HF01 - Almost Forever Page 8

  Bryn’s senses went on alert. What had made Garrett ask that question when they’d already talked about possible causes of the fire?

  Susan started to speak, then hesitated. She looked around the room as if offering the others a chance to answer first. When no one did, she frowned. “Frankly, I doubt the investigators’ report will turn up anything we haven’t already heard in the news. Obviously, they consider Zeke Downing a person of interest. They think his disappearance is too much to be coincidental.” She shrugged. “Whether they can prove it is another thing.”

  Garrett fanned his copy of the petition in front of him. “It seems a little unlikely the city would do anything concrete until they know the results of the investigation. I just wonder if we might be jumping the gun with this.”

  Bryn’s breathing returned to normal but accelerated again when Susan glared at Garrett.

  “I am not going to wait on that report.” Susan’s voice rose an octave. “Our clients are sitting on waiting lists in Springfield and even St. Louis. These are people—some of them—with family in this area. You can’t put out birdseed in September and then quit feeding the birds in November!”

  Bryn was still trying to decipher Susan’s metaphor when the director proffered an explanation. “We offered a service and made our clients dependent on us. Now we’ve left them hanging.”

  “It’s not as though you did it intentionally.” Garrett’s voice was soothing. “I understand your concern, Susan. I didn’t mean to sound argumentative. I just wonder how easy it—”

  “Of course, Garrett. I’m sorry. I . . .” Susan put a hand to her mouth, obviously trying to gain control of her emotions. “I’m sorry.”

  Now Garrett looked embarrassed. “No apology necessary. I understand. It’s a good cause. I’m not arguing that.”

  “All I ask is that you consider this.” Susan held up a copy of the petition. “And . . . until we get the petition together, I’d ask that you please keep it within this group.” Her gaze panned the room. “I’m sure I don’t have to tell any of you that the media is still skulking around the Falls, looking for anything that smells like a story. I’d rather they not get hold of this one until we have something solid to tell.”

  Emily Vermontez shook her head and rolled her eyes. “I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’ve about had it with the reporters. They had the gall to follow us into Luc’s therapy session last week.”

  “I thought I was just being paranoid,” Bryn admitted. “But I’ve been afraid to answer my phone.”

  The others murmured knowingly, and Bryn took comfort in discovering she wasn’t the only one getting the calls.

  Emily stood and tapped on the brake locks of her son’s chair, looking pointedly at him. “Thanks for inviting us, Susan, but I think we need to be going.” She took Lucas’s copy of the petition from his lap and tucked it with hers into her purse. “We’ll read this over and get back to you.”

  Susan sighed. With the two of them leaving, the meeting was essentially over almost before it began. “I’ll get your coats.” She hurried from the room, swiping at her cheeks.

  An awkward silence settled over the four of them until Susan reappeared a moment later—dry-eyed—with two coats over her arm.

  They watched as Emily helped her son with his sleeves. The young man hadn’t spoken two words the entire evening and had sat mostly with his head bowed as if he were dozing. Or praying.

  Susan held the door while Garrett helped Emily maneuver Lucas’s chair through. Bryn took the opportunity to collect empty drinking glasses and carry them to the kitchen. When she was finished, she gathered her purse and went out onto the porch where the others were calling out good-byes to the Vermontezes.

  “I didn’t mean to chase anyone off,” Susan said, frowning.

  “Oh, no.” Garrett waved off her apology. “I needed to be going anyway. Papers to grade.”

  “Me, too. Thanks for having us, Susan. I’ll get back to you. I really appreciate you getting the ball rolling on this.”

  “Thanks, Bryn. And thanks again for taking Sparky in. Charlie was so relieved when I told him.”

  “No problem.” She waved over her shoulder and hurried to her car, just wanting to get home.

  But she heard footsteps behind her, and Garrett called after her. “A little white lie, huh?”

  Keys at the ready, she turned to face him. “Excuse me?” Her breath formed puffs of steam in the cold night air.

