A Haven on the Bay: A Willa Bay Novel Read online

8

  Debbie

  “Are you sure you’ll be okay without me?” Debbie looked around the commercial kitchen she rented for her catering company, Willa Bay Provisions. They were catering a small retirement party for a local business that evening.

  Libby sighed. “Mom. We’ll be fine. We’ve got this.” She eyed Samantha. “Right?”

  Sam flashed her mom a bright smile. “Go to your meeting. Everything is under control.”

  “Are you sure?” Debbie hated leaving them with all of the preparations. In the past, she’d always been there to manage things, but after Sam had implored her to take time for her own interests, she’d made a last-minute decision to attend her monthly knitting group. “Sam hasn’t done this in a while.”

  Her youngest daughter stared her down. “We’ll be fine. I may be a little rusty, but it’s not like cooking is something you forget how to do. Besides, this is a relatively small party and you’ll be back later to help with the actual event. Stop worrying so much.”

  “Okay.” Debbie looked at her daughters. Their expressions were a mixture of amusement and irritation. She inhaled deeply through her nostrils and let the oxygen flood her brain, calming her doubts. They were both intelligent women and experienced cooks. They could handle this. “I’m going to go now.”

  “Love you, Mom,” Sam sang out. “Have fun.”

  Libby patted her back. “Go and have a good time with your friends.”

  Debbie nodded. “Bye, girls.” She held her head high and exited the kitchen, not allowing herself to look back. She’d started the catering business years ago and she held everything they did to a high standard. Giving up some of that control was difficult, but if she wanted a life outside of the business, it was a necessary evil.

  She got into her car, checking first to make sure she had all of her knitting supplies before leaving. On the seat next to her, colorful strands of spun fiber spilled out of an open bag made out of woven strips of fabric. Knitting needles stabbed through the balls of yarn, anchoring them in place.

  Before getting out of the car at the Everton Community Center, Debbie glanced at the clock on the dashboard. Her resolve wavered. It seemed frivolous to take this time for herself and not help her girls prepare for the event. The catering business was her responsibility and she should be there.

  Sam’s words echoed in her ears: Take some time for yourself.

  Deep down, Debbie knew Sam was right. Plus, if she took time for herself this one time, maybe she wouldn’t be so resentful about taking on all of the additional catering jobs that Libby had committed them to. It would be okay. Sam and Libby had everything under control. Besides, the group she belonged to only met once a month, and was composed of other cancer survivors, like herself. They didn’t just spend their meetings chatting, but also making hats to donate to chemotherapy patients at the local hospital. So, this wasn’t an entirely selfish thing she was going to do.

  She got out of the car and went around to the passenger side to remove the massive bag of knitting supplies, making sure everything was tucked in so it wouldn’t fall out during the short trip into the center. Although she wouldn’t need all of these materials for the two hour-long meeting, there had been too many times where she’d regretted not bringing a certain color of yarn or size of needle. It was always better to be overprepared.

  When she pushed open the door of their usual meeting room, all five of the women seated at the table looked up and waved at her.

  Shelby Dawes jumped out of her chair to greet her. “Debbie! I’m so glad you came. We’ve missed you.” She gave Debbie a huge hug that brought tears of happiness to Debbie’s eyes. It had been months, and she hadn’t realized how sad it made her to not see her friends more regularly.

  “I’ve missed all of you too.” Debbie took her seat around the rectangular table and tucked her knitting bag under her chair. “I can’t believe how long it’s been. How are all of you?” Their membership fluctuated as people went through different stages of life, but there were normally around seven to eight people in attendance every month.

  “I’m doing great,” said a woman in her thirties with short blonde hair. “My latest scan came back clean.”

  “I’m so happy for you.” Debbie smiled warmly at her. “It’s so nerve-wracking to wait for the results of those.” She’d had a clean scan last April after being done with chemotherapy for a year, and it had been a huge relief for her whole family.

  “My son is getting married,” said another woman. “They’ve been living together for so long, we all wondered if it would ever happen.”

