own separation from Kevin and worse. Much worse.
“Is she still your best friend?” Maddie asked.
“I haven’t seen Miss Abigail for many, many years,” she said. “But you know, I don’t think I realized until just this moment how very much I’ve missed her.”
She should never have let so much time pass before coming back to Cannon Beach. She had let their friendship slip away, too busy being a confused and rebellious teenager caught in the middle of the endless drama between her parents. And then had come college and marriage and family.
Perhaps now that she was back, they could find that friendship once more. She couldn’t wait to find out.
She opened the wrought-iron gate and headed up the walkway feeling as if she were on the verge of something oddly portentous.
She rang the doorbell and heard it echo through the house. Anticipation zinged through her as she waited, wondering what she would possibly say to Abigail after all these years. Would her lovely, wrinkled features match Julia’s memory?
No one answered after several moments, even after she rang the doorbell a second time. She stood on the porch, wondering if she ought to leave a note with their hotel and her cell phone number, but it seemed impersonal, somehow, after all these years.
They would just have to check back, she decided. She headed back down the stairs and started for the gate again just as she heard the whine of a power tool from behind the house.
The dog, who looked like a mix between an Irish setter and a golden retriever, barked and headed toward the sound, pausing at the corner of the house, head cocked, as if waiting for them to come along with him.
After a wary moment, she followed, Maddie and Simon close on her heels.
The dog led them to the backyard, where Julia found a couple of sawhorses set up and a man with brown hair and broad shoulders running a circular saw through a board.
She watched for a moment, waiting for their presence to attract his attention, but he didn’t look up from his work.
“Hello,” she called out. When he still didn’t respond, she moved closer so she would be in his field of vision and waved.
“Excuse me!”
Finally, he shut off the saw and pulled his safety goggles off, setting them atop his head.
“Yeah?” he said.
She squinted and looked closer at him. He looked familiar. A hint of a memory danced across her subconscious and she was so busy trying to place him that it took her a moment to respond.
“I’m sorry to disturb you. I rang the doorbell but I guess you couldn’t hear me back here with the power tools.”
“Guess not.”
He spoke tersely, as if impatient to return to work, and Julia could feel herself growing flustered. She had braced herself to see Abigail, not some solemn-eyed construction worker in a sexy tool belt.
“I...right. Um, I’m looking for Abigail Dandridge.”
There was an awkward pause and she thought she saw something flicker in his blue eyes.
“Are you a friend of hers?” he asked, his voice not quite as abrupt as it had been before.
“I used to be, a long time ago. Can you tell me when she’ll be back? I don’t mind waiting.”
The dog barked, only with none of the exuberance he had shown a few moments ago, almost more of a whine than a bark. He plopped onto the grass and dipped his chin to his front paws, his eyes suddenly morose.
The man gazed at the dog’s curious behavior for a moment. A muscle tightened in his jaw then he looked back at Julia. “Abigail died in April. Heart attack in her sleep. I’m sorry to be the one to tell you.”
Julia couldn’t help her instinctive cry of distress. Even through her sudden surge of grief, she sensed when Maddie stepped closer and slipped a small, frail hand in hers.
Julia drew a breath, then another. “I...see,” she mumbled.
Just one more loss in a long, unrelenting string, she thought. But this one seemed to pierce her heart like jagged driftwood.
It was silly, really, when she thought about it. Abigail hadn’t been a presence in her life for sixteen years, but suddenly the loss of her seemed overwhelming.
She swallowed hard, struggling for composure. Her friend was gone, but her house was still here, solid and reassuring, weathering this storm as it had others for generations.
Somehow it seemed more important than ever that she bring her children here.
“I see,” she repeated, more briskly now, though she thought she saw a surprising understanding in the deep blue of the man’s eyes, so disconcertingly familiar. She knew him. She knew she did.
“I suppose I should talk to you, then. The sign out front says there’s an apartment for rent. How many bedrooms does it have?”
He gave her a long look before turning away to pick up another board and carry it to the saw. “Three bedrooms, two of them on the small side. Kitchen’s been redone in the last few months and the electricity’s been upgraded but the bathroom plumbing’s still in pretty rough shape.”
“I don’t care about that, as long as everything works okay. Three bedrooms is exactly the size my children and I need. Is it still available?”
“Can’t say.”
She pursed her lips. “Why not?”
He shrugged. “I don’t own the place. I live a few houses down the beach. I’m just doing some repairs for the owners.”
Something about what he said jarred loose a flood of memories and she stared at him more closely. Suddenly everything clicked in and she gasped, stunned she hadn’t realized his identity the instant she had clapped eyes on him.
“Will? Will Garrett?”
He peered at her. “Do I know you?”
She managed a smile. “Probably not. It’s been years.”
She held out a hand, her pulse suddenly wild and erratic, as it had always been around him.
“Julia Blair. You knew me when I was Julia Hudson. My parents rented a cottage between your house and Brambleberry House every summer of my childhood until I was fifteen. I used to follow you and my older brother, Charlie, around everywhere.”
Will Garrett. She’d forgotten so much about those summers, but never him. She had wondered whether she would see him, had wondered about his life and where he might end up. She never expected to find him standing in front of her on her first full day in town.
“It’s been years!” she repeated. “I can’t believe you’re still here.”
* * *
AT
