Wishing on Willows: A Novel (11 page)

Robin ran her fingers over the glass top of a display case.

“No handsome little man with you today?” Cecile asked.

“I’m on my way to pick him up from Linda’s.” She stared at the diamond necklaces captured beneath her hands. “Was Ian here today?”

“He stopped by about an hour ago.”

“Is he the reason you took your For Sale sign down?”

Cecile grabbed a bottle of blue liquid near the cash register, bustled to the front door, and removed the Liquidation Sale sign. Mists of cleaner shot the window and dribbled down the glass. She pulled a rag dangling from the back pocket of her pleated slacks and wiped circles into the pane. “He offered us a really fair deal. One we’d be foolish to turn down.”

Robin closed her eyes, her heart thudding a slow, hollow beat inside her chest. “Can I ask you a favor?”

“Of course.”

“Please reconsider.”

The older woman frowned.

“You’ve only been on the market for three days. How do you know somebody in town doesn’t want to open their own business?”

“Don’t be silly, Robin. Nobody in Peaks wants this old place.” Cecile returned the rag to her pocket. “I don’t want to see anything happen to your café or One Life any more than you do, but it doesn’t make sense for Richard and me to pass this up.”

Didn’t make sense? Cecile’s words left Robin miffed, because if she really meant them, she wouldn’t accept the first offer that came her way. She’d roll up her sleeves and fight. “Cecile, accepting his offer puts One Life in danger.”

“I have all the faith in the world that these condominiums won’t stop God from ministering to the needy.”

Indignation crawled under Robin’s skin. That kind of passivity drove her nuts. God ministered to the needy through His body—the church—and if they didn’t do their part, then who would? “I’m just asking you to wait a few weeks. I know God can provide another buyer.” Desperation stained the edge of each word, making her cringe.

Please, Lord. Please …

“You and I both know this is the only offer we’re going to get,” Cecile said.

A piece of Robin’s hope crumpled. She tried to straighten it back out, but it was too late. Cecile had made up her mind.

“Robin, sweetheart, the last thing I want to do is cause you any more grief. Lord knows you’ve had enough. Lord knows we all have.” Cecile placed her hand over Robin’s and squeezed. “But Ian’s a nice man. He’ll offer you a fair deal and we’ll figure out what to do with One Life. Things will work out. You’ll see.”

They were the same words Bethany used yesterday. Only Robin didn’t know if she believed them anymore.

Robin drummed her fingers against the steering wheel and pressed harder on the gas pedal. Her impulsive visit to Arton’s made her fifteen minutes late and desperate to hug her son—his little body a tangible reminder that God could bring sweetness in the midst of pain.

She unbuckled her seat belt and pulled over to the curb. The smell of baked apples and the sound of Caleb’s singing greeted her as soon as she stepped inside Linda’s front door. So did her son’s Crocs, neatly set atop a brightly colored and otherwise empty welcome mat. Evidence that the other two children had been picked up on time.

Mommy fail.

She slipped off her shoes and climbed the stairs into the living room where Linda hung finger-painted pictures over the television and hummed backup to a bare-chested Caleb’s enthusiastic yet off-key rendition of “The Farmer in the Dell.” He sat on the sofa sans shirt, bouncing his legs and bobbing his head to the beat. As soon as she peeked over the banister, his face lit with a grin. It was the best kind of greeting.

Linda turned from her task.

“I’m so sorry I’m late,” Robin said.

“No big deal.” Linda switched off the music player. “I put a bib on Caleb before he painted, but he managed to get a little on his shirt collar. And a bit on his cast. I washed his shirt, but he didn’t want to put it back on again. He said it would make him melt.”

Caleb held up his injured wrist, displaying a bright orange stain on the electric blue cast. “I painted a mommy tiger and a Caleb tiger.”

Robin looked at the pictures proudly displayed on the wall. Caleb’s was
in the middle—two orange blobs with long tails—one larger than the other, no daddy tiger in sight. “I have a budding artist on my hands.” She kissed the top of his head and shuffled him down the stairs. “I’m really sorry about being late.”

