Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 87988 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87988 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
I’m halfway down an aisle when my phone buzzes. I lift it and see Lucas’s name on the screen, a short text below it.
Lucas: Lunch? Would today work?
I hesitate. I like Lucas, apparently always have. And I told him we’d get together after Mom’s funeral. I also can’t remember the last time I ate. But there’s no point in having lunch with him. My goal is to clean out Mom’s house, wrap up whatever loose ends need to be dealt with here, and get the hell back to New York—far away from whoever is messing with me. Or rather, far away from Noah.
I shake my head. I’ll just grab a sandwich and eat while I work—anything to get done and get out of this town. But before I can slide my phone back into my jeans pocket, it buzzes again.
I look at the screen and go still.
Lucas: Wait, don’t put the phone away! I’m more fun than that mop—promise!
The mop in question sits upside down in a caddy just in front of me. I was debating the merits of two different styles and had mostly settled on the cheaper, foam-padded one. I lower my phone and twist around, finding none other than Lucas grinning at me from the end of the aisle.
I don’t expect the response that floods me—warmth, happiness to see him. But a second later, suspicion follows. It is a small town, but . . .
Then I spot his cart. It’s nearly overflowing with household goods, things that make sense to purchase—paper towels, grass seeds, flower starters from the garden area.
“I thought that was you.” He comes down the aisle and parks his cart to one side, approaching me with arms wide, offering a hug.
I suppose it’s normal after someone’s parent dies to embrace them. Lucas wraps me in his arms, holding me against his chest, and I can’t help notice he smells good. Woodsy, with a hint of leather and . . . something else. I think it might be sawdust? Though I suppose we are in a hardware store.
“So, what do you say?” he pulls back and asks. “Lunch?”
Half of me wants to say no. The other half is happy to see him.
“Come on.” He squeezes my shoulder and motions to my cart. “You’re going to kill my ego if using that is more enticing than my invitation.”
I smile. Screw it. It might be nice to spend time with someone who knew me before, when I was still me. Plus, when was the last time I had a conversation with someone who wasn’t on my suspect list? “Sure.”
There are only two places in town to sit down and eat. Luckily, Lucas chooses the diner over the bar. Inside, we sit in a booth in a corner. Without realizing it, I put my back to the wall, keeping my gaze on the front door, like Noah’s going to walk in here. It occurs to me that maybe I should get a different rental car, so I’m not as easily spotted. Of course, that wouldn’t solve the problem. He knows where I’m staying. And he doesn’t seem to want to hurt me, just . . . screw with me.
Lucas is talking about work, about how he never thought he’d work in medicine, but how he finds it very satisfying. “It doesn’t always end well, of course . . .” He gives me a humorless smile, clearly meaning my mother. “But I do help a lot of people. And I like that. Even when we can’t save them, at least I can bring them comfort. Your mom had plenty of visitors, but not everyone does.”
I sip my coffee, grateful for the long-awaited caffeine. “My mom had a lot of visitors?”
“Oh, and I wanted to say,” Lucas continues, “I’m really sorry again that I called you out of the blue after she died like that, and didn’t call you earlier. She’d been going downhill for a couple of nights, and I suggested to her that I call you. But she wouldn’t let me. I have to respect my patients’ wishes, but . . .” He sighs. “I should have called anyway. I’m sorry I didn’t. I wanted to come to the wake, pay my respects and tell you that, but I had to work.”
I’m still stuck on “plenty of visitors.”
“It’s okay. You were doing your job.” I sip my coffee again, trying to seem casual. “Who visited my mom?”
“Some of her church friends came by on their own. I offered to call whoever she wanted, but she only had me call two people to come see her. Father Preston and Noah Sawyer.”
I go still, the coffee halfway to my mouth. “Noah Sawyer? Why him?”
Lucas spreads one arm along the top of the booth. “No idea. She was asleep the first time he visited, so he came back a second time, the night before she passed.”