by Donna Alward
“I don’t see why not.” Laurel was also helping her sister-in-law, Hannah, with a literacy fundraiser just before Christmas. Whoever said the Christmas season was relaxing was out of their mind, but Laurel seemed to be handling it all with grace. Her glow—which he figured was pregnancy plus happiness—never faltered these days.
“Are you going to the banquet?” Laurel asked, then laughed when he raised a skeptical eyebrow as if to say, Are you kidding?
“That kind of event isn’t for me. But I don’t mind helping behind the scenes.”
“Fair enough. But there’ll be lots of ladies there in pretty dresses.”
Now she was just teasing him. He grinned and got up from the stool. “All right, enough fun and games. This place doesn’t run itself. I’ll get the lot ready for the new shipment. Yell if you need anything.”
“You got it.”
George got on with his day’s work and decided to forget about Amy. She was probably on her way back home by now, if she hadn’t gone last night. And he could go back to keeping the past where it belonged. In the past.
Chapter Three
Amy stepped inside The Purple Pig Café and was immediately assaulted by the scent of cinnamon and fresh bread. The place was delightfully funky, with its purple logo displayed on the counter and then accents of purple, pink, and turquoise brightening the cream walls. Christmas decorations in the same colors—no red and green to be seen—added a festive cheer to the storefront. There was a line to the counter, but she didn’t mind. It gave her time to browse the menu and the specials on the chalk board. She adjusted her purse strap and set her lips. George wasn’t going to get rid of her that easily.
Since last night, she’d realized that ambushing him might not have been the best strategy. Today she was determined to try again. An hour ago she’d stepped outside, prepared to shovel the drive, and had found it mysteriously done. It seemed like a good omen for the day, so she’d packed up her positive attitude and headed into town to extend an olive branch by taking him lunch. Surely the man got a lunch break.
When it was her turn, a perky young woman with her hair in a messy topknot smiled and asked, “What can I get for you today?”
Amy bit down on her lip, still torn. “How about one of those turkey, cranberry, and provolone paninis, and . . . well, what’s the manliest sandwich you have?”
The girl laughed, and Amy immediately felt at ease.
“I can do a roast beef and cheddar with grainy mustard on harvest bread,” she suggested. “Pickle on the side. Maybe a brownie or oatmeal cookie to go with it?”
“That sounds perfect.” Amy paid and then looked around as another staff member built the sandwiches. It was a neat place, she realized. It emphasized farm-to-table philosophies and organic ingredients. Those came at a significant price, but if the food was as good as it smelled, it would be worth it.
“This is to go?” the woman asked, and Amy nodded.
“Yes, please.” She looked at the woman’s purple name tag on her apron. “Thanks, Emily.”
With the paper bag tucked in her tote, she left the café and made her way down the street to where she was parked. Next to the café was a yoga studio, and then a real estate office. There were all sorts of trendy businesses lining the main street, but no sign of any major retail or fast food chain. Interesting. She supposed one wouldn’t have to drive far to hit a department store or big box grocer—Burlington and Montpelier were less than an hour in either direction. Still, it made Darling feel a little bit personal and special.
Once she started toward the garden center, however, nerves bubbled up in her belly again. George had been very clear yesterday. And sure, she was going to try to butter him up with lunch, but she didn’t expect him to just throw up his hands and tell her everything.
In fact, maybe taking a softer approach would work better. Ease into it a bit more. They’d never had trouble talking years ago.
Indeed not. The last time she’d seen him, he’d kissed her until her knees had turned to jelly and her heart had clubbed at her ribs so hard she was certain he could feel it. But that wasn’t why she was here. There was enough water to fill an ocean under that bridge. She wanted to know what happened to her only sibling. Her twin. She wanted to be able to tell her mom something good so she’d stop having nightmares about horrific scenarios. She knew very well that the imagination could come up with things that were far worse than the truth.
Amy swallowed against the lump that formed in her throat at the thought. She hadn’t known about Liam’s affair, either. Hadn’t understood why for months and months she hadn’t been able to get pregnant. All she’d known was that her marriage was breaking down and that she’d kept hoping finally having a baby would save it.
She’d been wrong on both counts, and once she’d figured it out, she’d been able to let go.
Mostly. If someone pried into the cause of her failed marriage, she expected she’d react much in the same way George had yesterday. A gentler touch was the order of the day.
When she stopped in at noon, the garden center was doing a slightly brisker business than it had the previous day. She gathered the paper bag of food and took a deep breath, hoping this wasn’t a mistake. The parking lot was cleared of the night’s snow, and her toes were a bit cold in her boots as she made her way to the store again. Once inside she saw him, carrying a large box in his arms. Even with a warm fleece jacket on, she could see the breadth of his shoulder muscles as he adjusted the weight of the box. He smiled at the woman she’d spoken to yesterday, then put the box down and said something that made the woman laugh.
