Page 113 of Finding Noah

Our attentions were drawn toward a crow in flight, bursting from between the branches of a tree overhead and into the sky, only beginning to show the first traces of sunlight from behind inky-black clouds. My eyes were trained on its wings, beating against the wind, and a memory erupted from somewhere far away.

Going fishing with Dad.

Asking if he loved Mom.

The crow that hung around us that whole day.

Days before …

A sour churning sensation rolled in my stomach, somersaulting and cartwheeling and stirring up the cup of coffee I'd drained before leaving the cottage on the hill.

Charlie's throat worked with an audible swallow. “You want to try and beat traffic,” he said tentatively, his voice gravelly. “But …”

I turned at his hesitation, my eyes boring into his. “Yeah?”

He held my gaze as his brows pinched with something I could only define as worry, and then he said, “Be careful out there, all right?”

“I will,” I promised, unable to look away from the sincere concern in his eyes.

He swallowed another time, then licked his lips before saying, “I hope so. Please.”

***

I'd been driving for half an hour when the caffeine began to lose its effect. My eyelids felt heavy, my brain felt foggy, and I couldn't keep myself from yawning every other minute.

This was what I got for being unable to sleep last night, having nothing to think about but Meg and the baby we'd made. The one nestled deep in her belly right now.

Anxiety. Amazement. Gratitude. Excitement. Fear.

God, there were so many emotions to process, and my mind seemed to want to do it all at once instead of compartmentalizing and working on each individually at a reasonable pace.

But, fuck, there wasn't time to do that, was there?

Babies were born in nine months, tops, right? And that was only if everything went perfectly and according to plan. I’d been born prematurely by a couple of months. It was impossible to know if we'd be one of the blessed couples who went the full forty weeks or if my baby’s start would be the same as my own.

And besides, even if we were one of the lucky ones, time flew, man. Look at how fast five years had flown by in the blink of an eye. Before we knew it, that baby would be born. And then that baby would be a year old, then five years old, then ten …

Holy shit.

I need to stop thinking. And I need coffee.

I glanced at my surroundings, in search of somewhere, anywhere I might be able to grab a cup of something, quality unimportant. I was willing to settle for anything at this point.

A few minutes down the road, I came upon a quiet coffee shop. It was a little hole-in-the-wall place, set at the end of a strip mall containing a medical office that looked to be closed and a flower shop. The parking lot was next to empty, save for a few scattered cars. I wrinkled my nose at the thought that it could maybe be an inclination of the quality of their brew, but then again Black & Brewed in River Canyon was a hidden gem in this world, known only to the residents of our little town and nobody else.

Maybe Lisa's Bean Hut could be one too.

Anyway, it didn't matter. This was an emergency, and it was what I'd come across first.

So, I pulled in and parked in the first spot I came to, killed the engine, and headed across the parking lot toward the little shop.

Inside, the place immediately gave me the vibe of a basement from the ‘70s.

Lots of wood paneling on the walls. Mismatched wooden tables and wooden chairs. A wooden countertop.

Wood everywhere. A carpenter's dream.

The tiles beneath my feet were dark in color but clean, and on the walls were framed pictures and a couple of dartboards. A billiards table was set toward the back of the shop near the restrooms and what looked like a back entrance. A couple of plaid sofas were positioned around a bookshelf of old, beat-up board games.