Chapter 24

The next Saturday, Steve sat at the kitchen table, staring into a bowl of soggy cereal.

Most Saturdays followed the same rhythm—first the farmer’s market with Grace, then checking in on Laura, and finally, finding some excuse to swing by Diana’s place. But not today. Tonight, he was taking Diana to the End of Summer Dance.

And it terrified him.

“Are you sure you won’t come with me?” Grace nudged his elbow, trying to lighten the mood.

Steve scrubbed a hand over the stubble on his chin. Maybe he should shave. “I need some time to myself.”

“You’re not going to eat this, are you?” she asked, already grabbing the untouched bowl and dumping it into the sink.

She stood there a moment, back turned to him. When she finally spun around, her expression was softer—but her eyes sparkled with mischief and mischief’s best friend, truth.

“You’re thinking about Peggy, aren’t you?”

Steve nodded slowly. “And Diana. A lot of feelings have surfaced that ... surprised me. The last time I went to that dance, Peggy was still alive.”

Grace didn’t look away. “Yeah. I figured.”

She reached for the dishrag and started wiping down the counter with a little too much vigor.

“You know what? I do know you. And I know sometimes you need to be alone—but other times, you need someone to tell you what you don’t want to hear. Problem is, most folks around here are too scared to do that.”

“Oh, really?” Steve leaned back in his chair, folding his arms. “This should be good.”

Grace, in constant motion as always, straightened a stack of mail before diving back into her soapbox.

“You’ve got to stop blaming yourself for everything that happens to people. You walk around like some martyr carrying everyone’s burden—and it’s exhausting to watch.”

She clattered dishes together with more force than necessary. “When Peggy was shot, you immediately said it was your fault.”

Steve dropped his elbows onto his knees and cradled his face in his hands. Why that again? “Because it was my fault.”

Grace slammed a cupboard shut and pointed a dripping rag at him like it was a weapon. “Unless you’re hiding a time machine in the basement, you don’t know what would’ve happened if you’d gone with her. You’ve spent two years playing Monday-morning quarterback. It’s time to stop.”

Steve didn’t look up. He couldn’t. Emotions clogged his throat and burned the backs of his eyes.

Grace softened. She crossed to the table and laid her hand over his. “It was Peggy’s choice to go alone to Equal Opportunity that night. She wasn’t some helpless woman, Steve. She was strong, and she knew the risks.”

Steve looked at her then, and his voice was rough when he finally spoke. “What’s so wrong with wanting to protect people?”