He shrugged aside her apology and reached for two mugs. “So am I.”
Claire watched him make them both mugs of tea even though she hadn’t asked for one. There was something natural and comforting about sitting in his kitchen, sharing a meal, accepting a mug of strong, sweet tea. “You know,” she said whenthey were both sitting down with their mugs, “you could still try here. Make friends, a life—”
Dan shook his head wearily. “I don’t really see the point.”
“But you came here for a reason. And life does go on—”
“Does it?” Dan interjected, his voice sharpening. “I lost four men in Afghanistan. We were doing a search-and-clearance operation in the Nad Ali District and a hidden bomb exploded in an area I’d already swept. It was my fault. Completely my fault that those men died, and two of them had children. Three were married.” He glanced away, his face set hard.
“Oh, Dan...” Claire whispered. She had no idea what to say.
“Life doesn’t go on for everyone,” he finished, and drained his mug of tea. “Why should it for me? Now you’d better get out there. I’m sure someone will come in soon.” He rose from the table, taking their dishes to the sink, and then started upstairs. Claire watched him go, wishing she could say something, yet having no idea what to say or how to comfort a man who had far more depth and sensitivity than she’d ever realized.
Alone in the kitchen, she tidied up and then went out to the shop. It was raining steadily now, a thick mist lying over the high street. Claire doubted they would get many customers in such weather, and she decided to brave the mist and rain to take Bunny for a walk. She could deliver Eleanor Carwell’s paper and milk while she was at it.
She locked the front door and hung up the back in an hour sign and then whistled for Bunny, who came quivering towards her. She’d gotten used to the dog in the last month, but she’d never walked her before. Although she didn’t want to incur Dan’s wrath again, she decided to ask his permission and tiptoed up the stairs.
“Dan... ?” she called, and received no answer. She went all the way up, Bunny at her heels, and crept down the narrow passageway, conscious that she was invading Dan’s privacy andsetting herself up for a serious smackdown. “Dan... ?” The door to what had to be his bedroom was ajar, and after tapping nervously on it, she poked her head around.
Dan was stretched out on the bed, fast asleep. Claire stood there for a moment, watching him. In sleep the grim set of his features was softened, his breath coming out deep and even. He slept like he’d been laid in a coffin, flat on his back, his hands folded over his chest. Maybe it was a military thing.
Claire glanced around the room, shamelessly looking for clues about this man, but the Spartan bedroom gave nothing away. Nothing on top of the bureau or bedside table, no photographs or books or even loose change. The only thing she learned about him was that he was very neat. That was probably a military thing too.
After another moment of watching him, strangely transfixed by the sight of him asleep, Claire tiptoed back downstairs and whistled for Bunny, who came scampering joyfully to her side.
Chapter twenty-three
Rachel
It took Rachel only about ten steps towards the Manchester side of the bridge to realize she was overreacting. She stopped, taking a few deep breaths, needing to control the emotion that had bottled inside her. A few pedestrians slipped by her, clearly annoyed that she was standing there unmoving while they were forced to break their purposeful stride.
Finally, when the bridge was empty save for her and Andrew, she turned around. Andrew stood a few feet away, his hands in his pockets, his expression unruffled. The man never emoted.
“Fine,” she said. “I’m scared. Of course I am. Who isn’t?”
“There’s nothing wrong with being scared. It’s when you let the fear control you—”
“Oh please. What self-help book did you steal that line from?”
“There’s nothing wrong with self-help books, either.”
“You know, I have thought about it,” she said. Her chest felt tight again, and she took a few more deep breaths. “Of course I have. But it isn’t fear that’s kept me from trying to do something more with my life.”
“What, then?” Andrew asked. He took a step towards her, and Rachel turned to look out at the river. It was easier to stare at the gently flowing water than at him.
“Exhaustion, for one. I feel like I can barely get myself through each day most of the time. But beyond that...” She braced her hands on the bridge’s railing, her fingers curling over the cold metal. “I don’t want to settle. I don’t want to be the person who has to be thrilled she got a place at University of Cumbria’s night school, doing some adult ed course on data entry or hospitality management. Yes, I’ve looked at the courses online,” she said, cutting him off before he could say anything. “I haven’t been completely paralyzed. But...” Her hands tightened on the railing, her gaze firmly on the river. “I was accepted on academic scholarship to Durham. I know it’s not Cambridge or Oxford, but it’s still one of the best universities in the country. I had plans. Dreams...”
“What were you studying at Durham?” he asked quietly.
“Chemistry.” Her throat thickened alarmingly and she swallowed hard. “I wanted to go into research. I was going to get a PhD, find the cure for cancer....” She let out a laugh, the sound just a little wild. “Oh, well.”
“You’re only twenty-eight, Rachel.”
“Give it up, Andrew. I don’t have the money for all that. The part-time chemistry course at West Lakes College was too much for my pocket. Anyway,” she finished with a shrug, “it doesn’t matter. I can’t skip off to uni even part-time with my mother in hospital and my sisters needing me.”
“Maybe they don’t need you as much as you think they do.”
She turned to face him. “And what is that supposed to mean?”