  “Back there.” He hooked a thumb toward the house. “What you told Susan . . .”

  She stared at him, her brain racing to recall what she’d said that would make him accuse her of being a liar.

  He couldn’t shake

  the feeling that he was

  cheating on Molly.

  9

  Leaning against her white Honda Accord, fumbling with her keys, Bryn stared at Garrett, her brow knit, eyes narrowed. “I . . . I’m not sure what you mean?”

  “I distinctly heard you tell Susan that Sparky was no problem.” He grinned, remembering the image of her sailing along the riverwalk tethered to the black Lab’s leash last week.

  Even in the dim glow of the porch light, he could see the hangdog smile spread across her face. “It wasn’t a complete lie. He is getting better. Slowly.”

  He laughed. “Glad to hear it.”

  “Yep, he only dragged me three blocks today before I reined him in.”

  Garrett put his head back and laughed louder.

  Her smile turned to a giggle. “Yeah, yeah, go ahead and laugh. But he really is kind of growing on me. At least he forces me to get out of the house.”

  “That’s good.” His smile faded and he reached to touch the sleeve of her coat, then caught himself. “Sorry . . . I just had to give you a hard time.”

  “I know. I probably wouldn’t have been able to resist if the tables were turned.”

  They joked back and forth, laughing about that day they’d outfoxed the TV reporters. The conversation reached a comfortable lull, and he turned serious, glad for a chance to have caught her alone. “So, what do you think of Susan’s proposal?”

  “The ‘shelter as memorial’ you mean?” She chalked quotations marks in the air.

  He nodded.

  She shrugged. “Like she said, I think it beats a plaque or statue downtown. I’m just not sure the city will get behind it. If you saw how . . .” She studied the gravel beneath their feet. “Let’s just say, if the city gets involved, there would be a few regulations we’d have to comply with that we weren’t exactly up to code on before. And I’m not sure Susan would be willing to go along.”

  Curious, he eyed her. “Like what?”

  “Like . . .” She gave a hollow laugh. “Like just about everything. Every single meal we ever served there was provided by a church or an individual. There’s no way all the kitchens that food was prepared in would pass inspection. The menu wouldn’t meet USDA guidelines most nights. And even though the upper floors of the hospital were handicap accessible, the majority of the shelter was housed in the basement. We cobbled a ramp together for Charlie—Sparky’s ‘dad.’ He’s in a wheelchair,” she explained. “But it wasn’t much more than a slab of plywood on the stairway, and if he’d ever overturned his chair on that—or if one of the able-bodied clients tripped on it—and the city was involved, they’d probably be sued for everything they’re worth.”

  “Wow. I didn’t realize. So I take it you’re not in favor of Susan’s suggestion?”

  “It depends, I guess. If she’s just asking the city for a one-time gift—start-up money or whatever—with no ties, then I think it could work. But Susan ran the shelter as a ministry, not an institution. She couldn’t have kept the place open one week if she’d had to worry about state and federal regulations.”

  “I see your point.” He tried to imagine how Susan must feel. “It must be hard. She didn’t just lose her husband, she lost the thing she was passionate about, too. The rest of us can throw oursel
ves into our work—” He stopped short. “Sorry . . . I guess you’re kind of in the same shoes as Susan Marlowe.”

  Bryn bit her lip. “I don’t know. I’m not sure what I’m . . . passionate about.”

  “If you volunteered your time to the shelter, you must have felt pretty strong about it. That’s not exactly the kind of thing people jump into for fun.”

  She closed her eyes, and a sigh escaped her throat. “I wish I could say my work at the shelter was my passion. And I did—do—have a special place in my heart for Charlie and some of the other clients I got to know. But, I don’t know . . . I’m not sure I feel passion about anything these days.” The words rolled out quickly, like she was confessing to a crime.

  Hearing them, an odd sense of relief washed over him. “Thank you for saying that.”

  She peered up at him from beneath hooded eyes. “What do you mean?”

