Wind Chime Café (A Wind Chime Novel) (9 page)

“I’m back in town for a few weeks.”

She smiled, lifting up on her toes to give him a hug. “It’s really good to see you.”

“You too,” he said as she drew back and a flash of light on her left hand caught his eye. He glanced down at the diamond ring, surprised. “Who’s the lucky guy?”

Becca blushed. “Tom Jacobson.”

“Tommy?” Will asked, shocked.

“He goes by Tom now,” she corrected.

“I see,” Will said, lifting his gaze to Ryan. His friend’s expression had darkened at the mention of Tommy’s name. Will didn’t blame him. Tommy was a jerk. “Is he here?”

Becca shook her head. “He lives in D.C. now. He’s a lawyer.”

“But you live here?”

She nodded, her eyes shifting away. “I’m moving to D.C. when we get married.”

Whoa. Becca was leaving the island? She was the last person in the world he expected to leave Heron Island.

Becca had dated Tommy for a while in high school, but he’d never thought they’d get serious.

“I’ll get us a round of drinks,” Ryan said, heading for the bar.

Grace and Becca went outside to grab a table on the deck, and Will walked over to join Ryan by the bar. He thought about asking his friend what was up, but decided against it. If Becca had a rock on her finger, it was probably too late. It was none of his business anyway.

They made small talk while they waited for their drinks, then walked out to the deck. As soon as they were settled around the picnic table, Grace turned to Becca. “Okay, spill it.”

“I’m fine,” Becca said, waving her off. She attempted a breezy smile but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I want to hear what Will’s doing here.”

Grace shook her head. “Will’s in the dog house.”

“Already?” Becca asked.

Will nodded. “It doesn’t take long.”

Grace ignored him. “Come on, Becca. We’ve been best friends forever. I know when something’s wrong.”

“All right,” Becca conceded, looking out at the water. “You know how I told you we were getting a new student—a girl from Mount Pleasant?”

Grace nodded and Will’s senses went on high alert.
A girl from Mount Pleasant? In Becca’s second grade class?

“Her first day was today,” Becca explained.

“But you were ready,” Grace said. “You’ve been preparing for this day for two weeks.”

“I know,” Becca said, sighing. “I thought I was ready. The day started out great. When Taylor’s mom dropped her off, Taylor didn’t even want her to stay. She acted like it was a normal school day.”

Will looked down at the cracks in the wood on the picnic table. Was it possible Annie’s child was from Mount Pleasant, and that she’d been sitting on the bleachers outside the school this morning because she was afraid to leave her alone?

“I met the mother,” Grace said, lowering her voice. “I stopped by the old cupcake shop on my way into town. I wanted to see who’d bought the place.”

Will closed his eyes. It
was
possible. Annie was the mother of the sole surviving child of the Mount Pleasant school shooting. Instead of helping her get over her fear of leaving her daughter at school for the first time since the shooting, he’d kissed her. No,
first
he’d made fun of her for fretting over her daughter fitting in at her new school,
then
he’d kissed her.

He was a world-class asshole.

“Taylor’s a smart kid,” Becca continued. “She knew the answers to most of my questions, and she was happy to participate. I was starting to think that having her in class was going to be easy.” She picked at the label of her beer bottle. “Then we went out to recess and I overheard some of the kids making fun of her.”

“What were they saying?” Grace asked.

Becca took a deep breath. “This is going to sound strange, but she carries a broom around.”

“What kind of broom?” Grace asked.

“A broom,” Becca explained, “like the ones we have at our houses.”

Will picked up his beer. “Why does she carry a broom around?”

“It makes her feel safe.”

“Safe?”

Becca lowered her voice. “She survived the shooting because she was hiding in a broom closet.”

Will set his beer down, the alcohol turning to acid in his stomach.

“She wouldn’t let go of the broom when they finally found her,” Becca said quietly. “She insisted on taking it home and Annie says she won’t take it away from her until she’s ready.”

“But the other kids don’t understand,” Ryan said, finishing for her.

Becca nodded, looking up. “How do I explain to a bunch of eight-year-olds why the new girl in their class is carrying a broom? I mean, I talked to them about the shooting after it happened. It was all over the news. All the teachers talked about it with their students. When I found out Taylor would be in my class, I told them about her and what she had been through and that I expected them to be extra nice to her. But they’re kids. They’re second graders. They can’t possibly understand what she’s been through. None of us can.”

That wasn’t entirely true, Will thought, looking out at the water. One of them could. Annie’s daughter was probably struggling with the same issues he was: flashbacks, nightmares, insomnia.

“What did they say?” Grace asked after several moments of silence. “How did they make fun of her?”

“Mostly by calling her names,” Becca said, rolling the neck of her bottle around in her fingers. “Some of them called her a witch when her back was turned. I overheard one boy call her Cinderella to her face and I made him apologize. But she withdrew after that and spent the rest of the time sitting under the tree, watching the other kids play.”

Seagulls circled the marina, cawing overhead. Will watched them dip and dive, thinking he’d like to have a nice long chat with whichever kid had made fun of Taylor after what she’d been through.

