The waitress walked over with Sammy’s extra food already boxed to go.
Sammy stood. “See you later, everyone.”
“I’ll walk you out,” Seth said, grabbing his jacket. They walked in silence until they got outside. “Want a ride?” Seth asked.
“Nah, I’m fine on my bike.” Sammy stuck the food box in the insulated bag he kept in the delivery basket on the back of his bike.
“Listen, promise me you’ll at least think about what I said.” Seth clapped him on the shoulder.
“About what, the house? The job?”
“All of it. The check too.”
Sammy pulled on his bike helmet. “Telling you about that check was a mistake. And I’m not opening it.” He swung his leg over the bike and pedaled off before Seth could respond.
He put the bike on the front porch of his mom’s house, where it wouldn’t get snowed on if those clouds blotting out the evening stars decided to let loose.
“Ma!” he called as he unwound his scarf, stepping into the front hall. “I brought dinner.”
“You’re a lifesaver.” Meredith Johnson came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dish towel. “The state of our fridge is atrocious.” She reached out and brushed Sammy’s cheek. “You had a little blue fuzz there. I’ll get out a plate. Meet me at the table.”
He shrugged out of his jacket and hung it on the coat tree.
Walking into his mother’s kitchen was a bit of a time warp. He’d offered again and again to tear up the 1970s linoleum and replace the Formica countertops, but she insisted on keeping them. The rest of the house was tastefully updated, but this small room at the back of the house she kept in the condition she’d received it—harvest golds and seafoam greens and all. She said the linoleum remained pristine and the Formica was fine, so why bother?
He knew the truth was likely more complicated, as truth often tended to be. He suspected the real reason was the memories his mom had made in this room. She had lost both parents very young, and they’d left her this house.
He set the take-out box on the table nested within the banquette. “I picked up a fish burger and fries. Hope that sounds okay.”
“I hope they didn’t get too cold, what with being in your basket as you biked back here.” Her voice held a gentle tease. “If my fries are cold because you still refuse to drive, I won’t be held responsible for the consequences.”
“Ma, we’ve been over this. I’ll get behind the wheel of a car when I feel ready. Not a minute sooner.” And not a minute all too soon. He wasn’t ready—wasn’t sure he’d ever be ready.
“I know, honey. I’m just razzing you.” She lifted a plate out of the cupboard, and he filled it with the fish burger and fries, still piping hot from the bag. He sat at the table. On it lay a few unopened, letter-sized envelopes. The return address of one readWilliams. He knew they were from the mother and son who he’d nearly run over on the worst day of his life.
Another thing he was never going to open.
“How was your day?”
“I don’t know, Ma.”
He thought about the youth center and the furnace. About all the decisions piling up. And he still hadn’t found even one answer.
two
Robin glanced at the clock. Noon.
She just needed to make it through another few hours and then she could go to bed. She’d been back in Deep Haven for two days but hadn’t yet kicked the jet lag. A yeasty aroma of baking bread wafted through the bakery. The bread she’d started early that morning must be almost done.
Robin opened the oven door. Perfect. She pulled the pans out of the oven and left them on the counter to cool.
When she’d gotten home on Saturday, Grandma Elaine had insisted they spend a few hours together at the bakery to show Robin the ropes. She’d explained that the bakery was open five days a week—they closed on Sundays and Thursdays.
“Grandma, I think I know the bakery.” Knowing her grandparents, it hadn’t changed any in the ten or so years she’d been gone.
“Still, I want to make sure you are comfortable there before we go.” Though she was pushing eighty, her grandma still displayed her artistic bent in her stylish and flamboyant clothes. Her purple, hand-dyed tunic topped a pair of camel-colored wool slacks. A bright watercolor scarf knotted around her neck. “I think we’re all packed. We should be good to go in the morning. It’s not easy trying to decide what to bring for a trip this long.”
“What’s to decide? A swimsuit, a cover-up, a floppy hat, and a pair of fuzzy pj’s. What more do you need when living on the beach?” Robin teased.