Linda waved her hand. “It’s okay, Robin. You have a lot on your plate.”

Single motherhood. A ministry to save. A struggling café. And a businessman all too eager to knock it down. Robin wanted to ask what Linda thought about Ian. She saw the two talking at the meet and greet yesterday. But she was afraid to broach the subject. Linda’s opinion mattered and Robin wasn’t sure she could handle it if she shared the same sentiment as Cecile. Caleb plopped onto the bottom step and stuffed his feet into his Crocs—always and forever the wrong way.

“Jed Johnson came to the café this morning,” Robin said.

Linda handed over Caleb’s John Deere T-shirt, neatly folded and still warm from the dryer. “That’s great news.”

“I think he’s going to join us for our next meeting. He wanted me to tell you how much he enjoyed the casserole you made him.”

“I’m glad I could help.”

Robin knew exactly how the woman felt. It was precisely why Robin had started the grief group two years ago. Caleb ran up the stairs and hugged Linda’s legs just as Robin’s cell phone vibrated. She waved good-bye and led her son into the sunshine. He skipped to the car while she dug inside her purse and pulled the buzzing phone from the rubble. Her spirits lifted at the name on her screen. “Hey, Dad.”

“Hey, sweetie, how’s it going?”

Caleb climbed onto his booster seat and buckled himself in. Robin slid behind the wheel and listened for the click. “It’s been better.”

“Uh-oh. Things not going well at the café?”

“Not exactly.” She stuck the keys into the ignition. “A developer wants to buy Willow Tree so he can build condominiums along the riverfront.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really. And he’s incredibly irritating. I tell him I’m not going to sell and he looks at me like he knows better.” The heaviness weighting her limbs
ever since leaving Arton’s gathered and wound into a tightly spun ball right behind her bellybutton. “He can’t force me to sell, can he?”

“I don’t see how he could force you. Not when you don’t have any outstanding debt.” Dad paused. “How persistent is he?”

An image of Ian ran through her mind. His David Beckham looks, his tailored clothes. The way he seemed to charm everybody who crossed his path, even the people who should be charm-resistant—like Amanda and Joe. “About as persistent as a used car salesman.”

Dad let out a short-lived hum.

Robin shifted into drive and pulled away from the curb.

“Have you talked to him about his offer?” Dad asked.

The question stole her wind.

“Robin?”

“Did you really just say that?”

“I’m thinking as your lawyer right now, sweetheart. And as your lawyer, I have to ask. After hearing his offer, is there a possibility you’d be interested?”

“Of course I’m not interested.”

“Looking into your options doesn’t mean you have to sell.”

“If I looked into my options, Ian McKay would tear me apart like a hungry piranha. And anyway, I’m not interested.” Robin frowned. He, of all people, should understand.

“How about we talk about it this weekend?”

“This weekend?”

“I was thinking about buying some plane tickets. I haven’t seen that grandson of mine in entirely too long.”

“Seriously?” She stopped at a stop sign and waved a car to go ahead. “You’re coming to Peaks?”

“As long as you don’t have any plans.”

“Just the picnic, but you can come to that.” Excitement soothed her growing unrest. With the youngest Price brother, Gavin, out of town for a photo shoot and the oldest unable to get away from his job in Arizona, maybe Dad’s presence would fill up some empty space at their annual Price
family picnic. They’d thrown one the Saturday before Memorial Day for as long as Robin had known the Prices. With Micah’s parents flying in from Arizona and her father flying in from Ohio, maybe the picnic would be festive after all. She accelerated through the intersection. “Caleb’s going to be ecstatic.”

Her son perked in the backseat.

She winked at him in the rearview mirror.

“If it’s okay, I’d like to bring Donna.”

“Donna?”

“She hasn’t seen you since Thanksgiving.”

“Dad, that’s the only time she’s seen me.”

“I’d really like to bring her.”

Her excitement waned. She rewound to last Thanksgiving. Dad had introduced Donna as a friend. She even ate dinner with them. Robin had watched them through the evening, looking for any sign that he and Donna might share anything more than a platonic camaraderie. She hadn’t found a thing. “Dad, isn’t that a little awkward? Flying Donna to Iowa? You don’t want her to get the wrong impression.”

