Chapter 2 - The 7:15 Bus
Norah set her folded napkin on the table next to Liam’s piano folder.
"Is that a song?" she asked, pointing a small finger at the black-and-white sheet music peeking out of the blue vinyl cover.
Liam leaned over immediately, his six-year-old solemnity melting into eager authority. "It's The Light-Footed Bear. You have to use both hands, but my thumb keeps slipping on the black keys."
"My hands are too small for piano," Norah announced, holding up two tiny palms. "I can do the triangle, though. At preschool, I’m the head of the triangle."
Sarah let out a soft, low breath—the kind of breath a mother holds when she expects a blow and receives a gift instead. She kept her canvas bag tucked close against her ankles, her posture upright and polite, refusing to lean back into the vinyl cushion.
"She plays a very loud triangle," Sarah said gently, her eyes meeting Ethan's across the small salt-and-pepper shakers. "I’m Sarah Lawson. Thank you for the seat, Mr. Sterling."
Ethan caught the use of his last name and paused, his water glass halfway to his mouth. "Just Ethan. And you're welcome. Though I think Liam was the one who decided the booth was too big for just the two of us."
"It is too big," Liam piped up without looking away from Norah. "Dad sits on one side and I sit on the other, and we have to yell across."
Ethan felt a quiet twist in his chest. It wasn't true—they didn't yell—but the distance between them had been real enough for eleven months. He watched his son, who had barely spoken three sentences during their last five dinners, now explaining the mechanics of a loose tooth to a four-year-old girl with an flattened pompom on her hat.
A server approached, dropping off two extra glasses of water and a kids' menu. "Can I get you ladies something to eat?"
"Just the water, thank you," Sarah said quickly, her tone polite but unyielding. "We’re catching the 7:15 bus down to Oakridge."
Ethan glanced at the wall clock above the kitchen doors. It was 6:52. Rain had begun to hit the high windows, turning into a steady, freezing sleet that rattled against the glass.
"Oakridge is forty minutes south," Ethan remarked quietly. "The line runs through the industrial district."
"My sister lives near the depot," Sarah replied. "I had a temporary contract finishing up in the city today at the district library. The evening shuttle was delayed, so we’re making our way home in legs."
She didn't offer a sob story. She didn't explain why she didn't have a car, or why her hands showed the faint blue ink stains of long hours filing records, or why her winter coat was two sizes too big, tucked in at the waist with a worn belt. She stated her reality as a matter of geography and schedule, holding her dignity like a shield.
"The 7:15 is usually late on Wednesdays," Ethan said. "The route doubles back near the bridge construction."
Sarah looked down at her watch—a simple analog watch with a cracked leather strap. "Then we’ll wait at the shelter down the block. It has a overhang."
"It's freezing outside," Liam said, turning his head. "Dad's car has heated seats. They make your butt warm."
Sarah smiled—a real smile that reached her eyes for the first time, softening the hard lines of fatigue around her mouth. "That sounds very fancy, Liam. But we like the bus. It has big windows."
"Sarah," Ethan said, keeping his voice carefully neutral, stripping it of any trace of pity. "My office is three miles from Oakridge. I’m driving that way regardless. It’s no trouble to drop you at your sister’s porch."
Sarah stared at him, her grey eyes searching his face. She was looking for the angle, the catch, the condescension that usually accompanied an offer from a man in a tailor-made coat driving a late-model German SUV.
"We take the bus," she repeated firmly. "I appreciate it, Ethan. Really. But I manage our travel."
Ethan accepted the boundary instantly. "Fair enough." He turned to the server. "Could we get two hot chocolates to go? Extra marshmallows."
Sarah opened her mouth to object, but Ethan raised one hand slightly. "For the walk to the shelter. It's thirty-two degrees out there, Sarah. Let the kids have the cocoa."
She looked at Norah, who was currently giggling as Liam demonstrated how his front tooth moved when he pushed it with his tongue. She let out another slow breath and nodded once. "Thank you. For the cocoa."
At 7:08, Sarah stood up. She did not linger. She zipped Norah’s coat, pulled the flat pompom hat down over her ears, and adjusted her heavy canvas bag.
"Say thank you to Mr. Ethan and Liam, Norah," Sarah said.
Norah held up her paper fan. "Thank you for the warm seat, Liam. Keep practicing the bear song."
"I will," Liam said, waving. "See you later, Norah!"
Sarah shook Ethan’s hand. Her grip was surprisingly strong, her palm cool. "Goodnight, Ethan. Thank you for not making it complicated."
"Goodnight, Sarah."
Ethan watched them walk out into the dark, freezing rain. Sarah walked close to the curb, holding Norah’s hand, carrying the two paper cups of hot chocolate while the wind tugged at her oversized coat.
Liam leaned his forehead against the damp vinyl of the booth, watching them disappear into the night. "Dad?"
"Yeah, pal?"
May you like
"Our booth feels really empty again."
Ethan looked at the empty paper napkin wrapper sitting on the table, then at his son's small face. "Yeah, Liam," he murmured, reaching across to touch the boy's shoulder. "It really does."