Amy’s heart gave a heavy thump against her ribs in response to his smile. When his face relaxed like that, she saw glimpses of the young man he’d once been. That man had been daring, confident, sexy, with an aura of danger—of bad boy—surrounding him. That last summer he’d pushed all of her buttons, even though she’d known there was no substance to their flirting. Still, the easy smile on his face transported her back to a simpler, easier time. Ian had been alive. Her future had been before her, shiny and bright. Everyone had been carefree and happy.
He turned and caught sight of her, the smile slipping off his face.
She stepped forward, determined to get off on the right foot. “Hi,” she said firmly, and smiled as one would when entering an office for a job interview—genuinely but with a layer of nerves behind it. “I brought you some lunch. Thought we might talk for a few minutes.”
His jaw tightened. “I told you yesterday, Amy, I don’t want to talk.”
“Then let’s just eat lunch. I went to this place called The Purple Pig and got two huge sandwiches. For old times’ sake? It’s just lunch.” She met his gaze. “We got off on the wrong foot yesterday. I heard that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, so . . . consider this an apology for my lack of tact?”
The woman behind him gave him a nudge. “Go on,” she urged. “It’s nearly time for your break anyway.”
“Just the sandwich,” he said, his voice low.
She let out a breath of relief. “Perfect. Anywhere we should go?”
He led her out to where he’d sat yesterday. A heater kept the area comfortable if a bit cool, and she could still see her breath a little bit as he pulled out a folding chair and set it up for her. He swept the little bits of boughs off the small folding table and tucked away the clippers he’d used for cutting. “Will this do?” he asked.
She wasn’t about to complain. “It’s perfect,” she replied, putting down the bag and peeling off her gloves.
He sat while she reached into the bag for the sandwiches. “Roast beef for you. I hope that’s okay.”
“I’m not fussy.” He offered a glimpse of a smile, and it only made her more nervous rather than less. It was so odd; he was a stranger yet not, and she normally had no problem getting a read on people. It was why she worked in human resources. She was trained to assess people and situations, find solutions, bring out the best
in staff. She couldn’t read George, and it was infuriating.
She handed him the sandwich, then reached inside for her own. “This café is really cool. Has it been here long?”
He began opening the wrapper. “A few years, give or take. The owner is Laurel’s best friend.”
“Laurel is . . .”
He nodded to the storefront. “My boss.”
“I see.” She took a small bite of her sandwich and found it delicious. “Wow. This is yummy.”
“Willow cooks up some weird stuff, but it’s always delicious.” He took a huge bite of his roast beef, then wiped his lips and fingers on the recycled paper napkin. “She owns the yoga studio, too. She’s here a lot.”
“You like working for Laurel?”
His brows pulled together a bit, and he hesitated. This, she understood. He was weighing his response. Deciding how much he wanted to tell her. She reminded herself to be patient.
“You want to know where I’ve been, Amy? I’ve lived on the street for a lot of years. Last summer, Laurel . . . well, she and her husband gave me the nudge I needed. She gave me this job. And Aiden hooked me up with some assistance. So there you go. I’ve been homeless. I work here now, but for a lot of years, I sat on street corners begging for money. Spent nights at the shelter. Went hungry. All this?” He waved a hand in the air, moving from the top of his head to the floor. “This is all new in the last six months.”
“But why . . .” Her throat tightened. He’d been homeless? Living on the street? For how long, and why? She tried to picture it and couldn’t. Not the dynamic, charming guy she’d known as Ian’s best friend. Her stomach felt as if it dropped to her toes. No wonder he hadn’t wanted to answer questions yesterday.
“My lunch break isn’t long enough for that story,” he said sharply. “But now you know. I’m a minimum wage laborer in subsidized housing. A real success story.”
“You don’t believe that,” she replied, putting down her sandwich. “God, George. I don’t have to know why you were living on the street to know that it’s got to be a huge challenge to . . . to . . .”
“To what? Be normal? To be a contributing member of society again?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“I know.” This time he sighed. “Listen, Amy, I understand why you’re here but I . . . I can’t go back there, okay? I just can’t. So don’t ask me to.”
“George,” she said softly, wondering how to say what she was thinking, wondered if it would be best to just come right out with it. “George, do you have PTSD? Is that what you’re dealing with?”
He got up from the table abruptly, the chair scraping loudly against the concrete floor. “I should get back. Thanks for lunch.”
Amy pushed away the alarm at his sudden movements. “It’s only been five minutes,” she said calmly. “And I’m asking because it would explain your reluctance to talk to me, that’s all. I’m not judging.”
Not in the least. She didn’t have any experience with PTSD, but she’d had plenty of “I don’t want to get out of bed this morning” moments when her marriage had crumbled. Pain made people do all sorts of things they never imagined.
He stood there looking a little uncertain. “George, please,” she said softly. “Please think of me as a friend. I know we weren’t really close, but when you were at our house . . . you were so important to Ian. He was my twin.” Her heart swelled as she realized a sudden truth that had nothing to do with what George could do for her, but what she should have done for him all along and hadn’t. “He would kick my ass if he knew I hadn’t helped you in some way. So please. Finish your sandwich. And let’s just talk.”
He sat down again, cautiously, his eyes wary.
