Wind Chime Café (A Wind Chime Novel) Page 2
Will drove down the long flat road leading to the western tip of the island. He passed soybean fields, white pine forests, and marshes until the paved road turned to gravel and the yellow farmhouse rose up to greet him.
As if he hadn’t been gone for the past ten years. As if nothing had changed.
His grandfather’s Ford pickup truck was still parked in the same spot, the same rust stains crawling along the bumper, the radio probably still tuned to the same local country music station.
His grandmother’s gardens still took up half the back yard, and the same hackberry tree, with its sagging branches almost touching the ground, still marked the beginning of the path leading down to the beach.
Will slowed the SUV to a stop beside his grandfather’s truck and cut the headlights. He sat in the driver’s seat with his hands resting on the steering wheel, gazing at the house that had been in his family for five generations.
This was only supposed to have been a weekend trip. He’d planned to go through the house one last time, grab a few things from his past, sign the contract, and pass the deed to the buyer. He’d planned to walk away after this weekend and never come back.
But could he sign this house, his family’s history, over to a developer?
He stepped out of the SUV. His boots crunched over oyster shells as he walked slowly up to the porch, past those same five wicker rockers that had been there since he was a child. They used to sit there in the afternoons—his mom, his sister, his grandmother, his grandfather and him—waiting for guests to arrive.
He walked into the foyer of his old home and breathed in the musty air with a hint of Old Bay Seasoning. A thick layer of dust clung to every flat surface, and he would bet the raccoons and possums were having a field day under the porches.
Across the room, a layer of pollen coated a framed picture of him in his first t-ball uniform, which still sat on the mantel above the fireplace, right beside the picture of his little sister in a pink dress blowing bubbles in the grass. Something twisted deep inside him, and he turned away from the photographs.
What was the point in looking back, when you’d lost everything?
He bypassed the hall leading up to the stairs and walked into the big open kitchen. Moonlight streamed through the windows, illuminating the worn wooden counters and gas range stove. A chopping block that doubled as an island sat in the middle of the room. The same wooden stools were lined up around the counters.
He remembered how this room had always smelled of his grandmother’s cooking: fresh baked bread, homemade vanilla ice cream, oyster fritters, and steamed crabs. It felt wrong to be here without her, without everyone. This house had always been filled with people. Laughing, chattering, happy people.
Now it just felt empty.
Setting the food on the counter, he crossed the dining area to the back porch that ran the length of the house. He opened the screen door, letting it slap shut behind him as he wandered outside, down the sloping lawn, past the tulip poplars and the abandoned swing that still hung from the thickest branch of the black walnut tree.
He walked out onto the dock, strolling to the edge of the pier.
He had some time. Not much, but enough. It wasn’t going to be easy. The house needed a lot of work. But he could roll over a few weeks of leave that he hadn’t taken from the previous year, in addition to the two weeks he was already taking. If he could restore the inn back to a state where it would at least pass inspection, he might be able to attract a regular buyer, one who wouldn’t tear it down.
He ran his hand over a rotted piling.
He’d have to clear it with his CO, but his new boss had already suggested that he take some time off to “get his head straight” before rejoining the teams for a pre-deployment training in November.
His CO wasn’t the only one who’d issued a subtle warning. Some of his fellow SEALs were starting to make comments. He wasn’t himself anymore. He wasn’t focusing.
Will knew they were only looking out for him. They didn’t want to lose him. He knew better than anyone that there was no room on the teams for an operative, no matter how skilled, who couldn’t focus.
He dipped his hands in his pockets, listening to the sound of the water lapping against the shoreline.
Maybe all he needed was a project to sink his teeth into. At some point, the nightmares would have to stop. And if they didn’t?
He was sure there was nothing wrong with him that a few weeks with a beautiful redhead couldn’t fix.
Annie squeezed Taylor’s hand as they walked the three blocks to the Heron Island Elementary School. The village was slowly waking up. Islanders were sweeping their front steps, clipping laundry to clotheslines, and taking their dogs for a morning walk. A man sitting on his porch reading the newspaper lifted his coffee cup in greeting.
Annie smiled and waved back. Act normal. Act like everything’s fine.
The wind whipped at the Maryland flag flying outside the entrance to the school as they fell into step beside the other parents and children. Across the street, sailboats floated in Magnolia Harbor. Sunlight sparkled over the surface of the Bay and ospreys rode the salty breezes, their sharp cries piercing the air. They followed the bubbles of happy chatter into the brick building and made their way to the principal’s office.
A woman with curly gray hair pushed back from her desk when they walked inside. “You must be Taylor!” Her hazel eyes crinkled up in a smile. “I’m Principal Needham. It’s so nice to finally meet you.”
“Hi,” Taylor said softly, edging toward Annie and clutching her broom.
“Annie,” Shelley Needham said, keeping her tone light and friendly as her gaze flickered down to Taylor’s broom then back up to Annie’s face. “It’s nice to see you again.”
