Bygones by Kim Vogel Sawyer Page B

this situation if they talked from now until New Year’s. Her father was set in his ideas and unlikely to change.
    She’d never thought about it before, but J.D. Koeppler and Bethwere a lot alike—both headstrong, unwilling to bend. A humorless chuckle found its way from Marie’s chest. She supposed neither would appreciate the comparison. Through the door, she heard Beth’s voice and assumed the cell call had gone through. With a sigh, she headed to her own room to put away her clothes. She really wasn’t hungry, either.

T EN

    M arie wiped her hands on the calico apron that reached from her bodice to below her knees. As had been the case more than twenty years ago, commuters from the surrounding smaller communities on their way to their jobs in the larger cities pulled off the highway to enjoy breakfast at Lisbeth’s Café. The place had bustled with activity from six on. Now, at nine thirty, the breakfast rush was over, and she welcomed a moment to lean against the counter and catch her breath.
    Her denim midcalf-length skirt felt scratchy against her bare legs, and she shifted a bit so the fabric wasn’t brushing her skin. When Beth had spotted her this morning, dressed in the straight denim skirt and button-up blouse, she had raised her eyebrows. Marie had raised hers, too, at Beth’s rattiest pair of jeans and skintight baby T that left a half inch of midriff showing. “Wouldn’t you like to at least put on a sweater?” The suggestion had been made gently, but Beth immediately flared.
    “You told me I could be comfortable, and this is comfortable.”
    Marie had held up her hands in defeat, but she’d wondered over the course of the morning just how comfortable Beth really was. She’d spent the entire morning hiding in the supply closet, “doinginventory,” with her cell phone pressed to her ear, talking in hushed tones with anyone she could rouse.
    She could hardly blame Beth for wanting to stay out of sight. Of course, the customers from out of town hadn’t reacted oddly to her presence, but the handful of Sommerfeld citizens who came in for morning coffee and conversation had stared unabashedly, their gazes darting away when she met them directly. Their only comments to her had been those necessary for ordering—no friendly greetings or idle chitchat.
    Deborah hadn’t greeted her or Beth cheerfully, either. Even now, with no customers in the café and the opportunity to visit, Deborah sat on a stool on the opposite side of the kitchen, her back to Marie, her nose buried in the Mennonite Review . The only communication with her this morning had been brisk instructions on how things were done. If Marie had her druthers, she’d be hiding in the closet, too, but someone had to wait tables and run the cash register.
    A stack of dishes awaited washing. Marie sighed as she stared at the towers of white and blue ceramic plates, bowls, and cups. They’d need to be finished before the noon traffic came in, which Deborah had indicated was so light they might consider closing the café for the midday hours. She and Beth would discuss that later, but whether they decided to close or not, the dishes had to be washed.
    Marie decided she wasn’t going to be the one to do them. Waiting tables and making sure the café stayed stocked with the needed items for serving was enough of a task without adding dishwashing to the list. Beth would have to carry a share of the load.
    She marched to the supply closet and stepped inside, closing the door so their conversation wouldn’t carry to Deborah’s ears. Beth, engrossed in a cell-phone exchange, held up her hand in a silent bid for patience. Marie waited, leaning against the closed door.
    “Okay, I’ll start checking. Yes, I’ll give it my best shot—you knowhow persuasive I can be.” Beth’s soft, intimate chuckle raised the hairs on the back of Marie’s neck. “Well, listen, Mom’s in here, so I’ll talk to you later. Love you, too. ’Bye.” Beth