Eva's Deadline Page 6

  He picked up a stick of driftwood and idly poked the sand. “That and hiking. Ever do any?”

  She shook her head. “Unless you call trekking up and down Seattle’s hills hiking.”

  He tossed back his head and laughed. “Hey, I’ve seen those hills and that qualifies. But around here are some spectacular spots. There’s a trail from the beach up to the lighthouse that I like, and another up on the bluff overlooking the town. I’ve got Sasha started. She’s a real little trouper, backpack and all.”

  “I bet you two have a lot of fun together.”

  “We do. She’s my pal. Hey, there goes the sun.”

  Eva focused on the horizon as the sun disappeared into the sea. The afterglow spread like liquid gold across the sky. “Beautiful.”

  “Knew it would be. How about getting that drink now?”

  *

  AT THE BEACH CAFÉ, they chose an outdoor table shaded with an umbrella, although the protection was not needed now that a soft dusk had settled over the town. A waiter dressed in black shorts and a red T-shirt that said Beach Boy across the front trotted out to take their orders.

  “I’ll have a tall latte, nonfat,” Eva said.

  “Plain coffee for me,” Mark added.

  “You don’t like the fancy stuff?” she asked when the waiter moved off.

  “Once in a while,” he admitted. “But most of the time I’m a plain-black-coffee man.” He gestured at their surroundings. “So what do you think of this place? It’s new since you’ve lived here.”

  “Impressive.”

  “Willow Beach is catering more and more to tourists.”

  She nodded at the people strolling by. “I have noticed more summer visitors than I remember. I always thought the town was just a bump in the road where people had to slow down on their way to Oceanside.”

  He leaned back and propped his ankle on the opposite knee. “Some people would like to make Willow Beach into another Oceanside. But not me. I’m all for promoting tourism, and I know visitors bring in tax dollars, but all those high-rises have ruined Oceanside.” He tilted his head. “Since you’re from the big city now, tall buildings probably appeal to you. I bet you even live in one.”

  “Guilty as charged. I live in a fifth-floor condo on Queen Anne Hill. But you can’t really compare Oceanside to Seattle. They’re two entirely different types of city.”

  “The idea is the same.”

  “Some cities don’t know where to draw the line.”

  He nodded. “That’s it exactly, where to draw the line.”

  Mark’s voice had an edge that had been missing during their conversation on the beach. She mulled that over while the waiter placed their coffees on the table and they took their first sips.

  “Speaking of growth,” Mark said, eyeing her, “we’ve had some interesting city-council meetings on the subject. I usually attend, but why don’t you take a shot at it?”

  A Willow Beach City Council meeting? That sounded about as exciting as a visit to a slug farm. “I’d hate to encroach on your territory.”

  He lifted a shoulder. “I just thought you might find it interesting, challenging maybe, to do something different from what you do at Seattle’s Best.”

  She leveled him a gaze. “I thought you gave me the Our Town column so that I’d be doing something similar.”

  “True, the column comes closest to what you were doing in Seattle. But most of what we publish at the Herald is news of importance, news that really matters. That was your father’s intention and one that I agree with and intend to uphold. Thought you might like to contribute to that—just for a change.”

  She gave her latte a rapid stir with the straw. “And picking a good restaurant or a movie or a hotel doesn’t matter?”

  “Depends on your purpose. Like I said, our purpose is news. News that’s relevant to our readers.”

  Eva wished she’d heeded the voice telling her not to accept Mark’s invitation for coffee. “I’ll skip the city-council meetings,” she said. “Unless you’re ordering me to go.”

  He drew back as though insulted.

  “Of course not. We’re coeditors. I’m only suggesting.”

  In the silence that followed, Eva focused on the passing scene—cars driving by, their headlights beaming now that darkness had fallen; people drifting in and out of the restaurant; the waiter weaving among the tables, trays of food and drink balanced aloft. After a while, she risked a glance at Mark. He was looking away, but his profile, with furrowed brow and set jaw, left no question about his mood.

  She drained her coffee, then pushed away the cup. “I’d better be going ho—” She stopped, then finished, “To my apartment.”

