by Jodi Thomas
“Stop it.” She giggled. “And work on making yourself look invisible.”
“Like you do, Mary Blaine?” He frowned. “Think he won’t see you behind your Clark Kent disguise?”
“It fooled Lois Lane.” Blaine pulled off the glasses. “Oh, about that beard you keep asking me if my husband has? I was wrong. He does.”
Miller grinned. “I already figured that one out.” He moved back through the door and over to the corner table, which he’d claimed as his during the slow hours of the night. He lifted a newspaper, blocking his view of Tuesday and the cop talking, their heads almost touching across the counter. He might have to listen, but he showed no sign of wanting to watch.
Business picked up about dusk. Blaine didn’t like working after that for she could no longer see out the windows. Anyone on the street could observe those inside more clearly. If the bomber were watching for her, she’d be easy to see after dark.
But, as the days passed, she grew less nervous. The detective became a nightly guest, but he never noticed anyone but Tuesday. Mark stopped in now and then to buy a muffin and left without staying for coffee.
Each time she noticed him, he’d leave before she could build the courage to talk to him.
Shakespeare limped into the café an hour before closing one Friday night. To Blaine’s surprise, he appeared sober.
He claimed some car had jumped the curb and run over him while he was on the sidewalk minding his own business. It frightened him so completely he planned to stay sober for a few days until he could have his eyes checked. He promised he’d get the license number if it ever happened again.
Blaine sat him at a small table by the window and brought him a cup of coffee. He refused the muffin saying that the cholesterol was bad for his heart. Every time she passed he listed a new ailment that might kill him any day. For him, sober was a gloomy world.
A group of tourists rushed in, apparently afraid they might not get a muffin before closing time. They walked the streets like some twenty-legged bug, huddled together for safety. They all claimed to love the atmosphere of the café and asked to take a picture first with Tuesday in her chef’s cap and then with Shakespeare for color.
Tuesday was flattered. Shakespeare charged them a dollar a shot.
As they paid out, Blaine noticed a man fighting the current of tourists leaving the cafe.
Mark.
He held the door for the group. He looked tired with dark circles beneath his brown eyes and his shoulders bent forward. Blaine wondered why he wasn’t home in bed, then guessed he couldn’t sleep. Even when nothing was wrong, Mark had trouble sleeping. He often got up at night and worked an hour before returning to bed. That was one of the reasons he gave for moving into the guest room from time to time. He said he didn’t want to bother her with his sleeping patterns.
“’Evening,” he said as he slid into the first seat at the bar again. “Is it too late for me to get a cup of coffee?”
Blaine glanced around for Tuesday, but she must have been in the back closing up the kitchen for the night. The last dozen muffins were on the counter under glass. If no one claimed them soon, she planned to sack them up. Sometimes, one of the Annas would hurry over right at closing time to pick up the leftovers. Blaine guessed the women passed them out at the bus stop.
Reaching for the coffee and cream, Blaine forced herself not to look at Mark. She poured his coffee.
“You remembered,” he said as he lifted the cream. “You wouldn’t believe how I have to beg to get cream at some places.”
Yes I would, she thought. Only she would have never have used the term beg. Mark usually asked politely a few times and then demanded in a firm tone.
“Want a muffin?” Blaine said in almost a whisper.
“Not to eat,” Mark answered. “But if you’ve got a few left I’ll take them to my neighbor. She’s laid up with a broken leg. I’ve been taking care of her and she’s mighty tired of my cooking.”
Blaine couldn’t believe her ears, but she didn’t say a word as she stuffed the two biggest muffins into a bag.
Watching him out of the corner of her eye, Blaine wished she could touch him. It would feel so good to push his hair back, or hold his hand even for just a moment. He looked so sad, so alone. She tried to picture how he would react if he knew she was so close. If he knew about the baby. Would he be happy? Or angry?
