Seaside Reunion (13 page)

No one should be able to be that elusive in a town the size of Starfish Bay.

“I think the tide may have turned tonight.”

At Jack’s comment, Nate pulled himself back to the conversation. “You may be right.”

“Lindsey’s not going to be happy.” He checked on his daughter, still at the front of the room, surrounded by a crowd of allies.

“Yeah. I know.”

“She’s been on the phone all week, trying to rally support. I heard talk of a letter-writing campaign, too. And she called the papers in Eureka and Crescent City about tonight’s meeting, but I don’t think she had much luck interesting them in the affairs of our little community. As far as I could tell, there weren’t any reporters here.”

“I’m not surprised. A town council meeting is boring stuff for most newspapers. And this story isn’t all that newsworthy in the big scheme of things.”

It had great feature potential, though, with the kind of hook guaranteed to engage readers—a classic David and Goliath story. But maybe you had to have journalism or PR skills to know how to work that angle.

The kind he had.

A pang of guilt ricocheted through him.

“That’s a fact. The Point doesn’t matter to anyone but us.” Jack sighed. “Guess I’ll go on home. Looks like Lindsey will be here for a while.”

Nate followed the direction of the older man’s gaze. She was still surrounded by a crowd, her expression animated, her posture energized.

“You heading out, too?” Jack retrieved his jacket from the back of the chair in front of him, where he’d draped it during their conversation.

“I think I’ll hang around a few more minutes.”

“Okay. See you at the store.” Lifting his hand, the man wove toward the exit.

Nate slipped into the shadows at the back of the town hall. Small clusters of people continued to congregate around the room, but slowly they all began to thin until at last Lindsey remained alone behind the head table.

Only then did her shoulders droop.

And that posture of defeat propelled him forward.

Intent on gathering up her purse and notepapers, she didn’t see him approaching until he was mere feet away. Once she spotted him, she grasped the edge of the table and froze.

“Hi.” He gave her a smile.

She didn’t return it. “What are you doing here? I thought this wasn’t your fight.”

He deserved that. “I had a free evening.”

“Well, I hope you were entertained.” She dug around in her purse for her car keys.

“Lindsey…” He waited for her to look up. “I’m sorry about what happened at The Point the other day. I never meant to upset you.”

She gave a stiff shrug and slung her purse over her shoulder. “I got over it.”

“I doubt that. Now that I know what prompted it.”

He heard her sharp intake of breath. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m a reporter. I know how to do research. It didn’t take me long to find the stories about your husband in the
Bee’s
archives.” He gentled his voice. “I’m so sorry.”

Bright spots of color appeared on her cheeks, and her fingers clenched around the strap of her purse, blanching her knuckles. “You could have asked instead of sneaking around behind my back.”

“You’ve been difficult to pin down since that day. The minute I get to the Mercantile, you disappear.”

She ignored that comment. “I don’t know why you bothered, anyway.”

“I think you do.”

She ignored that, too. “I need to get home. It’s late.”

“Would you consider going somewhere with me for a cup of coffee? I’d like to talk with you.”

“What’s the point? We’ve been fighting ever since you came back, and in a handful of days you’ll be gone. I don’t see any reason to invest any more effort in this relationship.”

“I do. We had some great times together as kids. There’s no reason we couldn’t have some great times together as adults.”

She responded with an impatient shake of her head. “Times change. People change. You can’t live in the past.”

“Aren’t you doing that very thing?”

She blinked. “What do you mean?”

“You admitted you were scared after I suggested there might be more in store for us than friendship. Your fear must be coming from your experience with your husband. Isn’t that holding on to the past, too?”

“No. That’s being sensible. And I never said I was scared. Just…nervous.” The lights in the room flicked on and off, a not-so-subtle message to clear out. She picked up her notebook and file folders. “Good night, Nate.”

“Can I walk you to your car?”

“I’m in the back.” With that, she swung away from him, aiming for an exit behind the table that separated them.

Once she pushed through the door, Nate shoved his hands in his pockets and made his way toward the door at the other end of the building, his fingers encountering his prized agate. His version of worry beads. Always, when he touched that small stone, he felt calmer. Soothed. Able to think more clearly.

Lindsey had rebuffed his olive branch tonight. But that didn’t mitigate his need to make amends for the can of worms he’d opened on The Point. He needed to convince her the magic he recalled from their childhood friendship was still there. That he was coming to care for her as much now as he had then.

As he stood in the back of the now-quiet town hall where the fate of a local landmark hung in the balance, he could think of only one gesture that might penetrate the barrier she’d erected around her heart to keep him out.

But did he have the courage to take such a dramatic leap out of his comfort zone?

Chapter Nine

A
cloud of dust rose as Lindsey flipped open the lid of a cardboard packing box. She paused long enough to sneeze twice, perusing the attic as she did so. The last time she’d ascended the pull-down stairs had been a few weeks before her marriage, when she’d come up in search of the small wedding photo of her mother she’d remembered seeing as a child. She’d wanted it to be the “something old” she carried as a bride.

That quest had been successful.

But she was having less success finding old photos of Starfish Bay Chapel.

As she plunged into the box, she hoped the others who’d volunteered to assist with the “Save the Point” campaign were having better luck. Using photos to help illustrate what an important role the headland and chapel had played in the lives of so many residents could be an effective strategy to stem the shifting tide of public sentiment on the issue. But unless she found a shot or two in this box, it didn’t appear as if she was going to be able to contribute any photos to the effort.

