by Sarah Turtle
The heat rose in Willa’s cheeks as she took in the view of the cove again, her fingers aimlessly flipping through the pages of the book that was in front of her on the table. A bookmark protruded from the top of it, about three quarters of the way to the end of the book. The thought swirled in her mind that her father would never get to know how the book ended, but she quickly pushed that idea out, knowing that she would encounter many more things that he would never get to do before her time of tying up loose ends for him was done. Instead, she held the book out to Brynn. “You should keep this, so that you can finish it.”
“Thanks,” Brynn said, placing it in the backpack along with the thermos and her empty mug. “I really should get back to the gym now.”
“Of course.” Willa stood and motioned to the entire clearing. “I appreciate you sharing this with me. It’s a very special place that you two created here.”
Brynn forced out a shaky smile and spun her wheelchair around to start up the wooden ramp. When Willa knew that Brynn couldn’t see her, she exhaled deeply and covered her hand over her heart before following her up the hill.
The pure power in Brynn’s arms showed as she pushed up the steady incline. Around corners, Willa could see as Brynn bit down on her lip and strained with each push on her wheels, before briskly reaching back to do it again, so as not to roll backwards. At times, Willa found herself reaching out, wanting to help Brynn with the strenuous process, but her wheelchair wasn’t equipped with the handlebars on the back that Willa was used to seeing in hospitals. Hers was built to be as streamlined as possible, to be used for her vigorous athletic lifestyle. Willa knew that Brynn would never accept the help even if she needed it and so she held back and watched as Brynn wiped away the perspiration on her brow and pushed on to the top of the hill.
When they reached the parking lot again, Willa placed a hand on Brynn’s shoulder. “Do you have a minute to stop at my car? I have something that I want to give you.”
Brynn tilted her head to the side and gave a lopsided grin. “Sure.”
Willa reached into the passenger side seat of her car and pulled out a neatly folded shirt, which she handed to Brynn. Brynn held it up by the collar and let the shirt unravel open as she flipped it from front to back. “I’m surprised you were able to get the blood stains out of it.”
Willa scrunched up her nose and bit anxiously at her fingertip. “I tried, but you’re right, I couldn’t get the stains out, no matter what I washed it with. I ended up ordering you a new one and had it express overnight delivered.”
Brynn’s eyes glimmered with a mischievous glare as she spun the shirt into a tight roll with a flick of her wrist, and flung one end of it like a whip towards Willa’s hip. With a loud crack as it slapped against her thigh, a yelp from Willa, and the roaring laughter from Brynn, the empty parking lot exploded with sound.
“Ugh, I always hated it when you did that to me with beach towels.” Willa playfully swatted her hand at Brynn, who batted it away with ease.
“Thanks for the shirt, but I really do have to go now.”
Willa held out the lobster mug to Brynn. “Can you put this back in the locker for me? I’d like to do this again sometime before I leave Laurel Cove. If that’s okay with you?”
“There’s nothing I’d want more.” Brynn waved her hand in the air as she sped off. “Until next time, Willa.”
Chapter Twelve
Aunt Beth’s SUV was parked in the driveway when Willa arrived back at her father’s house. When she got out of the car, Beth waved from under the shade of an apple tree in the center of the front yard. Willa picked up a second folding chair from the front porch and joined her. “This is a surprise. I had no idea you were coming today.”
“I received Henry’s remains this afternoon, so I took a drive out to Laurel Cove to make arrangements at the chapel.”
“Why didn’t you call so that I could have been here when you arrived? I hope you weren’t waiting long.”
“No worries, dear. It’s a beautiful day out and I had a good book to read.” Beth patted the hard cover of a novel in her lap. “I’m ashamed to say that it’s not one of yours, but the library had loaned your new one out before I got my hands on it.”
“I’ll mail you a copy so that you don’t have to wait for it.”
Beth reached out and tapped Willa’s leg. “You’ll do no such thing, my dear. Just between you and me, the librarian, Martin, and I have a little crush going on with each other. Bragging about my niece, the famous author, gives me something to talk about with him on our dinner dates.”
“Ah, well, I wouldn’t want to get in the way of romance, now would I?” Willa winked playfully at her aunt. She leaned back in the chair and regarded the house for a moment. “You have a key to the house. You could have let yourself in, you know?”
“It didn’t seem right to intrude. It’s not my brother’s home anymore. It belongs to you now.”
Willa stared at the tiny house that she had dreamed of coming back to one day. For years, she had silently begged the universe to take back the events of the night that made her run from this place, so that she could return. Now that she was here, all that stood in front of her was an empty shell of a house filled with old material memories. “What kind of a home is it when the love is missing from it?”
Beth leaned over in her chair and gave Willa’s wrist a squeeze. “Oh dear,” she paused, “is there anyone in New York who you care for, someone special maybe?”
Willa shook her head. “Not really, no, there’s no one,” she said softly.
