I stared down at the plans. “It does. More than I can say,” I said softly, surprised at the rough edges in my voice. I looked up and added, “Remember, I want to be there in person for site prep or any other work on the property.”
He frowned. “I’ll tell the crews to be careful, but we’re deconstructing and clearing the whole site. What should they be careful of? What are you worried about?”
“Back when the fire happened, after the ashes had cooled, I picked through and found personal items. They were charred but not destroyed. Other things, family things, might be buried deeper under the debris. I know it’s unlikely, especially after so long, but I want to be there to make sure nothing is disposed of that shouldn’t be.” I shrugged. “The kind of stuff that looks like junk to most might mean something to me.”
“The workmen aren’t going to handpick through a pile of charcoal and debris, soaked and settled for twelve years. It’s not reasonable, Hannah.”
“I understand, and I promise to be sensible. But if I stay away and dismiss it all as trash, I’ll always wonder. Plus, there’s the family cemetery. It doesn’t look like much. The stone wall is tumbledown, and not all the graves have markers. Workmen might not respect it or protect it.”
“The cemetery is on the far side of the creek and up the slope. It shouldn’t be impacted at all. You can be sure it will be protected.”
“Excellent, but I want to be there. I insist.”
Roger groaned softly, then nodded. “Fine. We’ll go out there together. I’ll show you there’s nothing to worry over.”
I touched his hand. “Thanks, Roger. I appreciate your efforts and all you’ve done. Once things are underway, I’ll relax a little, but for now—”
His eyes had shifted. He was no longer looking at me. I turned toward the entrance to see what had caught his attention.
A tall man. Broad-shouldered. Dark, longish curly hair with lighter streaks. Wearing jeans and boots. He was standing at the counter beside a stool talking to Shelby and was mostly turned away from me.
I picked up my purse and eased out of the booth. “Sorry, Roger, I have to run. I just remembered an appointment.”
Roger frowned and half rose as I stood, but I slipped discreetly through the diner, keeping my eyes fastened on the front door, and I didn’t stop until I was outside. Then, despite myself, I paused and turned back toward the window.
There was no way that man could be who I thought. After all these years, I wouldn’t know Liam anyway unless he was wearing a name tag. This was a coincidence. A stranger with a familiar look. Nothing more.
Roger was watching me through the glass. I’d made myself look foolish for no reason. At least it was with Roger. Roger might be curious, but he wouldn’t press the issue or hold it against me.
Feeling slightly ridiculous, I forced a smile. I gave Roger a breezy wave and went straight to my car. As I unlocked the door, I stopped. The idea that I shouldn’t take Roger for granted intruded, and I almost turned back.
I didn’t take him for granted, but I could see how it might look that way. Still, there were things I couldn’t explain to him or to anyone else.
Other worries aside, I could count on Roger. He’d cover my tab for my coffee and sweet roll, and he’d build my house, and I’d make sure to let him know how much I appreciated his friendship and help.
I should’ve gone to my pottery shop. I drove right past it on my way home from the diner. At the shop, I could’ve been productive and worked off my lingering anxiety. Instead, I went straight home to Rose Lane, kicked off my shoes in the foyer, dropped my purse on a chair, and threw myself down on the living room sofa. I hugged a pillow and stared at the sunlight playing around the open blinds in the front windows.
Quiet. Peaceful. Clean. No dust coated the slats of these blinds. Not a single fingerprint marred the window glass. The frames on the wall—paintings, drawings, family photos featuring Ellen and me—were the same. Clean surfaces. Shiny glass. Everything was in its place, and all was well with my world. The glazed pots from Cooper’s Hollow, the ones formed by my grandmother’s and her mother’s hands, were displayed on special shelving Roger had made for me after the earthquake. I’d been lucky during that shake. One couldn’t expect such luck every time. With this shelving, the pots wouldn’t go anywhere unless the house itself fell down.
The man who’d walked into Dell’s . . . could he have been Liam? How unlikely would that be? Would it matter if it was?
I put aside the sofa pillow and sat up. Collapsing had never worked to relax me. I took a clean dust rag from the pantry box and began polishing the knickknacks and keepsakes.
Back when the house in Cooper’s Hollow burned, some of the old hand-and wheel-thrown bowls and pots had been stored in the nearby log cabin. The house itself was small. It didn’t have much display space. Besides, my grandparents were people who viewed a house as practical and utilitarian—much as the women had viewed the pots when they’d crafted them. Attractive was good, but an item must first and foremost be useful. As it turned out, it was fortunate these pots had been stored in the cabin, or I would’ve lost them all in the fire.
I ran my fingers over the pots. These were my history, and I’d continued the family tradition in a quiet storefront on Main Street in Mineral. The sign in the window read CUB CREEK POTTERY. It didn’t get many shoppers with ready cash, but it was mostly for me anyway. It was a place to work on the clay without messing up the house and a business address for my few clients to send requests or payments. Sometimes I gave lessons. But I never opened the store on Monday, even when I was there working the wheel. That was my time—time when I was guaranteed peace and quiet in which to work.
Ellen would be home from school in a couple of hours. She’d need a ride to her job at the grocery store. She filled in at the customer service desk and checkout during supper breaks. I found it rather a pain in the butt for the few hours she worked each week, but Ellen was that kind of kid. She needed to be out and doing, and I figured “doing” might as well be productive. She’d be home for a late supper after and to take care of her schoolwork. Finals and graduation were less than two months away. She was already set for college, and some might think the GPA didn’t matter much now, but it did for her.