“You too,” Annie said. She knew Shelley wouldn’t say anything about Taylor’s broom. She’d warned her about it two weeks ago when they’d had their first face-to-face meeting to talk about Taylor’s enrollment. Shelley had cleared it with Taylor’s teacher, but it wasn’t the teacher they were worried about. It was the other kids. The last thing either of them wanted was for Taylor to be made fun of on her first day back at school.
Annie had tried to convince Taylor not to bring it this morning, but she hadn’t had any luck. She didn’t have the heart to take it away from her. Not until she was ready.
“How are you feeling today, Taylor?” Shelley asked.
Taylor looked down at the carpet. “Okay.”
“Would you like to see your new classroom?”
Taylor nodded, without looking up.
Shelley motioned for them to follow her and they walked back out into the crowded halls. Annie put her hand on Taylor’s shoulder as they wove through the clusters of students to the second-grade classroom. She tried to focus on the student artwork, the bright colors and bubbly shapes decorating the halls, instead of the sudden tightening in her chest.
“Here we are,” Shelley said, pausing beside an open door filled with kids chattering and hanging up their coats in cubbies.
Annie felt the air grow thick. They’d arrived too fast. She wasn’t ready.
“Mommy?” Taylor whispered.
“What, sweetie?” Annie looked down, ready to pull her back down the hallway and run. “What is it?”
Taylor lifted her hand, the one Annie was holding. “You’re hurting me.”
“Oh,” Annie said quickly, loosening her grip. “Sorry.”
Shelley waved to a young woman with shoulder-length chestnut hair and brown eyes heading toward them. “Here comes your teacher, Taylor. This is Miss Haddaway.”
Becca Haddaway smiled briefly at Annie as she knelt in front of Taylor. Annie watched the scene unfold, as if she wasn’t really a part of it, as if none of it was really happening. She saw their mouths opening and knew words were coming out, but she couldn’t hear them.
When Becca stood and held out her hand, Annie lifted hers to shake it before she realized the teacher was reaching for
Taylor.
To take her into the classroom.
Shelley laid a comforting hand on Annie’s shoulder. “You’re doing fine,” she murmured.
But the principal’s words did little to soothe her. Cold needles of fear pricked at the backs of Annie’s eyes as she slowly released Taylor’s hand. She watched helplessly as Becca guided her daughter through the maze of desks and children to the cubbies. Taylor took off her backpack—her brand new purple backpack they’d bought last week.
Because her old one was covered in blood.
The blood of all the other students who’d died that day.
Annie reached for the wall, her fingers curling around a construction paper swan as Becca steered Taylor to an empty desk in the front of the room. A few of the students grew silent, staring at the new girl. Taylor didn’t seem to notice as she listened to the teacher explain what was inside the desk and point out the various projects they’d been working on throughout the room.
When Taylor sat down, Becca helped her lean the broom against the plastic chair so it wouldn’t fall, as if it was perfectly normal for a second-grader to bring a cleaning tool into school. Then she stood, raising her voice. “Good morning, everyone. Let’s find our seats. It’s time to get started.”
“There’s a chair in the back for you,” Shelley said quietly. “You’re welcome to stay as long as you want.”
Annie walked on rubber legs toward the chair in the back of the room as the rest of the kids filed into their seats.
Taylor turned and looked at her.
Annie paused when their eyes met.
Taylor shook her head and twisted back around, looking up at her teacher.
Annie’s knees almost gave out. ‘Kids are resilient. They bounce back faster. The first day might be harder for you than it is for Taylor.’ The grief counselor’s words floated back. ‘Let Taylor return to normal as quickly as possible. Don’t make it any harder for her than it needs to be.’
Annie backed slowly out of the room to the hallway, lifting her hand in a half wave. But Taylor wasn’t even looking at her. She rounded the edge of the door, leaning a shoulder against the wall and letting out a long breath.
Shelley closed the door to the classroom. The click echoed through the hallway as she turned to face Annie. Her eyes were filled with sympathy. “Why don’t you come back to my office? I could make you a cup of coffee and we could sit and chat.”
“No.” Annie shook her head. “I…thank you. I’m fine. I think…I just need some air.”
Will drove into town. He felt like a live wire, ragged and fraying around the edges, ready to snap. He hadn’t slept. Again.
He was running on adrenaline now—every sense heightened, every thought twisted and fragmented.
It wouldn’t be the first time. He recognized the feeling. He’d experienced it on enough overseas ops. It had fueled him through Hell Week ten years ago when he’d first joined the SEALs. One of the reasons the instructors pushed them so hard in BUD/S was to see if they could carry out a mission in an exhausted haze.
He knew how to function in this state.
It was all mental.
He just had to get control of his mind.
Marshes and soybean fields gave way to the playing fields of the Heron Island Elementary School. Faded orange soccer nets flanked the flat stretch of grass, and he slowed when he spotted a woman with long red hair sitting alone on the bleachers.
Wasn’t that the woman he’d met last night?
What was she doing at the elementary school?
Unless…
Shit. Did she have a kid?
That would explain why she hadn’t wanted him to come in last night, why she’d kept looking back toward the stairs leading up to the apartment. He tapped his fingers over the steering wheel. Kids complicated things. He didn’t do complicated.
But he wanted to see her.
He’d thought of little else while he’d lain awake last night, staring at the ceiling.
