Jon knew he should have left long ago. He had been here for hours. His early dinner long since finished. He had eaten two pieces of pie as an excuse to remain. He remembered the taste of the pie that night. He remembered everything about that night. Whether this was as good as that had been, he would never know. His sense of smell and taste deadened by those flames too.
He watched her clean up the dining area, refill the condiment containers, and wipe down each chair and table as he had that night. The cook had left over half an hour ago. Alison had taken Hope home a couple of hours earlier. Jon knew where they lived. He had felt like some stalker as he followed her that first night.
Of course, he had excused it as a need to protect Alicia. She still did not have better sense than to take the nightly deposit to the bank all alone. He had expected her to cross the street to the row of apartments where they had gone that night. But instead, she had continued down the main street.
It was a good ten or fifteen-minute walk to the quiet street with its scattering of a handful of non-descript single-story brick houses. The woman should have driven. It would have been safer. So, he had taken to guarding her each night. Of course, she did not know that.
She had moved on to cleaning up behind the counter. Her actions practiced as if she had done it a million times. Perhaps she had. He knew so little of her life. Had nothing to go by except a single night in her arms and the furtive glimpses of the past few days.
She lifted the coffee pot and walked towards the booth where he sat. Without a word, she poured the remnants in his cup. He expected her to go back to her cleaning. Instead, she took a seat across from him. She put the coffee pot down on the table next to her. Her hands clasped in front of her. Her eyes were downcast. Long moments ticked by. Jon did not know what to say. Neither it seemed, did she.
When she shifted, Jon thought she rise and go back to her duties. But she reached into the pocket of the white apron she wore and pulled out a piece of paper. She did not even glance up at him as she unfolded it and placed it on the table in front of him.
"I was called to the school today."
He saw tears slip from the corners of her eyes. He ached to kiss them away but reminded himself he had no right. The only thing he could do was listen; if she needed someone to share her burdens with, it was the least he could do.
"I've tried so hard. Most of the time, I think I'm doing a pretty good job with her."
Words of reassurance were on his lips, but before he could utter them, she continued, "Then something like this happens. And I know there are somethings I can never give Hope, holes in her I can never fill. I should have known that. I grew up with those same holes, made up the same fantasies."
She finally looked up. Those brown eyes that had filled his dreams were brimming with unshed tears as others coursed down her cheeks. "But this time, there is something I can do. It may not be much. And I certainly have no right to ask you this."
Whatever she wanted, he would do. Anything to halt those tears that ripped his heart apart as much as that explosion had his body, mind, and life. She had only to tell him what she needed. He would do it somehow. He was not prepared for her next words.
"I know I promised you no-string-attached. And this is a helluva string. But please, please, I beg you, for Hope's sake," she pushed the paper closer to him.
For the first time, Jon looked down at it. The words across the top burned into his brain - Family Tree.
