“Escaping again?”
Bernie. He’d come out behind her, tablet under his arm, easing his weight from one leg to the other the way he did when his knee had been sitting too long.
“I came back,” Margo said. “There’s a difference.”
“Is there?”
“I came back because I wanted to.” She started walking. Slowly. Not her pace—his. She matched it without thinking about it. “Thank you, by the way. For the phone calls. Keeping me in the loop while I’ve been painting pelicans and attending book clubs.”
“Someone had to make sure you knew what was happening in your own restaurant.”
“It’s not my restaurant anymore.”
“It’s always your restaurant.” He shifted the tablet to his other arm. “You grilled today.”
“I did.”
“Looked good. The customers were happy.”
“Nobody’s unhappy eating grilled cheese.”
They walked. The boardwalk under their feet, the ocean beside them, the afternoon light turning everything gold. Bernie’s gait had a hitch in it—the left knee, the one thatpredicted weather and protested stairs. It was worse than last time she’d seen him walk. Not dramatically, but enough that she slowed another half-step without mentioning it.
“They’re tired,” she said, after a while.
“I know.”
“Anna’s doing too much. Tyler’s doing too much. The girls are helping after school when they should be doing homework.”
“I know.”
“They’ll figure it out.”
“They’re Walshes.”
“They’re stubborn.”
“Same thing, with your family.”
They reached the corner where Margo’s street turned inland. She stopped. He stopped. The hitch in his step was visible now—standing still, his weight shifted away from the left side.
“Bernie.”
“Don’t.”
“You should get that looked at.”
“It’s been looked at. It’s a knee. It’s old. I’m old. We’re in agreement about the situation.” He smiled. “I appreciate the concern.”
“It’s not concern. It’s common sense.”
“Coming from you, those are the same thing.”
Margo looked at him—this man who’d been sitting in her restaurant every day for decades, whose knee was getting worse and whose stubbornness about it was going to become her problem whether he liked it or not. But not today. Today he’d walked her to the corner, and his knee had barely held.
“Goodbye, Bernie.”
“Goodbye, Margo.”
