I shake my head and smile. “No, I’m okay,” I say. “Unless you can turn back time so that I’m running on schedule.”
I grind a cup of coffee beans and am surprised to turn around and see Gavin filling the coffeemaker with water and lining the basket with a filter, as if he’s entirely at home here.
“Thanks,” I say.
“Rough morning?” he asks.
“Weird morning. I got your e-mail. Thanks.”
“Did it help?”
I nod. “I spent some time on those sites.”
“And?”
“And I found all but one of the names from my grandmother’s list.” I pour the coffee grinds into the filter, and Gavin flicks the switch to Brew. We’re silent for a moment as the coffee begins to gurgle and spit. “I couldn’t find Alain. But the others, they were all deported. In 1942. The youngest one was five. The mother wasn’t much older than I am now.”
I inhale deeply and feel my chest tremble as I do. “I’m still not convinced they’re my grandmother’s family.”
“How come?”
I feel suddenly embarrassed and avoid his eye. “I don’t know. It would change everything.”
“What would it change?”
“Who my grandmother is,” I say.
“Not really,” he says.
“It changes who I am,” I add in a small voice.
“Does it?”
“It makes me half Jewish. Or a quarter Jewish, I guess.”
“No,” Gavin says. “It would just mean you’ve had that piece of her past in you all along. It would mean you’ve always been a quarter Jewish. It wouldn’t change anything about who you really are.”
I suddenly feel like I’m talking to a therapist, and I don’t like it. “Never mind,” I say. The coffee pot is only half full, but I reach out abruptly to pour Gavin a cup as I change the subject. “You’re earlier than usual this morning.”
I realize as soon as the words are out of my mouth that it sounds like I’m keeping track of him. My cheeks heat up, but Gavin doesn’t seem to notice.
“I couldn’t sleep. And I wanted to see how your search was going.”
I nod and take this in as I pour a cup of coffee for myself.
“Are you going to Paris?” Gavin asks.
“Gavin, I can’t.”
The timer on the oven goes off, and I can feel Gavin watching me as I slip oven mitts on and remove two trays of Star Pies. I set the temperature fifty degrees lower for the croissants I’ve already rolled out and shaped, and I head out to the front of the bakery to see whether anyone has come in without me hearing the door chimes. The shop is empty. Gavin waits until I’ve slid the croissants into the oven before he speaks again.
“Why can’t you go?” he asks.
I bite my lip. “I can’t afford to close the bakery.”
Gavin takes this in, and I sneak a glance at him to see if there’s judgment on his face. There isn’t. “Okay,” he says slowly. I realize he hasn’t asked why, and I’m glad. I don’t want to have to explain my situation to anyone.
“Can’t someone run it for you for a few days?” he asks after a moment.
I laugh and realize the sound is bitter. “Who? Annie’s not even old enough, technically, to work here. I don’t have enough money to hire someone.”
Gavin looks thoughtful. “I’m sure you have friends who can step in.”
“No,” I say, “I don’t.” Yet another one of my many failures in life, I add in my head.
We’re interrupted by the front-door chime, and I head out to help my first customer of the day. It’s Marcie Golgoski, who has been running the town’s library since I was a little girl. As I pour her a cup of coffee in a to-go cup and package a blueberry muffin—her usual—I hope Gavin stays in the kitchen. I know how it will look to her if he’s in back with me, and I don’t like anyone in town making assumptions about my personal life. As much as I love it here, this town is as gossipy as a high school.
The timer on the oven goes off just as I’m ringing Marcie up, and I hurry back to the kitchen after she leaves, afraid that I’ve slightly overdone the croissants. I’m surprised to see Gavin setting the tray of croissants gently on a cooling rack.
“Thanks,” I say.
He nods and slips the pot holders off. “I have to get going,” he says. “But you’re wrong.”
“About what?” I ask, because if I’m going to be honest with myself, I’m sure I’m wrong about lots of things.