Page 9 of Midnight Clear

Hank didn’t know the waitress, but she was young, probably around the same age as Tessa. And she was looking back and forth between them, waiting for someone to answer.

“Eggs and bacon for me,” Hank said. “Scrambled.”

“I’m fine with coffee,” Sophie said.

“Sure,” the girl said, and went on to the next table.

“Now you listen to me,” Sophie said, leaning forward, her elbows propped on the table. “I’m doing just fine. The business is doing fine.”

“You and I both know that’s a lie, Sophie,” Hank said. “You’re one inspector’s visit away from being shut down. Nothing in that building is up to code, and it would cost you a fortune to rewire and fix the plumbing, not to mention putting in an HVAC and sprinkler system. You’ve been operating on borrowed time.”

“I’ve been saving up,” she insisted. “I was told I had until January. Stupid city and changing codes. My family has owned and operated that bookstore for more than sixty years, and all of a sudden the new city council decides it doesn’t fit in with the posh resort town. They’d kick someone to the curb who’s spent their whole life working and living here.”

She never raised her voice or made a scene, but there were several people looking in their direction.

“The city council, the inspector, the fire marshal and anyone else involved with getting things done in this city give me headaches on a regular basis,” he said. “I know the problems. I’ve looked at the reports from your building. I’m trying to help you.”

“Why would you help me? You don’t even know me.”

“I’ve known you your whole life,” he said exasperated.

“You’ve known my name. You’ve known the gossip about my father. You’ve known whatever your brother told you. But you don’t knowme.”

He could see the tears prick in her eyes, but she held them back. He knew she was hurting. Knew she’d been under the weight of holding things together for probably most of her life. And what she said was true. He did know the gossip and the stories. And he didn’t know her. Not on that level. Not yet.

“You’re right,” he admitted. “But I’ll tell you what I do know, even though every time I’ve tried to talk to you for the past decade you pretend like I don’t even exist.”

She sputtered again, her mouth opening and closing like a fish. “That’s ridiculous. We’ve never had more than a few ‘hellos’ over the last decade. Why would we have anything more to say to each other?”

“You figure it out,” he said, meeting her gaze head-on and quirking a brow.

It took a few seconds for the meaning of his words to penetrate, and her mouth snapped shut in surprise.

Hank nodded and said, “Good, now we’re on the same page. But we’ll deal with that later. Let’s talk about the bookstore first. Your love life second.”

She was still frozen in shock, but he figured she was listening.

“I want to help youbecauseyou’ve spent your whole life working and living here,” he said. “Haven’t you figured it out? You’re one of us. And we take care of our own. If we don’t do something about the bookstore they’re going to shut it down. There’s no way around it. I know it’s been in your family a long time. But it’s more cost effective to bring it to the ground and start over. And it’s better business for you to move the bookstore onto Main Street where the majority of foot traffic is. It’s a win-win situation.”

The color had drained out of her face, and there was an anger in her that he realized was coming from somewhere deep. Not just an anger. But pain too.

“I’m one of you?” she asked. Her voice was quiet and level, despite the emotion swirling in her eyes. “We take care of our own? Are you serious? I’ve never felt like one of you. Like I belong here. Do you think I felt like one of you when my father drank himself into a stupor and drove off the mountain? Thank God he didn’t take anyone else with him or I could’ve carried that around for the rest of my life too.

“Do you think people don’t look at my family and immediately think of him?” she asked. “About the years of gossip about his drinking. How he’d stumble into school functions with whiskey on his breath. How he’d spend more time at Duffey’s than at home, and Duffey would have to make him go home to my mother? About how he’d pass out in the front yard?”

Her voice was so soft the words barely carried between them, but each word struck him like a sledgehammer to the solar plexus.

“Do you think we ever felt like one of you? You wouldn’t have the first clue about how I’ve lived life here. There was no life insurance. No money. My mother worked at the bookstore, keeping it going, and then left there to wait tables at night so we could sometimes pay bills. We took charity from the church—clothes for school and winter coats and backpacks.

“And when working at the bookstore and waiting tables wasn’t enough, my mother cleaned houses on the weekends. I think she cleaned houses for your family if I remember right.”

Hank didn’t flinch, but he wanted to.

“So, no. In our experience, this town doesn’t look after their own. And I don’t need anyone to start now.”

She scooted her chair back from the table and put on her coat, though she left it unzipped and just shoved her hat and gloves in the pockets.

“Thanks for breakfast,” she said. “I’ve got to get to work.”

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