She reached for her sandwich, even though she’d lost her appetite. “Tell me more about Laurel and Aiden.” It was a subject that he seemed to respond to and she took a bite of turkey and cranberry, hoping to keep him with her. Hoping to build a bridge of some kind.
“Aiden was one of the few people who really saw me,” George confessed. “I’d split my time between here and Montpelier. When I was here, in Darling, Aiden would sometimes grab me some food, or take me to the goodwill and get me some clothes. He looked out for me, and was probably the only person in this town that I trusted. Until Laurel.”
He smiled then, and she couldn’t help but smile back. He was gorgeous when he smiled and the stress lines on his face relaxed. Like an older version of the young man she’d known. He should smile more often.
“Laurel offered me part-time work under the table last summer. She did more than give me a broom and a hose to clean up around here . . . she gave me her trust, and a purpose. Then when I was in the hospital, she and Aiden found out I was a veteran, and they helped me access some assistance and services. Now I work full time and have a little crappy apartment.” His eyes warmed. “It’s not much, but it beats sleeping in an ATM vestibule.”
She found herself stuck on a previous sentence. “Wait. You were in the hospital?”
He nodded. “A couple of punk ass kids thought it’d be fun to take on the local bum. I got a few shots in, but, well, I wasn’t as strong as I used to be. And they were a couple of football players. I ended up with some cracked ribs and stuff.”
Amy sat back and stared at him. How could he be so casual about it? Her life had fallen apart but she’d always had a place to sleep and food to eat. She’d never actually had to worry about her personal safety. She tried to imagine anyone thrashing the man who sat across from her now. He was tall and strong, not weak. Most men would think twice before provoking him, but two teenage boys had beaten him up?
It was clear she really knew nothing about him at all.
“I’m so sorry,” she said, leaning forward. “That must have been awful.”
“It wasn’t so bad.” He treated her to another small smile. “Landing in the hospital is what started all this. Working full time and having my own place, I mean. It was a new beginning. So you can see, Amy, why you coming into town and asking questions isn’t exactly a happy thing for me. I’m trying to move beyond the past, not relive it again.” His smile slipped away. “I can’t relive it again.”
He said the last bit with such conviction that she was surer than ever that something horrible had happened that he didn’t want to talk about.
And it wasn’t fair of her to come in and start making demands. She could see that now. When she’d left home, she’d been determined to talk to him at any cost. It had made sense when she hadn’t had to sit face to face with him. How could she demand he rehash something that clearly caused him so much pain? What could have been so bad that he’d ended up homeless?
As she met his gaze, she realized she wanted to know. And not for her parents’ closure, or for Ian’s memory, but because of him. George. Something had changed him from a larger-than-life soldier with a constant smile to a man who struggled daily. He deserved to be happy again.
Didn’t they all?
“The wreaths,” she said, changing the subject. “You make them all yourself? That’s what you were working on yesterday, right?”
He nodded. “I mentioned wanting to do it one day, and Laurel ran out and got me the forms and wire and more ribbon than I knew what to do with. I like it, though. I like working with my hands a lot.” He finally took another bite of his sandwich, chewed, and swallowed. “And how about you? How long are you in Darling?”
“Until Christmas Eve.” She hadn’t realized she meant to stay the whole two weeks until she just said it, but the decision felt good. “I rented a house over on the other side of the creek. Like one of those Airbnb things.”
He tilted his head. “On Sycamore?”
“That’s the one. Why?”
He grinned. “So that’s your Toyota. I shoveled your driveway this morning.”
“You’re the one?”
“The owners hired me to do it while they’re south for a few months. I wondered who had rented it when I saw your car in the yard.
I’m a few streets over, in a little apartment building. Eight units.”
It gave her a funny feeling to think he’d been the one clearing the snow while she’d been tucked in bed, sound asleep. She’d assumed it was some company that the owners had hired. The thought of him cleaning off her car was surprisingly intimate. “Well, thank you. It was nice to not have to worry about it this morning.”
She reached into the bag and took out the cookies she’d bought to go with their meal. “Here. I was told these are the best.” She reached over and handed him one.
He took it, and their fingers brushed a little. There was no strange hesitation or weird looks between them, and yet Amy got a little ripple of something in the pit of her stomach as his warm fingers touched hers. She tried to imagine what he might have looked like before, when he’d been living on the street. Had his hair been long, had he had a beard? He’d probably been skinnier . . . She just couldn’t reconcile that image with the young man she’d known, and the grown man sitting across from her now.
“Amy?”
“Hmm?”
“How did you find me?”
Her stomach knotted. “I have a friend at the VA. At first, I just kept checking and checking. I know you did another deployment. I know you came home. We kept waiting for you to come see us, and by the time I went looking for you, you’d fallen off the radar.”
“And?”
She folded her napkin into little squares. “For the first few years I kept checking. Then . . . well, lately I’ve only had her check once a year. On . . . the anniversary.”
She didn’t have to say what anniversary; the wary look in his eyes told her he understood. The anniversary of Ian’s death.
