“I’m using a mix.”

  “So I’ve heard.” She smiled.

  “I don’t want to do that anymore. I need to do better and I thought since we should complement rather than compete, we could work together. If you’re game for something new and different, I could sell your pastries, but the kind of stuff that won’t cannibalize your sales here . . . And I hoped you’d even be willing to sell to me at a discount, or even wholesale.”

  “Wholesale?”

  “It’s a hard ask, but if we could share the profits, rather than me pay up front, it would really help me out. I’m struggling over there.” She stared at him for so long he thought he was sunk. “It’s okay if you’re not interes—”

  “I have a pistachio, tarragon, and thyme scone that will knock your socks off.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Yes.” She grinned. “It’s incredible.”

  “No. I mean about selling to me?”

  “That too.”

  “Okay. I have one more favor to ask . . .”

  Minutes later, after striking a deal he suspected was too good to be true, he and Becca hit the sidewalk again. Jeremy pulled out his phone to check his email. “Perfect timing.”

  “What, Daddy?”

  He glanced at his daughter. Her face was covered in bright yellow sunshine icing from a sugar cookie the size of her head. “I just got an email. Let’s get the car from behind Andante and head to our final stop. We’re going to school.”

  Becca threw him a hard look.

  “Don’t get grumpy . . . I’m not leaving you there. The home economics teacher emailed me that she’s still clearing out her room and she’s got some pillows for me. Don’t you think some bright pillows will make Andante a happy place?”

  Before Becca could answer, Jeremy’s phone pinged and he swiped the screen to read a text.

  I’ve got a great idea for you. Call me tonight.

  “What, Daddy?” Becca repeated and pulled at his shirt hem.

  “Just a text from a friend, Bug. Do you remember Alyssa? She took you to the park.” He quickly texted her back that he couldn’t wait, for the idea and to see her.

  It’s a date.

  Her quick reply dialed his smile up a notch.

  An hour later Jeremy parked his car again by Andante’s alley door. He popped his trunk as Becca leapt from the back seat, and the two of them hauled out three large black trash bags. He looked toward the coffee shop’s back door—and froze.

  Becca did not. She launched herself forward. “Ryan!”

  “Becca Boo!” Ryan swept the little girl high and held her aloft. His eyes remained fixed on Jeremy. “Can we talk?”

  Chapter 31

  The church was packed.

  Margery Willliams, as far as Seth knew, had never been a demonstrative, loud, or particularly forceful woman. From all he’d heard she had been a sweet, behind-the-scenes soft light who brought a quiet joy every place she went.

  When he had first met the Williamses, he suspected George’s louder gregarious personality overshadowed his wife. But the years had taught him many things, including the fact that looks can be deceiving.

  He reached for Janet’s hand. She held tight and scanned the sanctuary again. Seth knew the last time she’d been inside this church was eight months before, for Maddie Carter’s funeral, and it had left her bereft. He suspected her thoughts were cast that direction as well and hoped she’d be okay.

  As usual, he was wrong.

  “He’s not coming. He doesn’t get it, Seth.”

  “Who doesn’t get what?” Seth followed her gaze, catching on that she was speaking of Jeremy.

  He’d caught the younger man out running errands with his daughter the afternoon before. “I’m not planning on going to the funeral,” he had said. “I’ll be in the way. George doesn’t know me. I’ll express my condolences next time he comes into the shop.”

  “That’s not good enough.” Seth’s tone had surprised them both. He softened it. “I can’t tell you how much the men in our group have shown up for me in the past few years, and they’ll be there for you. Tomorrow is part of that.”

  Jeremy had protested again, so Seth left him with one final thought. “You’re either in or you’re out, no matter how many times you make the meetings. Janet and I will save you a seat.”

  Janet squeezed his hand. “He doesn’t understand that he needs us, all of us.”

  “Give him a few more minutes.”

  “I’m not sure how long I can hold out.” She tucked closer. “Saving seats at a funeral is not cool.”