  “It’s how I’ve felt lately, too. I mean, I love my students, and I think teaching is where I’m still supposed to be. But . . . it all seems pretty meaningless without Molly.” He looked at his shoes. “Everything, not just teaching.”

  Bryn nodded, and Garrett recognized the same glaze of sadness in her eyes that he saw when he looked in the mirror every morning.

  She pulled her coat tighter around her. “I keep waiting for it to get . . . better.”

  “Yeah. Me too. When do you think that might happen?”

  She gave a humorless laugh.

  “Listen . . .” He felt like he had the first time he’d climbed the ladder to the high dive and stood poised to jump. Did he dare ask her? But he’d already opened his mouth. May as well take the plunge. “Do you want to go get a cup of coffee?” He made a show of looking down the wooded lane that was Susan Marlowe’s driveway. “I don’t think the paparazzi is tailing us tonight.”

  That earned him genuine laughter. “Coffee sounds good.”

  He brushed off the guilt that tapped him on the shoulder and nodded toward his truck. “You want to ride with me?”

  Bryn looked toward the house, where lights still glowed behind the windows. “It might be easier if I just follow you.”

  He knew how she felt. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he was cheating on Molly. And maybe it was too soon to be asking any woman to coffee, but it sure beat going home to an empty house again.

  He drove slowly, checking the rearview mirror every few seconds to be sure Bryn was behind him. The Falls didn’t have a lot of choices when it came to coffee shops, but the lights were on at the Java Joint, and there were a couple of cars out front. He turned in and chose a parking spot across from the building, leaving an empty stall in front of the shop for Bryn.

  She eased the Accord into the space while he stood waiting.

  Soft jazz drifted out the door when he opened it, holding it for Bryn. She ordered a hot chocolate. He decided on decaf and paid for both.

  “You didn’t have to do that,” she said, looking embarrassed.

  “I know, but I wanted to.”

  “Thanks.” The smile she offered him didn’t do anything to assuage the guilt that was still sitting on his shoulder.

  They stood at the counter watching the barista fix their drinks. Once the warm cups were in hand, Bryn gravitated to a table in the corner at the back of the shop. She took the seat with her back to the door. He pulled out the chair across from her, feeling uneasy being here with a woman who wasn’t his wife. And hoping he didn’t run into fifty people he knew here tonight.

  But business was apparently slow on Monday nights, and after ten minutes, no one at all had come in, let alone anyone either of them knew. He got caught up in their conversation and forgot to worry about being seen with a woman who wasn’t Molly.

  Bryn was back on the subject of resurrecting the homeless shelter. “I really hope Susan can make it work.”

  “Would you go back to volunteering there if she does?”

  “Probably. I guess it would depend on what I end up doing about a real job. I really need to find something full-time. But yes, I think I’d want to work in the shelter again. A little like getting back on the horse . . .” Her voice trailed off, and he knew she was thinking about the night of the fire.

  “I guess it would be kind of scary? Going back?”

  “A little. But it’s not like it’d be the same building . . . probably not even the same site.”

  His face must have reflected the skepticism he was feeling. She tilted her head and studied him. “What?”

  He shrugged. “Nothing.”

  She gave him the same look Molly would have at that kind of answer. “Your expression doesn’t look like it’s nothing.”

  “I just don’t see the community getting behind this. Between the assault and the fire—”

  “You knew about that?”

  “The assault?”

  She nodded, her brown eyes growing darker.

  “It was in the papers.” A frightening thought struck him. “That . . . it wasn’t you, was it? That the guy tried to—”

  “Oh, no. No, it was another volunteer. But—” she frayed the edge of her napkin between her fingers, “Adam didn’t want me to have anything to do with the shelter after that happened.”

  “I don’t blame him.”

  She blew out a little breath, sounding frustrated. “I was safe there. That guy’s probably in jail.”

  “No, he wasn’t. Not according to the newspaper, anyway.”

  “Maybe, but there are a hundred others like him out there. And in a higher concentration at a shelter, unfortunately. You don’t know who you can trust.”

