Page 65 of In a Word, Yes

She laughs breathily. “Yeah. There’s actually been some ...somequestionabout Liam’s learning style and his, you know, mannerisms, and anyway—gosh, I hope you don’t mind me bringing this up. It’s just that Chase seems like a great kid, very comfortable in himself, even though some of the kids maybe don’t know how best to relate to him.”

Some of the adults, too, I don’t say.

Jen palms her forehead. “Oh, I’m making a mess of this.”

“No, you’re fine, Jen.”

She holds my gaze, and her eyes fill. I wait.

Jen swallows. “Would you be willing to meet me for coffee sometime?”

“Oh. I—”

“It’s just that I’m getting conflicting advice about Liam—”

I nod. “I get it, Jen. I’m sure everybody has an opinion about it.”

“Exactly.You know. I knew you would understand. Anyway...” She bites her bottom lip. “I’d really love to pick your brain.”

We exchange numbers, and I shove my stubborn cart forward.

But then, “Jen?” I say, turning back. I find her still standing in the same spot, watching me. “It’s going to be okay.”

I can’t tell her it won’t be hard. But if indeed I do get the chance, I will for sure tell her this:

Just because a thing isn’t easy doesn’t mean it’s not what we’re called to.

Twenty-Two

scuttlebutt(n.): rumor, gossip

“I started to text you earlier,” Ian says when I arrive at Sweet Reads that evening. He leans closer. “But the thing is...” He thrusts his chin toward the Mystery section, and I follow him around the tall aisle overstuffed with books. “Thing is,” he says conspiratorially once we’re out of anyone’s line of sight, “what I’m about to tell you must be held in the strictest confidence. Messaging you was way too risky.”

I pretend to zip my lips. Whatever this is about, I’m down for a good secret. Especially if it relieves Ian’s conscience about ghosting me yesterday. “Leave no trace,” I whisper, a touch overdramatically.

“Right.” He shimmies his eyebrows. “Exactly.Yougetit, Lucy. So, here’s what happened. I’m on my way to meet you yesterday when I see this woman getting out of her car over in front of All the Feels. Fiftyish. Long, graying hair. Dark glasses. About your height or a wee bit taller.”

“Mm-hmm,” I hum, curiosity taking root. Ian isn’t a particularly demonstrative kind of guy. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen him so worked up. This must be good.

“At first I think maybe I’m hallucinating, right? Because I’m pretty convinced I’m looking at ... wait for it ... Steph Stoneback.”

My chest deflates. Whatever expression I wore a second ago is now frozen in place.

Ian misreads this. “I know—crazy, right? And I think to myself,no.No bloody way. I’m simply imagining things because I was just placing a reorder for her book. Steph Stoneback just happens to be on my mind, I tell myself.”

“Oh, sure. Imagination can do that,” I say dismissively, because all of a sudden I’m an actress. “Could happen to anyone.”

“Well, yeah. So then I follow her.”

I swallow a bubble of uneasiness. “You ...follow her.”

“Mind you, it’s not that I go stalking her—not precisely, because of course I could always use a gift for my gran back in Nottingham. A little early Christmas shopping never hurt, you see what I’m saying? Gran loves all those lathery things. Oils, scrubs, all of it.”

“Right.”

“So anyway, I go in, and, you know, examine a few bars of soap, and all the while I’m trying to get a better look at this woman. She’s got her head down, sniffing candles. I still can’t be sure. So very casually, I move closer”—Ian sidles nearer to me, as if there’s a need to illustrate—“and comment on the loveliness of a particular candle. She looks up. And that’s when I know for sure.”

“You know...?”