Page 46 of Welker

“Margaret lives alone,” Moira pointedly added to his worry.

“Me and my dog,” Margaret corrected alertly from the back seat. “Not that she’s much protection lately, the poor thing. She’s getting a little long in the tooth.”

“Lady Guinevere is sixteen,” Moira clarified with a slight shake of her head.

Welker could see that Moira wasn’t happy with Margaret’s living situation, either.

“Well, before we leave you off,” he told her, “I’ll exchange numbers with you. I don’t live more than fifteen minutes away, so if you need anything in the future, I’ll be happy to stop by.”

“Oh, Moira. He is a sweet one. He reminds me of my Henry, God rest his soul.”

Ah. She’d lost her husband.

“How long has Henry been gone?” Moira asked softly.

“Ten years now. His ticker wasn’t so good, and gave out in his sleep one night. It was a peaceful way to go, but I miss him every day.”

“I bet you do,” Welker commiserated. “You never get over losing the ones you love. I lost some…good friends while I was in the Navy, and they’re never far from my mind.”

Moira glanced his way with sympathetic eyes because this was news to her; something he hadn’t shared. He wondered if she, too, had lost someone along the way that had made her so…closed off. Maybe when and if she started opening up to him, he’d find out more about who she was, and what had made her so uptight.

The trio made small talk until they pulled up to a neat little bungalow that would need paint before a few more years passed. Other than that, however, the structure looked to be in good condition. The yard was glorious, having been given over to wildflowers, which was a good thing. Itty-bitty little Margaret would have had a hard time pushing a lawnmower.

“Would you care to come in for tea, and a quick tour?” she asked hopefully, as Welker turned the car off, got out, and opened her door.

He and Moira exchanged a glance, and when she nodded, he knew exactly what she was thinking; that the woman was actually quite lonely.

Welker spoke up. “We have plans for later this evening, but we’d love to come in and make dinner for you. I bought all the groceries back at the store, and it would be a shame to hog them all for ourselves.”

Margaret brightened like a kid on Christmas morning, clapping her hands in glee, which Welker was beginning to recognize as her go-to gesture.

“That would be delightful,” she applauded. “I haven’t had company in… Well, let’s just say that my kitchen is spotless. That’s how long it’s been since my stove’s been used.”

“You don’t cook?” Moira asked.

Margaret shook her head a little sadly. “Not any more. I used to enjoy it a lot when I was feeding Henry, but since it’s only me…”

“What do you eat?” Moira asked. They stood companionably in the yard where dozens of dragon flies cavorted, and honey bees buzzed happily amidst the overgrowth.

“Oh, I’m fine with cheese and crackers, or microwaved meals.” She waved a hand dismissively.

Welker wanted to ask if she had children anywhere close, but he didn’t want to get too invasive. Maybe Moira had already sussed it out, and he could get that answer, later.

“Well, be prepared for a delight,” he informed Margaret. “Moira is a chef, extraordinaire.”

The woman in question snorted. “And how would you know? You haven’t tasted any of my cooking yet.”

Welker smirked. “Knowing you, Bliss, you never would have offered to cook for me if you weren’t one-hundred percent sure of your skills.”

Moira ducked her head, seemingly embarrassed.

Hah. Gotcha.

Margaret had been watching the exchange, and seemed inordinately pleased. “Whatever you have planned will be splendid. How much time do you need to make it?” she asked, drawing Moira back out of her shell.

“It’s nothing that will take too long to prepare,” Moira returned. “It’s a simple bolognese with a bean dish on the side.”

“I’m sure it’s going to be delicious,” Margaret assured her again, enthusiastically. “Now let’s head inside to see if I have all the proper cookware for you.”

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