He returned the phone to the counter and wandered to the window over the sink. Blackness greeted him. Images of her in the dark woods set his nerves on edge, although she was probably safe. Just lost.
The vibration of his cell phone on the hard countertop sent him sprinting over and grabbing the phone. “Hello?”
“Owen, it’s Stan.”
“Stan. Thank God it’s you. Did my guest arrive?”
“She did. Just went upstairs to her room.”
“Was she…” How could he ask this without sounding like a worrywart? “She’s a real stickler for punctuality and I expected her to arrive a while ago. Did she seem okay?”
“Okay? Yes, I guess so. Tired though. Definitely tired. She ordered dinner and asked if we could send it to her room.”
“Well, long as she’s there. That’s what matters.” Owen said it, but didn’t feel it. What mattered was her being there and happy.
He hung up and told Jilly she had five minutes until bath time. Taking out Willow’s itinerary, he reviewed the days ahead. In two days, she’d reach Painswick. The place she believed her father lived. He’d worry about her every second.
In the next hour, he got Jilly ready for bed and tucked her in. As he sat on the sofa staring at the tube, he resisted the urge to call Willow. He’d been itching to talk to her, to hear about her journey.
But he’d better get used to her absence. Soon after her return, she’d leave for home.
So much had changed since she’d arrived. So quickly, too. Her search for her father made him think differently about his dad. Her delight in the Cotswolds revived a love of this region he once had. But mostly, she’d breathed new life into his daughter. For that, and that alone, he’d never forget Willow’s visit here.
The last time he’d seen her was the view from his rearview mirror, her standing on the road in Chipping Campden, waving goodbye. He closed his eyes and tipped his head back to the sofa, lost in the way his heart overflowed from just thinking about her.
Of all the gifts she’d given him while here, he treasured most this feeling of comfortable contentment he had around her. It would also be the hardest to deal with once she left.
Chapter 21
Willow tucked the soft sheet beneath her chin and curled onto her side. Sleep. More sleep. She’d never get enough. Behind her eyelids, she sensed the room’s brightness and struggled to open her eyes while patting the nightstand and fumbling with her phone.
Shit. 8:05. Why hadn’t the alarm gone off at seven? Right, she’d fallen asleep before setting it. She pushed off the covers and sprang out of bed, only to have her sore calf muscles scream.
Once she’d hobbled to the shower, she started the hot water and stepped inside. The moist heat massaged her stiff muscles and cleared the fog in her head.
Today she’d stay on plan and not get stuck on the trail after dark. If she hadn’t turned around yesterday, who knew where she’d have ended up? No more daydreaming today. One missed trail marker had been plenty. Walking through the woods in daylight posed no threat, but in the dark, the pretty trees turned into a setting for a Grimm Brothers’ tale.
She dried her hair and let it hang to her shoulders but didn’t bother with makeup. Tomorrow, when she went to Painswick to look for Sean Cooke, she’d put some on. Today, though, she resorted to her comfortable yoga pants, a long-sleeved, V-neck pullover sweater, and her hiking shoes.
After getting her rucksack situated, she left the room for the hotel lobby.
“Good morning.” She smiled at the desk clerk who’d been there last night. “I’m running late and won’t have time for breakfast. Is there a deli or store nearby where I could get a few things?”
He gave her directions and she headed out into the sunshine, making a stop to get food for lunch and snacks. All stocked up, she marched straight to the trail, the process almost like a normal part of her life.
Her blister had developed a callus, giving her less pain. She marched toward Cleeve Hill, moving compatibly with the gentle muscle aches. If what Owen said about this hill were true, the potential reward when she hit the crest would be worth every bit of sweat to get there. Right now, the cool morning air on her face, neck, and hands felt good.
She finally arrived at the highest peak on the trail, each breath heavy, her armpits damp. But one look at the view sent her heart fluttering.
At a one thousand eighty-three feet elevation, Cleeve Hill had the fame of being the largest unenclosed “wold” on the trail. Her physical discomfort vanished as she stood in one spot and turned in a slow circle to bask in the unobstructed view. A horizon that stretched for miles and miles and miles, set against cornflower-blue skies and heavenly bundles of clouds seeming close enough to touch.
She opened the guidebook. From this vantage point, it said, she could see from the Malvern Hills to, on a clear day, the Black Mountains of Wales. Panning the landscape, she had no idea if she viewed either of those things. Owen would know. She snapped several photographs. When she reached Bath, he could tell exactly what she’d been looking at.
After rolling her rucksack off her shoulders and letting it fall to the grass, she lowered herself beside it. The vistas spread before her possessed a godly grandeur, removing her far from the modern world.
She retrieved a water bottle from her bag and leaned back on her elbows to enjoy the exquisite fabric of the landscape. Soft fields. Sharp trees. All joined by the ebb and flow of gently rolling hills.
Peace washed over her. This view. This place. Discovered by taking a risk. A surge of power pulsed through her veins. She was strong and it felt damn good.
Once before she’d captured this feeling. When she’d finally gained control over her eating. Yes, losing weight gave her power that she’d harnessed to create a company, marry, gain financial independence.
