“Moved you a little much, I think, sister,” he said.
“Touched me, yes,” she said, guarding herself not to sniff.
“Come here,” he said, pulling her into his arms and giving her a hug.
Oh, bad idea. If she didn’t steel herself, she’d start sobbing. It was his arms around her—it weakened her. She’d had a million comforting hugs since Bobby finally left them, but her hug tank had been on the low side lately. She desperately needed some reassurance, and as ridiculous as she felt about her prayerful plea to Bobby, it would have come as a comfort to feel his hand on her shoulder, telling her to move ahead, follow her heart…
“Thank you, pastor,” she said, withdrawing herself. “Beautiful sermon.”
“Then, I thank you. I lack confidence in getting them ready. They’re a struggle. Come back and see us.”
“Sure,” she said, removing herself.
She went and waited by the truck, and while she was there, she watched Ian make his way to the pastor, shake his hand, speak to him, even laugh with him. And she thought—there are two of him! He is that guy who seems so alone and a guy who’s made his way in the world just fine. It’s just that his world is a different kind of world; it’s not that rushing, heavily populated world of demands and connections so many of us have. His is mostly a quiet world and his relationships seemed to be the same. The way he seemed to like it.
When she’d been looking for him, she had asked probably a hundred people if they knew an Ian Buchanan and the answer had always been the same. “Name doesn’t ring a bell.” Ian probably made his way through life, friendly enough, without anyone asking his name, without him ever offering it.
When Ian got to the truck and fired it up, she asked, “Did the pastor ask you your name?”
“No,” he said. “Why?”
So that was part of it. That and the fact he didn’t look anything like the picture she’d been flashing around. “No reason, just curious,” she said.
“I think we should have a nice, big breakfast. Do you feel like eating before we hit the library?”
“Sure,” she said quietly.
“You all right, Marcie?”
She shrugged. “I think I got a little sentimental there for a minute. A good strong cup of coffee should do the trick.”
“Well, you’re in luck—I know just the place.”
It was a truck stop, of course. Ian was quite proud of the place. There must have been a dozen eighteen-wheelers parked outside and when he walked in, a middle-aged, heavyset, bleached-blond waitress said hello rather familiarly. “Hey, Bub—you doing okay? Haven’t seen you in a while.” “Doing great, Patti,” he answered. She wore a big name tag so Marcie couldn’t assume they were friends. But Ian had been seen around after all—in plenty of places. Coincidentally, none of the places she’d been looking.
Patti poured their coffee and said, “Need a minute?”
“Yeah, give the lady some time to decide,” he said.
After Patti had gone, Marcie said, “I guess you must get the same thing every time?”
“Just about. Yeah,” he admitted.
“Okay.” She studied her menu. “Whenever you’re ready, I’ll have a cheese omelet.”
“Sounds good,” he said. He lifted his hand to Patti.
When she arrived he said, “A cheese omelet for the lady, trim it, and for me—”
“Four eggs, side of bacon, side of sausage, hash browns, biscuits and gravy, wheat toast, orange juice and coffee till you float,” she finished for him.
He smiled at Patti and it was most definitely a smile. If I were Patti, Marcie thought, I’d think he wanted to ask me out on a date. But all Patti said was, “Gotcha, Bub.”
By her first refill of coffee, Marcie started to get right with the world. Nothing straightened her out like caffeine, she thought. Hot coffee, not that stuff Ian left warming on the woodstove when he went to sell wood in the mornings. And this was good and strong. She came around. “So, are you and Patti friends?” she asked.
“Patti’s my waitress about once every two months,” he said. “She does a good job.”
“Why didn’t you sing in church?” she asked boldly.
He put down his cup. “I didn’t want to.”
“Why?”
“Look, don’t make me act all conceited. I was in choir in high school. I was in our high school musical—we did Grease. I have an okay voice. I don’t want to join the choir.”