Turning the wheel at the last minute, he steered the SUV into the parking lot. He pulled into a parking spot facing the playing fields and cut the engine. Screw it. He had six weeks to figure out how to un-complicate things.
He climbed out of the driver’s seat and walked across the grass to where she sat. When she lifted her gaze, he expected her to say something sarcastic about the chicken tenders she’d given him last night. He wasn’t prepared for the pale face and haunted eyes that stared back at him.
Whoa.
There was nothing uncomplicated about that. “Is everything all right?”
“I’m fine.”
Her hands were wrapped around the bench on either side of her, curled into a death grip. “You don’t look fine.”
“Thanks.”
“No,” Will said, backpedaling. “I mean, you look like you could use someone to talk to.”
“Actually, I’d really like to be alone right now.”
Will paused a few yards away from her. He hadn’t risen to the rank of Lieutenant Commander in the U.S. Navy without recognizing that most of the time, when one of his men said they wanted to be alone, what they really needed was someone to talk to. He wouldn’t let one of his men off that easily, and he sure as hell wasn’t leaving Annie alone in the middle of a panic attack. Not until she told him what was wrong.
“Look,” she said after several moments of silence when he made no move to leave. “I just dropped my daughter off for her first day at a new school, and I’m worried about her. I want to stay close by in case she needs me.”
“How old is your daughter?”
“She’s eight.”
Eight? Will’s gaze combed over Annie’s face. She didn’t look old enough to have an eight-year-old daughter. He’d pinned her as twenty-six, twenty-seven at the most. She must have been pretty young when she’d gotten pregnant.
He took a moment to study her. She was wearing a stretchy black top and dark jeans again. She wore her hair long and loose, spilling in red waves over her shoulders. The wind whipped a touch of color back into her cheeks, but her eyes still held a hint of fear.
What was she afraid of?
“You’re not wearing a ring,” Will said, “so I’m guessing the father’s not part of the picture.”
“No.” Annie brushed her hair out of her eyes. “He’s not part of the picture.”
Will wondered if he’d ever been part of the picture. Or if he could have something to do with what she was afraid of. “If your daughter’s eight, shouldn’t you be used to leaving her at school by now?”
“It’s a new school. She doesn’t know anyone here.”
Still, he thought. She seemed pretty shaken up for someone who was just dropping her kid off at school. “What grade is your daughter in?”
“Second.”
“Who’s her teacher?”
“Becca Haddaway.”
Becca? No kidding? “I didn’t know Becca was a teacher.”
“I thought you said you grew up here?”
“I did.” Will rocked back on his heels. “I haven’t been back in a while.”
Annie glanced back up at him, shading her eyes from the sun. “How long is a while?”
“Listen,” Will said, changing the subject, “you look like you could use something to eat, and I bet your daughter doesn’t want you hanging around when she comes out for recess. Let me take you to breakfast.”
Annie shook her head. “I need to stay here.”
“For how long?”
“Until I’m ready.”
“You can’t say no to a fried egg sandwich from The Tackle Box. I’ll even throw in a bottle of orange juice.” He smiled down at her, trying to put her at ease. “We can call it a date.”
“I told you last night. I’m not dating you.”
“Why not?” Will feigned a hurt expression. “Don’t I look dateable?”
“Yes,” she said. “You look perfectly dateable. For someone else.”
“But not you?”
“Why not?”
Annie’s gaze drifted to the brightly colored playground and row of swings near the school. “Because I don’t date.”
Will walked to the bleachers, lowering himself to the bench beside her. “Ever?”
“That’s right.”
“That seems closed-minded.”
“It’s not closed-minded. It’s just easier.”
Will’s eyes widened in mock horror. “What’s easy about not dating?”
“Well, for starters,” she answered, “not having to explain to my daughter where I’m going and who I’m going with.”
“Your daughter’s busy with school right now, so you don’t have to explain anything.”
“But I’d have to tell her later. We don’t keep secrets from each other.”
Will studied her for several moments. “You tell your daughter everything?”
“Yes.”
“Everything?”
“Yes.”
Will leaned in and brushed his lips over hers. Before she could react, before she could do anything, he eased back and winked. “Let me know what she has to say about that.”
Annie shot to her feet. She didn’t know what shocked her more, the fact that he’d kissed her, or how badly she’d wanted to kiss him back. Warmth flooded her system and something stirred deep inside her—something dark, desperate, and needy.
She didn’t want to feel needy. She didn’t want to feel weak. “Don’t do that again.”
“What?” Will leaned back, stretching his legs out and crossing his feet at the ankles. He was wearing the same hooded sweatshirt from the night before, with faded jeans and work boots. There was a gleam in his eye, like he’d just won a prize at a carnival. “Kiss you?”
She looked quickly over at the school. What if one of the children had seen them? What if Taylor had seen them? “Yes.”
“Why?”
Because… Annie resisted the urge to reach up and touch her lips, where the taste of him still lingered. It had been far too long since she’d had a man’s mouth on hers, and the sensation had left her feeling rattled. She couldn’t afford to feel rattled right now. She was barely keeping it together as it was.