by Becky Wade
She exchanged her ankle boots for rain boots, then donned her coat and a pair of gloves. Flicking on a flashlight, she struck out in the direction of the inlet.
She wanted to clench her fists and scream at the sky. She wanted to bawl.
She did neither.
She was the best behaved sister because she was the sister who’d been a mistake. She was the sister who’d been left behind by her mother. She’d never wanted to give anyone a reason to look at her and shake their head and say, “That’s the unwanted Bradford daughter, you know.”
You are not a mistake.
Unlike the voice she’d heard earlier, this one was not taunting. It was not malicious. It was as quiet as intuition, as steady as time.
She had been a mistake, though. The facts of her birth testified to that.
I planned you, Willow. I knit you together. You were never a mistake.
I was.
I don’t make mistakes.
She drew in an aching breath and thought back through her family’s history. Her father’s affair with her biological mother, Sylvie. His subsequent marriage to Nora’s mom, who’d died tragically. For years after, her dad had poured everything he had into caring for her and Nora, and into his work. Emotionally, he’d closed himself off from everyone else inside a shell of grief and blame.
But, in time, the Lord had brought healing. After all the heartache her dad had endured, funny, smart, feisty Kathleen had come into his life. Her dad had been determined not to love Kathleen, but in the end, he’d been unable to stop himself. And thank goodness for that. If her dad hadn’t married Kathleen, Britt wouldn’t have been born. Her dad wouldn’t have experienced the joy and peace he’d found in his long marriage to Kathleen. And his three daughters wouldn’t have had a mother.
When Willow took the long view of her dad’s story, she could see plainly how God had taken her dad’s failures and sorrows and created something beautiful out of them.
Why was it so hard for her to accept that God could do the same for her?
Was her faith too small? Or was her regret too big?
Perhaps her regret was so big that it had kept her faith small these past four years.
“How come you’re still carrying guilt around?” Corbin had asked her a few nights ago.
She’d had no answer then. Why couldn’t she receive forgiveness and move on the way Corbin had?
Because it seemed to her that her holy God would and should expect more perfection of her than she expected of herself.
That was wrong theology. She’d never had any perfection of her own to offer. Even before her affair with Corbin. That was right theology.
Yet . . . she’d believed there for a while that she did have something of her own to bring to the table and that her worthiness might inspire God to love her. When she’d lost her worthiness, she’d concluded that God no longer had as many reasons to love her.
Following the beam of her flashlight, she reached the cliff above the inlet. This place, this cove, was a symbol of all the rules she’d broken. She’d let those broken rules trip her up, like ropes around her ankles.
But Jesus.
Jesus was the antidote to broken rules.
She was finally ready to accept that and to embrace His forgiveness because she flat out couldn’t deal with the alternative any longer. She couldn’t continue to carry the guilt.
“I never had any goodness of my own,” she whispered. She said it several times, allowing the stark truth of it to penetrate. “You were always the only good one. I have nothing to bring to you but faith.”
Please, please forgive me. I love you.
A sense of full acceptance and all-consuming, all-forgiving, unconditional love swept through her. For long minutes she simply stood, unmoving and praying, letting herself feel God’s love. His love wasn’t narrow, the way she’d tried to make it. It was the widest and deepest love there was.
“You love me,” she breathed. And instantly, she could feel His answer in the wind, the air, the life beating through her veins.
He loved her without reservations. Without keeping a record of her wrongs. As far as the east is from the west, that’s how far He’d removed her sins from her.
He loved her. And He forgave her.
She scooped up a handful of dirt in one gloved hand and extended it in front of her. Deliberately, she let the dirt fall between her fingers, over the side of the cliff. With it, she worked to let go of the shame. She worked to forgive herself.
By the time no dirt remained in her hand, she felt clean inside.
He, in His grace, was giving her a new beginning.
A rivulet of tears ran down her cheek.
