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“Which way? Back home, or should we cross here and keep going up Poplar?” Sara shook her head. “We should probably get you home before this gets any heavier.”
“I’d like...” Bernice took a steadying breath. “I’d like to go to Bill’s Coffee Shop.”
Stunned, Sara turned to face her. “Really?”
Bernice nodded. “I’d like a coffee, wouldn’t you? I...I think it’s time. If you think your dog will be okay?”
“Sure. Harold thought he was protecting Josh the day he barked at people, but I can tie him outside for a little while. He’ll be fine.”
In front of the shop, she tied Harold securely to a post protected by its overhead awning, ordered him to stay, then followed her mother inside to a table at the front window where she could keep an eye on him.
There were no other customers seated in the dark wooden booths lining three walls. An old guy at one of the tables in the center looked up and waved, then turned his attention back to the newspaper spread in front of him.
Bernice had stiffened as she sat down, her cheeks pale and her gaze fastened on the table, but now she shot a surreptitious glance around the room.
“Just relax, Mom. There’s hardly anyone here. I’m really happy you suggested this.”
Over steaming cups of black coffee and pieces of warm raspberry pie, Sara chatted about the weather, her high-school class, and how the town had changed—anything she could find to fill the awkward silence.
The tension in Bernice’s shoulders gradually relaxed. When she’d finished half her pie, she pushed the plate away and studied her folded hands, then tipped her head up. Tears glittered in her eyes. “This is...hard for me.”
Sara reached across the table and enfolded her mother’s hands with her own. “I know. But it’s good to be out again, isn’t it?”
“It is.” Bernice’s mouth lifted into a self-deprecating smile. “I’m even getting a little better at it. Thank you...for what you’ve done for me. Coming back like this. Being...patient.”
“You’re my mother. I love you.”
“But it hasn’t always been easy, has it.” Her lower lip trembling, Bernice bowed her head. “S-so many things are my fault. So much of what happened to all of us. To Kyle.”
“None of it was. You couldn’t have changed anything.”
Bernice didn’t respond at first. After a long moment, she sighed. “But I could have, more than you’ll ever know. I’ll carry that guilt until the day I die. And sometimes,” she added, in a voice almost too low to hear, “I’ve even prayed for that day to come.”
* * * *
NATHAN APPEARED at Sara’s apartment door Monday morning with a box from Blenda’s Bakery and a new chew toy for Harold.
She couldn’t find the words to brush him off. Especially with the aroma of buttery caramel and cinnamon wafting past her nose, and Harold drooling in eager anticipation.
They talked for an hour, and now Nathan was leaning back in the chair across from her with his all-too charming grin, recounting some of the more amusing aspects of being a small-town cop.
She no longer doubted that he was an honest cop, but that didn’t change the fact that she’d be leaving after her assignment was over. A fact that was proving more difficult to remember with every passing day. Friendship was okay. Anything more was impossible.
Yet just listening to his low, resonant voice sent little shivers dancing across her skin.
“Seven o’clock all right?”
Shaking off her thoughts, she lifted her gaze and found him studying her, his eyes filled with amusement. “What?”
The creases in his cheeks deepened. “Dinner, this Saturday.” Glancing at his watch, he rose and took his coffee cup to the sink. “I’ve got to run. There’s a town council meeting in ten minutes.”
She caught up with him at the door. “Wait...I don’t think—”
“I owe you,” he interjected, a twinkle dancing in his eyes. “The fishing bet, remember?”
“It really isn’t necessary.”
“Oh, yes,” he murmured. “It is.”
