Free Patterns in the Sand by Sally Goldenbaum Page A

Brendan didn’t fit in—but especially Willow. She was a young woman passing through town who had fallen into a town’s personal tragedy, without understanding or intent. And if she wanted to pack up her few belongings and leave that very day, Nell would completely understand.
     
     
But instinct told her that was not going to happen. Willow Adams was not going to leave Sea Harbor soon.
     
     
Even if she wanted to.
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    Chapter 8

 
A idan Peabody’s funeral lived up to his wishes. It was a festive, lively affair.
     
     
“So like Aidan,” Nell said, walking up the wooden steps to the outdoor restaurant where tables were ready, a microphone set up, and baskets of peanuts and chips set out. Strings of tiny lights outlined the perimeter of the deck.
     
     
Hank and Merry Jackson’s Artist’s Palate, located just off the main road of Canary Cove, down a small side street that ran right into the Palate’s parking lot, was the perfect place for a gathering. The small bar and grill was known for its deck, which hung over the edge of the water and hosted local bands in the evening hours—reggae, rock, or soft jazz—whatever seemed to suit the night and the crowd. Hank’s food was plain but delicious—hamburgers, brats, and lobster rolls. And few left without at least a taste of Hank’s beer-batter calamari heaped high in wicker baskets.
     
     
“ ‘A wild celebration of life,’ were Aidan’s exact words.” Jane Brewster climbed the steps to the Artist’s Palate’s deck just behind Nell. “He felt strongly about it, not that planning funerals was a daily conversation in Canary Cove. But you know how you do, sometimes sitting in a bar or at the end of the old dock, just hashing out the mysteries of life. Ham, Aidan, and I used to do that a lot, hanging out at the end of the old dock.”
     
     
“And always with a Sam Adams in hand, I’d guess,” Birdie said.
     
     
“You’ve got that right.” Ham helped Birdie up the last step.
     
     
“I wonder if Father Northcutt is offended that the funeral isn’t in the church.”
     
     
Jane chuckled. “Aidan might have been able to use those special blessings. But I don’t remember him ever setting foot in Our Lady of Safe Seas, though he liked Father Northcutt well enough. He was the first to donate his art to the church auctions and made sure everyone else around here did the same. And I think he gave chunks of money to any cause Father Larry set down in front of him. But a noisy affair for his final good-bye seems far more to Aidan’s taste.”
     
     
Ham scanned the room, looking for a place to sit. A waving arm drew their attention to a large round table in the corner of the deck. Over the tops of heads, Izzy mouthed that she’d grabbed chairs for all.
     
     
Cass and her brother Pete were already at the table, frosty mugs lined up in front of them and a basket of calamari rapidly disappearing. Sam appeared, balancing a tray filled with platters of shrimp and a full pitcher of beer.
     
     
“Where’s Willow?” Izzy asked as she kissed Nell on the cheek. “And Uncle Ben?”
     
     
“Well, not together,” Nell said. “Ben got called into a last-minute meeting downtown but promised that he’d be here. It was important, he said. And Willow was meeting Brendan for a run or a bite to eat. A festive celebration for someone who died didn’t sit comfortably with her.”
     
     
“Especially someone she didn’t know,” Cass added. “I can’t say I blame her.”
     
     
Jane slipped down next to Cass and poured herself a glass of beer from the pitcher. She gathered up her long, flowing cotton skirt and tucked it beneath her. “Willow didn’t know Aidan?” She frowned.
     
     
“She didn’t know anyone here until she landed in my window last Friday night,” Izzy said.
     
     
“Hmm,” Jane said. “You’re sure?”
     
     
“That’s my understanding,” Nell said. She paused, puzzled by Jane’s look. Clearly her friend had information that said otherwise. But before Nell