“Dad, that woman is still outside.”
Oliver Grant looked up from the brass lock on Bluebird Corner Cafe’s front door.
“What woman?”
Lucy pointed toward the narrow side window beneath the awning.
“The one sitting by the brick wall. She was there before we started putting the chairs up.”
Oliver straightened.
Outside, Burlington had already begun disappearing beneath snow. The first storm of the season had arrived early, soft at first, a thin white dust collecting along the edges of Church Street and in the cracks between old brick buildings. The weather report had called it a light evening accumulation. Anyone who had lived in northern winters long enough knew that “light” could still become dangerous after dark.
Bluebird Corner Cafe was nearly closed for the night.
The chairs were upside down on most of the tables. The espresso machine had been back-flushed. Half the display case was empty. A small radio behind the register played quietly beneath the hum of the refrigerator compressors.
Oliver followed Lucy to the window.
Under the awning beside the building, a woman sat close to the wall with a worn canvas bag between her shoes. She wore a dark coat that was too thin for the temperature and had pulled both hands deep inside the sleeves. Every few seconds she rubbed them together.
Her head was down.
Snow had begun gathering on the shoulders of her coat.
“How long?” Oliver asked.
Lucy pressed her cheek near the glass.
“I don’t know. Maybe since before dinner.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I thought she was waiting for the bus.”
Oliver looked toward the street.
The nearest bus stop was half a block away.
The woman was not waiting for a bus.
He reached for the side-door handle.
Lucy followed him.
“Stay inside.”
“But—”
“Lucy.”
She stopped.
Oliver opened the door.
Cold air pushed immediately into the cafe.
The woman lifted her head.
Oliver stopped moving.
For half a second, he saw a stranger.
Shorter hair than he remembered. A thinner face. Dark circles beneath the eyes. Time had changed the softness around her mouth and added faint lines beside it.
Then he saw the small pale scar near her left eyebrow.
He had seen that scar every school day for almost three years.
“Audrey?”
The woman stared at him through the falling snow.
Her expression changed slowly, from caution to disbelief.
“Oliver Grant.”
Lucy appeared behind her father despite being told not to.
“Dad?”
Oliver stepped fully outside.
“Audrey Bell.”
The old name sounded strange and familiar at the same time.
Audrey looked down briefly.
“It’s Carile now.”
Oliver nodded.
He did not ask why.
Not yet.
He gestured toward the open door.
“Come inside.”
“I’m all right.”
“No, you’re not.”
“I’ve been colder.”
“You’re shaking.”
Audrey looked toward Church Street as though she were considering leaving rather than accepting help.
Oliver recognized the movement.
She had done the same thing at seventeen whenever somebody offered her something she thought she had not earned.
He did not wait.
“Just come in and get warm.”
Audrey looked at him.
Then at Lucy.
Then at the cafe.
Finally she picked up the canvas bag.
Inside, Oliver pulled a chair close to the old cast-iron radiator beside the side wall.
“Sit there.”
“I really don’t need—”
“Sit.”
Lucy disappeared behind the counter and returned with a clean dish towel.
“You have snow in your hair.”
Audrey accepted it.
“Thank you.”
“I’m Lucy.”
“I heard.”
“You knew Dad when he was a kid?”
Oliver pointed toward the kitchen.
“Go check the dishwasher.”
Lucy ignored him.
Audrey’s mouth curved into the first smile Oliver had seen.
“We went to high school together.”
Lucy examined her father.
“Did he have hair?”
Oliver stared at her.
“I have hair.”