  He turned and said in a flat tone, “Sure, Eva. Let’s go.”

  She dug into her waist pouch and pulled out a few bills.

  Mark reached into his back pocket for his wallet. “Put your money away. This is on me.”

  “Thanks, but let’s split it.” Eva placed some bills on the tray the waiter had left with the check.

  Mark frowned but said nothing as he added his money to hers.

  When they were out on the sidewalk, Mark gestured up the street. “My car’s half a block that way.”

  “You live at the south end of town, right?”

  “Yeah, near the high school.”

  “Then giving me a lift is out of your way.”

  “A dozen blocks—”

  “—on foot would be a good way for me to finish my exercise.”

  He opened his mouth as though to argue, then said coolly, “Okay. Then I’ll see you at work tomorrow.”

  “Right. At work.”

  Eva turned on her heel and headed off down the street. Walking to her apartment took fifteen minutes, and when she arrived she found the first-floor mall closed, with the door locked. Using her key to gain admittance, she passed the dimly lit antiques shops and art galleries and climbed the stairs to the second floor. When she opened her door to the sorry sight of mismatched furniture and dingy walls, a moan escaped her lips.

  Then she steeled herself, took a deep breath and crossed the threshold. She went to her wall calendar, picked up a pencil and, with a deep sigh, crossed off another day.

  *

  “CAN I HAVE another cookie, Daddy?”

  Mark looked at Sasha sitting beside him at the kitchen table and then at the plate of oatmeal cookies Eileen had sent home for their evening snack. “You sure have a sweet tooth. How ’bout we split one?”

  Diane had liked sweets, too. She always kept the cookie jar full. Not with cookies she made, but with ones she bought from Bon Ton Bakery. Diane wasn’t much of a cook, not for lack of skill but for lack of interest. She had her sights set higher, she’d said. Yeah, and look where that got her. Dead at the bottom of a canyon.

  Bitterness welled up inside Mark, followed by the sad, empty feeling he’d had since her death. He pushed the troublesome emotions aside and picked up a cookie. Breaking it in half, he handed one piece to Sasha.

  “Be sure to drink your milk.” He pointed to her half-full glass.

  “I will.” Sasha took a bite of the cookie, then dutifully sipped her milk.

  “Did you have fun with Grammy Eileen today?”

  “Uh-huh. She took me to the library story hour.”

  “That’s nice.”

  Sasha launched into a retelling of one of the stories. Mark tried to listen, but his attention wandered to his time with Eva. When he’d first spotted her tonight, he’d had trouble not staring. Her curves were in all the right places, her legs long and shapely. He couldn’t help being enticed, had been from the moment he set eyes on her that first night she’d come to town.

  He didn’t want to feel any attraction. He didn’t want to get involved again. Not yet. His wounds were still raw, his trust destroyed. Besides, Eva would be here for only the year required by Seb’s will. Then she’d head back to the big city.

  So why had he asked her to have coffee with him? He’d told hi
mself he could use the opportunity to discuss her job at the newspaper. If he were honest, he’d admit that was only part of the reason. He also just wanted to spend time with her.

  Realizing the mistake he’d made hadn’t taken long. She hated everything about being in Willow Beach. She hated the newspaper, the town, him.

  How there could still be sparks between them, he didn’t know.

  But there were.

  He didn’t want to become personally involved. He wanted her gone. He realized that was also wishing away a whole year of his and Sasha’s lives, but so be it.

  Yet Eva had a fine mind and a talent for journalism. He’d read some of her articles in Seattle’s Best. Although he thought what she wrote about was a waste of time, he admired her way with words, her often humorous approach to a subject. Why couldn’t she apply her talent to newspaper journalism? He’d bet she could turn out some really good solid reporting—if she made the effort.

  Sasha tugged on his arm. “Did you ever hear that story when you were a little boy? Miss Jacobs, the librarian, says it’s an old, old story.”

  Mark jolted back to the present. “What? I’m sorry, honey. I was, ah, thinking about work.” True enough.

  “The story about how the leopard got its spots.”

