Chapter 2 #3
He slowed at a stop sign, exhaling sharply.
Reaching for the radio, he hesitated, opting for silence instead.
Brody’s mood from the night before nagged at him like a persistent itch.
The kid had barely touched his dinner. He’d slumped in his chair and answered all of Ethan’s questions with two- or three-word answers.
Then he’d taken a shower without complaining—a sure sign something was up.
They’d topped off their miserable evening with a half-hearted “Good night.”
Ethan tightened his grip on the steering wheel and turned right, toward town.
Heavy dollops of snow clung to the branches of trees lining the road.
The salt and gravel put down by the highway department sprayed out from under his tires and spattered the sides of the Suburban.
He spotted a moose ambling through the trees and slowed, admiring the majestic creature.
When was the last time he’d bothered to admire gorgeous scenery?
Or an animal in the woods? Almost never.
But there was nothing wrong with embracing a slower pace, right?
He glanced at his phone, tempted to pull over and take a picture for Brody.
So far the kid had hated pretty much everything about Alaska.
Maybe a moose in a snowbank wouldn’t be all that impressive.
Sighing, Ethan sped up. This fresh start was supposed to be good for both of them. A small business, with grandparents, an aunt, and two uncles close by, Ethan was banking on the strength of his close-knit family to help Brody heal.
But was it going to help him?
He punted that thought right back where it came from, doubling down on his fierce determination to outrun his own grief.
At the next intersection, he eased to a stop.
Straight ahead led to the resort and plenty of time to scour the Internet for details about planes going down in the Chugach Mountains.
But a right turn would take him past the café.
Frankly, yesterday’s chat with the pie lady had made him feel like a normal guy for the first time in ages.
He still wasn’t a fan of bananas in his pie, but something about her piqued his interest. Besides, Charlie knew several customers who came into the café, so maybe she’d point him toward someone he could talk to about Trevor.
He turned right, then headed for the Homestead Café and claimed a parking spot near the front door.
Adeline would’ve encouraged the last-minute change of plans.
“You’ve got to live a little, Ethan,” she’d say, rolling her eyes at his predictability.
Memories of his late wife still provoked an ache in his chest. At least the pain didn’t flatten him the way it used to.
He stepped inside the café. The savory aroma of melted cheese mingled with fresh coffee and an overpowering floral perfume.
Ethan frowned. An older woman in a faux-fur jacket hustled ahead of him, snagging the stool he had his eye on.
He hesitated, then picked a spot farther down the counter, trying to avoid the heavy scent that clung to the air.
The grill cook glanced his way, offering a friendly nod before returning to his task. Tisha, the pie lady, emerged from the kitchen. She wore her hair in a long, smooth ponytail and her blue eyes sparkled when she smiled. A crazy warmth spread through him.
Wow, okay. One pretty smile shouldn’t have that much of an effect.
Should it?
He shrugged out of his coat, then set his phone face down on the beige-and-white speckled Formica countertop.
Tisha held up a mug. “Hey. Coffee?”
“Yes, please.”
She filled the mug, then set the carafe on the counter and leaned closer. “Might I interest you in a homemade pie? Just a tiny slice.”
He cast a sideways glance toward the woman with the faux-fur jacket, who wasn’t even trying to hide the fact that she was listening to their conversation. “What’s the catch? And why are you acting like this is a covert mission?”
“I haven’t been here long enough to know the ins and outs, but allegedly I’m not supposed to serve anything that wasn’t made in a health-inspector-approved kitchen.”
He dropped his voice to a hushed whisper. “Clearly a federal crime.”
Tisha hesitated, drumming her polished nails on the counter. “My daughter and I made something incredible at home last night, though, and I think you should try it.”
He slid the steaming coffee closer. “Only if you promise to come and visit me in prison.”
She laughed. “Pretty sure I’m the one who would get arrested.”
“Well, is it worth it? How much time would you do for illicit pie sales?”
Her conspiratorial smile made him want to lean in. What in the world? Was he flirting?
“I don’t know.” She shrugged. “Five to ten? But only if they can prove it.”
“I’m in.”
“Perfect.” Tisha’s smile widened. “I’ll be right back.”
Ethan nodded, then took a sip of his coffee and forced himself not to stare as she walked away. His phone hummed. He picked it up and glanced at the screen.
Kaylee
If you won’t do it for me, please do it for your in-laws. We all loved Adeline too, you know. She deserves to have her story told.
