand other pieces of land along the coast.”
“Then why did you come all the way back here to see it?” His shoulders stiffened, but she forged ahead despite the warning sign. “You must have feelings for the place. And some things are worth fighting for, no matter the odds. If you didn’t believe that, why else would you risk your life covering news in a war zone?”
His eyes chilled. “It’s a job. And I get paid a lot of money for doing it.”
She stared at the man across from her, who suddenly felt like a stranger all over again. “You mean you don’t care about the stories you write?”
He gave a taut shrug. “I care about the quality of my work. I won’t turn in a shoddy piece.”
“I’m not talking about grammar and punctuation and style rules. I’m talking about the impact your stories have on people’s lives. And on public opinion.”
The smile he gave her held no humor. “I’m not famous. Any impact I have is fleeting. One day my articles are in the paper, the next day that paper’s lining a birdcage. What I write doesn’t matter in the big scheme of things.”
“Wow.” She blinked. Was there anything left of the sensitive little boy she’d once known? “That’s pretty cynical.”
“I prefer the term realistic.”
“If you don’t think it matters, why do you do it?”
His lips flattened. “I happen to have a talent for writing. And it’s a way to make a living.”
“There are safer ways.”
“Maybe I like the excitement.”
“People don’t put their lives on the line in battle zones for the sake of excitement. There must be some other reason.”
He picked up the bag with the cookie. “Thanks for this.”
End of conversation.
And she couldn’t blame him. He hadn’t come in here to be badgered. Who was she to call him to task, when she’d done little more than drift from day to day for the past three years?
As he turned away, she took a deep breath. “Nate…”
He hesitated. Angled back.
She folded her arms over her chest. “Look, I don’t have any right to judge your choices. I’m sorry if I offended you.”
“You didn’t.” The rigid line of his shoulders belied his words.
Gripping her upper arms, she studied him. When she spoke again, her quiet words seemed to surprise him as much as they did her. “So what happened to that softhearted little boy named Nathaniel I once knew?”
A muscle twitched in his cheek, and the sudden bleakness in his expression tightened her throat. “He grew up. And discovered it’s a lot wiser to be tough than soft.”
With that, he retreated to the coffee nook.
Thrown off guard by his candor, she ha
d no idea how to respond.
Sixty seconds later, he reappeared, computer in one hand, cookie bag in the other. He nodded at her as he opened the door, but he didn’t speak.
The bell jingled behind him, and she shifted around to watch him drive away. When at last she lost sight of his car, she sank onto the stool her father used, a hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach.
Regretting her critical comments.
And wondering if she’d ever see him again.
This trip wasn’t turning out anything like he’d hoped.
Kicking a rock out of his path, Nate approached the chain that blocked access to The Point, vaulted over it and set off down the gravel road.
To be fair, he wasn’t sure what he’d hoped to find here. A sense of peace, maybe. Answers. Welcome.
Home.
The welcome had been extended. But everything else had been elusive.
And he’d probably shot himself in the foot back there with Lindsey a little while ago. The shock on her face at his cynicism had been like a kick in the gut.
A rumble of thunder sounded in the distance, and Nate checked the sky. Dark clouds had moved in while he’d dumped his computer at the Orchid and called to check in at the Tribune. Fitting, considering his mood.
He covered the distance to the cliffs in record time, uncertain why he’d made the trek. The overgrown grounds and decaying chapel were one more reminder things had changed. That whatever happiness he’d once found here was as ephemeral as the mist rising from the crashing waves below.
The place was deserted. And this time, the bench was, too.
As he rounded the chapel and paused to look at the seat, he could picture the younger Lindsey sitting there the day they’d met, hair in two braids, binoculars glued to her eyes, a brown sack beside her.
She’d remained unmoving for so long he’d begun to wonder if she was a statue. And then she’d uttered an excited, “Yes!” and pumped a fist in the air.
Confused, he’d peered into the distance. But all he’d been able to see on that April day had been a vast expanse of water.
Not that he’d cared. He’d been too busy fighting back disappointment that someone had claimed his spot. The one he’d been coming to almost every day since he’d discovered it the first time he’d attended services here with his mother, two weeks before.