  Instead of thinking about Eva, he should pay attention to Sasha. This was supposed to be their quality time together.

  “Tell me again, would you?” he said.

  This time, he listened, and when she finished, they laughed together. Then he asked, “What would you like to do this evening? We could play a game.”

  Sasha’s blue eyes lighted. “Okay, and then watch TV?”

  “I guess,” he said reluctantly.

  “I know, it has to be ed-u-ca-shun-al.”

  Mark laughed. “Right. Why don’t you pick out one of your games while I clean up the kitchen? How about Go Fish? Remember, Mommy gave you that game for Christmas.”

  Sasha’s brow wrinkled. “She did? No, I don’t ’member.”

  “Well, she did. It’s in the cupboard with your other games. Go get it, and later we’ll see what’s on TV.”

  “Okay…” Sasha looked thoughtful. “Daddy, do you think Eva’s pretty?”

  Mark’s mouth fell open. “Uh, why are you asking?”

  “I don’t know. I just thought it.”

  Mark had to smile. In typical childlike fashion, she often jumped from one topic to another. He just hadn’t expected the conversation to bounce from Mommy to Eva.

  “Do you think she’s pretty?” he countered, not wanting to be put on the spot.

  “I really do. And her clothes are pretty, too. She dresses different.”

  “She’s used to dressing up more than we are.”

  “Do you like her, Daddy?”

  Mark picked up Sasha’s empty plate and stacked it on top of his. “Why all these questions about Eva?”

  She shrugged her thin shoulders. “I dunno. But I like her. I hope she comes to the picnic.”

  He added their glasses to the stack of plates. “I think you can forget about that.”

  Sasha’s mouth turned down. “Doesn’t she like us?”

  He wanted to say, No, she doesn’t. But he wanted to protect Sasha’s feelings.

  “Don’t you remember that when we were in my office the other day she said she was going to Seattle for the Fourth?”

  “Oh, yes, I ’member.”

  “Everybody you like will be at the picnic. April, Bernard and Maria, and Bella.” Bella was Bernard and Maria’s daughter and a good friend of Sasha’s.

  Sasha jumped from her chair. She turned to him and raised her arms. “I love you, Daddy.”

  Mark leaned over and drew her into an embrace. She meant the world to him. “I love you, too, baby.”

  They exchanged pecks on the cheek. He let her go and watched her skip off to the living room. He finished clearing the table and put the dishes in the dishwasher. He took the leftover cookies to the clown cookie jar, lifted the polka-dot hat that served as the lid and placed them inside.

  The cookie jar had been one of Diane’s purchases. He remembered the occasion well. They’d taken Sasha to a circus in a neighboring town. Sasha had loved the clowns, and shortly after that Diane came home with the cookie jar she’d found in a secondhand store.

  Those were good times. He’d thought they were anyway. Apparently, Diane hadn’t shared his feelings. But he’d kept the cookie jar, as he’d kept so many of her things. Next time he and Sasha had cookies, he’d remind her where the jar had come from, just as he’d reminded her about the Go Fish game. He didn’t want her to forget her mommy.

  CHAPTER SIX

  EVA STOOD IN FRONT of the Herald’s bulletin board gazing at the sign-up sheet for Saturday’s Fourth of July picnic at City Park. Should she add her name or not? She’d made no other plans. She could go out of town by herself, but what fun would that be? Or she could hide out in her apartment, but two solid days of confinement would drive her crazy.

  Finally she picked up the pencil hanging by a string and added her name to the list. The occasion was a potluck, so she would have to bring something.

  The notice said the company supplied the chicken and hot dogs, leaving the side dishes for the staff to bring. Scanning the contributions, she decided on a salad. She had a recipe for a pasta salad Chef Marko had given her when she’d interviewed him for an article. But when she went to the market to buy the ingredients, she couldn’t find all of them. Oh, well. What she did find would have to do.

  In her apartment, she stared at the array of ingredients with a sinking feeling. She couldn’t do this. She didn’t want to do this. Nevertheless, she rolled up her sleeves and went to work.

