Mrs. Kingsley and Mrs. Babcock exchanged proud smiles before they began to untie their aprons. Lane scanned the remaining few still filling the seats of her café. On Friday nights, the Way Station Café closed early to regular customers, but it didn’t mean the café would be empty. Tonight the seats had been filled with Walton residents who needed a warm meal. Ms. Byrdie started the Friday Night Club ten years ago when she retired from the high school. Bored and still feeling like she had something to contribute, she offered to come in and make home-cooked meals free of compensation to serve the community.

“Lane, dear.”

Fighting hard not to cringe, Lane turned to find Mrs. Babcock and Mrs. Kingsley smiling at her. “Yes, ma’am?”

Mrs. Kingsley’s eyes brightened a second before her face took on a serious expression. “Marge and I are worried we might have upset you.”

“You’re young, darlin’,” Mrs. Babcock added. “No reason a pretty girl like yourself needs to be lonely.”

“Hush, Marge,” Mrs. Kingsley hissed. “We are sorry for your loss, dear.”

Where was Ms. Byrdie now? Just keep smiling, Lane reminded herself. But she couldn’t. The best she could muster was a tight-lipped nod.

“It won’t be long until you’re ready again.”

Mrs. Babcock patted Lane’s arm encouragingly, but numbness had set in, blocking Lane’s senses to the point that she could no longer hear the words still being spoken to her. Pretend. Lane nodded and pushed the words out of her mouth. “Yes, ma’am.”

The two women each gave a sympathetic nod before making their way toward the exit. Mrs. Kingsley looked over her shoulder and gave a tiny wave. Pretend. Lane waved as the two women stepped out of the café. When the door closed behind them, a whoosh of breath escaped her rattling chest. Ready again? Was it really so simple to recover from having one’s heart ripped from their chest? Their lives, future, hope—demolished in the blink of an eye?

No. Life wasn’t that simple. Or easy. But all Lane could do was go on pretending like it was.

It was the only way she knew how to survive.

“The peach cobbler and ice cream were a great idea, Lane.” Ms. Byrdie returned with the creamer refilled and set it on the counter. She paused. “Honey, don’t you pay any mind to those old biddies. Their hearts are in the right place even if their good sense hasn’t caught up.”

“It’s okay.”

Ms. Byrdie wrapped an arm around Lane’s waist and leaned in. “No, it’s not.”

Lane swallowed against the lump forming in her throat. No, it wasn’t and she didn’t need to lie to Ms. Byrdie. The woman always seemed to know or see the truth anyway. Inhaling deeply and then letting it go, Lane lifted her head and met Ms. Byrdie’s gaze.