If for Any Reason

by Courtney Walsh

  “What is it?” Hollis asked, following her gaze to a young boy darting down the beach in their direction.

  “Just an old friend.” She stood and walked toward the water, eyes on the little guy, who seemed to be chasing the waves back out to sea. He hadn’t noticed her yet, but when he brought his eyes away from the ocean and found her standing there, recognition spread across his face.

  “Hey! It’s you!” he said.

  “Hi, Andrew.” She grinned.

  “You did that Alice in Wonderland play.”

  She decided not to correct him. He had plenty of years to learn proper theatre terminology. “I did. Did you see it?”

  Andrew nodded enthusiastically. “It was so good. I loved the part where the queen yelled.” He took a step closer. “Kenton loved it too,” he whispered.

  She winked at him. “I’m so glad.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out the smooth white stone he’d given her on the ferry ride over—a ferry ride, it turned out, that would change her life. She’d kept it with her like a touchstone all these weeks.

  Maybe she was more sentimental than she thought.

  “Look,” she said, showing him the stone.

  His eyes brightened. “You still have it!”

  “Yep. It’s one of my most prized possessions.”

  Andrew’s parents caught up to him. They exchanged pleasantries, and Emily invited him to participate in one of her shows when he was old enough, which, it turned out, would be a couple of years.

  “Have a good rest of the summer, Andrew,” Emily said as they continued on down the beach.

  He giggled and waved, then went back to chasing the water.

  She turned back to Hollis, who put an arm around her. “Does that mean you’ll be here in three years when that kid is old enough to do a show?”

  “I hope so.”

  They sat on the beach—their beach—roasting marshmallows and making s’mores. Every once in a while, she’d steal a glimpse of him, his face only dimly lit by the fire.

  Hollis was good and kind and everything she ever could’ve dreamed of in a man. Why God had brought them back together now, she didn’t understand, but she was so grateful he had.

  It was strange to think about God that way after years of ignoring him, but she’d made a sort of peace with him here. It was as if her eyes had been opened to the fact that life wouldn’t be perfect, that bad things would happen, but that God was still good. No matter what.

  Maybe God brought her back to help her move forward. Maybe he had more for her than the vagabond life of wanderlust she’d been living.

  Emily glanced at Hollis and realized there was no “maybe” about it. The thought filled her with gratitude.

  The waves lapped the shore, and Emily dug her toes into the cool sand.

  “What will you do with the house now that it’s done?” Hollis asked after Emily’s update about running into Jack inside.

  She looked back up at the cottage, focusing on the light coming from her second-story window.

  “Well,” she said, “I’ve been thinking a lot about that.”

  “You want to keep it, don’t you?”

  She shook her head. “Actually, I want to sell it.”

  He regarded her thoughtfully. “Really? You know you don’t have to worry about the money anymore, Em. I’m going to take really good care of you.”

  She scrunched her nose. “Your job pays well, huh?”

  He laughed. “I’m going to find a great job.”

  “I don’t doubt it.”

  “It just might not pay as much as we’re used to.”

  “No?”

  He drew in a breath. “I think I want to coach.”

  Her eyes widened. “Really?”

  “What can I say? You’ve inspired me.”

  She smiled. “You’ll be so great at that.”

  “Well, I’ll talk to you before I apply anywhere. I don’t want to move you to Alaska or something.”

  “What’s wrong with Alaska?”

  He rolled his eyes. “I forgot. You’ve lived everywhere.”

  “So I can be happy anywhere,” she said. “Except Florida. Too muggy.”

  He laughed. “Man, I love you.”

  She startled at his words, the way he seemed unable to contain them. She’d never been loved so well in her life. She decided she liked it. She decided it was exactly what she’d been missing.

  He grinned at her. “If you sell the house, will we stay at my family’s cottage when we come back to Nantucket? You know you’re committed to doing the show next summer.”

  “I’ve been thinking about that, too,” she said. “And I think we need our own place. Small. Cozy. White picket fence.”

  “Yeah?”

