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And somewhere in the night a fiddle had cried, sounding like an elegy meant for my ears only.
“I’ll get the coffee,” Maggie said. “Is drip okay? Or I can make you an espresso? Or a latte?”
I supposed some of my exhaustion came from simply being here, in Driftwood. Everything was new here.Everyone. I’d spoken to more people yesterday than I had in years. Adjusting to normality was going to take time.
“Drip is great,” I said, smiling. “Thanks.”
I didn’t really want any more coffee—I’d already had two cups—but it was keeping Maggie’s mind off Dez for the time being, which I decided was a good thing. Worrying so much couldn’t be good for her health. I’d done a little research on TIAs last night as well. Because she’d had a mini one, she was now at risk of a major stroke.
“Are you hungry?” Maggie asked. To Rose, she said, “She didn’t eat this morning.”
“I’ll get you a muffin,” Rose said. “Chocolate? Banana?”
I smiled, deciding to be amused rather than annoyed by the mothering. “Thank you, but coffee is enough. I don’t have much of an appetite in the mornings.”
Or at all lately. I didn’t dare mention not eating well since Alexander had died—I’d lost seven pounds in the last month. I could only imagine their reaction to that.
Give it time,my mom had said.
I drew in a deep breath, repeating the words over and over in my head.
Rose narrowed her gaze at me. She smelled of jasmine and sugar, of a sunny garden and affection. For some reason, I wanted to sit down and spill my whole life story out to her.
“I’m okay, I promise,” I said.
Something buzzed from behind the counter and she turned toward the noise. “All right, Ava, but you just grab yourself something if you get hungry.”
I nodded. “Thanks, Rose.”
Giving my arm a gentle squeeze, she leaned in and whispered, “Thanks again,” before heading to the counter.
She passed Maggie on the way, who hurried toward me with a cup of coffee in one hand. In the other was a set of old Tupperware measuring spoons, mustard yellow and in fairly good condition considering their age. She’d come home from the library with them last night, all smiles.
After taking the cup of coffee she handed me, I politely took a sip. She’d already memorized how much cream and sugar I liked. I suspected she knew the orders of everyone in town by heart. “Thank you. The coffee here is really good, not that I expected anything less, considering.”
“It’s a local blend. Do you remember Donovan?”
How could I forget? “From the bakery.”
Nodding, she walked over to the Curiosity Corner and set the measuring spoons on one of the driftwood shelves. “His older brother owns Little Lagoon Roasters, where we get all our coffee.”
“Talented family.”
There was no rhyme or reason to the collection that I could discern, but Maggie must’ve seen something I couldn’t, because she beamed at the mishmash of objects with pride.
The church bell started tolling the seven o’clock hour andalmost immediately someone pulled open the front door and came inside.
“Morning, Mrs. Pollard,” Maggie and Rose said in unison.
“Morning, ladies!” She shuffled in, her gaze on the blackboard at the back of the shop. “How’s my recipe doing?”
“Pictures are being snapped left and right,” Rose said.
Mrs. Pollard beamed.
Maggie looked at me. “Ready to learn how to make an Americano?”
I nodded, and as I passed by the driftwood tree, I felt the thimble Maggie had given me in my pocket. I wasn’t sure why I’d even brought it with me today. Or why I’d been given the gift at all. Or, most especially, why there was a murmur deep down when I held the thimble, as though it was speaking directly to my heart.
