“He’s gone.” Harley came back inside, carrying a flat, rectangular box in his hand. “This was near the steps though. Delivery guy must’ve forgotten to bring it in.”

“Just set it on top of the others,” Lane said. “Should we go after him?”

“Miguel carves wood. Sculpts.” Harley lifted his napkin from the floor and set it on his empty plate. “Did it a lot when he first came home from Nam. Painful hobby, but it seemed to help him cope with his monsters.”

Lane bit her lip. She understood monsters. “Something’s not right. This is the first time we’ve seen him in what, a couple of weeks? And then when he does show up, his hands are a bloody mess.”

“He only sculpts when it’s bad.” Harley scratched the stubble on his cheek. “He might not have died in those rice paddies, but his soul sure did.”

“Honey”—Ms. Byrdie squeezed Lane’s shoulder—“Miguel’s having a bad day. He’ll be back.”

“But what if he doesn’t come back? He looked . . . scared.”

“It wasn’t too long ago that men like Ducky or Miguel wouldn’t be seen coming into town. Too many men came home from Vietnam different from the boys they were when they left, and I’m sad to say too many people in this town have been content to let them disappear into themselves. But not you. You brought him back with good food and a kind heart.”

“Ms. Byrdie’s right. Hard to say which is the worse fate.” Harley grabbed Dottie’s hand. “There was a time when Miguel was convinced no one would notice if he was gone. He doesn’t say much, but don’t think your kindness goes unnoticed. He’ll be back.”

The front door of the café opened and a man entered. Lane didn’t give him a second glance. Her heart ached. How many times had she had that same thought? Believing no one would notice if she just slipped away. For good. Is that why she was drawn to him? She understood what it was like to cope with monsters.

And to do it alone.

Ms. Byrdie’s words echoed in her ear, “You’re not meant to do this alone.” Well, if that was true for her, then it was true for Miguel too.

An hour later a group of teens left fully caffeinated and Lane wrapped up the last of the food and put it away in the refrigerator. A quick survey of leftovers revealed she might be able to offer vegetable soup as the next day’s lunch special.

“I finished the list of items we need to reorder from Gus,” Ms. Byrdie said around a yawn. “There’s one customer left, but he’s paid and just finishing his coffee.”

“Sounds good. Why don’t you head on home. I can finish cleaning and lock up.”