Dear God how she wanted to talk to him! But she knew him, he’d insist they go straight to the police. Everything legal. Everything out in the open. By morning her statement would be all over the papers. By noon they’d be the bomber’s primary target.
Blaine closed her eyes. She couldn’t tell Mark. If she did, she might get them all killed. She had to play the game a little longer.
Mark played with his spoon, turning it end to end with the fingers of one hand. He always twisted something, a pen, a paper clip, when he was trying to figure something out. Blaine couldn’t help but wonder what troubled him tonight.
She didn’t see how closely he watched her.
“Hello, stranger,” Tuesday said as she rounded from the kitchen. “You want that coffee warmed? You got time before we close. It’s not often you stop long enough for coffee, might as well enjoy it.”
Mark looked too deep in thought to pull out for a moment, then he shook his head and picked up the bag. Without a word to Tuesday, he walked over to Blaine. “How much do I owe you?”
“Seven bucks.” She tried to sound like Tuesday, but the tone in her voice was far too low to capture the girl’s enthusiasm.
Mark handed her a ten. “Keep the change.”
“Thanks.”
“Mind if I ask you your name?” His request was so low, she wasn’t sure she heard it until he added, “Just in case I come in again.”
There was nothing flirty in his voice. Mark had probably never flirted in his life, he was a man of order, a man who liked to know names.
“Mary,” she said.
“Well, thanks, Mary.” The corners of his mouth lifted in almost a smile.
Her heart cracked. He sounded so lonely. Like he hadn’t talked to anyone in days. Like he was trying to connect with her, with anyone, so that he could make sure he was still alive. He turned away from her but didn’t move. She had the feeling that he had nowhere to go.
The bell above the door sounded and a moment later Tuesday yelled, “Sorry, we’re closing up for the night.”
The door rattled again and again as others entered.
Blaine pulled herself away from Mark’s nearness and watched the new arrivals.
Four young thugs stood just inside the door, among them the two boys who had harassed the girl at the bus stop two weeks before. The kid who had cut her played with the folded knife in his left hand. In the time since that rainy night, he had developed an edge, a hardness about him. It crossed her mind that if he cut another he wouldn’t show panic again.
“Looks like you’re still waiting on people.” The tall boy moved to the counter. “You got muffins left. So I guess you’re still open.”
Tuesday’s voice shook as she said, “All right. You boys have a seat and I’ll get you each a muffin.”
“We heard we don’t have to pay if we don’t have any money.” The leader straddled a chair next to the counter where Blaine stood behind the cash register. “Word on the street is that down-on-their-luck folks are welcome here.”
The others followed suit, pulling chairs around the tiny table. “Yeah,” one mumbled. “We ain’t got no money.”
While Tuesday handed each a muffin, Blaine moved to the window. She stared out at the night, wishing she could see Miller. He’d stepped out a half hour ago as he sometimes did to see if anyone watched the café from the shadows. She guessed he stood somewhere across the street watching now. He’d be in at the first sign of trouble.
Just before she turned back, Blaine thought she saw a man in a baseball cap walking between parked cars. His outline blinked only a moment when he stepp
ed beneath the streetlight’s circle, then he was gone. Miller must be watching him too, that’s why he wasn’t here. The bomber’s whereabouts was far more urgent than the harassment from these thugs.
She saw Mark leaving and fought the need to scream for him to stay. The boys were probably only being boys, but she would have felt so much better if she knew he stood near.
Tuesday talked politely to the boys. They mumbled among themselves, but seemed content to eat.
Blaine scolded herself. As usual, she’d overreacted. Her emotions had been running wild for weeks. She cried at nothing and worried about things that she had no control over. Maybe the constant fear of the bomber finding her had filed her nerves raw. Maybe it was the pregnancy, but at this rate, she’d worry to death before she turned forty.
“Wish Detective Randell would come in about now,” Tuesday whispered as she passed Blaine. “I’d be real glad to see him.”
