into the woods, as if it had never left.
And she would also soon discover that Grandpa Vance had slept through everything.
Chapter 4
“Win!” his father called from downstairs. “It’s light. Let’s go.” Win left his room and walked down the long marble staircase to where his father was waiting in the foyer. Although frequently bored, he didn’t mind these outings with his father so much anymore, not like he did when he was a boy. Morgan Coffey liked to get out bright and early to greet shop owners and tourists. From the time Win was about five, Morgan took him with him on these PR treks, to groom him, Win guessed. To let Win know what was expected of him. They went to a different restaurant every morning, where Morgan chatted up everyone. Win just liked the opportunity to get out of the house as soon as possible, at first light. If it had to be with his father, then that was a small price to pay.
“Ready?” Morgan asked when Win met him by the front door.
“If I said no?” Win said as his father opened the door.
Morgan inspected Win, from his red bow tie to his loafers. “You look ready.”
“Then I suppose I am.”
Morgan took a deep breath, reining in his anger. “Don’t get smart with me,” he said.
And Win had to concede that it really was too early in the morning for such antagonism.
They walked down the sidewalk. Vance had disappeared-no easy feat for a giant. This morning, Morgan had decided to go to Welchel’s Diner. When they entered, he scanned the room quickly, then led Win to a table by the door. Morgan liked to greet people as they came in. He liked to zero in on the tourists, on the people he didn’t recognize, first. Win often watched him in awe. For someone so seemingly content with his cloistered life, Morgan Coffey was genuinely thrilled to meet new people. It gave Win hope that, in the end, his father would understand why Win was going to go through with his plans. That’s what these mornings were really about, after all. They might be masked in public relations, but it was really all about acceptance.
Win didn’t know how long they’d been there-not long, he supposed, because their breakfast orders hadn’t arrived yet-when he saw her.
Emily walked past the diner, staring straight ahead, the sunlight at her back. Her arms and legs were long. She didn’t favor her grandfather in any way but this one. But where Vance looked like he’d grown too long, Emily looked… perfect.
Win turned to see if his father had noticed. He hadn’t. In fact, Morgan had left the table without Win even being aware. He was across the room now, shaking hands with someone. Win turned back to the window, leaning forward to watch Emily walk away. With one last look at his father, he took his napkin out of his lap and set it on the table, then he pushed his chair back and quietly slipped out of the diner.
He followed Emily at a distance, noticing she had on flip-flops that morning, and a Band-Aid on her heel. He stopped when she reached the bench outside of J’s Barbecue. She didn’t go in, and he wondered why. She didn’t look faint, like she’d looked yesterday morning. No, she was waiting. Waiting for her grandfather to come out. The gesture was both charming and uncomfortably lonely.
He was only two or three storefronts away from her, close enough for Emily to look up when Inez and Harriet Jones approached him from behind and said in unison, “Hello, Win!”
He returned Emily’s stare before reluctantly turning to Inez and Harriet. They were spinster sisters who lived next door to the Coffey mansion on Main Street. The sisters went everywhere together, wore matching dresses, and carried one purse between them. Long ago, when the Coffeys wanted to put a driveway between the two houses in order to reach the garage behind their house without having to drive around to the next street, the Jones sisters agreed to it on the condition that the Coffeys invite them for drinks every third Tuesday of the month. So, for over thirty years now, the elderly Jones sisters were a fixture on the Coffeys’ couch between four and five o’clock, once a month.
“Hello, Miss Jones.” He nodded to Inez. “Miss Jones.” He nodded to Harriet.
“We saw you staring at that pretty thing there,” Inez said, though Win wished she hadn’t. Emily could hear every word.
Harriet sucked in her breath suddenly as she clutched her sister’s arm. “Sister, do you know who that is?”
“Could it be?” Inez said, clutching her back.
“Yes, it is!” Harriet answered.
“What brings you two out so early this morning?” Win asked, trying to change the subject.
Inez tsked. “Oh, she does look like her mother, doesn’t she?”
“She certainly does.”
“Can I escort you home?” Win interrupted. “I’m headed that way.” He held out his arm, trying to herd them away.
“Her mother had a lot of nerve, sending her here,” Inez said. “What a thing to do to a child.”
Harriet shook her head. They were both staring at Emily unabashedly. “She’s never going to fit in.”
“And how is her grandfather going to take care of her? He can barely take care of himself.”
“I don’t know, Sister,” Harriet said. “I don’t know.”
Win gestured again. “Ladies, shall we?”
Inez wagged her knobby finger at him. “Don’t turn into your uncle, Win. Don’t get fooled by a pretty face like he did. What a tragedy.” The sisters looked at him pityingly. “Stare at her all you want, but stay away. That’s what we’re going to do. To show support for your family. Right, Sister?”
“It’s for the best.”
That’s when they turned and left him, walking toward home, one arm each looped into the handles of a single handbag, like a yoke between them.
Win closed his eyes for a moment before turning to Emily.
She looked unsettled and he didn’t blame her.
He put his hands in his trouser pockets and walked toward her, trying to seem casual and unaffected. “Hello again.”
She didn’t answer. Her eyes went to the Jones sisters, who were weaving down the sidewalk.
Win hated that they had been so indelicate. “Where is your grandfather? I saw him earlier,” he said, to draw her attention away from them.
“Inside,” she said. “I’m waiting for him.”
“Instead of eating with him?”
“I don’t know if he actually wants… I just thought I’d wait.” She gave him a once-over that tried to be subtle, but wasn’t. “Are you always up and dressed like that this early?”
“It’s sort of a tradition.” He indicated the bench. “May I?”
She nodded. “Where do you come from?” she asked as he sat.
He crossed his legs, trying not to seem too eager, too suspicious. Getting into someone’s good graces was second nature to him, but he was nervous. There was so much riding on this. “Here. I’m from here.”
She hesitated, as if he’d answered an entirely different question. “No, I meant yesterday and today. Where did you
He laughed. “Oh. Breakfast with my father. Every morning.”
“Does everyone here come to Main Street for breakfast?”
“Not everyone. How is your foot?” he asked, not actually looking at her foot. Instead, he stared into her true blue eyes. She wasn’t what he’d expected. Not at all.
“My foot?”
