Because she did not want it out of reach.
They entered.
Oliver locked the door behind them.
The cafe smelled of coffee, bread, and the chicken soup that had been simmering since lunch.
Bluebird Corner was small.
Fourteen tables.
A counter with six stools.
Old brick on one wall.
Framed local photographs on another.
The floor was original maple, uneven enough that table seven required a folded coaster under one leg.
Hannah had insisted they leave it that way.
“It proves the building survived things.”
She used to say.
Oliver always answered:
“It proves we need a carpenter.”
Hannah usually won.
Lucy pulled a chair toward the radiator.
“Sit here.”
Oliver looked at her.
“You are very bossy for ten.”
“Eleven next month.”
“That changes everything.”
Audrey sat.
Lucy brought over a clean hand towel.
“For your hair.”
“Thank you.”
Oliver went into the kitchen.
He filled a ceramic bowl with chicken soup, added two thick slices of bread, then poured coffee into one of the large blue mugs reserved for regular customers.
When he returned, Audrey was holding her hands in front of the radiator.
He set the meal down.
“Eat before it gets cold.”
Audrey wrapped both hands around the coffee first.
Her eyes closed briefly.
“Thank you.”
Lucy sat across from her.
Oliver gave his daughter a look.
Lucy ignored it.
“I’m Lucy.”
“Audrey.”
“You knew Dad when he was a kid?”
“We were in high school together.”
Lucy looked toward Oliver.
“Did he have hair?”
Audrey laughed.
Oliver pointed toward the kitchen.
“Go check the dishwasher.”
“You already checked it.”
“Check it emotionally.”
Lucy grinned.
Then disappeared.
Audrey watched her leave.
“She looks like Hannah.”
Oliver’s face changed.
“You remember Hannah?”
“You showed me her photograph once.”
“That was before you moved?”
Audrey nodded.
Oliver sat.
“I haven't seen you since junior year.”
“Neither have I.”
“You disappeared.”
“My father got transferred to Pennsylvania.”
“In four days?”
Audrey lowered her eyes.
“Yes.”
“You could have said goodbye.”
“I know.”
It came without defense.
Oliver had expected some teenage excuse preserved into adulthood.
Instead, she looked genuinely sorry.
“I was angry at everyone.”
She said.
“My parents.”
“The move.”
“My father.”
“Burlington.”
“You too, probably.”
“Why me?”
“Because staying looked easy from where I was standing.”
Oliver leaned back.
“That sounds exactly like something a seventeen-year-old Audrey Bell would believe.”
She smiled faintly.
He waited until she took several spoonfuls of soup.
Color slowly returned to her face.
“What brought you here?”
Audrey looked toward the window.
“I didn't know this was yours.”
“The cafe?”
“Yes.”
“We opened twelve years ago.”
“Hannah and me.”
“I saw the name, but I didn't connect it.”
Oliver waited.
Audrey took another spoonful.
“I needed somewhere public.”
“Why?”
She paused.
“People.”
“What kind of answer is that?”
“A partial one.”
Oliver studied her.
“You always were good at those.”
Audrey looked embarrassed.
Before she could reply, something vibrated inside the canvas bag.
A phone.
Not the newest model.
Small.
Plain case.
Audrey took it out, glanced at the screen, and went still.
Oliver noticed the message was short, though he could not read it.
Audrey locked the phone.
Put it back.
“Problem?”
“The place I planned to stay tonight is no longer available.”