  She nodded. “I’m ready for a simple life, Hollis. And as long as I get to spend it with you, I’ll be the happiest woman in the world.”

  He stood, walked around the fire between them, and knelt down in front of her. “Then prepare to be happy, Emily Ackerman. Because I’m never going to let you go.”

  She closed her eyes, the warmth of the fire doing nothing to compete with the warmth of her flushed cheeks as she gave in to his knee-buckling kiss.

  CHAPTER

  1

  HE SHOULDN’T BE HERE.

  A diner in some little tourist town in Michigan was no place for Grady Benson, but here he was. From the second he walked in the door, it was clear he’d made a mistake. Eyes found and followed him all the way to this table, conspicuously located at the center of the space.

  A girl with glasses and wild, curly hair rushed over and set a glass of water in front of him.

  If he had to guess, he’d say tourist season was over and this place was filled with locals. He didn’t even catch the name of the diner when he walked in, but when Wild Hair handed him the menu, he read Hazel’s Kitchen: Harbor Pointe, Michigan on the cover and figured that’s where he was.

  Where he definitely should not be.

  So much for staying under the radar.

  “Did you see the sign on your way in? It had all the specials written on it.” Wild Hair wore a name tag that read Betsy. Now that he looked at her, she was cute, in a small-town, innocent sort of way. Not like the girls he was used to dating. They were anything but innocent.

  “I didn’t.” He opened the menu and kept his head down, but the whispers started despite his best efforts to disappear. Apparently Harbor Pointe had noticed him.

  “Can I just get a cheeseburger with everything, fries, and a chocolate milk shake?”

  Betsy’s eyes went wide. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

  He glanced up at her, and she quickly swiped the menu out of his hand.

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

  “What do you think I should eat?” he asked.

  She looked away, visibly ruffled. “Grilled chicken with a big plate of roasted vegetables and a glass of water?” There was a question in her voice.

  He pretended to think it over for a few seconds but shook his head. “I’ll stick with the cheeseburger.”

  She scribbled something on her notepad, then scurried away like a mouse. Grady sat for a few long minutes, feeling too big for the chair she’d put him in. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and opened Twitter.

  Grady Benson needs to learn the art of knowing when to quit.

  Benson chokes again. Time to hang up the skis, buddy.

  Kiss the Olympics good-bye, GB. You’ll be lucky to land a job training little kids with a run like that. #crashandburn

  He clicked the screen off and flicked it on the table with a clunk.

  The race in Vermont would follow him all the way to Colorado with Twitter comments echoing in his head. He should’ve just gotten on a plane like everyone else. A solo road trip to clear his head suddenly seemed like a ridiculous idea.

  Betsy returned with his milk shake, half of it in a tall glass with whipped cream and a cherry on top, the other half still
in the metal mixing container. He ate healthy most of the time—it was one of the few rules he actually followed—but he didn’t feel like making wise choices right now.

  He wanted to do whatever he wanted to do.

  Grady glanced up as the door opened and a pretty blonde woman walked in. She wore ripped jeans rolled at the ankles, slouchy and a little too big for her, along with a gray T-shirt underneath an Army-green jacket that cinched in at the waist. Like him, she looked out of place, like she didn’t belong here, but judging by the welcome she received when she walked in the door, she absolutely did.

  He couldn’t tell, but it seemed the crowd at the front of the diner was congratulating her about something. Not his business. He went back to his milk shake, and a few seconds later his food arrived.

  Betsy stood beside the table for an awkward beat. “Need anything else?” she finally asked.

  “I’m good, I think,” he said. “Thanks.”

  She nodded, then skittered away, leaving him to eat in peace. He took a bite of his burger and washed it down with a swig of the shake. While so many of the people around him still seemed on high alert that he was sitting there, several had gone back to their own meals, their own food, their own company.

  “Hey, aren’t you Grady Benson?”

  Grady turned in the direction of the voice and found a booth of three guys, early twenties, off to his left. He swallowed his bite and gave them a nod.

  “I remember watching you at the last Olympics, man,” one of the guys said. “Tough loss.”

