A Walk Along the Beach by Debbie Macomber Page 0,101

You’ll need to ask Willa what she suggests I do with this stuff.”

He winked, knowing I’d welcome any opportunity for conversation with his daughter. “Got it.”

The two of us worked together for a couple of hours when I found a half-bottle of bourbon hidden under the sink. “What would you like me to do with this?” I asked, holding it up.

Glancing up, Stan’s gaze focused on the bottle. “Where’d you find that?”

I told him.

“Thought I’d done away with all the booze hidden around here. Best thing is to dump it down the sink; I don’t have any need for it.”

I did as he asked and had just finished when the trailer door opened, and Willa came in. “Dad, is that Sean’s car…” She paused when she saw me. Her eyes widened when she caught sight of the empty bourbon bottle in my hand.

“Your father asked me to dump this,” I said, before she jumped to conclusions.

She stood frozen, looking from her father to me and then back again. “What’s he doing here?” she asked, addressing Stan.

“What does it look like? He’s helping me pack up. Doing a good job of it, too, I might add.”

“Dad…this isn’t a good idea.”

“Can’t say I agree, baby girl.”

The last thing I wanted was to cause dissension between Willa and her father. I decided a distraction might help. “Willa, what would you suggest we do with the pots and pans?” I asked. “Your dad seems to think he won’t need them living with you.”

“Dad.” She ignored me and my question.

“He needs an answer,” her father said. He carried a box and set it on top of another.

Willa turned and looked pointedly at me. “Sean already has his answer. He knows what I want.”

Her words hung in the air like a time bomb.

“It looks like you’ve got everything squared away here. I’ll be waiting at the apartment.”

Having said that, she walked out and gently closed the door.

CHAPTER 32

Willa

I had to credit Sean with being persistent. He was a man of his word. Every morning, right around ten, he showed up at Bean There and ordered a mocha.

As much as possible, I let Lannie, my new hire, wait on him. He never complained, never asked for me personally. He purchased his drink, sat down at one of the few tables until he’d finished, and then he’d leave.

The weather was turning stormy with the approach of winter, so I didn’t walk along the beach nearly as often as I had shortly after we lost Harper. Coming to grips with the loss of my sister was never going to be easy, but as the days and weeks passed, I slowly discovered that I could breathe again. As much as I would have preferred to shut myself in a closet and wallow in my grief, life went on. I had responsibilities, commitments. My staff depended on me. I couldn’t let down the community that had supported and loved me.

Having Dad live with me had been an unexpected bonus. Now that he wasn’t drinking, he was a new man. He enjoyed his job at the Ace Hardware store; it gave him purpose and he liked helping people. I know he grieved for Harper, but he was better at keeping his feelings to himself than I was. He routinely attended his meetings and checked in with his sponsor.

Harper had so often complained about my mothering, but with Dad living with me, I had someone to cook for and look after. It helped me deal with the loss of my sister. We didn’t talk about her much, but I felt her presence almost as if she was with me, watching over me.

The holidays came upon us without a welcome. I didn’t know how we were going to get through Christmas. Thanksgiving was hard enough. Dad and I gathered at Lucas’s house, with Chantelle and me doing the cooking. It was a bleak day for us all.

The one bright spot, although I hated to admit it, was the text I got from Sean.

Spending Thanksgiving with my folks. Back on Monday. Miss you.

I must have read those few lines a dozen times. It angered me that his words meant this much.

On Friday, the day after Thanksgiving, I got another text.

Mom and Dad send their love. I do, too.

The temptation to reply had been strong. At first, I was angry, wanting to demand that he stop texting me. I accepted that the only one I’d be hurting, though, was myself. A dozen times the