  He almost laughed out loud but caught himself just in time. Nevertheless, a hiccup escaped and that earned a quick hard glare from his soon-to-be wife.

  As the organ began the first notes of “Be Thou My Vision,” Jeremy slid next to Janet. Seth could feel her melt with relief and turn her focus forward.

  Pastor Zach then stood and welcomed everyone. After a few words, he motioned to Bella Williams to begin the first reading.

  As she read from Isaiah, Zach looked out into the congregation. In many ways he felt unworthy to officiate Margery’s service. He had only met her twice, both times while visiting her at home after pain and weariness had slowed her speech and thinking. He recognized her peace, however, and it had been a beautiful gift—to him.

  That’s what humbled him now. Everyone in this place had known and loved her. Margery had lived in their midst for sixty-some years, and at the end, when he should have offered comfort and guidance to her, she had given them to him. Again Zach felt as if he were taking from his new congregation and not giving, not shepherding them.

  As soon as the second reading ended, this one from Colossians, he stood for the Gospel reading and the homily. The family had chosen the Good Samaritan parable from Luke’s Gospel, and he had prepared well. He’d stayed up late into the night making sure he hit all the right notes and could deliver each line with clarity and conviction.

  He stepped forward and found his mind blank. He looked down at his notes and felt his fist crumple them without even recognizing that he willed the action. He closed his eyes for a beat and a prayer and then simply spoke without knowing where the next seven minutes would take them.

  He talked of neighbors, friends, enemies—for there weren’t many greater enemies than the Jewish people and the Samaritans in the first century. He talked of love, care, and sacrifice. He talked of Margery and the stories people had shared in the past week, the lives she touched and the legacy she left behind. He talked of what he saw within her children and the care that permeated their home. He talked of blessings. He talked of peace.

  As he felt himself winding down, he glanced over to Father Luke, who sat fully vested to the right of the altar. He wasn’t alone. The revelation was so clear and hit him so hard Zach looked around, fully expecting the entire congregation to have felt it. He had never experienced a placement or a town in which rectors, priests, and deacons from other parishes came to his church, planned events across denominations, or became good friends, but he had found that community and that home here. And for the first time since he’d arrived at Winsome Presbyterian, Zach paid peace more than lip service; he felt it sink deep within him.

  As he stepped away from the lectern, Devon, Margery and George’s fourth child, shook his hand and took his place.

  Devon fidgeted with his notes. He didn’t like being a step above everyone. He didn’t like being the center of attention. Keep your head down, your mouth shut, blend in, and get by. Early life had taught him those lessons, and his seventeen years removed from them had only loosened their grip marginally. But it had loosened. And that was why he forced himself to volunteer today and stand up to speak. His mom would’ve been proud. He looked down at his dad. He looked proud too.

  Devon cleared his throat. “I asked to talk to you today. No, it was more than that. I practically had to wrestle Michael for the honor.” He paused to let the quiet laughter subside. “I wanted to share some really good things about my mom, but Pastor Zach got me moving a different direction, and those words don’t feel so important anymore.” He swiped at his eyes. “My mom was the gentlest soul, and it’s true, she loved well. She was what she was, and there was no pretense about her. But a loving, gentle soul is made by and through fire. A loving, gentle soul doesn’t get that way because life keeps it all safe and sheltered, up in a box on a shelf. Life isn’t so kind. It’s a gift from God and it’s also a hard-fought choice. Most of you may be shocked to hear this, but Bella, Terrell, and I aren’t our parents’ natural-born children.” A small laugh escaped throughout the church. It had been a running joke with his mom for years and everyone knew it.

  “But what will shock you more is that my mom had a childhood a lot like Bella’s, Terrell’s, and mine before she and Dad saved us. She was adopted at nine, and some pretty sad and bad stuff happened before that day. She recognized us when she and Dad chose us. She went in eyes wide open.”

