A Walk Along the Beach by Debbie Macomber Page 0,45

trailer. His voice, as well as his words, lacked welcome.

“It’s Willa.”

“Willa.” Almost immediately the front door was thrown open and Dad stood there in a stained white T-shirt and jeans. He blinked as if he wasn’t sure it was really me.

“Sorry to come this late. I should have phoned first.” My impulsive visit seemed all wrong now and I regretted it, especially seeing how uncomfortable he was.

“Is it Harper?” he asked, worry sketched across his face. His eyes bored into mine and it seemed he braced himself for bad news.

“No, Dad, everything is fine.”

Relief washed over his features before he frowned. “You’re not just saying that, are you?”

“No, Dad. All’s well.”

Stepping aside, he motioned for me to come into his home. Dad had never been particularly neat; the years hadn’t changed him. Dirty dishes lined the countertop and a couple of pans rested atop the stove. The furniture held discarded clothing and the top of the coffee table was obscured with old newspapers, unopened mail, and magazines. Our mother would cringe if she could see how unkempt he was.

Dad cleared a spot for me on the sofa. “Sit. Make yourself at home.”

Home.

We’d lost so much more than our mother with her brain aneurysm. Within a few years we’d lost our house to foreclosure and been forced to find other lodging. The father we knew and loved became a shell of the man that he’d once been.

In the years since Mom’s passing, we’d all drifted like feathers captured in the wind, floating in different directions. Dad floundered from one job to another. Lucas had joined the Army. Thankfully, Harper and I remained close and shared an apartment. The time would come when we, too, would find our own paths in life and we would go our separate ways.

Dad rubbed a hand down his face. “Harper had her blood tested?”

Nodding, I said, “I called, and left a voicemail. You never returned my call.”

“You know how I hate to talk on the phone.”

That wasn’t all he disliked. Apparently, listening to phone messages was also on his do-not-like list.

“We drove into Seattle to the Medical Center and got the results later that same afternoon.” I relaxed against the sofa. “Everything looks good.”

“Glad to hear it.” His weak smile confirmed his words.

He wasn’t the only one who was relieved. Dad hadn’t always been like this, detached and emotionally distant from his children. True enough, it was bad after we lost Mom, but the bigger separation came when Harper had been diagnosed. The news was more than he could handle. Throughout the ordeal, Dad had been to the hospital only once or twice. It was as if the thought of losing first his wife and then his youngest child had crippled him. That was when the worst of the drinking had started.

The silence that followed was awkward, and, needing to fill it, I said, “While we were in Seattle, we had lunch with Chantelle.”

“Ah yes, Lucas’s girl.”

“Fiancée,” I corrected with overstated enthusiasm. “The wedding plans are in full swing. Harper and I are to be her bridesmaids.”

Dad smiled and I could see that news lifted his spirits.

“Chantelle is designing the bridesmaids’ dresses herself. She’s really talented; they’re going to be beautiful.”

“Where’s Harper now?”

“She’s with a group of friends. That girl has more energy than ten teenage boys. You know she has it in her head to climb Mount Rainier, don’t you?”

Dad frowned, clearly disapproving. “I’m not sure that’s such a good idea.”

“Tell Harper that.” I’d tried without success. Even Lucas had mentioned he felt it might be too much for her, health-wise. Not that our concerns did any good. My sister had a mind of her own.

“Is she dating anyone special?” he asked.

“No. She was out last weekend with a guy named Travis, and then this morning she said something about meeting John for the conditioning session.”

“Travis? John? Is that girl ever going to settle down?”

“She’ll find the right one when she’s ready,” I assured him, just as I’d found the right one for me.

Hold on a minute. Where did that thought come from?

My relationship with Sean was in the infancy stage. I didn’t know why, out of the blue, these thoughts were coming into my head. Then I did. When he’d been in Bolivia, I’d felt like a part of me was missing. I’d broken my arm as a freshman in high school and had to keep it in a sling. Handling life with one arm had been nerve-racking and frustrating, especially since