Had she done the right thing? Would it have hurt her to have Dylan living above the shop for a while longer?
No, of course it would not have. But in her heart, she believed it would have hurt him. The boy belonged in a home, where he had real meals and someone to talk to. He was obviously conflicted about his parents. He knew they hadn’t been good parents, but they were his parents, and he no doubt loved them. A wave of anger swept over her. His mother and father had had this wonderful child, who by all reports was an exemplary kid, and they’d left him on his own, homeless and without resources or money except what he could find in their apartment before he had to leave because he couldn’t pay the rent. Had his parents given any thought to what would happen to him? Their neglect and lack of caring and concern was unforgivable. The kid deserved better.
Dylan’s situation and her part in it had to be put aside when the first of the day’s customers came in. Liddy found the Sunday crowd to be mostly browsers, where Saturday visitors to the shop were buyers. She was pretty sure there was something psychological at play there. Saturday was the first full day of the weekend, so you had all weekend to read a new book. But on Sunday the weekend hours were passing quickly, and you still had things to do besides relax and read.
There was a lull around two, and Liddy dug her phone out of her bag. She couldn’t take it any longer—she had to call Brett to see what had happened with Dylan. She’d just begun to look up his number when Brett walked in the shop, dressed in jeans and a dark-blue sweater.
“Going casual today, I see,” Liddy greeted him.
“I took a day off. Maggie’s been after me to spend a day on the Cape. Walk the beach, stop at some small roadside place for lobster rolls. You know the drill, right?”
“Did you remind Maggie we have lovely beaches here in Wyndham Beach, and Captain Squiggy’s out on Route Six does a fine lobster roll?”
“I was about to, but she told me not to bother.” He shrugged, a smile on his face. “When the woman wants the Cape, you take her to the Cape.”
“She wants the romance of the Cape.” Liddy stated what she thought to be obvious.
“That too.” Brett smiled at a customer who walked by. “Do you have a minute to talk?”
She called Marion over to operate the register, and she led Brett to her office, where she closed the door.
“So how’s Dylan?” she asked.
“He’s fine. His coach had a long talk with him after I left, and apparently it went very well. We agreed we’d call DCF tomorrow. I’ve had dealings with a supervisor there, and she’s always been reasonable and understanding, so I’ll call her first thing in the morning and see if I can arrange a meeting with her. We sure don’t want to do anything unlawful, but at the same time, we all agree we don’t feel Dylan should be removed from the school where he’s had so much success.”
“The kid’s already lost so much,” she noted.
“That’s our thinking. So for now, anyway, things are good. I spoke with Dylan this morning, and he sounded almost relieved.”
“I guess sneaking in and out of the shop morning and night was starting to wear thin. It had to be really stressful, wondering if he’d be caught and what would happen to him.”
Brett nodded. “He’s going to have to get a job so he can show DCF he’s got roots here in the community besides school. We’ll try to find him something that won’t interfere with his studies or baseball once the season starts in the spring.”
“Sounds like there’s a solid plan for him. I’m glad. I was feeling so guilty, thinking, if he’s forced into foster care and moved to another school district, what it would mean for him. New school, new teachers, new team where maybe they already have someone really good who plays his position—”
“Jason tells me he’s never seen anyone like this kid. Plays his position really well, but he can hit like a pro, and for a tall, skinny kid, he has a strong throwing arm. The last thing Jason wants is for his star to go to a rival team.” Brett looked at his watch. “I have to get going.”
Liddy stood and opened the office door. Brett waited for her; then they walked into the store together.
“You did a good thing, Liddy. Dylan said to tell you he’s grateful, but I suspect he’ll be in before too long to tell you himself.”
“That would be nice. I’d like to keep up with his progress.”
Brett was nabbed on his way out by a local who wanted to complain about drag racing on Beach Plum Road on the weekends, so Liddy left him to deal with it and went to answer the phone. The rest of the day played out without incident, with a few sales to ring up, a few friends to chat with. At exactly 5:55, Jim walked in. He went right to the new nonfiction releases and skimmed the titles until something caught his eye. He took his book to the cash register, where Marion handled his cash sale, and Liddy observed from the back of the shop. She’d ducked into the bathroom off her office, tidied up the bun that sat at the base of her neck, and put on a little—very little—makeup.
“This is not a date,” she muttered. “This is . . . dinner. Just . . . dinner.”
Even so, she observed him as she would a stranger, and had to admit he was still good looking in a professorial way, with his glasses and gray cardigan sweater over a light-blue buttoned-down shirt and khakis.
She timed her walk from the back to coincide with six o’clock on the dot.
“Right on time, as always, I see,” she said when she reached the counter.
“Oh, you know me, Liddy. Old habits die hard.”
It crossed her mind that perhaps he saw her as an old habit. It was a disquieting thought.
“Give me just a minute,” she told Jim, “while I close out the cash register.”
“Don’t you take the cash to the bank?”
“I have a well-hidden safe in my office,” she told him. “I’ll send the weekend’s receipts to the bank in the morning.”
“But they have a drop box,” he told her. “You could—”
“Thanks, Jim, but I’ve got it under control.” She gathered the cash and the credit receipts and took them to the office.
“Right. Of course you do,” she heard him say.
She looked over her shoulder to see if he was being sarcastic, but he didn’t appear to be, which was something in his favor. She went into the office, took care of her business, and was back up front in minutes.
“Where would you like to go?” Jim asked after she’d locked the shop and they were on their way to the parking lot where he’d left his car.
She hadn’t given it much thought. Somewhere in town . . . no, that would only set off the gossips, and for the next two weeks she’d be answering the question, “So I heard you and Jim are back together?” No, thank you.
“No place fancy.” She considered her attire, which was, she realized, not too different from his: khakis and a sweater, though hers was a pullover. “I’m not dressed for fine dining.”
“I think you look terrific,” he said.
“Thanks.” She brushed off the compliment, wondering if he’d really looked at her at all, remembering all the times in the past when he’d answered the same when she’d asked how she looked. “You look fine,” or, “You look great,” even as she knew he wasn’t seeing her at all.