  Devon took a deep breath and gripped the sides of the lectern. He noticed how his dark fingers blanched with the pressure. “She and Dad chose us and remade us. And not just us. I expect Michael, Candice, and Lee would say it rocked their worlds too. And stretching further, my parents have ten grandkids here today and three great-grandchildren, and all those lives are different too because of that choice. That one choice, and a million others after it, was the fire that was Mom. You saw the peace. We relied on the strength.

  “I guess I just want to say, as we remember all the gentle, kind, and fun things about my mom, including the fact that she couldn’t navigate her way down our driveway, I also want to call to mind her conviction and her endurance, because in defense of the downtrodden, the fallen, the hurt, or the marginalized—in defense of us—our mom was a fighter. We came to trust that and grew safe within her care.

  “And Dad . . .” Devon looked down at his father and held eye contact for a beat. “He’s made of the same good stuff. I love you, Dad.” He then whispered, looking up, “I love you, Mom.”

  There wasn’t a dry eye as the service ended with “Amazing Grace” and “Seek Ye First.” Father Luke followed the family out of the nave, then outside the church, marveling over the beauty of the day and of a life well lived. He noticed Janet and Seth walking hand in hand, along with Claire, heading to the parking lot. He briefly looked around, wondering where Chris was, knowing he was somewhere there too. He also wondered if his little brother had proposed to Madeline yet, but pushed the thought away. Chris would have called.

  Luke watched as Janet climbed into a car with Claire and left. Seth stood alone. Luke caught up with him and reached out. “Good to see you, Seth.”

  “I’m glad you’re here . . .” Seth pumped his hand as he looked around the parking lot. There was something hesitant in Seth’s look and tone that signaled to Luke that his friend was struggling. “They had quite a marriage.”

  Luke nodded. “Over sixty years, I hear. Margery and I spent some time together working on the gardens next to the church, so I got to know her pretty well, including her temper. Devon was right about his mom. When someone tried to deal shady with us a couple years ago, she dressed him down good. Everything said in there was certainly true.”

  Seth looked across the emptying parking lot as if pondering something about Margery, about George, about himself. “Janet is scared she’ll mess things up.” He looked back to Luke. “But I am too. I was so absorbed in my career, in what I was doing, I took her for granted. I stopped seeing my wife. How do I know I’ve changed enough? That I can be who she needs now?”

  Luke said a quick prayer for guidance and then gave Seth his straight-up answer. “You’ll never have certainty and you will mess up. We’re human. It’s what we do.” He paused to let his words sink in. Seth stared at him. “But there is also grace, and you and Janet know about grace. So I suggest you pray. Every day. And you keep coming to that men’s group and have the courage to share and talk. You’ve got good friends who have been there for you, and that doesn’t change when things go well, as I hope they will for you two. In fact, I believe we need our friends, their support and grounding influence, more when things do go well. It’s in those times pride can set us up for a good toppling. A man doesn’t take his wife for granted in the trenches, only in the towers.”

  “That seems a little simple.” Seth raised a brow.

  Father Luke laughed. It was loud and it felt good. “Almost everything is. We just complicate it.”

  Chapter 32

  Ryan had been back for two days and Jeremy was still smiling.

  Not only that, within a single morning, the pillows had created a buzz. Jeremy felt it. He heard it. And in the few hours yesterday before he’d gone to Margery Williams’s service, he’d witnessed it. New and different customers came in, probably called by friends. They walked in Andante’s front door, looked around in surprise, and then stepped to the counter and ordered. They ordered drinks. They ordered Jill’s pastries. They came back for refills. They lingered at tables. Even the two old espresso machines must have sensed something different and good was happening, because they only soured one shot in seven rather than their usual one in three.

  “Can we talk?”

  That’s all Ryan had said in the alley two afternoons ago.

  Jeremy had swallowed hard and bent to his daughter. “Bug, why don’t you drag these bags into the shop and spread the pillows all around while Ryan and I talk. Anywhere you want.”

  Becca, without question, strong-armed the bags one by one toward the shop front.

  “The middle school’s home economics teacher gave me all her orphaned pillows.” Jeremy flipped the light switch and gestured to Becca’s retreating form. “It’s a start.”

