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“I am. Everyone’s been so kind and welcoming. I didn’t burn myself—or anyone else—with the steam wand at the coffee shop, either, so I count that as a win for the day.”
“Definitely a win. And you and Dad? Did you get on well?” I asked, glad to finally have a moment to ease into this conversation.
“Like you said, he’s quite the character.” She smiled. “I like him.”
“Did you notice anything that seemed off?”
She knew what I was asking. “Physically, he seems fit to me. He was lifting boxes, loading and unloading, barely breaking a sweat. Cognitively, there was only the issue about a misplaced picture and, well, he thinks the house is haunted, which you already know.”
I really needed to talk to Carmella again, because I suspectedshe knew exactly what was going on with my father. I’d call her tonight, after I got home.
Ava fidgeted, shifting foot to foot. “About that ghost. I should probably tell you we did hear some noise in the attic.”
“Sparrows always seem to find a way inside,” I said.
“Dez told me you’d say that. But to be fair to him, it didn’t sound like birds to me. It sounded like—”
She was cut off by the doorbell. Donovan waved through the glass panel. We both whipped our heads to look at the clock: 5:52. He was early.
Ava let out a panicked squeak. “How did it get so late? I need to go.” She made a dash for the door, then called over her shoulder, “Have fun tonight.”
I heard her say something to Donovan as she rushed by him and rocketed down the porch steps.
I walked over to the door. Donovan stood there with a bouquet of zinnias in hand, watching her sprint down the street.
“What’s got into her?” he asked.
“She’s running late to meet with Estrelle.”
His eyes widened. “Say no more.”
I hooked a thumb over my shoulder. “Let me just grab my purse and I’ll be ready.”
He thrust out the flowers. “Wait. These are for you.”
My stomach squeezed. “Thank you. You didn’t have to do that.”
I quickly put the flowers in water, grabbed my purse, and closed the door behind me. Out on the porch, I glanced around for his truck but saw only my car and Ava’s hatchback in the driveway. “Am I driving?”
“We’re not driving.” He grinned. “We’re walking.”
“Where? To the Salty Southerner?” Suddenly, I realized I could do with a margarita. Or two. I started down the steps. At the end of the walkway, I turned toward the square.
Tugging on my arm, he turned me around. “This way.”
There weren’t any restaurants in that direction. Only houses and the beach.
“Just follow me,” he said. “You do trust me, right?”
I looked deep into his ocean eyes, saw glimpses of the boy I’d loved. I had trusted him then, and I trusted him now.
But he knew as well as I did that I had limits to where I’d follow him.
Minutes later, our footsteps echoed hollowly on the wooden boardwalk, gray and weathered, that cut through rolling dunes covered in sea oats and beach grass. I took off my sandals at the end of the platform and sighed with happiness as my toes sank into the soft white sand, still warm from the day’s heat.
The water was calm this evening, looking pale green in the evening light. Waves rolled gently onto the beach, and the wind blew calmly as the day prepared to turn into night. Even after all these years, I scanned the water in all directions. Searching for my mama had become habit.
Two men stood along the shore, surf fishing, their poles anchored deep in the sand, their fishing lines extended beyond the point where the waves broke before coming ashore. Sanderlings darted in and out of the swash, surprisingly fast for their tiny size.
