Chapter 3
THREE
W
illow sat down on the edge of the bed. It still had the same antique aqua chenille spread on it. “Wait, back up. How in the hell did that happen?” They’d been unlikely friends when they’d met as teens, but Rafe had been a holy terror back then.
Mae laughed. “Guess that military camp his parents sent him to worked after all.”
Willow shook her head, trying to imagine it.
She knew he’d been a cop in Seattle for a long time.
But the sheriff of Skeleton Island? “People here elected him?” They must not have known about his hellion past here.
The locals were notoriously wary of outsiders taking jobs from those who already lived here.
“By an overwhelming majority.”
Willow hid a smile. “I see. And might that have been partly due to your influence?”
Mae stopped folding a sweater and gave her an astonished look. “What a thing to say. As if I could influence that many people’s votes.”
“You have more pull on this island than anyone else I know.”
Mae sniffed and returned to organizing Willow’s things.
“He was the best candidate for the job by far. He has a great background working with the Seattle PD, and even if he’s not a local, he’s familiar with and cares about the island.
That carried a lot of weight with the locals.
Plus, him being an outsider means he’s more likely to be impartial and not let local politics affect his decisions. ”
“I don’t know what to say. I’m stunned.” She hadn’t seen him since—
She blocked the train of thought before it could continue. “Well, that’s some strong tea, Mae.”
“Isn’t it? I saw him in town earlier. Told him you were arriving today.”
Willow groaned. She’d been hoping to have her arrival stay quiet for at least a few days until she could get settled.
“What? You didn’t think word would get out as soon as you got off the ferry?”
“Yeah. You’re right.” This was a tight-knit community. People knew each other, noticed things. That was part of the magic.
“Course I am. Hand me that sweater. I’m putting all your fall and winter things in the bottom two drawers. You can swap them out with the lighter things I’ve got in the top ones at the end of summer. Make things easier to rotate between seasons.”
“Perfect.”
“When’s the rest of your stuff coming?”
“Hopefully next Monday.” The movers were currently driving the truck across the country from New York. “Okay, other than that stunning revelation about our new sheriff, any other surprises I should know about?”
“Yes, there’s one more thing I thought I should tell you.”
“All right. I’m bracing myself.”
Mae kept her back to her as she worked. “Tripp moved back to the island a while ago too.”
At the mention of that name, it felt like a hole opened up in the bottom of her stomach. She struggled to find her voice. “Oh?” she asked, trying to sound casual.
Mae inclined her head. “He lives up in the hills near the winery and golf course. Runs a finish carpentry business out of his property.”
Her feelings about that, and him, were all jumbled together in a confusing mess. The last time she’d seen him and Rafe was at Carson’s funeral four years ago. And out of respect she would never bring that day up in front of Mae.
But that was before the tragedy in Syria two years ago had cast a permanent shadow over her family. Her life.
“Is he...better?” she asked, curious and feeling slightly guilty for not knowing the answer.
“In some ways. Others, no. I doubt you’ll see much of him though. He doesn’t come into town that often, prefers his own company and to stay up island. Just thought I should warn you so it’s not a shock if you bump into each other.”
“Yeah, thanks.” She’d known coming back here would be a challenge emotionally. But finding out Tripp was here added another layer of conflict she hadn’t expected to have to confront.
“Of course.” Mae closed the bottom drawer and stood, her knees cracking. “Anything else, or should we tackle your art supplies next? Get your studio set up.”
“I love that idea.” And the abrupt shift in topic wasn’t a coincidence. She knew Mae had suggested it to redirect her thoughts to a happier task.
Two hours later her car was empty, almost everything was put away and organized, and the empty boxes had been folded flat in a pile on the porch for her to take over to the recycling depot. “You’re a lifesaver, Mae. This would’ve taken me all day by myself.”
“You’re welcome, honey. Oh, I put some things in the fridge and pantry for you. Just a few essentials so you don’t have to go into town for a day or two if you don’t feel like it.”
Willow sighed and pulled her into a hug. “You’re the most wonderful human.”
Mae patted her back. “No, that was your darling angel of a grandmother. We were neighbors and friends for fifty-two years. I never dreamed I’d have another one I’d love half as much, but now here you are. I’m really glad you’ve come back where you belong.”
“Don’t make me cry, Mae. I just got here.”
Mae chuckled and grabbed another empty box on her way to the door. She was the definition of a workhorse. “I’m gonna go home and get some chores done. Dinner’s at six. Don’t bring anything but you. I want to hear all about what you’ve been up to for the past four years.”
She was out the door before Willow could even form a reply. The invitation was more of a summons, but it was classic Mae. And there was zero chance Willow would pass up one of Mae’s fabulous home-cooked dinners, summons or not.
She automatically locked the door behind Mae, feeling strange because nobody around here did that still, and turned around to survey her new home.
The memories filling her head were bittersweet but not unwelcome, and her grandmother had left the house to her for a reason.
Willow wouldn’t put it past her to have sensed that she’d needed to start over, and that coming back here might allow her to heal.
In her bedroom, she opened the final box she’d left on the bed.
Books, toiletries, and some personal items, including a few framed photos.
One of her family together here the summer she’d turned sixteen.
Another of her and Peyton at his army grad.
Him in his dress uniform and her in a red dress, arms across each other’s shoulders, huge grins on their faces.
Neither of them had a care in the world back then. No clue that his life would one day be cut tragically short in a Syrian desert.
She carefully set it beside the other on her bedside table. And finally, the lid on her emotions cracked open.
A rush of hot tears stung her eyes.
She bent her head, let the sobs break free in the privacy of her childhood bedroom. Surrounded by ghosts while desperately hoping that on the other side of all this pain and loss, a brighter path lay ahead.