Wind Chime Café (A Wind Chime Novel) (20 page)

Laughter drifted in from the street, where a trio of girls dressed as fairy tale princesses searched for the last few houses with candy. Annie walked to where Will stood in the middle of the dining room watching the children. She held out her hand. “I want to show you something.”

He looked down at her outstretched hand.

She remembered what Della had said about Will, that when he put his mind to something he wouldn’t stop until he got it. Will wouldn’t have made it into the SEALs if he was a quitter. It would go against everything inside him to admit he had a problem, that there was something wrong with him he couldn’t fix.

But she needed to show him, to help him understand that this wasn’t something he was going to be able to push through in the two weeks he had left on Heron Island. It was going to take a lot longer than that.

She took his hand, leading him up the stairs to her apartment. Walking with him to Taylor’s room, she paused in the doorway, waiting for him to take in the hideouts, the tent draped over her bed, the homemade wind chimes and dream catchers hanging from the ceiling. Dozens of hand-painted brooms adorned the walls, and several more were propped in the corners.

“Taylor thinks brooms mean safety,” Annie explained. “I don’t know how long it’ll be until she moves on from that. But it if helps her cope, I’ll buy every broom I can find and decorate her room with them.”

Will reached up, running a hand over a crooked-stemmed broom on the wall. It was painted purple and the bristles were covered in pink streamers from the handles of an old bike.

“She’s healing, Will, but it’s going to take a long time. I’ve been reading books and articles, everything I can get my hands on about PTSD. It’s not something that goes away. It’s something you learn to deal with, to live with.” She looked up at him—at this man who’d been to some of the darkest, most dangerous places in this world, but who had been brought to his knees tonight because of a flashback. “All we can do is start in one corner, together, and slowly begin sweeping out the memories.”

P
TSD.

Will sat in an Adirondack chair at the end of the dock, mulling over the four letters Annie had dropped like a bomb in his lap last night.

What the hell was he going to do if he had PTSD?

A cold wind whipped over the Bay. A few fishing boats bobbed in the distance. He couldn’t imagine life outside the teams. Being a SEAL wasn’t a job; it was a way of life.

But his ability to control his emotions was what set him apart from other men, was what had drawn him to Spec Ops in the first place.

He had no intention of ringing the bell on his career now, not after everything he’d gone through. Not after his teammates had made the ultimate sacrifice and
he
had come back in one piece, still able to serve.

He would be a SEAL until his body broke down and forced him into retirement, or he died in action.

Quitting wasn’t an option.

He glanced down at the phone in his hand, scrolling through his contacts for his former teammate, Colin Foley.

Colin answered on the second ring. “Well, if it isn’t my favorite Lieutenant Commander.”

“You know you don’t have to call me that anymore,” Will said, watching an osprey dive into the shallow water.

“As long as you keep calling every Friday to check up on my progress, I’ll keep calling you that,” Colin shot back.

Will smiled as the osprey lifted a wiggling perch out of the Bay. “How’s the leg?”

“Not bad,” Colin said.

Not bad.
It was the same answer Will got every time he asked. “Are you still training for the 5K in January?” Will asked. “The one in Baltimore?”

“Yes,” Colin answered. “Why? You want to sign up?”

Will knew he was joking. The charity run was barely over three miles, and before the grenade had blown off his friend’s leg six months ago, they’d both been able to run that distance without breaking a sweat. But Colin was still getting used to the prosthetic that had taken the place of his leg, and still working on restoring the muscles that had gone dormant after the amputation. It was going to take him a long time to get back to the point where he could run three miles. “No, but I could help you train.”

There was a long pause at the other end. “What? Over the phone?”

“No.” Will watched a powerboat cut through the water. “I’m still in Maryland.”

“At your grandparents’ house?”

“Yeah.”

“I thought you were selling that place?”

“I am. It’s complicated. Listen.” Will leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Why don’t I come up to Annapolis one day this week? We can go through some of the drills your physical therapist recommended.”

“I don’t need your help, Will.”

Will winced.

“That’s not what I meant,” Colin said, backpedaling, but his voice had grown weary.

Will gazed down at the thin cracks snaking through the wooden planks. He knew what Colin meant. He didn’t want Will calling every week to check on him. He didn’t want to be treated like a charity case.

SEALs didn’t ask for help. They were the ones who
gave
help, the ones who answered the call of duty when no one else could.

But the ability to answer that call had been taken away from Colin—because Will hadn’t been able to protect him.

“I have to go up to Walter Reed on Monday for an adjustment,” Colin said. “I won’t be able to run for a few days after that anyway.”