“There’s definitely Barton blood running through those veins of yours. We all tend to be loners, but I’ve learned my lesson late in life, that love is better than loneliness. Know that I’m always here for you, but you need to create a family made up of people who aren’t just blood. Build a family made up of friends, because those are the loved ones that you can truly count on when you need them the most.”
“I’m trying, Aunt Beth. I think that for the first time I can actually say that I have a couple of friends now, so that’s a start.”
“Good for you. Will I get to meet them at the service tomorrow evening?”
“It’s tomorrow?”
“Yes, there’s no sense in dragging it out, as Henry would say. I’ve followed through with everything on the list he left for me.”
Beth pulled a folded piece of paper from under her book and handed it over to Willa. She opened it up and read:
Dear sis,
It seems a little strange, writing a letter for you to read after I’ve passed while I’m still alive and kicking, but my lawyer says it makes things easier for those I care about if I make it clear exactly what I want, so there’s no guessing for you. All I ask is that you cremate me so that I don’t have people gawking at my dead body, especially my girl. I’d hate to have her remember me like that. I never considered myself a man of God, but just in case, hold a little gathering at the chapel so that people can say their goodbyes. Watch over my Willa for me.
–Henry
Willa folded up the paper again and handed it back to Beth. She made a tight fist and held it up under her nose, pressing her knuckles against her lips. She bounced her long, slender leg up and down rapidly, not even noticing the pain from her stitches as the movement made them pull tight. The words written in his letter affected Willa in a way that she never imagined they would. She had set up the appointment for her father to make arrangements with a lawyer, many years ago out of a recommendation from her own advisor. He had agreed to it reluctantly, but never told her the details of what took place, just that it was all taken care of.
Willa never expected that he would have a handwritten letter for his family left behind. What bothered her the most was that she could almost hear his down east accent ringing out from the words on the page as she read it. The letter was short and to the point like his speech was when he was alive. He would spatter out little sentences filled with wisdom that was simple, but wou
ld come to Willa at times when she needed it the most. She could tell that the message in the letter held only the purpose to make sure that Beth did all the things that he thought his daughter shouldn’t have to be burdened with. Even from the grave, he found a way to be a father to her.
Willa fidgeted uncomfortably in her seat, visibly fighting through the new series of emotions that the letter brought on. She was aware of Beth, silently waiting with patience as she worked through the sorrow. She wondered if it had been as painstakingly difficult for Beth the first time she read it too. Willa had become so accustomed to dealing with heartache on her own, though, that she turned away to conceal her pain.
“I wanted to wait and give you a little time to get reacquainted with things and people here in Laurel Cove again before giving you this, but I think it’s best if you read the second half of Henry’s request.” Beth removed a second sheet of folded paper from the back of her book and slipped it onto Willa’s lap.
The ink markings scrawled on the closed piece of paper spelled out her name. Willa recognized the handwriting from having seen it thousands of times throughout her life. Her father had marked just about everything that belonged to her with a piece of masking tape and a black pen with her name on it. It was the best way to ensure that she wouldn’t accidentally grab the lunch bag in the refrigerator containing his liverwurst sandwich. Seeing it written on this piece of paper, though, had a sense of finality to it that disturbed her.
Willa looked to Beth with raised eyebrows and Beth nodded her response, understanding that Willa needed a little privacy. She held out her hand for Beth to stay put, while she stood and leaned her body against the trunk of the apple tree, faced in the opposite direction to offer herself some space.
Willa unfolded the paper and her eyes were already glazed over with tears before she began to read:
My dearest Willa,
I don’t want to be stuck in a box in the ground, so I’d like to be spread at sea where I belong with the fish. If I can’t catch ‘em, I may as well feed ‘em. Now, I know you might not like this next request, but I’d hope you’d do your best to make it happen for me. I want you, Brynn, and Griffin to take my ashes out on the boat for one last ride to the open ocean and let me go there. This will be difficult for you, to say the least, I know, but set me up on the mantle and bring me out to sea in your own good time when the three of you can set aside your differences long enough to make this old man proud of his favorite people. You have always been the beacon to my lighthouse.
–Dad
Willa swiped away the loose tears running down her face with the back of her wrist. “Did you read this?” she asked, holding up the letter, but not wanting to turn and face her aunt quite yet.
“No, it had your name on it, not mine. It was meant only for you and I kept it that way. I did, however, talk to Henry about it soon after he wrote it. He wanted me to be aware of the decisions he made so that I could help you through the process. So yes, I know exactly what he’s asking of you.”
Willa pushed around the mulch at the base of the tree with the tip of her sneaker. The overgrown grass required mowing soon and her father had always taken great pride in keeping his yard looking presentable. She had never actually used a lawnmower before because her father had always taken care of it here, and her New York condominium didn’t have grass, similar to most of the high-rise buildings in the city. She wondered if she could figure out how to get the mower in the shed started, or if she should hire someone to do it for her.
