A Walk Along the Beach by Debbie Macomber Page 0,68

“If I could, I’d fly home tomorrow. But there’s only one vehicle, and the most common form of transportation here is oxcart. I don’t have a choice but to stay with the team and see this through.”

“I know.” Resignation coated her words. “I know.”

“As soon as I can, I’ll get the first flight out, I promise.”

She seemed to be drawing on a source of inner strength, because when she next spoke her voice was calm and controlled. I couldn’t sense any anger from her. Perhaps a little disappointment, if that.

“I understand. This is important work and you’re needed there.”

I would forever love her for her understanding. Guilt at letting her down was eating at me like piranhas in a feeding frenzy. If only I could be in two places at once.

“Lucas and Chantelle have been wonderful. I spend my days with Harper and then Chantelle relieves me after work so I can get something to eat. Lucas comes and sits with us in the evenings until Harper can rest.”

“What about Bean There?”

“Shirley, God bless her, is filling in, and Leesa and a couple of Harper’s other friends are taking the morning shift. All have some bistro experience from their college days, so I don’t worry as much as I would otherwise.

“Originally, I intended to drive back to Oceanside once a week, but I can see that will be impossible. At least not now. Maybe after this round of chemo I’ll be able to manage it.”

I covered my forehead with my free hand, feeling wretched to be away when Willa and her family needed me.

“Sean?”

“Yes, my love?”

“I need to tell you…something.” Her voice trembled and lowered to a mere whisper. She paused, as if she found it difficult to get the words out.

“What is it, love?” I asked, sensing that whatever she was about to say was important, more important than anything else she’d said to this point.

“I have this feeling, this gut feeling that won’t go away. I…I haven’t said anything to Lucas or Chantelle or anyone else. I can’t. I won’t. But that doesn’t change what I know in my gut…in my heart.”

“You can tell me,” I whispered.

Just then Doug burst into the café. “You ready?” he demanded, eager to return to our camp before we lost daylight.

“Give me a minute,” I pleaded.

Naturally, Willa heard the exchange. “You need to go.”

“Tell me what you want to say,” I urged.

“Sean,” she said, her voice full of tears. “I’m getting a vibe from the nurses…no one has come right out and said it aloud, but I’ve heard whispers. John is worried. He hasn’t said it. It’s a feeling…The nurses, even John…they don’t think Harper will be well enough to leave the hospital between her chemo sessions. I’m afraid they don’t believe Harper will ever go home again.”

“You don’t know that,” I countered.

“I refuse to believe it. I can’t. We need to remain positive. She beat cancer once. She can again…only it feels much different this time. Worse, somehow, and I didn’t think that was possible.”

CHAPTER 22

Willa

Ten days after hearing from Sean, it was exactly as I’d feared. When the chemotherapy was completed, Harper remained too sick to leave the hospital. The short break between chemotherapy sessions, when we’d hoped she would build up her strength and white blood cells while staying at Lucas’s apartment, wasn’t possible. Harper was far too sick. I’d prayed that once the infusions stopped, her appetite would return. It didn’t. She ate less and less.

Chantelle thought if she brought Harper her favorite pizza that would be incentive enough for her to eat. She did her best, nibbling at a single slice, but couldn’t manage more than what a bird would peck at. It said much more than any of us could bear to say aloud. She was going downhill quickly, far faster than we ever dared dream.

“Stop looking at me like I’m on my deathbed,” Harper insisted. “I’m getting better; be patient. This stuff takes time. Ask John…You’re all looking so gloomy. You’re being ridiculous.”

“Am not,” I muttered.

“Are too,” Harper countered in banter, like we were children. Then, as if she was eager to change the subject, she asked me about Sean. “Have you heard from him lately?”

I shook my head.

“You know he’d contact you if he could.”

“I know.” Everything would be easier for me if he was here. I needed him, if for nothing more than to rest my head against his shoulder and let him hold me. He would absorb my fears,