Chapter 5

It was a breezy, sunny Sunday afternoon. Marsha Dunlap's hands moved quickly and skillfully over her craft table. She hummed quietly to herself as she worked, threading a personalized tufted rug for one of her customers. She was working with pastel colors to create an image of a terrier taking a bubble bath. The work was precise and painstaking, but she was enjoying every second of it.

Outside something moved near the window, and she glanced up. Her window offered her a gorgeous view of her garden leading down to the Whale Harbor beach, and beyond that, the blue sparkling ocean. A white bird finished its flight across her line of vision, its wings unfurled gracefully against the creamy blue of the sky.

Oh, it's just a seagull,she thought, smiling to herself. I guess I'm still jittery after all these years.

Whenever she half-saw a seagull fly across the ocean, for a brief instant she thought it might be a sailboat out on the water. And no matter how many years passed, a little part of her heart always leapt up whenever she saw a seagull or a boat, hoping that it was a sailboat with Willis Jenkins in it.

It's a silly girlish fantasy,she thought. She reached for more yarn, tutting at herself. It's been too many years for me to still be daydreaming about Willis.

But she wasn't doing it on purpose. She had done it on purpose once—in the past, after she'd had to move to North Carolina with her mother, she'd daydreamed about every sailboat that she saw on the ocean having Willis in it. She'd daydreamed that he was coming to find her. That he'd sailed along the coast to be with her.

But it was always silly,she thought, fighting away the bitterness that she never let take root in her. She took a deep breath. I'm the one who told him no. I'm the one who left.

She found that she was blinking back tears at the memory. She'd spent a happy, wholesome childhood in Blueberry Bay, and when she'd turned twenty, she'd fallen head over heels in love with Willis Jenkins. She could still see his strong arms as he lifted a ladder like it was nothing, and the mischievous twinkle in his eyes. He'd been daring, and charismatic, and hers. She'd wanted nothing more than to stay in town and be his wife.

I think he would have asked me too,she thought, surprised by how the tears were suddenly welling up in her eyes.

She didn't usually cry about the memory of Willis like this. She must be feeling extra-sentimental today.

I'm sure he loved me as much as I loved him. I'm sure he wouldn't have been at all like Mother said he would be.

Regret filled her at the memory of how her mother, stung and jaded by the playboy antics of Marsha's father, insisted that her daughter move to North Carolina with her after the divorce. Her mother had constantly compared Willis to Marsha's father, claiming that handsome, charming working men were all the same, and Marsha would never be able to trust Willis. She'd urged Marsha to get an education so that she'd never have to rely on a man, and so that she would have options for her life other than marriage.

Confused and scared and torn between loyalty to her mother and love for Willis, Marsha had agreed to move to North Carolina. She winced as she remembered how many nights she'd cried herself to sleep, missing Willis and wondering if she'd made the right choice.

But beyond her daydream of the sailboats, she'd moved on. She'd gone to college and gotten a degree in psychology, and she'd worked as a psychologist for a time. She'd found the work rewarding in many ways, since she was helping people, but her highly-empathic heart got worn down by the emotional labor of the job. Finally, one evening when she felt exhausted beyond repair, she'd realized that she was still doing what her mother had wanted her to do instead of what she really wanted to do, even after her mother had passed away.

She'd decided to give up her work as a psychologist and pursue her passion of selling her homemade quilts, rugs, earrings, and photography. It had been rough going at first, but since she'd never married or had children, she'd had plenty of savings which had carried her through the difficult patches. Now she was a successful business owner, and she found each of her days rewarding and pleasant.

At least my long road led me to all this,she thought, gazing around her craft room with a satisfied smile.

It wasn't a large room—it couldn't be, considering how small her house was—but it was cozy and lovingly decorated, as was the rest of her beachside home. The craft room in particular was her happy place, decorated in pastels and spotlessly organized.

She'd never regretted moving to Whale Harbor, even though its close proximity to Blueberry Bay sometimes brought up some bittersweet memories of being torn away from her first love. She felt grateful to be close to a place that she was fond of, and she adored her little house on the beach.

"Aunt Marsha?"

Marsha turned around in her chair, smiling.

Olivia is the other best part about moving here,she thought happily. I'm so glad she came with me on this adventure.

Marsha's niece, Olivia Dunlap, had spent a few somewhat directionless years working in North Carolina as a waitress. She'd already gone to college but hadn't seemed to be able to decide on a career, spending her time at school studying an assortment of subjects. Although Olivia's parents and her brother Isaiah still lived in North Carolina, Olivia had eventually opted to spread her wings a bit. She had moved into Marsha's home in Whale Harbor while she tried to decide what direction to take in life.

