Todd swallowed audibly and sat down again. “Thanks, Mister Forster.”

“No worries, Todd. Any time.” Cal picked up his planning book and put it in his briefcase. The boy’s face said he wasn’t done, so Cal settled back in his chair. “Got something else on your mind?”

“Yeah,” Todd said. “There’s this kid at school, Justin Hicks. The other day when I walked by him and his friends, I heard him say something about me being gay. I acted like I didn’t hear, but I’m a little worried. Honestly, I’m terrified of those guys. I don’t know what they’d do if they ever caught me alone somewhere.”

Prissy Bangor’s little brother came to mind. “Have you reported this to the principal?” Cal asked.

“Mister Green won’t do anything,” Todd said, then mumbled, “I think he’s just like them.”

“Do you mind if I have a chat with Mister Green?” Cal asked.

“I guess that would be okay,” Todd said. “But leave me out of it.”

“No worries,” Cal said. “Justin is probably doing something similar, or worse, to others.”

After meeting with Todd, Cal rushed home to take Bailey for a short walk. There were times when his job tugged at thoughts and feelings about his own life. In Cleveland, he always had someone to talk to when he needed to think out loud. When his relationship with Leslie ended, he still had Heidi, his father, Rudy, other old friends, a handful of trusted colleagues.

The Hendersons were his one connection in Fieldstone, and Cal did not want to bother them, though he perceived that, in addition to Chuck, Charity might be someone with whom he could eventually connect, trust. She’d called to check in with him several times since his move, offering whatever assistance she could provide, giving him tips about the town, other nearby locales, and regional sites. Someday he would reach out to either or both of the Hendersons, but not yet. He knew they were still deep in cardiac rehab with a side of professional health coaching, working as a team to bring Chuck back to full capacity.

He could, Cal supposed, videoconference with someone, but he preferred face-to-face contact, a 3D live experience a much better alternative to a cold, hard screen.

Only one person came to mind.

Assured his canine companion could stand another few hours of being home alone, he changed his shirt and headed back out.

There were three spots open in front of BeanHereNow. Cal chose the middle one.

Inside the coffee shop, he walked toward the sign reading “Order Here.” Bryony took her position to wait on him when he was two steps away from the counter.

“Hi, Cal,” she said. “What would you like?” Her expression seemed veiled, a bit shadowy.

“I’ll have a burger with fries, and a Coke,” he said, trying to break the ice, initiate a friendly conversation.

“And I’ve never heard that one before.” Her smile looked impersonal.

“Rough day?” he asked.

“Ready for it to be over,” she said.

“How about a cup of tea to go?” he asked. Maybe now wasn’t a good time for her to listen, but here he was, his conversation with Todd still brewing, and a slew of thoughts and feelings rising to the surface, ready to bubble over.

“Coming right up.” Bryony turned to reach for a paper cup and lid. She filled the cup with steaming water from a red spigot on the side of a tall cylindrical silver pot.

“Todd’s excited about working here,” he said.

“We’re excited about having him.” Bryony set the water on the counter and put a basket of tea beside it.

“He’s a good kid,” Cal said.

Bryony nodded.

“Sometimes I’m happy I never had kids,” Cal said, the pressure behind the dam of social propriety building. “Because I probably would have screwed them up. It’s hard enough to be a good son.”

This time Bryony’s smile reflected understanding, which was all the encouragement he needed.

“Before I decided to come here,” Cal said. “I was going to travel around the world, partly to get over a failed relationship, but mainly to be able to send back pictures and stories to my father because he was never able to travel. He never had a chance to do that because he had to take care of me and my sister. Dad didn’t bat an eye when I told him I’d decided to put off the trip for a year, but he’s ninety-six, Bryony.”

She made eye contact with a hint of kindness, but no more encouragement.

He let go anyway, the words gushing, roiling at times, ending with, “The thing is, I love teaching. I might want to teach beyond this year, but if I don’t travel soon, it might be too late. Dad was okay with the delay, but you can’t imagine the time and energy we put into thinking about where I would go. He learned how to Zoom on the computer so we could see each other while I was on the road. I don’t want to disappoint him, you know?”

“I need to wait on the customer behind you,” Bryony said.

Cal whipped around and said, “Sorry,” to the woman behind him.

The woman winked at him.

He turned back to Bryony, said, “Okay, well, thanks for listening. See you later,” and walked toward the door.

Back in his car, Cal started to fasten the seatbelt when he remembered the tea. Still sitting on the counter, he had not paid for it.

He thought about going back in, but a quote, printed in large bold letters and taped to his dashboard, stopped him.

Often when you think you’re at the end of something, you’re at the beginning of something else. —Fred Rogers

Heidi had taped it there before Cal left for Fieldstone.

What if his new beginning was not a big adventure? What if he never stopped teaching?

He loved being an educator. He never wanted to retire. He only retired for his father. Cal disappointed himself to save his father from disappointment. That was the opposite of what he told Todd to do.

If kids like Todd were to walk through life without fear of disappointing others, they would need adults who were not afraid to face their own fears. The effective way to conquer fear was head on. Holding the steering wheel firmly with both hands, Cal felt sure of himself, in control of his future.

Before starting the car, he looked through the storefront window of BeanHereNow. Bryony wiped off a table, straightened chairs, and carried plates and cups toward the service counter.

“She must think I’m a total nutcase,” he said under his breath.

Before going to bed he called his father.

“Hey, Pops, I’ve been thinking. I might want to come home when I’m done here and get another teaching job.”

“Whatever makes you happy, son.”

They moved on to other topics, Cal’s announcement seeming to carry no more weight than his father’s concern about the sanitary worker forgetting to push the empty waste can back up the driveway.