“Donna is important to me.”

After sixteen years of it just being her dad, his words poked at something in her gut—a longing she didn’t want to feel. Her brain yelled at her finger to hang up before he could say anything that would make the unwelcome longing expand, but she was too late.

“I love her, sweetheart.”

Sunshine heated the back of Robin’s head as she slammed the car door and took Caleb’s hand.

“What’s a matter, Mommy?” he asked, trotting to keep up with her long strides.

The grass whispered in the breeze. A mocking taunt.
“I love her. I love her.”
She quickened her pace until Caleb’s trot turned into a run, but she didn’t stop until the familiar willow tree towered in front of them, bending
over the small pond as if checking its reflection in the water’s surface. She stepped inside the embrace of the weeping branches and slid down the massive trunk.

Caleb sandwiched her face with his warm palms. “Are you sad?”

She placed her hands over his. “I just needed to visit our willow tree, Bug-man.” She nodded to the pond in front of them, a resting point for Feather Creek, which wandered through town, keeping company with an old blacktopped bike path. “Do you want to throw rocks?”

“Can we go to the park too?”

There was a small playground around the bend with a swing set and a slide. It was the same playground she and Bethany used to visit when they were twelve. Not too far away was the house where Robin’s mother died. After all these years, she could still picture the damask pillows on her parents’ bed. The line of pill bottles standing at attention on the dresser like white-capped soldiers. The cool touch of the wisteria-patterned wallpaper in the hallway as Dad sang “Fly Me to the Moon” while cradling Mom’s head in his lap. Even at the end, when Mom could barely open her eyes, the off-key rendition made her laugh.

“Sure we can.” Robin cupped Caleb’s chin and ran the pad of her thumb across the ridge of his jaw. “Just as soon as Mommy has a minute.”

He nodded and ran a few paces ahead in search of rocks and pebbles he could toss into the water. Robin sank down the trunk until her bottom met the cool, shaded grass. She released a long breath and rested her elbows over her knees, thinking about the upcoming weekend. Would Dad hold Donna’s hand? Would he look at her with the same love he’d lavished on Mom for so many years? Would the longing in Robin’s gut grow stronger?

She leaned her head against the tree.

Whenever anybody commented on her single status, she would confidently point to her father. His longstanding devotion to Mom was always something that gave Robin comfort. But now, after all these years, he loved another woman. An ache she hadn’t felt in a long time wrapped itself around her heart, making her so homesick she had a hard time breathing.

Why now, Lord? This is supposed to be over
.

She was supposed to be done with the grief. So why did it come back now, on the heels of Dad’s declaration? Robin twisted her wedding ring and slipped it off her finger. She let it sit like a dead weight in the center of her palm, as if removing Micah’s gift could remove the burden of his death.

A loud splash jarred her from her thoughts. Caleb bounced on his toes, one small fist pumping beside his ear. The canopy of willows rustled in the wind, a hypnotic lullaby that did not match the chaotic churning inside. This tree held so much laughter. So much pain. It was the place she’d come as a teenager, when brain cancer grabbed hold of her mother. Sometimes alone. Sometimes with Bethany. They’d swing on the branches while Robin made a wish on each of the willows, a simple plea for the cancer to go away. And after, when the cancer had won and Mom was gone, Robin would sit beneath the canopy and give her grief free reign. She’d let it swing through her body like the weeping branches.

Years later, she’d brought Micah the day before their wedding. He held her beneath the tree while she listened to the thrumming of his heartbeat and dreamed about their future. Never once had she dreamt this.

Robin sighed. Most days she could handle the loneliness. Most days, she had only to play a sonata, or cuddle with her son, or bless somebody with a batch of hot-from-the-oven caramel butter bars and the ache would melt away. But sometimes, like now—watching Caleb struggle to lift a large rock with his healthy arm, his grunts of exertion stabbing the air—her loneliness grew too big to hold on her own.