{ 5 }
“We were going to let Sadie name him. He’s her Christmas present.”
She didn’t reply, but when he spoke again it seemed like he’d read her thoughts.
“I know people say you shouldn’t give puppies or kittens to kids. Too much work and responsibility. But…”
“Sadie can’t be more than six. Seems like you’re the one taking on the work and responsibility.”
He winced. “I know. I couldn’t even keep the dog safe for twenty-four hours. What kind of dog owner will I be?” He settled back into the old couch and she had the impression of a man at ease in his body. His hiking boots were well worn, as were the jeans and the green soft-with-washing chambray shirt.
“She’s five. Sadie. And I thought a dog would be good for her. She’s lost so much. She…”
“Sadie told me her mother died,” she said gently.
His gaze jerked to hers. “She told you that? Mostly she doesn’t talk about…that time.”
“It was my fault. I saw her all alone on the street and I asked her where her mother was. I didn’t think, I—”
“No. It’s fine. You were trying to help.” His mouth twisted in a wry grimace. “Seems like you’ve done a lot of rescuing in my family.”
“Sadie didn’t need rescuing. Her grandmother was only half a block away.” She shrugged. “I spent too many years in big, mean cities, I guess. I forget that it’s different in a town like this.”
“What is a big city girl doing in a small town like this?” He said it flippantly but she felt like he really wanted to know.
“I needed to get away. I wanted to be,“--she checked off each point on one of her fingers-–“far from home, still in the States, and able to work quietly. I needed clean air, quiet, no crowds.” She wrinkled her nose. “Kaslo seemed perfect. I forgot about the rain here in the Pacific Northwest.”
“Most people go home for Christmas, not the opposite direction.” He stopped. Glanced at her. “That was probably a stupid thing to say. I forget not everybody has a good family.”
“Oh, I do. The best.” She paused to sip coffee, trying to put her thoughts into words. “Have you ever felt that you were being smothered in cotton candy? Blankets and blankets of it so you feel like you can’t breathe, but it’s so damned sweet you don’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings?”
Their gazes connected and she knew he’d been there.
“When my wife died—” He stopped. Swallowed. “She had a rare form of brain cancer. Six months after she complained of a headache and blurred vision, she was gone.“
“I’m so sorry.” Such a lame, helpless thing to say to a person in pain. She wished she had something better to offer, but really, what was there? The unbearable happened. People did their sweet, fumbling best to make you feel better.
But, and in the end, you put one foot in front of the other and you tried to move on.
“Sadie was three. If it hadn’t been for her, I’d have gone as far away as I could. Away from the casseroles, all of which seemed to be made with cream of mushroom soup, and the sympathy cards and the flowers.”
He stretched his long legs out in front of him and gazed into the fire. “But Sadie’s home is here. My mother’s here. Not that she looks after Sadie a lot. I’m lucky. I can work from home.”
“Really? What do you do?”
“I’m a software engineer--which, I know, is a conversation killer. Nobody ever really understands what I do.”
She chuckled. “I’m guessing you design software?”
“Exactly. I work remotely for most of my clients. It allows me to be around for my daughter.”
In a way she envied him. The death of a spouse was the kind of event that got marked with things like flowers and cards and a grave with a marker.
What about her loss?
There was no marker. No permanent memorial.
Except in her heart--where a permanent stone monument lodged, engraved with pain.