Page 69 of Memories of the Lost

So Clare baked gluten-free for her, nut-free for one of her grandchildren, and egg-free for the vegans. Not all in one bread, usually, but something for everyone, and they’d all be there for Liam’s visit. She’d invited him to stay at the farmhouse, and he’d agreed happily. He would arrive on Sunday and stay for just a few days before he took off for his European tour. Clare had no doubt there would be many visits from the cousins who remembered him, and neighbors who were dazzled by his fame and beauty. It was like having a movie star in town.

But she was adamant about protecting him, too, thus the family dinner on Sunday, and a simple tea a couple of days later for theneighbors who wanted to drop in. She’d told Liam they’d all want selfies. That was fine, he’d said, not bothered.

As she unloaded the flours and powders and bulk ingredients onto the cart, the woman and the clerk checking her out were gossiping, first about someone they both knew who’d obviously been caught red-handed having an affair. Clare sent out a kindly thought to the one who’d found them out and the two who’d been caught. It was never as cut-and-dried as everyone would believe. Life was less black-and-white than was comfortable.

In a little lag, Clare fished the last small bags from the back of the cart, brushing hair out of her face when the woman asked, “Did you hear about the bones they found in Wulfecombe? Surely, a murder.”

The clerk tutted. “You’ve been listening to too much true crime, Nancy. It’s probably some servant from the castle. Or some other poor being laid in their grave too soon.”

“Murdered!” Nancy cried with some relish, and Clare saw that it was a game with them. “I heard it was a teenager, or maybe younger.”

The clerk said, “My partner is with the police. They got the report back. A little girl, they think. Maybe seven or so.”

Clare didn’t realize she was staring so fiercely until the clerk said, “Sorry, is this bothering you? We’ll stop.”

“It’s all right.” She struggled to arrange her face, her chest growing tight. “I just think ...” She looked at the groceries, which she would still need after all this. “I need some air. I’ll be right back.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

On Saturday morning, Tillie sat at a sidewalk table outside Noon and Night, bathing in the milky spring sunshine, hoping to lift her spirits. A pot of daffodils bloomed by the door, and she could smell apple blossoms somewhere. Birds twittered and chirped and whistled in the short trees along the street. At the next table over, two young women with impossibly fresh skin wore halters as if it were July. She could see goose bumps on the arms of the one closest to her.

Once upon a time, that was Tillie, too. Now, in her late thirties, her thin sweater was not enough. Or maybe she was just cold from missing Liam. It had been strange to sleep without him last night, even if that was ridiculous. She had one text from him as he boarded this morning, well before she woke:I hate seeing the lights of the city disappearing, you with them.

She wrote back a long reply, then erased it. Instead, she wrote simply,Safe travels. I loved the past few days.Which seemed nice but not too overly needy.

Now, she glanced at the screen in her hand. No reply, but then he probably wouldn’t even land for another hour or two. She typed:Hope you landed safely and all is well. I miss you already!

And then she felt like Jared and erased that one, too, then dropped her phone in her bag.

Jon strode down the sidewalk, a turquoise scarf looped around his neck, aviator sunglasses shielding his eyes. He looked the part of a successful artist, but then, he always did, probably had even back in Oklahoma. She stood to hug him, and he took off his glasses. “How are you doing, baby?”

“Good. Fine.”

His expression was skeptical, but they sat down and ordered their favorites: eggs Benedict for Jon, a spinach omelet for Tillie. The hash browns there were fabulous, and they ordered some to split.

“So, is Lusciousness on his way?”

She nodded. “I was so trying to keep it light, but—” She struggled with the right image. “He hit my life like a tidal wave, and now I’m on the shore, and the wave is gone, and it’s all just the same as it was before, only kind of wrecked.”

“Oh, honey!” He took her hand. “You fell hard!”

“It’s stupid.” She blinked away tears. “I know it is.”

“Is it, though? Isn’t falling in love what we are supposed to do?”

“In five minutes?”

He lifted his shoulders. “I mean—maybe? For what it’s worth, it sure looked like it was mutual.”

“Thanks.” She felt embarrassed by all of it. “I’m tired of talking about my life. Tell me everything. We haven’t talked that much about the show, and it went so well!”

He was very quiet for a moment, his luminous eyes resting on her face. “Why do you do that? You’re allowed to take up space, love. You can be needy and scared and lost, and I will still love you.”

She ducked her my head. “I know. You love me. But I need to stop navel-gazing and thinking all about me, me, me. Will you help me, please? Let’s talk aboutanythingbesides my life. What have you been reading? Bingeing?”

He measured her silently. Then: “Okay. I’m loving a book by Kacen Callender. It’s dark but really good. I think you might like it.”

She fell into the quick-slow rhythm of his voice, the cadence soothing in its intimate familiarity. He sketched the story, and she fell into the images he painted. It helped stop her attention from wandering back to her phone.