Walter Reed.

Will still regretted not being able to visit his former teammate at the military hospital when Colin had been bedridden for several weeks earlier this year. But Will had remained in Afghanistan to finish out his deployment after Colin had been medevac’d out, and his other two teammates had gone home in body bags.

“What time is your appointment?” Will asked.

“1:30,” Colin answered. “Why?”

Colin might not be lying in a hospital bed at Walter Reed anymore, but there were plenty of other service men and women who were. The medical center in Bethesda was less than two hours away from Heron Island. He should have thought to make the trip sooner.

Even if all he could do was offer moral support, it was better than nothing. “I’ll see you at Walter Reed on Monday.”

Patience, Annie thought
,
was not one of her strong suits. Over the past week, business at the café had slowed to a trickle. Her first loan payment was due in ten days, and at this rate, she wasn’t going to make it.

She needed to make that payment.

Flipping the sign on the door from
OPEN
to
CLOSED
, she walked back to the kitchen to help Della pack up the leftover desserts. “We need more customers.”

Della draped a layer of plastic wrap over the coffee cake. “Business will pick up. Give it time.”

“We don’t have time.”

“The Waterfowl Festival is two weeks away,” Della said. “We’ll get a surge of tourists then.”

But what about
after
the festival? The Waterfowl Festival was the last local event that would bring tourists to the island before the winter lull set in. If the café was going to make it through the winter, they needed to find a way to reach out to the islanders. They needed to offer more than good food and a charming atmosphere; they needed to find a way to integrate the café into the local community.

She and Della had been tossing ideas around all week: offering to host the monthly waterman’s association meeting, providing a discount to teachers and firemen on the last Saturday of the month, catering fundraisers for local charities, starting a monthly book club with a themed menu based on the chosen story.

All good ideas, but none of them would spike sales overnight. She needed to find a way to get people in here
this
week.

Picking up a tin of peanut butter cookies, she searched for the matching top as Taylor walked into the kitchen holding up a paper butterfly. “Mom, look!”

Annie softened as she took in the orange wings with black spots, the long strand of purple yarn threaded through them. “It’s beautiful.”

Taylor beamed.

“Do you want me to help you hang it?” Annie offered.

Taylor shook her head, gravitating toward the cookies. “I made it for Will.”

Annie froze. Ever since her conversation with him last night, she’d felt an endless range of conflicting emotions—concern, sympathy, frustration, begrudging respect.

She didn’t want to respect him. She didn’t want to worry about him. She wanted him to sell the inn to the resort company.

Or, at least, she
had
until she’d found out the Hadleys owned Morningstar. Now she didn’t know what she wanted.

Taylor snagged a cookie from the tin. “He said the monarchs are almost all gone, so I made him one to remember them by.”

Annie’s heart constricted. Taylor had disappeared over an hour ago saying she had something “important” to do upstairs.
This
was what she’d been doing? Making a butterfly for Will?

She stole a glance at Della. The other woman’s gaze was glued to the butterfly.

“Taylor,” Annie suggested lightly, “why don’t you grab a sweater from upstairs and we’ll walk down to the marina to watch the sunset?”

“But what about the butterfly?” Taylor protested. “We need to take it to Will.”

Annie struggled to come up with an excuse.

Della caught Taylor’s hand, drawing her back to stand beside her. “You know,” she said, tucking Taylor’s hand through her arm, “the best spot on this island to watch the sunset is at the inn.”

“It is?” Taylor asked hopefully.

Della nodded and Annie heard a faint clanging of copper wind chimes out on the porch—the same ones she’d heard last night as she’d lain awake thinking about what Will had told her, about how he blamed himself for his teammates’ deaths, about how he couldn’t seek help for the flashbacks and the nightmares because it could cost him his career.

Della gestured to the tin of cookies Annie was holding. “I was going to take those leftover cookies by the inn tonight, but why don’t you and your mother take them instead? I’m sure Will would much rather see you than me.”

Taylor looked up at Annie. “Can we go see Riley, mom? Please?”

Riley.

Annie let out a breath. Of course. Maybe Taylor had only made the butterfly as an excuse to see Riley. Maybe it didn’t have anything to do with Will.

She looked down at the butterfly, suspended from the strand of yarn from her daughter’s hand.

Maybe the only way to find out was to go to the inn, watch Taylor give Will his present and see for herself.

The moment she sensed even a hint of attachment on Taylor’s part, their friendship with Will would be over. Done. She’d end it so fast Will wouldn’t know what hit him.

Because Taylor was her priority—her
number one
priority. She would not let her get caught in this. She would not let her get hurt.