Or calls from his son’s teacher.
“Right.” Jonah nodded. “I’m sure everything’s fine, but you should probably call her back.”
“Of course.” Dread settled in the pit of Ryan’s stomach like a lead weight. Things hadn’t been fine for a long, long time.
He checked his watch.
“School gets out shortly. I think I’ll head over there instead of calling.” He glanced at Jonah. “Unless there’s something urgent I need to attend to?”
“Nope.” Jonah shrugged. “There’s not.”
Of course there wasn’t. The paper didn’t even go to press for three more days. The Spring Forest Chronicle was a weekly publication, which gave Ryan a flexible schedule. He dropped off Dillon for school every morning, and picked him up, as well. He attended the school’s aftercare program in the afternoons when Ryan was working. Before the accident, when they’d lived in DC, Ryan had never set foot inside a single one of Dillon’s classrooms.
His gut churned, and the message crumpled in his fist.
What if it was too late? What if he never managed to connect with his son? What if Dillon’s retreat into silence was permanent?
It’s not too late. It can’t be.
“Right. I’ll see you tomorrow, then.” Ryan scanned the room, in case anyone else on his minuscule staff looked as though they needed to speak to him. But the other three full-time employees were all bent over their desks, eyes glued to their laptops. Ryan thought he spied a computer game on at least one of the screens.
He sighed and stalked out of the building, back onto Main. Dappled sunlight drifted through the branches of the trees lining the street, warming his face as he made his way to the large public parking lot adjacent to the Granary, where he’d left his car—a small SUV. New, like nearly everything else in his life.
Sometimes he forgot what color it was or where exactly he’d parked it. Hell, sometimes he forgot he drove that to work now instead of taking the Metro.
He just needed a little time, that’s all. They both did. Eventually, this new life would feel right. It would fit, like a favorite sweater. Time heals all wounds. Isn’t that what people always said?
God, he hoped so.
But he was starting to wonder. So were Maggie’s parents, and that was a problem. A big one.
Ryan tipped his head back to down the rest of his coffee. He didn’t want to think about his overbearing in-laws right now. Thankfully, he didn’t have to. The move to Spring Forest had put nearly three hundred blissful miles between him and his late wife’s mom and dad.
I’ll drink to that.
He swallowed the dregs from his paper cup and turned to throw it in a nearby recycling bin, but as he did so he crashed into something. Or more accurately, someone. A woman.
Ooof.
She stumbled backward, and Ryan reached for her shoulders to keep her from falling. “Oh God, I’m sorry. I’m in a hurry and wasn’t looking where I was going. Are you hurt?”
“Ouch,” she wailed. His elbow had rammed right into her nose.
The woman’s hands were covering her face, and something about her graceful fingers seemed vaguely familiar, but Ryan couldn’t imagine why. He stared at her buffed nails and the slim gold bands on her middle finger and thumb, trying to figure out where he’d seen those feminine details before.
“I’m sorry.” He swallowed, forcing himself to release his hold on her since she was standing perfectly still now.
His throat went thick, and he was suddenly extremely conscious of the fact that he hadn’t touched a woman in quite a long time. She smelled like something decadent and sweet—vanilla, maybe. And her sweater had been soft beneath his fingertips. So soft that an ache formed deep in his chest. He inhaled a ragged breath and nearly choked.
“I’m fine, but you plowed into me pretty hard. It’s okay. It’s...” she peeked up at him from between her hands “...you.”
Ryan frowned. “Me?”
“Yes.” She nodded. “You.”
Had they met before? Ryan would have remembered her. He was sure of it. She had a lovely bronze complexion, full lips and eyes the color of fine Southern bourbon.
But he’d been walking around in a fog for months now—looking without seeing. Existing without living.
“The diner,” he said as realization dawned. “You handed me my coffee before.”
Her lips curved into the smallest of smiles, and she nodded.
“It was very good, by the way.” What was he doing? Flirting?
No.
Definitely not.
Her eyes narrowed. Somewhere in their depths, Ryan spotted flecks of gold. “See, now you’re frowning again, so I don’t believe you.”
“I never lie about coffee,” he said solemnly.
She smiled again, and it sent a zing through his chest, quickly followed by a pang of guilt.
He had no business taking delight in making this beautiful woman smile. No business whatsoever. His life was a disaster, his wife was dead, and in the year since her accident, his son hadn’t uttered a word.
What would she think if she knew the ugly truth?
He didn’t want to know. “I’ve got to go.”
It came out sharper than he intended, and she flinched. But Ryan barely noticed, because he’d already begun to walk away.
“Mr. Carter, I’m glad you stopped by. My teaching assistant is helping the kids pack up for the day, so we can chat for a few minutes until the bell rings.” Patty Matthews, Dillon’s teacher, shut the door of her classroom behind her and smiled up at Ryan as she stepped into the hallway.
Over her shoulder, he could see inside the room through the door’s long, slender window. The space was an explosion of color, from the brightly hued mats covering the floor to the cheery alphabet signs on the wall—A is for aardvark, B is for baboon, C is for camel and so on. The cartoon animals reminded Ryan of all the times he’d promised to take Dillon to the Smithsonian Zoo when they’d lived in Washington, DC.
Promises he’d broken.
He swallowed and forced his gaze back to his son’s teacher. “I got your message. Is something wrong?”
The teacher’s smile dimmed. “I wouldn’t necessarily say anything is wrong. Dillon is a sweet boy—very well behaved—and his mathematics level is advanced for his age, so I’m not at all concerned with his progress in that regard.”
Ryan nodded, sensing the but that was sure to come.
“But...” And there it was. “This afternoon in reading circle, he refused to read aloud when it was his turn. Did Dillon experience trouble reading at his previous school?”
Ryan’s gaze flitted to the classroom window again, where he could see Dillon sitting quietly as his desk, holding his favorite plastic dinosaur toy, while the students around him chatted and wiggled their backpacks onto their shoulders.
“As I explained when I met with the principal and registered Dillon for school, he’s had a difficult time since his mother’s death last year. He’s quiet.” Ryan cleared his throat. “Very quiet.”
“Yes,