tapped her on the shoulder, pulling her out of her thoughts. Her pad of paper had a message scrawled across the top. Do you like the ocean?
“I could listen to it for hours.” Lydia winced and hoped Miriam couldn’t read lips. Here she was, speaking about hearing the ocean, and Miriam couldn’t hear a thing. Empathy, Lydia. Empathy.
Miriam scribbled out another message, I understand, and Lydia’s shoulders sagged in embarrassment. The woman could read lips.
Lydia took the pad and pen to write quickly I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—
Miriam snatched the pad away, her head shaking back and forth, a reassuring smile on her lightly freckled face. “It’s...all right.” Mrs. Matthews spoke aloud, her voice a little squeaky but articulate. “I imagine...the sound is beautiful.” Her face lit up in a friendly, reassuring smile while her hands made the signs for her words. The word for beautiful was represented by Miriam’s long fingers fanning out in a sweeping circle over her whole face. Lydia didn’t think she’d ever seen anything more beautiful. Immediately, her hand went to her face to practice the sign, determined to learn it right away.
“I can see you love to learn,” Miriam said again. “That tells me...you are good at your job.”
Lydia’s practicing hand stilled over her face. How did this woman know those were the words she’d longed to hear for the last five years?
For some unknown reason, this woman who couldn’t hear a word didn’t need words to see deep into people and connect with them. Miriam must make a great principal here on the island. Lydia thought the kids must love this kind, perceptive and encouraging lady.
For the first time in her life, Lydia didn’t feel pressured to come up with small talk, and yet, all she wanted to do was talk and get to know Miriam Matthews. And couldn’t. The language barrier would stand in the way. Another reason for the book. She’d order it today.
A knock on the passenger window whipped Lydia’s head to her right. It was the balding deputy who had picked her up in Rockland yesterday and brought her to Stepping Stones. She rolled down the window. “Good morning, Deputy Vaughn, how are you?”
“Morning, Doctor. I’m doing well, thank ya. I just left the site. Kept watch over the remains all night for you, just like you asked. And call me Derek. We’re not formal around here.”
“I have a feeling Sheriff Grant would disagree with you on that one. He seems like a by-the-book kind of guy, but okay, Derek, thank you for protecting the scene.”
The man’s brown beady eyes darkened. Had she said something wrong? “It wouldn’t be the first time the sheriff and I have disagreed,” he grumbled deeply.
Lydia fidgeted in her seat. There were obviously some unresolved issues going on at the sheriff’s station between Sheriff Grant and his deputy. Lydia knew how that went, having issues with her own boss. This was empathy she could offer. “I’m sorry to hear that, Derek. I know work relationships can be difficult.”
“For sure.” His thick Maine accent made her smile. He seemed like a nice man. “Do you need a ride over to the site?” he asked.
“No, I’m meeting Sheriff Grant at the Underground Küchen. He’ll bring me, but thank you.”
The man shrugged his rounded shoulders and pulled out a pair of leather gloves. “I’ll just head back to the station and do some paperwork then. That’s all I’m ever allowed to do, anyway.” Derek pivoted to his left and disappeared around the back of the car.
The two women watched him in the rearview mirrors disappear behind a gray clapboard shack with multicolored lobster buoys hanging off the side.
Lydia swung back around to Miriam with a shrug. “Looks like the sheriff has caused some strife with his deputy. I can’t say I’m surprised. He’s been a little rude to me, too.”
Miriam frowned for a moment before picking up her pad and pen. After a minute, she passed the pad over. Wesley cares about the islanders more than anything. I know he can be hard on people, but that’s only because people have been hard on him. When I first came here, he was horrible to me. I have forgiven him, and knowing what I know now about him, I hurt for him.
Lydia read the note, but all she could do was nod and look out to sea. Bad things happen to people. That didn’t give them the right to pay the pain forward. And she would make sure the sheriff knew that the next time he barked at her.
Lydia smiled politely and stepped out, turning to sign “thank you” again.
Miriam scrawled another message and held out the pad with a twinkle in her eyes. Don’t order the special. It feeds an army. Owen once made that mistake, and it wasn’t pretty.
An image of the deputy stuffing his face with a whole lot of knockwurst made Lydia giggle. It lightened her mood as she hefted her tool kit to the place she was supposed to meet the sheriff.
Down the street and onto the boardwalk, a row of stores and restaurants welcomed her.
The two restaurants were on either end of the boardwalk with a long row of storefronts and alleyways sandwiched between them. The Underground Küchen was closest to her and built right into the side of one of the rocky cliffs. She stepped up to the glass window, intrigued to find out if she could see the cliff inside on the back wall.
She couldn’t see a cliff, but she did see hoards of people inside. Breakfast at the Underground Küchen bustled, and her stomach went all queasy at the sight. She had to go in there and converse with all those people. She’d never been good at basic conversation. She’d much rather talk about the molecular makeup of the human body, but most people glazed over as soon as she said the words chemical composition.
Had the sheriff arrived yet? She hoped so and searched for Wesley’s long, silky strands in the crowd. At the sight of her silly grin in the reflection of the glass, she backed away from the window and headed to a wooden bench. She couldn’t believe how girlish she was acting over the surly man. Even if he was a very beautiful, surly man.
Lydia imagined the tall, strong sheriff and practiced her newly acquired hand sign for the word beautiful as she moved toward the bench. Just as she was about to sit, her arm was yanked back as her tool kit was nearly ripped from her hands.
She whipped around, tightening her hold on the handle with every ounce of muscle in her. As she wrenched her case back, she took notice of a pair of black leather gloves on the thief’s hands. Gloves that resembled the ones the sheriff had worn yesterday.
The person pulled harder, but Lydia held on as though a life depended on it. And it did. Hers. Without her tool kit, she couldn’t do her job.
She raised her gaze to see who she fought so hard, but all she caught was the pulled down bill of a black baseball cap. Big black sunglasses covered more than half of her assailant’s tilted-down face. She wanted to rip the hat off, but getting her tool kit took precedence.
With all her might, Lydia pulled up. In the same moment, her arm was yanked forward. She refused to let go and gave one more yank back. The force sent her body twisting and flying back into the air, the case out in front of her, still attached to her hand and leading the way.
She had no time to think more on it as her time of flying airborne came to an end after mere seconds. She fell hard on the splintery