“You’re always real glad to see him,” Blaine answered with a wink. “And don’t worry about the boys, they’re just hungry.”
Shakespeare, who had been sleeping at the corner table, woke up and made a grand show of saying good-night.
The boys made fun of him, but he paid them no mind.
Blaine kept busy emptying the coffeepots and washing the last of the dishes while Tuesday took her nightly call from friends who always seemed to start their evenings about closing time.
Miller should be back any minute, she told herself. He was always there to lock up and walk her home if Tuesday had to run.
Blaine packed up two muffins for the Annas and poured two large coffees in paper cups. If neither of the women came tonight, maybe she could talk Tuesday into circling the block on the way home. Vanilla Anna had been coughing for days and Blaine worried about her. The nights could be cool and she knew the two old women would never consider going inside.
Blaine slipped the last muffin into a bag with a carton of milk. She’d leave it on the corner of the porch and by morning her little friend would have picked it up. She’d tried to watch for the child, but so far she hadn’t seen him coming and going. But he’d thanked her once by bringing her water and that was enough. Miller had followed him once and learned the little boy lived with a mother working two jobs. A neighbor was paid to keep an eye on him, but mostly just watched the kid come and go.
Blaine dropped the two cold pills the doctor had given her for Anna into the larger bag with the muffins and coffee.
Before she could ask about driving by, Tuesday appeared at her side pulling her sweater on as she said, “Mind if I leave a few minutes early tonight? It’s real important, or I wouldn’t ask. My roomy says we can just catch the sneak preview if we hurry.” She glanced at the boys. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure Miller is out front before I dart away.”
Blaine had learned that “real important” could be a movie starting at midnight or a party in full swing at the girls’ apartment complex. “Sure,” she said, wishing she had the guts to say no. “Miller can walk me home.”
“Thanks.” Tuesday rushed out before Blaine could say more.
Blaine walked to the door and held it open. “Sorry, gentlemen,” she said to the thugs, “but it’s closing time.” She dimmed the lights to prove her point.
“How much we owe you?” one asked.
“Three dollars apiece if you have the money. If not, there is no charge.”
Vanilla Anna suddenly blocked the door, breathing heavily as though she’d ran from the stop. “I’m sorry I’m late, Mary.” She coughed into her hand. “I was at training union and must have fallen asleep.”
Blaine knew Anna had been sleeping on the bus-stop bench as always, but she didn’t say anything. She handed Anna the bag of leftover muffins. “I packed coffee too, with two sugars like you like it. When you down about half of the muffin take those pills in the bottom of the bag. They’ll ease that cold.”
“Bless you, Mary. You make me so proud.” Anna whispered as she hurried away, “There will be diamonds in your crown, child, I swear.”
The boys stood, but took their time moving toward the exit. They didn’t want anyone hurrying them.
“Well,” the tall one said. “We ain’t got no money so I guess there will be no charge.”
Blaine couldn’t make herself ask them back as she did everyone else who passed through the place.
At the door the boy with the knife mumbled, “That was sure a good muffin.”
“Yeah,” another echoed. “I could eat another one but it looks like they are fresh out.”
They were out the door when Blaine heard one say, “I know where we can get another one. I seen her give the old bag lady a whole sack of them.”
Blaine watched as they ran in the direction Anna had gone. Panicking, Blaine rushed out the door and along the passageway to the street. There, as she hoped he would be, stood Miller watching the café from across the street. Ten feet away from him, getting a paper out of the machine, was Mark. Both men had been watching the café from the street.
“Miller.” Blaine shook so badly she could barely force the word out. “The boys have gone after Anna! They plan to take the muffins I handed her.”
Miller hurried toward her.
Mark tossed the paper in the trash and fell into step beside the older man.
As soon as she saw Miller’s face, she realized the problem. He would have to leave her alone in order to help Anna.
“Anna can take care of herself. She has for years,” Miller reasoned.
