picture again. That’s when he knew it was over for him. When he saw the blood, and he finally felt the pain. He thought about her right up to the end, and he thought he saw her, in his head, calling to him—sick, scared, and calling him. He said her name, and that was it.”
He looked down at the coffee in his hand, this time drank deeply. “Jesus.”
“He’s part of you.” Justine wrapped her arms around Ryder, held tight. “Of all of us. He needed someone to tell his story, someone to tell her. It breaks my heart.”
“Stop that.” But Ryder brushed a tear from his mother’s cheek. “It’s hard enough without everybody crying about it.”
“No more tears.” Eliza Ford stood beside Hope, and she smiled.
“Well, holy God.” With Tyrone in his arms, Willy B dropped heavily on the stool beside Clare. “Beg pardon.”
“You found him.”
Ryder wished to God she’d chosen someone else to latch those eyes on. “He’s buried a few miles outside of town, on part of what used to be his family farm. He’s buried with his brothers.”
“He loved his brothers, and when he learned of Joshua’s death, he began to talk of joining the fight. But no, not his grave. It isn’t his grave you found that matters.”
She laid her hand on her heart. “His spirit. He thought of me—thank you for finding that thought, that spirit. He thought of me and I of him as this part ended. I wanted a little stone house, and a family, and every day. But most of all, I wanted my Billy. I wanted his love, and to give him mine. I have it, and I feel it. So much time since I could feel it.”
She lifted her hand, turned it. “It does not fade. You found him. Now he can find me. You are his.” She turned to Hope. “You are mine. And I will never forget this gift. I have only to wait for him to come.”
“There was honeysuckle near his grave,” Hope said.
“My favorite. He promised we would let it grow wild near our little house. He died a soldier, but he was not born one. He died thinking of others. Thinking of me. My Billy. Love, the truest of it, never fades. I need to wait, to watch.”
“Lizzy.” Beckett stepped forward.
“You were the first to talk to me, to befriend me. You, all of you, helped me become again, gave me a home again. Gave me love again. He will come to me.”
“Love can work miracles,” Justine said when Lizzy vanished. “I’m going to believe she’s right.”
“She’s happy.” Her eyes damp, Avery leaned against Owen. “It really matters that she’s happy.” Then she grinned at her father, who sat stock-still, Tyrone’s paws on his big shoulders, the pug’s tongue lapping at his face. “What’s the matter, Dad? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Holy God,” he said again, and reached for a sticky bun.
On a quick burst of watery laughter, Clare leaned over to give him and his adoring pug a hard hug.
As they left to go back to work, run errands, live the everyday, Ryder drew Hope out into The Courtyard. “I wasn’t not talking to you.”
“I know. I do know,” she promised him. “You had a strange and difficult experience. I think it must’ve been like being in the war.”
“Yeah, and whoever said war’s hell was playing it light. It’s worse.”
“You needed to process it, take some time. Talking to me doesn’t mean telling me everything that’s on your mind.”
“Okay. Maybe we can set out some guidelines sometime.”
“Maybe we can.”
“I’ve got to get back to it. Maybe you want one of those salads you like tonight.”
“That would be nice.”
“I’ll see you later.”
She watched him and his dog walk away and, smiling to herself, went back inside to her own work.
CHAPTER TWENTY
AT JUSTINE’S REQUEST, HOPE BLOCKED OFF THE INN FOR family on the night of MacTavish’s Restaurant and Tap House’s friends and family night. For the last ten days of a sweltering August, Avery and her crew—and anyone she could dragoon—hauled, carted, scrubbed, and polished her new space. Often when she did her final nightly walk-through of the inn, Hope would see the lights on across the street, and knew Avery and Owen had yet to call it a day. Sometimes she spotted Willy B’s truck parked late into the night, or stirred when Ryder and D.A. slipped in well after she’d gone to bed.
His usual comment was: “Jesus, the Little Red Machine never runs out of gas.”
She helped when she could, hanging art or scrubbing tiles, and as she had with the inn, saw the transformation of a neglected, unused space into something vital and exciting and smart.
Hope spent most of the day of the event doing her favorite thing—perfecting finishing touches—while Avery fussed with recipes, loaded in fresh produce, and held her final staff meeting.
“It’s going to be good, right?” Taking a break, Avery brought Hope a bottle of water and guzzled one of her own.
“Avery, it’s going to be fabulous.”
“It’s going to be good.” With a nod, Avery turned a circle in the bar area. “It looks really good.”
“The word’s
The lighting struck a note between contemporary and Old World with funky shapes and dark bronze tones. Pendants hung over the long granite top of the mahogany bar. High-tops, low-tops, leather sofas offered inviting seating in a room full of character and texture. From the rehabbed wood siding to the old-style brick, the old gold walls and sage green accents, Avery had created a space Hope imagined full of people and fun.
“It’s exactly what I wanted. The fabulous Montgomery boys made it so.” Avery leaned against the doorjamb, smiled in at the restroom where Hope had fussed, adding bud vases to the counter beside the copper vessel sink, polishing the bronze-framed mirror. “Even the johns are perfect.”
Avery stepped back as she heard the restaurant door open.
“Sorry I couldn’t get here before.”
“Don’t apologize,” she said to Clare as she walked through. “Do you know how pregnant you are?”
Clare rubbed her rounded belly. “Pretty pregnant.” She left her hands there as she looked around. “It doesn’t look like you need me. It looks amazing, Avery.”
The dark wood floors gleamed. Lighting sparkled.
“It doesn’t look like the same place. And God, something smells good.”
“I’ve got some soup on. Are you hungry?”
“Constantly.”
“Come on back to the kitchen, have a sample.”
“I will. I want to look around first.” Clare walked down to the bar side, slid an arm around Hope’s waist. “Wow, look at all those taps.”
“Well, it is a tap house,” Avery reminded her. “I’d offer you a beer, but the twins might object.”
“They might. I got the thumbs-up from the doctor. I’m having a glass of wine tonight—savoring every sip—to toast your opening. Where is everyone?” Clare wondered.
“The crew will be back in …” Avery goggled at her watch. “Oh God, about an hour. It’s later than I thought. It always seems to be.”
“Everything’s done.” Hope reached out a hand, took Avery’s, joined the three of them. “You’re going over to the inn, taking a breath—and a nice bubble bath.”
“I don’t have time for a bubble bath.”
“You do, because everything’s done.”
“Clare needs soup!”
“Then I’ll get Clare’s soup, do a quick walk-through, and lock up. You go now, so you can take that breath and bath, get dressed, look like the gorgeous proprietor of Boonsboro’s fabulous new restaurant.”
“And tap house.”
