Seaside Reunion (2 page)

“From your mother’s recipe?”

Jolted, she stared at him.

His lips lifted again, creating a fan of lines at the corners of his eyes. “One of my happiest memories of this town is eating your mother’s chocolate chip cookies while we watched for whales from The Point.”

Her mouth almost dropped open. She had sat with the junior version of this man eating cookies and watching for whales? A fuzzy, fleeting memory surfaced of a long-ago summer day at The Point. Ice cream had somehow been involved. But it was gone before she could catch hold of it.

Again, she thought she detected a flash of disappointment in his eyes. But before she could be certain, he motioned toward the cookies and riffled through his wallet. “I’ll take two.”

In silence, Lindsey rang them up and put them in a white deli bag. On impulse, she added a third one.

“Hey…that’s too many. I only paid for two.”

She crimped the top of the bag and handed it to him. “For old time’s sake.” Why she felt the need to make amends for forgetting him was beyond her. But the tiny glimmer of gratitude in his blue irises told her she’d done the right thing.

“Thanks.” He picked up his purchases. “I’ll see you around.”

With that he exited, the bell announcing his departure just as it had marked his arrival.

Lindsey shifted her position behind the counter, stepping into the late-afternoon shadows so she could see without being seen. She expected him to climb into some old jalopy or mount a motorcycle, but the only car in the lot besides her six-year-old Camry was a newer model Acura.

Huh.

The man had some bucks after all.

She watched as he slid into the driver’s seat, all six-foot-plus of him. Rather than start the engine, though, he dipped his head. His shoulders flexed. Then he lifted a chocolate chip cookie, took a big bite and closed his eyes as he chewed.

Was he relishing the taste—or the memories it stirred?

He ate the whole cookie that way, eyes closed, expression pensive. When he finished, he popped the top on the soda can, took a swig and started the engine.

Craning her neck, she watched until his car disappeared in the direction of the Orchid Motel.

Who
was
that guy?

And more important, why had he come back?

Nate had no trouble finding the Orchid Motel. It was right on Highway 101, just past the five-block-long main street. A gaudy purple orchid decorated the hand-painted sign above the door of the café.

As he pulled into the small parking lot, he eyed the low, white building with eight numbered doors to the right. The paint was fresh, the windows clean and a planter overflowing with flowers in all their August splendor stood beside each door. If the inside was as well maintained, it would do nicely.

And it was a lot better than some of the rat holes he’d bunked in during his stint in Afghanistan.

Stifling those memories, he set the brake, finished off his soda in three long gulps, and slid out of the car. A trip to The Point was high on his priority list, but better to secure a room and exorcise some of the road grunge first. The Point had waited twenty-five years for his return. It could wait another hour or two.

A
Closed
sign in the door of the café directed motel guests to ring the adjacent bell, and he followed the instructions. A muffled musical peal sounded in the recesses of the dim building.

As he waited for someone to answer the summons, he took a deep breath of the clean, salt-tanged air. It felt good to be home. Or the only place he’d ever thought of as home, despite his brief sojourn here. Finding the Mercantile largely unchanged had been a balm to his soul, even if he’d been disappointed Lindsey had forgotten him. But what had he expected? She might have been a central figure in the best few months of his childhood, but he’d been nothing more than a blip in
her
life.

The friendly little girl with the golden-haired ponytail and animated brown eyes had grown into a beautiful woman, though. Tall and slender, she’d retained the innate kindness that had drawn him as a child. Her cookie gesture told him that. But there were changes, too. Her hair, while still touched with gold, had darkened a few shades. And the enthusiasm that had once sparked in her eyes had been tempered. By life, no doubt.

He could relate.

A blur of motion on the other side of the door caught his attention, and he summoned up a smile as a white-haired woman fiddled with the lock. Based on Lindsey’s skeptical perusal, his disheveled state wasn’t making the best impression. But a nonstop cross-country drive could do that to a person. Until he had a chance to freshen up, all he could do to counter his off-putting appearance was be extra friendly. Even if that taxed his rusty social skills to the limit.

There hadn’t been much time for niceties on the battlefield.

When the door was at last pulled open, the savory aroma of herbs and roasting meat wafted out, setting off a rumble in his stomach. The woman on the other side adjusted her glasses and gave him an apologetic eye roll. “Sorry for the delay, young man. You’d think I’d have mastered this lock by now. We had it installed six months ago. Come in, come in. Are you needing a room?”

Nate stepped past her. “Yes. If you have a vacancy.”

“Plenty of space.” She shut the door behind him and led the way to a stool-lined counter that doubled as the motel check-in desk. “Things have been slow this summer. The economy and all that. Not that we’ve ever been the most bustling place around.” She grinned at him and pulled out a bulging registration book, with corners of envelopes, letters and brochures sticking out on three sides. “Mostly we get fishermen and redwood gawkers. Which camp do you fall into?”

“Neither.”

She peered at him over the top of her glasses. “Not much else to do around here. You just passing through for the night?”

“No. I’ll be here for a week, at least.”

“Excellent. I can give you the weekly rate, then.” She beamed at him and named a price that sounded more than fair. “So…are you visiting family or friends?” She dug a pen out of a drawer beside a decades-old cash register.

“Small towns are all alike. Everyone always wants to know your business.”

His father’s complaint, long dormant in Nate’s memory, abruptly resurfaced. That had been a constant refrain in Chuck Garrison’s litany of grievances—and one of his standard excuses whenever they’d moved.
Excuse
being the operative word. He’d never been able to face the real reason they’d had to lead a nomadic life.

But Nate had learned that not all questions were prompted by nosiness. Sometimes people’s interest was sincere.