  A couple hours later, with trepidation, she dug a fork into the salad. The pasta wasn’t as al dente as Chef Marko’s, and the absence of capers left it with no zing, but it wasn’t bad. She scooped it into a bowl and covered it with plastic wrap.

  The following day, she stood in front of her closet. Because it was the Fourth of July, she decided to wear navy slacks, a red-and-white-striped T-shirt and wedge-heeled sandals. Maybe a little fancy for Willow Beach, but looking good would lift her spirits. Instead of pulling her hair back, as she usually did, she let it fall in soft waves around her shoulders.

  She packed up her salad and drove to City Park. The lot was nearly full, but she managed to find a spot, then headed down the main path to find the Herald’s pavilion.

  The park hadn’t changed much since she’d lived in Willow Beach. Asphalt paths wound through grassy expanses where evergreen trees towered over oaks and maples. Smoke from barbecue pits curled into the air, and the sounds of voices and laughter mingled with music from radios and CD players. Many of the shelters were decorated with red, white and blue streamers. American flags planted along the walkway waved in the breeze.

  She passed the spots reserved for Bon Ton Bakery, Barnett Drugstore, where she nodded to Hal Barnett, and Macon’s Diner. Farther on, she saw a few more familiar faces, including an old friend of her mother’s and the Coltons, a couple who lived in her old neighborhood. Her high-school friend Fran Oliver and her family shared a pavilion with several other couples. They called out greetings. As they’d promised at Seb’s memorial, Eva and Fran had met for coffee. Eva had enjoyed talking to her friend until they got to reminiscing and Fran told a funny story about Brett. Reminders of her brother were always painful.

  At last Eva reached the newspaper’s pavilion. She spotted Sasha and a dark-haired girl of about the same age tossing a large red ball. A golden retriever pranced around them, eager to join the game.

  Mark and a blonde woman stood over the smoking barbecue pit. The woman turned, and Eva saw that it was April. Of course. The receptionist hovered over Mark as though afraid he were going to disappear.

  Dora and two other women stacked paper plates, cups, napkins and utensils on a wooden picnic table. A group of men, talking and laughing, clustered around several ice chests.
She recognized Bernie, who was snapping open sodas and handing them around.

  Realizing what an outsider she was, Eva stopped in her tracks. Coming today was a mistake. Maybe she could turn around and sneak away before anyone saw her. Clutching her bowl, she took a step backward.

  Just then, Mark looked up from the barbecue. He peered at her through the smoke as though she were a ghost. “Eva?”

  Eva sighed. Too late to escape now. She straightened her shoulders and stepped forward.

  Mark waved a spatula at the others. “Hey, everybody, Eva’s here.”

  Silence fell over the group as all eyes turned in her direction. Then someone said, “Hi, Eva,” and the others chimed in with their greetings.

  Sasha threw down the red ball and ran to her. “You came.” She grabbed Eva’s free hand.

  “Yes, I did.” Eva curled her fingers around Sasha’s and experienced a surge of affection.

  “You look pretty,” Sasha said.

  “Thank you. So do you.” Sasha wore pink pedal pushers, a T-shirt decorated with a teddy bear and matching pink tennis shoes. The outfit was just what Eva would have worn at that age.

  “Daddy took me to BuySmart yesterday,” Sasha said, swinging their hands. “The outfit is for my birthday. It isn’t for a couple weeks, but he said I could have this present early for the picnic today.”

  “I remember hearing about your birthday. You’re turning six.”

  “Yes. Daddy says I’m growing up too fast, but I don’t think so.”

  The dark-haired child Sasha had been playing ball with approached. The dog trailed behind her.

  “Who’s your friend?” Eva asked.

  “This is Bella.” Sasha slung her free arm around the girl’s shoulders. “And the dog’s Goldie.”

  “They both belong to Bernie and Maria.” Mark gestured to a petite dark-haired woman coming toward them.

  Maria had large dark eyes and full red lips, and a halo of black curls framed her face. She held out her arms to Eva. “I’ll put your salad in the cooler,” she said in a soft, slightly accented voice.

  “Thanks.” Encouraged by Maria’s shy smile, Eva handed over her bowl.