She prayed earnestly for Corbin and for herself. She prayed that God would somehow take their failures and do for the two of them what He’d once done for her father.
Lord God, make something beautiful out of our mistakes, in your time.
Text messages written by Willow and deleted before sending:
Willow
Corbin, please forgive me, I’m so sorry.
Willow
I know I might have come across as unfeeling earlier, but I’m not. At all. I’ve had a lot of practice at covering my emotions. At the slightest sign of risk, I put up barricades and hide behind them. But that doesn’t mean that I don’t feel. I care about you, deeply.
Willow
Please keep on loving me. Despite the way that things look. I can’t tell you why I did what I did tonight. Will you love me and believe in me, anyway?
Willow
Is it okay if I drive over to your place? We can’t leave it like this between us. I want to see you one more time before I go.
Willow
I love you.
Chapter
Twenty-four
Britt Bradford hated good-byes.
The schmaltzy sentiment. The gloomy parting hugs. But also, she just plain didn’t like to say good-bye to the people she cared about most. She’d been off her game ever since Zander had gone. Now Willow was leaving, too, which was making the ten o’clock hour of this overcast, misty Monday morning all the more depressing.
She’d filled Sweet Art with several sources of bright, happy light. Still. Depressing. “Here.” Britt handed Willow a box containing milk chocolate caramel truffles, her favorite. “A little something for the plane.”
“Thank you.” Willow tucked the box into her purse. During these past months in Merryweather, Britt’s oldest sister had dressed in a style that was, for her, fairly casual. Today, she’d switched back into her modeling persona. She wore a scarf over a designer shirt, skinny pants, heels, and a chic gray leather jacket. Her big round sunglasses had been over her eyes a moment ago, when she and Nora had entered Sweet Art, but were now propped on top of her head. She looked like the high-powered, fashionable woman she was.
“It’s not fair to vie for the title of Best Sister by giving Willow chocolate,” Nora said to Britt. Then, to Willow, “I can offer you a stack of historical documents to read on the plane.”
“I’ll pass,” Willow said. “Britt’s clearly my best sister.”
“You stink, Britt,” Nora said.
“I have no sympathy for you, my vanquished foe.”
Nora laughed and Willow tried to join in, but something about Willow’s manner was off. It was as though she was providing them with an imitation of herself. Her makeup had been applied meticulously. Beneath it, though, her skin was a touch too white. She seemed fragile. If she were to stumble and fall, Britt worried she’d break. “I can tell that something’s wrong,” Britt said to Willow. “What is it?”
“Nothing.”
“It’s not nothing.” Nora set her hands on her hips and cocked her head. “I agree, something’s bothering you.”
Willow massaged her temples.
“Yikes, she’s doing that massage-the-temples thing,” Britt said.
“Things didn’t go well between Corbin and me last night.” Willow dropped her h
ands. “After you guys left.”
“Oh no,” Nora murmured.
“What happened?” Britt asked. Maddie was helping a customer at the counter, and an older woman was sitting off to the side, making her way through a piece of dark chocolate pistachio bark and a coffee. Here, standing in a sisterly huddle in the middle of Sweet Art’s floor space, they had a small buffer between themselves and eavesdroppers.
“I don’t want to go into it because I want to respect Corbin’s privacy,” Willow said.
Tactful Willow. “Privacy’s overrated between sisters,” Britt said.
“Let’s just say that he wanted more from me than I could give. I can’t come back here anytime soon, and he can’t leave because of his dad’s health.”
“But . . .” Britt said. “There’s this cool thing they’ve invented called FaceTime. Maybe you’ve heard of it.”
“Be kind.” Nora nudged Britt’s upper arm. “Be kind” was the refrain their mom had used on the three of them whenever they’d gotten into arguments.
“I don’t think we’re getting the whole story,” Britt said.
“I don’t either,” Nora said.
A flush lit Willow’s cheeks. “And you’re not going to get the whole story.”