The creaking of the lawn chair behind her brought Willa out of her wandering thoughts. She knew that she was mentally procrastinating against what she would have to do to carry out her father’s last wish. The only other person alive in the world who knew what she needed to do, besides the lawyer, was sitting a few feet away from her and she felt somehow obligated to defend herself against her own apprehension. “Regardless of how I feel about doing this, Dad had no idea how much anger Griffin has towards me. If this is the only way he wants it done, he will never be laid to rest.”
“From the stories that Henry used to tell me, he spent a lot of his time with both of those people in your absence. I find it difficult to believe that they wouldn’t be willing to fulfill a simple request out of a respect for the man you all cared for.”
Willa returned to the chair, but instead of sitting, she rested her hands on the back of it, hung her head down between her arms, and blew out an exasperated breath. “It won’t be a simple task to convince Griffin that this is for my dad and not for me.”
Beth pinched Willa’s cheek on the way past her, just as she did when she was a child. “I’m sure you’ll find a way through to him. A man never truly loses the affections he had once, for his first love as a boy.” She made her way over to her car but before closing her door she added, “A good place to start would be to invite him to the service tomorrow.”
She waved goodbye to her aunt, grateful that her father had entrusted someone to help her with all the arrangements that came with planning a funeral.
Chapter Thirteen
Bent over the lawnmower and peering inquisitively into the open gas tank, Willa didn’t hear as Megan stepped into the opening of the shed door.
“Did you drop something down there?”
Willa stood up at the sound of Megan’s voice. She had a pair of carpenter’s kneepads on both of her legs and bright yellow rubber gloves, meant for washing dishes, were pulled up past her elbows. “I can’t seem to find an indicator that shows how much gasoline is in the tank.”
“There isn’t usually a gauge for that on small mowers, only the riding ones. You sort of eyeball it when it gets close to the surface.” Megan picked up the red metal gas can and started to pour it. “See how you can tell that it’s almost full, because it’s starting to come up into the neck of the tank.” Willa watched the process closely, scrunching up her nose when the fumes escaped into the air. Megan set the gas can aside and Willa screwed the cap back on until it clicked into place.
“Like a car, these things need oil changes every once in a while, but if your father kept his tools in as good a condition as he did his boat, you should be all set.”
“I tried to find a video on the internet on how to start this thing up, but it’s an older model, and there wasn’t any information on it out there, not even an owner’s manual.” Willa shook her head and stuck out her bottom lip.
“My landscaper for The Anchor is really good. I can give you his number.”
“I thought about going that route, but my dad took a lot of pride in maintaining his yard. I think he’d be disappointed in me trusting a stranger to take care of it. I’d like to at least attempt to keep it up myself while I’m here.”
“Okay, well, let’s roll it out to the lawn, before I teach you how to start it.”
At the edge of the driveway, where the black tar met the blades of grass, Willa rubbed her rubber glove clad hands together in anticipation on learning something new.
Megan rolled her eyes at Willa’s choice of accessories. “You do know that everyone who lives on the Cove has to drive by here to get to just about anywhere else?”
She leaned over and knocked on one of the kneepads with her knuckles. “Something has to protect my stitches while I do yard work.” She raised her hands in the air and wiggled her fingers in the in gloves, “and I doubt there’s a respectable manicurist anywhere on this island.”
“You’ve got a point there. Just let me be the one to get a photograph of you to sell to the tabloid magazines. If anyone’s going to make a buck off your embarrassing outfit, it better be me.”
Willa stuck her tongue out and poked Megan’s arm in jest. “Come on, show me how to run this thing before someone really does see me out here dressed like a lunatic.”
“All right, the first step is to press this button.” Megan placed her finger on an unmarked red button on the side of the lawnmower, pushed it in, and released it a few times.
“Nothing h
appened. Do you think it’s broken?”
Megan laughed. “That doesn’t turn it on. It primes the engine before you start it.”
Willa’s forehead crinkled up and she shifted from leg to leg while examining what the button might possibly be attached to behind it. “You pressed it more than once. Exactly how many times should I press it? What happens if I press it too many times?”
“Whoa, relax, there isn’t a test at the end of this lesson, Ms. Valedictorian.” Megan flashed her a reassuring grin and Willa took the comment as the joke it was meant to be.
“Ha.” Willa let out a timid snicker. “Everyday life experiences become lessons for writers. I’m constantly being tested by my readers and they have no problem letting me know when I haven’t accurately described the slightest of details in a story.”
“In that case, I better get this right for the next time you write that great American novel about mowing a lawn. Three pushes on the primer when you haven’t used it in a while and more if it’s colder outside.”
Megan drew back on a metal bar and held it against the handle of the lawnmower, then she stepped aside so that Willa could take her place.
“What happens if I let go of the bar?”
“It stops the motor, so release it when you’re done. To start it, keep the bar in place with one hand and use the other one to pull on this cord.” Megan pointed to a handle on the base of the mower.
She looked down at where the handle was located and it seemed like an awkward position to hold onto something up high, while simultaneously pulling on another thing down below. She readjusted her body so that she could reach both a little more easily, and then she tugged on the cord. It made a whirring noise, but immediately came to a silent halt when the cord settled back into place.