In the living room, he turned on the television and flipped through the channels for a while, but he wasn't in the mood to watch. Instead, he thought about Josh again, and though he knew that his son was safe upstairs, he felt a ripple of the same fear he'd felt earlier, the same sense of failure. He was doing the best he could and no one could love their kids more than he did, but he couldn't help feeling that somehow it wasn't enough.
Later, long after Josh and Kristen had fallen asleep, he went to the kitchen and pulled out a beer from the refrigerator. He nursed it as he sat on the couch. The memories of the day played in his mind, but this time, his thoughts were of his daughter and the way she'd clung to Katie, her little face buried in Katie's neck.
The last time he'd seen that, he reflected, was when Carly had been alive.
4
April gave way to May and the days continued to pass. The restaurant got steadily busier and the stash of money in Katie's coffee can grew reassuringly thick. Katie no longer panicked at the thought that she lacked the means to leave this place if she had to.
Even after paying her rent and utilities, along with food, she had extra money for the first time in years. Not a lot, but enough to make her feel light and free. On Friday morning, she stopped at Anna Jean's, a thrift shop that specialized in secondhand clothes. It took most of the morning to sift through all the clothing, but in the end, she bought two pairs of shoes, a couple of pairs of pants, shorts, three stylish T-shirts, and a few blouses, most of which were name brands of one sort or another and looked almost new. It amazed Katie to think that some women had so many nice clothes that they could donate what would probably cost a small fortune in a department store.
Jo was hanging a wind chime when Katie got home. Since that first meeting, they hadn't talked much. Jo's job, whatever it was, seemed to keep her busy and Katie was working as many shifts as she could. At night, she'd notice that Jo's lights were on, but it was too late for her to drop by, and Jo hadn't been there the previous weekend.
"Long time, no talk," Jo said with a wave. She tapped the wind chime, making it ding before crossing the yard.
Katie reached the porch and put the bags down. "Where've you been?"
Jo shrugged. "You know how it goes. Late nights, early mornings, going here and there. Half the time, I feel like I'm being pulled in every direction." She motioned to the rockers. "You mind? I need a break. I've been cleaning all morning and I just hung that thing. I like the sound, you know."
"Go ahead," Katie said.
Jo sat and rolled her shoulders, working out the kinks. "You've been getting some sun," she commented. "Did you go to the beach?"
"No," Katie said. She scooted one of the bags aside to make room for her foot. "I picked up some extra day shifts the past couple of weeks and I worked outside on the deck."
"Sun, water … what else is there? Working at Ivan's must be like being on vacation."
Katie laughed. "Not quite. But how about you?"
"No sun, no fun for me these days." She nodded toward the bags. "I wanted to drop by and mooch a cup of coffee this morning, but you were already gone."
"I went shopping."
"I can tell. Did you find anything you liked?"
"I think so," Katie confessed.
"Well, don't just sit there, show me what you bought."
"Are you sure?"
Jo laughed. "I live in a cottage at the end of a gravel road in the middle of nowhere and I've been washing cabinets all morning. What else do I have to excite me?"
Katie pulled out a pair of jeans and handed them over. Jo held them up, turning them from front to back. "Wow!" she said. "You must have found these at Anna Jean's. I love that place."
"How did you know I went to Anna Jean's?"
"Because it's not like any of the stores around here sell things this nice. This came from someone's closet. A rich woman's closet. A lot of the stuff is practically new." Lowering the jeans, Jo ran her finger over the stitching on the pockets. "These are great. I love the designs!" She peeked toward the bag. "What else did you get?"
Katie handed over the items one by one, listening as Jo raved about every piece. When the bag was empty, Jo sighed. "Okay, it's official. I'm jealous. And let me guess, there's nothing like any of this left in the store, is there?"
Katie shrugged, feeling suddenly sheepish. "Sorry," she said. "I was there for a while."
"Well, good for you. These are treasures."
Katie nodded toward Jo's house. "How's it coming over there?" she asked. "Have you started painting?"
"Not yet."
"Too busy at work?"
Jo made a face. "The truth is, after I got the unpacking done and I cleaned the place from top to bottom, I sort of ran out of energy. It's a good thing you're my friend, since that means I can still come over here where it's bright and cheery."
"You're welcome anytime."
"Thanks. I appreciate that. But evil Mr. Benson is going to deliver some cans of paint tomorrow. Which also explains why I'm here. I'm dreading the very idea of spending my entire weekend covered in splatter."
"It's not so bad. It goes fast."
"Do you see these hands?" Jo said, holding them up. "These were made for caressing handsome men and meant to be adorned with pretty nails and diamond rings. They're not made for paint rollers and paint splatter and that kind of manual labor."
Katie giggled. "Do you want me to come over and help?"
"Absolutely not. I'm an expert in procrastination, but the last thing I want you to think is that I'm incompetent, too. Because I'm actually pretty good at what I do."
A flock of starlings broke from the trees, moving in an almost musical rhythm. The motion of the rockers was making the porch creak slightly.
"What do you do?" Katie asked.
"I'm a counselor of sorts."
"For the high school?"
"No," she said, shaking her head. "I'm a grief counselor."
"Oh," Katie said. She paused. "I'm not sure what that is."
Jo shrugged. "I visit with people and try to help them. Usually, it's because someone close to them has died." She paused, and when she went on, her voice was softer. "People react in a lot of different ways and it's up to me to figure out how to help them accept what happened-and I hate that word, by the way, since I've yet to meet anyone who wants to accept it-but that's pretty much what I'm supposed to do. Because in the end, and no matter how hard it is, acceptance helps people move on with the rest of their lives. But sometimes … "
She trailed off. In the silence, she scratched at a piece of flaking paint on the rocker. "Sometimes, when I'm with someone, other issues come up. That's what I've been dealing with lately. Because sometimes people need help in other ways, too."
"That sounds rewarding."
"It is. Even if it has challenges." She turned toward Katie. "But what about you?"
"You know I work at Ivan's."
"But you haven't told me anything else about yourself."
"There's not much to tell," Katie protested, hoping to deflect the line of questioning.
"Of course there is. Everyone has a story." She paused. "For instance, what really brought you to Southport?"
"I already told you," Katie said. "I wanted to start over."
Jo seemed to stare right through her as she studied the answer. "Okay," she finally said, her tone light. "You're right. It's not my business."
"That's not what I said … "
"Yes, you did. You just said it in a nice way. And I respect your answer because you're right; it isn't my business. But just so you know, when you say you wanted to start over, the counselor in me wonders why you felt the need to start over. And more important, what you left behind."
Katie felt her shoulders tense. Sensing her discomfort, Jo went on.
"How about this?" she asked gently. "Forget I even asked the question. Just know that if you ever want to talk, I'm here, okay? I'm good at listening. Especially with friends. And believe it or not, sometimes talking helps."
"What if I can't talk about it?" Katie said in an involuntary whisper.
"Then how about this? Ignore the fact that I'm a counselor. We're just friends, and friends can talk about anything. Like where you were born or something that made you happy as a kid."
"Why is that important?"
"It isn't. And that's the point. You don't have to say anything at all that you don't want to say."