“Mr. Hanson.” I nod at him, hoping Robin will be back soon with the bill. I’m not in the mood for a confrontation.
“Gray. Good to see you, son.”
I’m sure shock is visible on my face. This wasn’t the welcome I anticipated from him. Frank had been a good friend to my father and the one to pull me off his body.
“Frank, I—”
“Was hoping I’d run into you,” he continues, as if I never spoke. “I’ve got a few things I’d like to talk to you about.”
“You do?”
“Come by The Dirty Dog? Maybe Sunday?”
I notice Robin approaching my table, the bill in her hand.
“Sure, okay,” I tell Frank quickly before turning to her.
I pull my wallet from the pocket of my coveralls and leave a few bills on the table, enough to include a decent tip for Robin. I lift my chin at Frank, who does the same, and lightly touch Robin’s arm when I pass her.
“Later,” I mumble, a little startled by the charge that small touch caused as I walk out of the diner.
Robin
I’m not sure what moved me to ask him for dinner, but I’ve probably reconsidered half a dozen times since I blurted it out at the diner yesterday.
There is something about the man making me want to look after him. An awkward vulnerability simmering right under the gruff surface. He doesn’t appear particularly skilled socially and seems to keep himself carefully shielded. Yet I’ve seen a few tiny cracks in that carefully impassive veneer, and I feel compelled to find out more about him. About why he affects me the way he does.
Then these past few days, since he started coming into the diner, I’ve heard some whispers. Things I find hard to reconcile to the quiet man with the intriguing pale blue eyes. I know about rumors and misperceptions, so I’m determined not to judge on what I hear, but on what I know. So far, all I know is Gray has been kind—although not always friendly—helpful, and quite generous with his time. I was also pleased to discover his love for reading, something we share.
It’s not the only thing we have in common. We both lead a quiet existence, don’t socialize a whole lot, and we both carry secrets. Even without the rumors stirring, it wasn’t hard to see that. Although the resulting impact on our existence may not have been the same, it’s a safe guess both of us lost someone important in our lives on September 11th, 2001.
I’m nervous, almost slicing my finger as I cut vegetables for the goulash. I never mentioned a time, but I assume he won’t be here until after five when Olson’s closes, which is two hours from now.
My phone rings on the counter and for a moment I wonder if he’s calling to cancel, but then I see my mother’s name on the display.
“Hey, Mom.”
“Hi, sweetheart, how are you?”
“I’m good, Mom. Cooking your goulash as we speak. I had the day off. How are you? Feeling any better?”
Mom had come back from New Jersey almost a month ago with a persistent cold she can’t seem to get rid of.
“Goulash? Gosh, I could go for a bowl of that right now. I’m doing a little better. I ended up going to my book club with Betty last night. It was nice to get out for a bit.”
Betty is Mom’s longtime friend, as well as a neighbor in their apartment building. She lost her husband young and when my dad died, she moved into a condo just three doors down from Mom to be closer to her. The two are thick as thieves, and it’s peace of mind for me to know Mom always has someone nearby in an emergency.
“I’m glad you went. As for the goulash, I’m cooking a massive amount; I can easily freeze some for you. I’ll bring it down next week when we see Dr. Tracey.”
“About that; Betty offered to take me if you’re busy.”
My mother doesn’t drive. Never has. Betty does, so the two get their groceries together, but I’ve always driven down for any appointments Mom has.
“Not at all. Unless you prefer I don’t come see you?” I tease her, eliciting the immediate protest I expected.
“Oh, that’s not what I mean. I just hate to have you come down just for a regular physical.”
“Not coming down just for that, Mom. I missed out on spending time with you at Paige’s because of that thing with Shirley. We’ll do something fun after the appointment. Maybe grab lunch and a movie?”
I wedge the phone between my ear and my shoulder as I dump the mushrooms, onions, and peppers in my Dutch oven. I already fried up the cubed beef and scooped it out on a plate. I’ll combine it all, once the veggies are sautéed, and add some stock before it can simmer for a couple of hours.
“That sounds like a plan. So…” She drags the single syllable and I just know she’s about to pry. “Cooking a massive amount, huh? Expecting guests?”
I swear the woman has a sixth sense. Ever since Rick died, she’s been hopeful I’d get married again. I almost did, eight years ago, when Paige was still in high school. A local farmer, Andrew VanGuard, who’d also been relatively ‘new’ to Beaverton, had asked me after we’d casually dated for maybe a year. We clearly had different expectations. Casual was all I was in the market to offer, and I hated having to disappoint him.
Mom had been heartbroken to see her dream for me thwarted, but Dad had still been alive and he’d jumped to my defense. Dad just wanted me happy and I think he suspected my marriage to Rick had not been as perfect as my mother always viewed it.
That’s why I’m hesitant telling her about