“Fine,” Britt said grumpily.
Britt met Nora’s eyes.
“You two aren’t allowed to exchange meaningful glances about me in front of me.” Willow’s stab at teasing fell flat.
“I don’t understand why you’re not engaged to John,” Britt said to Nora. “And why you aren’t willing to try dating Corbin long-distance,” she said to Willow. “These men aren’t ordinary, run-of-the-mill men, you realize. They’re once-in-a-lifetime men, in my opinion. So if you aren’t going to snag them, I can only assume it’s because you’re staying single out of solidarity with me. Which is nice and all, but I can assure you, it’s also unnecessary. I’m six years and four years younger than you two grandmas. I haven’t even reached my prime.”
Willow gave her a droll look. “Did you just call us grandmas?”
“I’ll have you know that I’m definitely not staying single out of solidarity with you,” Nora said to Britt. “John and I just started dating in July. If and when he proposes, I’m going to say yes before he finishes his sentence.”
“You go through a boyfriend every season of the year, Britt,” Willow said. “Why would you want us to settle down?”
Britt adjusted the apron she wore. “I want you to settle down because your boyfriends are great. I switch my boyfriends every season because none of them have been great in the way that John and Corbin are great. You two are weird.”
“You’re weirder,” Nora said to her.
“You’re weirdest,” Willow said to Nora.
They shared a smile of complete accord. They had different personalities, but the ties that bound them together were far stronger than their differences. They were the best thing any little girl can be to another little girl and any woman can be to another woman. They were sisters.
Britt held her arms open to Willow. The time had come for the gloomy parting hug. Willow always drove herself to Sea-Tac in her own car, which she then left in long-term storage until her next arrival. She didn’t need Britt or Nora to give her a ride to the airport, so this was good-bye. “Stay safe and come back to see us soon,” Britt whispered.
“Love you,” Willow said.
“Love you, too.”
“I promised Nikki you’d drop by at the library to say good-bye,” Nora said.
“Okay, will do.” Willow took a step toward the door, then stopped. “Would you guys keep an eye on Joe and Corbin for me? It’s just—” She set her lips together a fraction too tightly. “Joe has the Dixons, but I don’t think he has many other friends in Shore Pine. He likes both of you, and it might be nice for him and Corbin to have visitors.”
“Of course,” Britt and Nora said in unison.
“Jinx!” they said in unison.
Then Willow and Nora were gone, and Britt had officially lost the proximity of one of her sisters.
“I heard the speech you gave about how John and Corbin are once-in-a-lifetime men” came a voice from behind Britt.
She swiveled to see her longtime friend, Maddie, resting her crossed forearms on top of the chocolate display case. Maddie’s messy bob, darker at the crown and streaked with a few caramel-colored strands at the bottom, gleamed. A smear of sugar crystals marked one of her cheeks. Maddie was spunky, sweet, and had a fondness for Instagram and potato chips. She was also Britt’s primary employee. While Britt worked in the kitchen, Maddie saw to everything else that made Sweet Art run.
Britt came to stand directly across the display case from Maddie. “I was thinking that we were protected from eavesdroppers.”
“The only part of your conversation loud enough to hear was your once-in-a-lifetime men speech. It was a good speech.”
“Thank you.”
“And it got me thinking. I know a once-in-a-lifetime man who you, my friend, are not snagging.”
“Zander?” Every so often Maddie floated the idea that Britt and Zander should become a couple. Which was ridiculous.
Maddie nodded. “He’s not an”—she did air quotes—“‘ordinary, run-of-the-mill man.’”
“No. He’s my friend. My very good friend.”
“Wouldn’t it be nice to fall in love with someone who’s also your very good friend?”
“No, it would just be strange.”
“He’s handsome, in case you haven’t noticed lately.”
“I haven’t noticed lately because he’s gone. But even if he were here, I wouldn’t notice because he’s my friend.” Britt cinched the tie on her apron tighter. “By the way, you’re not really one to be giving out dating advice seeing as how you’ve been in love with Leo Donnelly for years without ever mentioning it to him.”
