Chapter 9 Pie at the Corner Booth
POV MARA QUINN
Lena arrived in a blue rental car and looked nothing like the villain Mara had spent nineteen years editing.
That was inconvenient.
She was fifty, maybe, with short auburn hair going silver and a tired face that had learned to stop asking permission. No leather. No dramatic entrance. She wore khaki pants and a navy sweater.
Mara met her at Bonnie's diner because the garage felt too intimate.
Cole sat one table away only because Mara had said he could.
Lena placed a thick envelope on the table.
"I'm sorry about Deke."
Mara looked at the envelope.
"Everybody is."
Lena folded her hands.
"I owe you an apology."
"That is not why we're here."
"No. But I'm going to say it once."
Mara met her eyes.
Lena's voice remained steady.
"I knew you and Cole were together. I knew what I was doing. I was lonely, angry at my own husband, and flattered by a man who was angry at his life. None of that excuses me. I hurt you. I'm sorry."
Mara had imagined this moment with sharper words.
Instead she asked, "Did you love him?"
Lena looked toward the window.
"I thought I did. For about three months after we left. Then I realized I had mostly loved being chosen."
Mara absorbed that.
"And him?"
"He was not in love with me."
"That seems to be the popular verdict."
Lena's mouth tightened.
"He was ashamed and stubborn. I was the road already moving."
"That sounds poetic."
"It felt pathetic."
Mara looked at Cole.
He did not interrupt.
Good.
Lena pushed the envelope forward.
"Deke sent this. I opened the outer package, not the sealed letters."
Inside were photocopies.
Cole's letters to Mara.
Deke's notes.
One envelope addressed in Mara's mother's handwriting.
Mara's hands went cold.
Lena said, "I don't know what's in that one."
Mara picked it up.
The postmark was August 2008.
One month after Rowan was born.
Addressed to Deke Mercer.
She opened the copy.
Deke,
Mara will never ask you for anything. I will. Your son has a daughter. Her name is Rowan Elise Quinn. Seven pounds, eleven ounces. If Cole has any decency left, he should know. If you have any, you will tell him.
Helen Quinn.
Mara read it twice.
Then a third time.
Cole stood from the other table.
Mara held up one hand.
"Don't."
He stopped.
At the bottom of the photocopy was Deke's handwriting.
DO NOT FORWARD. R IS STABLE. M DESERVES PEACE.
Mara laughed.
It sounded awful.
Lena closed her eyes.
Cole sat back down.
For nineteen years, Mara had blamed Cole for not knowing.
He still owned not calling.
But Deke had known.
Deke had held Rowan as a baby.
Deke had taught her to ride.
Deke had never told his son.
Grief split down the middle.
"I loved that old bastard," Mara whispered.
Nobody tried to answer.
POV COLE MERCER
Cole waited outside until Mara came out.
Lena stayed inside.
Mara stood beneath the diner awning.
Rain had started again.
"Deke knew," she said.
"Yes."
"He watched Rowan grow up."
"Yes."
"He watched me answer questions."
Cole's hands curled.
He forced them open.
"I didn't know."
"I know."
The words did not forgive him. They placed one piece of blame where it belonged.
Cole looked at the street.
"Deke wrote me the month Rowan was born."
Mara turned.
"What?"
Cole took the second photocopy from his jacket.
Rook,
Mara has moved on. She wants no contact. You made your choice. Leave the town alone. Build something where you are.
D.
Mara read it.
"He lied to both of us."
"Yes."
She handed it back.
"And we made it easy."
Cole looked at her.
She crossed her arms against the rain.
"I could have found you. Later. When Rowan was five. Ten. Fifteen. I chose not to."
"You had reasons."
"So did you."
"Mine weren't good."
"Some of mine weren't either."
Cole wanted to tell her she owed him nothing.
Instead he said, "We can both own choices without making them equal."
Mara looked at him.
That mattered.
He could see it.
She nodded once.
"Good."
Behind the glass, Lena sat alone with two untouched coffee cups.
Mara looked back at her.
"She stays one more day?"
"That's what she said."
"I want to talk to her tomorrow."
Cole nodded.
"Without you."
"Of course."
Mara stepped into the rain.
He opened his umbrella and held it toward her without moving closer.
She hesitated.
Then stepped under it.
They walked half a block to her truck in silence.
At the door, Mara said, "I still hate that you left with her."
"I know."
"I might always."
Cole lowered the umbrella.
"You get to."
She looked at him for a long moment.
Then she drove away.
POV MARA QUINN
Mara spent Friday evening reading Cole's second letter.
It contained no request for forgiveness.
Only details.
A motel off I-40.
A job at a machine shop.
The fact that he had stopped drinking.
The line that hurt most was small.
I keep reaching for the passenger side when I hear something funny.
Mara folded the page and put it away.
History had no obligation to be simple.