Page 22 of Long Hard Fall

Cash arrived at the Brown House Cafe shortly after nine in the morning. This was the best time. He missed the breakfast rush and Frankie could take her coffee break with him after having opened the diner and worked her ass off all morning.

He picked one of his three usual booths. Always in Frankie’s section. He couldn’t find her, but maybe she was bustling around in the kitchen. Frankie didn’t quit moving even if he urged her to quit working herself into the ground.

“Cash?”

Abbi’s voice was a balm, overriding the flush of panic that he’d have to explain why he was here. “Morning, Abbi.”

She slid in across from him. Her hair hung damp and she was in the jeans and sweater he’d recommended for riding. She must’ve done laundry at the hotel; she was wearing the sweater she’d gotten sick in. Still cute in it, too.

“I’m not stalking you, I promise. The girl working the front desk of the hotel swore this was the best place to get an omelet.”

“She wasn’t lying.” Cash smiled politely as he searched for Frankie. His smile vanished as one of the other servers bustled toward him.

“Cash, are you here for Frankie?” Carol, a good friend of Frankie’s, stood barely above five feet tall with hair long gone gray.

The way Carol asked him spiked his worry, but the way she ignored the woman across from him was downright troubling. He’d never brought someone with him in all the Mondays he’d met with Frankie. “What’s wrong?”

Carol laid a hand on his shoulder. “She was admitted to the hospital last night.”

Cash was already scooting out of the booth. Abbi was doing the same.

“What happened?” he asked.

“We’re not sure, yet, but you let her know we’re thinking about her.”

He pulled Carol in for a half hug. “Thanks for letting me know.”

She patted him on the back. “Tell her I’m stopping by and forcing my help on her whether she likes it or not.”

“Will do.”

Abbi was on his heels as he left the cafe. “Who’s Frankie? And how’s your mom?”

Cash should’ve realized that after last night, this morning would roll downhill quicker than shit in a rainstorm. He’d answered Abbi’s questions only because she appeared genuinely concerned, and dammit, his family drama was piling so high that it was nice to have someone to talk to. “Frankie’s like a grandmother to me.” Not a lie. “My mom and dad are getting divorced, so what you saw yesterday is pretty much how she’s doing.”

Abbi went around to the passenger side of his pickup and he didn’t hesitate to let her in.

“Aren’t you going to miss breakfast?” he asked as he backed out of his parking spot.

“Yes, but the cafe will be here tomorrow. And the next day. You looked a little haggard when I arrived, but after you heard about the hospital…” She shrugged. “I didn’t want to leave you alone.”

He looked like he felt and he didn’t care. If Abbi was coming with him—and he wanted her with him—he didn’t want to censor himself. He found himself spilling the history that he never talked about and that no one ever brought up. Not even his mom—she just constantly alluded to it.

“Frankie is more than like my grandma.”

Abbi’s forehead wrinkled in confusion.

“My mom that you sort of met yesterday isn’t my birth mom.” He blew out a gusty breath and explained. “My dad cheated on her with Frankie’s daughter shortly after they were married. My birth mom didn’t want me, already had some other guy and wanted to move away, so she called Dad from the hospital and told him to pick me up or she was signing me over to the adoption agency. Frankie’s my grandma.”

“Holy shit!” Abbi grabbed his hand and squeezed it. Her gesture reminded him of when he’d done the same thing in the combine when she’d been upset thinking about her brother.

Had he ever spoken his personal details out loud?

No, he hadn’t. It wasn’t necessary when living in a small town where everyone knew his business. Most days, he could pretend no one knew, or that no one cared, but they did. Whether it was whispers from the older ladies at church, or the knowing glances from Frankie’s crew at her work, his origins made great fodder for gossip.

His cousins never mentioned it. To them, his mom was Aunt Patty, their aunt, and he was their cousin. His mom never mentioned it, either—directly. She was his mom. Period. He was her son. Period. But it didn’t mean his mom wouldn’t hold his dad’s and birth mom’s behavior over him.

He knew Mom hadn’t meant to. She’d wanted to raise him right. Raise a gentleman, a man worthy of a woman’s love. The intended effect hadn’t happened. Instead, he avoided relationships to avoid becoming the man she feared.

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