Ryder felt increasingly conspicuous. Like a dark cloud in a bright sky.
He was about to give up and leave when he spotted Clare near the eastern entrance. She was struggling with several grocery bags.
Maggie skipped beside her, talking endlessly, while a small boy toddled several feet behind them, stopping every few seconds to inspect leaves, stones, or cracks in the sidewalk. “Max, honey, please keep up,” Clare called.
She shifted the heavy bags to one side, trying to reach for her son without losing everything else. Maggie darted back to help her brother, but Max squealed and ran in the opposite direction.
Ryder stopped beneath a large oak tree and watched. Clare’s exhaustion was visible in every movement. Her shoulders sagged. Strands of hair kept falling into her face. One grocery bag stretched dangerously at the handles.
Max was drifting toward the edge of the walkway nearest the street. Something protective stirred in Ryder’s chest.
It was not pity. He knew pity too well to confuse the two.
This was deeper, almost instinctive, as though some part of him that had slept for years was waking up. He took one step forward, then stopped.
Would his help be welcome? Or would he only frighten Clare again?
From beside the oak tree, he watched her finally corral Max back to her side. She looked around quickly, almost embarrassed by the struggle, as if expecting judgment from every stranger nearby. Ryder recognized that look too.
It was the expression of someone who had learned to expect criticism before kindness. Another grocery bag began sliding from Clare’s arm.
Before Ryder could second-guess himself, he stepped out from behind the tree. “Need some help with those?”
His deep voice came out softer than usual. Clare jumped slightly and pulled the bags closer.
Then recognition crossed her face. “Oh. You’re the man from yesterday. The one who helped Maggie.”
“Uncle Ryder!” Maggie shouted, bouncing on her toes. Ryder shifted awkwardly under the force of her enthusiasm.
“Just Ryder,” he corrected gently. He gestured toward the bags.
“Those look heavy.” Clare glanced at her arms, then at Max, who was wandering toward a flower bed again.
Ryder could practically watch the argument happening inside her. Accept help from the intimidating stranger or keep struggling alone.
A can of soup rolled out of an overstuffed bag. Ryder caught it before it struck the ground.
That seemed to settle the question. “Actually,” Clare said, “yes. Help would be really nice. Thank you.”
Ryder carefully took the heaviest bags from her. He moved slowly, making sure not to crowd her.
He noticed the way Clare’s shoulders relaxed slightly once she realized he was paying attention to her space. “I live just three blocks from here,” she explained, gathering Max back to her side.
The little boy stared at Ryder with enormous eyes, his thumb firmly in his mouth. They began walking.
Maggie skipped between them and talked about her favorite cartoon show with the urgency of someone delivering breaking news. Clare kept glancing at Ryder as though trying to solve a puzzle.
“You know,” she said eventually, shifting her remaining bag, “most people just walk past when they see me struggling.” Ryder looked ahead.
“They probably think I should have a better handle on things by now,” Clare continued. “People are quick to judge what they don’t understand,” Ryder said.
Clare’s step faltered. She looked at him with genuine surprise.
“Yes,” she said. “Exactly.” They kept walking.