A Walk Along the Beach by Debbie Macomber Page 0,66
avoid the hazards.
At one point we got behind a farmer herding ten head of cattle down a narrow section of road. We were forced to follow him until the path widened enough for us to get past.
While Doug and Larry went about their business, I found a hole-in-the-wall restaurant with Internet access, if you could call a few mismatched tables and chairs on a dirt floor a restaurant. Knowing it would be appreciated if I made a purchase, I ordered a coffee, found a seat, and opened my computer. In my eagerness, my hand trembled. Two weeks, fourteen mere days, out of communication with Willa and I shook like an addict, needing a fix.
Once I was able to log in, I scanned emails until I saw Willa’s name. The first message was brief. After a few words asking about my welfare and wishing me success, she casually mentioned Harper was in the hospital. All Willa had mentioned earlier was that her sister was undergoing a few tests. Whatever the results were couldn’t have been good. I frowned as I scanned her email a second time, hoping to read between the lines. I knew Willa worried incessantly about Harper’s health. Seeing that she didn’t elaborate led me to believe there was more to this than what she was saying.
Perhaps it was the flu? Or a cold? But those rarely led to hospital stays unless they had developed into something far more serious. I pondered her brief message again, remembering Harper’s troubles in making the climb she’d prepared for all summer.
In the space of a single heartbeat it came to me. Could it be that Willa was telling me Harper’s cancer had returned? I didn’t want to leap to conclusions, but my mind refused to let go of the possibility. I felt my chest tighten, and for the next moment it seemed as if my heart stopped. The first bout had nearly claimed Harper’s life. She’d recovered, but I didn’t think Willa ever had. She’d lived in fear of her sister’s future.
After a few deep breaths, I debated how best to respond as I scanned down to her most recent email. I hurriedly read her message. Again, it was short, as if she was afraid of saying too much. She told me she missed me and how she longed for me to hurry home. I felt the angst in those two lines, the fear and tension. Her next words confirmed my worst suspicions.
I’m staying with Lucas in Seattle while Harper is in the hospital. Please, my love, hurry home.
For the life of me I didn’t know how I was going to tell her that it didn’t look like we were going to be able to wrap up this assignment in the time allotted. Already Doug was talking about a two-week extension. From six weeks to eight. Maybe longer.
The one bright spot in her entire email was that she called me “my love.”
I answered her, typing as fast as my fingers could manage, before Doug and Larry returned and I would be forced to leave. I let her know how sorry I was to hear about Harper and how desperately I wished I was there with her. I spoke of the job and what we were doing, the progress we’d made, and how much there was yet to be done.
Looking to take her mind off Harper and her current situation, I described the local people we’d met and worked with, their beauty and willingness to do whatever we asked, their generosity of spirit. I mentioned some of what I’d learned about the culture and how I spent my days and nights.
Hoping a long email from me would help ease her mind, I outlined what a typical day was like for me and the rest of the crew. I mentioned my fears and the importance of this assignment to my career and how most days I felt like I had failed until I was able to review the shots I’d taken. At night, when sleep came, I generally felt like I had the best job in the world. That said, it didn’t nearly compensate for how desperately I missed her, how anxious I was to get home. I assured her I would do anything in my power to get back to Seattle as quickly as I could manage.
I pushed send and watched the message disappear. If only I could hear her voice. If only…