A Walk Along the Beach by Debbie Macomber Page 0,39

the morning they arrived.

His mother burst into the house like a freight train shooting into a tunnel, nearly bowling me over in order to get to her son. “Sean Patrick O’Malley…typhoid fever,” she cried.

Sean groaned and laid his head back against the overstuffed chair where he sat. “Mom, please, I’m fine.”

Sean looked at me and I read the apology in his eyes. I understood better than he realized. Had it been my mother she would have reacted the same.

His father followed close behind, carting in two suitcases. “Patrick O’Malley,” he introduced himself as he scooted past me.

“I’m Willa. Willa Lakey.”

As if she recognized my name, his mother whirled around. “You’re Willa?”

With a laser focus, she looked straight through me. I would have been uncomfortable if the stare hadn’t been followed with a slow, easy smile that softened her tight features.

“You’re Willa,” she repeated, and then, without a word, gathered me into her arms and hugged me as if I was long-lost family. “I’m Joanna and I am happy to meet you. So happy.”

“Mom. Dad—” Sean wasn’t allowed to finish.

Joanna’s worried face returned as she looked to me. “What’s his temperature? When was the last time he ate? What do I need to watch for? Shouldn’t he be hospitalized?” The questions came at me all at once, with no room for response.

“Mom,” Sean protested. “Give Willa a chance to breathe, will you?”

“Perhaps ask one question at a time,” his father inserted when he returned from setting the luggage in the spare bedroom.

“Sean might not look so great, but he’ll survive, won’t you, son?”

“I’ll live to worry you another day,” Sean assured his mother.

“Why didn’t you call us sooner?” she demanded, as if offended. “Your father and I would have come immediately.”

“I know—”

“Willa, we owe you,” his father said.

“I was happy to be here.”

“Can everyone kindly sit down,” Sean barked, waving his hand toward the sofa. “It’s hurting my neck to look up.”

“He must be feeling better,” Joanna said to her husband, and then turned to me and added, “Sean never was a good patient. You must have the patience of a saint to put up with him.”

“He’s been too sick to put up much of a fuss,” I said, glancing toward Sean, who rolled his eyes at his parents. I sat on the ottoman next to him and he reached for my hand. His smile was indulgent and appreciative at the same time. He seemed to be telling me how grateful he was that I’d spent the last four days looking after him, and asking me to forgive his parents, particularly his mother, for rushing in like a herd of stampeding buffalo.

“Sean’s temperature is down to a hundred and one,” I said, answering the most important questions. “And he ate some scrambled eggs and toast for breakfast, which is the first solid food he’s been able to tolerate.”

“You should have let us know sooner,” his mother bemoaned.

Sean’s hand tightened around mine. “Willa was here, and Mom, really, I was too sick. I don’t know what I would have done without Willa. She stepped in and took care of me.”

“Thank God.” His mother still didn’t look happy with him.

“I didn’t want you flying in until we knew what was wrong,” he added. “Now we do and I’m grateful you’re here.”

“Sean told us you have your own business,” his father said, relaxing on the sofa. One leg was balanced across his knee and his arm rested on the back of the sofa and cupped his wife’s shoulder.

I could see he was the calm one in the family, a good balance for his mother, who was in mama-bear mode.

It took me a moment to realize his parents were waiting for me to answer. “Yes, I have a small coffee shop on Main Street.”

“She bakes, too,” Sean threw in.

“Ah yes, I’ve heard rumors about your cinnamon rolls,” Patrick said, and his eyes brightened.

It appeared Sean had mentioned me in more than passing. Knowing that flustered me. I tugged my hand free from Sean’s and stood. “Now that you’re here, I feel more comfortable leaving.”

Sean started to protest and then, after a glare from his mother, stopped.

His mother stood and followed me to the front door. “We don’t mean to run you off,” she said.

“You aren’t. I need to get back to the shop. My sister and her friend have been covering for me.” Harper and Leesa had been wonderful. While Leesa took over Harper’s yoga classes, my sister had worked beside Alice