The text message from Kaylee, his late wife’s best friend, hit him square in the chest. The woman had been angling for him to grant an interview about everything Adeline had done for the women in the Coast Guard community in Florida.
Kaylee was right. Adeline’s commitment to helping others thrive was a story that needed to be told, but he just couldn’t bring himself to go there. The grief was still too raw, too fresh.
“Ta-da.” Tisha set down a piece of pie with a crisscross lattice top and a purple fruit concoction peeking out from between the little squares. The crust looked flaky and moist, and his stomach rumbled.
“I heard that,” Tisha said. “I’m determined to figure out your ideal pie flavor, so we’re gonna overlook the misstep with the banana cream and I want you to try this instead. My daughter calls it jambleberry but the proper name is jumbleberry.”
“Jumbleberry? What’s in it?”
She lifted one shoulder. “Don’t let the name distract you. It’s a concoction of ingredients we found at the house.”
There was that playful gleam in her eye again. He spread his napkin on his lap but didn’t reach for his fork. “Hmm. You’re not exactly selling it.”
“Here you go, Mrs. Dawkins.” She pressed a plastic lid on a to-go cup of coffee and handed it to the woman with the healthy affection for perfume and faux fur. “Enjoy.”
The woman’s mouth puckered. “I certainly hope you’re not serving desserts that weren’t made in a commercial-grade kitchen.”
“Of course not. Ethan’s my official taste tester. He’s agreed to sample any new baked goods before we make them widely available to the public.”
“I have?”
She gave him the side-eye, then scooped up a handful of packets from under the counter. “Did you need extra cream and sugar?”
Still frowning, Mrs. Dawkins took all of the packets and shoved them into her pockets.
“Charlie will take your money at the register.” Tisha smiled sweetly. “Thanks for coming in.”
When she turned back to face him, he couldn’t help but smile.
“What?” she said. Her brow furrowed. “What’d I say?”
“Official taste tester, huh? Do I need to sign a waiver?”
“No paperwork, I promise. Just try the pie.”
He took a small bite. Chewed slowly. It was tart but sweet, and the crust was everything he’d imagined it would be.
“Well?” Tisha rubbed her hands together. “Survey says?”
“Flaky crust. It’s quite delicious. Jambleberry? Jumbleberry? Whatever those are, they’re a little tart.”
“Yeah, we probably should have added more sugar. Sadie can be heavy-handed in that department, though, so I tried to hold her off.”
“Could use a little Cool Whip.”
“Could it now? Wow. Tough crowd today.”
Ethan grinned. “Just being honest. I take my duties as the official taste tester very seriously.”
“Yeah, don’t make me sorry I appointed you to the position.”
“Tisha, order up.”
She turned and lifted an omelet with a side of hash browns and sausage links from the service window. “Enjoy the rest of your pie.”
His gaze lingered a little longer than it probably should as she walked away.
Maybe it was the sway of her ponytail that matched her bouncy steps.
Or the way she’d bantered with him. He hadn’t expected that.
Or the pie. His phone hummed again before he could take another bite. This time it was a call.
Uh-oh. Brody’s school. “Hello?”
“Hi. May I speak to Ethan McGuire, please?”
“This is he.”
“Ethan, this is Aaron Price over at the elementary school.”
“Aaron. Hey. What’s up?”
“I’m glad to hear that you’re back in town. Um, listen, I’m going to need you to come by the school.”
“Sure, what time?”
“How about now? Your son Brody’s been involved in a conflict.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” He sighed. “All right. Thanks for letting me know. I’ll be there in a couple of minutes.”
Ethan ended the call, then fished a few bucks from his wallet and tucked them under a plate. Shoot. He hated to run out, but he had to get to Brody.
The dour gray sky matched his mood as he made the short drive to Brody’s school.
Maybe he should’ve asked Aaron a few more questions.
What kind of a conflict? A fist fight? Had anyone been hurt?
Surely Aaron would’ve mentioned any severe injuries.
Right? Or had he been vague on purpose so Ethan wouldn’t panic?
He pulled up in the parking lot and snagged the closest empty space. Adrenaline surged through his veins as he jogged toward the school’s entrance, then jabbed the buzzer at the door.
“May I help you?” A woman’s voice came through the intercom.
“Ethan McGuire. Mr. Price called and asked me to come by.”
“Come on into the front office, Mr. McGuire.”
The door unlocked. He pulled it open and hurried inside. The smell of cafeteria-style pizza greeted him. Probably the same stuff he’d eaten years ago.