“No. I lived here for a few months many years ago. This place has good memories for me.”

The woman handed him the pen, angled the registration book toward him and tapped an empty line. “Visits to the past don’t always turn out quite the way we expect. I hope yours does.”

“Thanks.” He signed on the line and gave the ancient cash register a doubtful look. “Do you take credit cards?”

She perused his signature, then wrinkled her nose. “Yes. From motel guests only. We finally caved a few years back. Nobody carries cash these days, and too many checks bounced.” She rummaged around under the counter and pulled out a manual credit-card machine. The kind that required carbon paper. He hadn’t seen one in years.

After paying for the full week, Nate slid the credit card back into his wallet.

“Room six. That’s my personal favorite. And we just put in a new TV.” She smiled at him as she held out the key.

“Any chance you have internet connections in the rooms?” He took the orchid-bedecked ring.

Her smile dimmed. “No. Sorry.” She gestured to the cash register. “As you can see, we’re a bit behind the times. My sister has a computer in the office, and she’s quite the whiz at it. But she hasn’t convinced me to get one in here yet. If you need to go online, though, the Mercantile added a little coffee nook a while back, and I’ve seen people in there using their laptops.”

Funny he hadn’t noticed that.

Then again, he’d been a little distracted by his encounter with Lindsey.

“I’ll check it out. Thanks.”

The woman extended her hand, cheery smile once more in place. “By the way, I’m Genevieve Durham. If you need anything at all during your stay, you let me or my sister, Lillian, know. We live upstairs.”

Nate took her hand, and she gripped his fingers with surprising firmness. “Thank you. And I’ll be back for dinner. Whatever’s cooking smells great.”

“Tonight’s special. Homemade pot roast. It’s been simmering all afternoon.” Eyes twinkling, she gave him a wink. “If I do say so myself, I make the best pot roast in the county. Just be here by seven.”

He smiled. “I’ll be here at five.”

Chuckling, she slid the registration book back under the counter. “Lillian baked blackberry pie for dessert, too. It goes quick.”

“Save me a piece, okay?” He returned the wink.

Color spilled onto her cheeks. “I’ll do that. And if no one’s welcomed you back yet to Starfish Bay, let me be the first.”

Lindsey had welcomed him back—sort of—with that extra cookie. After she’d gotten past her obvious suspicions. He didn’t share that with this woman, though.

“Thanks.” He started toward the door, but as he reached for the knob, she called after him.

“I hope you find whatever it is you’re looking for, Mr. Garrison.”

He turned toward her, impressed by her astuteness. “It’s Nate. And I hope so, too.”

But as he exited the café and returned to his car, he didn’t have a lot of confidence that hope would be realized.

Because truth be told, he wasn’t certain what had compelled him to make the marathon drive from Chicago to this tiny Pacific coast town. Nor did he know what he was seeking.

All he knew was that in the wee hours of a cold, high-desert morning in Afghanistan several weeks ago, with the distant echo of bombs sending tremors through the ground beneath his ear, this idea had popped into his head. An idea his gut had told him to pursue.

And he always listened to his gut.

“Do I smell chili, Dad?” Lindsey wiped her feet on the mat and shut the back door.

From his position in front of the stove, Jack Callahan hitched himself around to smile at her. “Bingo. I got in the mood to do some cooking today.”

“Mmm.” She joined him and took a whiff from the pot. “Did you put in plenty of jalapeños and chili powder?”

He chuckled as he stirred. “Where did you get that cast-iron stomach of yours, anyway?”

Grinning, she filched half a jalapeño from the cutting board on the counter and popped it into her mouth. “Mom liked hot stuff.”

“True.” He stirred the pot and gave her an impish look. “Guess that’s why she went for me.”

Lindsey wrinkled her nose and nudged him with her shoulder. Gently. It was bad enough the limp he’d acquired after breaking his hip two years ago had left him with some balance issues. She didn’t want any more falls—or midnight calls from the ER. “Cute.”

“Anything interesting happen at the store today?”

“As a matter of fact, yes.” She opened the cutlery drawer and pulled out utensils. “I had a customer who said he’d lived here years ago. I have sort of a vague recollection of a little boy with his name, but your memory is probably better than mine. Nathaniel Garrison.”

Her father’s eyebrows rose as he dished up the chili. “Now there’s a name from the past. He and his parents lived here twenty, twenty-five years ago for a few months. His father worked in a warehouse in Crescent City, I think. They kept to themselves, though we did see the boy and his mother at church on Sundays. That’s how the two of you met. You were quite a pair for a few months. Spent hours watching for whales at The Point, as I recall.”

“He mentioned that.” Lindsay furrowed her brow. “I wonder why my memory about that is so hazy.”

“Now that I think about it, you couldn’t have been more than eight or nine at the time. Most people don’t remember much from that age.” He ladled one more scoop of chili into the second bowl. “Nathaniel was a nice little boy. On the quiet side.”

“He goes by Nate now.”

“Does he?” Her father deposited their bowls on the table while she filled glasses with water. “What’s he doing here?”

“He didn’t say.” She set the glasses on the table and took her seat. “So why did his family live here for such a short time?”

Her father retrieved a basket of cornbread from the counter, then lowered himself into his chair. “There was some sort of scandal, best I can recall. Had to do with his father drinking and getting fired, if my memory serves me correctly. They left not long after that.”

“That’s strange.” Lindsey draped her napkin over her lap. “You’d think that would be a bad memory for a little boy. But he said he had happy memories of his time here. He even mentioned Mom’s chocolate chip cookies.”

“Well, they
were
memorable.” Her father helped himself to a piece of bread and tucked it on the plate beside his bowl of chili. “You want to say the blessing tonight?