She moved to open her door, but Steve beat her to it, stowing her crutches on the passenger side and shifting aside to let her ease behind the wheel.

“May I call you this week?” He leaned close so she alone was privy to the question. Close enough to touch her. But he didn’t. Even if Noah wasn’t the only one who could use a hug.

“Yes.”

That was all she said—but it was sufficient. It was the opening he’d prayed for.

“Drive safe.” He backed away and shut the door.

He rejoined Noah, and they watched while she backed out and drove away.

“She’s nice.” There was a wistful note in Noah’s tone.

“Yes, she is.”

“How come she lives here and you live in Coos Bay? Aren’t married people supposed to live together?”

“Usually. But sometimes people need a bit of . . . space.” He started down the wharf, toward his car.

Noah fell in beside him. “My mom used to say she needed space a lot. I think she got tired of having me around. I bet Mrs. Adams never got tired of having Jonathan around.”

“No, she didn’t.”

“And I bet she misses you too.”

About that, he was less certain.

“I don’t know. She has plenty to keep her busy.”

“Busy isn’t the same as happy, though. And I think it’s better for people in a family to stick together. Then no one would ever get lonely.”

Out of the mouths of babes.

Too bad Beth hadn’t heard Noah’s words of wisdom.

But perhaps in the weeks ahead, with the help of a young boy wise beyond his years, he could prove to her they were true— and convince her to give up her self-imposed isolation and come home at last.

24

Didn’t all kids like macaroni and cheese?

Jack surveyed Hannah’s half-eaten dinner.

Apparently not.

Or maybe his effort just hadn’t passed muster. The instructions on the box had sounded easy—but the cheese shouldn’t be this gummy. Nor should the carrots he’d prepared as a side dish require chomping.

Verdict?

His Saturday dinner foray into the kitchen was a bust.

But Hannah didn’t like his usual go-to fare from the Myrtle either.

Jack forced down another bite of macaroni.

Sunday dinner tomorrow could end up being takeout from Frank’s. The rustic eatery near Bandon was a hole in the wall, but the man made the best pizza this side of the Rockies. Surely his daughter would like that.

He could hope, anyway.

“Are you finished?” He gave up on the macaroni and laid his fork down.

“Uh-huh.” She pushed her plate away.

“It wasn’t too good, was it?” Avoiding the truth wouldn’t change it.

“No.” His daughter wrinkled her nose. “The macaroni stuck to my teeth, and the carrots were too crunchy. Christi cooks better than you.”

That wouldn’t be hard.