And it all slipped away when Richard’s rejection broke the thin thread holding her together for two decades. Circumstance usurped what little faith in herself remained. An ache swallowed the part of her that once had power and control. A cavernous ache that shadowed her even as she’d landed at Heathrow.
Between now and then, though, she had changed.
The day she’d met Richard at the lawyer’s office to sign the divorce papers forced its way into her mind. She’d just exited the elevator on the fifth floor. On her way past the men’s room, the door swung open and Richard stepped out. She’d walked faster. After all, a man who’d announced he no longer loved her so publicly didn’t deserve her civility. But he yelled her name and, when she didn’t stop, he caught up and took her by the arm.
“Willow. Please, I want to talk to you before we go in there.”
She’d jerked her arm away. “Oh, now you want to have a private conversation?”
He’d looked down at the ground and slowly lifted his chin. “I’m sorry, Willow. Sometimes…” He’d drawn in a deep breath. “I tried so many times to hint to how unhappy I was. But all you ever cared about was that firm.”
At the time, she’d reminded him of his own dedication to his political career and stormed off seething in hatred for him.
Later, at home, while drowning her sadness in a bottle of wine and a pint of Ben & Jerry’s, she’d admitted his words held some truth. Her entire self-worth had been caught up in the firm’s success. It served as a safety net, so she’d never get fat again. Her entire being depended on the company’s success, its existence proof she was no longer that chubby kid.
Lifting her head, she again scanned the vista, only this time the gentle throb of her sore muscles reminded her of the hard work it took to find this treasure. A journey testing her physical endurance and leaving her too tired to fight a growing realization…
She’d wasted a lot of time trying to prove her worth to the world.
A need to prove herself again and again. All her life, she’d learned one lesson. The fig
ht to perfection seemed the only way to get attention. To get love.
Be smart, Willow.
Lose weight, Willow.
Always win, Willow.
Ideals foisted upon her primarily from her stepfather, a man whose confidence demanded people meet his expectations of them. Not only for Willow. Just about anybody who crossed his path. Even Willow’s mother, whose own happiness had been tied into her daughter getting her stepfather’s approval. The message Willow received, over and over, had always been the same.…
You aren’t good enough “as is.”
Willow’s throat thickened and tears blurred the view. Love. It’s all she ever wanted. To be loved for who she was, without a care for what she looked like.
The hard pressure in her chest cracked, and she buried her face in her hands. Even this journey to England had started with a demand: to get cash and win back her standing at Pound Busters.
But what had all this winning given her? Nothing, really. At the end of the day, she stood alone.
But in England she saw what she’d been missing, found in watching the love between Owen and Jilly. Love that didn’t come with requirements. Just pure loyalty for each other.
She sat there for a long time, her body weightless and immobile, almost as if she were one with the landscape.
People came. People went. But she remained. For how long, she didn’t know or care.
She finally stood and ambled down the trail. A glance at her watch showed her behind schedule again but who cared?
She’d been lost her whole life.
These days spent on the trail were perhaps the first time she’d actually been on the right path. Tomorrow, when she reached Painswick, she might even get the answer to the biggest question of her life.
* * * *
Willow pulled out her itinerary. Day four. Halfway through her trip. This morning she’d woken early and now walked the main road toward the footpath. A knot in her belly since rising tightened. In a few hours, she’d reach Painswick. Hours from meeting Sean Cooke, and she still hadn’t come up with anything to say.
Hi. Remember Chloe? Well, I’m her kid.
Hey, ever wonder if you got a woman pregnant some forty years ago but she didn’t tell you?
She groaned and kicked a small rock in the path. To ease her mind, she tried to concentrate on the wooded area surrounding this stretch of the trail. Every so often, the trees parted to a clearing, proving the countryside hadn’t gone away.
She neared a place in the guidebook called Coopers Hill, known for its famous annual cheese rolling competition. Cheese rolling, a new sport to her, surprisingly was covered by ESPN, and she found a video on YouTube.
As she watched a large group of eager contenders racing down this incredibly steep hillside to chase a round block of cheese, it only proved that people had more guts than brains. Many of the racers fell about halfway down, bouncing to the finish line. In one case, an ambulance had hauled a participant away.
She took a few snapshots and continued along the path. When the sun disappeared, she glanced up to find the clear sky gone and a blanket of gray clouds took its place.
She carefully treaded downhill into Painswick. As she passed a stone marker for the Cotswold Way, she paused and went over. Forty-seven miles to Chipping Campden. She’d walked almost half the trail.
She breathed in the joy of her success. Not only had she found her way alone, but she’d submerged herself in the countryside of her ancestors and walked in the footsteps of her grandfather. She’d seen more than beautiful views. More important, she’d uncovered valuable insights about herself. Patterns of a lifetime, too close for her to truly see, but now that she did, she vowed to make her life different, better.
She neared the marker and took a photo of it. Standing beside it, she squatted down and made three attempts to get a selfie that included both her and the marker. Luckily, a couple entering the trail took pity on her and offered to snap it for her.
