Moving to the next table, Bryony spoke to the man behind the newspaper. “Hello, Mister Parker, anything worth reading today?”
“Only if you’re interested in sports, politics, human interest, fashion, cooking, or world news,” Mr. Parker said. He lowered the newspaper and peered over his glasses. “We live in a fascinating world.”
Bryony pulled out the chair opposite him. “Mind if I sit for a minute?”
His right eyebrow arched. “Sure, have a seat.”
“I have a request,” Bryony said, lowering herself into the chair. “My brother, Mitch, needs someone to fill in on his trivia team for a tournament, and I hear you might be the man for the job.”
“Where did you hear that?” Mr. Parker asked.
“Todd told me he’s never met anybody who knows as much as you do. And I see you reading the newspaper every day. Your resume is your daily routine.”
“Where and when does this tournament occur?” he asked.
“Tomorrow night. The sports bar on Taft Street. They start at eight o’clock.” Bryony held her breath as he deliberated.
“That’ll interrupt my usual bedtime, but I suppose I can help out.”
“Thank you, Mister Parker,” she said in a rush of exhalation. She asked him to write his phone number on a fresh napkin.
“It’s the least I can do,” he said. “That pie was just like my wife’s.” He returned her pen, raised the newspaper, and disappeared behind it.
Bryony stood and pushed the chair back in gently, guessing he had dismissed her, but as she started to walk away, he lowered the newspaper again. “Thank you for asking me to help out.” His voice was softer, his eyes misty.
She smiled. He raised the newspaper once more, and she knew with certainty this time the conversation over. One hurdle cleared, her worries about Cal calmed.
In the afternoon, Lillian returned from transporting her granddaughter “from point A to point B.”
Bryony greeted her with a cheery, “Hello! What a beautiful day, huh?”
“Charity and Susie are here again.” Lillian exchanged her jacket for her apron.
“Yes, they are.” They were customers to Bryony, nothing more. Every new sighting lowered her visceral response, desensitization in action.
“They’ve been coming in often,” Lillian said.
“I guess we’re the new hot spot in town.”
“I ran into Charity the other day.” Lillian crossed her arms and smiled. “Chuck continues to improve.”
“Happy news,” Bryony said.
“I thought you might want to know.”
Bryony tried to brush off the comment. Only Lillian knew the endurance of Bryony Green’s special fondness for the cute—then handsome—boy she met the first day Chuck moved to town.
“Charity has no idea how instrumental you were in keeping them together,” Lillian said.
Bryony shrugged her shoulders.
She and Chuck met the day he moved into a house down the block. He asked about the local library. She gave him a tour of the town.
They became inseparable, for a time. Chuck called her his “best bud,” and Bryony dubbed him her favorite neighborhood nerd. They had fun together, and though Chuck never tried to kiss her, or even hold her hand, Bryon confided in Lillian that she was ready, waiting, and wanting him to make a move.
But then Charity moved to town, and Chuck’s interest in his neighbor shrank to times of angsty romance trouble. On those days, Bryony would walk with him and listen, always asking, “What do you want, Chuck?”
Chuck would always answer, “I want Charity.” After wise counsel from the girl who had been his “best bud,” and would never be his girlfriend, Chuck would reconcile, every time, with the girl who would someday be his wife.
“Did you know Cal knows Chuck?” Lillian asked.
“What?” Bryony dropped a bagel.
Lillian offered an empathetic grimace. “Chuck’s the reason Cal took the job at the high school,” she said.
“What are you talking about?” Bryony bent down to pick up the warm ring of dough.
“They grew up together as boys in Cleveland, before Chuck moved here. I thought you might not know since you hadn’t mentioned it.”
Bryony’s solar plexus issued a sick little pang. Cal and Charity had a connection through Chuck? She thought she had transcended those old less-than feelings conjured up by flawless, perfect Charity Henderson. And here they were, back to plague her with the same mood-killing, mind-numbing, body-shaming potency as before.
She tossed the fallen bagel into the wastebasket. Cal said he came to Fieldstone because of an old friend, but he hadn’t mentioned Chuck. The information grew around her like a prickly raspberry patch. Would dating Cal put her in the vicinity of the two people she had spent the last thirty-plus years avoiding?
“I wanted you to hear it from me”—Lillian’s expression changed from bearer-of-bad-news to eyes-on-the-prize—“because I knew you would do what you’re doing right now.”
“What am I doing?” Bryony asked.
