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“I-I’m so sorry,” she managed to get out. The horrors he must have known were nothing compared to her own. “I can’t image how you suffered.”
He waved her words away.
“I was but a child. It was not I who suffered, Miss Jones. I did not tell you for sympathy, just as a point of fact. Life is too short. Therefore, not trusting anyone is a shame, as it cuts you off from good people. And there are plenty of them around should you wish to look.”
You trust too easily, Bailey. Remember always that gullible fools end up hurt!
Her grandfather had loved that particular set of words.
“I’ll try to remember that, thank you, Mr. Goldhirsh.”
“And do you read, Miss Jones?”
“Read?”
“Poetry?”
She nodded, completely at sea as to where he was going with this.
“Then should you find yourself at a loose end on Sunday at 4:00 p.m., please come to my house. Right at the end of Main Street, then right. My house is the third street off the loop road. Number four, Niagara Street. I have a reading there every week. We’re into Moore at the moment.”
“As in Thomas Moore?” Bailey couldn’t help but ask.
“The very one.”
He lifted his hand and jogged away, leaving Bailey following him with her eyes. The man made her feel old, and he had years on her.
“Poetry and walking clubs, what’s next?”
Shaking her head cleared it slightly. Walking again, she saw a sign in the shape of a mountain that held a cup of steaming coffee, with the words Phil’s Place.
“That’s what I need,” Bailey muttered. That would right her world again.
Even early, it was busy. The decor was simple and modern, with white tables and chairs. One wall held leafy green plants, another a huge framed painting that looked like it probably came from Maggie’s gallery. She found a free seat at the counter.
“Morning. What can I get you?”
The woman’s smile was wide and looked familiar, but Bailey didn’t think they’d been introduced. Dark hair was pulled into a braid. She was tall, with a pretty smile, and Bailey imagined she was never short of admirers, especially given the confidence coming off her.
“Coffee and a cinnamon and hazelnut donut, thanks,” Bailey said, deciding to go with Mr. Goldhirsh’s suggestion.
“That’s my kind of morning meal.”
“They were recommended.”
“Mr. Goldhirsh, right?”
Bailey nodded.
“He’s personally increased the sales on those donuts single-handedly.”
“He’s good.”
The waitress smiled. “Sure is. Just stay strong when he tries to lure you into exercise. I couldn’t walk for days after he caught me at a weak moment.”
“I noticed he’s persistent.”
“He calls it tenacious, so be firm with him. He understands words like ‘no’ and ‘never again in this lifetime,’ but use stuff like ‘maybe’ or ‘I’ll see,’ and he’s like a rabid dog. He’ll never let go.”
