“Hello,” Emmett said after the third ring.
“Hi, Em. I didn’t want you to be worried when you got to work tomorrow and saw the RoseWind wasn’t on her mooring. I’m taking her out sailing for a few days.”
“Well, Willy, that’s going to be kind of hard, considering she’s missing half her paint. I brought her into dry dock five days ago to be repainted.”
“You what? I didn’t ask you to do that.”
“No, Sam did. He said he thought she should be gone over, anyway. He also asked me to check all the winches.”
“Sam doesn’t own the RoseWind , I do!”
“The jib winch was sticking, I discovered,” Emmett continued, ignoring her burst of temper. “And I found a large chunk had been gouged out of the keel. You must have noticed the hull vibrating. How come you didn’t mention it to me when you got in?”
“It couldn’t have been that large a gouge; the boat went fine. You actually dry-docked the RoseWind without calling me to see if it was okay?”
“Foul weather’s predicted for the next few days, anyway,” Emmett said. “Say, have you spoken to Sam lately?”
“No, I’m happy to say.” She picked up her pencil and started doodling on her sketch pad. “Um…why?
You sound as if something’s wrong. Are his brothers okay?”
“They’re fine that I know of. It’s Sam I’m worried about. Have you even seen him in passing?”
“Just from a distance,” she said, sitting up. “Why?”
There was a slight pause on the line. “He’s not the same man who arrived here two weeks ago, Willy.”
“How’s that?”
“Even as beat up as he was, Sam still appeared… formidable, if you know what I mean.”
“And he’s not now? What are you saying, Emmett?”
A heavy sigh came over the phone. “I can’t put my finger on it, exactly. I just know Sam’s been acting strangely lately.”
“Compared to what? You’ve only known him two weeks.”
“Depressed, then,” he growled. “If I have to put a word on it, I’d say Sam is acting depressed.”
“As in how? ” she growled back. “Is he sleeping all day? Lying on the couch watching the Lifetime channel and munching on junk food? What?”
“Well, he does eat a lot. He’s been gaining weight.”
“That’s not depression, that’s plain old gluttony.”
“And he went out and bought himself a bunch of flannel shirts, and he doesn’t even bother to tuck them in.”
“Oh, for the love of—”
“And he’s going to the coffee shop nearly every morning.” His voice dropped. “And you know how depressing that group can get sometimes.”
Willa grew alarmed. “Have you tried to talk to him, Emmett? Maybe you should just come out and ask him what’s bothering him.”
“That’s not my place.”
“Are you implying it’s mine? Since when did I become Sam’s babysitter?”
“You’re just better at that sort of thing, Willamina.”
“Maybe Abram’s death is just now hitting him. Maybe he’s simply mourning. Remember how you were when Gretchen passed? Sorrow hits everyone differently, and how long it takes to work through it is up to the individual. Abram was like a father to Sam.”
Another heavy sigh came over the phone line. “You’re probably right. He’s likely just realizing that he and his brothers are completely alone in the world now.”
“You might suggest he stop going to the coffee shop,” Willa said. “They probably keep mentioning Abram, and that will keep depressing Sam.”
“I’ll do that,” Emmett said. “I’m sorry about the RoseWind , Willy. But truth be told, I couldn’t wait to get my hands on her again. She was my last, you know?”
“I know, Em, and it’s okay. Um…is Sam home?”
“He left about an hour ago and told me not to wait dinner for him.” He snorted. “Not that I ever do. I usually just help myself to one of the many doggie bags he keeps sticking in the fridge.”
She covered her mouth to stifle a yawn. “Okay, I’d better get on home and see what Peg’s put in my own fridge. Tomorrow’s Saturday. I’ll come over and work on the RoseWind with you, if you’d like.”
“I’d like that. It’s been a few years since we’ve worked side by side.”
“’Bye, Em,” she said. She shut off the light again and gazed across the dark room at nothing. Emmett thought Sam was depressed?
His weight gain would make sense if that was the case. After her parents died and she lost the baby, she’d started feeding the emptiness inside her with whatever food she could get her hands on. She’d gained twelve pounds that year, and that had been the beginning of the end for her and David. A year later, she began to suspect he was cheating on her, and she’d gained another ten pounds. Looking back, Willa could see she’d unconsciously been driving David away, probably because he was as emotionally supportive as seaweed.
She stood up and walked out of her office, giving the bronze whale statue a pat. Nearly two weeks had gone by, and she wasn’t any closer to finding a solution to Abram’s bequest. If anything, she had unwittingly added one more problem to her growing list. Barry Cobb was not only so full of himself he bored her to tears, he was becoming a pest.
Willa pulled up beside Sam’s rental car, shut off the engine, and stared at the lighted windows of her cottage in dismay. Great. Just what she needed, a depressed man dropping by to depress her . She looked toward the main house, figuring there was probably food up there. But there was alsoShelby and Jennifer and their killer glares. Peg wasn’t a glarer; she just banged pot lids around whenever Barry Cobb’s name came up.
Willa looked back at her cottage, trying to decide which way lay the lesser evil. She was actually surprised, but she sort of missed Sam. At least, with him, she could glare right back without feeling guilty, because he wasn’t going through a divorce.
But he was mourning Abram.
God, she wished Emmett hadn’t dry-docked the RoseWind . She could be sailing toward the Bermuda Triangle right now.
Willa got out of her pickup and mounted the porch steps, thinking it was kind of nice coming home to a house that wasn’t empty. She perked up a bit. Maybe Sam had brought food. She’d even settle for a
doggie bag from one of his restaurant excursions.
She opened the door and immediately saw that the table was empty except for a small stack of mail. Sam hadn’t even brought her flowers to apologize for avoiding her for two whole weeks. Bummer.
“Over here,” he said from the corner of the room. “Wash up, and come sit down. I hope you’re hungry.”
Her spirits rose with renewed hope. “What are we having?” she asked, shedding her coat as she went to the sink.
“Roasted hot dogs, potato salad, and S’mores for dessert. I also found a campfire popcorn popper at the hardware store, but we’ll save that for later.”
Later? Willa glanced over her shoulder in time to see him add a log to the fire he’d built in the antique parlor woodstove.
Hot dogs? He’s been dining at every damn restaurant in the county, and he feeds me hot dogs and S’mores?She wiped her hands and went to sit on the love seat facing the woodstove. Sam pulled her down onto the floor beside him. “You can’t reach the fire from up there. The sticks aren’t long enough.”
“I have to cook my own dinner?”
He handed her a forked twig with a hot dog skewered on the end of it. “Cooking the dogs is the best part. If you do it just right, they plump up and get juicy.”
Willa shoved her hot dog into the fire.
Sam immediately took hold of her hand, raising it until her hot dog was above the flame. “It’s already dead. And cooked,” he drawled. “You just need to sear the skin.”
“It’s a hot dog, not filet mignon,” she said, lowering it back into the flames when he let go. “And I like mine burnt on the outside, so it splits open.”
“Is it okay if I don’t turn the rolls into charcoal?” he asked with a chuckle, sliding two buns onto another stick that had wider-set branches. He’d very neatly whittled the bark off the ends.