"I'm in here!" Marsha called.

Olivia appeared in the doorway of the craft room, smiling. Her curly brown hair was bouncing around her shoulders, and she had an eager expression on her face. Her tall, curvy figure was dressed in jean shorts and an oversized sweatshirt—an outfit typical of her comfort-focused style. In her hand she held a tall glass of sparkling amber liquid.

"I don't know why I even called, I knew you'd be in here." Olivia laughed. "I brought you an Arnold Palmer."

"Oh, thank you, sweetheart!" Marsha took the offered drink gratefully. "Are you here to keep me company?" She winked.

Olivia's current job was nannying for a little boy who lived nearby, but since she usually had weekends off—unless his parents had some sort of special excursion or date night—she often spent Saturday and Sunday afternoons in the craft room with her aunt.

"Sure." Olivia grinned and plopped herself down in an armchair next to Marsha's craft table.

"You want some crafting to do?"

Sometimes Olivia made crafts along with her aunt, and sometimes she just stayed to chat. Either way, Marsha felt that the experience was usually therapeutic for both of them.

"Yeah! I think I'll throw together some earrings."

Olivia stood and crossed over to Marsha's colorful, carefully-organized craft shelf, and took down some earring hooks, metal wire, and a compartmentalized box of pastel-colored beads.

"Sounds great." Marsha smiled at her niece. Olivia had expressed no desire to go into the crafting business like her aunt, but she had a knack for making earrings. Marsha often sold what Olivia had made and gave her niece the profits. "How's your Sunday going?"

"Oh, fine." Olivia scooted the armchair up against the side of the craft table and opened the bead box. "Pretty chill. Honestly, I miss that kid on the days I'm not working."

Olivia laughed, her eyes sparkling the way they only did when she was talking about kids. Marsha knew how much her niece loved children—she seemed to understand their free and curious energy in a way that most adults didn't.

"You're probably lonely, feeling cooped up in this house with just little old me," Marsha said.

Olivia looked up from her beadwork and shook her head adamantly. "You don't give yourself enough credit."

Marsha winked at her niece. "Well, thanks for the compliment. But you should get out more! Meet some people in Whale Harbor or Blueberry Bay. Who knows? Maybe you'd even meet a man." She wiggled her eyebrows.

Her niece laughed, unfazed by Marsha's words. "I'm doing just fine with the company I have, thank you very much. Besides, maybe you should get out there more so you can meet a man."

Marsha flushed, her lips parting in surprise.

It feels odd that she would say that right after I was reminiscing about my first love,she thought, trying to repress a fluttery feeling in her chest.

"Nonsense," she said aloud. "I'm an old woman set in my ways. I've got no need for any of that."

"You're only fifty-one," protested Olivia.

Marsha shook her head. "I've got no need for romance in my life," she said firmly.

"Oh, come on. Everyone needs a little romance in their life." Olivia stood up, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. She picked a small circular mirror off the wall and carried it back to her aunt.

"What is this—oh, Olivia."

"Look at yourself." The younger woman's expression was aglow with eagerness. "You're beautiful. Look at those bright green eyes, and your gorgeous black hair. And those dimples! You still have dimples when you smile. It's adorable."

"Hush now!" Marsha felt embarrassed, but also grateful and a little overwhelmed. It had been a very long time since anyone had told her she was beautiful, and Olivia's words meant more to her than her niece knew. She had to admit, looking at her reflection in the mirror, that her facial structure, although delicate, had stood the test of time.

"I will do nothing of the kind. And you dress so stylishly! Look at this charming dress, and the belt you've paired with it. I don't know any other woman who would put on a long necklace and matching sandals to craft in. Honestly, you put my sense of style to shame."

Marsha laughed, waving the mirror away. "All right, all right, I accept your compliments. Thank you, sweetheart." She smiled warmly at her niece, who beamed back.

"But you see what I'm saying?" Olivia's eyes twinkled mischievously. "You're not too old for love."

Marsha's lips parted again, and then she shook her head. She patted her niece's hand. "I may not be too old, but I am too set in my ways."

Olivia scoffed and went back to her beading. Marsha smiled quietly to herself, still warmed by the compliments, and then returned to threading the rug. The pair of them continued to work together in comfortable silence for a while, and Marsha kept glancing up at the window, checking the ocean for sailboats.