Patterns in the Sand Read Online Free PDF Page A

adjusting slowly to the light. A well-worn Birkenstock dangled from one toe.
     
     
“Hi,” she said. Her eyes went from Izzy down to Purl, then traveled to Nell and Ben. She shivered and wrapped her arms around her body. “I . . . I was asleep.”
     
     
Just outside the door, Tommy and his partner waited patiently.
     
     
Nell wasn’t sure what she expected the young woman’s voice to reveal—fear? Embarrassment? But neither fit the low and slightly husky voice. It was soft but held an odd determination. And not what one would expect from a trespasser who had just broken into a shop and could be spending the rest of the night in a jail cell.
     
     
“Who are you?” Izzy asked.
     
     
“I’m Willow. Willow Adams.” She looked at Izzy as if her name somehow explained why she was sitting in her window.
     
     
Nell watched the young woman with curiosity. She was taller than Birdie, but not long and bending in the breeze as her name would suggest. She looked to be in her early twenties, ten years or so younger than Izzy. Worn jeans and a long-sleeved yellow T-shirt covered her slight frame, unusual attire for the warm summer night. A thick mass of dark brown—almost black—hair was tangled from sleep and partially covered by a floppy hat that reminded Nell of the sixties and a few pieces of clothing she herself had worn, much to her mother’s chagrin. A smattering of freckles brought color to Willow’s cheeks and nose and made her seem even younger than Nell suspected she was. She had a look in her eyes that tempted Nell to wrap an arm around her shoulders and take her home to a bowl of chicken soup. “Waif” was the word she would use later with Birdie and Cass.
     
     
“Sorry about the police,” Willow said. She looked over toward the door.
     
     
“How did you get in?” Ben asked.
     
     
And why ? Nell wondered. She watched Purl leave Izzy’s side and jump back into the bay window, curling up familiarly on Willow’s lap. The knitting shop’s resident kitten seemed to have accepted this stranger in their midst easily.
     
     
“I found a window that wasn’t locked. You should probably watch that. I think your latch is broken.” She smiled at Ben, as if she’d help him fix it if he wanted her to, and then she looked back at Izzy and Nell. “I didn’t mean to cause trouble, honest. I wanted to get here before the shop closed, but it took a while to hitch a ride up from Boston—”
     
     
“You hitchhiked here?” Nell’s voice rose. What was this young woman thinking of? Thumbing a ride on the highway in the middle of the summer season. She remembered once when Izzy and two college friends had done the same thing after their car broke down on the way up to the Endicotts’ for a weekend break from studies. They’d arrived in Sea Harbor late at night. After feeding them, Nell refused to let them go to bed until she extracted firm promises that they’d never, ever do that again. Although she and Ben didn’t have children of their own, Izzy was as close as any daughter could be—and Nell had the furrows in her forehead to prove it. That night she’d added a few more.
     
     
“I don’t understand,” Izzy said. She raked a hand through her hair and stared at the young woman sitting in her window, looking, somehow, as if she belonged there. “You hitchhiked from Boston to come to my store?”
     
     
Willow’s heart-shaped face softened with a smile, and she looked at Izzy intently. “So you are Izzy. I wasn’t sure which of you was, though I supposed it had to be one of you. But you can’t tell from e-mails if someone is young or old, right?”
     
     
Nell frowned, not sure how to accept the “old” designation.
     
     
Beside her, Izzy said, “Yes, I’m Izzy Chambers, and this is my store that you’ve broken into.”
     
     
“Oh, no.” Willow said. “No, no.” She shook her head to emphasize the point and her hands flew in different directions, her eyes round and begging Izzy to understand. “Sure, it might look that way. But