“I can control the kids as long as they’re in my classroom,” Becca said. “But on the playground and in the halls, sometimes I can’t always hear what’s going on.” She looked down at her hands. “It’s my job to make sure Taylor feels like school is a safe place for her to be. It shouldn’t be any harder for her than it already is.”

“It was her first day back,” Grace said gently. “There are bound to be setbacks.”

“I know, but I still feel responsible.” She glanced back at the crowded barroom and started to rise to her feet. “I think I’ll go inside and see if I can track down some of the parents and ask if they’d be willing to talk to their kids tonight.”

Will watched her walk away and he fought the urge to head straight to Annie’s and ask her what he could do to help. He was probably the last person she wanted to see right now.

Ryan turned to Grace. “You said you stopped by to meet the mother earlier. What did you think of her?”

Grace smiled. “I liked her. She’s probably about our age, maybe a little younger. She was waiting for Jimmy to give her an estimate on renovations. I told her he’d probably stood her up to watch the baseball game. She came straight here to confront him and poured a drink in his lap when he tried to hit on her.”

Will watched a charter boat motoring in from a day of fishing. After what he’d told her about the inn this morning, and then spending all day worrying about her daughter, he could imagine Annie’s contractor not showing up would have been the last straw.

“I convinced her to stay and hang out for a while,” Grace said, “but only after Chase Townsend called to tell her he was thinking of backing out on her business loan.” She picked at a splinter coming loose on the table. “He’s such a jerk.”

Will’s fingers curled around the bottle.

Ryan leaned back, stretching his legs out under the table. “What kind of business does she want to open?”

“She
was
going to open up a fancy French bistro,” Grace answered. “I don’t think she has a clue what she’s going to do now.”

It was after
dark when Will walked out of Rusty’s. He’d waited around for a few hours in case Chase or Spencer showed up. He’d wanted to let them know exactly what was going to happen to them if Chase didn’t approve Annie’s loan.

The bank could afford to cut her some slack. And if Chase disagreed, Will had a few persuasion techniques he was happy to use on Annie’s behalf.

Opening the door to the SUV, he climbed into the driver’s seat. The last thing he wanted was to put a single mother out of business. He’d been so wrapped up in his own problems he hadn’t considered how his decision might affect her.

Turning the key, he started the engine and rolled down the window. Inside the bar, Carrie Underwood was belting out a song about revenge and some of the women were starting to dance. It would be so easy to get one of them to come home with him tonight.

Part of him was tempted, and if this was San Diego, he would. But this wasn’t San Diego. This was Heron Island. And he knew those women. He’d grown up with them. He’d gone fishing with their dads and uncles. He’d played sports with their brothers.

He wasn’t going to use one of them to help him get his head straight.

He switched on the headlights and backed out of the spot. In the past, taking a woman home had always been the fastest route to get past the nightmares and the insomnia. But he’d had a flashback in a bar tonight, in a
public
place.

He’d never had a flashback in public before. They usually only happened at night, when he was alone. The tires crunched over gravel as he drove out of the lot. They were getting worse.

What the hell was he going to do if he couldn’t find a way to control them?

He drove down the road in silence, not bothering to turn on the radio. When he got to the stop sign, his headlights shone over the two-story house with the purple shutters. He could see Annie through the downstairs windows, unpacking boxes.

Pulling over to the side of the road, he cut the engine and climbed out. He owed her an apology. Crickets chirped in the tall grasses as he crossed the street and walked up the steps to her porch.

She glanced up when he got to the doorway, and met his gaze through the glass. Sending him a look that said,
you have got to be kidding me,
she walked to the door and opened it. “I don’t have anything for you to eat.”

“I know. I wasn’t…” He trailed off, gazing down at her. She’d taken a shower recently and her long red hair hung like fire-colored ropes over her shoulders. Her eyes, the color of wet leaves, looked haunted and tired. She was wearing a black wrap shirt over black yoga pants and no makeup.

He wanted to pull her into his arms and not let go for the rest of the night. “I thought you might need a hand.”

“With what?”

He nodded toward the row of boxes against the wall.

Annie crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m not going to go out with you because you offered to unload a few boxes.”

His lips twitched. He couldn’t help it. “I’m hurt that you’d think I have an ulterior motive.”

Annie rolled her eyes. “Fine,” she said, turning and pointing to a box on the floor. “You can unload those dishes onto the racks behind the counter.”

Will walked over to the box and picked it up. What was he doing? He should apologize and get the hell out of here. Annie didn’t need any more baggage to add to the load she was already carrying. He should leave her alone and let her be.

But when he passed her on the way to the counter, she smelled like vanilla and apple pie. And the only place he wanted to be was right here, helping her unpack.

He set the box on the counter and started pulling out an assortment of mismatched plates and bowls. “Seems like a lot of dishes for two people.”

“They’re from garage sales,” she explained, unwrapping a set of hand-painted wine glasses covered in newspaper. “My daughter and I collect them. It’s sort of a hobby.”

He set the plates on the rack. “Are you going to use them in the restaurant?”

Annie nodded.

Will glanced down at the chipped pottery. “In the fine dining restaurant?”