  “He didn’t lose, you idiot; he came in fourth,” another guy said.

  He didn’t need the reminder. The first guy was right. He’d lost. Fourth place had never been good enough, not when he was favored to win the gold. Not when he only had himself to blame.

  “Don’t beat yourself up, man. Hard to come back after something like that.”

  “I’m fine.” Grady set his burger down.

  The guy laughed. “Dude, you’re done.”

  “Jimmy,” one of the other guys warned.

  Grady gritted his teeth.

  Jimmy laughed again. “What? You saw what happened in Vermont. He didn’t even finish. Washed-up at thirty, that’s gotta suck.”

  He should stand up and walk away. He should pay the waitress, get in his SUV, and keep driving to Colorado, where he could get ready for the next race. He should . . . but he didn’t.

  He’d been listening to commentators talk about his skiing, his messy technique, his disregard for the rules for years—but now they’d started using terms like washed-up and retirement, and whenever he heard them, something inside him snapped.

  Grady turned toward the table. “You got a problem with me?”

  Jimmy’s expression turned smug. “I’m just not a fan, is all. You’re not as great as you think you are.”

  Grady reminded himself he didn’t know this guy, didn’t care what he thought. And yet something about Jimmy was really getting under his skin. He looked around for Betsy so he could get his check and leave.

  But Jimmy didn’t let up. “We all watched the races the other day. Guy choked. He choked, man.”

  “Dude, shut up,” his friend said.

  “Supposed to be the fastest guy on the slopes, but my aunt Frieda could’ve skied better than him. In her sleep.”

  “You don’t even have an aunt Frieda.” The other guy sounded as irritated with his friend as Grady was. Grady’s knuckles had gone white around the edge of the table.

  “Heard he got his girlfriend pregnant and then tried to pay her to keep quiet. Not like he’s got a squeaky-clean image to protect or anything.”

  That was it. How that lie had ever picked up steam, Grady didn’t know, but he was sick of hearing it. Grady spun out of his chair and lunged at Jimmy, pulling him out of the booth by his jacket. A plate crashed to the floor, but Grady barely noticed.

  Jimmy tried to fight him off, but he was several inches shorter and not half as strong as Grady. Still, he managed to squirm from Grady’s grasp, falling into a table and knocking over more dishes.

  The guy didn’t know when to quit. He smirked at Grady. “I forgot you’ve got a temper, too. Is that why nobody wants you on the team?”

  Who did this punk kid think he was? Grady didn’t hold back as he hauled off and punched Jimmy square in the jaw. Jimmy’s body shot backward into a wall of framed photos, which shattered when they hit the floor.

  Grady stepped back to catch his breath when out of nowhere, Jimmy lunged toward him, catching him off guard and ramming Grady’s body into the long counter on the other side of the diner. He was scrappy, Grady would give him that, but this kid didn’t have nearly the fighting experience Grady did. He’d grown up fighting. He practically enjoyed it. He knew how to handle himself.

  Grady wrestled him to the ground, his only focus to keep him there. Jimmy yanked himself from Grady’s grasp and landed a punch across his left eye. Anger welled up inside him as the sting of pain zipped through his body. Grady’s mind spun; long-buried grief demanded to be felt. He had Jimmy’s comments to thank for that.

  Washed-up at thirty.

  Injuries beyond repair.

  Sloppy technique.

  Embarrassed. Frustrated. Ashamed.

  Someone grabbed him from behind and pulled him off Jimmy. Only then did Grady realize he’d unleashed the full force of his rage on the man, who now lay beneath him, bloody and moaning.

  He shrugged from the grasp of the person who’d pulled him away and wiped his face on his sleeve. He scanned the diner and found pairs of eyes darting away from him. All but one. The blonde’s. She stood off to the side, unmoving, watching him.

  He looked away.

  He didn’t need to be judged by Little Miss Goody Two-shoes.