  “Congratulations.” Debbie meant it, but her friend’s news caused her a pang of envy. She’d been looking forward to Samantha’s wedding and welcoming Brant into their family. Now the possibility of more grandchildren was a far-off prospect.

  Debbie pulled out her knitting project and they all gabbed about friends and family members, needles clicking rhythmically as they stitched new rows on their hats. By the end of the meeting, she felt refreshed. It had been wonderful to connect with old friends and make a few new ones in the process. But someone she’d hoped to see hadn’t shown up.

  “Hey, do you know if Diana will be here next month? Has she been coming to the meetings?” Debbie asked. She and Diana had been chemo buddies, undergoing treatments at the same time and commiserating about all of the side effects over strawberry milkshakes at their favorite diner.

  The women exchanged troubled glances, and even before they said something, a sinking feeling came over her. Her fingers ceased moving mid-stitch.

  “Debbie, I’m sorry,” Shelby said softly. “I thought you knew. Diana died a little over a month ago.”

  Debbie’s head spun, her thoughts like loose pieces of string that wouldn’t wind together. “No, I didn’t know.” Her stomach tightened as she asked, “How did it happen?”

  “Her cancer came back and there wasn’t anything they could do about it.” Shelby’s eyes held a heavy sadness. “Her family had a small memorial service for her back in July.”

  “Oh. I wish I’d known.” Debbie stared at the stainless-steel knitting needles in her lap. If she concentrated on the hat, she wouldn’t have to think about Diana. She resumed knitting, focusing on the way the multicolored yarn wove together to form a thick, warm layer that would keep a cancer patient’s head warm during the colder months.

  After about ten more minutes, the other women put away their projects and said their goodbyes, but Debbie didn’t move from her spot.

  “Are you okay?” Shelby stood next to Debbie, her bag slung over her shoulder. “I’m really sorry about Diana. I know you were good friends. I should have called you about her memorial service, but I thought you already knew.”

  Debbie finally stopped knitting and looked up. “Thanks. I’m okay. Just a little shocked and sad. It hurts when we lose one of the group.”

  “I know.” Shelby sighed. “I just keep reminding myself that I’m still alive and I need to take advantage of that while I still can.” She brightened. “In fact, my husband and I have decided to take a sabbatical from work and go on a six-month tour of Europe. Neither of us have ever been. I’d love to visit some of the historical sites and see some castles—I love castles.”

  “That’s a good idea,” Debbie said. “My husband and I have talked about taking a trip to Italy for years, but nothing ever comes of it.”

  Shelby grabbed her hands and looked her in the eyes. “You should do it. You won’t regret it.”

  “I’ll think about it.” Debbie smiled and leaned down to pick up her bag. She set it on the table and put her materials away.

  “Don’t just think about it,” Shelby advised. “You only get one life.”

  “Okay.” Debbie stood, and lifted her bag off the table before wrapping one arm around her friend’s shoulders. “I will definitely consider it.” She doubted Peter could get the time away from work to take a two-week trip, but it was worth asking him again.

  They walke
d out to the parking lot together and chatted for a few minutes before they each got into their own cars. Debbie stashed her yarn bag on the passenger seat and put her key in the ignition, but didn’t start driving. She looked back at the community center and was struck by a wave of grief. Tears streamed down her cheeks, blurring her vision. The last time she’d seen Diana, they’d been at a knitting club meeting. They’d talked about grabbing a milkshake together sometime, but they’d both had busy lives and they’d never made it happen. Now she regretted not making time for her dear friend.

  She grabbed a Kleenex to wipe away her tears, then started the engine and drove back to the catering kitchen. Before getting out of her car, she checked her reflection in the rearview mirror. After her crying jag, her mascara needed a light touch up, but there wasn’t much she could do about the puffiness of her eyes. She crossed her fingers that her daughters wouldn’t notice. There was no sense in worrying them about her own health by telling them about Diana’s death.

  Libby and Samantha looked up from packing all of the food into travel containers when Debbie entered and surveyed the kitchen. All of the dirty dishes had been placed in the dish sink and the counters were spotless. “Looks good, girls.”