At least she’d offered the front window of the Mercantile as a display space. Everyone in Starfish Bay came in once or twice a week, and she intended to post the photos and the accompanying written memories near the door.

Spotting an old photo album wedged into one side of the box, she took it in a firm grip and tugged it out. The rest of the contents slid into the cavity, and she huffed out a breath. Fitting the bulky album back in was going to take some effort. Worth it, though, if she found a photo or two.

Book in hand, she sat on one of the sheets of plywood her dad had laid on the rafters years ago and began to go through it.

The first few pages didn’t yield any photos suitable for the campaign, but they did summon up a treasure trove of memories. There she was at seven or eight, clutching a spelling award, her dad and mom standing proudly behind her. Another showed her in a tutu, before or after some dance recital. In a Christmas photo, she and her mom sat cuddled under their ornament-bedecked tree, an array of gift-wrapped packages around them as Lindsey offered a gap-toothed grin to the camera.

A melancholy smile tugging at her lips, she turned the page.

Her smile faded.

In the center was a shot of her and Nathaniel on The Point, the corner of Starfish Bay Chapel visible in the background.

Had she found this photo a month ago, she had a feeling she’d have passed over it without anything more than a fleeting, “I wonder who that kid was?” or perhaps a vague memory of a long-ago friend. But she didn’t have to wonder now. Their ages were about right for the time he’d lived in Starfish Bay. And the location was a dead giveaway. They were sitting on the bench at The Point.

She traced the edge of the slightly faded photo with one finger. Given the huge ice cream cones in their hands and the grins on their faces, it wasn’t hard to figure out this had been taken in August, at the church’s annual ice cream social. And from their joyful expressions, it had been an all’s-right-with-the-world moment.

But that moment had also been fleeting, she suddenly recalled, as another memory tickled her brain. Seconds after this shot had been taken, she’d dropped her cone. It had landed with a splat at her feet, pointy end up. She’d been crushed.

And then Nathaniel had offered her his.

In the end, her dad had rounded up another cone for her and Nathaniel had kept his. Yet even as a kid, she’d been touched by his generosity. Just days before he’d told her how much he was looking forward to the social—and the free ice cream—since they didn’t have a lot of treats like that at his house.

Proving again that selfishness wasn’t part of Nate Garrison’s character.

Then or now.

Stifling the niggle of regret that tugged at her conscience, she removed the photo and turned the page, searching for other pictures of the chapel. She had more important things to do than reminisce—or nurse regrets about ill-spoken comments.

Less than two minutes later, after scanning every picture on every page, she reached the end without finding any more shots of Starfish Bay Chapel. She hoped some of the other residents were having better luck.

After setting the photo of her and Nate on a carton beside her, she rose to her knees and dug through the box, trying to eke out room for the album among the jumbled detritus of the past. Her fingers encountered a smooth round object blocking the way, and she pulled it out, balancing it in one hand as she slid the collection of photos back in with the other. Then she examined the small snow globe of an angel hovering over the stable in Bethlehem.

Yet another memory surfaced.

It was the Christmas Eve service, four months after the ice cream social. She’d noticed Nathaniel across the aisle, but she’d been too excited about the gifts waiting at home to pay much attention to him.

As they’d all been leaving, though, he’d managed to work his way over to her through the crowd. He’d only had time to thrust a small wrapped package into her hands and murmur “thank you” before his mother had hurried him back toward their car—and out of her life—under the dark, starless sky.

She hadn’t seen him again until he’d walked into the Mercantile twenty-five years later, all grown up.

Lindsey sat back on her heels, cradling the globe in her hands. In the bounty of Christmas that had always characterized her childhood, somehow this small offering had been misplaced. And eventually forgotten.

She took another look at the photo of the two of them, balanced on the carton beside her.

Once more, guilt began to gnaw at her.

Nate had come back to Starfish Bay because of the happy memories he harbored of his brief stay here. Some of those memories included her. Yet she’d rebuffed every attempt he’d made to rekindle their friendship.

And she knew why.

Fear.

Just as Nate had pointed out yesterday.

Though she’d countered by saying she was nervous, his assessment had been accurate. She was scared. For a very simple reason. The feelings he awakened in her threatened to disrupt the quiet, safe little world she’d retreated to after Mark’s death. She might have told everyone her father’s accident had brought her home, but in all honesty, she’d been glad to have an excuse to come back to the sheltering shores of Starfish Bay. Here, she’d hoped to heal. And find answers.

She suspected those were the same reasons Nate had returned. That he, too, considered this place a haven. Perhaps from the traumatic battlefield experience he’d mentioned. Or from whatever culpability he felt over the death of his mother. Hadn’t he told her it was his own fault he’d lost her and ended up in foster care?

While she hadn’t pushed him to share any of the details of those experiences, Lindsey was curious about his past. Why was he afraid to let people get close? What had he meant when he’d told her once he didn’t need her to lay more guilt on him because he had plenty already? What drove him to fling himself into the line of fire in his work, no matter the personal risk?

She hadn’t exactly laid the groundwork for such confidences, though. Nor did she want him to think she was ready—or willing—to take their relationship to a different level. But they’d been friends once. Good friends, based on the evidence she was unearthing and the memories that were surfacing. The least she could do after his long journey was let him know she was willing to be his friend again.

Given their tumultuous reunion to date, however, figuring out a way to do that could turn out to be a bigger challenge than saving The Point.