“No,” Blaine cried. “One of them has a knife and you know how they pick on her because she yells at them like they were children. She won’t give them the sack willingly and she’ll fight when they try to take it.”
The big man didn’t budge. “I’m not leaving you alone, Mary.”
Mark stepped closer. “I’ll watch over Mary.” His voice rang out, commanding, as it often did in the courtroom. “Go after the kids.”
She knew he didn’t know what he’d walked into. If trouble happened while Miller was gone, could Mark handle it? Did they have a choice? The boys might have already reached Anna.
Miller glared at him. “See that you take care of Mary or I’ll snap your neck.” There was no hint that Miller might be kidding.
“Hurry!” Blaine begged. “They already hate Anna. I can’t stand the thought of them hurting her.”
Miller nodded once and turned away.
Mark took a step closer to Blaine, putting himself between her and the street. “Don’t worry,” he whispered. “Everything is going to be all right.”
Twenty-Nine
Blaine made it halfway down the passage to the café door before she turned her face to the wall, wishing she could melt into the brick. Mark had just said the words she’d longed to hear for months and he didn’t even know he’d spoken them to his wife. Loneliness, fear and panic overwhelmed her. She pushed against the wall and tried to breathe.
She hadn’t left him the day of the bombing—he’d left her long before that. The politeness, the shortened conversations, the courtesy of routine. He didn’t know her. Maybe he never had. He’d never taken the time. All he’d ever witnessed was the outside of her and now that had changed, he saw her as only a stranger.
The hollowness of her life gripped her soul. The possibility that Mark felt it too doubled the pain. He must not only mourn his wife, but also the prospect of what could have been between them and never was. If she could blame him it would be so easy, but the crime rested with them both. He’d been right, they were a perfect match.
Blaine became aware of the heat of his body hovering just behind her and wished she could tell him how dearly she needed him, how deeply she’d always needed him. But she had never known how to tell him.
He would have no idea how to comfort her now. In the darkness between the streetlight and the café it seemed safe to be so close to him, and she needed his nearness so desperately. She’d been adrift for so long.
“Don’t worry a
bout your friend.” Mark placed his hand on her shoulder. “I’m sure that big guy won’t let anything happen to the old woman.” He rubbed his hand comfortingly across her shoulders. “Boys are more talk than action. I’ve seen them cry like babies when they get in front of a judge.”
Blaine could no longer endure the distance between them. She turned into his chest, wrapping her arms around his neck and holding on as if her life depended on it.
For a few moments Mark didn’t react. His hand just rested on her shoulder. He could feel her tears dampening his shirt. He took a deep breath.
And breathed in the scent of his wife, his mate.
A dam broke deep inside and he pulled her closer, needing the nearness to her as desperately as he needed air. He stopped thinking, analyzing and simply felt.
His mind floated while he held her, a woman reason told him he knew nothing about. He buried his face in her hair and breathed for what seemed like the first time in weeks. She smelled of cinnamon and Ivory soap and something else. She smelled like Blaine. Smiling, he thought of telling Lilly that he finally got close enough to the waitress.
She felt so good pressed against him. Her heart pounding, her breath on his throat, her breasts flattened against his chest. With instinct more than thought, he leaned her against the building, pressing her into the brick, needing the solidness of her, needing her softness.
He told himself he would pull away if she gave the slightest sign she didn’t welcome his nearness, but to his amazement, she dug her fingers into his hair and held him just as tightly.
All thought vanished as his body moved with her breathing. He rubbed his beard against her cheek, and she turned her mouth to his, as if sensing what he wanted. His lips found hers before the idea of kissing her reached his brain, but he made no move to pull back.
The passion of their kiss rocked him. Her too, if he gauged her reaction correctly. She pulled back a moment and rubbed her cheek once more against his beard, then returned to his lips.
He felt as if they stood in deep water in the middle of a lightning storm not wanting to move. He wouldn’t have pulled away even if they’d taken a direct hit.
