going?”
Charley grunted his acknowledgment, his hand shaking as he lifted the heavy crockery mug to his mouth. The Iraq vet wasn’t homeless, although the cabin on the town’s outskirts next to his old cabinetmaking shop was no palace. But his graying beard was always neatly trimmed and his clothes clean, smelling of pine needles and menthol. She knew he’d served a couple of tours overseas with the National Guard, back before she and Tomas were married, that he’d been medically discharged when an IED went off close enough to inflict some brain damage of indeterminate severity. Some days were better than others, but according to Annie the poor guy would never be able to hold down a real job again. As it was, he often had trouble simply holding on to a thought.
“Can’t complain, honey.” He took a sip, swallowed, then turned droopy-lidded dark eyes to hers. “You?”
Val smiled, even though seeing him nearly every day was hard on her heart. And not only because he was a constant reminder of her own loss. She remembered him as a funny, sweet man who was crazy about kids—he and his wife, who’d passed away shortly before his last tour, had been childless—with a laugh that could be heard for what seemed like miles. Seeing him like this crushed her inside. Were the sacrifices really worth it? she wondered.
“I’m doing good, thanks. But seems to me you’re missing something.” She reached into the glass dessert case for the last piece of blueberry pie, which she set, with a fork, in front of the older man.
“Oh. I didn’t—”
“It’s too messy a piece to charge for. No, seriously, it looks like my dog sat on it.” She smiled at his raspy chuckle; then he sobered, staring at the pie.
“He didn’t really, did he?”
“No, Charley,” she said gently. “I’m just pulling your leg. Because he would’ve snarfed it up long before he sat on it.”
Charley chuckled again, the fork trembling when he picked it up. But the flicker of light in his eyes as he looked over at her, then back at the pie—a blob of flaky crust floating in a glistening, purple puddle—made Val’s heart turn over in her chest. The same as it did each time they played out this little scenario, which was pretty much every day.
“You are an angel, girl,” he said softly, releasing a blissful sigh as he took his first bite. “Some guy’s gonna be damned lucky to get you.”
Even as her face warmed, she smiled, ignoring his last comment. She’d told him about Tomas, more than once. Wasn’t his fault the information didn’t stick.
“It’s only a piece of pie, Charley. No biggie.” With another light squeeze to his arm she went on to the ladies’ room, leaning heavily on the sink to gather her wits. Because to be honest, sometimes Val thought maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, not remembering the stuff that hurt. Except then it’d be like finding out for the first time over and over, wouldn’t it? As awful as it was knowing she’d never see her children’s father again, she couldn’t imagine reliving that initial, searing, disbelieving pain. Whether she’d know she was reliving it or not.
And there went her hyperactive brain again, she thought on a sigh as she pushed away from the sink to go potty. Over the past several hours, between waiting tables and baking, she’d been too busy to think, thank goodness. Especially about how hiring Levi Talbot had left her feeling as if she’d sold her soul. And not only because she still wasn’t sure she hadn’t made a pact with the devil, but because as much as she wanted to stay angry that Levi had returned unscathed while her husband hadn’t returned at all, the haunted look in the devil’s green eyes told her he wasn’t all that unscathed. Not on the inside.
And that could be a problem.
She flushed and went to wash her hands, grimacing at her reflection in the way-too-brightly-lit mirror. Like most men, Levi would probably bluster through whatever was behind that look, or pretend it didn’t matter—Tomas had been a master at it—but Val was guessing Stuff Had Happened. Bad stuff. Which poked at that damned weak spot inside her that, despite everything she’d been through, she’d never been able to toughen up, or even ignore, no matter how badly she’d wanted to. Yeah, caring could be a bitch. The only saving grace was that she imagined the dude would appreciate her sympathy even less than she wanted to feel bad for him—
The door to the tiny bathroom smacked her in the butt as Annie pushed inside. “Sorry, honey—didn’t know you were in here!” Her boss vanished into the stall, calling out as she tinkled, “You know the pies sold out today, right? Except for maybe a half-dozen slices, and I doubt they’ll last until five-thirty.”
“So I gathered. That’s great.”
“You’re telling me.”
The toilet roared behind her employer as she emerged to wash her own hands. As usual, half of Annie’s salt-and-pepper hair had escaped its topknot, floating around her sun-weathered face as she grinned. “Especially since three people bought whole pies. Two cherries, an apple and a lemon meringue. One person bought two,” she said to Val’s brief frown, then cackled. “You’re famous now, girl. In fact, Pam Davis—the Congregational pastor’s wife?—said, thanks to you, she’s given up baking. Although if her husband ever finds out, she’ll have to kill me.”
“My lips are sealed,” Val said, smiling and tossing her rumpled paper towel into the trash before tugging a folded-up printout from her back pocket. She smoothed it out, then showed it to the woman who’d given Val her first job when she was fifteen, cleaning up after school and making sandwiches on the weekends—a job that had given her enough money to buy something new to wear now and then, to go on school field trips. Annie wasn’t the only surrogate mother figure in Val’s life, but she had been the first. Nor was this the first conversation they’d had in the diner’s loo. Many tears had been shed in here over the years, a good many of them onto Annie’s skinny shoulder. “You think the customers would go for this? With my own tweaks, of course.”
Annie shook out her readers, hanging on their glittery chain, before wriggling the earpieces through her hair. “Dulce de Leche crème? Holy crap, you bet.” She plucked off the glasses and let them drop, where they bungeed off her flat chest. “I’m thinking we’re gonna give that Maryanne Hopkins a run for her money. Especially since those cupcakes of hers she swears she bakes herself? I happen to know for a fact she gets ’em from some commercial outfit in Santa Fe. God alone knows what kind of preservatives and what-all they’ve got in ’em. So when can you get a sample pie to me? Please say tomorrow.”
Val smiled. “I’ll try. Depends on how the evening goes. Josie’s been balking about doing her homework, so I may have to ride herd. Spring fever, I suppose. Only one more week of school, thank goodness.”
Annie’s light brown eyes went soft. “How’s she doing?”
“Hard to tell,” Val said on a sigh. “Most of the time she seems okay, but...she’s too quiet. Too serious. She used to be—” she smiled “—gigglier.”
“Give her time,” Annie said gently, then laid a hand on Val’s arm. “And how are you doing?”
“Getting by. Listening to hear what’s next, I suppose.”
The older woman pulled her into a hug, then released her, her hands still on her shoulders. “And that’s all anyone can expect. Especially so soon. Although, for what’s it’s worth? I think you’re doing a fabulous job. Those babies are lucky to have you.”
“And I’m