  “But that’s true walking down Main Street in the Falls!”

  He leaned back from the table, holding up his hands in mock surrender.

  “Sorry.” She gave him a wry smile. “For a minute there I felt like I was having the same old argument again.”

  “He said the same thing? Adam?” Garrett hadn’t known Adam Hennesey well. He’d always thought the guy came off as a little cocky, but Molly had liked Adam, and Garrett trusted her assessment of people.

  Bryn nodded, tearing up.

  “Sorry . . . I’m sorry. Let’s change the subject.”

  “No, it’s okay. I should have listened to him. He was just worried about me. Once we started talking about having a baby, he turned into a big fat worrywart. Maybe if I’d listened . . .” She wept softly, dabbing at her eyes with a paper napkin.

  Garrett looked away, wishing he could kick himself. What was he thinking? “Listen, Bryn . . . I’m sorry,” he said again. He reached to touch her arm, then drew his hand away, feeling awkward.

  She shook her head. “You didn’t say anything wrong. I’m just . . . I get this way a lot lately.”

  “Don’t think I don’t understand.”

  “I know you do. Thanks.” She blew her nose on the napkin and looked up at him. “So you don’t think the shelter has much chance of reopening?”

  He took her cue to change the subject. “I just think people are going to be a little leery after everything that’s happened. And I think most people are convinced the fire was arson—I don’t think people are going to be too crazy about bringing that element back to town. I’ve heard enough buzz at school . . . I think people are relieved to be rid of the place.”

  Her eyes widened, the flecks of gold in them sparking. “They surely don’t say that to you?”

  “You mean because of Molly?”

  She nodded, looking aghast.

  “That probably didn’t come out right. I’m not saying anybody is glad the fire happened so we could get rid of the deadbeats. It’s more that they’re seeing this as one good thing that’s come of the fire.”

  She looked up at him from beneath dark lashes. “You sound like you agree.”

  He thought for a minute, not wanting to insert his big foot in his mouth again. “It’s hard for me to get too excited about reopening the place where my wife died. Like you said, I know it won’t be the same exact spot. But
I’m finding it hard to separate the two. I know we have a need for a place like that, though. I don’t think anyone is disputing that.”

  “Yes. It’s sad that in a town this small we would need a shelter.”

  “And that’s just it. I think the people who are opposed to reopening the shelter have the idea that if we don’t open a shelter, the homeless will just go away. But it doesn’t work that way. ‘The poor you will always have with you . . . , ’” he quoted.

  “The Bible, right?”

  “Hey, I’m impressed. It’s in the book of John. Deuteronomy, too, and twice in Matthew.”

  Her perfectly shaped brows went up in unison. “Now I’m impressed.”

  “Don’t be.” He gave a little laugh and tried to look appropriately humble. “It was in the sermon at church yesterday.”

  “Ah. Okay, I’m not quite so impressed. But hey, it shows you were paying attention.” She smiled. “Where do you go to church?”

  “We—I . . . we . . .” He groped for the right pronoun and finally gave up. “Molly and I had just started going to Community Christian. Mike Mitchard is the pastor.”

  “Yeah, I know. That’s where we . . . went.”

  “Really? I haven’t seen you there.”

  She looked sheepish. “We weren’t exactly regulars. I haven’t been since . . .”

  She didn’t need to finish the sentence. He nodded. “It was hard for me to go that first time, too . . . After Molly—” He felt himself choking up and dragged in a breath, trying to stave off the emotion. “But with her working so many weekends, I came by myself quite a bit. I had my posse to sit with.”

  Bryn wrinkled her nose. “Posse?”

  “That’s what Molly called my teacher friends. She used to always say I had more girl friends than she did.” He affected a cringe. “It was true. She had the guy friends and I had the girl friends.”

  She looked at him askance.

  “Take it easy. Most of my women friends are old enough to be my mother. Or at least an older sister. And I do have a few guys I play basketball with—and baseball in the summer. Don’t worry, I’m a manly man.”

  She laughed.