Lane frowned and then followed Ducky’s gaze over to Ms. Byrdie, who was putting the rest of the cobbler into a plastic storage container. “Ya know, if the sheriff catches you eyeing his wife, you’ll find yourself on the wrong side of the law.”

“But the right side of love.” He smiled, exposing a toothless mouth before erupting into a fit of laughter, which sounded more like he was choking.

For a moment Lane was able to forget the morbid events of the day. She glanced around the room. Once upon a time the old home was built as a kindergarten, some said at the direction of Henry Ford. The first floor was spacious for desks and a sizable kitchen to feed the children. Upstairs, an apartment was kept for the teacher and was where Lane and Noah called home. But most days, the Way Station Café was Lane’s excuse to ignore reality.

Lane tossed a glance out the tall windows of the Georgian home turned café. “Have you seen Miguel?”

Ms. Byrdie’s gaze swept the room. “Actually, I haven’t.”

“He’s never missed Friday Night Club.” Lane looked at her watch. “We’ll be closing soon.”

“I wouldn’t worry about it, dear.” Ms. Byrdie grabbed a towel and wiped the counter. “I think the only reason he comes in is to see you.”

“It’s ’cuz she’s pretty,” Ducky barked.

“Partly, yes.” Ms. Byrdie winked at Lane. “But I think it’s because of the way you treat him.”

Lane balked. “I think it’s for your home cooking.”

“Honey, I’ve been running the FNC for several years, and if Miguel stopped by it was by chance. But that first night he came by and you were here—” Ms. Byrdie paused. There was a sheen in her eyes.

“Miguel’s never talked to a soul,” Wilbur said, holding his empty bowl. “Not even me and we were in basic together.”

“Nam was hard.” Ducky lifted his cup of coffee to Wilbur and Clarence. The three men shared the same solemn expression.

“I better take the trash out to the dumpster,” Lane said over the tightness in her throat.

It was devastating to think about how many American veterans were like Miguel. They came home from a war, forever changed. Even now, she had heard the reports of soldiers returning from overseas and the effects of what they witnessed chasing them until they could take it no more. Lane bit down on her lip. What was her excuse?

“Lane.” Ms. Byrdie caught her as she was about to walk out. “You have a good heart, sweetie. Compassionate and kind. One of these days I hope you can see how much you affect those around you—and not in the way you believe—but in the way I do. The way God does.”