  Jimmy’s friends pulled him to his feet as two officers in uniform yanked the front door open. Grady glanced at Betsy, who wouldn’t meet his eyes. He should apologize. He’d made a huge mess of the place. Tables were overturned, at least one of them broken. The glass from the shattered picture frames crunched underneath his feet, and there was at least one place where they’d put a hole in the wall. Oh no, make it two.

  He didn’t even remember doing that.

  Before he could say anything to the wild-haired waitress (or anyone else), one of the cops—an older man with a wrinkled face—grabbed him by the arm. “You’ll have to come with me, son.”

  The other officer did the same to Jimmy, who immediately launched into his side of the story, spouting about how Grady “freaked out for no reason” and “I’m the victim here, man.”

  Grady let the older cop lead him through the small crowd, avoiding the stares of the people who’d just witnessed yet another of his colossal mistakes. The blonde stood near the door, arms crossed over her chest. She said nothing, but her eyes never left his as the officer pushed him through the door and into the street.

  “Do I need to cuff you, or have you calmed down?” the cop asked.

  “You don’t need to cuff me,” Grady said, wishing he’d never stopped in this ridiculous town in the first place. What was it that made him pull off at the Harbor Pointe exit? He wasn’t particularly hungry—he was just tired of driving. He should’ve kept going. If only he could rewind the last hour.

  Who was he kidding? He’d have to rewind a lot further back than that to undo the mess he’d made.

  The second officer was shoving Jimmy into the back of a squad car parked at the curb.

  “Look, Officer—” Grady turned toward the older man—“I’m sorry I lost my temper back there. I’ll pay for the damages to the diner.”

  “I’m sure you will.” He opened the other back door of the car and motioned for Grady to get in.

  “There’s really no need for this,” Grady said. “I screwed up. I get it. But I’m fine now, and I’ll make it right.”

  “Well, your version of ‘making it right’ might not be the judge’s version of ‘making it right.’” He eyed Grady. “The
re’s still time for the cuffs.”

  Grady let out a stream of hot air, anger prickling the back of his neck as he leaned down and got into the car. Jimmy sat on the opposite side, sulking. At least he’d shut up. For now, anyway.

  Through the windows of Hazel’s Kitchen, Grady saw the people who’d witnessed the fight picking up overturned tables and chairs and sweeping broken plates into a dustpan. What a mess he’d made.

  The main stretch of Harbor Pointe was made up of cotton candy–colored buildings neatly stacked together on either side of the street. As they drove, he saw a bakery, a flower shop, a couple more diners, antique stores. Old-fashioned lampposts shone on alternating sides of the street, casting a warm yellow hue over the brick road in front of them.

  They drove in silence for several seconds until finally the older officer turned around and looked at Grady.

  “I know you’re not from here. What kind of beef could you possibly have with Jimmy?”

  “He’s crazy,” Jimmy said.

  “I’m not talking to you,” the cop said.

  “No beef. Just don’t like people with smart mouths.”

  The cop laughed. “That I understand.”

  “It’s not funny, Sheriff,” Jimmy protested. “I’m pressing charges. Assault and battery. And I want a lawyer because I didn’t do anything here.” Jimmy was still riled up, and normally Grady would be too, but he’d been here before. He knew exactly what would happen next. He’d be arrested. Booked. Pay a fine and be on his way.

  Though, sadly, this time, he wasn’t even sure where he was on his way to.

  A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR

  IT’S AMAZING TO ME to think about the journey I’ve been on as I wrote this book. When I first started brainstorming the idea for If for Any Reason, I had no clue what was about to happen. You see, it seemed like a charming plan to write a book full of letters from a mother to a daughter. Who could’ve guessed that as I was writing it, my own daughter would be diagnosed with thyroid cancer, sending me on the kind of journey no mother ever really wants to take.

  I admit I didn’t pick up this manuscript for a full month, maybe even two, after Sophia’s diagnosis. It was too hard to write these letters—letters full of wisdom from a mother to a daughter. How I wanted to impart wisdom to my own girl, but I simply felt unworthy. I didn’t know how to help her deal with the kind of diagnosis nobody ever wants to get, especially at the age of seventeen.