Page 16 of Won't Back Down
Restlessness drove me from the lighthouse on the point out into Sutter’s Ferry. Well, restlessness and the lingering threat that Mimi might corner me to ask more questions I didn’t have answers for. I didn’t like the knowing looks she and Mama Flo kept sharing over the subject of me and Willa. Like there was something there.
I mean, obviously, there was something there. We were friends. We had history. But it wasn’t like those looks were making it out to be. It couldn’t be.
The reading of the will was today. Obviously, I had no business being there. It wasn’t anything to do with me, and Willa hadn’t asked me to meet up with her after. But I couldn’t forget her grief and fear over what her parents would do with whatever they got, not to mention her stress over even being in the same room with them. I wanted to be there to help repair whatever additional damage they caused.
Because I had no idea how long the meeting would take, I decided to wander the village to see what had changed. Sure, I’d been back to Hatterwick some over the years. But those visits had been brief, and I hadn’t wanted to revisit the ghosts on memory lane. Maybe I’d been hiding.
My route took me past the marina. The noisy cry of gulls filled the salty air as they wheeled over the water. At this hour, all the fishing boats were already out on the open ocean. Despite the often backbreaking nature of the work, a faint pull of nostalgia had me smiling. Not that I wanted to go back to commercial fishing as an occupation. I just loved being out on the water. Fishing. The Navy. The one true constant in my life had been the ocean.
Moving on, I made my way into the residential part of town, where a row of modest rental houses had evidently been bought up and gentrified since I’d lived here with my dad. It looked so different that I walked right past the house at first. The eaves that used to sag were straight. The shutters that had once hung forever cattywampus on rusty hinges were neatly fastened against siding now painted a bright, sunshiny yellow. A pair of flowerbeds bursting with blooming butterfly bushes flanked a walkway of stone pavers that led up to the red front door. I might have thought it had been turned into a vacation rental but for a child’s bike that lay abandoned on its side in the front yard beside a swing that hung from a tree that hadn’t been big enough to support its weight when I’d left.
It had been made into a home.
It hadn’t been that when I’d lived here with my dad. Life would’ve been so much different had my mother and sister lived. It wasn’t something I dwelt on. What was the point? When they died and Dad fell into the bottle, I wasn’t enough to keep him afloat. He’d never been aggressive or problematic as a drunk. Never hurt anybody. He’d just drowned in his grief and heartbreak for the rest of his life. Which, really, hadn’t been all that long, considering. I’d had to grow up fast, and if not for the rest of the Wayward Sons, I didn’t know where I’d be. They were my family, and I was feeling the distance from all of them.
Without them, without a place here, a purpose—hell, even a damned job—I felt rootless and unmoored. Being there for Willa had distracted me from that, and maybe that was part of why I was so focused on her.
Right, Malone. Everybody believes that.
She pulled at me, even more than she always had. The past few days of being near her seemed to have rolled back some of the reserve that had built up like dunes between us. I knew none of that had been Jace’s intention when he’d asked me to come. If it had been Ford or Rios who’d been available, one of them would have been the stand-in for her brother. I wondered if Jace would’ve thought twice about asking if he knew the feelings I’d hidden about his sister all these years.
Didn’t matter. I was the one who was here, and I was the one who’d stand by her to help through whatever she needed. That sense of purpose wouldn’t last forever. I’d have to figure out what the hell to do with my life, sooner or later. Sort out what a sailor without ship actually was.
But it could wait.
I made my way downtown to Panadería de la Isla, which was conveniently located midway between Roland O’Shea’s law office and where Willa had parked her Jeep. I wasn’t especially hungry, as Mama Flo had made sure I ate before I left the house this morning, but I could go for a coffee.
Marisol Gutierrez smiled at me from behind the counter. “Sawyer, welcome home.”
“Thanks, Marisol. Can I get a large dark roast and one of your empanadas for here?”
“Of course. Would you like that heated?”
“Please.” Spotting the trays full of big, beautiful cookies, I decided to grab one of those for Willa. Something sweet to take the sting out of whatever was happening in that meeting. “And a couple of the snickerdoodles to go.”
Her smile flashed again. “Seeing Willa later?” At my blank look, she explained, “They’re her favorite.”
“I know. And yes, thanks.”
As Marisol bustled behind the counter, I heard someone snort behind me. “As if sugar’s enough to buy his way into the good graces of someone like her.”
My shoulders went stiff. I told myself not to turn around. Whoever was opining about my purchase didn’t matter one iota.
Someone else continued, “Oh, you know Willa. Always a bleeding heart for a faithful dog.”
Marisol’s smile had slipped when she brought me my coffee and food, her heated gaze fixed somewhere over my left shoulder. When she opened her mouth as if to say something, I gave a bare shake of my head. It wasn’t worth it to draw attention to these jackasses. It might’ve been years since I’d been subjected to this kind of bullshit, but it was hardly the first time.
Marisol huffed and finished ringing me up.
I saluted her with my coffee. “Thanks. Have a good one.”
Deliberately keeping my back to the bakery at large, I headed out to the patio. Only once I’d found a table outside did I dare to glance in through the window to see who’d been running their mouths.
Marcus Hoffman and Chet Banks. Well on toward their fifties now, they gossiped worse than a bunch of old women. They’d once given Caroline all kinds of grief over Rios’s supposed crimes, so this didn’t surprise me a bit. It was always the small minded and the miserable who had to make themselves feel better by tearing others down, and as the son of the town drunk, I’d been a popular target growing up. I had kinda thought they’d have moved on to someone else by now. Dad had been dead for more than a decade.
Twitching my shoulders to rid myself of the itch of shame trying to claw its way up my back, I shifted focus down the street toward the law office. It didn’t take long. I’d barely brushed the pastry crumbs from my fingers before I saw Willa step out of the office.
I couldn’t get a clear read on her from here. Her movements were slow, almost confused. As if she were trapped underwater. I’d tossed my trash and crossed the street before she even turned toward her Jeep. The view up close didn’t tell me much more. She looked… shell shocked.