“I know.” Charlie’s voice is comforting and that makes me cry harder. “The good ones go young,” he adds.
I clamp my free hand over my mouth to stifle my cries as I sit there on the phone with him.
“Is there anything I can do to help?” he asks.
I don’t respond for a few moments. “No,” I sigh, a mess of tears and snot. I wipe at my tear-soaked face and sniffle.
“I wish there were,” Charlie mutters, “I hate seeing you upset. But at least you and Thea have each other and you’re going to get through this together.”
He doesn’t realize that he’s been the life raft in my grief.
I hear him yawn and suddenly, I remember that it’s past two in the morning.
“Sorry,” I mutter, “you need to sleep instead of listening to me blubber on and on.”
“Beth Ann,” he warns, “you should know by now that it doesn't matter what time it is. I’m always here for you.”
“Thanks,” I whisper, feeling another wave of sadness wash over me.
“You sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t believe you.”
A small chuckle escapes my lips. He’s good, he’s always been good.
“I will be,” I sigh.
He seems content with that answer. “Okay.” He pauses. “Good night, Beth Ann. I’ll see you at the diner.”
“‘Night, Charlie,” I whisper.
With that, the phone disconnects. I toss it aside on my bed and close my eyes. Memories of Caroline dance through my brain andGod, what I would give for one more day with her. Tears seep out of my eyes and I ball my fists up. I let myself have a few moments to wallow in my grief before I open my eyes again, knowing what I need to do.
I swing my legs back over the side of my bed and reach for the doorknob. I head to the kitchen and flip the light on. Once my eyes have adjusted to the lighting, I grab a dishrag from the counter and run it under the tap. I bring it to my face; the cold is a shock to my system. I toss it aside and then wash my hands before grabbing a mixing bowl from the dish drainer. I reach into the cabinet and pull out the jar of cinnamon before getting the eggs and butter from the fridge.
Caroline always loved my cinnamon roll snickerdoodles, and for tonight, I can pretend I’m making them for her. I close my eyes and envision Caroline standing in my kitchen, us laughing about some stupid, sarcastic remark she made.
I set the ingredients on the counter and get to work.
I check in on Thea before I leave for the morning. She’s sleeping peacefully and I don’t want to disturb her, even though I do want to talk to her. I figure we can talk once I’m home later in the evening.
It’s a peaceful morning in the diner, one I’m glad for since I never went back to sleep after my phone call with Charlie. My eyes feelswollen from crying so much; no amount of eye cream would fix this mess this morning.
I hear the bell above the door ring and glance in its direction, a Pavlovian response after all these years. I watch as a tall, skinny man with short, jet black hair walks through the doors and glances around disapprovingly. He’s a man I never thought would walk into my diner ever again.
He spots me and saunters over.
“Beth,” he says cordially as he sets his briefcase down on my counter. He pretends to flick lint off of his gray suit.
“James,” I say, iciness lacing my voice.
“I’m looking for Thea Calloway,” he says, looking around again, a disparaging look on his face.
“Why? That’s my niece.” I cross my arms over my chest.
He looks at me now as he adjusts his tie awkwardly. “Peculiar,” he muses, a sly smile creeping along his face. “I should have known.”
