couple together, embracing and lost in each other, she felt a deep pang of emptiness. Being in love looked so simple. Yet it had never happened to her.
Long ago, she’d believed with all her heart that she and Nathan had been in love. Too late, she found out that what she thought she had with him had no solid foundation, and when tested by the reality of her pregnancy, their relationship had broken apart, the pieces drifting away like sections of an ice floe.
As she unloaded the cart, Kate felt the John Deere guy watching her. She was sure of it, could sense those shifty eyes behind the glasses. He was two lanes over and his back was turned, but she knew darned well he’d been staring just a second ago. He was probably checking to see if she used food stamps.
None of your business, she thought. And you do too have a mullet. She glared at the broad, plaid shirt–covered shoulders.
She finished checking out, marveling at the amount of the bill. Ah, well. Starting over took a little capital up front. She swiped her debit card through the machine and got an error message. Great, she thought, and swiped it again. “Please wait for cashier,” the machine flashed.
“I don’t think my card’s working,” Kate said, handing it to her.
The cashier took it and put in the numbers manually. “I’m sorry, ma’am. The card’s been declined.”
Declined. Kate’s stomach dropped, but she fumbled for a smile. “I’ll write you a check,” she said, taking out her checkbook.
“We can only accept local checks,” the cashier said apologetically.
Kate glanced at the couple behind her. “I’ll pay in cash, then,” she muttered. “You do accept cash, right?”
“Have you got enough?” Aaron asked. His piping voice carried, and she knew the lumberjack guy could hear.
She pursed her lips and counted out four twenties, a ten and two ones, and thirty-three cents change. It was all the cash she had on hand. She looked at the amount on the cashier’s display. “Check your pockets, Aaron,” she said. “I’m two dollars and nine cents short.”
I hate this, she thought while Aaron dug in his Levi’s. I hate this.
She kept a bland smile in place, though her teeth were clenched, and she avoided eye contact with the cashier or with the couple behind her.
“I got a quarter and a penny,” Aaron said, “and that’s it.” He handed it over.
“I’ll have to put something back.” Kate wished she could just slink away. “I’m sorry,” she said to the older couple. She reached for the bag of Cheetos, their favorite guilty pleasure.
“Not the Cheetos. Anything but the Cheetos,” Aaron whispered through clenched teeth.
“Don’t do that,” said a deep, quiet voice behind her. “It’s covered.”
Even before Kate turned to look at him, she knew it was the guy. The mullet man, rescuing her.
She took a deep breath and turned. Go away, she wanted to tell him. I don’t need you. Instead, she said, “That’s not necessary—”
“Not a problem.” He handed two dollars to the cashier and headed out the door with his sack of groceries. “Hey, thanks,” said Aaron.
The man didn’t turn, but touched the bill of his cap as he went outside.
Thoroughly flustered, Kate helped sack the groceries and load them into the cart. She hurried outside, hoping to catch the guy before he left. She spotted him in a green pickup truck, leaving the parking lot.
“That was real nice of him, huh?” said Aaron.
“Yep.”
“You forgot to tell him thank-you.” “I didn’t forget. I was … startled, and then he took off before I could say anything.”
“You weren’t startled,” he said. “You were embarrassed.”
She opened her mouth to object. Then she let her shoulders slump. “Totally humiliated.” For Aaron’s sake, she summoned a smile. “I shouldn’t have said that. I should remind you that the kindness of strangers is a rare and wonderful thing.”
“A rare and wonderful and humiliating thing,” he said. “Help me load these groceries, smart aleck. Let’s see if we can get to the lake before the Popsicles melt.”
Three
Kate’s Jeep Cherokee had seen better days, but it was the perfect vehicle for the lake, rugged enough to take on the unpaved roads and byways that wound through the mountains and rain forests of the Olympic Peninsula. Bandit greeted them as though they’d been gone a year, sneezing and slapping the seat with his tail.
“Now to the lake,” Kate said brightly. “We’ve got the house all to ourselves, how about that?”
Aaron buckled his seat belt in desultory fashion, barely reacting to Bandit’s sloppy kisses, and she realized she’d said the wrong thing.
“It’s going to be a great summer,” she assured him.
“Right,” he replied without enthusiasm.
She could hear the apprehension in his voice. Though she wouldn’t say so aloud, she felt as apprehensive as Aaron.
He regarded her with disconcerting insight. “They fired you because of me, didn’t they?”
“No, I got fired because Sylvia is an inflexible stick of a woman who never appreciated real talent anyway. Deadlinesand the bottom line, that’s all she cares about.” Kate made herself stop. No point venting to Aaron; he already knew she was angry. The fact that Kate had been let go by Sylvia Latham, the managing editor, stung particularly. Like Kate, Sylvia was a single mother. Unlike Kate, she was a perfect single mother with two perfect kids, and because of this, she assumed everyone else could and should juggle career and family with the same finesse she did.
Kate ducked her head, hiding her expression. Aaron was clued in to much more than people expected of him. He knew as well as any other boy that one of the most basic realities of modern life was that a single mom missed work to take care of her kid. Why didn’t Sylvia get it? Because she had a perfect nanny to look after her perfect children. Until this past year, Aaron’s grandmother and sometimes his aunt watched him when he missed school. Now that they’d moved away, Kate tried to juggle everything on her own. And she’d failed. Miserably and unequivocally.
“I have to call the bank, figure out what’s the matter with my debit card,” she said, taking out her cell phone. “We don’t get reception at the lake.”
“Boooring,” Aaron proclaimed and slumped down in his seat.
“I’m with you, bud.” She dialed the number on the back of her card. After listening to all the options—”because our menu has recently changed,” cooed the voice recording—she had to press an absurd combination of numbers only to learn that the bank, on East Coast time, was already closed. She leaned her head against the headrest and took a deep, cleansing breath. “It’s nothing,” she assured Aaron. “I’ll sort it out later.”
“I need to call Georgie next,” she said apologetically.
All five grandkids—Phil and Barbara’s four, plus Aaron—called her mother Georgie and sometimes even Georgie Girl.
“Don’t talk long,” Aaron said. “Please.”
Kate punched in the unfamiliar new number and waited for it to connect. A male voice answered.
“This is Clinton Dow.” Georgie’s new husband always answered with courteous formality.
“And this is Katherine Elise Livingston,” she said, teasing a little.
“Kate.” His voice smoothed out with a smile she