She thanked them and they walked away. Owen would love this. She broke her own rule and texted the photograph to his phone with the words “Halfway there!”
Seconds later, he replied, “So proud of you! I knew you could do it. Good luck in Painswick. Call if you need me.”
Of course he’d remembered her schedule and exactly where she’d be headed today. The phone pinged with a second text from Owen. “I’ve been thinking of you.”
For only a brief second did she consider her response. Then she typed, “I’ve been thinking of you, too. See you in Bath.”
She took out her guidebook to read about Painswick. Another stone Cotswold village. Maybe she’d look around before interrupting Sean’s work morning and instead stop by closer to lunch.
She headed for town, stopping at New Street. Painswick was a historic wool town. New Street seemed a real tourist destination, and not far from the shop Sean Cooke owned. She adjusted her rucksack on her shoulders and took the walking tour suggested in her guide. First she found the oldest building in England to hold a post office, and Painswick’s only example of exposed timber framing.
Next came the Beacon House, with its magnificent Georgian Frontage, followed up by a stop at the Falcon Hotel, owner of the oldest bowling green in England. As she hit Bisley Street, where New Street ended, the map showed she was close to the real reason for her stop in town.
With a hammering heart, she followed her GPS to the auto body shop. For a long minute, she stood across the street and stared at the garage attached to a stone building. Two men worked inside the garage on a BMW. She drew in a deep breath and headed for the building, where a sign on a glass door read the business name and hours.
The large room contained two metal desks behind a counter. A poster on the wall listed work prices and, near it, a doorway led to a private office. She moved closer and peeked inside the office at photos hung on the wall. A pretty blonde stood with a man who had intense blue eyes and strong chin. A numbing sensation traveled her spine as she recognized the aged face of Sean.
A woman came out from a back room. “Well, hello. Can I help you?”
The blonde in the office photograph smiled at Willow. Sean’s wife, maybe? “Yes. I’m here to see Mr. Cooke.”
“He’s not here right now. Just stepped out to the pub for a bite. May I help you?”
“Oh, uh… You know, I can come back. I was just walking the local trail and I think we have a mutual friend from Bitton. I figured I’d pop in a say hello.”
“Oh, how nice. Yes, Sean grew up there. Are you’re visiting from America?”
“I am.”
“Oh, I’m Sean’s wife. Sylvia.”
Willow couldn’t find the words to answer. She hadn’t stopped to think about Sean having a wife or a family. Snap out of it! “Nice to meet you. How about I come back?”
She studied Willow for a few seconds and said, “Why don’t you head into town? You’ll probably find him at the Pig and Pen.”
“Great. Thanks.”
Willow turned and just as she opened the door, the woman asked, “It was nice to meet you. I didn’t catch your name.”
A smile frozen on her face, she said, “It’s Willow. Have a good day.”
She hurried out before the woman asked for more. This wasn’t the person to whom she should confess the reasons for her visit. On her way down the street her heart pounded so rapidly against her ribs she thought it would pop through.
Should she go into this pub? She continued in the direction, debating with each step.
Hadn’t she come too far too turn back now?
Standing in front of the pub’s old wooden doorway, she took a deep breath and entered. At a bar to the left, several men sat on tall stools talking with the bartender. She spotted Sean easily. His white button-down shirt had an emblem to his repair shop on the pocket, and his name embroidered beneath it. She
selected a table on the opposite side of the room, right near a multipaned window looking out to the street.
After resting her rucksack against the wall, she glanced at a menu already on the table. Every so often she’d glance in Sean’s direction, but quickly go back to the menu. He had a kind face. No longer the thin young man in the photos, he’d grown into his body. His shirt, tucked into navy, baggy workpants, showed a fuller torso and broad chest.
The bartender stopped at her table and she ordered a beer and burger. While she waited, she pretended to be looking at her guidebook while covertly watching the men talk. A lively conversation about an upcoming football matched solicited a range of emotions.
Sean showed great loyalty for one particular team. Perhaps the kind of undeserved loyalty he gave to her mother, who didn’t have the decency to mention their baby. Anger inched its way into her veins as she faced this awkward moment, one that could have been avoided if her mother had chosen honesty instead of secrecy. The bartender delivered her beer. She took a long swig, but it didn’t quell the unresolved irritation.
More people entered and the tables slowly filled. Good camouflage, making it so Willow didn’t stand out as much.
As she watched Sean’s mannerisms, she grew increasingly aware of a pattern. Some of his facial expressions mimicked hers. A motivational video she’d recorded for Pound Busters had once showed her several facial expressions she used regularly, a humbling observation. Yet as she watched Sean listening to his friends, he displayed the same twitch of his lips combined with a slightly arched brow she saw in herself on that video. When he smiled, his eyes squinted almost a bit too much, just like hers.
Sean laughed loudly at something one of the other men said. Wasn’t that her laugh?
Or was she imagining it all?
The men finished and paid the tab. Two of them left, but Sean went the opposite way and disappeared through a door marked Men’s Room. She gulped the last of her beer and stood.
He came out and hurried toward the exit. She strode toward him, her mouth dry and heart banging in her ears.
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