Between Sisters - Kristin Hannah [59]
There were a few people milling around the streets, and more than one face peered frowningly up at him, but no one approached him. He saw when he was recognized, saw the way old friends lurched at the sight of him, drew back. He kept his head down, kept moving. He was about to give up on the whole damn idea of finding a job here when he came to the end of town. He stood across the street from Riverfront Park, staring at a collection of cars, all lined up on a patch of gravel behind a sagging chain-link fence. A metal Quonset hut advertised Smitty's, The Best Auto Shop in Hayden.
On the chain-link fence was a sign: Help Wanted. Experience requested, but who am I kidding?
Joe crossed the street and headed toward the entrance.
A dog started barking. He noticed the Beware of Dog sign. Seconds later, a miniature white poodle came tearing around the corner.
“Madonna, stop that damn yapping.” An old man stepped out from the shadowed darkness of the Quonset hut. He wore oil-stained overalls and a Mariners baseball cap. A long white beard hid the lower half of his face. “Don't mind the dog. What can I do ya for?”
“I saw your help-wanted sign.”
“No kiddin'.” The old man slapped his thigh. “That thing's been up there since Jeremy Forman went off to college. Hell, that's been pret near on two years now. I—” He paused, stepped forward, frowning slowly. “Joe Wyatt?”
He tensed. “Hey, Smitty.”
Smitty blew out a heavy breath. “I'll be damned.”
“I'm back. And I need a job. But if it'd cost you customers to hire me, I understand. No hard feelings.”
“You want a job wrenching? But you're a doctor—”
“That life is over.”
Smitty stared at him a long time, then said, “You remember my son, Phil?”
“He was a lot older than me, but yeah. He used to drive that red Camaro.”
“Vietnam ruined him. Guilt, I think. He did stuff over there. . . . Anyway, I've seen a man run before. It isn't good. Of course I'll hire you, Joe. The cabin still comes with the job. You want it?”
“Yes.”
Smitty nodded, then led the way through the Quonset hut and out the other end. The backyard was big and well maintained. Flowers grew in riotous clumps along the walkway. There, a thicket of towering evergreens stood clustered behind the small log cabin. Moss furred the roof; the front porch sagged precariously.
“You were a teenager the last time you lived here. I couldn't keep track of all the girls you dated.”
“That was a long time ago.”
“Yeah,” Smitty sighed. “Helga still keeps it spick-'n'-span clean. She'll be glad to have you back.”
Joe followed Smitty to the cabin.
Inside, it was as clean as always. A red-striped woolen blanket covered an old leather sofa and a rocking chair sat next to the river-rock fireplace. The yellow Formica-clad kitchen appeared well stocked for appliances and pots and pans, and a single bedroom boasted a queen-size four-poster bed.
Joe reached out and shook Smitty's bear-claw hand. “Thank you, Smitty,” he said, surprised at how deep his gratitude ran. His throat felt tight.
“There are a lot of people in this town who care about you, Joe. You seem to have forgotten that.”
“That's nice to hear. Still, I'd be happier if no one knew I was here, for a while, anyway. I don't . . . feel comfortable around people anymore.”
“It's a long road back from something like that, I guess.”
“A very long road.”
After Smitty left, Joe burrowed through his backpack for one of the framed photographs that he'd taken from his sister's house. He stared down at Diana's smiling face. “It's a start,” he said to her.
Meghann woke up disoriented. In the first place, the room was dark. Second, it was quiet. No honking horns and sirens and the beep-beep-beep of trucks in reverse gear. At first she thought a radio was on, in a room down the hall. Then she realized that the noise was birdsong. Birdsong, for God's sake.
Claire's house.
She sat up in bed. The beautifully decorated guest room was oddly comforting. Everywhere were handmade trinkets—proof of time spent on the little things—as well as Ali's artwork. Framed photographs cluttered every