All I did was carry you up the stairs. No big thing. By the way, I slept down here on the couch. I would have left, but…I didn’t think it would be a good idea to leave you alone like that.”
Lacey blinked at her self-appointed protector. His hair was tousled, a blond strand dangling near his left eye. His blue cardigan and jeans looked unironed but were not entirely wrinkled. “Well, I see you know how to make yourself at home in the kitchen, at least. So, was it Joan who taught you to cook?”
He shook his head. “Nah. I taught myself when I moved out. Got tired of takeout. Too expensive.” He walked to the garbage bin, tossed in the burnt bacon, then headed to the sink to wash out the burned residue before returning the skillet to the stove. He placed fresh strips of bacon in it, turned on the burner. The bacon immediately began to sizzle. Lacey half wondered if he had cooked up the whole pack, then felt ungrateful, since he was cooking it for her.
“Calvin never could cook,” she said thoughtfully. “I remember trying to teach him to bake a cobbler one time. He turned the oven too high, totally burned up the peaches.” She smiled. “It took hours to air out that sickeningly sweet smell. He didn’t fare much better with anything else. Except the occasional hot dog and box of macaroni. Those he could do OK.”
Sean didn’t smile. As a matter of fact, his face seemed to dim. The subject of Calvin was obviously still too raw for him.
“I thank you for going to all of this trouble, but I don’t think my stomach can handle anything right now. Maybe just a little coffee.”
“An empty stomach isn’t good for a hangover. You should try to eat a little something. I looked in your refrigerator for some kind of juice, but I didn’t see any. If you want, I can run out to the store and get some orange juice. That’s always good.”
“You’re way too knowledgeable about the cures for a hangover. Hopefully, not through experience.”
He shrugged as he turned over the strips. The grease popped, and she remembered the times when the searing bubbles had touched her hands, nearly cooking the flesh. She hoped he was being careful.
“Some experience,” he said quietly. “It’s not something I’m proud of.” He finished up the bacon, then walked to an overhead cabinet and pulled out a couple of plates and mugs. Then found her fork drawer and grabbed a couple. He seemed to have totally familiarized himself with her kitchen. He loaded one of the plates with eggs and a few strips of bacon, then brought it over to the table along with a fork. “Want some toast?”
She shook her head, eyeing the plate that should have been appetizing. The eggs were a perfect fluffy yellow. Much better than any she had ever made. And the bacon was the right amount of crisp, just short of being overcooked. Her bacon tended to be rubbery.
At his urging, Lacey tasted a forkful of eggs. Despite her protesting stomach, she savored the light texture, the dash of salt and…something else…then identified the extra spice as sage. He really was a good cook. That would be a plus when he married someday. Most women appreciated a man who could share the culinary burdens.
She took another bite, while he poured a cup of coffee and brought it over. He didn’t offer sugar or cream, and she didn’t feel like getting it herself. She sipped the brew gingerly, found that it was a little strong for her taste. Still, it helped wash down the eggs and settled her stomach somewhat.
He went back to his station at the counter, resting his butt against the edge, half turned to look out the window over the sink. Lacey had the feeling that he was deliberately allowing her space. It was something a servant would do.
“Aren’t you going to eat?”
He looked at her. “No, I’ll just wait.”
“Why? The food’s only going to get cold. Stop being so formal and come over and sit down.”
He hesitated, then loaded up a second plate, grabbed a fork, and brought them over to the table. He took the seat across from her, peeked at her as he sat down. Even then, he didn’t start eating right away. He seemed to be waiting for a cue from her. She took another bite, and was satisfied to see him lifting the fork to his mouth. She noticed that his wrist was bare; he had gotten rid of the ID bracelet with his name he used to wear faithfully.
They ate in silence, and she thought that if she closed her eyes, it might have been Calvin sitting across from her during one of their rare quiet mornings. If she didn’t look straight at Sean, she could even pretend for a few moments. She almost felt normal again. No death, no playing the martyr. She was just Lacey, having a meal. Coming down from a high she didn’t even remember, sitting across from a young man she had known when he was just a very young kid. From all she had observed in the last few hours, she could say that Joan had raised a sensitive and caring son. That was the only thing a mother could hope to do.
The headache was barely a whimper as she finished her coffee. She put down her cup and found that Sean had been looking at her, probably for more than a few moments.
“What? Do I look that awful?”
“No. I was just remembering something.”
“What?”
“The first time I met you.”
“Goodness, that was ages and ages ago. I can’t even remember.”
This morning, the blue of his eyes was less gray—clear, intense, and direct. They nearly bore into her. “I remember you making me pancakes and bacon that morning. When I told you I hadn’t eaten you insisted that I eat, said you weren’t going to have me running around without a decent breakfast.”
“Ahh, the breakfast-is-the-most-important-meal-of-the-day-speech, huh?”
He smiled. “Just about. I also remember how nice you were. And how you told me that I should consider your house a second home.” He stopped, considering his words. “I want you to know that I always felt welcome here…at least with you. You were always kind to me. And you actually used to take time to talk to me. I liked our conversations. There were more than a few times I really needed them.”
Lacey felt there was something else beneath the thanks. She pictured the young Sean, the remoteness she had initially taken as a sign of brattiness. To be honest, she hadn’t liked him much in the beginning. But she had sensed that he needed some friendly words and she had given them to him, if only halfheartedly. Now, she felt guilty that she hadn’t realized how much those words, how much her “kindness” had meant to him.
“Well, you were a sweet boy…” she started, wondering why she felt the need to lie.
He laughed. “I don’t think so. My mom used to say that if crankiness ever became a stock, I would have the whole market cornered.”
Lacey laughed with him. Joan always had a pert sense of humor. The two of them had gotten on great the first day she stopped by to meet “Calvin’s mom.” And to see who else was feeding her son. Dark-haired with blue eyes, Lacey had spotted the resemblance. Probably he had taken his hair coloring from his father. It occurred to her that she had never met Sean’s father, had only spoken with him over the phone a couple of times.
“You weren’t that bad. I just sensed that maybe you had your typical teenage problems. Lord knows, Cal wasn’t an angel, either. I think most young people feel they’re carrying the world’s burdens. Little do they know. You wait until they grow older, learn a little more, and begin
