“It’s okay,” he said. “Really. But if you don’t think you should, then just settle up the next time you’re in the store, okay?”
“Alex, really—”
He didn’t let her finish. “You’re a good customer, and I like to help my customers.”
It took a moment for her to answer. “Thank you,” she finally said, her eyes, now dark green, fixed on his. “And thanks for driving me home.”
He tipped his head. “Anytime.”
What to do with the kids: it was the endless, sometimes unanswerable question he faced on weekends, and as usual, he had absolutely no idea.
With the storm in full fury and showing no signs of letting up, doing anything outside was out of the question. He could take them to a movie, but there was nothing playing that they’d both be interested in. He could simply let them entertain themselves for a while. He knew lots of parents operated that way. On the other hand, his kids were still young, too young to be left completely to their own devices. More important, they were already on their own a lot, improvising ways to keep themselves entertained, simply because of his long hours at the store. He pondered the options as he made grilled cheese sandwiches, but he soon found his thoughts drifting to Katie. While she was obviously doing her best to maintain a low profile, he knew it was almost impossible in a town like this. She was too attractive to blend in, and when people caught on to the fact that she walked everywhere, it was inevitable that talk would start and questions would be asked about her past.
He didn’t want that to happen. Not for selfish reasons, but because she was entitled to the kind of life she’d come here to find. A normal life. A life of simple pleasures, the kind that most people took for granted: the ability to go where she wanted when she wanted and live in a home where she felt safe and secure. She also needed a way to get around.
“Hey, kids,” he said, putting their sandwiches on plates. “I have an idea. Let’s do something for Miss Katie.”
“Okay!” Kristen agreed.
Josh, always easygoing, simply nodded.
7
Wind-driven rain blew hard across dark North Carolina skies, sweeping rivers against the kitchen windows. Earlier that afternoon, while Katie did her laundry in the sink and after she had taped Kristen’s picture to the refrigerator, the ceiling in the living room had begun to leak. She’d placed a pot beneath the drip and had already emptied it twice. In the morning, she planned to call Benson, but she doubted whether he’d get around to repairing the leak right away. If, of course, he ever got around to fixing it at all.
In the kitchen, she sliced small cubes from a block of cheddar cheese, nibbling as she moved about. On a yellow plastic plate were crackers and slices of tomatoes and cucumbers, although she couldn’t arrange them to look the way she wanted. Nothing looked quite the way she wanted. In her previous home, she’d had a pretty wooden serving board and a silver cheese knife with an engraving of a cardinal, and a full set of wineglasses. She’d had a dining room table made of cherry, and sheer curtains in the windows, but here the table wobbled and the chairs didn’t match, the windows were bare, and she and Jo would have to drink wine from coffee mugs. As horrible as her life had been, she’d loved assembling the pieces of her household, but as with everything she’d left behind, she now viewed them as enemies that had gone over to the other side.
Through the window, she saw one of Jo’s lights blink out. Katie made her way to the front door. Opening it, she watched as Jo splashed through puddles on the way to her house, umbrella in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other. Another couple of stomps and she was on the porch, her yellow slicker dripping wet.
“Now I understand how Noah must have felt. Can you believe this storm? I’ve got puddles all over my kitchen.”
Katie motioned over her shoulder. “My leak is in the living room.”
“Home sweet home, right? Here,” she said, handing over the wine. “Just like I promised. And believe me, I’m going to need it.”
“Rough day?”
“Like you couldn’t imagine.”
“Come on in.”
“Let me leave my coat out here or you’re going to have two puddles in your living room,” she said, shimmying out of her slicker. “I