Small Town Secrets. Sharon Mignerey
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to cook with her grandmother. As she slowed the tuner knob in search of the station, a deep, comforting voice came through the speaker.
“‘The eternal God is thy refuge,’” the announcer said, “‘and underneath are the everlasting arms.’ Deuteronomy 33.27.”
The words gave her pause, and she remembered a time when she had believed. Before her parents died. Before her divorce. Before her grandmother’s stroke. God hadn’t been a refuge or a comfort, no matter how many platitudes she had listened to. Léa moved the tuner to the station that played soundtracks from movies and Broadway plays—the music she always cooked to.
At nine-thirty the following morning Zach stood on the sidewalk in front of the Pine Street Café trying to decide whether to go in. Everything about the place looked inviting, from the sparkling windows to big pots of flowers on either side of the door. Indecision gripped him. If he wanted coffee, he had that at Sadie’s house. Eggs and cereal were there, too. It wasn’t as if he was going to recognize Léa Webster, but he wanted to see her. She had invited him, and coming was neighborly.
Yeah, right. He hadn’t been neighborly in his whole life, and now that he had the label of ex-con attached to him like a tattoo, he’d likely be as welcome as a cockroach. Her invitation last night had undoubtedly been impulsive. So why was he here?
He should be on the way to the police station instead, fulfilling one of the conditions of his parole by having a new mug shot taken and being fingerprinted.
A couple of old men came out of the café, bringing with them the inviting aromas of bacon and coffee. One of them held the door open with a friendly “Howdy.” Zach said hello back and caught the door before it closed, then stepped inside. Going to the police station could wait an hour.
Like Léa’s clown outfit, the dining room was rainbow-colored. The whole place reeked of cheerfulness, from the sky-blue walls to the violet counters and hot pink seats. A big Thanks for Not Smoking sign punctuated with yellow daisies hung on the wall above the open window that separated the kitchen from the space behind the counter.
“Sit anywhere that’s not taken,” a blond woman called to him as she came by—her arms loaded with plates laden with steaming, fragrant food. “I’ll be right with you.”
Zach slid onto one of the stools at the counter, deciding the blonde wasn’t Léa. Her voice didn’t match. He looked around, taking note of the daisies that were stuck in Mason jars at every table along with the usual napkin holders and salt and pepper shakers.
The waitress appeared in his line of vision, this time with a steaming carafe and a big blue mug in her hand. “Coffee?”
“Sure.” He met her friendly gaze. She had blue eyes, but she definitely wasn’t Léa.
She gestured toward a blackboard at the end of the room. “That’s today’s menu.” She filled his cup while Zach read from the selections, the expected fare of eggs, toast and pancakes, plus the daily special labeled as Beautiful Mornin’.
“I’ll have the special.” He had no idea what Beautiful Mornin’ might be, but it seemed an appropriate name for his first meal out since leaving prison. He found himself comparing that enticing name with the clown he had met last night. The anticipation of seeing her curled through him.
“Good choice,” the blonde said, “you’re in for a treat.” A second later she called it into the kitchen.
“That’s the last one,” came the returning answer, a voice that Zach knew. Léa.
He drank his coffee and watched for her to appear in the five-foot opening behind the counter. An expectant moment later she did, her back turned and a red scarf covering her head. Beneath the scarf, he could see the strap of an apron and the neckline of a white T-shirt.
Since her face had been covered with that grinning clown’s face last night, he wondered if he’d recognize her at all. He studied the fragile nape where wisps of dark hair had escaped from the scarf. He wished she would turn around.
Just then, she did and her gaze came unerringly to his.
She was everything he had expected and nothing like he had imagined. Those blue eyes he recognized. Blue like…he didn’t even know…simply a brilliant, clear blue like an inviting deep lake he’d love to dive into. Her skin was paler than he had envisioned, liberally sprinkled with freckles. Then she smiled, and the regular features of her face became…lovely. The word lingered, surprising him. He’d always liked hot women, gorgeous women, easy women. Lovely had never been part of the picture.
In his old life, he wouldn’t have given Léa’s even, pleasant features a second glance. Back then, he’d had a shallow, beautiful woman who had fit his shallow life. So much had changed since that time, and even though he had the memories, he no longer recognized…or liked…the man he had once been.
Zach knew he was staring, but he couldn’t pull his gaze away from Léa’s.
“Hi,” she said, her voice barely audible through the din of other conversation and the country music playing in the background. “I’m glad you made it.”
Before he could answer, the waitress pinned more orders on the rack above the opening. Léa waved, her attention returning to her work. The country music moved into a tune about a guy falling in love as soon as she said hello, the melody winding its way into Zach’s chest. That thought was not only uncomfortable but, in his experience, unlikely.
He sipped his coffee, dividing his attention between her and the other patrons. The dining room seated maybe twenty-five, including the half-dozen stools at the counter where Zach sat. The blonde, whose name was evidently Kim, seemed to know most everyone by name. A couple people caught his glance as he looked around, their expressions filled with nothing more than minor curiosity. He tipped his head in acknowledgment and returned his attention to his coffee.
Less than five minutes after he sat down, Kim slid a plate in front of him. Beautiful Mornin’ turned out to be baked French toast slathered with hot apples, and on the side, a couple links of sausage and perfectly fried bacon. His mouth immediately watered.
For too long, food had simply been fuel for his body, something to appease hunger and nothing to be enjoyed. His first impulse was to wolf down his breakfast. His second, stronger impulse was simply to savor how the plate looked and to absorb the aroma which reminded him of a more innocent time and of having breakfast with his aunt Sadie. Beautiful Mornin’ was an apt name.
Kim refilled his coffee, then said, “Haven’t seen you in here before. Are you one of the roughnecks working the oil rigs west of here?”
“I’m Sadie Graff’s nephew.” He cut into the toast, releasing a wisp of fragrant steam. “Zach MacKenzie.”
She beamed, calling over her shoulder, “Hey, Léa, your new neighbor is out here,” then adding in a softer voice, “Sadie has been talking about her favorite nephew for weeks—and what a relief it was for her to have you looking after those pet cows of hers so she could take her trip. Nice to meet you. Have you heard from her yet?”
He nodded, taking a moment to savor the flavor of the toast before swallowing it. For a bare second he imagined the lack of censure in Kim’s voice would be permanent—that it wouldn’t change after she found out he was an ex-con. “She called this morning after she landed in Paris.”
“Ooh la la,” Kim said. “Hope she takes lots of pictures.”
“I’m sure she will,” Zach said, not quite comfortable with the way Kim’s interest had caused a couple other people to look at him. Now that he was the focus of attention, he remembered the summers he had spent here as a kid and how everyone seemed to know everyone else’s business.
Kim moved away, and he turned his full attention to his breakfast, each bite delicious. He was nearly finished when the bell above the door jangled, and a couple cops came in.
“Hey, Foley. Merle,” Kim said to them. “You guys