Page 107 of Traces Of You
When his brother put it that way, he felt like an idiot.
“We’ll talk about it more when we feel ready. I’ll be staying here going forward if she won’t come to my place.”
“I figured as much. I’ll get the cameras installed once they come.”
“I owe you,” he said.
“No. You don’t. But you can bring me some breakfast after you stop to see Reenie. She’s liable to be pissed at me when you show up this early.”
He laughed. “Sure. I’ll bring it over.”
When he arrived at the backdoor of the cafe five minutes later, his mother was pulling muffins out of the oven and Reenie was frosting a massive pan of brownies. Double fudge.
His favorite.
“I figured I’d see you this morning,” his mother said.
Reenie swung around at the sound of his mother’s voice. She obviously didn’t expect to see him by the shocked look on her face.
“Ford.” Her smile dropped when she saw how serious he was. “Clay told you.”
“Did you think he wouldn’t?”
“I had hoped he’d at least wait until later.”
“Reenie,” his mother said, clicking her tongue. “My boys don’t keep secrets long. Clay did you a favor last night.”
She pursed her lips. “I know.”
“Can I have one of those while I steal Reenie for a few minutes out front?”
His mother was already cutting the brownies and putting one on a napkin for him. “Once Reenie told me what happened last night, I knew you’d be here.”
“And you didn’t want to give me a heads up?” she asked his mother.
“Learn your way around your relationship,” his mother said, smiling. “But I know my boys.”
The minute they moved to the front, Reenie started a pot of coffee. “You could tell my mother but not me you were so scared that you went outside to look around?”
“It was foolish of me,” she said. “Worse that Clay had to come save me when I didn’t need it. My mind got away from me.”
“As it’s going to do when you’re always looking over your shoulder.”
“Are we going to fight about this?”
“No. I’m not fighting. We are talking. I need you to come to me, Reenie. To trust I’ll be there for you and not worry that I can’t handle it.”
“I know you can, but I’d just told you to leave and then to call you back...”
“Would make you look weak in your eyes? Right?”
“Yes,” she said, her head dropping, her voice with it. She made him a cup of coffee and put a top on it to hand over.
“Nothing you do or say will ever make you weak in my eyes. It’s not possible. I don’t know how you could even think that.”
Someone who had done what she had to escape. Planned it, played it cool to get away, then disappeared.
She barely cried in front of him. And when she did, she almost always felt embarrassed over it and walked away or hid her face after a tear or so.
