grabbed the bulging garbage bags, one in each hand. She was gone with a slap of the door.
Thunder cannoned overhead, echoing in the empty dining room. Amy rocked back on her heels. Wow, that was a good one. As she turned off the faucet and hefted the bucket from the sink, her heart went out to her son miles away. Had he heard it, too? He didnât like storms.
Iâll be home as soon as I can, baby. Just one patch of floor left. Moving fast, she leaned the mop against the wall and hustled down the aisle, flipping the chairs onto tabletops as she went.
She stopped at the last booth. It was where heâd sat. The stranger. The image of him remained as brightly as if heâd been on a movie screen, how heâd stood with feet braced and shoulders wide in the rain. How heâd faced down the oncoming blaze of headlights and refused to move. He was either really braveor he had a death wish, and sheâd nearly fainted with horror watching as the truck had careened toward him. Certain he was about to be hit, sheâd started running toward the door until, at the last moment, heâd stepped out of harmâs way.
Then, as if heâd done nothing of consequence, he growled at her, refused her thanks and left the diner with his meal in hand. He just stalked out the door, eager to be on his way, solitary and remote.
Wasnât that just like a man?
Oh, well, he was gone. She wished him luck. She didnât know what else to do. She would add him to her prayer list tonight. Heâd made her feel things sheâd worked hard to keep buried. Feelings and memories sheâd banished after her son was born and sheâd come home a different woman from the girl whoâd left for big-city excitement with a chip on her shoulder and something to proveâonly to find out that home wasnât as bad as sheâd thought.
The back door blew open and slammed against the wall. Rachel came in with the wind and rain. âWhew. It nearly blew me away out there and itâs getting worse. Letâs hightail it out of here while we can.â
âIâm almost done.â Determined to finish, Amy upended the final chair. Something dark tumbled to the floor.
She knelt to retrieve it. Mercyâs Aâs was scrawled in worn gold-and-white letters on the black fabric of a manâs baseball hat. The bill had curved into a sagging humped shape as if from years of wear. Her loner had sat at this table, but had he been wearing a hat? She didnât remember one.
It had been a busy day and a busier evening rush. Anyone could have left that cap any time during the supper hours, but there was something about it that made her think of him. Maybe it was the color; her loner had been wearing black.
Her lonerâthatâs how she was thinking of him, as if she knew him. Maybe it was that she recognized a part of herself in the man. Maybe because she understood it wasnât only courage but something stronger that had made him stand motionless staring down death.
Yeah, she recognized the feel of despair that clung to him. She knew a like soul when she saw it.
She stowed the cap in the lost-and-found box, tucked it beneath the cash register and got back to work. Rachel was clattering around in the back officeâit was little more than a closet, which it had been years and years ago when their parents had run the place.
But after their death, Paige had taken over and decided the front counter was no place to work on the books. So sheâd checked out a how-to guide from the library and put them all to work. Amy had chosen the soft yellow paint because it was her favorite color. Of course, she was nine years old at the time. Now the color only reminded her of times best left forgotten.So she was happy to finish the mopping while Rachel muttered about over-rings in the cramped little office.
Amy glanced at the clockâten thirty-eightâbefore rapping on the door, which was open. All she saw