  Libby beamed. “Thanks. Everything went according to plan.” She tapped her finger on a piece of paper bearing a long column of jet-black checkmarks. “How was your meeting?”

  Debbie pasted on a fake smile. “It was great. So nice to see everyone.”

  “You’re hiding something.” Sam peered at her. “Mom, you’ve never been great at keeping secrets.”

  “I’m not,” she protested. “I had a nice time seeing everyone.” That much was true, even if it wasn’t the whole truth.

  Libby scrutinized her too. “No, Sam’s right. You’re not telling us something.”

  Debbie strode over to the dish sink without answering. Those dishes weren’t going to wash themselves. She slid a pair of heavy rubber gloves over her hands and turned on the water.

  Libby tapped her on the shoulder. “Mom.”

  Debbie stared at the liquid splashing into the sink. Steam rose from the stainless-steel basin as the hot water accumulated in it.

  “Mom.” Libby reached past her to turn the faucet off. “What’s wrong?”

  Debbie braced herself on the edge of the sink. “Diana died.” Her throat constricted. Saying it out loud made it all too real, and grief washed over her once more.

  “Your friend from chemo?” Libby asked.

  Debbie nodded. Her face crumpled and she leaned against the sink, bawling as her heart broke all over again.

  “Oh, Mom.” Libby wrapped her arms around her. “I’m so sorry.”

  Debbie’s gloved hands lay limply on the edge of the sink as Samantha came over and embraced her from the other side. The three of them stood huddled together for over a minute. All Debbie could do was cry. She’d never cried in front of the girls before, but now she couldn’t stop. It was like all of her fears and regrets were coming out at once.

  Finally, she stirred, ungloving and swiping her hand across her face. The girls stepped back, but didn’t leave her.

  Libby stroked her mom’s hair, brushing it out of her face. Debbie’s eldest daughter had always been the motherly type. “Is there anything we can do for you? Maybe a glass of water?”

  Debbie tried to swallow, but it was like she had a dish sponge caught in her throat. “Water would be nice.” Libby looked over at Sam, who nodded and jetted off toward the cupboard where they kept glassware. Debbie plucked a paper towel from the roll hanging over the counter and scrubbed at her face. “I’m sorry about falling apart. You girls shouldn’t have had to see that.”

  Samantha returned with a glass of water and handed it to her. “Really? We’re adults now. There’s nothing wrong with letting us see you sad.”

  “Sam’s right,” Libby said. “We’re always here for you, just like you’ve always been for us.”

  “Thanks.” Debbie still felt sheepish for allowing her emotions to get the best of her in front of the girls, but she appreciated their concern. She glanced at Libby’s checklist. “Now, I think we’ve wasted enough time on this. What else do we need to do before this evening?”

  Libby went over to the counter and ran her finger down the list, while Sam remained with Debbie near the sink. “Mom,” Sam whispered, “I’m sorry I told you to go to your knitting club meeting.”

  Debbie’s heart melted. “Oh, honey, that wouldn’t have changed anything.” Part of her wished that she hadn’t gone too, but she would have heard about Diana eventually.

  “I know, but I hate for you to be so unhappy.” Concern lined Samantha’s face and her mouth turned down, as though she were about to break out into tears as well.

  This time, it was Debbie’s turn to comfort her daughter. She put both arms around her youngest child and pulled her close, kissing her forehead. “I’ll be okay. This kind of news just takes a while to process.” She allowed herself to relax in the familiar action of comforting her child. All of her daughters had grown up to be wonderful women and she had a lot to be proud of.

  But was there more she should want out of life? Should she convince Peter to take that trip to Italy like Shelby had recommended? Diana’s death made her own mortality frighteningly apparent. Why was Debbie still alive and Diana wasn’t?

  9

  Taylor

  “Thanks for helping me again.” Meg opened the barn doors. “I felt a little depressed after last time. We worked so hard all day and didn’t seem to make much progress.”

  Taylor didn’t want to admit it, but he’d had the same thoughts. Cleaning out the barn was going to take a serious chunk of time. “No problem. I know how important this is to you.”

