with now and then, she’d gotten used to being alone.
Then again, she knew that living in a small town meant that her self-imposed isolation couldn’t last forever. She had to work and shop and walk around town; some of the customers at the restaurant already recognized her. And besides, she had to admit she’d enjoyed chatting with Jo. For some reason, she felt that there was more to Jo than met the eye, something… trustworthy, even if she couldn’t explain it. She was also a single woman, which was a definite plus. Katie didn’t want to imagine how she would have reacted had a man moved in next door, and she wondered why she’d never even considered the possibility.
Over by the sink, she washed out the coffee cups then put them back into the cupboard. The act was so familiar — putting two cups away after coffee in the morning — and for an instant, she felt engulfed by the life she’d left behind. Her hands began to tremble, and pressing them together she took a few deep breaths until they finally stilled. Two months ago, she wouldn’t have been able to do that; even two weeks ago, there had been little she could do to stop it. While she was glad that these bouts of anxiety no longer overwhelmed her, it also meant she was getting comfortable here, and that scared her. Because being comfortable meant she might lower her guard, and she could never let that happen.
Even so, she was grateful to have ended up in Southport. It was a small historic town of a few thousand people, located at the mouth of the Cape Fear River, right where it met the Intracoastal. It was a place with sidewalks and shade trees and flowers that bloomed in the sandy soil. Spanish moss hung from the tree branches, while kudzu climbed the wizened trunks. She had watched kids riding their bikes and playing kick ball in the streets, and had marveled at the number of churches, one on nearly every corner. Crickets and frogs sounded in the evening, and she thought again that this place had felt right, even from the beginning. It felt
Katie slipped on her only pair of shoes, a pair of beat-up Converse sneakers. The chest of drawers stood largely empty and there was almost no food in the kitchen, but as she stepped out of the house and into the sunshine and headed toward the store, she thought to herself,
3
His hair had turned gray when he was in his early twenties, prompting some good-natured ribbing from his friends. It hadn’t been a slow change, either, a few hairs here and there gradually turning to silver. Rather, in January he’d had a head of black hair and by the following January, there was scarcely a single black hair left. His two older brothers had been spared, though in the last couple of years, they’d picked up some silver in their sideburns. Neither his mom nor his dad could explain it; as far as they knew, Alex Wheatley was an anomaly on both sides of the family.
Strangely, it hadn’t bothered him. In the army, he sometimes suspected that it had aided in his advancement. He’d been with Criminal Investigation Division, or CID, stationed in Germany and Georgia, and had spent ten years investigating military crimes, everything from soldiers going AWOL, to burglary, domestic abuse, rape, and even murder. He’d been promoted regularly, finally retiring as a major at thirty-two.
After punching his ticket and ending his career with the military, he moved to Southport, his wife’s hometown. He was newly married with his first child on the way, and though his immediate thought was that he would apply for a job in law enforcement, his father-in-law had offered to sell him the family business.
It was an old-fashioned country store, with white clapboard siding, blue shutters, a sloped porch roof, and a bench out front, the kind of store that enjoyed its heyday long ago and had mostly disappeared. The living quarters were on the second floor. A massive magnolia tree shaded one side of the building, and an oak tree stood out front. Only half of the parking lot was asphalt — the other half was gravel — but the lot was seldom empty. His father-in- law had started the business before Carly was born, when there wasn’t much more than farmland surrounding him. But his father-in-law prided himself on understanding people, and he wanted to stock whatever they happened to need, all of which lent a cluttered organization to the place. Alex felt the same way and kept the store largely the same. Five or six aisles offered groceries and toiletries, refrigerator cases in the back overflowed with everything from soda and water to beer and wine, and as in every other convenience store, this one had racks of chips, candy, and the kind of junk food that people grabbed as they stood near the cash register. But that’s where the similarity ended. There was also assorted fishing gear along the shelves, fresh bait, and a grill manned by Roger Thompson, who’d once worked on Wall Street and had moved to Southport in search of a simpler life. The grill offered burgers, sandwiches, and hot dogs as well as a place to sit. There were DVDs for rent, various kinds of ammunition, rain jackets and umbrellas, and a small offering of bestselling and classic novels. The store sold spark plugs, fan belts, and gas cans, and Alex was able to make duplicates of keys with a machine in the back room. He had three gasoline pumps, and another pump on the dock for any boats that needed to fill up, the only place to do so aside from the marina. Rows of dill pickles, boiled peanuts, and baskets of fresh vegetables sat near the counter.
Surprisingly, it wasn’t hard to keep up with the inventory. Some items moved regularly, others didn’t. Like his father-in-law, Alex had a pretty good sense of what people needed as soon as they walked in the store. He’d always noticed and remembered things that other people didn’t, a trait that had helped him immeasurably in his years working CID. Nowadays he was endlessly tinkering with the items he stocked, in an attempt to keep up with the changing tastes of his customers.
Never in his life had he imagined doing something like this, but it had been a good decision, if only because it allowed him to keep an eye on the kids. Josh was in school, but Kristen wouldn’t start until the fall, and she spent her days with him in the store. He’d set up a play area behind the register, where his bright and talkative daughter seemed most happy. Though only five, she knew how to work the register and make change, using a step stool to reach the buttons. Alex always enjoyed the expressions on strangers’ faces when she started to ring them up.
Still, it wasn’t an ideal childhood for her, even if she didn’t know anything different. When he was honest with himself, he had to admit that taking care of kids and the store took all the energy he had. Sometimes, he felt as though he could barely keep up — making Josh’s lunch and dropping him off at school, ordering from his suppliers, meeting with vendors, and serving the customers, all while keeping Kristen entertained. And that was just for starters. The evenings, he sometimes thought, were even busier. He tried his best to spend time doing kid things with them — going on bike rides, flying kites, and fishing with Josh, but Kristen liked to play with dolls and do arts and crafts, and he’d never been good at those things. Add in making dinner and cleaning the house, and half the time, it was all he could do to keep his head above water. Even when he finally got the kids in bed, he found it nearly impossible to relax because there was always something else to do. He wasn’t sure if he even knew how to relax anymore.
After the kids went to bed, he spent the rest of his evenings alone. Though he seemed to know most everyone in town, he had few real friends. The couples that he and Carly sometimes visited for barbecues or dinners had slowly but surely drifted away. Part of that was his own fault — working at the store and raising his kids took most of his time — but sometimes he got the sense that he made them uncomfortable, as if reminding them that life was unpredictable and scary and that things could go bad in an instant.
It was a wearying and sometimes isolating lifestyle, but he remained focused on Josh and Kristen. Though less frequent than it once had been, both of them had been prone to nightmares with Carly gone. When they woke in the middle of the night, sobbing inconsolably, he would hold them in his arms and whisper that everything was going to be all right, until they were finally able to fall back asleep. Early on, all of them had seen a counselor; the kids had drawn pictures and talked about their feelings. It hadn’t seemed to help as much as he’d hoped it would. Their nightmares continued for almost a year. Once in a while, when he colored with Kristen or fished with Josh, they’d grow quiet and he knew they were missing their mom. Kristen sometimes said as much in a babyish, trembling voice, while tears ran down her cheeks. When that happened, he was sure he could hear his heart breaking, because he knew there was nothing he could do or say to make things any better. The counselor had assured him that kids were resilient and that as long as they knew they were loved, the nightmares would eventually stop and the tears would become less frequent. Time proved the counselor right, but now Alex faced another form of loss, one that left him equally heartbroken. The kids were getting better, he knew, because their