  Ryan’s face revealed nothing.

  “I’m sorry, man.” Jeremy dropped his keys on his desk and turned back to face Ryan. Some things needed to be said face-to-face.

  “You said that, about thirty times.”

  “It bears repeating. I’ll keep saying it, and showing you too, if you’ll come back to work here . . . Not for the work, that too, but because we started this together.” Jeremy twisted back to the desk. “Wait . . . Can I read you something?” He picked up a copy of Of Mice and Men. He’d bought his own copy the day after Ryan left. “I marked something in here. It reminded me . . . of us.”

  He flipped through the pages until he found the dog-eared one, and read aloud. “‘Guys like us, that work on ranches, are the loneliest guys in the world. They got no fambly. They don’t belong no place . . . With us it ain’t like that. We got a future. We got somebody to talk to.’ I didn’t get it, back in Seattle or even here after we moved, but I do now. You’re as much ‘fambly’ as Becca is to me.”

  “One book and you see me in a whole new light?”

  “No. But it was never about you. You could say, one huge mistake, after a ton of little ones, plus one book, and I see myself in a new light.” He tapped the book against his palm. “And it didn’t teach me anything new. Steinbeck simply gets it, like you said. He wrote what I felt but couldn’t articulate, couldn’t recognize . . . I’ve been alone a long time, Ryan. You know that. You said yourself my daughter couldn’t pick me out of a lineup before we moved here, and even since then, you’re easier with her, with everyone, than I am.”

  Jeremy set the book down and leaned against the desk again, bringing them eye to eye. “You saw the people where I only saw the place. Because for me, that was safest.” When Ryan said nothing, he continued. “And I pushed you, I pushed here, and . . . it’s going under. But I’m trying, man. For Becca, for you, if you’ll come back, and for me. I figure it’s worth fighting for as long as I can, but I can’t do it alone. Besides, alone it doesn’t have a whole lot of meaning to me anymore.”

  Ryan looked around as if taking in the room anew. He shifted his focus back to Jeremy. “I’ll help.”

  “You will?” Jeremy popped up. “I mean, that’s great. Thanks. Thanks for believing in me.”

  “I didn’t say that.” Ryan pulled his head back. “But you had no reason to believe in me a couple years ago either. You gave me a chance.”

  “Fair enough.” Jeremy stretched out his hand. “We start there.”

  Ryan reached out quickly and his handshake was firm. Jeremy figured it wasn’t such a bad start after all.

  Now, two days later, they threw open Andante’s door on a bright, clear Saturday Fourth of July morning and worked to caffeinate what felt like all of Winsome as the town gathered for its annual parade. Jeremy positioned himself behind the counter, and when he wasn’t pulling shots at a record pace, he sought out Ryan working among the tables. Jeremy felt a compulsion to make sure he was still there. Something about Ryan’s presence, Ryan’s belief in his ability to change, felt as needed and as fundamental as Becca’s trust.

  Sure enough, Ryan was there every time he looked up—and working tirelessly situating customers, clearing tables, and even engaging in conversation when he had a chance.

  Jeremy smiled. Both men were trying something new.

  Chapter 33

  Alyssa had waited seven months for the call, and when it finally came the Monday after the Fourth of July, it gave her less than three hours’ warning.

  “Ten o’clock? This morning ten o’clock?”

  “2111 Roosevelt Road, Chicago. Agent Barnes will meet you at the front desk.”

  She was so stunned she couldn’t think what to say next.

  The person on the other end took her silence as acquiescence and ended the call. “Thank you, Ms. Harrison.”

  Alyssa tapped her lawyer’s number in Palo Alto.

  “I can’t say good morning, Alyssa. Do you know what time it is out here?”

  “It’s not good here anyway. I just got the call. For this morning. Ten o’clock. Did you hear me? As in two and a half hours from now.”

  “Relax. That’s not unusual. We talked about this.” His voice came in a monotone across the line.

 

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