  “It is.” She paused in the doorway and studied him with a peculiar expression on her face.

  He struggled to stay still under her scrutiny. “What? Do I have powdered sugar around my mouth?” This time, instead of having breakfast in the barn, they’d joined Zoe, Shawn, and Celia on the front porch of the Inn for donuts, eggs, and coffee.

  She laughed and broke her intense gaze. “No. I was just thinking about how much I appreciate your help. Not everyone would give up their day off to help a friend move junk.” Her face darkened for a brief second. “Anyway, I was thinking we should start with some of the bigger furniture this time. If we clear out the larger items, it’ll seem like we’ve made more progress, and I could really use that mental boost.” She set her bag down near the door and handed him a pair of gloves and a dust mask.

  “Sounds like a plan.” He hated seeing her defeated. The sight of her tears the last time he’d helped her had been heart-wrenching. She’d chosen a huge project to tackle, and although she wasn’t one to back down from a challenge, something like this would be daunting for anyone. He walked to the back of the barn where he remembered seeing a lot of furniture. “Hey, weren’t there more tables here?” A table with a broken leg had been moved to the side, but he was sure there had been a couple others on his previous visit.

  “I think Tia took them for a wedding. They were desperate, so she went scavenging.” Meg shrugged. “Fewer things for us to lug out of here.”

  He nodded and pointed at the chest of drawers they’d uncovered before. “What about this? Did you ask Zoe about it?”

  She shook her head. “No. I forgot to ask her. I need to do that so we can figure out what we’re tossing or keeping.”

  “Want to take it outside so we can see it better?” He lifted one end of it to estimate the weight. “It’s heavy, but I think we can manage.”

  “Sure.” She grabbed the other side, but before they could move it very far, the second drawer from the bottom slid out.

  Taylor reached out to steady the drawer before it could hit the ground. He tried to jockey it back into place, but it wasn’t working.

  “Is it caught on something?” Meg knelt on the ground to take a closer look. “Hold on, I think I see it.” He released
his grip on the drawer and she stuck her hand into the gaping hole and fumbled around. She tugged on something, then pulled it free of the dresser.

  Taylor pushed the drawer back into place. This time, it slid in as perfectly as the day it left the furniture store. It may have been scuffed, but the craftsmanship was solid, and he hoped they wouldn’t have to throw it out. Things like this just weren’t made like they used to be.

  Next to him, Meg was using her sleeve to wipe off the front of a small book. “What is it?”

  She held it close to her face and squinted at the words on the cover. “It looks like some sort of journal.”

  “Huh.” Taylor took off his glove and touched the dark leather, his fingers leaving streaks on the surface. He wiped the dust off on his pants. “It could use some TLC.” The book had to be at least fifty years old.

  She eased it open, revealing pages filled with spidery black handwriting. “It’s too dark in here to see. I’ll take it home to check it out in better light.”

  She shut the book and placed it in her tote bag. They continued working on that corner of the building, moving a long dresser and two queen bed frames outside for further consideration. After a few hours, they’d finally cleared the entire floor in that section of the barn. Taylor stretched his arm out past deteriorating leather horse tack to pluck a pitchfork from its hook on the wall. A plethora of cobwebs came with it and a spider fled into a crack in the windowsill.

  He cleaned the sticky silver strands off the tines and held it up next to him. “Do I look like a proper farmer now?”

  She giggled. “You look like the guy in that painting.”

  “You mean American Gothic?” He pulled his dust mask off, shaping his face into a more sober expression. “How about this?”

  She laughed again. “Okay, I need to get a picture of this.” She ran over to her bag and retrieved her phone, then snapped a photo. She looked at the image and grinned widely. “Perfect.”

  “Oh no, you’re not getting off that easily,” a woman’s voice said from the open doorway. “You need to get in there too, Meg.” They both looked up to see Zoe standing in the entrance. She didn’t even try to hide the huge grin on her face. “C’mon,” she demanded. “Hand over the phone and get in the picture. I’m not letting you out of this one.”