“About that time,” Eric said suddenly, thrusting a last wad of soggy napkins into the bag. “I’m going to go wash up.”
Casey tied the bag, watching Eric go. By the time he was ready, she was waiting at the door.
“Drive or walk?” Eric said, still not looking directly at her.
“Oh, walk, definitely.”
So they set out. Casey had been hot when returning from the dojang, so she had forgotten to grab her jacket at The Nesting Place afterward. She wished now that she was wearing it, and hugged her arms to her stomach.
“Cold?” Eric hesitated on the sidewalk.
“I’ll be fine. We’ll be there in a minute.”
They turned the corner, leaving Home Sweet Home behind.
“So why doesn’t Leila work with you at Home Sweet Home?”
Eric didn’t answer.
“I mean, she obviously adores you. I’d think she’d want to help out with the soup kitchen, since it’s important to you.”
He glanced over at her, obviously uncomfortable.
“Sorry,” Casey said. “None of my business.”
They walked in silence for a bit.
“First of all,” Eric said, “Ellen worked there with me. That cramped Leila’s style.” He gave a little smile.
“That makes sense.”
“But most of all…it’s that her family eats there.”
“Oh. But…”
“I know. Leila drives the cute little car. Not exactly cheap. But she bought it with her own money. She’s not about to sell it now. Besides, I don’t know how much equity she has in it, and how much is loans.”
“So coming to Home Sweet Home would be awkward. Because of her family.”
“Very.”
They walked a little further.
“Where does the money come from?” Casey asked.
“What money? Leila’s?”
“No. To fund the dinners. The food’s not all for free, and the building would cost something, for rent and utilities.”
Eric made a face. “Well…”
“You fund it, don’t you?”
He shoved his hands into his pockets. “Someone has to.”
And if someone had a rich father, it made it a lot easier. Especially if that someone felt the money he had was at the expense of the poor.
“It’s a good thing,” Casey said.
“Is it?”
“You know it is.”
The theater came into view.
“So you didn’t have to borrow any money to start it?”
Eric looked at her. “No. Why?”
“It’s just…yesterday, here at rehearsal. I was talking to Todd and mentioned Home Sweet Home. It seemed to make him very uncomfortable.”
Eric frowned. “It should.”
“Why?” Although she was already forming a picture of Todd at the soup kitchen, not appreciating Johnny’s silverware. From the way Todd’s ears had lit up at the mention of Ellen, Casey figured he’d been busy appreciating something else. And his daughter had known. Or had at least suspected.
They reached the theater before Eric could respond, and other cast members were arriving, greeting them.
Aaron, Casey’s mechanic from the morning, held the door for her. “How’s the bike?”
“Doing great. Thanks to you.”
“Oh, that’s so sweet.” Jack pinched Aaron’s cheek, taking advantage of the open door to slip by him into the theater.
Aaron batted his hand away, but his brother was out of reach before he could actually latch onto him. He scampered after him, chasing him into the foyer and through the double doors.
“What’s this?” Eric asked, his face reflecting relief at the subject change.
They walked toward the doors where the boys had disappeared. “Aaron saved me from flat tire syndrome.”
Eric still looked confused.
“He put new tires on my bike. Or, your mother’s bike.”
“Oh. That old thing is my mother’s?” He held open the right-hand door.
“From her garage, remember? Which reminds me…” She walked through, but waited for Eric in the aisle. “What’s the deal with the Orion in the garage?”
“Take a wild guess.”
“It’s your dad’s.”
He snorted. “Might as well be. He gave it to my mom. Thought it would make her less mad at him when he got remarried and took away our old house.”
“I don’t suppose it worked.”
“Would it work on you?”
They reached the front of the theater, where Aaron and Jack sat side by side on the edge of the stage, still pestering each other. Becca crouched in the second row of seats, scribbling madly in her notebook, and Todd lounged in the first, feet stuck out in front of him, back slumped into the seat. It looked like he was asleep. Or, more likely, pretending to be. Leila, watching for Eric, scowled at Casey before practically gluing herself to his side. Casey didn’t see Thomas, or the two men who’d been threatening him.
“You must be Casey.”
She looked up to see a smiling face, white teeth against a dark tan. “Yes.”
“Lonnie.” He grabbed her elbow and led her to a seat, where he pulled her down beside him. He gazed at her, sparkling blue eyes beneath the bleached blond—almost white—hair, his smile growing wider. “Tell me everything.”
She glanced back at Eric for some help, but Becca had snagged him, and now their heads were bent together, Becca gesturing wildly. Leila hung back slightly, obviously unsure whether she was supposed to be included in the conversation.
“Oh, you don’t need to tell me about him,” Lonnie said. “It’s written all over his face.”
Casey blinked. “What?”
“That he’s madly in love with you.”
“No.”
“I can see it.”
“But it’s only been a week since Ellen—”
“I know. I know that, but sometimes the heart does strange things, doesn’t it?”
Casey forced herself not to look at Eric. “He’s not—” she held up a finger to forestall Lonnie’s protests “—but if he were, it would just be because he needs something to fill the void.”
Lonnie patted her hand. “Okay, you can tell yourself that.” He studied her face. “But then, you look like you’ve confronted the void yourself, haven’t you?”
Casey opened her mouth to reply, but snapped it shut when she realized Lonnie was no longer paying attention to her.
He craned his neck toward the back of the theater. “I wonder where Thomas is?”
Casey looked around. “And Holly.”
“Oh,” Lonnie said. “That makes sense, all right.”