“Leo,” she said dreamily. Britt had known bringing up Leo would divert Maddie the same way throwing a tennis ball diverted a dog. “I can’t mention it to him because he’s Olivia’s husband.”
“He was Olivia’s husband until she died. Now he’s your future husband.”
“He thinks of me as nothing more than a friend. Kind of like the way you think of Zander.”
“Yes.” Britt blinked. “Wait, no. It’s not the same at all, because Zander doesn’t have romantic feelings for me like you do for Leo.” Flustered for some reason that made no sense to her, Britt headed toward her sanctuary in the rear of the shop to continue work on a batch of white chocolate macadamia popcorn. “Get back to work, employee of mine.”
“I am working! You pay me to loan you my wisdom.”
“I pay you to sell chocolate, smarty-pants.”
Willow exited Nora’s Library on the Green, then paused to extend her umbrella. When she had it up, she took one last look at Merryweather Historical Village. Half a dozen people, bundled into rain gear, hurried along the village paths with their heads down. Only one figure was still—
Recognition clanged within her.
Corbin sat on one of the benches lining the village’s ribbon of grass. He was leaning forward, elbows planted on his knees, looking directly at her beneath the brim of a black baseball cap. He’d dressed in a jacket and track pants. No umbrella. He must be soaked.
She walked toward him on wobbly legs, her pulse thrumming fast. Thank you, Lord. It must be a good sign that he’d come here. Surely? Or maybe not? Maybe he was here to let her have it for hurting him.
He stood, his hands thrust into his pockets.
She stopped near him, but not too near. Certainly not as near as she’d have stopped yesterday before their fight. The relatively small distance between them felt big and unnavigable.
He hadn’t shaved. His face was grave. His eyes, red and haggard.
Her mood, already bleak today, took a spiraling journey toward her toes. She couldn’t stand it. She loved him, and she needed to tell him. She needed to kiss him and whisper to hi
m how sorry she was for letting him down.
Instead, she stretched out her arm so that her umbrella covered him instead of her. She was dry and warm, but he must be cold and wet, and she refused to watch the rain saturate him further.
His lips quirked up sadly. “You keep it.” He moved the umbrella’s stem back in her direction. “I knew you’d come by the village this morning to say good-bye to your sisters.”
“You were right. I . . . didn’t see you sitting here earlier.”
“I was waiting inside The Pie Emporium until a few minutes ago. I saw you and Nora go into the library.”
“I see.” This was terrible! She knew him incredibly well. Why did she feel so tongue-tied? Because this meeting meant so much, that’s why. These were her last moments with him.
“I wanted to see you,” he said, “because I can’t leave things between us the way I left them last night.”
Hope flickered to life within Willow. “I can’t, either.” It was a relief to say one thing that was wholly true.
“I have to know if I’ve been reading you wrong all this time, Willow. Was I way off base to think you cared about me?”
“No. I do care about you. A great deal.” I love you, in fact. “I know it seems like I don’t. But I do.”
He scowled, and she knew he was wondering why, in that case, she’d insisted on suspending their relationship. No doubt he’d been battling anger and confusion all night. She knew for sure that she’d lacerated his pride. Yet here he was, working to build a bridge between them this morning.
“I guess we’re going to have to agree to disagree on where our relationship should go from here.” A network of tendons flickered along his jaw. “I can stomach disagreeing with you. But I can’t stomach not being able to communicate with you after today.”
“Neither can I.”
“I can’t handle my dad’s situation. Or finish construction on my house. Or bring down Foster Holt if I have to do those things without you. . . . Without at least talking to you. I can’t do it.”
Tears hazed her eyes. She moved to him and hugged him tightly, the umbrella’s handle trapped between her chest and his. His arms came around her, and she felt his face press near her ear.