“We do. Let me show you.” She led him away as the rest of the group started to browse.
Beckett watched her go down the little flight of steps into what they called the annex.
“Well. See you later, Laurie.”
“Beck?”
He stopped, one hand on the doorknob.
“Books? Coffee?” She held the bag in one hand, the go-cup in the other.
“Oh yeah.” He laughed, shook his head. “Thanks.”
“No problem.” She sighed a little when he left, and wondered if her boyfriend ever watched her walk away.
CLARE CARTED A tub of books packaged for shipping down to the post office. She breathed in deep a moment as she went out the back and across the gravel parking lot as an actual breeze fluttered over her face.
She thought—hoped—it looked like rain. Maybe a nice, solid soaker that would spare her the time it took to water her garden and pots. If it didn’t come with lightning, she could let the boys run around in the wet after dinner, burn off some energy.
Scrub them up afterward, then, since it was movie night, fix some popcorn. She’d have to check the chart, see whose turn it was to pick the flick.
Charts, she’d learned, helped cut down on arguing, complaining, and bickering when three little boys had to decide whether to spend some time with SpongeBob, the Power Rangers, or the Star Wars gang. It didn’t eliminate the arguing, complaining, and bickering, but it usually kept it at a more manageable level.
She dropped off the shipments, spent a few moments chatting with the postmistress. Because the traffic on Route 34 ran a bit thick, she walked back to The Square, pressed the button for the Walk light. And waited.
Every once in a while it struck her that she was, geographically at least, back where she’d started. Everything else had changed, she mused, glancing over at the big blue tarp.
And was still changing.
She’d left Boonsboro as a brand-new bride of nineteen. So young! she thought now. So full of excitement and confidence, so much in love. She’d thought nothing of driving off to North Carolina to start her life with Clint, as an army wife.
She’d done a decent job of it, too, she decided. Setting up house, playing house, working part-time in a bookstore—and hurrying home to fix dinner. She’d learned she was pregnant only days before Clint had been deployed for his first tour to Iraq.
She’d known fear then, she remembered as she crossed toward Vesta. But it had been offset by the wide-eyed optimism of youth, and the joy of carrying a child—one she’d borne back home, at barely twenty.
Then Clint came home, and they were off to Kansas. They’d had nearly a year. Liam had been born during Clint’s second tour of duty. When he’d come home again, he’d been a great father to their two little boys, but war had stolen his easy cheer, his quick, rolling laugh.
She hadn’t known she was pregnant when she’d kissed him goodbye that last time.
The day they’d handed her the flag from Clint’s casket, Murphy quickened for the first time inside her.
And now, she thought as she opened the glass door, she was back home. For good.
She’d timed the visit postlunch, predinner prep. A scatter of people sat at the dark, glossy wood tables, and a family—not locals, she noted—piled into the booth in the far corner. Their curly-headed toddler sprawled over the red cushions, sound asleep.
She lifted her hand in salute to Avery as her friend ladled sauce on dough behind the service counter. At home, Clare walked over to pull herself a glass of lemonade and brought it back to the counter with her.
“I think it’s going to rain.”
“You said that yesterday.”
“Today I mean it.”
“Oh, well then. I’ll get my umbrella.” Avery covered the sauce with shredded mozzarella, layered that with pepperoni, sliced mushrooms, and black olives. Her movements quick and practiced, she opened one of the big ovens behind her and shoved in the pie. She shoveled out another, sliced it.
One of the waitresses swung out of the closed kitchen area, sang out a “Hi, Clare,” then carried the pizza and plates to one of the tables.
Avery said, “Whew.”
“Busy day?”
“We were slammed from eleven thirty until about a half hour ago.”
“Are you on tonight?” Clare asked.
“Wendy called in sick, again, so it looks like I’m pulling a double.”
“Sick meaning she made up with her boyfriend again.”
“I’d be sick too if I was hooked up with that loser. She makes a damn good pizza.” Avery took a