“What gave me away?”
“The sneakers by the back door were gone, but your slippers were there. And your hat and scarf were on the steps. I figured you changed your mind about wearing them.”
“It’s too hot. And the tide’s in, so no running for me.”
“And you were talking to …?”
“My mother.” She tried to sound matter-of-fact.
He mused a moment. “I still do that on occasion.”
Though he’d never declared it, Maddie was not surprised. “Does it help?”
“Sometimes. Other times she ignores me.” He laughed.
They sat quietly then, their eyes locked on the soothing motion of the water. Then his voice grew serious. “If you don’t mind me asking, were you talking to Hannah about something I can help with?”
“I was looking for reassurance. For hours and sometimes for days I’m confident about my decisions. Then I get slammed with moments of awareness that I’m faking, that everything I’m doing is wrong.” She didn’t recall ever being that candid with her father. Maybe Hannah was there after all, with them in spirit, helping them help each other. Perhaps she always had been.
Stephen grew pensive as he chose his words carefully. “People who have the courage to question their decisions are usually the ones who are doing fine. It’s the ones who think they’re right all the time who have the most to learn.”
Maddie smiled. “Did my mother teach you that?”
“No,” he said. “My students did. So did you. Your mother only taught me to love you.”
Which also was what she’d needed to hear.
Then Stephen took her hand and suggested they walk over to the shop and see how things were shaping up. They had, after all, been so buried in working on the logistics, they hadn’t checked in for days.
Because it was still early, Maddie didn’t expect they’d see anyone. But the front door was unlocked and the inside lights were on.
Sounds of loud, vibrating music greeted them inside. A man stood in the far corner, his back to them, his hammer thwacking to the beat.
“Hello?” Stephen shouted above the noise.
The man turned: he was older than Rafe, younger than Maddie, but looked vaguely familiar.
“Hey, Mr. Clarke.” The hammering ceased first, followed by the music. “Sorry, I wasn’t expecting visitors.”
“No problem,” her father said. “Have you met the boss?” He gestured to Maddie.
“I have. How are you, Ms. Clarke?” He had blond hair and dark eyes and cheerful, plump cheeks that looked as if they’d been glued onto his round face.
“Please, call me Maddie. And I’m sorry, I know I’ve met you, but I can’t remember where.”
“Dave worked on the cottage after the fire,” her father said. “Carpentry and painting.”
“Oh, right. You’re responsible for the beautiful bedroom suite.”
“Guilty.” He smiled, then motioned to the bookcases he’d been hammering. “What do you think of these?”
“They look wonderful. I didn’t know they’d be custom made.”
Dave nodded. “I’m making them deeper than standard ones, so they can hold oversized books. You’ll be able to slide them in, spine out, like regular books, so they’ll have room to breathe. Which is important with the dampness around here.”
Maddie was amazed at the things other people—except her, the bookshop owner—had accomplished while she’d been in a semi-daze.
“That’s terrific, Dave. You must have been doing carpentry awhile.”
