Mornings On Main. Jodi Thomas

folks died in a car crash my last year of college. My dad was Gram’s only living son. I came home and finished my studies online while I took over his newspaper business. My brother went the other direction. We hear from him now and then. The conversation is usually about how busy he is, but he hasn’t been home since our folks died.”

      “Gram mentioned her boys were grown?” Jillian was trying to make the pieces fit.

      “She did have two sons. My uncle died before he started school.”

      He offered no more explanation and she didn’t want to ask. She knew the story would be sad.

      They walked in silence for a few minutes. The streetlights blinked on, making the shabby old homes on the block with the bed-and-breakfast look quaint, charming. The lights on an old refinery across the creek morphed the ugly pipes into the towers of a castle.

      “On the days I can’t come get Gram for lunch, I’ll have something for you and her delivered from Mamma Bee’s Pastries.” He looked straight ahead, not seeming to see the beauty around them. “I just don’t want Gram left alone. She knows not to leave until I come, but I’d feel better if you were with her.”

      “I’m not a nurse.” Jillian wondered exactly what she was getting into. There was far more to this job than she thought. She could handle museum-quality logging, but she wasn’t prepared for taking care of anyone.

      “I’m not asking you to be. Just sit down and eat with her.” His voice was still low, but frozen now.

      “Fair enough.” Jillian stopped at the gate of Flancher’s Folly Bed-and-Breakfast. “I eat a big breakfast. If you order her a meal, just make it soup for me. I’ll eat with her, but if you take her out as she said you do when it’s not a quilting day, I’ll stay and work. I can take care of myself. Feeding me is not your problem, and those days I can log another hour.”

      He nodded. “Understood. Just a job, right? Don’t want to get too involved.”

      “Right.” She answered without looking up at him. He might read her lie in her eyes. She needed the job, but she was in town hoping to find a tiny piece of her dad’s life. She hadn’t been surprised when he first vanished, but as the years passed she wished for one thing, one thread, to hang on to.

      Part of her still looked for him in a crowd. Still thought about what she would have said, or asked, if she’d known he’d be disappearing the last time he’d walked away so casually.

      For the first few years she’d thought he’d appear just to check on her. The fact he didn’t told her more than she wanted to admit about the man who raised her.

      She knew so little about Jefferson James. Nothing about her mother. It was like she’d found a hole in her mind and had nothing to fill it with. His journal had noted this zip code in one of the margins. Maybe there was something or someone he’d cared about here.

      Connor nodded a silent goodbye and she did the same. But she turned when she reached the shadows of the porch and watched him until he disappeared into the night.

      An interesting man, this Connor Larady. Cold at times, like he had a heavy load to carry. Formal, almost, at other times. Yet Gram loved him dearly. Jillian suspected he was a man with a great deal on his mind, and she didn’t plan to know him well enough to ever find out what that entailed.

      They were polite strangers. Nothing more. Maybe he was too shy to get closer. Maybe she was too afraid of being hurt. It didn’t matter. She’d be on her way in three months.

      His wrinkled raincoat had flapped in the wind, almost like wings. Then, as he’d turned the corner, he’d vanished. Or flew away. She grinned, letting her imagination run. For as long as she could remember, she’d longed to see a real hero, or even a villain, but people were just people. Interesting, but not worth getting too close to.

      Strange, she thought. She had no one who’d claim her body if she died tonight. Yet she’d just met a man who probably knew the whole town, and she had a feeling he was more alone than she was.

      The next morning, when Jillian ventured into the sunroom that doubled as guest dining, Mrs. Kelly had Jillian’s place set. In summer this room, with floor-to-ceiling windows on three sides, would be an oven, but on this cloudy, winter day, it seemed to draw bits of light without bringing any warmth along.

      Dozens of crystals hung in circles like wind chimes. Now and then, one caught a ray that escaped from the clouds and splashed rainbows along the one pale yellow wall.

      A dusty old piano stood in the corner of the room, out of place and looking abandoned. Mrs. Kelly must have tried to camouflage the eyesore with a huge arrangement of plastic sunflowers.

      Jillian almost giggled aloud. Staying in the bed-and-breakfast was almost like being in a real house. Of course it was just a business, but she could pretend. Even the banging coming from the kitchen added atmosphere.

      For her father, old trailers or two-bedroom apartments furnished with the bare bones for living had been enough. But she liked having pictures on the walls, rugs on the floors and curtains on the windows. The two semesters she’d lived in a dorm she’d spent more than she should have at the dollar store buying all kinds of decorations for her room. Then, she realized she couldn’t take any of them.

      Only necessities travel.

      As she sat down, she winked at the old upright piano in the far corner. If she could take anything extra packed away in the trunk of her car, it would be a piano. Impractical. Far too big. Impossible.

      “Oh, my goodness!” Mrs. Kelly’s words came so fast as she stepped into the room, they almost sounded like a hiccup. “Look at the beams of light coming in. If a crystal beam shines on your face, you’re blessed by the angels today. I just saw two on your cheek, dear.”

      Jillian rubbed her face. “I don’t believe in crystals or angels, but it’s a nice thought.”

      “Don’t worry, they believe in you.”

      Papa’s rule: Stay away from the crazies. Insanity spreads like the plague.

      Mrs. Kelly laughed as if she’d only been kidding, and Jillian relaxed as breakfast was delivered on a silver tray.

      A Dallas Cowboys football player couldn’t have finished all the meal. Pecan pancakes, sage sausage, fresh fruit, and a cinnamon roll for dessert. Who has dessert for breakfast?

      While Jillian ate, the tiny woman circled the room, talking as if even one guest needed a floor show to go along with her meal. “I heard from Stella, one of the quilters at the shop yesterday, that you’re working in Miss Eugenia’s shop. It’s been there forever, and I’ve never known her to hire help.”

      “I’m logging and photographing all the quilts for the county museum. Miss Eugenia is telling me the history of each one.”

      “That’s a very brave and honorable thing you’re doing,” the little lady said as if Jillian had joined Special Forces. “Are you planning on staying with me while you’re in town?”

      “I’d hoped to. The job will only last a few months, then I’ll be moving on.”

      Mrs. Kelly rocked her head back and forth as if sloshing an idea around in her mind. Finally, she said, “If you don’t mind cleaning your own room, you can have the two rooms up there for a hundred a week, breakfast included. Those rooms are never rented in the winter anyway, and you could use the small one as a living area or study. It only has a half bed in it, so I’ll toss pillows along the wall side and make it look like a couch. There’s also a desk if you’re one of those ‘work into the night’ people.”

      “That’s a very fair price.”

      Mrs. K grinned. “Oh, I forget to add that I sometimes have to leave town for a night now and then. You would have to fend for yourself and watch over the house and the ghost while I’m gone.”

      “I could manage that.” Jillian hoped Mrs. K’s wink meant that she was